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                            CRADOCK NOWELL

                       A Tale of the New forest.

                                  BY
                    _RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE_,
                      AUTHOR OF “CLARA VAUGHAN”.

     “You have said: whether wisely or no, let the forest judge”.

                    AS YOU LIKE IT, Act III. Sc. 2.

                           IN THREE VOLUMES.

                                VOL. I.

                                LONDON:
                  CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
                                 1866.

               [_The right of Translation is reserved._]




                                LONDON:
            PRINTED BY C. WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND.




                             To the Memory

                                  OF

                            MY DEAR FRIEND

                          THOMAS JAMES SCALÉ,

                               THIS WORK

          (IN WHICH, FROM MONTH TO MONTH, HE TOOK THE KINDEST
                               INTEREST)

                                  IS

               IN GRATITUDE, AFFECTION, AND AFFLICTION,

                              DEDICATED.

                                                  R. D. B.




CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.

CHAPTER                         PAGE

     I.                            1

    II.                           10

   III.                           17

    IV.                           26

     V.                           42

    VI.                           46

   VII.                           54

  VIII.                           66

    IX.                           75

     X.                           81

    XI.                           95

   XII.                          102

  XIII.                          113

   XIV.                          125

    XV.                          134

   XVI.                          145

  XVII.                          158

 XVIII.                          170

   XIX.                          185

    XX.                          195

   XXI.                          204

  XXII.                          210

 XXIII.                          222

  XXIV.                          239

   XXV.                          265

  XXVI.                          281

 XXVII.                          293

XXVIII.                          309




                            CRADOCK NOWELL




CHAPTER I.


Within the New Forest, and not far from its western boundary, as
defined by the second perambulation of the good King Edward the First,
stands the old mansion of the Nowells, the Hall of Nowelhurst. Not
content with mere exemption from all feudal service, their estate
claims privileges, both by grant and custom. The benefit of Morefall
trees in six walks of the forest, the right of digging marl, and
turbary illimitable, common of pannage, and license of drawing
akermast, pastime even of hawking over some parts of the Crown
land,—all these will be catalogued as claims quite indefeasible, if
the old estates come to the hammer, through the events that form my
story. With many of these privileges the Royal Commissioners will deal
in a spirit of scant courtesy, when the Nowell influence is lost in the
neighbouring boroughs; but as yet these claims have not been treated
like those of some poor commoners.

“Pooh, pooh, my man, donʼt be preposterous: you know, as well as I do,
these gipsy freedoms were only allowed to balance the harm the deer
did”.

And if the rights of that ancient family are ever called in question,
some there are which will require a special Act to abolish them. For
Charles the Second, of merry memory (saddened somewhat of late years),
espied among the maids of honour an uncommonly pretty girl, whose name
was Frances Nowell. He suddenly remembered, what had hitherto quite
escaped him, how old Sir Cradock Nowell—beautiful Fannyʼs father—had
saved him from a pike–thrust during Cromwellʼs “crowning mercy”. In
gratitude, of course, for this, he began to pay most warm attentions
to the Hampshire maiden. He propitiated that ancient knight with the
only boon he craved—craved hitherto all in vain—a plenary grant of
easements in the neighbourhood of his home. Soon as the charter had
received the royal seal and signature, the old gentleman briskly thrust
it away in the folds of his velvet mantle. Then taking the same view of
gratitude which his liege and master took, home he went without delay
to secure his privileges. When the king heard of his departure, without
any kissing of hands, he was in no wise disconcerted; it was the very
thing he had intended. But when he heard that lovely Fanny was gone in
the same old rickety coach, even ere he began to whisper, and with no
leave of the queen, His Majesty swore his utmost for nearly half an
hour. Then having spent his fury, he