ttle matters with his tenants and followers; and
it was here that his servant, Anthony Payne, was born. Payne, who
stood seven foot four in his stockings, was devoted and loyal to his
heart's core; it was he who, when Sir Beville fell fighting for King
Charles at Lansdown, led the knight's son up the hill at the head of
the gallant, irresistible Cornishmen. These Cornishmen had already
proved their powers much nearer to Stratton. The battlefield known as
Stamford Hill is close by; it was here that Sir Beville and Hopton
defeated the Parliamentary forces under the Earl of Stamford and
Chudleigh. The fight took place in 1643, and was one of those Royalist
victories in the West that for a time made the cause of the King look
very hopeful. The Cornish troops were outnumbered almost by two to
one; they were tired and hungry, and they had the worst of the ground,
for the Roundheads had entrenched themselves; yet they stormed the
hill, routed the Parliament men, and took 1,700 prisoners. An old gun
still lies there to mark the spot, and above is the inscription: "In
this place an army of ye Rebels under ye command of ye Earl of
Stamford received a signal over-throw by ye valour of Sir Bevill
Grenville and ye Cornish Army." If there be ever glory attaching to
battlefields, it may be found here. While the battle was raging Grace
Grenville, the wife of Sir Beville, was waiting in anguish of heart at
Stowe, only to be pacified when her husband himself came home at night
to tell her of the issue. Yet scarce two months had flown when the
sorrowful Payne wrote telling his beloved mistress the sore tidings of
Lansdown, where the Cornishmen followed their slain master's son up
the hill with tears in their eyes. "They did say they would kill a
rebel for every hair of Sir Beville's beard. But I bade them remember
their good master's word when he wiped his sword after Stamford fight;
how he said, when their cry was 'stab and slay,' 'Halt, men; God will
avenge.' I am coming down with the mournfullest burden that ever a
poor servant did bear, to bring the great heart that is cold to
Kilkhampton vault. Oh, my lady, how shall I ever brook your weeping
face?"

Never was a sweeter communionship of husband and wife than that
between Sir Beville and Lady Grace, thus brought to an earthly end; it
gives a lovely touch of domestic affection to annals that are
otherwise stern and bloody enough, with all their glory. There are
some charming letters p