Plongez dans le troisième tome de *Micah Clarke* d’Arthur Conan Doyle, une fresque captivante mĂŞlant aventures, intrigues et rĂ©flexions profondes sur la libertĂ© et la foi. 📜✨ Après les tumultes de la rĂ©bellion de Monmouth, Doyle nous entraĂ®ne dans un rĂ©cit haletant oĂą l’honneur et la loyautĂ© sont mis Ă l’épreuve.
Dans ce volume, Micah poursuit son chemin semé d’embûches au cœur d’une Angleterre en pleine effervescence. Entre batailles, amitiés sincères et dilemmes moraux, chaque chapitre révèle une facette de l’âme humaine et du poids de l’histoire. 🌍🔥
👉 Ce chef-d’œuvre, moins connu que les aventures de Sherlock Holmes, dévoile pourtant toute la puissance narrative de Conan Doyle. Avec un style riche et évocateur, il brosse un tableau vivant des conflits religieux et politiques qui ont marqué son époque.
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In this third volume of Micah Clarke, Arthur Conan Doyle takes us once again to the tumult of 17th-century England, where religious wars and power struggles shape the destiny of men. Micah, a young soldier torn between duty and conviction, continues his journey amidst battlefields, plots, and moral dilemmas. This story combines thrilling adventure with a profound reflection on loyalty, faith, and freedom. Prepare to immerse yourself in a vibrant and human historical epic. Chapter 1. The Affair at Keynsham Bridge. Monday, June 21, 1685, dawned very dark, with a violent wind, black clouds moving heavily across the sky, and a fine, continuous rain falling. Nevertheless, a few moments after dawn, the bugles of Monmouth could be heard in all parts of the town, from the bridge over the Tone to Shuttern. At the appointed hour, the regiments assembled. Roll call was given, and the advance guard marched briskly through the East Gate. They marched out in the same order as they had entered, our regiment and the burgesses of Taunton forming the rear. Mayor Timewell and Saxon had divided the organization of this part of the army, and as they were men of long service, they placed the artillery in a less exposed position and posted a strong troop of cavalry in the rear, within cannon range, to meet any attack from the King’s dragoons. It was unanimously noted that the army had made great progress in order and discipline during our three days’ halt, thanks no doubt to the pains we had taken to exercise it without respite, and to our military attitude. In solid, close ranks the men rode, kicking up the liquid or thick mud, while exchanging rude country jokes or singing a stirring verse of a song or hymn . Sir Gervas rode at the head of his musketeers, whose floured tails hung limp and damp, and all disgusting with water. Lockarby’s pikemen and my company of reapers were mostly field hands, hardened to all weather, and they marched patiently, the raindrops running down their tanned faces. In front was Taunton’s infantry, behind the cumbersome file of baggage wagons, followed by the cavalry. Thus the long line unfurled over the heights. When we reached the summit, where the road begins to descend on the other side, a halt was ordered to allow the regiments to close up, and we cast a glance back at this pretty town that so many of our people were never to see again. We could easily see on the dark walls and the roofs of the houses the fluttering, waving white handkerchiefs of those we were leaving. Ruben rode full horse with me, his spare shirt flapping in the wind, and his tall pikemen, their faces beaming with a hearty laugh, marched behind him, but his thoughts and his glances were too far away for him to notice them. While we were watching, a long shaft of sunlight shot out between the two banks of cloud that gilded the top of the steeple of Sainte Madeleine and the royal standard that still fluttered there. This incident was hailed as a favorable omen, and a resounding cheer spread from rank to rank. At this sight, hats were waved and there was a great clash of arms. Then the bugles sounded a fanfare. The drums beat out a war march. Reuben tucked his shirt into his knapsack. And we set off again through the mud, the silt, the gloomy clouds still hanging over us, leaning against the no less gloomy hills to our right and left. A seeker of omens might have said that the sky was weeping over our fatal adventure. All day we trudged along roads that were nothing but quagmires, with mud up to our ankles. In the evening we headed for Bridgewater, where we recruited a few recruits and added a few hundred pounds to our army coffers, for it was a prosperous place, with a very active coastal trade that extended along the whole course of the River Parret. After spending a night in comfortable shelters, we set out again in weather even worse than the day before. In this region, the ground is a vast quagmire, even in the driest weather , but heavy rains had caused the pools to overflow and turned them into vast lakes on both sides of the road. This may have had a good side for us, for we were also protected against raids by the King’s cavalry, but our progress was greatly slowed. And all day we did nothing but splash around in mud and silt. The raindrops glistened on the barrels of the rifles and trickled down the flanks of the heavy-footed horses. We skirted the swollen Parret, passed through Eastover, the quiet village of Bawdrip. We crossed the heights of Polden. The bugles finally sounded the halt under the copses of Ashcot and a coarse meal was served to the men. Then on in the merciless rain! We crossed the wooded park of the Pied Piper Inn, then Wallon, where the flood threatened the cottages. We skirted the orchards of Street and thus arrived, at nightfall , in the old and gray city of Glastonbury, where the good people did their best to make us forget, by their warm welcome, the suffering caused by the bad weather. The next morning was again rainy and inclement. Accordingly, the army made a halt to wait for Wells. It is a fairly large town, with a fine cathedral, which has a large number of carved figures placed in niches outside, such as we had seen at Salisbury. The inhabitants were very well disposed to the Protestant cause, and the army was so well received that its food cost the military treasury little. It was during this stage that we first came into contact with the royal cavalry. More than once, when the mist from the rain cleared, we had seen the gleam of arms on the low hills overlooking the road, and our scouts had returned to report that they had perceived strong troops of dragoons on both our flanks. At one point, they massed in great numbers in our rear, as if intending to attack our baggage. But Saxon placed a regiment of pikemen on both sides, so that they dispersed, and their arms were never seen gleaming again except on the heights. We left Wells on the 24th for Shepton Mallet, constantly seeing behind us and on either side the cursed sabers and helmets. That evening, we were near Keynsham Bridge, less than two leagues, as the crow flies, from Bristol. Several of our horsemen forded the river and advanced almost to the walls. In the morning, the clouds, laden with rain, had finally cleared. So Reuben and I slowly descended on our mounts the slope of one of the green hills that rose behind the camp, in the hope of seeing some signs of the enemy. Our men had been left free. They were scattered on the grass, trying to light fires with wet wood or putting their clothes out to dry in the sun. It was a very strange troop to see. They were armored from head to foot in mud. Their softened hats had become misshapen, their weapons rusted, their boots so worn that many walked barefoot, and others had rolled their handkerchiefs around their feet. And yet their short passage through military life had made these rustics with good faces, strapping fellows with fierce looks, half-shaven, hollow-cheeked, knowing how to present arms or put a pike on their shoulder, as if they had done nothing else since childhood. The officers were no better off than the men. Besides, my dear children, no officer, when on duty, would stoop to providing himself with a comfortable place that everyone could not share with him. He must take a place at the bivouac fire, share the soldier’s ordinary food, or else leave everything there, for he is an embarrassment, a stumbling block. Our clothes were in mush, our breastplates reddened by rust, our horses as stained, as spattered as if they had been rolling in the mud. Even our swords and pistols were in such a state that we had difficulty drawing some and getting others going. Only Sir Gervas managed to maintain to the end the cleanliness of his costume and person, pushed to the point of coquettishness. What he did during the night watches and how he managed to sleep? It was always a mystery to me, for every day he appeared at the bugle call washed, perfumed, brushed, his wig neatly arranged, with clothes from which even the last splash had been carefully removed. From the saddlebow still hung the box full of flour from which we had seen him draw at Taunton, and his brave musketeers had their heads duly powdered every morning, although their tails became again an hour later as brown as nature had made them, although the flour went off in thin milky streams on their broad backs, forming lumps on the edges of their coats. It was a long struggle against the bad weather and the baronet, but it was our comrade who won. “There was a time when they called me Fat Reuben,” my friend said, as we rode side by side along the crooked road. “With too little of the solid and too much of the liquid, I’ll be Skeletal Reuben before I see Havant again. I’m as full of rainwater as my father’s barrels of October beer. I wish, Micah, that you would wring me out and hang me out to dry on one of these bushes. ” “If you’re wet , King James’s people must be wetter,” I said, “for after all we’ve been sheltered as best we can. ” “It’s small consolation, when you’re starving, to know that your neighbor is in the same predicament. I give you my word, Micah, I tightened my belt a notch on Monday; another on Tuesday, another yesterday, and another today. I tell you, I’m melting like an ice cube in the sun.” “If you come to nothing,” I said, laughing, “what will we have to say about you in Taunton? Since you put on the breastplate and went about winning the hearts of our young ladies, you have surpassed us all in importance, and become a man of weight, a considerable man. ” “I had more substance, more weight, before I began to tramp the country roads like a Hambledon pedlar,” he said. ” But to tell the real truth and speak seriously, Micah, it is a strange thing to feel that the whole world before you, your hopes, your ambitions, everything in a word, are contained in the small space which a cap can cover and two little feet can support. It seems to me that she is the noblest, the highest thing in me, and that if I were torn from her, I should remain forever an incomplete, unfinished being.” With her, I don’t ask for anything else. Without her, everything else is nothing. “But have you spoken to the old man?” I asked. “Are you legally engaged ? ” “I spoke to him,” my friend replied, “but he was so busy filling the cartridges that I couldn’t get his attention. When I did another attempt, he was counting the spare pikes in the castle armory, with a sharpening-stone and an inkstand. I told him I had come to solicit the hand of his little daughter. Whereupon he turned to me, and asked, “What hand?” with such an absent-minded air that it was evident his mind was elsewhere. But on the third attempt, the day you came back from Badminton, I finally made my request, but he immediately burst into flames, to tell me that this was not the season for such nonsense, adding that I would have to wait until King Monmouth was on the throne and then I could make my request. I tell you, he did not call such things nonsense, fifty years ago, when he was holding his own court. “At least he did not refuse you,” I said. It is as good as a promise to tell you that if the enterprise succeeds, you will succeed too. “Upon my word,” cried Reuben, “if a man could bring about this result, with nothing but his blade, there is none who is so keenly interested in it as I am. No! Not even Monmouth himself. Long ago, apprentice Derrick raised his eyes to his master’s little daughter, and the old man was ready to make him his son, so delighted was he to see him so pious and zealous. But I have learned indirectly that he is only a debauched man, a man of base pleasures, though he hides his escapades under a pious exterior. I thought, just as you did, that he was at the head of the rowdies who attempted to carry off Mistress Ruth, and yet upon my word! I have little reason to blame them severely, since they have done me the greatest service that ever men did.” Meanwhile , before we left Wells two nights ago, I took the opportunity of saying a few words on the subject to Master Derrick, and warning him not to plot any treason against her, if he valued his life. –And how did he receive this kind summons? –As a rat receives a rat-trap. He grunted a few words of devout hatred and slipped away. –Upon my life, my boy, I said, you have had as many adventures of your own as I have of mine. But here we are at the top of the height, with as wide a prospect as one could wish for. Just below us ran the Avon, crossing in long curves through a wooded country and reflecting the sun’s rays now on one point, now on another. It looked like a row of tiny suns on a silver cord. On the other side, the peaceful country, of varied hues, rose and fell in undulations, which presented to the view cornfields and orchards, and stretched away into the distance to end in a fringe of forests, on the distant hills of Malvern. On our right were the green heights around Bath, on our left the jagged ridges of the Mendips, Bristol, the queen of the country, crouching behind her fortifications, and further back, the gray waters of the Canal, with sails white as snow. At our feet was Keynsham Bridge, our army forming dark patches against the green of the fields, the smoke of the bivouacs and the voices of conversation still floating in the summer air. A road ran along the banks of the Avon on the Somersetshire side. On this road advanced two squadrons of cavalry, who intended to establish outposts on our eastern flank. As they marched noisily, without much order, they had to cross a pine wood, in which the road makes a sudden detour. We were contemplating the scene, when suddenly, like lightning from the cloud, a squadron of the Horseguards turned to rush onto the open ground, and passing rapidly to a trot, then a gallop, fell like a whirlwind of blue and steel coats upon our surprised squadrons. From the front ranks came the sound of carbines being shouldered, but in a In an instant, the Guards passed through them and fell upon the second squadron.
For some time the brave peasants held firm. The compact mass of men and horses swayed, advancing, retreating, saber blades whirling above them in flashes of furious light. Then, blue coats appeared here and there among the sackcloth. The struggle carried its furious movements back a hundred paces . The thick mass was split in two and the King’s Guards rushed like a flood into the breach, spreading to the right and left, forcing the hedges, crossing the ditches, sabering with point and edge the fleeing horsemen. The whole scene, these horses stamping their feet, these agitated manes, these cries of triumph or despair, these painful pantings, this musical sound of steel striking steel, was for us, who were on the heights, like a disordered vision, so quick was it to appear and disappear. A sharp, imperious bugle call brought the Blues back to the road, where they reformed and set off at the small trot before new squadrons had time to arrive from the camp. The sun continued to shine, the river to ripple. There remained nothing but a long mass of men and horses to mark the passage of the infernal storm that had burst upon us so suddenly. While the Blues were moving away, we noticed a lone officer who formed the rear guard. He rode very slowly, as if he found it very wrong to turn his back even on an entire army. The interval between the squadron and himself continued to increase, but he made no effort to hasten his pace. He plodded along quietly, occasionally glancing back to see if he was being followed. The same idea arose simultaneously in my comrade’s mind and in mine, and we divined it by exchanging a glance. “Let’s take that path,” he shouted briskly. “It will take us beyond the clump of trees, and is sunken throughout its length. ” “Let’s lead the horses by hand until we are on better ground,” I replied. “We’ll cut off his retreat, if we ‘re lucky.” Without pausing to say more, we hurried down the uneven path, where we slipped and made grooves in the rain-soaked turf. Then, getting back in the saddle, we rode through the defile, crossed the clump of trees, and were on the road soon enough to see the squadron disappear in the distance and find ourselves face to face with the isolated officer. He was a sunburned man, with strongly marked features and black mustaches. He rode a large, bony horse, chestnut-colored. As we appeared on the road, he halted to examine us closely .
Then, having convinced himself of our hostile intentions, he drew his sword, drew a pistol from his saddle-bow with his left hand, then putting the bridle between his teeth, he planted his spurs in the flanks of his horse, and rushed at us at full speed. As we rushed at him, Reuben on his left, and I on the right, he gave me a violent blow with his saber, and at the same time fired at my comrade. The bullet grazed Reuben’s cheek, leaving a red line in its path, like that produced by a whip, while the powder blackened his face. But the saber blow did not reach me. At the moment when our horses were almost touching in their run, I tore him from his saddle and drew him across mine, face upwards. The brave Covenant started off, a little slowed by his double burden, and before the Guardsmen had realized that they had lost their officer, we had brought him, despite his efforts and desperate movements, within sight of Monmouth’s camp. “He gave me a close shave, friend,” said Reuben, putting his hand to his cheek; “he tattooed my face with powder, so that I’ll be taken for Solomon Sprent’s younger brother. ” “Thank God, you’re all right,” I said. “Look, here’s our cavalry coming up the road. Lord Grey is at its head. The best thing we can do is bring our prisoner to the camp, since we’re of no use here. ” “In the name of Christ,” cried the latter, “kill me or put me down, I can’t bear to be carried like a half- weaned child through all your camp of sniggering louts. ” “I don’t want to amuse myself at the expense of a brave man,” I replied. ” If you’ll give your word to stay with us, you ‘ll walk between us.” “Willingly,” he said, sliding to the ground and adjusting his crumpled uniform. “By my faith, gentlemen, you have taught me not to disregard my enemies. I would have remained with my squadron if I had believed in the possibility of encountering outposts or vedettes. ” “We were on the heights before we cut you off,” said Reuben. “If that pistol bullet had gone straighter, it would have been me who was cut off. Devil! Micah! Only a moment ago I was grumbling because I had grown thin, but if my cheek had been as round as it once was, the piece of lead would have gone right through it. ” “Where have I seen you before?” asked our prisoner, fixing his black eyes on me. “Ah! yes, I am, it was at the inn at Salisbury, where our foolish comrade, Horsford, drew his gun against an old soldier who was with you.” For my part, my name is Ogilvy—Major Ogilvy, of the Blue Horseguards. I was truly delighted to hear that you had escaped the mastiffs. After your departure, a few words gave a glimpse of your true destination, and one or two troublemakers, in whom zeal stifles humanity, set the dogs on your trail. “I remember you well,” I replied. “You will find Colonel Decimus Saxon, my old companion, in the camp. No doubt you will soon be exchanged for one of our prisoners. ” “It is much more likely that I shall be slaughtered,” he said, smiling. “I fear that Feversham, in his present disposition, will hardly stop to take prisoners, and Monmouth may be tempted to pay him in kind. After all, it is the fortune of war, and I must atone for my want of military prudence.” To tell the truth, my mind was at that moment far from battles and ambushes, for it was wandering in the direction of aqua regia and its action on metals, until your appearance recalled me to military duty. “The cavalry is out of sight,” said Reuben, glancing behind him, “our own as well as theirs. But I see a group of men, over there, on the other side of the Avon, and here, on the side of the height , do you not perceive the glint of steel? ” “There is infantry there,” I said, half-closing my eyes. “I think I can distinguish four or five regiments and as many standards of cavalry. We must inform King Monmouth of this, without any delay . ” “He is in the know,” said Reuben. “Here he is, under the trees, surrounded by the council.” See, one of them is coming on horseback from this direction. Indeed, a rider had broken away from the group and was galloping towards us. “Sir,” he said, saluting, “if you are Captain Clarke, the King orders you to go to the Council. ” “Then,” I cried, “I leave the Major in your custody, Reuben. See that he is as well as our resources will allow.” With these words, I spurred my horse and soon joined the group formed around the King. There were Grey, Wade, Buyse, Ferguson, Saxon, Hollis, and about twenty others. All looked very grave and were examining the valley with their long views. Monmouth himself had dismounted and was leaning against the trunk of a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, and the deepest despair was written on his face. Behind the tree, a footman was pacing back and forth, walking his black horse with a glossy coat, which was gambolling and tossing its magnificent mane, like a true king of the equine race. “You see, my friends,” said Monmouth, casting his dull eyes from one to the other, “it would seem that Providence is against us. We have some new mishap constantly at our heels. ” “It is not Providence, Sire. It is our own negligence,” cried Saxon boldly. “If we had marched on Bristol last night, we would now be on the right side of the ramparts. ” “But we did not suspect that the enemy’s infantry was so close,” cried Wade. “I have told you what would result, and Colonel Buyse has told you so , and so has the worthy Mayor of Taunton,” replied Saxon. “But I have nothing to gain by weeping over a broken jug. We must even do our best to mend it. ” “Let us advance upon Bristol and put our trust in the Most High,” said Ferguson. “If it is his mighty will that we take it, then we shall enter it, though falcons and sakers be as numerous as the cobblestones in the streets. ” “Yes, yes, off to Bristol! God with us!” several Puritans cried ardently. “But this is madness, folly, the height of folly!” said Buyse, bursting out violently. “You have the opportunity and you will not take it. Now the opportunity is gone and you are all in a hurry to leave. There is an army there, as far as I can judge, of five thousand men on the right bank of the river.” We are on the wrong side, and yet you talk of crossing it and besieging Bristol without siege guns, without spades, and with these forces in our rear. Will the city surrender, when it can see from the top of its ramparts the advance guard of the army coming to its relief? Will it help us to fight the enemy, to do so in the vicinity of a stronghold, from which the cavalry and infantry can sally forth to make an attack on our flank? I repeat, it is madness. What the German warrior said was of such obvious truth that even the fanatics were reduced to silence. Far away in the east, long lines of steel gleamed, and the red spots, which were seen on the green heights, were arguments which the most foolhardy could not disdain. “Then what do you advise?” asked Monmouth, impatiently striking his riding-crop with the jeweled whip . “To cross the river and take them hand to hand before they can receive help from the city,” said the fat German gruffly . “I cannot understand why we are here, except to fight. If we win the game, the city must fall. If we lose, we will have always made a bold attempt, and we can do no more. ” “Is that also your opinion, Colonel Saxon?” asked the King. “Certainly, Sire, if we can give battle advantageously. But we can hardly do it by crossing the river, on a single narrow bridge in the face of so strong an army. I am of opinion to destroy Keynsham Bridge and descend the south bank to force the battle in a position we may choose. ” “We have not yet summoned Bath,” said Wade. “Let us do as Colonel Saxon proposes, and in the meantime, march in that direction and send a trumpet to the governor.” “There is yet another plan,” said Sir Stephen Timewell, “which is to march rapidly to Gloucester, cross the Severn there, and then pass through the county of Worcester into Shropshire and Cheshire. Your Majesty has many partisans in that country!” Monmouth paced back and forth with his hand on his forehead, with the air of a man who had lost his mind. “What am I to do?” he cried at last, “in the midst of all these conflicting opinions, when I know that on my decision depends not only my success, but also the lives of these poor and faithful peasants and tradesmen. ” “With the humble respect I owe to Your Majesty,” said Lord Grey, who at that very moment was returning from the cavalry maneuver, “as there are very few squadrons of their cavalry on this side of the Avon, I would advise blowing up the bridge and marching on Bath, from whence we can pass into the County of Wilts, where we know we will be well received. ” “So be it,” cried the King, with the haste of a man who accepts a plan not because it is the best, but because he feels that all plans are equally hopeless. What say you, gentlemen? he added with a bitter smile. I received news from London this morning. I am told that my uncle has locked up two hundred merchants and other persons suspected of loyalty to their religion, in the prisons of the Tower and the Fleet. He will have to employ half the nation to guard the other, before long. “In short, Your Majesty will come to guard him,” suggested Wade. “He may well see the Masters’ Gate opened one of these mornings. ” “Ha! Ha! Do you think so?” cried Monmouth, rubbing his hands together, while his face lit up with a smile. “Well, perhaps you will have spoken the truth. Henry’s cause seemed lost the day the Battle of Bosworth settled the debate. To your posts, gentlemen! We will march in half an hour.” Colonel Saxon and you, Sir Stephen, will cover the rearguard and protect the baggage. It is an honorable post, with this curtain of cavalry around our coattails. The council dispersed at once. Each of its members rode back to his regiment. The whole camp was soon in motion, to the sound of bugles and the roll of drums, so that in a very short time the army was deployed in order and the lost children of the cavalry set off on the road leading to Bath. The advance guard consisted of five hundred horsemen with the militiamen of the County of Devon. After them, and in the following order, came the regiment of marines, the men of North Somerset; the first regiment of burgesses of Taunton, the miners of Mendip and Bagworthy, the lacemakers and woodcarvers of Honiton, Wellington and Ottery Sainte Marie; the woodcutters, the cattle dealers, the marsh people and those of the Quantock district. Then came the guns and baggage, with our own brigade and four ensigns of cavalry as rearguard. As we marched, we could see the redcoats of Feversham following the same direction on the other bank of the Avon. A large body of their cavalry and dragoons had forded the river and were flitting around us, but Saxon and Sir Stephen covered the baggage so skillfully, held their ground with such a resolute air , and made the fusillade crackle so aptly when we were pressed too closely, that the enemy did not venture to charge full- bore.
Chapter 2. The Battle at Wells Cathedral. I am now firmly bound to the wheels of the chariot of history, my dear children, I am bound to indicate as I go along the names, the places, the dates, however cumbersome this may be for my narrative. While such a drama was unfolding, it would be impertinent to speak of myself, except as the witness or listener of what may make these scenes of old seem more vivid to you. It is not pleasant for me to dwell on this subject, but convinced as I am that chance plays no part in the great or small affairs of this world, I have the firm belief that the sacrifices of these brave people were not wasted, that their efforts were not spent in pure loss, as one might think at first sight. If the perfidious race of the Stuarts is no longer on the throne, and if the religion of England is still a plant that grows freely, we are, in my opinion, indebted to these clumsy people from the County of Somerset. They were the first to show how little it would take to shake the throne of an unpopular monarch. Monmouth’s army was only the vanguard of that which marched on London, three years later, when James and his cruel ministers fled, abandoned by all, over the face of the earth. On the night of June 27, or rather on the morning of the 28th, we arrived at the town of Frome, very wet, in a lamentable state, for the rain had begun again, and all the roads were muddy quagmires . From there we set out the next day for Wells. We spent the night there and all the following day, to give the men time to dry their clothes and to recover after their privations. In the afternoon, a review of our Wills County regiment took place in the cathedral square, and Monmouth gave us praise, well deserved, for the progress made in so short a time in our martial bearing. As we were returning to our quarters, after dismissing our men, we perceived a large crowd of the rude miners of Oare and Bagworthy assembled in the square in front of the cathedral, and listening to one of them, who was haranguing them from the top of a chariot. The fierce and violent gestures of this man proved that he was one of those extreme sectarians in whom religion runs the danger of turning into furious madness. The muffled noises and groans that rose from the ranks of the crowd, however, showed that his ardent words were in perfect harmony with the moods of his audience. So we stopped close to the crowd to listen to his speech. He was a man with a red beard, a fierce face, with a disheveled mane that fell over his shining eyes, and gifted with a hoarse voice that resounded throughout the square. “What shall we not do for the Lord,” he cried, “what shall we not do for the Holy of Holies? Why is his hand so heavy upon us? Why have we not delivered this country, as Judith delivered Bethulia? You see, we have waited in peace, and nothing good has come of it, and for a time of health, we live in sorrow. Why is this, I tell you?” Truly, brethren, it is because we have dealt lightly with the Lord, because we have not been wholly of one heart with him. Yes, we have praised him in words, but by our actions we have shown him coldness. You well know that Prelaticism is a cursed thing, deserving of hissing, a thing that is an abomination in the sight of the Almighty. And yet, what have we, his servants, done for him in this circumstance? Have we not seen prelatic churches, churches of forms and appearances, where the creature is confounded with the Creator? Have we not seen them, I say, and yet have we not neglected to sweep them away, and thus have not punished them? This is the sin of a lukewarm generation ready to backslide! This is the cause for which the Lord looks with coldness on his people! See, at Shepton and Frome, we have left behind us such churches. At Gastonbury, too, we have spared those sinful walls that were raised by the hands of idolaters of old. Woe to you, if after having put your hand to the plow of the Lord, you turn your back on the work! Look this way… And with these words, he turned towards the beautiful cathedral: –What is the meaning of this pile of stone? Is it not an altar of Baal? Was it not built for the worship of man and not for that of God.
Is it not here that the man named Ken, adorned with his foolish ratchet, his childish jewels, can preach soulless and lying doctrines, which are only the old stew of Popery served under a new name? Shall we suffer such a thing? Shall we, the chosen children of the Great Being, allow this pestilent stain to remain! Can we count on the help of the Almighty, if we do not stretch out our hand to come to his aid? We have left behind us the other temples of Prelaticism, shall we also leave this one standing, my brethren? “No, no,” shouted the crowd, agitated by the movements of a storm. “Shall we demolish it until not a stone is left upon a stone? ” “Yes! Yes!” they cried. “Now? At once?… ” “Yes, yes!” “Then let’s get to work!” he shouted, and leaping from his chariot, he rushed toward the cathedral, closely followed by the crowd of rabid fanatics. Some gathered, howling and vociferating, to get through the open doors. Others, in swarms, climbed the pillars and pedestals of the facade, hammered the carved ornaments, and clung to the old, gray stone statues that occupied each niche. “We must put an end to this disorder,” Saxon said curtly. “We cannot allow the whole Church of England to be insulted and defiled to please a band of hot-headed brawlers. The sacking of this cathedral would do more harm to our cause than the loss of a pitched battle. Bring your company, Sir Gervas. As for us, we will do our best to hold them off until then.” “Hey, Masterton,” cried the baronet, seeing one of his non-commissioned officers in a group that was simply watching, neither helping nor hindering the rioters. “Run to the barracks and tell Barker to form the company, with the fuse lit. I can be of some use here. ” “Ah! Here comes Buyse,” cried Saxon joyfully, seeing the German colossus force his way through the crowd, “and Lord Grey too. We must save the cathedral, my lord. They would sack and burn it. ” “This way, gentlemen,” cried an elderly, gray-haired man, running towards us with outstretched arms, a bunch of keys jingling at his belt. “Oh! Make haste, gentlemen, if you really have any authority over these unprincipled people. They have brought down St. Peter, and they will end by demolishing St. Paul, if help does not arrive. There will not be an Apostle left.” They brought a barrel of beer and are smashing it against the high altar. Oh! Alas! Can one see such a thing in a Christian country! He gave a loud sob and stamped his foot in his despair and suffering. “It’s the sacristan, gentlemen,” said someone from the town. “He grew old in the cathedral. ” “This is the way to the Sacristy, my lords and gentlemen,” said the old man, bravely pushing his way through the crowd. ” Now, what a misfortune, Saint Paul has fallen too!” As he spoke, a multiple cracking was heard inside the cathedral, announcing a new desecration by the fanatics. Our guide redoubled his speed, and finally reached a low oak door, which he opened by dint of creaking bars and cracking hinges. We slipped as best we could through this opening and followed the old man with the quickest step into a paved corridor which opened into the cathedral by a small door near the high altar. The vast edifice was full of rioters who were running in all directions, destroying and breaking everything they could reach. A great number of them were sincere fanatics, disciples of the preacher we had heard outside, but there were others whose faces were enough to designate them as scoundrels and simple thieves, such as any army picks up in its path. While the first tore the statues from the walls or threw the prayer books through the stained-glass windows, the others uprooted the massive bronze candelabras, carrying off everything that appeared to be of any value. A ragged individual, perched in the pulpit, was busy tearing the crimson velvet which he threw into the crowd. Another had overturned the lectern, where the holy books were read, and was trying to twist the bronze mount to remove it. In the middle of one of the wings, a small group had put a rope around the neck of the evangelist Mark and were pulling with ardor, so much so that at the very moment of our entry, the statue swayed for a few moments and finally fell with a loud noise on the marble slabs. The vociferations that accompanied each new desecration, the creaking of demolished woodwork, of broken windows, the dull thud of falling masonry, all this made a most deafening din, to which was added the roar of the organ, which several rioters finally silenced by bursting the bellows. The spectacle that struck us most vividly was the scene that was taking place right in front of us at the high altar. A barrel of beer had been placed there. A dozen bandits had gathered around it. One of them, with indecent gestures, had climbed on top and was busy breaking open the barrel with an axe. As we entered, he had just succeeded in opening it. The brown liquor was foaming out, while the crowd, with loud peals of laughter, passed around spoons and goblets. The German soldier swore coarsely in a staccato voice at this spectacle, shoving his shoulders through the rowdy crowd. He jumped onto the altar. The leader of the orgy was leaning over his barrel, jug in hand, when the soldier’s iron grip came down on his collar. In an instant, his heels were beating the air, his head was three feet deep in the barrel, the contents of which gushed out foaming on all sides. With a vigorous effort, Buyse seized the barrel with the half-drowned miner inside and hurled the whole thing with a loud noise down the broad marble steps leading from the center of the church. At the same time, with the help of a dozen of our men, who had followed us into the cathedral, we pushed back the individual’s comrades and threw them behind the grille that separated the choir from the nave. Our attack had the effect of putting an end to the devastation, but by diverting upon us the fury of the fanatics which, until then, had been exerted on the walls and windows. Statues, stone sculptures, woodwork, everything was abandoned by the vandals and the whole band rushed forward with a hoarse buzz of rage.
All discipline, all order disappeared in their pious frenzy. “Cut down the Prelatists!” they shouted. “Down with the partisans of the Antichrist! Let us massacre them at the very horns of the altar. Down! Down!” They massed on both sides, in a wild, half-mad mob, some armed, others unarmed, but all, to the last man, full of that fever, that rage which ends in murder. “It is a civil war complicated by another civil war,” said Lord Grey, with a calm smile. We have nothing better to do than draw our swords, gentlemen, and defend the opening of the gate, if we can hold our ground until help arrives. And with these words, he quickly drew his rapier and posted himself at the top of the steps, between Saxon and Sir Gervas on one side, Buyse, Ruben, and myself on the other. There was just enough space for six men to wield their weapons effectively. Accordingly, our small force of auxiliaries spread out along the gate. Fortunately, it was high enough and solid enough to make it dangerous to climb in the presence of adversaries. The disorder had given way to a veritable mutiny among these men of the marshes and mines. Pikes, scythes, knives gleamed in the half-light. The clamor of rage echoed back from the high vaults of the roof, like the howls of a pack of wolves. “March forward, my brothers,” shouted the fanatical preacher who had caused the explosion, “march forward against them. It matters little that they are in a dominant position. There is one who is higher than they. Shall we shrink from his work because of a drawn sword? Shall we suffer the prelate altar to be saved by these sons of Amalek? Forward, forward, in the name of the Lord! “In the name of the Lord!” cried the crowd, with a sort of panting voice, accompanied by a sort of hiss, like that of a man about to throw himself into an icy bath. In the name of the Lord! And they came from both sides, gaining in number and momentum, so that at last, with a wild cry, this flood found itself before the very points of our swords. I cannot say what happened to my right or my left during the melee, for there were so many people pressing us closely, and the fight was so fierce that each of us could do no more than hold our ground. The very number of our assailants was a favorable circumstance for us, for it hampered their swordplay. A large miner threw a furious blow at me with his scythe, but he missed me and lost his balance as a result of the momentum he had taken to strike, and I passed my sword through his body before he could get back on his feet. This was the first time, my dear children, that I had ever killed a man in a moment of anger, and I shall never forget the pale, frightened face he turned towards me over his shoulder before he fell. Another took me hand to hand before I had drawn my weapon, but I violently pushed him away with my left hand, then brought down the flat of my sword on his head, and stretched him unconscious on the pavement. God knows, I had no desire to take the lives of these misguided, ignorant fanatics, but ours was at stake. A marshman, who looked more like a hairy wild beast than a human being, sprang over my weapon and seized me by the knees while another brought his flail down on my helmet, where the blow slipped off my shoulder. A third struck me with a pike and hit me in the thigh, but with one blow I cut his weapon in two, and with another I split his head. At this sight, the man with the flail recoiled. A violent kick freed me from the weaponless, ape-like creature at my feet, so that I found myself free of my adversaries, without having suffered from the encounter, except for a scratch on the thigh and some stiffness in the neck and shoulder. I looked around and saw that my companions had also succeeded in warding off their attackers. Saxon held his bloody rapier in his left hand. Blood trickled in small drops from a slight wound he had received in his right hand. Before him lay two miners, one on top of the other, but at Sir Gervas’s feet there were no fewer than four bodies piled up. As I looked at him, he had drawn his snuffbox and was bowing to Lord Grey, and with a graceful movement, he presented it to him, looking as careless as if they had met in a London coffee-house. Buyse was leaning on his great sword and looking gloomily at a headless body lying before him, which I recognized by his clothes to be that of the preacher. As for Reuben, he was safe and sound, but he showed great anxiety about my slight cut, in spite of all that I did to prove to him that it was less serious than so many tears caused by branches or thorns, which we had once received while going together to pick blackberries. The fanatics, although they had been repulsed, were not people to rest on their laurels. They had lost ten of their number, including their leader, without managing to force our line, but this failure only served to exasperate their fury. They gathered, panting, in a wing of the church, for a minute or two. Then, with a howl of rage, they rushed forward a second time and made a desperate effort to force their way to the altar. This time, the struggle was more fierce, more prolonged than the first. One of our men received a stab in the heart, through the bars and fell without uttering a groan. Another was stunned by a block of masonry thrown at him by a gigantic mountaineer. Reuben was thrown to the ground with a blow from my club, and would have been dragged out and hacked to pieces, had I not risen above him and driven his adversaries aside. Sir Gervas lost his balance under the flood of assailants, but although stretched out on the ground, he struggled like a wounded wildcat, striking furiously at everything within reach. Buyse and Saxon, back to back, stood firmly in the midst of the seething crowd, which rushed upon them, and each of their sword thrusts launched in full flight felled his man. But in such a struggle, numbers must prevail, and for my part I must confess that I began to have fears about the outcome of our quarrel, when the heavy steps of a disciplined troop resounded in the cathedral. It was the baronet’s musketeers, arriving in haste by the central nave. The fanatics did not wait for their charge. They fled over the pews and stalls, pursued by our allies, furious to see their beloved captain on the ground. There were a minute or two of alarm, the sound of footsteps, stabbings , muffled moans, and the crashing of musket butts on the marble slabs. Among the rioters, some were killed, but the greater number threw down their weapons and were arrested on Lord Grey’s orders. At the same time, a strong guard was placed at the doors to oppose any further explosion of sectarian rage. When at last the cathedral was empty and order restored, we were able to look around us at leisure and realize what we had suffered. In all my wanderings, in the many wars in which I have taken part, beside which this affair of Monmouth was only a mere skirmish, I never saw a stranger or more moving scene. In the dim and solemn light, the pile of corpses in front of the gate, with their twisted limbs, their pale and contracted faces, had a very melancholy, most fantastic aspect. The evening light, passing through one of the rare stained-glass windows, which had not been broken, threw large patches of a bright red and a livid green on the heap of motionless bodies. Some wounded were sitting in the stalls of the first row or lying on the steps, asking for a drink in plaintive voices. None of those in our little troop had escaped without a scratch. Three of our men had indeed been slaughtered; a fourth lay stunned. Buyse and Sir Gervas had severe bruises, Saxon a gash on his right arm. Reuben had been struck down with a club and would certainly have been massacred if it had not been for the strong armor given by Sir Jacob Clancing, which had deflected a violent pike thrust. As for me, it is hardly worth mentioning, but I heard in my head a buzzing comparable to the sound of a kettle singing housewife, and my boot was full of blood, which was perhaps an involuntary blessing. Sneckson, our barber from Havant, kept nagging me that after a bloodletting I would be all the better for it. Meanwhile, all the troops had been assembled and the mutiny had been crushed without delay. No doubt there were many among the Puritans who wished the Prelatists no good, but none, except the most brainless fanatics, could conceal from themselves that the sacking of the Cathedral would arm the whole Church of England and ruin the cause for which they were fighting. In any case, great havoc had been wrought, for while the band inside had been busy smashing everything within reach , others outside had pulled down cornices and gargoyles, and had even torn off the lead covering the roof and thrown it in large sheets to those below. This last crime at least served some purpose, for the army was not too well supplied with ammunition. The lead was therefore collected by order of Monmouth and bullets were cast from it. The prisoners were kept in custody for some time, but it was deemed imprudent to punish them, so they were finally pardoned and dismissed from the army. On the second day after our arrival at Wells, as the weather had finally become fine and sunny again, a general review of the army was held in the countryside around the town. It was then found that the infantry numbered six regiments of nine hundred men, in all five thousand four hundred. Of this number, fifteen hundred were armed with muskets; two thousand were pikemen, the others armed with scythes, peasants with flails and mallets. A few corps, like ours and that of Taunton, could claim to pass for soldiers, but the greater number were still ploughmen and artisans who had been given weapons. And yet, poorly armed, poorly trained, they were still Englishmen full of vigour and endurance, courage and religious zeal. The light and agile Monmouth took courage, seeing their energetic attitude, listening to their cordial acclamations. As I was riding near his headquarters, I heard him speaking enthusiastically to those who were beside him and asking if they thought it possible that these fine fellows could be beaten by mercenaries without enthusiasm. “What do you say, Wade?” he cried. Will we never see a smile on your face? Do you not see the sack of wool waiting for you when you look at these brave lads? “God forbid I should say a single word to dampen Your Majesty’s ardor ,” replied the lawyer, “but I remember the time when Your Majesty, at the head of mercenaries like those of the enemy, cut to pieces and routed men as brave as these at Bothwell Bridge. ” “True, true,” said the King, passing his hand across his forehead with a gesture that was customary when he was vexed and angry. ” They were valiant men, the Covenanters of the West, and yet they could not resist the shock of our battalions. But they were not trained, while these know how to fight in line and execute a file fire with as much precision as one could wish.” “Even if we had neither a cannon nor a petrinal,” said Ferguson, ” even if we had not even a sword, even if we were reduced to our own hands, the Lord would give us victory, if it seemed good to his all-seeing eyes. ” “All battles are a matter of chance, Your Majesty,” remarked Saxon, whose arm was wrapped in a handkerchief. “A fortunate incident, a slight fault, a chance that no one can foresee may in all likelihood occur and tip the scales. I have lost when I looked like winning, and I have won when I was sure the point of losing. It’s an uncertain game, and no one can know how it will turn out until the last card is played. “No, not while the stakes are still on the table,” said Buyse in his deep, guttural voice. “Many a general wins what you call the game and yet loses the final. ” “The game is the battle, and the final is the campaign,” said the King, smiling. “Our German friend is a master of bivouac metaphors. But I think our poor horses are in a pitiful state. What would our cousin William say, down there at the Hague, if he saw such a parade?” During this conversation, the long column of infantry had marched to the end, still bearing the standards with which it had come to war, but much damaged by wind and weather. Monmouth’s remarks had been provoked by the sight of the ten squadrons of cavalry following the foot soldiers. The horses had been terribly fatigued by the continual work and the incessant rain. The cavalrymen, having allowed rust to reach their helmets and breastplates, looked as badly damaged as their mounts. It was obvious to the least experienced among us that, if we were to hold our ground, we must rely above all on our infantry. The reflection of the weapons, multiplying on the crests of the low hills all around us, and shining here and there when the rays of the sun struck them, showed us how strong the enemy was at the very point which was weakest on our side. But on the whole, this review of Wells cheered us up, for it showed us that the men retained their spirits, and that they did not hold a grudge against us for the harsh way in which we had treated the fanatics the day before. The enemy’s cavalry flitted around us during these days, but their infantry had been delayed by the bad weather and the overflowing of the rivers. On the last day of June, we left Wells and crossed even plains covered with reeds. Then we crossed the low hills of Polden, to arrive at Bridgewater, where some recruits were waiting for us. Monmouth thought for a moment of stopping there and even began to raise some earthworks, but it was pointed out to him that even if he could hold out in the town, there were only provisions there for a few days. The surrounding country had been cleared so completely that they could hardly expect to recover more. The works were therefore abandoned. Thus, truly reduced to baying, without the slightest crack to escape, we awaited the approach of the enemy. Chapter 3. Of the Loud Cry That Issues From an Isolated House. There ended our monotonous marches and countermarches. We were this time at the foot of the wall, having before us all the forces of the government. No news reached us of an uprising, of a movement in our favor in any part of England. Everywhere, Dissenters were being thrown into prison, and the Church had the upper hand. The militia of the counties, in the North, in the East, in the West, was marching against us. Six Dutch regiments, lent by the Prince of Orange, had arrived in London and it was said that there were others on the way. The capital had raised ten thousand men. Everywhere they were enlisting, they were marching to reinforce the elite of the English army, which was already in the county of Somerset. And all this with the aim of crushing five or six thousand half -armed, penniless, earth-dwellers and fishermen, ready to sacrifice their lives for a man and for an idea. But it was a noble idea, one of those that fully deserves to be sacrificed everything for it and to be told that it was a well-placed sacrifice. Indeed, these poor peasants would have had great difficulty in saying, in their poor and awkward language, all their reasons, but at the Deep in their hearts, there was the certainty, the feeling that they were fighting for the cause of England, that they were defending the true character of their country against those who wanted to destroy the systems of old, thanks to which it had marched at the head of nations. Three years later, this was seen clearly. Then it was recognized that our illiterate companions had perceived and appreciated the signs of the times with greater accuracy than those who called themselves their superiors. There are, in my opinion, phases of human progress, to which the Roman Church is admirably suited. When the intelligence of a nation is young, it is perhaps preferable that it should not occupy itself with spiritual affairs, that it should lean on the ancient support of custom and authority. But England had thrown off its swaddling clothes and had become a nursery of energetic men and thinkers, disposed to bow to no other authority than that recognized by their reason and conscience. It was a desperate, useless, and foolish attempt to bring people back to a belief that their development had outgrown. And yet it was such an attempt that was being made, with the support of a discriminating King, who had as his ally a powerful and opulent Church. Three years later, the Nation understood this and the King fled before the anger of his people, but at present, plunged into its torpor after the long civil wars and the corrupt reign of Charles, the mass of the nation was not able to realize what was at stake. It turned against those who warned it, as a hot-tempered man attacks the bearer of bad news. Is there not something to be astonished about, my dear children, when we see a thought, which was only a sort of vague phantom, take a living form and transform itself into the most tragic reality? At one end of the chain is a king who persists in a theme of doctrine. At the other, six thousand men desperate for anything, persecuted, hunted from one county to another, and who, finally, reduced to bay, stand on the desolate moors of Bridgewater, their hearts as full of bitterness and despair as if they were hunted beasts of prey. The theology of a king is a dangerous thing for his subjects. But if the idea, for which these poor people fought, was worthy, what shall we say of the man who had been chosen as champion of their cause? Alas, was it necessary that such men should have such a leader! Oscillating between the peaks of confidence and the abysses of despair, one day choosing his councilors of state, and the next day speaking of secretly abandoning the army, he seemed from the first day possessed by the very demon of inconstancy. And yet he had acquired a fine reputation before his enterprise. In Scotland he had won a magnificent renown, not only by his victory, but also by his moderation, the pity with which he had treated the vanquished. On the Continent he had commanded an English brigade in a manner that had won him the praise of old soldiers of Louis and the Empire. And yet, now that his head and his fortune were at stake, he was weak, irresolute, cowardly. In my father’s language, all virtue had departed from him. I declare, when I saw him riding among his troops, his head bowed on his breast, with the figure of a mourner at a funeral , throwing an atmosphere of gloomy despair all around him, I felt that such a man, even if he succeeded, would never wear the crown of the Tudors or the Plantagenets, but that it would be wrested from him by a stronger hand, perhaps that of one of his own generals. I will do Monmouth the justice of saying that from the day he was finally decided that battle would be given, and this for the excellent reason that it was impossible to do otherwise, he showed a character more worthy of a soldier and a man. During the first days of July, no means were neglected to give courage to our troops and strengthen them in view of the next battle. From morning to evening, we were at work, teaching our infantry to form themselves in compact masses to receive a cavalry charge, to lean on each other, to await the orders of their officers. In the evening, the streets of the small town, from the lawn of the castle to the bridge over the Parret, resounded with prayers and sermons. The officers had no more disorders to fight, because the troops themselves disliked them. A man, who had appeared in the streets heated by wine, was almost hanged by his comrades, who ended by driving him from the city as unworthy to fight in what they regarded as a holy quarrel. As for their courage, there was no need to excite it, for they were as intrepid as lions, and the only danger to be feared was a rashness capable of leading them to foolish enterprises. They wished to fall upon the enemy like a horde of Muslim fanatics, and it was not an easy thing to impose by exercise, on such hot-headed fellows, the coolness and prudence that war demands. On the third day of our halt at Bridgewater, the provisions diminished alarmingly as a result of the fact that we had already previously exhausted this region, thanks also to the vigilance of the royal cavalry, which was scouring the country and cutting off our supplies. Lord Grey therefore decided to send two squadrons, under cover of night, to do all they could to replenish our larder. The command of this little expedition was entrusted to Major Person, an old soldier of the Bodyguard, with a coarse and curt tongue, who had made himself useful by imposing a sort of order on those strong-willed farmers and yeomen. Sir Gervas Jerome and I asked Lord Grey to join the foraging party. This favor was readily granted, as there was little movement in the town. We left Bridport at eleven o’clock on a moonless night, with the intention of reconnoitering the country in the direction of Boroughbridge and Athelney. We were informed that there were no large enemy forces in that region, that it was a fertile country, and where we could count on sufficient quantities of provisions. We took with us four empty carts, to carry off whatever our good luck might bring us. Our commander decided that one squadron should march in front of the carts, and another behind, with a small advance party under Sir Gervas, who should precede it by a few hundred paces. We left the town in this order as the last bugle blasts sounded, and we followed at full speed along the dark and silent roads, making anxious faces appear at the windows of the cottages that lined the paths, watching us disappear into the darkness. This ride represents itself very distinctly to my mind when I think of it. The black outline of the pollarded willows passes quickly before us.
The breeze moans through the osiers. The vague and confused silhouettes of the soldiers, the dull thud of the irons on the ground, the clinking of the scabbards against the stirrups, so many memories of those past times that the eye and the ear can equally evoke.
The baronet and I walked in front, side by side. His light remarks in which he recounted the life one leads in the city, the fragments of songs or tirades borrowed from Cowley or Waller, were a veritable balm of Gilead for my gloomy and not very sociable mood. “One really feels alive on a night like this,” he said, as we breathed in the fresh country air with the scent of harvest and young rabbit. By my word! Clarke, but there is reason to be jealous of you, who were born and raised in the country. What pleasures can the city offer that are worth the bountiful gifts of nature, provided, however, that one finds within reach a wigmaker, a snuff-seller, a perfumer, and one or two passable tailors? Add to that a good cafe, a theater, and I think I could manage to lead a simple, pastoral life for a few months . ” “In the country,” I said, laughing, “we always have the feeling that a stay in the city has the effect of expressing, under the weight of science and philosophy, all that is truly life in man. “Ventre Saint Gris, what I acquired there of science and philosophy amounts to very little,” he replied. “To tell the truth, I have lived more and learned more in these few weeks we spent sliding in the rain, in the company of your ragged lads , than I ever learned in the time when I was a page at Court, when I had the ball of fortune under my feet. It is a sad thing for a man’s mind to have no more serious preoccupation than how to turn a compliment or dance a courante. Pardieu! my boy, I have great obligations to your carpenter. As he says in his letter, unless a man manages to put to use what is good in him, he is of less value than one of those fowls we hear cackling, for they, at least, fulfill their purpose, if only by laying eggs.” Devil, here I am, becoming a preacher. It’s a new religion for me. “But,” I said, “when you were in opulence, you must have made yourself useful to someone. Otherwise, how can one spend so much money and not be better off for it? ” “Ah! dear and bucolic Micah!” he cried with a joyful laugh, ” will you always speak of my poor fortune with bated breath, lowering your voice with respect as if it were the treasures of India? You cannot imagine with what ease a bag of crowns takes wings and flies away. It is true that the man who spends money does not eat it and only passes it on to another who benefits from it. But our fault consisted in passing on our money to people who did not deserve it and thus supporting a useless and debauched class to the detriment of honest professions. By my faith, my boy, when I think of the swarms of beggarly parasites, of debauchery-brokering, of nose-splitting braggarts, of toad-swallowing, of flatterers that we had formed, I feel that in incubating such a brood of these venomous beings, our money has done harm that no amount of money can undo. Did I not see such people thirty rows deep, when I was just getting up, creeping around my bed… “Around your bed!” I cried. “Yes, it was the fashion to receive in bed, in a cambric shirt trimmed with lace and a wig, though afterward it was admitted that one could receive sitting in one’s room, but in a slovenly suit, dressing-gown, and slippers. Fashion is a terrible tyrant, Clarke, though its arm never extends as far as Havant. The idle man of the city must submit his life to a certain rule. So he becomes the slave of the law that fashion makes. No one in London was more docile to it than I. I was very regular in my irregularities, very orderly in my disorders. At the stroke of eleven o’clock, my valet brought the cup of hippocras of the morning, an excellent thing for headaches, and a very light meal, a fillet of ortolan, a duck wing. Then came the rising. Twenty, thirty, forty individuals of the class I have spoken of, no doubt there could be found here and there honest people in poverty, needy men of letters in search of a guinea, a pedant without a pupil, his head full of ancient erudition, but his pockets poorly lined with modern money. This was due not only to the recognition of some personal influence in me, but also because it was known that I had easy access to My Lord Halifax, Sidney Godolphin, Lawrence Hyde, and others whose will was enough to make or unmake a man. Do you notice those lights on the left? Would it not be advisable to go and see if we could not find something there? “Person has orders to go to a certain farm,” I replied. We might visit this one on our return, if we had time. We’ll pass this way again before daybreak. “We must have provisions,” he said, “even if I have to ride into Surrey. I’ll be hanged if I dare look my musketeers in the face unless I bring them something to roast on the end of their wands. They hadn’t had anything tastier to eat than their bullets when I left them. But I was talking about my former life in London. Our day was very full. Did a man of quality have a taste for sport? There was always something to interest him. He could go and see the sword-shooting at Hockley, or the body-fighting at Shoo Lane, or the animal-fighting at Southwark, or go and shoot at the target at Tothill Fields. Or he might take a stroll in the herb gardens at St. James’s, or take advantage of the low tide to go by river to the cherry orchards at Rotherhithe, or drive to Islington to drink the cream, but first of all he must have his walk in the Park, which is the latest fashion for a gentleman of fashionable dress. You see, Clarke, we were very active people in our idleness, and there was no lack of occupations for us. Then, in the evening, there were the theatres to attract us, Dorset Gardens, Lincoln’s Inn, Drury Lane, the Queen’s Theatre, and between the four, there was sure to be one that afforded some amusement. “There at least,” I said, “your time was well spent; you could not listen to the great thoughts and sublime phrases of Shakespeare, of Massinger, without feeling some effect on your soul. ” Sir Gervas gave a silent laugh. “You refresh me as much as this delicious country air, Micah,” he said. “You should know this, dear child that you are. If we frequented the theater, it was not to see the plays. ” “Why, in Heaven’s name?” I asked. “To see each other,” he replied. “Fashion demanded, I assure you, that a fashionable man should remain standing with his back to the stage from the time the curtain rose until it fell. They were the orange sellers to be teased, and I tell you they have sharp tongues, those damsels. They were the masqueraders of the pit, whose little black eye-patches invited indiscretion. They were the beauties of the city, the celebrities of the Court, so many targets for our monocles. The play! Yes, truly, by Jove, we had better things to do than listen to alexandrines or appreciate the merit of hexameters!” It is true that if the Young One danced, if Mistress Bracegirdle or Mistress Oldfield appeared on the stage, we made our buzzes or our beaters heard, but what we applauded was the beauty of the woman rather than the actress. –And when the play was over, you would no doubt go to supper and then go to bed. “Supper? Yes, certainly. Sometimes we went to the Rhine House, other times to Pontack’s in Abchurch Lane. Everyone had their own preferences in that respect. Then there were dice and cards at the Groom Porter’s, piquet, chance, primero, take your pick. Then you could meet the whole world in the coffee-houses, where they often served a late supper of roasted and highly spiced bones and plums, to dissipate the fumes of the wine. Ah! my goodness! Micah, if the Jews would loosen their grip, or if this war brought us any luck, you should come to town with me and see all these things for yourself. ” “Frankly speaking, I don’t fancy it,” I replied. “I have a slow and solemn disposition, and in scenes of this sort I should look like a death’s head on the banquet table.” Sir Gervas was about to reply when suddenly the silence of the night was torn by a very long, piercing cry, which made the last fibers of our bodies shudder. Never have I heard a clamor tinged with such anguish. We stopped our horses. Our men did the same behind us, and we strained our ears to catch some clue that would tell us from which direction the noise was coming. Some were of the opinion that it came from our right and others that it was from our left. Soon it rang out again, violent, shrill, like a cry of agony. It was that of a woman expiring in pain. “It’s this way, Major Person,” cried Sir Gervas, rising in his stirrups and searching the darkness with his gaze. “There is a house beyond the two fields. I see a faint light, like that of a window with the shutters closed.” “Shall we not run there without delay?” I asked impatiently, for our commander remained impassive on his horse, as if he did not know at all what course to take. “I am here, Captain Clarke,” he said, “to bring supplies to the army, and I have no right to deviate from my route to attend to other incidents. ” “By death, my man!” cried Sir Gervas. “There is a woman in danger. Major, you will not continue your journey and leave her calling in vain for help? Listen, it is she again.” And while he was still speaking, the cry of distress came again from the lonely house. “No, I cannot bear it any longer,” I cried. My blood boiled in my veins. “Major Person, go and carry out your orders; my friend and I will leave you here. We will know how to justify our way of acting before the King; come, Sir Gervas.” “Mark it, this is mutiny, Captain Clarke. You are under my command, and if you leave me, it will be at your own peril . ” “Under such circumstances, I care as much for your orders as for a farthing,” I retorted briskly. Turning Covenant around, I spurred him into a narrow, deeply rutted path that led to the house, followed by Sir Gervas and two or three soldiers. At the same moment, I heard Person give a curt order, and the wheels creak, which proved to me that he no longer counted on us, and that he had set out again to accomplish his mission. “He is right,” said the baronet as we followed the path. “Saxon, or any other old soldier, would praise him for his spirit of discipline. ” “There are things that surpass discipline,” I said in a low voice. It was impossible for me to go any further, abandoning this poor creature in distress. But see, what is this? In front of us loomed a dark mass. As we approached, we recognized that they were four horses tied by the bridle to the hedge. “Cavalry horses, Captain Clarke,” cried one of the soldiers, who had dismounted to look at them closely. They wear the government saddle and harness. Here is a wooden gate. It opens onto a path that leads to the house. “Then we had better get down,” said Sir Gervas, jumping down and tying his horse up beside the others. “My lads, stay by the horses, and if we call, come to our aid. Sergeant Holloway, you can come with us. Take your pistols.” Chapter 4. The Fencer in the Brown Jacket. The sergeant, who was a tall, bony fellow from the western countryside, pushed open the gate, and we were following the winding path, when a stream of yellow light burst through a suddenly open door. We then saw a black, squat figure rushing through it and into it. At the same moment a deafening, confused noise was heard, followed by two pistol shots, and a din of shouts, gasps for breath, a clash of swords, and a storm of oaths. This sudden uproar made us hurry toward the house. We peered through the open door and saw a scene, such as I shall never forget, as long as my old memory is capable of recalling a picture of the past. The room was large and high. From the smoke-brown beams hung, as is the custom in Somerset County, long rows of hams and salt meats. A tall, black clock ticked in one corner. A rough table, laden with dishes and plates as for a meal, occupied the center. Just opposite the door burned a large fire of people, and before this fire, a horrible sight, a man was suspended, head downwards, by a rope which encircled his ankles, and which, after being passed through a hook in one of the beams of the ceiling, was held by a ring in the floor. This unfortunate man, in struggling, had imparted to the rope a rotational movement, so that he turned in front of the brazier like a quarter of meat being roasted. Across the threshold lay a woman, the one whose cries had attracted us, but her rigid face and contracted body showed that our help had come too late to save her from the treatment which she saw ready to fall upon her. Very close to her, lay one on top of the other two swarthy dragoons , dressed in the garish red uniform worn by the royal army, and even in death, they had retained a somber and menacing air. In the center of the room, two other dragoons were engaging in a thrusting and slashing battle with their sabers against a short, broad- shouldered, stout man, dressed in a coarse, brown, ribbed cloth. He was bounding among the chairs around the table, holding a long, full-shell rapier in his hand, parrying or dodging blows with marvelous skill, and from time to time landing a thrust in the right place. Although pressed very closely, his contracted face, his firm mouth, and the brilliance of his wide-open eyes revealed a bold character. At the same time, the blood flowing from the sleeve of one of his adversaries proved that the fight was not as unequal as it appeared. At the very moment we were watching, he sprang back to avoid a full-bore attack from the furious soldiers, and with a sharp, quick, oblique blow, he severed the rope by which the victim was suspended. The body fell with a heavy thud onto the brick floor, while the little fencer soon began his dance again in another part of the room, constantly parrying or dodging, with equal ease and skill, the hail of blows that fell upon him. This strange scene held us for a few seconds in a sort of magical immobility, but this was not the time to linger. A slip, a false step, and the valiant stranger would have succumbed fatally. We rushed into the room, sabers in hand, and fell upon the dragoons. Now outnumbered, they leaned into a corner and struck furiously. They knew they would receive no quarter after the diabolical task they had begun. Holloway, our cavalry sergeant, rushing furiously forward, exposed himself to a thrust from the spear which stretched him dead on the ground. Before the dragoon had time to bring back his weapon, Sir Gervas struck him down. At the same time the unknown man passed under the guard of his antagonist and mortally wounded him in the throat. Not one of the four redcoats escaped alive, but the bodies of our poor sergeant and the old husband and wife who had been the first victims added to the horror of the scene. “Poor Holloway is dead,” I said, laying my hand on his heart. Has anyone ever seen such butchery? I feel sick, disgusted. “Here is some brandy, if I am not mistaken,” shouted the stranger, climbing onto a chair and taking a bottle from a shelf. “And it is even good, judging by the bouquet. Take a sip; you are as white as a freshly washed sheet. ” “I can get used to fair warfare, but scenes like this make my blood run cold,” I replied, taking a swig from the bottle. ” I was then a very young soldier, my dear children, but I confess that until the end of my campaigns, all forms of cruelty had the same effect on me. ” I give you my word, when I went to London last autumn, the sight of a horse drawing a cart, succumbing under the strain, its bones exposed, and being whipped for not having done what it was incapable of doing, sickened me more deeply than the battlefield of Sedgemoor, or the still more important day at Landen, where ten thousand young men, the flower of France, lay before the entrenchments. “The wife is dead, Sir Gervas, and the husband will not believe it, I fear. He is not burned, but, as far as I can judge, the poor devil will die from the rush of blood to the head. ” “If that is all,” remarked the stranger, “he can be cured.” And taking a small knife from his pocket, he rolled up one of the old man’s sleeves and opened a vein. At first a few drops of blood appeared slowly through the opening, but little by little the blood flowed more freely, and the patient showed signs of returning sensibility. “He will live,” said the little fencer, putting his lancet back in his pocket, “and now who are you, you to whom I owe this intervention which hastened the outcome, without changing much perhaps, in the event that you had let us sort things out among ourselves? ” “We are part of Monmouth’s army,” I replied. “He is halting at Bridgewater and we are scouring the countryside for supplies. ” “And you, who are you?” asked Sir Gervas, “and how did you get mixed up in this skirmish? By my faith, you are a famous little cock to have given battle to four cocks of this size. ” “My name is Hector Marot,” said the man, cleaning his pistols and reloading them with great care. “As for what I am, it matters little.” I will only say that I have contributed to reducing Kirke’s cavalry by four rogues. Take a look at these figures. Death has not made them lose the brown color they owe to a burning sun. These men learned war by fighting against the pagans of Africa, and now they practice on poor, harmless Englishmen the diabolical tricks they learned among savages. May the Lord have mercy on Monmouth’s partisans in case of defeat. This rabble is more to be feared than the rope of the gallows or the executioner’s axe. –But how did you find yourself there just at the opportune moment? I asked. “Ah! There you are! I was riding my mare along the road when I heard horses’ hoofs behind me. I hid in a field, as any prudent man would have done, given the state the country is in at the moment, and I saw these four scoundrels gallop past. They headed towards this farm, and soon shouts and other indications revealed to me the infernal work they were engaged in. At once I left my mare in the field and hastened to run over. I saw through the window that they were hanging the old man in front of his fire to make him confess where he had his hidden money, and yet, in my opinion, neither he nor the other farmers in the country should still have any money to hide, after two armies have been encamped at their place one after the other. Seeing that he persisted in remaining silent, they hoisted him into the air, and they would certainly have roasted him like a woodcock, if I hadn’t arrived and brought down two of them with my barkers. The others threw themselves on me, but I stung one of them in the forearm, and no doubt I would have settled the score with them both if you hadn’t arrived. “That was done gallantly,” I cried. “But where have I ever heard your name mentioned, M. Hector Marot? ” “Ah!” he replied, casting a sharp sideways glance, “that’s what I can’t say. ” “It’s familiar to me,” I said. He shook his broad shoulders and went back to examining the caps of his pistols, with an expression that was both defiant and embarrassed. He was a very stocky man, with a prominent chest, a fierce face, and a square jaw. A white scar that looked like the trace of a cut made with a knife crossed his forehead. He wore a riding cap, laced with gold, and a dark brown cloth jacket, much soiled by the weather, a pair of rust-stained knee-high boots, and a small round wig. Sir Gervas, who had been watching our man attentively for a moment , suddenly started and slapped himself on the thigh. “It’s only natural!” he cried. “Drown me, if I could remember where I had seen your face, but now it comes back to me very clearly. ” The man cast us a sly glance in turn, while lowering his head. “It seems I fell among some acquaintances,” he said fiercely , “and yet I have no memory of you.” I think, young gentlemen, that your memory deceives you. “Not in the least,” replied the baronet calmly. Then, leaning forward, he whispered a few words in the man’s ear , which had the effect of making him spring up and take two long steps forward, as if to slip out of the house. “No, no,” cried Sir Gervas, springing between him and the door, ” you shall not escape us. Come, my boy, do not lay your hand on your sword. Enough bloodshed for one night. Besides, we do not wish to harm you. ” “What do you intend to do then? What are you aiming at?” he asked, with the air of a wild beast caught in a trap. “I am full of kindness towards you, my friend, after what has happened this night. What does it matter to me whether you do this or that for a living, as long as you have a true man’s heart?” May I perish if I ever happen to forget a face I have seen once, and your good looks, especially with the professional mark they bear, are hardly ones that escape notice. “Suppose it is indeed me… And then?” asked the man in a forbidding tone . “There are no suppositions, I would affirm it under oath. But I would not do it, my boy. No, not even if I caught you on the fact. You must know, Clarke, since there is no one to overhear our words, I was once a justice of the peace in Surrey, and our friend here was brought before me, on the charge of riding a little late at night and speaking a little too briefly to passers-by. You understand me. He was brought before the assizes, but first he escaped, and that saved his neck. I am quite delighted, and you will agree with me that such a gallant man is not fit to dance on a rope at Tyburn. “And now I remember well where I heard your name,” I said. ” Were you not confined in the Duke of Beaufort’s prison at Badminton and did not manage to escape from the old Botelers’ Tower?” “Well, no, gentlemen,” he replied, sitting down on the table and swinging his legs without ceremony, “since you know so much, it would be foolish of me to try to deceive you. I am, in fact, that same Hector Marot, whose name spreads terror on the great road to the West and who has seen more than any man in the South inside the prisons. However, I can tell you frankly, although I have been traveling the highways for ten years, I have never taken a penny from poor people, nor harmed anyone who did not seek to harm me. On the contrary, I have often risked my life and limb to save people from danger. ” “We are able to bear you witness to that,” I replied, ” for if these four redcoats have atoned for their crimes, as they deserved, it is thanks to you rather than to us. ” “No, I have no great merit to claim for that,” replied our new acquaintance. The truth is, I had other scores to settle with Colonel Kirke’s cavalry, and I was delighted to have this opportunity to rub shoulders with them. While we were talking, the men we had left with the horses came along, accompanied by several farmers and tenant farmers from the surrounding area. They were terrified at the sight of the carnage, and very worried about the revenge the royal troops might take the next day. “In the name of Christ, sir,” cried one of them, an old peasant with a ruddy face, “let us carry the bodies of these soldiers along the road, so that they will appear to have perished in a chance encounter with your men. If it were to become known that they were killed on a farm, there would not be a thatched roof left in the whole country, for even now it is unbelievable how hard we are trying to keep those devils of Tangier from cutting our throats.” “His request is reasonable,” said the highwayman in a tone of gruff candor. “We have no right to play our tricks and make others pay the price. ” “Well, listen,” said Sir Gervas, addressing the group of frightened peasants, “I will make a deal with you about the matter. We came to get provisions, and it will hardly be accepted that we return empty-handed. If you, all of you, will agree to provide us with a wagon, fill it with bread, and vegetables, with a dozen young oxen to boot, not only will we relieve you of the worry of this matter, but I promise you that you will be paid the ordinary market price, if you come to the Protestant camp for your money. ” “I can give the oxen,” said the old man whom we had rescued, who was well enough to remain seated. Now that my poor companion has been cruelly murdered, I care little what becomes of the cattle. I will have her buried in the Durston churchyard. Then I will follow you to the camp and die content if I can only purge the earth of one of these incarnate devils. “Well said, Grandpa!” cried Hector Marot. “I am of the opinion that that old duck-trap I see hanging over there, when it has a A good load of lead, and in the hands of a bold man, will be able to bring down one of those beautiful birds, with their brilliant plumage. “She has been a faithful companion to me,” said the old man, whose wrinkled cheeks were wet with tears. “For thirty sowings and thirty harvests, we have worked together. But here is a sowing that will produce a harvest of blood if my right hand is firm enough. ” “If you go to war, Grandfather Swain, we will take care of your estate,” said the farmer who had spoken first. “As for the vegetables this gentleman asks for, he will not have a cartload, but three, provided he gives us half an hour to load them. If he does not take them, others will, and we prefer that all this goes to a good cause.” This way, Miles, wake the farmhands and see that they hurry to load the supply of potatoes onto the carts, then the spinach, and also the dried meat. “Then we have only to do our part of the contract,” said Hector Marot. With the help of our men, we dragged the corpses of the four dragoons and our sergeant from outside and spread them across the road some distance away. We walked the horses around the bodies and between them so as to knead the ground, and to make it look like a cavalry skirmish. During this task, other farmhands had washed the brick floor of the kitchen and removed all traces of the tragic event. The murdered woman had been taken up to her room, so that there was nothing left to recall what had happened, except the unfortunate farmer. He sat in the same place, looking forlorn, his chin resting on his gnarled hands, deformed by work, his eyes dull and empty, staring ahead, seeing nothing of what was happening around him. The loading of the wagons was quickly carried out, and the small herd of oxen was soon brought in from a neighboring field. We were about to set off again when a young peasant on horseback arrived, informing us that a squadron of the royal cavalry was between the camp and us. This was serious news, for there were seven of us in all, and we could only march slowly while we were encumbered with provisions. “What shall we do for Person?” I suggested. “Wouldn’t we do well to join him and warn him? ” “I’ll leave at once,” said the peasant. “I’m sure to meet him if he’s on the road to Athelney.” And with that, he spurred his horse and galloped off into the night. “Since we have such willing scouts in the country,” I remarked, “it is easy to know which side the countrymen lean towards. Person still has more than two half-squadrons with him. He will therefore be able to defend himself. But us? How shall we manage to get back? ” “Well, by Jove, Clarke, let us improvise a fortress,” suggested Sir Gervas. “We could hold out in this farmhouse until Person returns and then join our forces with his. And now, would not our formidable colonel be proud of this chance to combine crossfire , flanking fire, and all the other subtleties that a well-conducted siege entails? ” “Certainly,” I replied, “after having left Major Person in such a cavalier manner, it would be humiliating to have to ask him for help now that there is danger. ” “Ho! Ho!” cried the baronet, “you don’t have to plumb very deep to find the bottom of your Stoic philosophy, dear Micah! With all your coolness, all your impassivity, you are rather touchy when it comes to self-esteem or honor. Shall we go forward, shall we run the risk? I bet one crown against another that we shall not see even the shadow of a red coat. ” “If you agree with me, gentlemen,” said the robber of the great paths, arriving at a trot on a beautiful bay mare, I believe that the best course for you would be to take me as your guide to your camp. It would be very strange if I did not find a route that could make these clumsy soldiers lose the trail. “That is a most wise and reasonable proposal,” cried the baronet. “Master Marot, a prize of my snuffbox… It is always a token of friendship offered by its owner. By my faith, friend, although our relations have so far been limited to having almost hanged you on a certain occasion, I have nevertheless a great deal of sympathy for you, while wishing that you practice a more presentable profession! “It is like this with more than one who goes on night rides,” replied Marot, laughing inwardly, “but we had better be off, for the east is already getting brighter and it will be daylight before we reach Bridgewater.” Leaving the unfortunate farm behind us, we set out with all military precautions, Marot walking with me some distance ahead, two of the soldiers forming the rear guard. It was still very dark, although a thin gray line on the horizon announced the approach of dawn. But, despite the darkness, our new friend guided us without stopping, without a moment’s hesitation through a maze of alleys and paths, crossing fields and quagmires where sometimes the carts sank up to their axles, others where they creaked and jolted over rock or stones. We made so many detours, we changed direction so often in our march, that I feared more than once that our guide had made a mistake, when finally the first rays of the sun illuminating the landscape showed us the steeple of the parish church of Bridgewater. “By Jove, friend, you must have something of the cat’s nature, to find your way thus in the darkness,” cried Sir Gervas, running towards us. “I am very glad to see the city again, for my poor carts do nothing but groan and creak, until I am tired of listening for a broken pole. Master Marot, we are very much obliged to you. ” “Is this your particular district?” I asked, “or do you know all the southern regions with equal precision? ” “My territory,” he said, lighting his short black pipe, “runs from Kent to Cornwall, but never north of the Thames or the Bristol Channel. In that district there is not a road that is not familiar to me, not a gap in a hedge that I cannot find in the middle of the darkest night. It is my trade. But business is not what it used to be. If I had a son, I would not raise him to take over from me.” Our profession has been spoiled by the armed guards they put on the coaches and by those cursed goldsmiths who have opened their banks. They keep the cash in their safes and give you in exchange scraps of paper that are no more worthless in our hands than an old newspaper. I give you my word, eight days ago last Friday, I stopped a cattle dealer returning from Blandford Fair and took seven hundred guineas from him in those paper checks, as they call them.
If it had been gold, I would have had enough to feast for three months. Really the country is in a pretty bad way, when they allow such rags to take the place of the King’s money! “Why do you persist in such a profession?” I asked. “You know well enough yourself that it can only lead you to your ruin, to the gallows. Have you ever known a man whom it has brought to prosperity?” –Ah! for that, yes, I knew one. It was Jones of Kingston. He was in Hounslow for many years. He took ten thousand yellows with a single raid, and as a wise man, he swore never to risk his neck again. He went to the County of Chester, spreading some story, pretending to have arrived from the Indies. He bought an estate, and now he is a very comfortable country gentleman, and a justice of the peace to boot! By Jove, my man! To see him on his bench condemning a poor devil who has stolen a dozen eggs is as good a comedy as the theater. “Very well, but you are a man,” I insisted, “a man who, from what we have seen of your courage and your skill in handling your weapons, would receive rapid advancement in any army. It would certainly be much better to employ your qualities in winning honor and credit than to make them a stepping stone to infamy and the gallows.” “As for the gallows, I care as much about it as a clipped shilling,” retorted the brigand, sending great puffs of blue smoke into the morning air. “We must all pay our debt to nature, and whether I do it with my boots on or in a feather bed, in a year or ten, is of no more consequence than it is for the first soldier who comes among you. For my part, I see nothing shameful in levying a tribute on the wealth of the rich, since to do it I risk my very life. ” “There is the just and there is the unjust,” I replied, “and it is not with words that one gets rid of them. It is a game that hardly pays to cheat with the just and the unjust.” “Besides, even if you had spoken the truth about property,” remarked Sir Gervas, “that would not justify the little regard that is shown, in your profession, for human life. ” “Pardon me, it is nothing other than a hunt, with this difference that sometimes the quarry turns against you and becomes the hunter. It is, as you say, a dangerous game, but the game is played by two people, and both players have the same chance. No way to use loaded dice, to rig the pieces! For instance, a few days ago, as I was riding along the highway, I saw three large, happy farmers galloping across the fields, preceded by a pack of dogs on leads, barking enthusiastically , all in pursuit of a harmless leveret. It was in a barren and sparsely populated country, on the edge of Exmoor.” I therefore told myself that I could not have employed my time better than hunting hunters. By God! What a hunt it was! My men set off shouting like madmen, their coattails flapping in the wind, howling at the dogs and giving themselves a morning sport like few others. They did not notice for a single instant that a horseman was following them without making any fuss, and without saying: “Tayaut!” or “Stop!” and was taking as much pleasure in the hunt as the loudest among them. All that was missing was an escort of rural guards at my heels to complete this fine string that we were forming, like a game of catch-who-can, played by kids on the village lawn. “And what became of it?” I asked, for our new friend was laughing to himself. “Well, my three fellows forced their hare and shot their flasks, like people who have worked hard.” They were still trampling the forced leveret. They were laughing. One of them had dismounted to cut off its ears as a hunting trophy, when I arrived at a canter. “Good morning, gentlemen,” I said, “did we have a good time?” They looked at me in dismay, I can tell you, and one of them asked me what the devil was wrong with me and how I took the liberty of interfering in a private entertainment. “No,” I said, “it wasn’t your hare I was hunting. ” “What then, Mr. Stranger?” “Well, by the Virgin, it was you,” I replied, “and that’s a lot of years since I have conducted such a fine hunt. With these words, I loaded my instruments of persuasion, and I explained myself in a few words very clearly, and I answer you that you would have laughed to see their faces while they took from their pockets their well-bellied leather purses. My booty that morning amounted to seventy pounds, which was worth more than hare’s ears as the price of a ride. “Did they not send the whole country after you?” I asked. “Oh! but when Alice the Brown has the bridle on her neck, she goes faster than the news. Rumours take little time to spread, but the strides of the good mare are faster still. ” “And here we are within our outposts,” said Sir Gervas. Now, our honest friend, for you have been honest with us, whatever others may say of you, would you not consent to join us, and engage in the service of the good cause? By my faith, friend, you have many misdeeds to atone for, I wager it. Why should you not put a good deed in the balance, by risking your life for the reformed religion? “I! No!” replied the bandit, stopping his horse. “My skin is nothing , but why should I risk my mare in such a mad escapade? If she caught a few bad blows in the affair, where would I find her equal? ​​And besides, it matters not to her whether it is a Papist or a Protestant who occupies the throne of England… does it, my dear? ” “But you would have a chance of advancement,” I said. Our Colonel Decimus Saxon greatly esteems a good swordsman, and his word carries much weight with King Monmouth and the Council. “No, no,” cried Hector Marot fiercely, “let everyone stick to their trade. When it comes to brushing off Kirke’s cavalry, I am always ready, for it was one of his squadrons that lost blind old Jim Houston, of Milverton, who was a friend of mine. I have settled that score forever with seven of those scoundrels, and if I had time, I would overcome the whole regiment. But I do not want to fight King James, nor do I want to risk the mare either. So let us not speak of that anymore. And now I must leave you, for I have many things to do. Farewell. ” “Farewell! Farewell!” we cried, shaking his brown, calloused hands, and our thanks for having served us as a guide! He lifted his hat, flicked his bridle, and galloped down the road in a moving cloud of dust. “The devil take me if I ever speak ill of thieves,” said Sir Gervas. “I never saw a sword so dexterously wielded in my life, and it takes a shot like no other to take down two big fellows with two bullets? But look this way, Clarke, don’t you see any red-coated troops? ” “Certainly I can see them,” I replied, looking over the wide, reedy, gray-hued plain that stretched between the windings of the Parret and the distant heights of Polden. “I can see them over there in the direction of Weston-zoyland. They are as conspicuous as poppies in the wheat. ” “There are still more of them on the left, around Chedzoy,” said Sir Gervas. One, two, three, and one over there, and two more behind, six regiments of foot in all. Then I think I see on this side the cuirasses of the cavalry, and also certain signs of artillery. By my faith, it is now that Monmouth must fight, if he wishes to feel the golden circlet on his temples. The whole army of King James has closed in on him. “Then we must resume our command,” I replied. “If I am not mistaken, I see our standards flying in the market-place.” We spurred our weary mounts and advanced with our little troop and the provisions we had collected. We finally returned to our quarters where we were greeted by the joyful cheers of our starving comrades. Before noon, the band of young oxen had been roasted and grilled. Our vegetables and the rest of our provisions contributed to providing the dinner which, for a good number of our men, was to be the last meal. Major Person returned soon after with a certain quantity of provisions, but in a rather unfortunate condition, for he had had a skirmish with the dragoons and had lost eight or ten of his men. He went straight to the Council to present his complaints about the way in which we had abandoned him, but important events were multiplying around us, and there was hardly time to go through the minor matters of discipline. As for me, when I look back on this fact, I agree that as a soldier he was perfectly right and that from a military point of view our conduct admitted of no excuse. And yet, even now, my dear children, bent over with the weight of years, I am convinced that a woman’s cry in distress would be a signal for me to run to her aid, as long as these aged limbs can bear me. For our duty to the weak surpasses all other duties. It is above all circumstances, and for my part I do not see why the soldier’s dress should have the effect of hardening the heart of man. Chapter 5. The Moor Girl and the Bubble of Water That Rose to the Surface of the Bog . All Bridgewater was in upheaval when we rode into it . The King’s troops were less than four miles away, on Sedgemoor Plain . It was very likely that they would advance again and assault the town. Some rude works had been erected on the Eastover side. Behind them were deployed two brigades in arms, while the rest of the army was kept in reserve on the market-place and the castle lawn. But in the afternoon, patrols of our cavalry and peasants from the moorland region came to warn us that we were in no danger of an assault. The royal troops had settled comfortably in the small villages of the country, and when they had requisitioned cider and ale from the farmers, they showed no intention of marching forward. The town was full of women, the wives, mothers, and sisters of our peasants. They had come from far and near to see once more those they loved. Fleet Street or Cheapside are no more crowded on a business day than were the narrow streets and alleys of this town in the county of Somerset. Soldiers in high boots and buffalo jerkins, militiamen in scarlet coats, Tauntoners with dark and grave faces, piqueurs dressed in serge, miners in rags with wild features, peasants in greatcoats, reckless seafarers with weather-beaten faces , gangly mountaineers from the north coast, all these people pushed and jostled in a compact, motley crowd. Everywhere in this crowd were seen peasant women, wearing straw hats , with sonorous speech, lavishing tears, embraces, and exhortations. Here and there, among the variegated costumes and the glints of arms, the dark and austere silhouette of some Puritan minister in a wide black coat and peaked hat circulated, distributing all around him short and ardent improvisations, fierce, substantial texts from the warlike repertoire of the Bible which heated the blood of the men as strong liquor would have done. From time to time, a wild clamor rose from the crowd. It was like the long howl of a mastiff, full of ardor, pulling at its leaves and only asks to jump at the enemy’s throat. Our regiment had been excused from duty, now that it was clear that Feversham did not want to march forward, and was busy dispatching the provisions brought back by our night expedition. It was a Sunday, a beautiful, warm day, with a clear, cloudless sky, and a gentle breeze blowing, laden with the scent of the countryside.
All day long, the bells of the surrounding villages rang the alarm, spreading their musical chime across the sunlit countryside. The upper windows and red-tiled roofs of the houses were crowded with pale-faced women and children, who were searching their eyes in an easterly direction, where red splashes on the brown tint of the moor indicated the position of our enemies. At four o’clock, Monmouth held a final council of war on the square tower, which serves as a base for the steeple of the parish church of Bridgewater, and from which the whole surrounding country was very clearly visible. Since my journey to Beaufort, I had always had the honor of being ordered to attend, notwithstanding the humble rank I held in the army. There were about thirty councilors there in all, as many as could be held in that place, soldiers and courtiers, Cavaliers and Puritans, all now united by the bond of a common danger. Indeed, the approach of a denouement in their fortunes had largely removed the differences of manner which had contributed to separate them. The sectarian had lost some of his austerity, and he appeared heated, full of ardor at the prospect of a battle, at the same time as the man of fashion, so giddy, was forced into an unaccustomed gravity by considering the danger of his position. Their old quarrels were forgotten when they grouped near the parapet and gazed sullenly at the thick columns of smoke rising on the horizon. King Monmouth stood in the midst of his leaders, pale and haggard, his hair in disorder, with the air of a man whose disarray of mind has made him forget the care of his person. He held a double ivory telescope, and when he raised it to his eyes, a trembling, nervous jerks, agitated his thin white hands, so that it was painful to see. Lord Grey held his telescope to Saxon, who was leaning on the rough border of masonry and who gazed for a long time gravely at the enemy. “These are the same men I commanded,” said Monmouth at last, in a low voice, as if thinking aloud. “Over there, to the right, I see the Dumbarton Regiment of Foot. I know those men well; they will fight. If we had them on our side, all would be well. ” “No, Your Majesty,” Lord Grey replied briskly, “you do not do justice to your brave followers. They, too, will shed their last drop of blood for your cause. ” “Look at them down there,” said Monmouth sadly, pointing to the bustling streets below us. “Never did braver hearts beat in English breasts, but mark those vociferations, that clamor of peasants on a Saturday night. Compare with it the rigid and regular array of the drilled battalions. Alas! why did I tear these honest creatures from their humble homes to wage such a desperate struggle?” “Listen to this,” cried Wade, “they don’t find the situation hopeless; and neither do we.” While he was still speaking, a furious clamor arose from the dense crowd listening to a preacher who was haranguing them through a window. “It is the worthy Doctor Ferguson,” said Sir Stephen Timewell, who had just come up. “He is like an inspired man whom a powerful breath carries up there in his words. Truly one would say one of the ancient prophets. He took for his text: The Lord God of Gods knows, and Israel will know. If he is in rebellion, or if he is in sin against the Lord, save us this day. “Amen! Amen!” several of the Puritan soldiers cried piously, while another hoarse cheer, accompanied by the clanging of scythes and clashing of weapons, showed how deeply these people were stirred by the ardent words of the fanatic. “They really seem to be thirsting for battle,” said Monmouth, with a more relaxed air. “It is quite possible that, when one has commanded regular troops , as I have, one feels inclined to attach an exaggerated importance to the difference resulting from discipline and training . The brave lads seem to have high hearts. What do you think of the enemy’s dispositions, Colonel Saxon? ” “By my faith, Your Majesty, I think very little of them,” replied Saxon roughly. I have seen armies arrayed in line of battle in many countries of the world and under many generals. I have also read the section on this subject in Petrinus Bellus’s De re militari, as well as in the works of a renowned Fleming, but I have seen or heard nothing to recommend the dispositions before us .
“What do you call the hamlet on the left, the one with the square steeple covered with ivy?” asked Monmouth of the Mayor of Bridwater, a small man with an anxious face, who seemed evidently much embarrassed by the relief into which his office had placed him. “Weston zoyland, Your Honor… Your Grace, no, it is Your Majesty, I meant. The other, two miles farther on, is Middlezoy, and finally to the left is Chedzoy, just on the other side of the Rhine.” “The Rhine, sir, what do you mean?” asked the King, suddenly starting and addressing the timid burgher in such a violent tone that the latter lost what little composure he had left. “But… the Rhine… Your Grace… Your Majesty…” he said, stammering, “the Rhine. Your Majesty’s Grace cannot be ignorant of it; it is what the locals call the Rhine. ” “It is a common term, Sire, used to designate the wide and deep trenches intended for the drainage of the great pools of Sedgemoor,” said Sir Stephen Timewell. Monmouth’s pallor extended to his lips. Several of the councilors exchanged meaningful glances. They remembered the strange and prophetic play on words that had come from the goldmaker’s workshop in the laboratory to the camp through me. But the silence was broken by Major Hollis, a veteran who had served under Cromwell. He had just marked on a piece of paper the position of the villages where the enemy was stationed. “If it please Your Majesty, there is something in their disposition that reminds me of that of the Scottish army at the Battle of Dunbar. Cromwell occupied Dunbar, just as we occupy Bridgewater. The surrounding ground, equally marshy and treacherous, was occupied by the enemy. There was not a man in the whole army who did not admit that if old Leslie defended his position to the last, there was no other course left for us to take but to re-embark, abandoning our supplies and artillery, and to do our best to reach Newcastle. But thanks to benevolent Providence, he maneuvered in such a way that he found a quagmire between his left wing and the rest of his army. So Cromwell fell upon this wing at dawn and cut it to pieces, with such success, that the whole enemy army took to flight, and we pursued them, sabering them, to the very gates of Leith. Seven thousand Scots lost their lives, but only a hundred men at most perished on the side of the honest people. Now, Your Majesty can see, thanks to his glasses, that there is a mile of marshy ground between these villages, and that the nearest one, which is Chedzoy—that’s his name, I believe—could be approached without our having to cross the marsh. I am very sure that if the Lord General were with us, he would urge us to risk an attack of this kind. “It is very bold to have old soldiers attacked by untrained peasants ,” said Sir Stephen Timewell. “But, if it must be done, I do not believe that any of the men who have lived by the sound of the bells of St. Mary Magdalene would shrink from the task. ” “That is well said, Sir Stephen,” said Monmouth. “At Dunbar, Cromwell had veterans behind him, and in front of him men who had but little experience of war. ” “However, there is a great deal of common sense in what Major Hollis said,” remarked Lord Grey. “We must attack or be cornered little by little, and then starved out.” That being so, why should we not immediately take advantage of the opportunity offered us by Feversham’s ignorance or carelessness? Tomorrow, if Churchill succeeds in making himself heard by his chief, I have little doubt that we will find their camp otherwise disposed and that we will thus have reason to regret our missed opportunity. “Their cavalry is posted at Weston-zoyland,” said Wade. “Now the sun is so hot that its glare and the mist rising from the marshes almost prevent us from seeing. But only a moment ago, with the aid of my glasses, I was able to distinguish two long lines of horse on picket duty on the moor beyond the village. To the rear, at Middlezoy, there are two thousand militia men and at Chedzoy, where our attack would be made, five regiments of regular infantry . ” “If we could break the latter, all would be well,” cried Monmouth. “What is your opinion, Colonel Buyse?” “My opinion is still the same,” replied the German. “We are here to fight, and the sooner we get down to business, the better . ” “And yours, Colonel Saxon? Are you of the same opinion as your friend? ” “I believe, like Major Hollis, Sire, that Feversham, by its dispositions, has exposed itself to attack, and that we must take advantage of it without delay. However, considering that trained soldiers and numerous cavalry have a great superiority in daylight, I would be inclined to advise a camisade or night attack. ” “The same thought has occurred to me,” said Grey. “Our friends here know every inch of the ground, and they would guide us to Chedzoy in the dark as well as in daylight. ” “I have heard,” added Saxon, “that quantities of beer and cider, as well as wine and strong liquors, have arrived at their camp .” If so, we can give them a wake-up call while their heads are still clouded by drink, and they will hardly know whether it is we who are falling upon them or whether it is the blue devils. A unanimous chorus of approval from the entire Council proved that they eagerly welcomed the prospect of finally coming to blows, after the marches and the irritating delays of the last weeks that had passed. “Is there any cavalier who has objections to this plan?” asked the King. We all exchanged a glance, but although many faces expressed doubt or discouragement, no voice was raised against the night attack. Indeed, it was obvious that in any case we must risk our action and that this one had at least the merit of offering more chances of success than the other. And yet, my dear children, I can say, the boldest among us felt our hearts sink at the sight of our leader, his dejected, melancholy air, and we wondered if this was really the man made to bring such a hazardous enterprise to a happy conclusion . –If we agree, let us take Soho as our password and attack them as soon as possible after midnight. What remains to be decided for the order of battle can be settled by then . Now, gentlemen, you will rejoin your regiments, and you will remember that, whatever happens in this, whether Monmouth places the crown of England on his head, or whether he becomes a fugitive everywhere hunted, as long as his heart beats, he will always keep the memory of the brave friends who remained faithful to him in this hour of sorrow. This simple and cordial address spread the flame of devotion to all fronts. At least, it was so for me, at the same time that I felt a deep pity for this poor weak gentleman. We huddled around him, our hands on the hilts of our swords, swearing to him that we would remain faithful to him, even if the whole universe stood between him and his rights. Even the rigid and impassive Puritans were moved, and showed no sign of loyalty, while the courtiers, transported with zeal, drew their rapiers and called out to the crowd, which was overcome by this enthusiasm and filled the air with its acclamations. Monmouth’s eyes regained their brightness, his cheeks their color, as he listened to its cries. For a moment he seemed what he aspired to be, a King. “I thank you, dear friends and subjects,” he cried. “The issue is in the hands of the Almighty, but what man can do, I am convinced, you will do this night. If Monmouth cannot possess England, he shall have at least six feet of its soil. Meanwhile, return to your regiments and God defend the just cause. ” “God defend the just cause!” repeated the council, in a solemn voice. Then he separated and left the King to make the final arrangements for the attack with Grey. “The mirliflors of the Court are ready enough to brandish their rapiers and shout when there are four great miles between them and the enemy,” said Saxon, as we made our way through the crowd. ” I fear they will be less ready to come forward when they are face to face with a line of musketeers, and perhaps with a brigade of cavalry charging them in the flank. But here is friend Lockarby, bringing news, judging by his countenance . ” “I have a report to make, Colonel,” said Reuben, running up to us, quite out of breath. “You remember, no doubt, that I and my company were on guard today at the East Gate?” Saxon nodded. –As I wished to know as much as possible about the enemy, I climbed a large tree which is located just outside the town. From this place, with the aid of a spyglass, I was able to distinguish their lines and their camp. During this examination, chance made me see a man who was walking furtively under the shelter of the birches, and who was halfway between their lines and the town. I followed him with my eyes and I noticed that he was heading towards us. Soon he was so close that I was able to recognize who he was, I know this man well, but instead of entering the town, he made a detour by taking advantage of the turf ditches and no doubt found a way to enter by another point. But I have reason to believe that this man is not sincerely attached to the cause. I am convinced that he went to the Royal Camp to give notice of what we are doing and that he came back to seek new information. –Ha! Ha! said Saxon, raising his eyebrows. ” And what is this man’s name ? ” “His name is Derrick. He was formerly Master Timewell’s first apprentice at Taunton. Now he has a rank in the Taunton infantry. ” “What, is this young scamp who looked up to Mistress Ruth? And now love has made him a traitor?” And I took him for one of the Chosen! I heard him lecturing the pikemen.
How is it that a fellow of his kind should contribute to the cause of the Episcopate? “Always love,” I said. “Said love is a pretty flower when it grows unhindered, but if it meets with obstacles, it is a very weed. ” “There are many people in the camp whom he wishes to harm,” said Reuben, ” and he would lose the army to take revenge on them, just as a scoundrel would sink a ship just to drown an enemy. Sir Stephen incurred his hatred by refusing to compel his daughter to accept his homage. Now he has returned to the camp and I have come to report to you on the matter so that you may decide whether to send a squad of pikemen to take him by the heels to prevent him from spying again.” “That might be better,” said Saxon, after careful consideration, ” but no doubt our man has a story ready-made, and one that would have more merit than our mere suspicions. Could we not catch him in the act? ” An idea came to me. I had noticed from the top of the church tower a completely isolated cottage about a third of the way to the enemy’s camp. It stood by the roadside in a spot between two marshes.
When crossing the country, one was obliged to pass by it. If Derrick attempted to carry our plans to Feversham, we could cut off his route there, by means of a post set up to await him. ” “Excellent, perfect!” cried Saxon when I had made this plan known to him . “Not even my learned Fleming would have invented such a ruse of war.” Take as many platoons as you think necessary on this point, and I will see that Master Derrick is properly primed with news for My Lord Feversham. “No,” said Reuben, “a troop going out would set all tongues wagging. Why should not Micah and I go? ” “Indeed, it would be better,” replied Saxon, “but we must take your word that, whatever happens, you will be back before sunset, for your men must be under arms an hour before the order to march.” We hastened to make the required promise. Then, having satisfied ourselves that Derrick had indeed returned to camp, Saxon arranged to let slip a few words in his presence relative to our plans for the night, while we hurried to our post. As for our horses, we left them behind us. Then we crept through the east gate, hiding as best we could, until we were on the deserted road and stood before the house. It was a plain, whitewashed, thatched cottage. Above the door was a small notice informing us that the farmer’s wife sold milk and butter. The roof let no smoke escape, and the window shutters were closed; from which we concluded that the inhabitants had fled far from this perilous location. On both sides stretched the marsh, covered with rushes and shallow at its edges, but deeper at some distance, with a green scum that hid its treacherous surface. We knocked at the door, which time had soiled, but receiving no answer, as we expected, I braced myself against it and soon had knocked the nails out of the latch. There was only one room. In one corner, a straight ladder led, through a square opening in the ceiling, to the bedroom under the roof. Three or four chairs and stepladders were scattered on the beaten earth floor , and on one side a table, made of rough planks, supported large brown earthenware milk cups. Green patches on the walls and the sagging of one side of the house bore witness to the effects produced by its position in a damp place, near the marshes. We were surprised to find still an inhabitant inside. In the middle of the room, opposite the door by which we had entered, stood a charming little girl with golden curls, aged five or six. Her costume was a small, clean white blouse, tightened at the waist by a pretty leather belt, with a shiny buckle. Two chubby little legs could be seen, under the blouse, with leather socks and shoes, and she stood proudly, one foot forward, like a person determined to defend her post. Her cute head was thrown back, and her large blue eyes expressed the liveliest astonishment mingled with bravado. As we entered, the little witch waved her handkerchief in our direction and said: “Pfoutt!”, as if we were both one of those troublesome fowls that she was in the habit of chasing from the house. Ruben and I stopped on the threshold, hesitant, disconcerted, like two great schoolboys, contemplating this little fairy queen whose kingdoms we had invaded, and wondering whether we should retreat or appease her anger with sweet and caressing words. “Go away,” she cried, still waving her hands and shaking her handkerchief. “Grandmother told me to tell everyone who came to leave. ” “And if they won’t go away,” asked Ruben, “what should you do then, little housewife? ” “I should have thrown them out,” she replied, advancing boldly against us and multiplying the blows with her handkerchief. “You, naughty boy, you broke Grandmother’s bolt. ” “Well, I’ll mend it,” I replied with a pleased air. Then, picking up a stone, I soon had the displaced latch fixed. “There, little woman. Grandma will never notice the difference. ” “You must go all the same,” she insisted. “It’s Grandma’s house, not yours. What could we do in the presence of that stubborn little marsh lady? An imperative necessity ordered us to stay in the house, for there was no other way to hide than to shelter among these terrible marshes. And yet she had taken it into her head to expel us, with a decision, an intrepidity that would have put Monmouth to shame. “You sell milk,” said Reuben. “We are tired and thirsty. So we came to have a drink. ” “Ah!” she cried, beaming and smiling, “will you pay me just as people pay Grandma? Ah! My heart, that will be very fine!” And jumping lightly onto a stool, she drew enough from the basins on the table to fill large bowls. “A penny, please.” It was a strange thing to see the way the little housewife hid her coin in her apron. Her naive face shone with pride and joy at having done this superb business for the absent grandmother. We took our milk to the window. We removed the shutters and sat down so as to have a good view of the road. “In the name of the Lord, drink slowly!” said Ruben in a low voice. “You must drink very slowly. Otherwise she will want to throw us out . ” “Now that we have paid the toll, she will let us stay,” I replied. “If you have finished, you must go,” she said firmly. “Have you ever seen two men-at-arms tyrannized like that by a little doll like that!” I said, laughing. No, my dear, we will make an arrangement with you, by giving you this shilling, which will pay for all your milk. We have time to stay here and drink it at our leisure. “Jenny, the cow, is just crossing the pond,” she said. “It is almost milking time, and I will bring her if you want more. “Now! God forbid!” cried Ruben. “We’ll end up having to buy the cow. Where is your grandmother, little miss? ” “She’s gone to town,” replied the child. “There are wicked men in red coats with guns who come to steal and fight, but grandmother will soon make them leave. Grandmother has gone to arrange all that.” “We’re fighting against the men in red coats, my dear, ” I said . “We’ll help you guard the house and we won’t let anything be stolen. ” “Oh! Then you can stay,” she said, climbing onto my knees, looking as serious as a sparrow perched on a branch. “What a big boy you are? ” “And why not a man?” I asked. “Because you don’t have a beard on your face. Look, grandmother has more on your chin than you. And besides, only boys drink milk. Men drink cider.” “Well, since I’m a boy, I’ll be your lover. ” “Oh! no,” she cried, shaking her golden curls. “I won’t think of getting married for long, but my lover is Giles Martin of Gommatch. What a pretty tin jacket you have, how it shines! Why do people wear such things to hurt one another, since in truth, they are all brothers? ” “And why are they all brothers, little woman?” asked Ruben. “Because grandmother says they are all sons of the High Father,” she replied. “And since they all have the same father, they must be brothers. They must be, mustn’t they? ” “From the mouths of little children and sucklings…” said Ruben, looking out of the window. “You are a rare flower of the marshes,” I said, as she raised herself to reach my steel helmet. Isn’t it a strange thing to think, Reuben, that on either side of us there are thousands of men, Christians, ready to shed one another’s blood, and that here between them is a blue-eyed cherub, who lisps and expounds a philosophy well calculated to send us all home, our hearts calmed and our limbs intact? “One day spent with that child would put me off a military career forever ,” replied Reuben. “When I listen to her, I feel too much of what brings the rider and the butcher together. ” “Perhaps it takes both,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “We have put our hands to the plow. But I believe this is the man we are waiting for. He is coming, hiding over there under the shade of that row of pollarded willows. ” “It’s him, that’s certain,” cried Reuben, watching through the faceted window. “Then, my dear, you must sit here,” I said, taking her down from my knees and placing her on a chair in the corner. “You must show yourself a good girl and not move, whatever happens. Do you want that?” She put out her pink lips and nodded her head. “He’s coming step by step, Micah,” said my friend, still standing by the window. “Doesn’t he look like a treacherous fox or some other beast of prey?” There was, indeed, in his thin appearance, with his black costume, in the lightness of his furtive movements, something that made one think of a cruel and cunning animal. He slipped under the shadow of the trees and the stunted osiers, his body bent, his gait slipping, so that it would not have been easy for the most clear-sighted man to see him from Bridgewater. In truth, the distance from the town would have allowed him to walk in the open and rush across the moor, but the depth of the marshes on either side had prevented him from leaving the road as far as where it ran in front of the cottage. When he found himself in front of our ambush, we both rushed through the open gate and barred his way. I heard the Independent Minister of Emsworth describe Satan, but if the worthy man had been with us that day, he would not have needed to exert his imagination. The man’s swarthy face became covered with patches of livid pallor, as he took a step back, drew a long breath of air, and flashed venomously from his black eyes to right and left, seeking some means of escape. For a moment he put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but his reason told him that he could hardly hope to force his way past us both. Then he cast his eyes all around him, but on all sides, he must return to the people he had betrayed. He stopped, therefore, gloomy, impassive, his face long and piteous, his eyes anxious, always in motion. He was the type, the symbol of treason. “We have waited for you some time, Master John Derrick,” I said. Now you must return with us to the city. “What right do you have to arrest me?” he asked in a hoarse, jerky voice. “Where is your order? Who gave you the task of disturbing people traveling peacefully on the King’s Highway? ” “I got my mission from my Colonel,” I replied curtly. “You already went to the camp at Feversham this morning. ” “That’s a lie,” he said with savage fury. “I only went for a walk to get some fresh air. ” “It’s the truth,” said Reuben, “I saw you on your return. Show us that paper, a piece of which is sticking out of your doublet. ” “We all know why you set this trap for me,” cried Derrick bitterly. “You spread unfavorable rumors about me for fear that I would hinder your marriage to the Mayor’s daughter. What are you, to dare raise your eyes to her?” A mere vagabond, a masterless man, come from who knows where. By what right do you aspire to pluck the flower that grew among us? What business have you with it or with us? Answer me. “That is a question I will only discuss at a more opportune time and place,” replied Reuben calmly. “Give us back your sword and come back with us. For my part, I promise to do all I can to save your life. If we are victorious tonight, your miserable attempts can do little to harm us. If we are vanquished, there will be very few of us left whom you can harm. ” “I thank you for your kind protection,” he replied, still in that blank, cold, bitter voice. Then, unbuckling his sword, he walked slowly towards my companion. “You may take this as a present to Mistress Ruth,” he said, holding out the weapon in his left hand. “And that too,” he added, quickly drawing a dagger from his belt and plunging it into my poor friend’s side. It was done in an instant, so suddenly that I had no time to dash between them or understand his intention. The wounded man sank down, breathing heavily, and the dagger clanged on the road at my feet. The scoundrel gave a piercing cry of triumph and leaped back, avoiding the furious blow I threw at him. Then he turned and fled down the road at full speed. He was much lighter than I, and less cumbersomely dressed, but thanks to my power of breathing and the length of my legs, I had been the best runner in my district, and soon the sound of my footsteps told him that he had no chance of outrunning me. Twice he suddenly retraced his steps, like a hare when closely pursued by a greyhound, and twice my sword passed within an inch of him, for, to tell the truth, I had no more intention of sparing him than if it had been a venomous snake which had, before my eyes, sunk its fangs into the body of my friend. I no more thought of giving quarter than he of asking for it. At last, as he heard my footsteps close by him and my breath against his very shoulder, he rushed like a madman through the rushes and ran towards the treacherous marsh; with water up to his ankle, up to his knee, up to his thighs, up to his mid-body. We struggled. We staggered. I always gained on him, and finally I had only to stretch out my arm, and I was already whirling my sword to strike him. But, my dear children, it was written that he would not die the death of a man, but that of a reptile, which he was. At the very moment when I approached him, he suddenly sank, with a gurgling noise, and the green foam of the dead waters closed over his head. Not the slightest ripple, not a splash to indicate the spot. It happened suddenly, silently, as if some unknown monster had snatched him up and dragged him into the abyss. As I stood with my sword raised, my eyes still fixed on that spot, a single, voluminous bubble rose and burst on the surface. Then everything became motionless again, the terrible marshes unfolding before me, like the very abode of death and desolation. I do not know whether he had found himself on a sudden drop that had swallowed him up or whether, in his despair, he had drowned himself on purpose. All I know is that on the great moor of Sedgemoor are buried the bones of the traitor and the spy. I struggled back to the shore through the thick, sticky mud, and hastened to where Reuben lay. I bent over him, and saw that the dagger had pierced the leather band that joined the front and back pieces of the cuirass , and that not only was blood flowing abundantly from the wound, but was also oozing drop by drop from the corners of his mouth. With trembling fingers, I undid the straps and buckles, took off the armor, and pressed my handkerchief against his side to stop the bleeding. “I hope you didn’t kill him, Micah?” he said suddenly, opening his eyes. “A higher power than ours has judged him, Reuben,” I replied. “Poor devil! Many things have contributed to embitter him,” he said in a low voice. Then he fainted again. Kneeling beside him, I noticed the young man’s paleness and labored breathing, and I thought of his simple, kind disposition, of the affection I had had so little trouble earning, and I have no shame in admitting it, my dear children, although I am rather slow to feel emotions, my tears mingled with his blood. As chance would have it, Decimus Saxon, in a moment of leisure, went up to the bell tower to look at us with his telescope and see how we were faring. He noticed something suspicious and hurried down to seek out a skilled surgeon, whom he brought to us with an escort of pikemen. I had remained kneeling beside my unconscious friend, and doing to help him what an ignorant man can do, when the troops arrived and helped me carry him into the cottage, out of the burning sun. The minutes seemed like hours to me while the grave-faced man examined and probed the wound. “It probably won’t be fatal,” he said finally. With that, I could almost have embraced him. “The blade bounced off a rib, not without making a slight tear in the lung. We’ll take him with us to the city. ” “Do you hear him?” said Saxon, in a friendly tone. “He’s a man whose opinion carries weight. One skilled physician is worth far more than a hundred men of war. Be brave, my friend. You’re as pale as if you and not he had been the one who had been bled dry. Where’s Derrick? ” “Drowned in the swamp,” I replied. “So much the better, it will save us six feet of good rope. But here Our position is quite dangerous, for the royal cavalry might well attack us. What is that pale, quiet child sitting in the corner? “She is the guardian of the house. Her grandmother left her here. ” “You had better come with us. There may be some hard work here before it is all over. ” “No, I must wait for grandmother,” she replied, her cheeks flooded with tears. “But what if I took you to grandmother, my dear?” I asked. “We cannot leave you here.” I held out my arms. The child leaped into them and pressed herself against my breast, sobbing as if her heart were breaking. “Take me away,” she cried. “I am afraid.” I calmed the trembling little creature as best I could and carried her onto my shoulder. The reapers had put the shafts of their long weapons into the sleeves of their jerkins, so as to form a sort of bed, a stretcher, on which poor Reuben was laid. A slight color had returned to his cheeks, thanks to a cordial administered by the surgeon, and he nodded and smiled at Saxon. Thus we set off, at a slow pace, to return to Bridgewater. Reuben was carried to our lodgings, and I took the girl to some good people in the town, who promised to take her home as soon as the commotion had ceased. Chapter 6. The Battle of Sedgemoor. However pressing our personal sorrows and needs were, we had little leisure to dwell on them, for the moment was approaching when not only our own destiny, but that of the Protestant cause in England was to be decided. None of us treated the danger lightly. It would have taken nothing less than a miracle to spare us defeat, and most of us were convinced that the time for miracles was over. Some, however, thought otherwise. I believe that a good many Puritans, if they had seen the heavens open that night and the armies of Seraphim and Cherubim descend to our aid, would have regarded it as an event that had nothing marvelous or unexpected about it. The whole city resounded with sermons. Each squadron, each company had its favorite preacher, sometimes more than one, to deliver harangues and commentaries. Mounted on barrels, on chariots, or through windows, and even from the tops of roofs, they exhorted the crowd below them. And their eloquence was not spent in vain. Raucous, wild clamors rose from the streets, mingled with prayers and disordered exclamations . The men were drunk with religion, as with wine. Their faces were heated, their tongues thick, their gestures wild. Sir Stephen and Saxon exchanged smiles at this spectacle, for, as old soldiers, they knew that among the causes which make a man valiant in prowess and careless of life, there is none more energetic and more persistent than this religious fit. In the evening, I found time to visit my wounded friend and saw him propped up on pillows, stretched out on his bed, breathing with some difficulty, but also in good spirits, as cheerful as usual. Our prisoner, Major Ogilvy, who had taken a great liking to us, was sitting by his bed and reading to him from an old collection of plays. “This wound came at an unfortunate moment,” said Ruben impatiently. Isn’t it too much that a slight sting like that should send my men into battle without their leader, after so many marches and exercises? I was there when grace was said and I won’t have dinner. “Your company has been joined with mine,” I replied. “Which doesn’t prevent these brave people from being very dejected at not having their captain. Has the doctor been to see you? “He has just left,” said Major Ogilvy, “and he declares that our friend’s condition is improving, but he advised me not to let him talk. ” “Do you hear, my boy?” I said, shaking my finger at him. “If I hear you say a single word, I’ll leave. You’ll escape a rude awakening tonight, Major. What do you think of our chances? ” “I never predicted anything good from the start,” he replied frankly . “Monmouth is acting like a ruined gambler, who risks his last coin on the green cloth. He may not win much, but he may lose everything. ” “Ah! that’s a very cutting statement,” I said. “A success might perhaps bring all the inland counties to arms. ” “England is not ripe for that,” replied the Major, shaking his head. No doubt she is not delighted either with Popery or with a Papist King, but we know that this is only a passing scourge, since the heir to the throne, the Prince of Orange, is a Protestant. Why then expose ourselves to so much trouble to achieve a result which time, united with patience, will surely bring about? Besides, the man you support has proved himself untrustworthy. Did he not promise in his Declaration to leave the choice of the monarch to the Commons? And yet, less than eight days after, did he not proclaim himself King before the Market Cross, at Taunton? How can we believe a man who has so little regard for the truth? “Treason, Major, scandalous treason!” I replied, laughing. ” Doubtless if we could command a leader as we command a coat, we might perhaps have chosen a leader of a stronger material.” It is not him we support by arms, it is the liberties and ancient rights of the English. Have you seen Sir Gervas? Major Ogilvy and Reuben himself burst out laughing. “You will find him in the room above. Never did a man of fashion prepare for a ball at Court with such care as he takes for battle. If the King’s troops take him prisoner, they will certainly imagine they have the Duke. He came here to ask our opinion about his snouts, his breeches, and I don’t know what else. You had better go. ” “Then, farewell, Reuben,” I said, shaking his hand. “Farewell, Micah! and God keep you from all harm!” he said. “May I have a word with you, Major?” I said in a low voice… And I continued: “You will not say, I think, that your captivity has been made very painful for you.” Now, may I ask you to look after my friend, in case we are defeated tonight? No doubt, if Feversham has the upper hand, he will have a bloody job here. Those who are safe will get out of it as best they can, but he is reduced to helplessness, and he will need a friend. The Major pressed my hand. “I call God to witness,” he said. “Nothing untoward will happen to him. ” “You have relieved my heart of a great weight,” I replied, “for I know I am leaving him safe. I can now mount my horse to go to battle with a clear mind.” The soldier answered me with a friendly smile and returned to the sick room, while I mounted the stairs and entered Sir Gervas Jerome’s lodgings. He was standing before a table cluttered with pots, brushes, boxes, and about twenty other small objects bought or borrowed for the occasion. A large hand mirror stood against the wall, between two lighted candles. Before him, the baronet, whose handsome, pale face wore a most serious and solemn expression, was arranging a white berdash cravat. His riding boots shone with the finest splendor, and the torn seam had been mended. His baldric, his breastplate, his straps—everything was clean and shiny. He had put on his most dapper, newest costume, and above all he had worn a very noble and very imposing full wig, the curls of which fell over his shoulders. From his smart riding hat to his shining spurs, he had not a speck of dust on him, not a stain, which contrasted badly with my appearance, for I was still covered with a thick crust left by the mud of the Sedgemoor marshes, and the riding and the work done, during these two days without respite or rest, had completed the disorder of my toilet. “Cut me in two, if you have not come at the right time!” he cried as soon as I entered. “I have just sent downstairs to order a flagon of Canary Island wine to be brought up for me. Ah! here it is.” At that moment, a servant from the inn entered with a small step with the bottle and the glasses. “Here is a gold coin, my beautiful child. It is the last one I have left in the world, the only survivor of a rather fine family. Pay the innkeeper for the wine, my dear, and keep the change. You can buy yourself some ribbons for the next party. Damn me, I can’t fix this tie without it getting creased! ” “There is nothing wrong,” I replied. “How can one be concerned with such trifles at a time like this? ” “Trifles!” he cried angrily. “Trifles! Well, after all, there is no point in arguing with you; your bucolic intelligence would never rise to the level of conceiving the fine consequences that can result from such affairs, the peace of mind one experiences when everything is well ordered, and the cruel unease when something is amiss.” It probably comes from education, and it may be that I have more than other people of my condition. I am like a cat that spends all day licking itself to remove every last speck of dust. Isn’t that fly above the eyebrow fortunately placed? No, you are not even capable of expressing an opinion. I would prefer to ask the opinion of friend Marot, the knight of the pistol. Fill your glass. “Your company is waiting for you near the church,” I replied. “I saw it as I passed. ” “What did it look like?” he asked. “Were the men powdered, clean? ” “Ah! I didn’t have time to notice that. I saw them cutting their fuses and preparing their primers. ” “I wish they had flintlocks,” he replied, sprinkling himself with scented water. Matchlock guns are slow to load and cumbersome. Have you got enough wine? “I won’t have any more,” I said. “Then perhaps the Major will finish it. It doesn’t often happen to me to ask for help to a bottle, but I want to have my head all to myself tonight. Let’s go downstairs and see our men.
” It was ten o’clock when we were in the street. The buzz of the preachers and the shouts of the people had died away, for the regiments had formed up and stood silent and resolute. The faint light from the lamps and windows played on their black, close-packed ranks. A cold, clear moon shone down upon us between fleecy clouds, which from time to time passed over it. Far away to the north, trembling shafts of light flickered in the sky, coming and going like long, feverish fingers. It was an aurora borealis, a spectacle rarely seen in the southern counties. It is therefore little wonder that at such a time the fanatics should draw attention to it, interpreting it as a sign from the other world, comparing it to the pillar of fire that guided Israel through the perils of the desert. The sidewalks and windows were cluttered with women and children who uttered shrill exclamations of fear or astonishment, according as the strange light grew or faded. “It is for ten thirty striking on the clock of Saint Mark,” said Saxon, while we rode up to the regiment. Have we nothing to give to the men? “There is a cask of Zoyland cider in the courtyard of this inn,” said Sir Gervas. “Ahoy! Dawson. Take these gold sleeve clasps from me and give them in exchange to the innkeeper. I will be hanged, if they go into battle with clear water in their bodies. ” “They will feel the need before morning breaks,” said Saxon, while about twenty pikemen ran to the inn. ” The marsh air has the effect of freezing the blood. ” “I am already cold, and Covenant is stamping his feet for the same reason,” I said. Could we not, if we have time, trot our horses along the lines? “Certainly,” replied Saxon cheerfully, “we can do nothing better. ” So, waving the reins, we set off, the horses’ shoes drawing sparks from the flint paving stones as we went. Behind the cavalry, and forming a long line, which stretched from Eastover Gate, through the High Street, to the Cornill, then along the church, and ended at the Hog’s Cross, our infantry stood in line, silent and fierce, except when a woman’s voice from a window was followed by a grave and short reply from the ranks. The capricious light reflected on the blades of scythes or the barrels of guns and showed the lines of contracted axe-carved faces . Some were those of real children without a hair on their cheeks; the others, those of old men whose gray beards reached down to their crossed belts, but all bore the stamp of stubborn courage, of fierce resolution that concentrates on itself. There were still here fishermen from the South, the rough men from the Mendips, the wild hunters from Porlok Quay and Minehead, the poachers from Exmoor, the hairy inhabitants of the Axbridge marshes, the highlanders from the Quantocks, the woollen and serge workers from Devonshire , the cattle dealers from Bampton, the redcoats of the militia, the sturdy burgesses from Taunton, then those who formed the elite, the real force, the brave peasants from the plains, in smocks. They had rolled up the sleeves of their jackets, and showed their browned and muscular arms, as was their custom when there was good work to be done. As I speak to you, dear children, fifty years fade like a morning mist, and I see myself riding along the winding street, I see the compact ranks of my brave companions. Brave hearts! They showed at all times how little training is needed to make a soldier of an Englishman, and what a race of men is formed in those quiet, peaceful hamlets that are scattered over the sunny slopes of the dunes in the Counties of Somerset and Devon. If ever England should fall to her knees under a blow, if those who fight for her should abandon her and she should find herself disarmed in the face of her enemy, let her take heart, let her remember that every village in the kingdom is a barracks, that her true standing army consists of the courage, endurance, and simple virtue ever present in the heart of the humblest peasant. As we rode past the long line, a heavy murmur of greetings and welcomes rose at intervals from the ranks, as they saw the dark, tall, and thin Saxon figure pass by . The clock was beginning to strike eleven when we returned to our men. At that very moment, King Monmouth came out of the inn, which served as headquarters, and trotted down the High Street, followed by his staff. Cheering had been forbidden, but the caps being waved, the weapons being brandished, testified to the ardor of his devoted followers. The bugler was not to command the march, but as each received the order, the one behind him did the same. The din and the thud of hundreds of feet in motion were heard nearer and nearer, until the people of Frome, who were in front of us, started off, and we at last began the journey which was to be the last in this world for many of us. We were to cross the Parrot, pass by Eastover and then follow the tortuous road beyond the point where Derrick had met his death and the lonely cottage where we had seen the girl. From here the road becomes a mere track cut across the plain. A dense mist lay over the moor, thickening in the hollows, and concealing both the town we had left and the villages we were marching towards. From time to time it cleared for a moment, and then I could easily see , thanks to the moonlight, the long, black, serpentine line of the army, dotted with the flashes reflected by the steel and the crude white standards waved in the night breeze. Far off to the right rose a great flame. No doubt it was a farm that had fallen prey to the devils of Tangier. We advanced very slowly, with great caution, for, as Sir Stephen Timevell had taught us, the plain was furrowed with deep trenches, the rhines, which we could only cross in certain places. These ditches had been dug for the purpose of draining marshy land . They were filled with water and silt to the depth of several feet, so that even the cavalry could not cross them. The bridges were narrow, and it took the army a long time to march through them. Finally, the last two, and the principal ones, the Black Ditch and the Rhine of Langmoor, were crossed without accident. A halt was ordered to put the infantry in line, for we had reason to believe that there were no other troops between the royal camp and us. Up to this moment, our enterprise had succeeded admirably. We had arrived within half a mile of the camp without any mistake or accident. The enemy’s scouts had not given the slightest sign of their presence. Evidently he felt so much disdain for us that it had not even occurred to him that we could begin the attack. If ever a general deserved to be defeated, it was Feversham, that night! As we advanced over the moor, the clock at Chedzoy struck one. “Isn’t it magnificent?” said Sir Gervas in a low voice, as we set off again on the other side of the Rhine from Langmoor. “Is there anything in the world that can compare with the present emotion. ” “You speak as if it were a cockfight or a bullfight,” I replied somewhat coldly. “It is a solemn and sad moment ; whoever wins, it is English blood that will soak the soil of England. ” “There will only be more room for those who remain,” he said lightly . “Look at me, over there, at those fires from their bivouac, shining through the fog. What was the advice your sailor friend gave you? Take their leeward side, then… board! Hey, have you spoken to the colonel? ” “Ah!” No, this is not the time for jokes or puns , I replied gravely. Chances are very few of us will see the sun rise tomorrow. “I’m not very curious to see it,” he laughed. “It will be something very similar to yesterday’s. By my faith! although I have never gotten up to see one in my life, I have seen hundreds before going to bed. “I told my friend Ruben the few things I desire in case I should succumb,” I said. “I felt a great relief of mind, thinking that I am leaving behind me a few parting words, and a little souvenir for all those I have known . Can I offer you a service of that kind? ” “Hmm!” he said distractedly, “if I am underground, you can tell Araminte… No! let us leave this poor damsel alone. Why send her news that would annoy her?… If by chance you go to the City, little Tommy Chichester would be glad to hear of the pranks we have been playing in Somerset. You will find him at the Cocotier every day of the week from two to four o’clock striking.” There is also Mother Butterworth, whom I would commend to your attention. She was the queen of wet nurses, but alas, the cruelty of time has dried up the source of her trade, and she needs a little care taken to feed her herself. “If I live and you die, I will do all that is possible for her,” I replied. “Have you anything else to tell me?” “Only that Hacker, of St. Paul’s Court, has no equal for jackets,” he replied. “It is information of little value, but it has been bought and paid for, like everything else one learns. One more thing. I have one or two jewels left that might serve as a present for the pretty Puritan, if our friend would lead her to the altar. Ah, upon my life, she will make him read some singular books. Where are we now, Colonel? Why do we stand here planted on the moor, like a row of herons among the reeds?” “The army is being drawn up for the attack,” said Saxon, who had arrived on horseback during our conversation. “Lightning and thunder! Has anyone ever seen a camp so exposed to an assault? Ah! if I had twelve hundred good horsemen, the Pandours of Wessemburg for only an hour! How I would trample them underfoot, until their camp looked like a green wheat field after hail. ” “Can’t our cavalry advance?” The old soldier gave a deep snort of disdain. “If this battle can be won, it must be won by our infantry. What can we expect from such cavalry? Keep your men well in hand, for we may have to withstand the shock of the King’s dragoons. We could be attacked from the flank, for we are in the post of honor. ” “There are troops on our right,” I replied, searching the darkness with my eyes. “Yes, the burgesses of Taunton and the peasants of Frame.” Our brigade covers the left flank. Beside us are the Mendip miners, and I could not wish for better comrades, if their ardor does not prevail over prudence. At this moment they are kneeling in the mud. “They will fight none the worse for it,” I remarked, “but now the troops are starting to march. ” “Yes, yes,” said Saxon, in a cheerful tone, drawing his sword and rolling his handkerchief around the hilt to hold it more firmly. “The time has come! Forward!” We set off very slowly and noiselessly through the thick fog, our feet crushing the mud of the sodden ground and slipping in it. In spite of all possible precautions, the march of so great a number of men could not be made without producing a dull and accentuated sound, under thousands of moving feet. In front of us, patches of a reddish light flickering through the fog indicated the fires of the King’s advanced posts. Just ahead of us marched our cavalry, formed in a compact column. Suddenly, from the depths of the darkness, there came a resounding crack, followed by the report of a rifle and the sound of a gallop. And all along the line we heard the crackle of a lively fusillade. We had reached the first line of outposts. At this alarm, our cavalry charged with a great shout, and we followed them as fast as our men could run. We had advanced two or three hundred yards onto the moor, and we heard very distinctly the blasts of the King’s bugle very close to us, when our cavalry stopped short, and our forward march was suspended. “Sancta Maria!” cried Saxon, going forward with us to reconnoiter the cause of this halt… We must march at all costs. A halt at this moment means the failure of our camisade. “Forward, forward,” I cried at the same time as Sir Gervas, brandishing our sabers. “It is useless, gentlemen!” cried a cavalry cornet, wringing his hands. “We are lost, betrayed.” There is a ditch before us, at least twenty feet wide, without a ford. “Give me room for my horse, and I will show you how to cross it,” cried the baronet, turning his horse back. ” Now, lads, who wants to jump? ” “No, sir, in God’s name,” said a soldier, putting his hand on the bridle. “Sergeant Sexton has just made the jump. All have gone to the bottom, man and horse. ” “In that case, let us see,” said Saxon, pushing his way through the crowd of horsemen. We followed close behind him, and at last saw ourselves at the edge of the vast trench which stopped our progress. Until this day, it has been impossible for me to resolve the question which presented itself to my mind. Was it by chance, or through some treachery on the part of our guides, that we were ignorant of the existence of this ditch until we found ourselves near its edge in the darkness. Some say that the Rhine of Bussex, as it is called, was neither deep nor wide, and that for this reason the marsh people had not mentioned it, but that the recent and continuous rains had given it a dimension hitherto unknown. Others say that the guides had been deceived by the fog and that consequently they had taken a wrong turn, whereas we could have followed another course and thus fallen upon the king’s camp without crossing the ditch. However that may be, it was certain that we had it before us, broad, black, menacing, measuring a good twenty feet from bank to bank, and that the unlucky sergeant’s cap could still be seen in the middle, like a silent warning to any who would attempt a ford . “There must be a way in somewhere,” cried Saxon angrily. “Every moment is worth a squadron of cavalry to them. Where is My Lord Grey? Has the guide been treated as he deserves?” “Major Hollis has rushed the guide into the trench,” replied the young cornet. “My Lord Grey rode along the banks to find a fordable place. I took a footman’s pike and plunged it into the thick black mud, into the middle of which I entered up to my waist, holding Covenant’s bridle in my left hand. Nowhere could I find the bottom, nowhere a place where my foot could rest firmly. ” “Hello! my boy,” cried Saxon, taking a soldier by the arm, “run to the rearguard, gallop as if the devil were after you. Bring two cartloads of provisions, and we will see if we cannot build a bridge over this infernal mush. ” ​​”If some of us could establish ourselves on the other bank, we would hold firm until help came,” said Sir Gervas, as soon as the rider had left to accomplish his mission. All along the rebel line ran a wild, dull roar of rage, which proved that the whole army had encountered the same obstacle which opposed our attack. On the other side of the ditch, the drums were beating. The bugles blew shrill blasts, and the calls and oaths of the officers drawing up their men were distinctly heard . Moving lights at Chedzoy, at Weston-Zoyland, in the other hamlets, to the right and to the left, showed how rapidly the alarm was spreading. Decimus Saxon paced back and forth along the ditch, muttering foreign oaths , gnashing his teeth in his fury, sometimes rising in his stirrups to extend his iron-gloved fist to the enemy. “Who are you for?” cried a hoarse voice through the fog. “For the King,” the peasants yelled in reply. “For what King?” cried the voice. “For King Monmouth. ” “Then fire on them, boys!” And immediately a hail of bullets whistled, sang in our ears. At the sight of the sheet of flame which sprang from the darkness, the panicked horses, imperfectly trained, became carried away, and dashed at full speed across the plain, unruly to the efforts made by their riders to stop them. Some claim, it is true, that these efforts were not very serious, and that our horsemen, discouraged by the failure caused by the ditch, were not sorry to turn their heels to the enemy. As for My Lord Grey, I can say with truth, I saw him in the dim light in the midst of the fleeing squadrons, and doing all that a brave horseman can do to force them to stop. But they passed, they disappeared, crossing like lightning the ranks of the infantry, then dispersed over the moor, leaving their companies to bear the full brunt of the battle. –Face to the ground, men! shouted Saxon in a voice that rose above the din of the musketry and the cries of the wounded. The pikemen and the reapers also threw themselves to the ground at his command! while the musketeers, one knee on the ground in front of them, charged and fired without any other point of aim than the lit fuses of the enemy’s weapons, which could be seen glinting in the darkness. Along the whole line, from right to left, a continuous fusillade had broken out, in short, rapid salvos from the soldiers, by a continuous, irregular shot from the peasants. On the other wing, our four cannons had been brought into position, and we heard their dull, distant roar. “Sing, brothers, sing,” cried our intrepid chaplain, Master Joshua Pettigrue, running busily in all directions through the prone ranks. ” Call upon the Lord in our day of trial!” The men sang a sonorous hymn of praise, which soon became a unanimous chorus, when the voices of the Taunton burgesses on our right and the miners on our left were added. To this chant, the soldiers on the other side responded with fierce shouts , and the air was filled with clamour. Our musketeers had been brought to the very bank of the Rhine at Bussex. The royal troops had closed up as close as they could on their side, so that there was not five pike-lengths between the two lines. And yet so impassable was this narrow separation that a quarter of a mile would not have kept us further apart, except that the fire was more deadly. We were so close together that the burning wads of the enemy’s muskets flew in tongues of flame over our heads, and we felt a current of hot air passing quickly over our faces with each of their discharges. But although the air was covered in a veritable hail of bullets, the soldiers aimed too high above our kneeling ranks, and few of us were hit. For our part, we did our best to prevent the men from raising the muzzles of the muskets too high. Saxon, Sir Gervas, and I rode continuously in front of the line, going back and forth, lowering the muzzles with our sabers, exhorting the men to aim calmly, slowly. The groans and shouts from the other side proved to us that at least some of our bullets had not been fired in vain. “We are holding firm here,” I said to Saxon. “It seems to me that their fire is slowing down. ” “It is their cavalry that I fear,” he replied, “for they can avoid the ditch, since they come from the hamlets on our flanks. They may fall upon us at any moment. ” “Hallo! sir,” cried Sir Gervas, halting his horse on the extreme edge of the ditch, and uncovering himself to salute a mounted officer who was on the other side, “can you tell us if we have the honor of fighting the foot guard? ” “We are the Dumbarton Regiment, sir,” cried the other. “We will send you something to remember your meeting with us.” “We will soon cross over to make better acquaintance,” replied Sir Gervas. But at the same moment, horse and rider rolled into the ditch, to the triumphant shouts of the soldiers. Half a dozen of his musketeers immediately leaped into the waist-deep mud and pulled our friend from danger, but his mount, struck by a bullet in the heart, collapsed without a struggle. “No harm done,” cried the baronet, getting up. “I like to fight on foot just as much as my brave musketeers.” At these words, the men gave a resounding cheer, and on both sides the firing redoubled in activity. It was a subject of admiration for me, and for many others, to see these brave peasants, their mouths full of bullets, loading, priming, and firing with as much coolness as if they had done nothing else in their lives, and holding their own against a regiment of veterans who had given proof on other battlefields that they were not inferior to any of the English regiments. The gray light of dawn was creeping over the moor, and the fight was still undecided. The fog hung over us in frayed shreds, and the smoke from our muskets drifted away in a brown cloud, through which the long lines of red coats stood out on the other side of the Rhine like a battalion of giants. My eyes were stinging, my lips were parched with the taste of powder. On all sides, my men were falling in greater numbers, for the surplus light had made the soldiers’ fire more accurate. Our good chaplain interrupted his psalm in the middle to shout at the top of his lungs a phrase of praise and thanksgiving, and so he passed away, along with his parishioners who lay around him on the moor. Williams My Hope is in Heaven and Gamekeeper Wilson, among the non-commissioned officers and the bravest men of the company, were both on the ground, one dead, the other grievously wounded, which did not prevent him from driving the ramrod of the rifle and spitting bullets down the barrel. The two Stukeleys, of Somerton, twins with a bright future, lay mute, their livid faces turned towards the sky, united in death as at their birth. Everywhere the dead were piled up among the living. And yet not one gave way and Saxon still continued his ride among them, with words of hope and praise. His resolute face, with its deeply marked features, his tall figure full of muscular vigor were a veritable beacon of hope in the eyes of these simple country people. Those of my reapers who could handle a musket were mingled with the line of shooters, after having taken the weapons and ammunition of the fallen men. The light gradually increased. Through the gaps in the smoke and fog, I could see what turn the fight was taking on other points of the battlefield . To the right, the moor had taken on a brown tint, that of the men of Taunton and Frome, who had lain down like us, to avoid the fire. Along the banks of the Rhine at Bussex, a thick line of their musketeers were exchanging murderous volleys, almost at point -blank range, with the left wing of the very regiments we were fighting. This was supported by a second regiment with broad white lapels, which, I believe, was part of the Wiltshire militia. On each of the two edges of the black trench, a dense row of corpses, brown on one side, scarlet-clad on the other, served as a screen for their comrades, who sheltered behind it, and rested the barrels of their muskets on the prone bodies. On the left, among the osiers, were posted five hundred miners from Mendip and Bagworthy. They sang at the top of their voices, but were so poorly armed that they had barely one musket for ten men to answer the shot that assailed them. Unable to advance, refusing to retreat, they covered themselves as best they could, and waited patiently for their leaders to decide what was to be done. Further on, for a distance of half a mile or more, the long floating cloud of smoke, from which flashes of lightning flashed capriciously, proved that our recruit regiments were all bravely doing their part of the task. On the left, the artillery had ceased its fire. The Dutch gunners had left the islanders to arrange their affairs among themselves. They fled to Bridgewater, abandoning their pieces to the royal cavalry. Such was the aspect of the battle when a cry was heard: “The King, the King!” And Monmouth rode through our ranks, bareheaded, wild-eyed, accompanied by Buyse, Wade, and half a dozen others. They stopped a pike’s length from me, and Saxon, spurring to join them, raised his sword in salute. I could not help noticing the contrast between the calm and grave countenance of the veteran, thoughtful yet full of vivacity, and the half-bewildered air of the man we were forced to look to as our leader. “What do you think, Colonel Saxon?” he cried in a distraught voice. ” How is the battle going? Is everything all right on your side? What a mistake, alas! What a mistake! Are we going to retreat? What do you say? ” “We stand firm here, Your Majesty,” replied Saxon. “I reckon if we had something like palisades, chevaux-de-frise, Spanish style, we could hold our own even against the cavalry. ” “Oh! the cavalry!” cried the unfortunate Monmouth. “If we get out of here, Lord Grey will have an account to give.” She fled like a flock of sheep. What leader could make any use of such troops? Ah! woe! woe! Shall we not march forward? “There is no reason to advance, Your Majesty, now that surprise has failed,” said Saxon. “I have sent for carts to bridge the trench, according to the plan recommended in the treatise De Vallis et Fossis, but they are useless at present . We can only fight in the position we are in. ” “To throw troops across would be to sacrifice them,” said Wade. ” We have suffered heavy losses, but from the view from the opposite bank, I find you have arranged the redcoats neatly. ” “Stand fast, in God’s name, stand fast!” cried Monmouth, in a tone of panic. “The cavalry has fled, the artillery too. Oh! what am I to do with such people? What am I to do, alas! alas!” He spurred his horse and galloped along the line, still wringing his hands and wailing his mournful lamentations. Oh! my children, it is a small thing, a very small thing, death, weighed against dishonor. If this man had silently resigned himself to his fate, as did the least of the infantrymen who had followed his flag, how proud and happy we would have been to speak of him, of our leader of princely blood. But let us leave him aside. The fears, the agitations, the small signs of benevolent emotion which occurred at the sight of him like the breeze on the water, are now dissipated for many years. Let us think only of his good heart and forget his weakness of character. While his escort was forming to join him, the tall German separated from her and returned to us. “I’m tired of trotting back and forth like a carousel horse at a fair,” he said. “If I stay with you, I intend to have a share in all the fighting that will be fought. Easy, my darling! That bullet grazed her tail, but she is too old a soldier to grimace over trifles. Hallo! friend, where is your horse?” “At the bottom of the ditch,” said Sir Gervas, scraping the mud that covered his clothes with the blade of his saber. “It is now past two o’clock, and for a good hour we have been amusing ourselves with this childish game. And with a regiment of the line, at that! This is not what I expected. ” “You will soon have something to console yourself with,” cried the German, whose eyes shone. “Mein Gott! Isn’t it splendid! Look at this, my Saxon friend, look at this.” It was no small detail that had aroused the soldier’s admiration. In the thick mist that spread to our right, a few rays of silvery light first appeared, at the same time as a dull noise like the rolling of thunder reached our ears, like that of a wave assailing a rocky shore. The capricious flashes of steel became more and more numerous. The hoarse noise took on a growing volume. At last, all at once, this fog parted, and out of it emerged all the long lines of the royal cavalry, in successive waves, richly tinted with scarlet, blue, and gold, a spectacle as grandiose as had ever been seen. There was, in this measured, regular march of such a numerous body of cavalry, something which gave the idea of ​​an irresistible power. Ranks following ranks, lines following lines, flags fluttering, manes in the wind, shining with steel, they poured forward, forming an army of themselves, whose wings were still masked by the fog. As they advanced with this thunderous noise, touching each other with their knees, bridle to bridle, we heard coming from their side such a volley of sonorous oaths mingled with the rustling of harness, the clang of steel, the rhythmic beating of an infinite number of hooves, that unless one has held firm, a simple seven-foot pike in hand, against such a hurricane, no one could understand how difficult it is to face it, with tight lips and a firm hand. But marvelous as this spectacle was, we had little leisure to contemplate it, as you can well imagine, my dear children. Saxon and the German threw themselves among the pikemen and did all that men can do to close their ranks. Sir Gervas and I did the same for the men armed with scythes, who had been drilled to form three ranks, one kneeling, the second with their bodies bent, the third standing, their weapons forward. Near us, the people of Taunton had drawn up in a dark, fierce circle, all bristling with steel, in the center of which could be seen and heard their venerable mayor, whose long beard fluttered in the wind, whose piercing voice echoed over the field. The roar of the cavalry grew louder and louder. “Stand firm, my brave lads,” cried Saxon in a trumpeting voice. ” Plant the end of the pike in the ground. Rest it on the right knee. Do n’t give an inch. Stand firm!” A great shout arose from both sides, and then the living wave fell upon us. How can we hope to describe such a scene? The cracking of the wood, the short, panting cries, the snorting of the horses, the clash of the saber thrown at the pike. How can we hope to show others what we ourselves only take away such a vague and confused impression of? Anyone who has played this role in such a scene has no general idea of ​​the entire fight, as a mere spectator could, but the few details that chance places directly before their eyes are engraved in their memory. Thus, all that remains in my memory is a swirl of smoke, in which steel helmets, fierce, expressive faces, and the gaping red nostrils of horses whose forefeet beat the air, as if to avoid the edge of the weapons, are suddenly revealed. I also see a beardless young man, a dragoon officer, crawling on his hands and knees to reach under the scythes, and I hear the groan he utters when one of the peasants pins him to the ground. I see a bearded soldier with a large face, mounted on a gray horse and running along the line of pikes, looking for a breach, and uttering cries of rage. In such circumstances, it is the smallest details that are imprinted on the mind. I even noticed the large white teeth and red gums of these men.
At the same time, I saw a man with a pale face and thin lips, who leaned over his horse’s mane and threw a thrust at me, swearing as only a dragoon knows how. All these images come into motion, as soon as I think of that furious charge, during which I slashed and thrust at the men and horses without thinking of parrying or keeping myself on guard. On all sides was heard a Babel-like din of clamours, short shouts , pious exclamations among the peasants, oaths among the horsemen, but above all this was the voice of a Saxon imploring his pikemen to stand firm. Then the cloud of horsemen recoiled and pivoted across the plain. The shout of triumph from my comrades, and a snuffbox, presented to me open, announced that we had turned the backs of the strongest squadrons that had ever followed a drummer. But if we could count this as a success, the army as a whole was hardly in a position to say the same. The elite of the troops alone had been able to resist the flood of heavy cavalry from the cuirassiers. The peasants of Frome had been entirely swept from the field of battle. A great number, yielding from the mere effect of weight and pressure, had been thrown into the fatal mud that had stopped our forward march.
Many others, cruelly sabered and cut, lay in heaps, hideous to behold, all over the ground they had held. A small number had escaped the fate of their companions by joining us. Further on, the people of Taunton were still resisting, but much weakened in number. A long pile of horses and riders in front of us testified to the liveliness of the attack and the obstinacy of the resistance. On our left, the savage miners had been broken by the first shock, but they had fought with such fury, throwing themselves to the ground and disemboweling the horses with knife blows aimed from above, that they had finally forced the dragoons back. But the militiamen of the County of Devon had been scattered and had suffered the fate of the people of Frome. Throughout the attack, the infantry, posted on the other bank of the Rhine from Bussex, had been raining bullets down on us, and our musketeers, forced to defend themselves against the cavalry, were unable to retaliate. It did not take great military experience to see that the battle was lost and Monmouth’s cause doomed. It was already broad daylight, although the sun had not yet risen. Our cavalry had disappeared, our artillery was silent, our line pierced in many places, and more than one of our regiments destroyed. On the right flank, the Blue Guard Cavalry, the Tangier Cavalry, and two regiments of dragoons were forming up for a new attack. On the left flank, the foot guards had thrown a bridge over the ditch and were fighting hand to hand with the North Somerset men. Opposite us, there was a continuous fusillade, to which we replied in a weak and indecisive manner, for the powder wagons had lost their way in the darkness, and many men were shouting their hearts out asking for ammunition. Others charged with small stones, for lack of bullets. Add to this that the regiments, which had held their ground, had been badly eroded by the charge, and had lost a third of their effectives. Meanwhile, the brave peasants persisted in following cheers with cheers, encouraging each other with coarse jokes, as if a battle were only a somewhat rough game in which it was only natural to continue the game as long as someone remained to play their part. “Is Captain Clarke here?” cried Decimus Saxon, arriving with his right arm stained with blood. “Run to Sir Stephen Timewell and tell him to join his men with ours. Separately, we shall be broken. Together we can repel another charge. ” I spurred Covenant and went towards our companions to convey the order. Sir Stephen, who had been struck by a petrinal’s bullet and had a reddened handkerchief on his snow-white head, understood the wisdom of this advice and ordered his compatriots to march in the direction indicated. His musketeers, better supplied with powder than ours, did a good job in stopping for a time the murderous fusillade that came from the other side. “Who would have thought him capable of that?” cried Sir Stephen, his eyes blazing, when Buyse and Saxon arrived to meet him. “What do you think now of our noble monarch, our champion of the Protestant cause? ” “He is not a very great man of war,” said Buyse, “but perhaps that comes from lack of habit rather than lack of courage. ” “Courage?” cried the old Mayor, in a tone of disdain. “Look over there, look at your King.” And he pointed to the moor with a gesture of his hand, which was trembling with anger even more than age. Far away over there, but clearly visible on the ground, which was the dark shade of peat, a smartly dressed horseman was fleeing, followed by a troop of other horsemen, galloping at the fastest speed that could carry him away from the battlefield. There was no mistaking him: it was the cowardly Monmouth. “Hush,” cried Saxon, hearing our unanimous cry of horror and curse, “let us not discourage our brave young men! Cowardice is contagious. It will overtake an entire army as quickly as putrid fever . ” “The coward!” cried Buyse, gnashing his teeth. “And these brave countrymen! It’s too much. ” “Hold your pikes, my men,” shouted Saxon in a thunderous voice. We barely had time to form our square and throw ourselves into it before the whirlwind of cavalry leaped upon us again. At the moment when the people of Taunton had joined us, a weak point had occurred in our ranks, and it was through this opening that in an instant the Blue Guards forced their way through, crushing everything, striking furiously right and left. On one side the burgesses, and we on the other, we countered with violent blows of pikes and scythes which made more than one man’s saddles empty, but at the height of the melee, the royal artillery opened fire for the first time with a noise of thunder, on the other side of the Rhine, and a hurricane of cannonballs plowed through our compact ranks, tracing furrows of dead and wounded. At the same time a great cry: Powder! In the name of Christ, powder ! rose from the ranks of the musketeers, who had burned their last charge. The cannon roared again, and our men were again reaped. It was as if death himself were waving his scythe among us. At last, our ranks broke. Even in the midst of the piqueurs, steel helmets gleamed. Sabers rose and fell. The whole troop was forced to retreat, at least two hundred paces, without ceasing to fight furiously, and then it mingled with other bodies whose shock had made them lose all semblance of military order. Yet they refused to flee. The men of Devon, Dorset, Willsshire, and some of Somerset, trampled by the horses, sabered by the dragoons, falling by scores under the hail of cannonballs, continued to fight with stubborn courage, desperate for a lost cause and for a man who had abandoned them. Wherever I looked, I saw tense faces, clenched teeth. Howls of rage and defiance were uttered, but no cry announced fear or a desire to surrender. Some hoisted themselves onto the rumps of the horses and tore the riders from their saddles. Others, lying face down, cut the horses’ hamstrings with the edge of their scythes and stabbed the men before they had time to free themselves. The guards rushed in all directions, relentlessly through them, and yet the broken ranks closed on them and stubbornly resumed the fight. The thing became so desperate and so moving that I almost wished they would break ranks and flee, but on that vast moor there was no place where they could run and find refuge. And all the time they struggled, fought, blackened by powder, parched by thirst, shedding their blood as if it had been water, the man who called himself their King, spurred his horse, crossed the countryside, the bridle on his mount’s neck, his heart beating, having only the single thought of saving his neck, without asking what would become of his valiant partisans. A great number of infantrymen fought to the death, without giving or receiving quarter, but finally, scattered, broken, without ammunition, the main body of the peasants broke ranks and fled across the moor, closely pursued by the cavalry. Saxon, Buyse, and I had done all we could to rally them, and had killed some of those in the front rank of the pursuit, when suddenly I perceived Sir Gervas, standing without a hat, surrounded by a small number of his musketeers, and in the midst of a rabble of dragoons. Giving spurs to our horses, we made way to go to his aid, and we played with our sabers so as to free him for a moment from his assailants. “Jump behind me,” I shouted to him. “We can still escape.
” He looked at me, smiling, and nodded. “I’ll stay with my company,” he said. “Your company!” cried Saxon, “but, my boy, you’re mad, your company is swept away to the last man. ” “That’s how I understand it,” he replied, dropping a little mud from his cravat. “Don’t worry!” Think only of yourself. Farewell. Clarke. Present my compliments to… The dragoons charged us again. We were all driven back, fighting desperately, and when we could look around us, the baronet had disappeared forever. We learned later that the royal troops had found a body on the field which they took to be Monmouth’s, because of the effeminate grace of features and richness of costume. Without a doubt, it was that of our unfortunate friend, Sir Gervas Jerome, whose name will always remain dear to my heart. Ten years later, when we heard long talk of the bravery shown by the young courtiers of the House of the King of France and the courageous lightness with which they fought against us in the Low Countries at Steinkerque and elsewhere, I always thought, from the memory left in me by Sir Gervas, that I knew what sort of people they were. From now on it was time for every man for himself. Nowhere on the battlefield did the insurgents prolong their resistance. The first rays of the sun falling obliquely on the vast and dreary plain illuminated the long line of the red battalions and made the cruel sabers glitter as they rose and fell among the confused herd of helpless fugitives. The German had been separated from us in the melee, and we did not know at first whether he was alive or had perished; but long afterward we learned that he had managed to escape, though only to be taken prisoner with the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth. Grey, Wade, Ferguson, and others also found a way to slip away, while Stephen Timewell lay in the center of the circle of his savage-faced burghers. He had died as he had lived, a valiant English Puritan. All this we learned later. For the time being, we were fleeing across the moor, to preserve our lives, pursued by some platoons of cavalry, who soon abandoned us to attach themselves to easier prey. We were passing near a small thicket of trees, when a loud, male voice, saying prayers, attracted our attention. Moving aside the branches, we saw a man sitting with his back to a large block of stone, busy cutting his arm with a broad-bladed knife, while reciting the Lord’s Prayer, without a pause, without a tremor in his speech. He turned his eyes away from his terrible task, and we both recognized in him a certain Hollis, of whom I have spoken as having been with Cromwell at Dunbar. His arm had been half severed by a cannonball, and he was calmly completing the severance, to get rid of the useless hanging limb . Saxon himself, so accustomed as he was to all the aspects, to all the incidents of war, opened his eyes wide in terror at the sight of this strange surgery, but the man, after indicating with a brief nod that he recognized him, returned to his work with a fierce air, and at last while we watched, he cut off the last remaining shred, and lay down, his pale lips still murmuring his prayer. Note 1: The incident is historical and may serve to show what sort of men were those who learned war in Cromwell’s school. Author’s note. We could not do much to help him. Besides, our halt might have drawn the people who had set out in pursuit to his retreat. We therefore threw him a flagon half full of water and resumed our rapid course. Oh! war, my children, what a terrible thing it is! How can men allow themselves to be seduced, trapped by elaborate costumes, by leaping steeds, by vain words of honor and glory, to the point of forgetting, thanks to the outward splendor, the tinsel, the pageantry, the real, the frightening horror of this accursed thing ? Let no one think of the dazzling squadrons, the fanfares of the trumpets that awaken courage, let us think rather of this man lost under the shade of the alders and the deed he accomplished in a century, in a Christian country. Bitterly, I who have grown gray in harness, and seen so much field of battle that I count years in my life, I should be the last to preach on this subject, and yet, it is easy for me to see that if they are honest, men must either renounce war or confess that the words of the Redeemer are too sublime for them and that it is useless to still pretend that his teaching can be put into practice. I have seen a Christian minister bless a cannon that had just been melted down, another bless a warship as it slid on its stays. They, the so-called representatives of Christ, they blessed these engines of destruction that man, in his cruelty, had invented to destroy and tear to pieces other earthworms like himself. What would we say if we read in Holy Scripture that our Lord blessed the battering rams and catapults of the legions? Would we find this in agreement with his teaching? But there you are. As long as the leaders of the Church depart from the spirit of its teaching to the point of dwelling in palaces and riding in carriages, is it any wonder that, in the face of such examples, the lower clergy should sometimes break the rules laid down by their sovereign master? Looking behind us from the low hills that rise to the west of the moor, we could see the swarm of horsemen crossing the bridge over the Parret and entering the town of Bridgewater, driving before them the helpless band of fugitives. We had stopped our horses and were looking in sad silence over the fatal plain, when the sound of horses’ hoofs reached our ears. Turning about, we perceived two horsemen wearing the uniform of guards coming towards us. They had made a detour to cut us off, for they were coming straight towards us with raised swords and making animated gestures. “More carnage!” I said wearily. Why do they want to force us to do this? Saxon peered intently from under his drooping eyelids at the approaching horsemen, and a fierce smile made a thousand folds and wrinkles appear on his face. “It was our friend who set the dogs on our trail at Salisbury,” he said. “That’s good! I have a score to settle with him.” He was, in fact, that hot-headed young cornet we had met at the beginning of our adventures. An unfortunate stroke of luck had made him recognize my companion with his tall stature, while we were leaving the battlefield , and had led him to pursue him in the hope of taking revenge for the affront he had received from him. The other was a lance-corporal, a solidly built man, like a true soldier, riding a heavy black horse with a white mark on its forehead.
Saxon walked slowly towards the officer, while the soldier and I looked into each other’s eyes. “Well, my boy,” I heard my companion say, “I hope you have learned fencing since our last meeting.” The young guard gave a grunt of rage at this mockery, and immediately afterward, the clash of swords announced that they were grappling. For my part, I did not dare turn my eyes toward them, for my adversary attacked me with such fury that I could do nothing but push him aside. No pistol was used on either side: it was a frank sword-to-sword struggle. The corporal threw me relentlessly with his point, sometimes in the face, sometimes in the body, so that I had no opportunity to deliver one of those vigorous blows with the blade that would have ended the affair. Our horses circled each other, biting, and kicking while we engaged and parried the blows. Finally we found ourselves side by side, a sword’s length apart, and we took each other by the throat. He drew a dagger from his belt and struck me in the left arm, but I I threw a blow with my iron-gloved wrist that made him fall from his horse and lie motionless on the ground. Almost at the same time the cornet, wounded in many places, emptied the pommels. Saxon quickly dismounted, picked up the dagger that the soldier had dropped and was preparing to finish them both off, when I also dismounted and prevented him. He turned towards me with the promptitude of lightning, with an air so ferocious that I could not see the wild beast that was fully awakened in him. “What are you interfering with?” he growled. “Let me do it. ” “No, no, enough bloodshed,” I said. “Leave them on the ground. ” “Would they have had any pity for us?” he cried angrily , struggling to free his wrist. “They have lost the game. They must pay. ” “No, not this in cold blood,” I said firmly. I will not allow it. “Really, my lord?” he mocked, with a demonic expression in his gaze. With a violent jerk, he freed himself from my grasp, leaped back , and picked up the sword he had dropped. “Well! What about then?” I asked, placing myself on guard, one foot on either side of the wounded man. He remained motionless for a minute or two, looking at me from under his contracted eyebrows, his face convulsed with anger. Every moment I expected to see him spring upon me, but at last, with a lump in his throat, he sheathed his sword so abruptly that it clanged. Then with a bound, he mounted again. “We part here,” he said coldly. “I have twice been on the point of killing you, and a third time might be too much for my patience. You are not the companion needed by a soldier of fortune. ” Take orders, my boy. That is your vocation. “Is this Decimus Saxon speaking, or is this Will Spotterbridge?” I asked, recalling his joke about his ancestor. But his harsh face did not relax into a smile in reply. He gathered the reins in his left hand, gave one last sidelong glance at the blood-covered officer, and galloped off along one of the paths leading south. I watched him for a moment, but he did not even wave me adieu. He walked away without turning his head and finally disappeared behind a bump in the moorland. “A friend gone!” I said sadly, “and all this, perhaps, because I do not want to watch as a mere spectator at the slaughter of a defenseless man. Another friend has perished on the field of battle.” The third, the oldest, the dearest, lies wounded at Bridgewater, at the mercy of a brutal soldiery. If I return home , it will only be to bring anxiety and danger to those I love. Which way should I turn? I lingered for a few irresolute minutes near the guard lying on the ground, while Covenant walked very quietly, nibbling at the sparse grass, and from time to time turned his large black eyes towards me, as if to assure me that I still had at least one steadfast friend . I looked north at the heights of Polden, south at the Black Downs, west at the long blue range of the Quantocks, east at the vast moorland, and nowhere did I see anything that gave me hope of safety. To tell the truth, my heart was weary, and at that moment I cared very little whether I should escape from there or not. A curse, uttered in a low voice, followed by a complaint, brought me from my thoughts. The corporal was sitting, rubbing his head with an air of astonishment, of stupor, as if he did not know exactly where he was, or how he came to be there. The officer had also opened his eyes and given other indications of his return to consciousness. Evidently the injuries were not of a very serious nature. I was in no danger of being pursued by them, for even if they had wanted to do so, their horses had trotted off to join the numerous riderless mounts that were wandering on all sides of the Moor. I therefore mounted, and rode away at a slow pace, in order to spare my brave horse as much as possible, for the morning’s work had somewhat tired him. There were many squadrons separately beating the marshy plain, but I was able to avoid them and I continued my journey at a trot, until I was eight or ten miles from the field of battle. The few cottages or houses that I passed were deserted, and many of them bore the marks of pillage. Not a single peasant was to be seen. The ill-fame of the Kirke lambs had driven away all those who had not taken up arms. At last, after three hours of riding, I decided that I was far enough from the main direction of the pursuit to fear no danger.
I therefore chose a sheltered spot, where a large clump of brushwood hung over a small stream. There I sat down on a velvety moss-covered bank, rested my weary limbs , and tried to remove from my person the traces of the fight. It was only when I could cast a calm glance at my attire that I recognized how terrible the struggle in which I had taken part must have been, and how surprising it was that I had escaped from it almost without a scratch. I only vaguely remembered the blows I had given in the battle, but they must have been numerous and terrible, for the edge of my saber was as jagged and as blunt as if I had spent an hour striking an iron bar. From head to foot I was splattered with mud and covered in blood, partly my own, but mostly that of others. My helmet was all dented from the shocks. A petrinal bullet had ricocheted off my breastplate, striking it obliquely and leaving a deep groove. Two or three other cracks or stars proved that the excellent quality of the steel plate had saved my life. My left arm was stiff, almost inert from the stab given by the corporal, but after removing my doublet and examining the place, I found that if the wound had bled a lot, at least it involved only the outer side of the bone and therefore did not signify much. A handkerchief soaked in water and tied tightly around it softened the pain and stopped the bleeding. Apart from this scratch, I had not been hurt, but my efforts had produced a painful and general stiffness, as if I had been inflicted with a caning. The small wound, received in Wells Cathedral, had reopened and was bleeding. But with a little patience and cold water, I managed to clean and bandage it as well as any surgeon in the kingdom could have done. After examining my wounds, I now had to attend to my attire, for, to tell the truth, I looked like one of those blood-covered giants with whom Don Bellianis of Greece and other valiant paladins were accustomed to fighting. No woman, no child would not have fled at the sight of me, for I was as red as the parish butcher on the approach of St. Martin’s Day. However, a good wash in the gutter soon removed these traces of war, and I managed to erase the marks from my breastplate and boots. But as for my clothes, it was a waste of time to try to make them cleaner, and I gave up in despair. My good old horse had not even been grazed by weapons and bullets, so that when he was well watered, well rubbed, he was in as good condition as ever; and when we turned our backs on the little stream, we were a more presentable couple than when we first arrived on its banks… It was nearly noon, and I was beginning to feel very hungry, for I had not eaten anything since the previous evening. There was indeed a group of two or three houses on the moor, but the blackened walls and scorched thatch indicated that nothing was to be expected there. Once or twice, I saw people in the fields or on the road; but at the sight of an armed horseman, they ran as if their lives were threatened and plunged into the thickets like wild animals. At one point, where a large oak marked the meeting of three roads, two corpses swinging from a branch proved that the fears of the villagers were founded on experience. In all likelihood, these poor people had been hanged because the value of their savings had fallen short of what their plunderers expected, or because, having given everything to one band of plunderers, they had nothing left to satisfy the next band. Finally, as I was truly tired of searching in vain for food , I discovered a windmill standing on a green knoll at the end of some fields. Judging from its appearance that it had escaped the general plunder, I took the path leading to it from the main road. Chapter 7. My Perilous Adventure at the Mill. At the foot of the mill, there was a shed, evidently intended to house the horses that brought the farmer’s grain. There was still some grass left in it. So I untied Covenant’s girths and left him to feast heartily. As for the mill, it seemed silent and empty. I climbed the steep wooden ladder. I pushed open the door and entered a round room, paved with stone, from which another ladder led to the attic above. On one side of the room was a long square box, and all around the walls were several rows of sacks full of flour. In the hearth, there was a pile of people that only remained to be lit. So with the help of my lighter box, I soon had a cheerful blaze. I took a large handful of flour from the nearest sack. I kneaded it with water from a jug, rolled it, then made a flat cake, and I set about cooking it, smiling at the idea my mother would have if she witnessed such crude cooking. I am very sure that Patrick Lamb, the author of that book entitled The Perfect Court Cook, which the dear creature always held in her left hand, while she stirred and turned the sauce with her right, never seasoned a dish that was more to my liking at that moment. I did not even have the patience to wait until the cake had taken on a reddish tint, I seized it and swallowed it half cooked. I then rolled a second one and placed it before the fire, then taking my pipe from my pocket, I began to smoke, until it was ready, with all the philosophy that I could summon to my aid. I was lost in my reflections and thinking sadly of the blow that this news would give my father, when I was suddenly roused from it by a loud sneeze, which had the effect of having sounded in my ear. I sprang to my feet and looked around, but saw nothing but the solid wall behind me, and before me, the empty room. I had finally persuaded myself that I had been the victim of some illusion, when suddenly a loud sneeze, louder and more prolonged than the first, broke the silence. Was someone hidden in one of the bags? I drew my sword and went around the room, feeling for the point the large sacks of flour, without succeeding in discovering the cause of this noise. I was still astonished by the thing, when a quite extraordinary concert, in which violent aspirations, snorts, whistles mingled, broke out, followed by cries of Holy Mother! Blessed Redeemer! and other similar exclamations. This time, there was no mistaking the place where the uproar came from. I ran to the large box on which I had sat. I threw back the lid and looked inside. It was more than half full of flour, in the middle of which was lost a living being, on which the white powder had so well attached itself and stuck that, without the piteous cries it uttered, it would have been difficult to know if it was a human creature. I bent down. I pulled the man out of his hiding place. He immediately fell to his knees on the ground and began to howl for mercy, while raising with each of his contortions such a cloud of powder that I began to cough and sneeze. When at last this coating of flour began to come off, I was not a little surprised to see that it was neither a miller nor a peasant, but a man fully armed, with an enormous sabre hanging from his belt and who for the moment did not look badly like an icicle, wearing a vast cuirass. His helmet had remained in the kneading and his bright red hair, the only part of his person whose color was visible, stood on end in the air under the influence of terror, while he begged me to spare his life.
I found that this voice was not unfamiliar to me and I ran my hand over his face, which made him howl as if I were cutting his throat. There was no mistaking him from those plump cheeks, those eager little eyes. It was none other than Master Tetheridge, the cumbersome town clerk of Taunton. But what a change had taken place in the clerk we had seen strutting about in all the pomp and magnificence of his office before the brave Mayor on the day of our arrival in the County of Somerset! What had become of his self-assurance and his warlike air? While he was on his knees, his great boots clapped together in apprehension, and he ejaculated in a falsetto voice, like that of a Lincoln’s Inn beggar, stringing together excuses and explanations, as if I were Feversham himself and were about to order his execution. “I’m only a poor devil of a scribe, Your Serene Highness, ” he bawled. True, I am an unfortunate clerk, Your Honor, who has been dragged into these matters by the tyranny of his superiors. Never, Your Grace, did a more loyal man wear the cowhide. But when the Mayor says yes, can the clerk say no? Spare me, Your Lordship, spare the most repentant of wretches, who only asks in his prayers to serve King James to the last drop of his blood. “Do you renounce the Duke of Monmouth?” I demanded harshly. “Yes, … with all my heart,” he said ardently. “Then prepare to die,” I cried, drawing my sword, “for I am one of his officers.” At the sight of the steel, the miserable secretary uttered a veritable howl of terror. Falling face down, he writhed and rolled, until, looking up, he perceived that I was laughing. At this sight, he first fell to his knees, then rose, looking at me obliquely, as if he guessed nothing of my intentions. “You must remember me, Master Tetheridge,” I said. “I am Captain Clarke, of the Wiltshire Regiment of Foot, which Saxon commands. I am truly surprised that you should have adjured your loyalty, when you have not only sworn to maintain it, but have also made others take the same oath.” “Not at all, Captain, not at all,” he replied, resuming his usual fighting-cock manner as soon as he realized that the danger had disappeared. “In matters of oaths, I am as sincere, as loyal as I ever was. ” “On that, I believe you entirely,” I said. “I only dissembled,” he continued, shaking off the flour that covered him. “I merely put into practice that cunning of the serpent which in every warrior must be joined to the courage of the lion. You have read Homer, no doubt. Well, I too am, though little brushed with classical studies . I am not merely a crude soldier, although I can wield a sword with a vigorous hand. Master Ulysses, that is my ideal, just as Ajax is yours, I suppose. ” “I think the type of the devil coming out of the box would suit you much better,” I said. “Will you accept half of this cake? How did you get into this mess?” “Oh, by Saint Mary! Here’s how,” he replied, his mouth full of dough. “It was a stratagem, a ruse, such as the greatest generals devise, who have always been famous for their art of concealing their maneuvers and hiding where they were least expected. Indeed , when the battle was lost, when I had fenced myself with thrust and cut until my arm was numb and my blade blunted, I perceived that of all the people of Taunton I alone remained alive. If we were on the field of battle, you could recognize the place where I was by the circle of corpses of those who found themselves within reach of my sword. Seeing that all was lost, and that our scoundrels had fled, I mounted our worthy Mayor’s horse, seeing that this valiant gentleman had no further need of it, and I slowly moved away from the field of battle. I tell you there was something in my look and my bearing that prevented their cavalry from following me too closely. A soldier, it is true, blocked my path, but my usual blow with the edge of my saber easily overcame him. Alas! I have a heavy weight on my conscience: I have made both widows and orphans. Why come and defy me, when… God of mercy! what is this? “It’s only my horse, in the stable below,” I replied. “I thought it was the dragoons,” said the secretary, wiping the beads of sweat that had suddenly appeared on his forehead. “You and I would have made a sortie and attacked them. ” “Or you would have got yourself back into trouble,” I said. “I haven’t yet explained to you how I came here,” he continued. ” After having gone a few miles from the battlefield, I noticed this mill, and it occurred to me that a single-handed man could hold his own against a squadron of cavalry. We are hardly inclined to run away, we Tetheridges. It may be vain pride, but that feeling runs very strong in the family. We have had valiant blood in us since the time my ancestor followed Ireton as a supper-keeper. I stopped, then, and had dismounted to make my observations when my brute of a horse gave a sudden jerk to the bridle, and thus, having become free, disappeared in an instant, crossing the hedges and ditches. There was nothing left for me to rely on but my good sword.” I was climbing the ladder, and was busy planning a plan for a good defense, when I heard the hoof of a horse, and immediately after you came up from below. I instantly laid myself in ambush, and would not have been long in suddenly springing out for an attack, if the flour had not choked me, so that it seemed to me that a two-pound loaf of bread was stuck in my throat. For my part, I am glad that the thing happened, for in my blind anger, I might have hurt you . Hearing the clink of your saber, while you were climbing the ladder, I thought you were probably one of King James’s henchmen, perhaps even the captain of one of those squadrons that are scouring the plain. “That is very clear, very intelligible, Master Tetheridge, ” I said, relighting my pipe. “No doubt your attitude when I drew you from your hiding place had no other purpose than to mask your valor. But enough of that. What are your intentions? ” “It is to remain with you, Captain,” he said. “No, for that, you will not do it,” I replied. “I do not much care for your company. Your overflowing bravery may draw me into mĂŞlĂ©es that I would just as soon avoid. ” “No, no, I will moderate my valor,” he cried. ” In such troubled times , you will not be the worse for having the company of a fighter who has proven himself.” “Called to prove himself has failed,” I said, annoyed by my man’s boasting. “I tell you, I intend to remain alone. ” “No, you needn’t get excited about that,” he cried, moving away from me. “In any case, we had nothing better to do than stay here until nightfall, when we can reach the coast. ” “This is the first time you’ve shown any sense,” I said. “The royal cavalry will find enough to occupy themselves with Zoyland cider and Bridgewater beer. If we can slip through, I have friends on the northern coast who would take us aboard their lugger to reach Holland. For that, I will not refuse to help you, since you are my companion in misfortune. I wish Saxon had stayed with me. I fear we shall be caught.” “If you mean Colonel Saxon,” said the Secretary, “I believe he, too, is a man who combines cunning with valour. He was a tough, fierce soldier, I know that well, having fought back to back with him for forty minutes against a squadron of Sarsfield’s cavalry. He was simple in his language, and perhaps sometimes he treated the honour of a horseman with too little regard, but it would have been well if, on the field of battle, the army had had more such leaders. ” “You are right,” I replied, “but now that we have eaten, it is time to think of taking a little rest, for we may have a long journey to make tonight. I wish I could get my hands on a bottle of ale. I would be happy to have a drink to get better acquainted,” said my companion, “but as for sleep, it is easy to arrange.” Climb this ladder, you will find in the attic a quantity of empty bags on which you can rest. As for me, I will stay a few moments here, below, and I will cook myself another cake. “Stay on guard for two hours, and then wake me,” I replied, “then I will watch while you sleep.” He touched the hilt of his saber to give to understand that he would be faithful to his post. Then, not without some unpleasant forebodings, I went up to the attic. I threw myself on this rough bed and was soon falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, lulled by the grave and melancholy complaint of the wings turning and creaking. I was awakened by footsteps beside me and noticed that the little secretary had climbed the ladder and was leaning over me. I asked him if the time had come for me to get up. He answered me in a strange, cracked voice, that I still had an hour and that he had come to see if he could be of use to me. I was too tired to notice the slyness in his manner and the pallor of his cheeks. So I thanked him for his attention. I turned over and was soon asleep. My second awakening was more brutal, more terrible too. There was a sudden invasion by the ladder, creaking under footsteps heavy, and a dozen red coats filled the room. I sat up abruptly. I stretched out my hand to seize the sword I had placed beside me, within easy reach. The faithful weapon was gone; it had been stolen while I slept. Disarmed, and assailed unexpectedly, I was thrown to the ground and bound in an instant. One man held a pistol near my head and swore he would blow out my brains if I made a movement. The others wound rope around my body and arms. Even Samson would have had great difficulty in freeing himself. I understood that my efforts would be useless. I remained silent, waiting for whatever might happen. Then, no more than at any other time, my dear children, did I set much store by life, but finally I held it less dear than today, for each of you is like a little tendril of ivy that binds me to this world. And yet, when I think of the other beloved beings who await me on the other shore, I believe that now even death would not seem an evil to me. Without that, how desperate and empty life would be! After tying my arms, the soldiers dragged me up the ladder, as if I had been a bale of hay, into the room below, also full of soldiers. In a corner, the miserable scribe, a true picture of Abject Terror , shivering, his knees knocking together, would have collapsed if he had not been held by the grip of a vigorous corporal. Before him were two officers, one of them a small, hard, dark man with sparkling eyes and quick movements, the other tall, thin, with a long blond mustache, which reached halfway to his shoulders. The first held my saber in his hand and both were examining the blade with curiosity. “It’s a fine piece of steel, Dick,” said one, pressing the point to the stone floor and exerting pressure on the other side until the hilt touched it. “See how hard it springs back. No maker’s name, but the date, 1638, is stamped on the hilt. Where did you get that, hey, man? ” “It was my father’s sword,” I replied. “Then I hope he drew it in defense of a better cause than the one the son supported,” said the officer, mockingly. “A cause just as just but not more just,” I replied; This sword has always been drawn for the rights and liberties of the English, and against the tyranny of kings and the bigotry of priests. “What a nail for a theater!” Dick cried the officer. “How fine that sounds: the bigotry of kings and the tyranny of priests. Why, if that were delivered by Betterton right by the footlights, with one hand on his heart and the other raised to heaven, I’ll wager the whole audience would rise. ” “Very likely,” said the other, twirling his mustache, “but this is no time for fine speeches. What are we going to do with the boy? ” “Hang him,” replied the officer carelessly. “No, no, very gracious gentlemen,” yelled Tetheridge, suddenly wrenching himself from the corporal’s grasp and throwing himself on the ground before them. “Did I not inform you where you might find one of the sturdiest soldiers in the rebel army?” Did I not lead you to him? Did I not climb up quietly to steal his sword, for fear that one of the King’s subjects would perish while taking him prisoner? Surely, surely, you will not treat me with such wickedness, I who have rendered you such services. Have I not kept my word? Is he not as I described him, a giant in size and extraordinary strength ? The whole army will bear me witness on this point that he is worth two like him in single combat? I have delivered him to you. Assuredly you will release me. “There, that is very well cut, terribly well,” said the little one. officer, gently tapping one hand in the palm of the other. The emphasis was just right, the pronunciation clear. A little more offstage , corporal, if you please. Thank you! Now, Dick, it’s your turn to come on stage. “No, John, you’re too absurd,” cried the other, impatiently. “The mask and the boots are very good in their place, but you look at the play as a reality, instead of looking at reality as a play. What that reptile said is true. We must keep his word if we want other people in the country to deliver up the fugitives. There is no way to do it otherwise. ” “For my part, I believe in the Justice of Jeddard,” replied his companion. “I would start by hanging the man and then I would discuss the question of our promise. However, let me be killed if I ever impose my opinion on anyone!” “No, it’s impossible,” said the tall officer. “Corporal, take him away. Henderson will accompany you. Take off that cuirass and saber, which his mother would wear with better grace. Then, mind you, corporal, a few good blows with the stirrup strap on his plump shoulders would not be out of place to remind him of the King’s dragoons.” My treacherous companion was dragged away despite his resistance, and soon a succession of shrill howls, which became more and more distant as he fled from his executioners, announced that the instruction had been understood. The two officers ran to the little window of the mill and laughed heartily , while the soldiers, looking furtively over their shoulders, could not help but take part in their hilarity. I guessed that Master Tetheridge, thus spurred by fear, who threw him, despite his large belly, through hedges and into ditches, presented a rather laughable look. “And now to the other,” said the petty officer, turning away from the window and wiping the tears that laughter had brought to his face, ” this beam here would do our business. Where is the hangman Broderick, the Jack Ketch of the Royals? ” “Here I am, sir,” replied a soldier with a gruff and coarse face , “I have a rope with a noose here.” “Throw it over the beam, then. What have you got in your hand, you clumsy rogue, to wrap it up like that? ” “If you please to know, sir,” replied the man, “it comes from an ungrateful Presbyterian with pricked ears, whom I hanged at Gommatch. I did all that could be done for him.” Had he been at Tyburn, he would not have been treated with more consideration, and yet, when I laid my hand on his neck to make sure that all was well, he seized me with both teeth and took off a good piece of my thumb. “I am sorry for you,” said the officer. “You know, no doubt, that in such circumstances a human bite is as fatal as that of a mad dog, so that one of these fine mornings you may be seen biting and barking. But don’t turn pale. I heard you preach patience and courage to your victims. You are not afraid of death, are you? ” “No, not a Christian death, Your Honor, but ten shillings a week is not too well paid to end up like this. ” “Bah! It’s a lottery, like the rest!” remarked the captain, encouragingly . I have heard that in this circumstance the patient is so tense that he only beats the call with his feet behind his head, but it is perhaps not as painful as it seems. For the moment, attend to your duty. Two or three soldiers seized me by the arms. I shook them off as best I could and advanced, I think, with a firm step, a cheerful face, under the beam. It was a large beam blackened by smoke and which passed on one side to the other side of the room. The rope was thrown over, and the executioner, with trembling fingers, slipped the noose around my neck, taking great care not to come within reach of my teeth. Half a dozen dragoons took the other end of the rope and stood ready to hurl me into eternity. In all my adventurous life, I never saw myself so near to crossing the threshold of death as at that moment, and yet, I affirm, terrible as was my position, it was impossible for me to think of anything but the tattoos on old Solomon Sprent’s arm, and the skill with which he had combined the red and blue. And yet I did not lose the slightest detail of what was passing around me. The scene, that bare, tiled room, the single narrow window, the two elegant officers loitering, the weapons piled in the corner, and even the fabric of the coarse red serge, and the patterns of the large brass buttons on the sleeve of the man who held me, all this has remained clearly engraved in my mind. “We must do our work methodically,” remarked the tall captain, taking a notebook from his pocket. “Colonel Sarsfield may ask for some details. Let’s see… this is the seventeenth, isn’t it? ” “Four at the farm, and five at the crossroads,” replied the other , counting on his fingers. “Then, the one we shot in the hedge, and the wounded man who almost escaped dying, and the two in the little wood near the hill. I can’t remember any others, except those that were hung at Bridgewater immediately after the fight.” It is well to do the thing with careful attention, said the other, scribbling in his notebook. It is the business of Kirke and his men, who are also half-Moors, to hang and slaughter without distinction or ceremony, but it is fitting for us to set a better example. What is your name, man? “My name is Captain Micah Clarke,” I replied. The two officers exchanged a look and the shorter one whistled at length. “That is the man in question,” he said. “That is what you are asking questions for. I would be hanged if I did not already have presentiments that it would turn out this way. They said he was of a strong build. ” “Tell me, my man, did you ever know a Major Ogilvy, of the Horse Guards, of the Blues?” “As I had the honor of taking him prisoner,” I replied, “and as since that day he has always shared with me the soldier’s daily routine, I believe I have the right to say that I know him. ” “Remove the rope,” said the officer. And the hangman, with great reluctance, slipped the noose back over my head. “Young man, you are certainly called to something great, for you will never be nearer the grave, except the day you set foot on it for good and all. Major Ogilvy has made the most active representations on your behalf and that of one of your wounded comrades who is lying at Bridgewater. Your name has been transmitted to all the cavalry commanders with orders to bring you in unharmed if you are captured. But it is only fair to inform you that if the Major’s kind language may spare you a court-martial, it will be of little use to you before a civil judge, before whom you will ultimately have to appear.” “I wish to share the same fate, the same hazards as my comrades in arms,” ​​I replied. “Well, that’s a gloomy way to welcome your deliverance!” cried the smallest officer. “The situation is as dull as canteen beer. Ottway would have made better use of it. Can’t you then rise to the height it requires? Where is she? ” “She? Who?” I asked. “She! She, of course, the woman. Your wife, your sweetheart, your fiancĂ©e—whatever you like. ” “I have none of any kind,” I replied. “Ah well! What can we do in such circumstances?” he cried in a disappointed tone. “She should have run out of the wings and thrown herself into your arms. I have seen a similar situation draw three rounds of applause from the audience. What a fine subject spoiled, for want of someone to profit from it! ” “We have still other work to do, Jack,” his companion cried impatiently. “Sergeant Gredder, take two men and lead the prisoner into the church at Gommatch. It is high time we got back on the road, for in a few hours darkness will prevent pursuit.” Hearing these orders, the soldiers descended into the field, where their horses were on picket duty, and promptly set off again, led by the tall captain, the cornet, an amateur of the theater, directing the rear guard. The sergeant, to whose care I had been entrusted, a tall fellow with broad shoulders and black eyebrows, had my own horse brought and helped me mount it, but he removed the pistols from the saddlebags and hung them with my sword from the pommel of his saddle. “Shall I tie his legs under the horse’s belly?” asked one of the dragoons. “No, the young man has an honest face,” replied the sergeant. “If he promises to be quiet, we will untie his arms. ” “I have no intention of escaping,” I said. “Then untie the rope. A brave man in misfortune always has my sympathy. Otherwise I will become mute.” My name is Sergeant Gredder, formerly serving under Mackay and now in the Royal Cavalry, a man who works as hard, and is as poorly paid, as any in His Majesty’s service. By the right flank, and down the path! File on either side, and I behind! Our carbines are primed, friend. So keep your promise. “Oh! you may count on it,” I replied. “Your little comrade has played you a nasty trick,” said the sergeant, “for seeing us coming by road, he cut short across the fields to join us, and made a bargain with the captain, to spare him, on condition that he would deliver into our hands a man whom he described as one of the staunchest soldiers in the rebel army. And truly, you are not wanting in nerve and muscle, though you are certainly too young to have served much. ” “This campaign was my first,” I replied. “And in all likelihood, it will be your last,” he remarked with military frankness. “I hear the Privy Council intends to make such an example as will discourage the Whigs for at least twenty years. A lawyer is being brought from London whose wig is more to be feared than our helmets. He will kill more men in a day than a squadron of cavalry in a ten-mile pursuit. By my word, I’d rather they did this butchery work themselves. Look at those trees over there. It’s a very bad season when such acorns grow on English oaks. ” “It’s a bad season,” I said, “when people who call themselves Christians take such vengeance on poor, simple peasants, who have done nothing but what their conscience dictates. Let the chiefs and officers suffer; it’s only right.” They played to win if they won, and they have to pay the fine now that they’ve lost. But it breaks my heart to see these poor, pious country people treated like this. “Yes, there’s some truth in that,” said the sergeant. “Now, if these nasal-talking, long-haired sinners, rams who drive the flock to the sound of their bells, were the ones who led their flock to the devil, that would be another matter. Why don’t they want to not conform to the Church, for his torment? The King is quite content with that. Isn’t that good enough for them? Or are their souls so delicate that they cannot accommodate it to what fattens every good Englishman. The high road to heaven is too common for them. They must have their own way and they cry out against all those who will not follow it. “But,” I said, “there are pious people in all religions. When one lives honestly, what does it matter what one believes. ” “One must keep one’s virtue in one’s heart,” said Sergeant Gredder, “one must keep it packed in the depths of one’s knapsack. I am wary of holiness that spreads itself on the surface, of nasal language, of rolling of the eyes, of moaning, of salesmanship. It is like counterfeit money.” It is recognized by the fact that it has more brilliance, more appearance than the real one.
“The comparison is just,” I said. ” But, Sergeant, how is it that you have turned your attention to these subjects? Unless they are all being painted in false colors, the King’s dragoons have something else in mind. ” “I served in Mackay’s infantry,” he replied shortly. “I have heard of him,” I said. “He is, I believe, a man of both ability and religion. ” “Oh! for that it is true,” cried Sergeant Gredder warmly. ” He is a stern man, a true soldier, at first glance, but on closer inspection he has the soul of a saint.” I tell you that there was little need of the strappado in his regiment, for there was not a man who did not fear to see the saddened face of his colonel, more than he feared the provost marshal. During our whole long ride, I recognized that the worthy sergeant was a true disciple of the excellent Colonel Mackay, for he showed more than ordinary intelligence and showed serious and thoughtful habits. As for the two soldiers who walked on either side of me, they were as mute as statues, for the simple dragoons of that time knew how to talk of wine and women, but lost their poise and loquacity when it was a question of anything else. When at last we arrived in the little village of Gommatch, which overlooks the plain of Sedgemoor, it was with mutual regret that we parted, my guardian and I. As a last favor, I asked him to take charge of my Covenant, promising to pay him a certain sum per month for his maintenance and giving him the right to keep the horse for his own use, if I failed to claim it before the end of the year. It was a relief to my spirit to see my faithful companion taken away, who turned to look at me with large questioning eyes, as if he could not understand this separation. Whatever might happen to me, I was now sure that he was committed to the care of a good man who would see that nothing untoward happened to him. Chapter 8. The Coming of Solomon Sprent. The church of Gommatch was a small building roofed with stone, with a square Norman bell tower, and stood in the middle of the hamlet of that name. Its large oak doors, studded with large nails, and its tall, narrow windows made it well suited to the use to which it was about to be put. Two companies of the Dumbarton Infantry had been established in the village, under the command of a corpulent major, to whom I was handed over by Sergeant Gredder, who added some details of my capture and the reasons which had prevented my summary execution. Night was already falling, but a few dim lamps, suspended here and there from the walls, threw an uncertain and flickering light on the scene. At least a hundred prisoners were scattered on the flagstone floor, many of them wounded, and some evidently near to die. The uninjured men had gathered in silent and discreet groups around their suffering friends, and were doing their best to ease their pain. Several had even taken off most of their clothes to make beds and cover the wounded with them. Here and there one could discern in the shadows the black silhouettes of kneeling people, and one could hear resonating beneath the wings the rhythmic sound of their prayers, interrupted from time to time by a complaint, a painful, strangled breath, that of some poor sick person struggling to breathe. The vague, yellow light, falling on the grave, drawn faces, on the bodies in rags soiled with mud, would have inspired the talent of one of those painters from the Netherlands whose paintings I later saw in The Hague. On Thursday morning, the third day after the battle, we were all conducted to Bridgewater, and shut up until the end of the week in the church of St. Mary, the same from whose steeple Monmouth and his officers had examined the position of Feversham’s army . The more we heard of the fight from the soldiers and others, the more evident it seemed that our night attack had had every chance of success. Feversham had avoided almost none of the faults a general can commit. He had judged his adversary too lightly, and left his camp entirely exposed to surprise. When the shots broke out, he sprang from his bed, but as he was slow to find his wig, he wandered gropingly about his tent while the battle was being decided and scarcely came out until it was over. All were unanimous in declaring that but for the chance which caused our guides and scouts to overlook the Rhine ditch at Bussex, we should have found ourselves among the tents before the men could be called to arms. This circumstance alone, and the ardent energy of John Churchill, who was second in command, which afterwards made him famous under a nobler name in the history of France as well as England, spared the royal army a reverse which might perhaps have altered the issue of the campaign. Note 3: It is only fair to acknowledge that according to many authors Ferguson was as energetic as a soldier as he was zealous for religion. His account of Sedgemoor is interesting in that it expresses the opinion of those who took part in the affair on the causes of their failure. Now, besides these two squadrons, whose officers, without being of very great skill, had at least courage enough to conduct themselves honorably, if they had not, for want of a guide, encountered the above-mentioned obstacle, there was not in all the other squadrons, a single one who launched a charge, or even approached the enemy, sufficiently to give or receive a wound. Mr. Hacker, one of our captains, was no sooner within sight of their camp than he had the villainy to fire a pistol shot to give them notice of our approach. After which he abandoned his charge, and rode off at full speed, to secure the benefit of a proclamation from the King, offering pardon to all who returned home before a fixed time. He argued all this at his trial, but to this Jeffreys replied that he deserved to be hanged more than all others, and that for his perfidy towards Monmouth, as for his treason towards the King. And although no other officers behaved with such ignominy, nevertheless they were useless and rendered themselves no service, since they did not even attempt to charge once, and did not keep their men together, and I dare say that if our cavalry had not fired a single pistol shot, if they had confined themselves to holding their positions, so as to give the enemy anxiety and apprehension, the infantry alone would have known, would have won the battle, and would have triumphed. But our cavalry, remaining scattered and disunited, and fleeing every time a squadron of theirs, commanded by Oglethorpe, approached, gave an advantage to this body because the enemy, after having traversed the field of battle in all directions without judging it necessary to attack people whom their own fears had scattered, this enabled them to finally attack our battalions from behind and snatch the victim from their hands ready to seize it, and which were already on the point of having it. Besides, this troop of their cavalry did not amount to more than three hundred men, while we would have had more than we needed, if they had had some courage and had been commanded by a gallant man to attack them both from the front and from the flank. This I affirm with all the more conviction, as I was a saddened witness of it, for contrary to my custom, I had ceased my service with the Duke, who was advancing with the infantry, to move near the cavalry, especially as it was expected that they would be the first, that morning, to engage in action by bursting into and creating disorder in the enemy camp. Until the moment when our battalions were to arrive, I made every effort of which I was capable, for not only did I strike several soldiers who had abandoned their posts, but I also sharply reprimanded some of the captains for neglecting their duty. But I spoke with the greatest warmth to My Lord Grey and implored him to charge and not to allow the victory, which our infantry had in some measure seized, to be snatched from us. But he, instead of listening, behaved like an unworthy man and a cowardly coward, deserted that part of the battlefield, and abandoned his command, and moreover went at full speed towards the Duke, telling him that all was lost and that it was high time for him to get out of this mess. And by this, in addition to all the harm he had already caused, he persuaded the light and unfortunate gentleman to leave the battalions, while they were busy bravely disputing who would win the victory. And this happened very inopportunely, at the very moment when a certain person was trying to find the Duke to urge him to come and charge at the head of his troops. But what I dare to affirm is that if this Duke had had at hand only two hundred cavalry, well mounted, well equipped, valiant in their person, and commanded by experienced officers, they would have been victorious. This is acknowledged by our enemies, who have often confessed that they were on the point of fleeing after the attacks made upon them by our infantry, and that they would have been beaten if our cavalry had fulfilled its role, instead of waiting in inertia, watching without acting until the cavalry had re-established the fight, by falling upon the rear of our battalions. And we must not attack the common soldiers, who would have had the courage to follow their leaders, but those who commanded them, and in particular My Lord Grey, whom we have every right to accuse of having betrayed our cause, if indeed we can call cowardice treason . Extract from a Manuscript by Doctor Ferguson, quoted in the book entitled Ferguson the Conspirator, an interesting work by one of his direct descendants, a lawyer in Edinburgh. Author’s note. If you hear or read, my dear children, that the Monmouth Rebellion was easily quelled or that it was from the beginning a desperate undertaking, remember that I, who took part in it, clearly affirm that it nearly tipped the scales, and that this handful of resolute peasants, with their pikes and scythes, came very close to altering the whole course of English history. If, after suppressing the rebellion, this Privy Council showed so much ferocity, it was that he knew how close it had been to success. I do not want to dwell too long on the cruelty and barbarity of the victors, for it is not useful for your childish ears to hear such details. The softness of Feversham and the brutality of Kirke gave them, in the West, a reputation exceeded only by that of the high-ranking scoundrel who succeeded them. As for their victims, when they had been hanged, cut into quarters, and had suffered all that could be made to suffer, they left in their small villages, like a treasure to be passed on to successive generations, the reputation of brave and sincere men who died for a noble cause. Go now to Milverton or Wivoliscombe, or Minehead, or Colyford, or any village in the whole length and breadth of Somersetshire, and you will see that they have not forgotten those whom they are proud to call their martyrs. And today, where is Kirke, where is Feversham? Their names are preserved, it is true, but preserved in the hatred of the country.
How can we fail to see that these men, in punishing other men, brought upon themselves a far more severe punishment? Their sin, indeed, has brought them into the open. They did all that hard-hearted, villainous people are capable of , knowing well that by doing so they would have the approval of the cold-blooded hypocrite, the discriminator who then occupied the throne. They acted to gain his favor and they obtained it. Men were lost, cut up, and hanged again. Every crossroads in the country presented the terror of the gallows. There was not an insult, not an affront, capable of aggravating to the point of making them intolerable the anguish of death, which was not heaped upon these men doomed to long sufferings; and yet it is proudly said in their native county that in all this army of victims, there was not a single one who did not march to their death with a firm face, protesting that if the thing had to be done again, they would do it again. At the end of a week or two, news of the fugitives was received. Monmouth, it seems, had been captured by Portman’s yellow coats while trying to reach the New Forest, whence he hoped to escape to the continent. He was dragged, emaciated, unshaven, and trembling, from a bean field where he had sought shelter, and taken to Ringwood, in Hampshire. Strange rumors reached us about his attitude, rumors that we knew from the crude jokes of our guards. Some said that he had dragged himself to the knees of the boors who had taken him. According to others, he had written to the King, offering to do anything and even to throw the Protestant cause overboard, in order to save his head from the scaffold. Note 4: The following letter, which Monmouth wrote from the Tower to the Queen, well shows the abject state of his soul. Madam,–I will not have the boldness to write to Your Majesty until the day when I have shown the King how much I abhor the thing I have done, and how much I desire to live to serve him. I hope, Madam, that what I have said today to the King will prove how sincere I am, and how much I detest all these people who have brought me to this. Having done this, Madam, I believed I was in a suitable position to implore your intercession, which you never refuse to the unfortunate, I know, and I am certain, Madam, of being the object of your pity, having been seduced and drawn by cunning into this horrible affair. If I had no other object than the desire to live, Madam, I would never give you this trouble, but I hold on to life to serve the King, which I am in a position to do, and which I will do beyond what I can say. Consequently, it is after having taken this into account, that I can be bold enough to insist with you and implore you to intercede for me, for I am sure that the King will listen to you. Your prayers can never be refused, when they solicit life only to serve the King. I hope, Madam, that by the generosity and kindness of the King, and by your intercession, I can hope for my life, which will be, if I preserve it, entirely employed in showing Your Majesty every imaginable feeling of gratitude; and in serving the King as a faithful subject. And in being the most devoted and obedient servant, Monmouth. Author’s note. We then laughed at these stories, treating them as inventions of our enemies. Besides, it seemed impossible that at a time when the partisans showed him such firm and loyal attachment, he who had led them and on whom the eyes of all were fixed, should show less courage than is shown by the smallest drummer who marches with small steps at the head of his regiment on the field of battle. Alas, time proved to us that these stories were true, and that there was no abyss of infamy to which this unfortunate man was ready to descend in the hope of prolonging for a few years a life which had been a curse to so many of those who had followed him. No news, good or bad, about Saxon came to encourage me to hope that he had found a place of safety. Reuben was still confined to his bed by his wound; he received the care and protection of Major Ogilvy. This good gentleman came to see me more than once and endeavored to improve my situation, until one day I made him understand how painful it was to see myself treated differently from the brave lads with whom I had shared the perils of the campaign. He did me the great favor of writing to my father, to inform him that I was well and in no imminent danger. In reply to this letter, I received from the old man a strong and Christian recommendation to be of good courage, with many quotations from a sermon on patience, by the Reverend Josiah Seaton, of Petersfield. My mother, he said, was deeply sorry for my situation, but sustained by her confidence in the decrees of Providence. He enclosed with this letter a check made out to Major Ogilvy, charging him to make whatever use of it I desired. This sum, together with the little nest egg my mother had sewn into my collar, was of incomparable use to me, for prison fever had broken out among us, and I was able to provide the sick with suitable food, as well as to pay for the services of the doctors, so that the epidemic was killed in the germ before it could spread. In the first days of August, we were conducted from Bridgewater to Taunton, and thrown with hundreds of others into the same woolen warehouse where our regiment had been billeted at the beginning of the campaign. We gained little by the change. However, we found that our new guards were, in some way, more satiated with cruelty than the first, and that, from then on, they were less exacting of their prisoners. Not only were our friends allowed to visit us from time to time , but we were also able to obtain books and newspapers, thanks to a small present made to the sergeant on duty. We were thus able to pass our time in comparative comfort, during the period of a month or more which elapsed before our judgment. One evening, as I was leaning against the wall, my mind wandering, and my eyes fixed on a thin slice of sky which showed itself through the narrow window, I came to believe myself back in the meadows of Havant, when a voice came to my ear which indeed brought me back to my Hampshire home. That deep, hoarse timbre, which sometimes rose to an angry growl, could only belong to one man, to my old friend the sailor. I approached the door from which the uproar was coming, and all doubts disappeared as soon as I heard the words being exchanged: “Are you going to let me pass, yes or no?” he shouted. ” Allow me to tell you that I slowed down when people who were worth more than you asked me to cover the topsails with sails. I tell you that I have the admiral’s permit, and I don’t intend to reef them for a little piece of red paint. So pull through my hawser. Otherwise I might well sink you. ” “We don’t know any admirals here,” said the sergeant of the guard. The time for visiting prisoners is past for today, and if you don’t remove your ungainly person from here, I’ll make your back try the weight of my halberd. “I’ve taken blows and returned them before you were ever thought of, you landlubber,” yelled old Solomon. “I stood yardarm to yardarm with Ruyter when you were still learning to suckle, but old as I am, I want you to know that I’m not yet cast off, and that I’m still capable of trading broadsides with any red-tailed lobster brigand that was ever hung on the strappado to receive in the dice the impression of the King’s diamonds. I have only to sail back and signal Major Ogilvy to tell him how I received the welcome, and he’ll make your skin redder than your coat was. ” “Major Ogilvy!” cried the sergeant, more respectfully. If you had said that your permission was signed by Major Ogilvy, things would have turned out differently, but you started telling stories about admirals, commodores, and God knows what other overseas talk. “It’s a shame on your parents to have taught you so badly to know the King’s English,” Solomon grumbled. ” To tell the truth, my friend, it’s a matter of astonishment to me when I see seafarers in a position to outdo landsmen in matters of slang.” For of the seven hundred men on the ship Worcester, the same one that sank in the bay of Funchal, there wasn’t one, even among the cabin boys who man the guns, who didn’t understand everything I said, while on land there’s more than one simpleton like you, who might as well be Portuguese, from the little English he knows, and who looks at me like a pig in a hurricane, just for asking him where he stands, or how many times the bell has rung. “Who do you want to see?” asked the sergeant gruffly. “You have a devilishly long tongue. ” “Yes, and quite rude too, when I’m dealing with imbeciles,” retorted the sailor. “My boy, if I had you on my watch for a three-year cruise, I’d still make a man of you.” “Let the old man go,” shouted the sergeant furiously. And the sailor came in, rattling his wooden leg, his tanned face all tense, all upset, as much by the effect of the pleasure his victory over the sergeant gave him, as by that of a large chew he was in the habit of stuffing under his cheek. Having cast his eyes around him without seeing me, he put his hands to his mouth and called out my name in a resounding voice, accompanying it with a series of ahoĂ©s! which echoed throughout the building. “Here I am, Solomon,” I said, touching him on the shoulder. “God bless you, my boy, God bless you. I couldn’t see you, for my starboard eye is as clouded as the air around the banks of Newfoundland. Sue William threw a quarter-sized pot at it, at the Tiger Inn, nearly thirty years ago. How are you? All right all over, top and bottom?” “Everything is going as well as can be,” I replied. “I have little cause to complain. ” “You haven’t received a cannonball in the fixed maneuvers? No broken rigging. No holes between the side and the waterline? You haven’t been reduced to the state of a pontoon, not been taken in enfilade, not suffered a boarding? ” “None of that,” I said, laughing. ” Upon my word, you are thinner than you used to be, and you have aged ten years in two months. You set out in as smart and coquettish a ship of the line as ever obeyed the helm, and now you look like that same ship, after battle and storm have worn away the bright varnish from her sides, and torn down the pennants from the head of her mainmast. But I am no less glad to see you in good condition in sails and frames.” “I have witnessed sights quite capable of making a man age ten years. ” “Yes, yes,” he replied with a hollow grunt, shaking his head from side to side. “It is a damned business. And yet, however bad the storm, calm will always return afterward, provided you can sail through it with your anchor deeply planted in Providence. Ah! my boy, that is a bottom that holds well! But if I know you, my boy, you suffer more because of these poor devils who surround you than for yourself. ” “Indeed, it is very cruel to see them suffer with such patience and without ever complaining,” I replied, “and that for a man like that. ” “Ah! Yes, that chicken-livered creature,” the sailor grunted, gritting his teeth.
“How are my mother and father?” I asked, “and how did you come so far from home? ” ” Ah!” I should have been thrown ashore on my stumps of bones if I had waited any longer at my mooring. So I cut my cable, and after making a point north to Salisbury, I ran on under a good breeze. Your father put on a straight face, and is going about his business as usual, though he is much pestered by the justices of the peace. They have twice summoned him to Winchester for questioning, but they found his papers in order, and nothing could be found against him. Your mother, poor creature, has little leisure to sulk or wipe her eyes, for she has such a sense of duty that even if the ship were sinking beneath her feet, I will wager a galleon ‘s worth of silver to a tangerine that she would sit quietly in the galley, peeling buttercups or rolling pastry. They gave themselves to prayer, as others would indulge in rum, and they warm their hearts with it when the icy wind of misfortune blows. They were delighted to see that I was leaving to find you and I gave them my sailor’s word that I would get you out of the chains one way or another if the thing was feasible. “Get me out, Solomon?” I said. “There can be no question of that. How could you get me out? ” “There is more than one way,” he replied, lowering his voice to continue in a low voice, and nodding his gray head with the air of a man who speaks of a project that has cost him much time and much thought: there is the hatchway. “The hatchway! ” “Yes, my boy.” When I was quartermaster on the galley Providence, during the Second Dutch War, we found ourselves caught between the shore on the port side and de Ruyter’s squadron, so that after fighting until all our rigging was carried away, and blood flowed freely through our scuppers, we were boarded and sent as prisoners to the Texel. We were piled up in irons in the hold, among the pools of stinking water and the rats. The hatches were nailed shut and guarded by men, but despite this they did not succeed in keeping us, because the irons went to the drift, and Will Adams, the carpenter’s mate, pierced a hole in the seams of the planking, so that the ship almost sank, and in the confusion, we fell upon the prize’s crew, and using our chains as stunners, we became masters of the ship again. But you smile, as if there were little hope of making a plan of this kind succeed. “If this woolstore were the galley Providence, and Taunton’s territory were the Bay of Biscay, we might try,” I said. “Indeed, I have strayed from the channel,” he replied, frowning , “but there is another perfect method, which I have thought of, and that is to blow up the vessel. ” “Blow it up!” I cried. “Yes, a couple of barrels and a slow-burning fuse would do the trick, on a very dark night. Then what would these walls be that shut us in now?” “And where would the people who are there now be? Would n’t they jump out at the same time? ” “The devil take me! I forgot that!” cried Solomon. “No, I prefer to leave it to you. What have you to propose? You have only to give your marching orders. Then, with or without a companion ship, you will see that I am able to steer by them as long as this old carcass is fit to obey the helm. ” “Then, my dear old friend,” I said, “my advice is that you let things take their course and return to Havant, loaded with my recommendations for those who know me, to tell them to be of good cheer and hope for the best. ” “Neither you nor anyone else can do anything for me now, for I have decided to unite my fate with that of these poor people, and if I could leave them, I would not.” Do all you can to comfort my mother and call me back to Zachariah Palmer. Your visit was a joy to me, and your return will be one for you. You could not be of more use to me than by staying there. “Drown me, if I like to leave without having struck my blow!” he grumbled. “And yet if you want it that way, there is no more to talk about it. Tell me, my boy, has that big devil with the thin patches, the flat sides, who looked like a gutted herring, betrayed you? If so, by the Eternal, old as I am, my blade will become acquainted with the interminable rapier that hangs at his belt. I know where he has retired, where he has moored himself, quite comfortably like a good sailor, to await the return of the tide. ” “What, Saxon?” I cried. “Do you really know where he is?” For God’s sake, speak low, for there would be a rank and a good five hundred pounds to be gained by the first of these soldiers who laid hands on him. “It is not likely they will succeed,” said Solomon. “On my way here, I stopped at a place called Bruton, where there is an inn that can stand comparison with most, and the landlord is a strapping woman with a sharp tongue and a good look in her eye. I was drinking a glass of spiced ale, as is my custom at the sixth stroke of the middle watch, when I saw a tall, lanky carter loading barrels of beer onto a cart in the yard. Looking more closely, it seemed to me that I had already seen that nose, which resembles a hawk’s beak, those sparkling eyes, with the eyelids only half raised, but when I heard him swear to himself like a good Dutchman, then his figurehead came immediately to my mind. I went for a walk in the yard and touched him on the shoulder! Mordieu! My boy, you should have seen how he jumped back , spitting and threatening like a wild cat, all his hair bristling on his head. He quickly pulled a knife from under his greatcoat, for he no doubt believed that I would win the reward by delivering him to the redcoats. I told him that his secret was safe with me and I asked him if he knew that you were a prisoner. He replied that he knew and that he took it upon himself to see that nothing untoward happened to you, and yet, to tell the truth, it seemed to me that he had enough work to do arranging his sails without getting involved in piloting another. But I left him there and that is where I will find him if he has behaved badly towards you. “Well,” I said, “I am quite glad that he has found this refuge. We parted over a difference of opinion, but I have no reason to complain of him. He has shown me kindness and even friendship in many ways.” “He’s as cunning as an accountant’s clerk,” said Solomon. “I saw Ruben Lockarby, who sends you his affection. He is still confined to his bunk by his wound, but he is well treated. Major Ogilvy tells me that he has spoken so well for him that he has every possible chance of obtaining his acquittal, all the more surely since he was not present at the battle. You would, in his opinion, have a better chance of being pardoned if you had fought less valiantly, but you have distinguished yourself as a dangerous man, especially because you have won the affection of many of the common people among the rebels. The good old sailor stayed with me until late at night, listening to the story of my adventures, and in turn telling me the naive village gossip, which interests the distant traveler more than the rise and fall of empires could ever do.” Before leaving me, he took a large handful of silver coins from his purse and walked among the prisoners, inquiring about their needs and doing his best to console them in his rough seaman’s language. He also distributed coins to alleviate their troubles. There is in the kindness of the eye and the honest expression of the face a language that all men can understand, and although the mariner’s words could have been spoken in Greek, as far as was intelligible to the peasants of Somerset County, they gathered around him at the moment of his departure and called down the blessing of heaven upon his head. It seemed to me that with him a breath of pure ocean air had entered our confined and unhealthy prison and made it sweeter and more healthy for us. Towards the end of August, the judges left London on that tour of crimes which destroyed the lives and homes of so many men, and which left in the counties through which they passed a memory which will not be extinguished as long as a father can speak to a son. We learned their deeds day by day, for the guards took pleasure in relating them in detail, accompanying them with coarse and filthy language, in order to show us clearly what awaited us and to let us miss nothing of what they called the charms of waiting. At Winchester, the venerable and much honored Lady Alice Lisle was condemned by the great judge Jeffreys to be burned at the stake and it took all the efforts, all the entreaties of her friends, to obtain with great difficulty that he would grant her the miserable favor of dying under the axe and not at the stake. Her beautiful head was severed from her body amidst the groans and shouts of the crowd gathered in the town’s market square. In Dorchester, there was a wholesale massacre. Three hundred people were condemned to death, seventy-four were executed. Finally, the squires, most of whom were known as loyal Tories, came to complaining that hanged corpses were everywhere to be found. From there the judges went to Exeter, then to Taunton, where they arrived in the first week of September, more like furious and hungry beasts , who have tasted blood and can no longer satisfy their thirst for slaughter, than like men animated by a spirit of justice, instructed by experience to distinguish between the different degrees of guilt, or to recognize the innocent and protect him against injustice. They had a fine field for their cruelty, for at Taunton alone were a thousand unfortunate prisoners, among whom a great number were so unfit to express their thoughts, so entangled in the strange dialect they spoke, that it would have been just as advantageous to have been born dumb, so little chance had they of making the apologies they wished to offer understood, either to the judges or to the lawyers . The Lord President of the Court made his entrance on a Monday evening. I saw him pass by, being at one of the windows of the room where we were confined. At the head of the procession came the dragoons with their standards and kettledrums, then the men armed with their halberds, and after them a long line of carriages, occupied by the high dignitaries of the judicial order. Finally, drawn by six Flemish mares at its long tail, appeared a large open carriage, richly adorned with solid gold, and in which , on velvet cushions, was lounging the infamous judge draped in a crimson plush cloak, his head wearing a large white wig, so long that it fell down to his shoulders. It was said that he dressed in scarlet in order to strike terror into the hearts of the people, and that his halls were hung with the same color for this reason. As for him, it has been customary, since his villainy became known to all, to depict him as a man whose expression and features were as hideous as the soul they concealed. In reality, he was quite otherwise. On the contrary, this man, in his youth, must have been remarkable for his extreme beauty. Note 5: The portrait of Jeffreys in the National Portrait Gallery amply confirms Micah Clarke’s assertion. He is the handsomest man in the collection. Author’s note. He was not very old, it is true, if it is only a question of his age, when I saw him, but the debauchery and baseness of his morals had left their mark on his face without, however, entirely destroying the regularity and beauty of his features. He was dark, of a complexion more Spanish than English, with dark eyes and an olive skin. He had a haughty and noble air, but his temper was so easily inflamed that the slightest contradiction or the slightest trouble made him rave like a madman, his eyes burning, foaming at the mouth. I myself have seen him with foaming lips, his face convulsed with fury, like a man suffering from the high sickness. However, he was hardly more master of his other emotions, for, from what I have heard, it required very little for him to begin to sob and weep, especially when he had received some mark of disdain from his superiors . In my opinion, he was a man who possessed great faculties either for good or for evil, but who, by flattering his natural tendencies in what was dark in them, and neglecting the other side, had approached, as near as possible, to the diabolical nature. It must, in truth, have been a very bad government for such a vile, insolent wretch to be chosen to hold the scales of justice. As he passed, a Tory gentleman, who was riding beside his carriage, called his attention to the faces of the prisoners, who were watching. He looked up at them, showing his white teeth in a spiteful sneer. Then he sank back into his cushions. I noticed that not a single hat was raised in the crowd as he passed, and that even the rough soldiers seemed to experience a mixed feeling of fear and disgust at the sight of him, just as a lion would look at a hideous, blood-sucking vampire who had fallen upon the prey he himself had thrown to the ground. Chapter 9. The Devil in a Wig and a Dress. The work of carnage began without delay. That very night, the great gallows was erected in front of the White Stag Inn. For hours, we could hear the blows of mallets, the saws cutting the beams, at the same time as the obscene concert of the President’s entourage, who were noisily entertaining themselves with the officers of the Tangier regiment, in the room which gave onto the street and had a view of the gallows. On the prisoners’ side, the night was spent in prayer and meditation, the strong-hearted men strengthening their weaker brethren, exhorting them to show themselves manly, to march to their death in a manner that would serve as an example throughout the world to true Protestants. The Puritans, who were clergymen, had, for the most part, been hanged immediately after the battle, but a few remained to sustain the courage of their flock and show them how to march to execution. Never have I seen anything so admirable as the calm firmness and spirit with which these poor peasants faced their fate. Their bravery on the battlefield was nothing compared to that which they displayed in the legal slaughterhouse. Thus, amidst the whispered prayers and appeals to divine mercy, from voices that had never before implored human pity, the morning arose, the last morning that many of us had to spend on earth. The hearing should have opened at nine o’clock, but My Lord the President was indisposed from having prolonged the vigil in the company of Colonel Kirke. It was nearly eleven o’clock when the trumpets and the criers announced that he had taken his seat. The prisoners were called by name, one after the other, the most prominent first. They left us with handshakes and blessings, but we saw them no more, we heard them no more. Only a noisy roll of kettledrums could be heard from time to time. Its purpose, our guards told us, was to drown out the last words that the victims might utter and which would bear fruit in the souls of the listeners. The procession of martyrs, marching with firm steps and smiling at their fate, lasted all through that long autumn day, so that at last the rude soldiers on guard were reduced to silent awe before a courage they could not help recognizing as higher and nobler than their own. The treatment of these heroes may be called a debate, and it was indeed a debate, but not in the sense we English give to the word. It consisted only of being brought before the judge and insulted before being dragged to the gallows. The courtroom was the thorny road leading to the scaffold. What was the use of presenting a witness who was silenced by shouts, by oaths, by threats from the President who yelled and swore until the terrified burghers of Fore Street could hear him? I heard from people who were there that day that he spoke in a way worthy of a demon possessed person, that his black eyes sparkled with a brightness that had almost nothing human about them. The jury shrank away from him as if it were a poisonous creature when he turned his deadly gaze upon them. Sometimes, I have been told, his severity gave way to a still more terrible gaiety. He would lean back in his magistrate’s chair laughing so much that tears rolled down his ermine as he skipped. On that first day, nearly a hundred people were executed or condemned to death. I had expected to be one of the first, and I would no doubt have been, had it not been for the active efforts of Major Ogilvy. In fact, the second day passed without any attention being paid to me. On the third and fourth days, the butchery slowed down, not because pity was awakened in the soul of the judge, but because the great Tory landowners and the principal supporters of the government still had compassionate feelings, revolted by this massacre of defenseless people. But for the influence these gentlemen exercised over the judge, I am convinced that Jeffreys would have hanged to the last man the eleven hundred prisoners then confined at Taunton. Be that as it may, two hundred and fifty of them were sacrificed to the thirst for human blood of this accursed monster. On the eighth day of the assizes, only fifty of us remained in the wool store. Indeed, during these last few days, the prisoners had been tried in batches of ten, of twenty. But this time we were all led like a herd, under escort, into the courtroom. We were crammed into the bar in as many as could be accommodated, while the others were herded, like calves in the market, into the center of the room. The judge was sprawled on a high seat, with a canopy over him, the other two judges installed on lower seats, on either side of him.
To the right was the jury compartment, twelve carefully selected people, Tories of the old school, firm supporters of the doctrines of non-resistance and the divine right of kings. The Crown had taken the most minute precautions in the selection of these men. There was not a single one of them who would not have condemned his own father on the slightest suspicion that he leaned towards Presbyterianism or the Whigs. Directly below the judge was a large table covered with green cloth and strewn with papers. To the right of it was lined up the long row of the Crown’s lawyers, fierce people with ferret-like faces. Each of them held a bundle of papers, which they sniffed at from time to time. They were like so many mastiffs searching for the trail on which they intended to pursue us to the end. On the other side of the table sat a single man, young, fresh-faced , in wig and gown, with a nervous manner of timid caution. It was the lawyer, Master Helstrop, whom, in its clemency, the Crown had consented to grant us, lest anyone should be so bold as to declare that we had not been tried in accordance with legal forms. The rest of the hall was occupied by the servants of the judges’ suite , by the soldiers of the garrison, who behaved there as in their usual place of loitering and regarded the whole ceremony as a kind of entertainment that cost nothing, who laughed loudly at the coarse sarcasms, the brutal jokes of his Lordship. The clerk having stammered out the legal formula according to which we, the prisoners at the bar, having shaken off all fear of God, had assembled unlawfully, treacherously, et cetera, the Lord Justice of the Peace declared that he would take the matter in hand, as was his custom: “I hope we shall get out of this happily,” he said abruptly, “I hope judgment will not fall upon this building. Was ever so much villainy crammed into one courtroom ? Was ever such a collection of criminal faces seen? Ah! you scoundrels, I see a rope ready for each of you. Have you not Not afraid of judgment? Art thou not afraid of hellfire? You, the old man, in the corner, how is it that you had not enough of the grace of God in you to prevent you from taking up arms against your most gracious and most affectionate sovereign? “I followed the advice of my conscience, my lord,” said the venerable draper of Wellington, to whom he was addressing himself. “Ha! your conscience!” yelled Jeffreys. “A preacher with a conscience! Where was your conscience two months ago, you scoundrels, you rascals? Your conscience will be of little use to you, sir, when you are dancing in the air with the rope around your neck. Was such villainy ever seen? Was such effrontery ever heard? And you, you great scoundrel of a rebel, will you not have enough grace to keep your eyes lowered? Must you dare to look justice in the face, as if you were an honest man! Aren’t you afraid, sir?” Do you not see the death that awaits you? “I have seen it before, my lord, and I am not afraid of it,” I replied. “Brood of vipers!” he cried, raising his hands. ” The best of fathers, the most benevolent of kings! See that my words are recorded in the minutes, clerk! The most indulgent of parents. But unruly children must be brought back to obedience by the whip .
” And at this, he gave a ferocious sneer. “The king will spare your natural parents any further trouble on this point. If they wanted to preserve you, they had only to raise you in better principles. Rascals, we will be merciful to you.” “Oh! merciful, merciful! How many are there here, clerk? ” “Fifty-one, my lord. ” “Oh, sewer of vileness!” Fifty-one outright scoundrels, the likes of which were never dragged on the hurdle! Oh, what a mass of corruption we have here! Who defends the villains? “I defend the prisoners, Your Lordship,” replied the young lawyer. “Master Helstrop! Master Helstrop,” cried Jeffreys, waving his great wig until the powder fell out, “you are in all these dirty matters, Master Helstrop. You may well find yourself in a predicament, Master Helstrop. Sometimes I think I see you yourself in the hot seat, Master Helstrop. It may well happen that you too will need a gentleman in a long gown, Master Helstrop. Ah! take care, take care. ” “I am appointed by the crown, Your Lordship,” said the lawyer in a trembling voice. “Must I then hear myself answered!” roared Jeffreys, whose black eyes lit up with demonic rage. “Shall I be insulted in my own court?” Must every pleader of a five- farthing piece, because chance has put on him a wig and a gown, come and contradict the Lord Justice and jump in the face of the one who presides over the Tribunal? Oh! Master Helstrop, I fear I shall live long enough to see some misfortune happen to you. “I beg your Lordship’s pardon,” cried the lawyer with the failing heart, his face as white as the paper of his appointment. “Beware of your words and your actions,” replied Jeffreys threateningly . “See that you do not exaggerate the zeal in defending the scum of the earth. Well, now, let us see. What do these fifty-one bandits wish to say in their defense? Gentlemen of the jury, I pray you to observe the cut-throat air which all these faces have. It is fortunate that Colonel Kirke has given the tribunal a sufficient guard, for with them neither justice nor the Church is safe.” “Forty of them are asking to plead guilty to the charge of having taken up arms against the King,” replied our lawyer. “Ah!” shouted the judge, “has anyone ever seen such incomparable imprudence? Has anyone ever seen such inveterate effrontery? Guilty, they say? Have they expressed their repentance for this fault against the best, the most patient monarch! Write these words on the record, clerk. “They refused to express repentance, Your Lordship,” replied the defense counsel. “Oh! the parricides! the impudent scoundrels!” cried the judge. “Put these forty together on this side of the enclosure. Oh! gentlemen, have you ever seen such a concentration of vice! Look how baseness, villainy, can stand up, head held high. Oh! hardened monsters! But the other eleven! Can they hope that we will give credence to this transparent lie? to this palpable cunning? Will they be able to make the Court swallow it? ” “My lord, their means of defense have not yet been formulated,” stammered Master Helstrop. “I can smell a lie before it is spoken,” growled the judge. “I can read it as quickly as you can conceive it. Come on! Come on! The Court’s time is precious.” Propose means of defense or sit down and let sentence be pronounced. “These men, my lord,” said the defender, who was trembling so much that the parchment crumpled noisily under his hand, “these eleven men, my lord…” “Eleven devils, my lord,” interrupted Jeffreys. “They are innocent peasants, my lord, and lovers of God and the King. They have had no hand in this recent affair. They were dragged from their house, my lord, not because they were suspected, but because they were unable to gratify the rapacity of certain common soldiers who, disappointed in their hope of plunder… ” “Oh! shame! shame!” cried Jeffreys in a thundering voice, “thrice shame! Master Helstrop, is it not enough for you to support rebels, and must you also go out of your way to slander the King’s troops? What is the state of things?” In a word, what do these scoundrels allege in their defense? “An alibi, Your Lordship! ” “Ha! The argument known to all scoundrels. Have they witnesses? ” “We have here a list of forty witnesses, Your Lordship. They are waiting below. Many of them have traveled a long way, exposed themselves to a great deal of trouble, to annoyance. ” “What are they? Who are they?” cried Jeffreys. “They are country people, Your Lordship, farmers, tenant farmers, the neighbors of these poor people, whom they knew well, and who can speak of what they have done. ” “Farmers, tenant farmers,” shouted the judge at the top of his voice, “but then they belong to the same class as these men. Would you have us accept the oath of these people, who are themselves Whigs, Presbyterians, preachers, tavern-mates of those we are trying?” I’ll wager they’ve been planning this at leisure while they’re drinking their beer. At leisure, at leisure, the scoundrels. “Will you not hear the witnesses, your lordship?” cried our lawyer, restored to a faint sense of energy by this outrage. “Not a word from them, sir,” said Jeffreys. “I wonder if my duty to the King, my good master—write good master clerk—does not authorize me to put all your witnesses in the dock as accomplices and instigators of treason. ” “If it pleases your lordship,” cried one of the prisoners, “I have as witnesses Mr. Johnson, of Lower Stowey, who is a good Tory, and also Mr. Shepperton the clergyman. ” “It is only the more shameful for them to show themselves in such a cause,” retorted Jeffreys. What shall we say, gentlemen of the jury, when we see the country gentry and the clergy of the Established Church thus supporting treason and rebellion? Surely the last day is approaching. You are a most evil-intentioned, most dangerous Whig to have led them so far from their duty. “But listen to me, my lord,” cried one of the prisoners. “Listen to you, you lowing calf!” cried the judge. “We have nothing else to hear. Do you imagine that you have returned to your secret meeting, to dare to raise your voice like that. To hear you! Of course! We shall listen to you at the end of a rope before many days. “We can hardly believe,” said one of the Crown’s counselors, suddenly rising to his feet, with a loud noise of rustling papers, “we can hardly believe that it is necessary for the Crown to specify any case. We have already heard many times the whole story of this damnable, this execrable enterprise. The men who appear before your Lordship have, for the most part, admitted themselves guilty, and among those who persist, there is not one who could give us any reason to believe him innocent of the horrible crime of which he is accused. Accordingly, the gentlemen of the long gown are agreed in declaring that the jury may be required at once to pronounce a single verdict on the whole of the accused. ” “And that is…” asked Jeffreys, turning to the foreman to look at him questioningly. “Guilty, Your Lordship,” he said, sneering, while his fellow jurors nodded and laughed. “Naturally, naturally! Guilty as Judas Iscariot,” cried the judge, looking triumphantly at the crowd of peasants and burghers before him. “Bring them forward a little, ushers, so that I may consider them more favorably. Oh! the crafty ones! Are you not caught? Are you not surrounded? Where can you flee now? Do you not see hell opening at your feet? Eh! Are you not afraid? Oh! your confession will be short, short. ” One would have said that the devil himself had entered this man, for as he spoke, he writhed with infernal laughter and patted the red cushion before him. I looked around at my companions, but it seemed as if their faces had been carved in marble. If he had expected to see an eye moisten, a lip tremble, that satisfaction was denied him. “If I were free to act,” he said, “not one of you would escape the rope. Yes, and if I were free to act, some whose stomachs are too delicate for this work and who pretend to serve the King with their lips , while interceding for his worst enemies, would themselves have enough to keep a souvenir of the Assizes of Taunton. O! most ungrateful of rebels! Have you not heard how your most tender and merciful monarch, the best of men, recorder; put this in writing, yielding to the intercession of that great and charitable statesman, Lord Sunderland, recorder, write this has pity on you. Has it not softened you?” Didn’t that inspire horror in you ? I declare it, when I think of it… …And with these words, his breath suddenly failed him. He burst into sobs, tears streamed down his cheeks… –… When I think of this Christian patience, this ineffable mercy, I feel compelled to evoke in my mind this Great Judge before whom we all, and even I, will one day have to render our accounts. Must we start again, clerk, or is it already written? –It is written, Your Lordship. –Then write in the margin: sobs. It is good that the King be informed of our opinion in such a matter. Know then, you most perfidious and unnatural rebels, that this good father, whom you have pushed away with your heel, has come to interpose himself between you and the laws offended by you. At his command, I avert from you the punishment you have deserved. If you are truly capable of prayer, if your soul-killing secret meetings have not driven all grace from you, fall on your knees and express your gratitude when you learn from me that full pardon is granted to all of you. Then the judge rose from his seat, as if he were about to descend from the tribunal, and we exchanged looks of astonishment under the impression of this unexpected outcome of the trial. The soldiers and lawyers were no less astonished, while a murmur of joy and approval was heard among the few countrymen who had been bold enough to venture into this accursed enclosure. “However,” continued Jeffreys, turning around with a malicious smile on his lips, “this pardon is subject to certain conditions and reservations. You will all be taken from here to Poole in chains, and there you will find a ship waiting for you. You will be confined with others in the hold of the said ship and transported at the King’s expense to the Plantations, to be sold as slaves. May God give you masters who know how to make liberal use of the stick and leather to soften your stubborn spirits and lead you to better thoughts.” He was again on the point of withdrawing, when one of the Crown counselors said a word to him in a low voice. “A good idea!” cried the judge. I had forgotten. Bring back the prisoners, bailiffs. Perhaps you imagine that by the Plantations I mean His Majesty’s possessions in America. Unfortunately, there are already too many people of your religion there. You would all be among friends who might encourage you in your evil way and thus endanger your salvation. Sending you there would be adding wood to the fire, while flattering themselves that they are putting out the blaze. So, by the Plantations, I mean Barbados, where you will find yourself with the other slaves, who may have skin darker than yours, but whom I dare say have souls whiter. The trial ended with this final speech, and we were led back, through the crowd that filled the streets, to the prison from which we had been taken. On both sides of the street, as we passed, we could see the limbs of our former companions swaying in the wind, and their heads, stuck on poles and pikes, looked down at us with a grin. No wild country in the heart of pagan Africa could possibly present a spectacle equal in horror to that of the English town of Taunton, while Jeffreys and Kirke reigned there. There was death in the air. The townspeople came and went timidly, silently, hardly daring to dress in black in memory of those they had loved and lost, for fear that a charge of treason might be built on that fact. We had scarcely returned to the woolen store when a sergeant entered, accompanying a tall, pale-faced man with prominent teeth, whose light blue suit, white silk breeches, gold-hilted sword, and brilliant shoe buckles placed him among those refined Londoners whom interest or curiosity had brought to the scene of rebellion. He walked on tiptoe like a French dancing master, waving his scented handkerchief in front of his thin, prominent nose, and inhaled aromatic salts from a blue flask he held in his left hand. “By the Lord!” he cried, “but the stench of these filthy wretches is enough to take your breath away! Yes, by the Lord, let my vital organs be torn out if I venture among them unless I am, as I am, a veritable debauchee from hell!” Is there any danger of catching prison fever, Sergeant? “They’re all as healthy as carp, Your Honor,” said the non-commissioned officer, putting his hand to his cap. “Hey! Hey!” cried the refined fellow, with a high-pitched laugh. “It’s not often you receive a visit from a person of quality, I’m sure. It’s on business, Sergeant, on business. Auri sacra fames. You remember, Sergeant, what Virgilius Maro said. ” “Never heard that gentleman speak, sir, at least not to my knowledge,” said the sergeant. “Hey! Hey! Never heard him speak? Hey! That will be a hit with Slaughter, Sergeant. That will make Slaughter laugh. By my soul! But when I start a story, people complain that they can’t get any service, because the boys laugh so much that no work can be gotten out of them. Oh! Bleed me! But this is a very dirty, very profane troop. Call the musketeers near, Sergeant, lest they jump on me. “We’ll see to that, Your Honor. ” “I’m allowed a dozen of them, and Captain Pogram has offered me twelve pounds a head. But I must have some solid, solid, sturdy scoundrels, for the journey kills many of them, Sergeant, and the climate tries them likewise. Ah! here’s one I must have. Yes, it’s very true .
He’s young. He has a lot of life and a lot of strength in him. Mark him down, Sergeant. Mark him down.” “His name is Clarke,” said the soldier. “I’ve marked him. ” “If this is the clerk, I wish I had a priest to make the pair,” cried the fop, sniffing his flask. “Do you catch the joke, Sergeant? Hey! Hey! Does your dullness of mind rise to that height? Make me turn red, if I don’t feel up to it. And that other one over there with the brown face, you can mark him too, and likewise the young man beside him. Mark him. Ah! he’s waving his hand at my side. Hold fast, Sergeant. Where are my salts. What is it, man? What is it? ” “If it please your honor,” said the young peasant, “if it pleases you to choose me for a troop, I hope you will allow my father, here, to come with us also. ” “Peuh! Peuh!” cried the fop, you are unreasonable, yes, truly. Has anyone ever heard of such a thing? Honor forbids it. How dare I impose an old man on my honest friend, Captain Pogram. Fi! Fi! Let them cut me in two if he doesn’t say I swindled him! There’s a fellow over there, a red-headed fellow, Sergeant. The Negroes will imagine he’s caught fire. They, with these six sturdy louts, will complete my dozen. “You really have the best of the bunch,” said the Sergeant. “Yes, let them drown me if I don’t have a quick eye for horses, men, and women! I’ll find the best in a batch in an instant. Twelve times twelve, well near one hundred and fifty pieces, Sergeant, which will have cost only a few words.” I only had to send my wife, a darned handsome person, mind you, and who dresses fashionably, to my good friend the secretary, to ask him for a few rebels. How many? he said. “A dozen will be enough. And everything was settled with a stroke of the pen. Why didn’t the damned fool think to ask for a hundred? But what is it, Sergeant, what is it? A lively little man, with a pumpkin head, dressed in a riding habit and big boots, had just entered the wool store with a great clanging of spurs, with a very assured, very authoritative air, carrying a large saber of antique form which trailed behind him, and waving a riding crop. “Good morning, Sergeant,” he said in a strong and imperious voice, ” perhaps you have heard of me?” I am Mr. John Wooton, of Langmere House, who has been at such pains for the King, and whom Mr. Godolphin called, in the middle of the House of Commons, one of the local columns of the State. These were his own words. It’s beautiful, isn’t it ? Columns? Mark this ingenious idea: the State would be in some sort a palace or a temple, and the faithful subjects as many columns, and I was one of them. I am a local column. I have received a royal license, Sergeant, to choose from among your prisoners ten sturdy scoundrels to sell, as a reward for my efforts. Line them up, then, that I may make my choice. “Then, sir, we are here for the same business,” said the Londoner, who placed his hand on his heart and bowed so low that his sword seemed to point perpendicularly towards the ceiling, the honorable George Dawnish, at your service! Your most humble and most obedient servant, sir. At your command in all things, under all circumstances. It is truly a joy, a favor, sir, to make your distinguished acquaintance. Hem! The squire seemed somewhat disconcerted by this shower of London salaams. “Ahem! sir! yes, sir,” he said, shaking his head quickly.
” Glad to see you, sir! Devilishly glad! But these men, sergeant! Time is pressing, for there is a march tomorrow at Shepton, and I should be delighted to see my old gossip before it is sold. Here is a real flesh and blood. I must have it. ” “Pardieu! I beat you to it,” cried the courtier. Drown me, if it doesn’t pain me. He’s mine. “Then this one,” said the other, pointing at him with his riding crop. “He’s mine too. My goodness! But it’s too funny. ” “Body of God! How many have you got?” cried the Squire of Dulverton. “A dozen! Hey! Hey! The whole dozen. Kill me if I didn’t get the best choice before you! The first bird up, you know the old saying. ” “It’s an infamy,” cried the squire angrily, “a disgrace, an infamy. We must fight for the King, risk our skins, and then, when all is over, here comes a flock of antechamber footmen, who come to steal the choice from us before their masters are served! ” “Antechamber footmen, sir,” squawked the refined man. On death, sir, that touches my honor very closely. I have seen blood flow, sir, and wounds open for the slightest provocations. Retract it, sir, retract it. “Back, coat-carrying pole!” said the other contemptuously. ” You came, like other carrion-eating birds, when the battle was over. Was your name mentioned in Parliament? Are you a local column? Back, back, tailor’s dummy! ” “And you, insolent boor in clogs,” cried the coxcomb, a coarse oaf with a foul tongue, “the only column you have ever made acquaintance with is the whipping post. Ha! Sergeant, he is reaching for his sword. Arrest him, Sergeant, arrest him, or I may hurt him . ” “No, gentlemen,” cried the non-commissioned officer, “this quarrel must not continue here.” We cannot tolerate disorder within the prison, but there is a well -graded lawn outside, where there is as much space as a gentleman could wish for exercise. This proposal did not seem to please either of the two angry gentlemen, who began to compare the lengths of their swords and to swear that before sunset each would hear from the other. Our landlord, for I may so call the fop, at last left, and the squire, after choosing the next ten men, went off with a great clatter, cursing the courtiers, the Londoners, the sergeant, the prisoners, and chiefly against the ingratitude of the government, which rewarded him so sparingly for his zeal. This scene was only the first of many similar ones, for the government, in its efforts to satisfy the demands of its supporters, had promised many more prisoners than were delivered. I am sorry to say, I saw not only men, but women of my country, titled ladies even, wringing their hands, lamenting because it had been impossible for them to get any of those poor people of Somerset to sell as slaves. And indeed, it was very difficult to make them understand that their Their solicitations to the Government did not give them the right to seize the first townsman or peasant who fell into their hands and send him off to the Plantations without further ado. So, my dear little children, I have taken you back with me to the past during all the evenings of this long and boring winter, I have made you witness scenes in which all the actors are underground , except perhaps one or two old men like me, to keep some memory of them. I have learned that you, Joseph, have written down, every morning, what I had told you the day before. You did very well to do this, because your children and your children’s children will be able to take an interest in it and even feel some pride, in learning that their ancestors played a part in such scenes. But now spring is coming, the greenery is stripped of its snow, so that you have better things to do than to remain seated and listen to the stories of a talkative old man. Ha! ha! you shake your head. But the truth is, your young limbs need to be exercised, to be strengthened, to be consolidated, and you will never achieve this result by roasting yourselves before this great fire. Besides, now my story is rapidly drawing to a close, for I never intended to tell you anything other than the events relating to the insurrection in the West. If the part which is closing has been of the most dreary kind, if it does not have for its denouement a joyous carillon and handshakes, as in cheap books, it is history and not me whom you must blame . For Truth is a severe mistress, and once you have set out with her, you must follow the gossip to the end, even if she must defy all the rules, all the conditions, which would have us turn this inextricable confusion that is the world into the well-ordered, Dutch-style garden of storytellers. Three days after our trial, we were lined up in the Rue du Nord, in front of the castle, with men from other prisons who were to share our fate. We were placed four abreast and a rope joined each row to the next. I counted fifty of these rows, which would bring our total to two hundred. On each side marched dragoons. We had companies of musketeers in front of us and behind us to prevent any attempt at attack or escape. We set out in this order on September 10, amidst the tears and groans of the townspeople, many of whom saw their sons or brothers on their way to exile without being able to exchange a last word or an embrace with them. Some of these poor people, old, wrinkled men with wobbly heads, decrepit women, trudged painfully for miles after us along the high road, until the rearguard infantry turned around and drove them off with oaths and blows from their rifle sticks. That day we passed through Yeovil and Sherborne. The next day we crossed the North Downs to Blandford, where we were herded together like cattle and left there overnight. On the third day we resumed our march through Wimborne and a series of pretty Dorset villages, the last English villages most of us would see for many long years. Late in the afternoon, we saw the yards and rigging of the ships appear in Poole Harbour. After another hour, we descended the arduous and rocky path that leads to the town. There we were ranged on the quay opposite the broad-decked, heavy-rigged brig that was destined to carry us into slavery. During the whole of this march, we were treated with the greatest kindness. by the common people. They came running from all these cottages with fruit and milk, which they shared among us. In other places, dissenting ministers risked their lives by coming to stand on the roadsides, to bless us as we passed, amidst the coarse jokes and curses of the soldiers. We went on board and were led into the hold by the ship’s lieutenant, a tall, red-faced sailor with ringed ears, while the captain, standing on the stern, legs apart, pipe in mouth, checked us one by one by means of a list he held in his hand. When he saw up close the solid build and the rustic air of health of the peasants, which even their long captivity had not been able to affect, his eyes sparkled and he rubbed his big red hands with pleasure. “Take them down, Jim,” he kept shouting to the lieutenant. ” Tie them down properly.” Down there. There are quarters fit for a duchess, by Jove, a duchess. Wrap it up for me. We filed past the delighted captain one after the other. Then we descended the steep ladder that led to the hold. There, we were led into a narrow corridor, on each side of which opened the compartments designated for us. As a man reached the front, the one reserved for him, he was pushed in by the sturdy lieutenant, and secured to the floor by ankle shackles fitted by the ship’s armorer. It was dark when we were all chained up, but the captain made a round with a lantern to make sure his property was perfectly safe. I could hear him and the lieutenant calculating the value of each prisoner and counting what he would get for them on the Barbados market. “Have you served them their fodder, Jim?” he asked, putting his lantern in each compartment in turn. Are you sure they got their rations? “An oat loaf and a pint of water,” replied the lieutenant. “A duchess would be satisfied with that, by my word,” cried the captain. ” Look at this one, Jim. Look at his big hands: he could work for years in the rice paddies before the land crabs come and devour him. ” “Yes, we’ll have a fine auction at the colonists for that assortment. By God! Captain, you’ve done a great deal there. By Jove, you’ve fooled those Londoners in a fine way. ” “What’s that?” yelled the captain. “Here’s one who hasn’t touched his ration? Ah! my man, are you too delicate of a stomach to eat what others have found good, who were better than you? ” “I haven’t the heart to eat, sir,” replied the prisoner. “What!” Would we allow ourselves whims, fancies? Do you claim to sort, to choose? I tell you, my man, you belong to me body and soul. I paid you ten handsome coins, and now I must hear that you do not want to eat. Get to work at once, you capricious scoundrel, or I will have you sent to the strappado. “Here is another one who continually remains with his head bowed on his chest, without enthusiasm, without life. ” “You rebellious, stubborn dog,” cried the captain, “what are you complaining about? Why are you acting like an insurer during a storm? ” “Please, sir, it’s because I can’t stop thinking about my old mother, down there in Wellington, and I wonder who will feed her now that I am no longer there. ” “Hey, what does it matter to me?” yelled the brutal sailor. How will you ever reach the end of your journey in good health and with a happy heart if you stay there like a sick hen on its roost? Laugh, my man, make yourself cheerful, or I will give you something to cry about. It is shameful for you, earthling rag, to sulk, to whining like a weaned child. Haven’t you got all the heart could wish for? Give him a bit of rope, Jim, if you ever catch him fretting. He’s only doing this to annoy us. “Your Honor will excuse me,” said a sailor running up from the deck. “There’s a stranger aft who wishes to speak to Your Honor. ” “What sort of man is he, friend? ” “He’s certainly a person of quality, Your Honor. He speaks as confidently as if he were the captain of the ship. The boatswain only brushed against him and he began to swear and curse at him, and look him in the face with eyes like a wild cat, so that Job Harrison fancied he had taken the devil himself on board. The men don’t find his appearance very much to their liking. “What the devil can this fellow be?” said the captain. “Go on deck, Jim, and tell him I’m busy counting my live cattle and will come to him in a moment. ” “No, Your Honor, we’ll be in trouble if you don’t come up. He swears he doesn’t intend to be fooled, that he wants to see you at once . ” “Blood be damned, whoever he is!” growled the sailor. “Every cop is master of his own dunghill. What does that rascal mean? Even if he were Lord Privy Seal, I want to let him know I’m master of my own deck.” With these words, and accompanied by rumblings of indignation, the mate and captain together drew back the ladder, and swung the heavy hatch cover down after them. A single oil lamp, suspended from one of the joists in the center of the passage, which separated the two rows of cells, was all the light we were allowed. By its yellow and murky glow, we could vaguely distinguish the ship’s large wooden ribs curving on either side of us and supporting the crossbeams that held up the deck. A foul odor, coming from the stagnant water, poisoned the thick, heavy air. Every moment, a rat, uttering a shrill cry and with a stamping sound, darted across the lighted area, and disappeared a little way into the darkness. The heavy breathing I heard around me told me that my companions, exhausted by their journey and their suffering, had finally fallen asleep. From time to time, a mournful clanging of chains, the sudden interruption of breath, and a deep intake of breath, reminded me that some poor peasant, still under the influence of a dream which showed him his humble corner of land among the Mendip groves, was suddenly awakened to see the vast coffin in which he lay, and to breathe the poisonous air of the floating prison. I lay awake for a long time, entirely absorbed in my thoughts about myself, and also about the poor creatures around me. At last, however, the rhythmic beating of the water against the sides of the ship, the slight rolling and pitching, caused me to fall into a sleep from which I was suddenly roused by a light passing before my eyes. I sat up and saw several sailors clustered around me, with a tall man wrapped in a black cloak, who held a lantern above my head. “That is the man in question,” he said. “Come on, sailor, you must come on deck,” said the ship’s armorer. And with a few blows of his hammer, he knocked the irons off my feet.
“Follow me,” said the tall stranger, leading me to the hatchway ladder. It was a heavenly sensation to be back once again in the fresh air. The stars shone brightly in the sky. A fresh breeze blew from the land and murmured a charming song through the rigging. Close by, the lights of the city cast yellow flashes and gay. Further on, the moon peeped furtively over the Bournemouth hills. “This way, sir,” said the sailor, “straight into the cabin, sir.” Still following my guide, I found myself in the lower cabin of the brig. A square, gleaming table occupied the center, and a bright lamp swung above it. At the very end, right in the lighted part, sat the captain, his face beaming with greed and hope. On the table were a small pile of gold pieces, a bottle of rum, some glasses, a tobacco tin, and two long pipes. “My compliments, Captain Clarke,” said the captain, thrusting forward his round, bristling head. “Accept the congratulations of an honest seaman. It seems we are not meant to be traveling companions, after all.
” “Captain Micah Clarke is to make a voyage on his own,” said the stranger. At the sound of his voice, I started with astonishment. “Good heavens!” I cried, “Saxon! ” “You guessed it,” he said, throwing back his cloak and showing me the well-known face and bearing of the soldier of fortune. “By my faith, friend, if you could pick me up in the Solent, I can well, I suppose, get you out of this cursed rat-trap where I find you. It’s a tie, as they say before the green carpet. No doubt I had a grudge against you at the time of our last parting, but I still kept a corner of my soul for you. ” “A chair and a glass, Captain Clarke,” cried the skipper. “By Jove! I think you’re quite ready to lift a finger and rinse your whistle after all you’ve been through.” I sat down at the table. My head was spinning. “This is too deep for me,” I said. “What does all this mean, and how did it happen?” “As for me, the meaning is as clear as the glass in my binnacle,” said the sailor. “Your good friend Colonel Saxon—that’s his name, I hear—offered me as much money as I could hope to earn by selling you in the Indies. My word! I’m rough and I speak frankly, but my heart is in the right place. Yes, yes, I wouldn’t want to carry off a man by fraud if I could set him free, but we have our own interests to look after, and trade is hardly going well. ” “Then I’m free!” I said. “You’re free,” he replied. “Here’s your purchase money on the table. You can go wherever you please, except to England, where you’re still an outlaw by virtue of your sentence. ” “How did you do that, Saxon?” I asked. “Have you nothing to fear for yourself?” “Ho! Ho!” laughed the old soldier. “I’m a free man, my boy.” I hold my pardon, and I care no more for a spy or an informer than for a maravedi. Who did I meet a day or two ago ? Colonel Kirke himself. Yes, my boy, I met him in the street, and in his face I put my hat askew. The scoundrel put his hand to the hilt of his sword, and I would have drawn it to send his soul to the devil, if we had not been separated. Jeffreys and the others are as indifferent to me as the ashes of this pipe. I can snap this thumb and forefinger to taunt them. They would rather see the back of Decimus Saxon than his face, I ‘ll tell you, yes! “But where does that come from?” I asked. “Eh! Virgin Mary, it’s no mystery. Old birds, who have experience, are not caught with straws.” When I left you, I set out for a certain inn where I could be sure of finding a friend. I spent some time there in secret, as the French say, in order to prepare the plan I had in mind. Lightning and thunder! I had a terrible fear caused me by this old sailor your friend, who might be sold as a painting, for as a man he is no longer good for much. Well, I remembered quite early on the matter of your visit to Badminton and the Duke of B… We will not name anyone, but you will easily guess what I am talking about. I sent him a messenger to tell him that I intended to buy my pardon by making known all I knew of the double game he had played with the rebels. The message was delivered secretly and he replied that I would find him himself, at a certain place, at night. Instead of going there in person, I sent my messenger, who was found the next day dead with more buttonholes in his doublet than the tailor had made. Whereupon I sent again, showing myself more demanding and talking of a speedy settlement. He asked me my conditions. I replied: a full pardon and a command for me, and for you a sum sufficient to enable you to go comfortably to a foreign country and devote yourself to the noble profession of arms. I obtained both, although it was as hard as having his teeth pulled. His name has great credit at Court at this very moment and the King can refuse him nothing. I have my pardon and a command of troops in New England. For you, I have two hundred pieces; of which thirty were used to pay your ransom to the captain; twenty others are due me for my advances in this matter. You will find in this bag the one hundred and fifty-odd pieces, of which you will pay fifteen to the fishermen who undertook to transport you to Flushing. You will have no trouble believing, my dear children, how upset I was by this sudden turn of events. When Saxon had stopped speaking, I remained as if stunned, trying to understand what he had said to me. Then, a thought came to me which froze the flame of hope and happiness which the idea of ​​my regained freedom had made spring up in me. My presence had been a help, a consolation to my unfortunate companions. Would it not be cruel to abandon them in their distress? There was not a single one among them who did not raise his eyes to me in his sorrow, and to the small extent of my resources I had succored and comforted them. How can I abandon them now? “I am extremely obliged to you, Saxon,” I said at last, speaking slowly and with some difficulty, for they were painful words to pronounce, “but I fear that you have given yourselves unnecessary trouble . The poor peasants have no one to care for them, to help them. They are as simple as children, and just as little made to be disembarked in an unknown country. I cannot bring myself to abandon them. ” Saxon burst out laughing, leaning back in his chair, stretching out his long legs and thrusting his hands into his breeches pockets. “That is too much,” he said at last. I had foreseen many difficulties on my way, but this one, I did not think of it! You are, it must be said, the most vexatious man who ever wore a cowhide jerkin. You always have some reason from who knows where to escape, to frighten yourself, like a dizzy, half-tamed colt. And yet I believe I can overcome, with a little persuasion, these strange scruples which take possession of you. “As for the prisoners, Captain Clarke,” said the sailor, “I will behave towards them like a father, on my word, I will do it, the word of an honest sailor. If it were convenient for you to take a trifle of twenty pieces to ensure their comfort, I would see that they have food such as many of them have never had the like of at their own table.” And besides, they’ll come on deck during the watches and get some fresh air for an hour or two a day. I can’t suggest anything more equitable. “I have a word or two to say to you on deck,” said Saxon. He left the cabin, and I followed him to the end of the stern, where we stood leaning against the rails. The lights had gone out one after the other in the town, so that the black ocean beat against the even blacker shore. “You need not worry about the prisoners’ future,” he said, speaking to me in a low voice. “They will not be leaving for Barbadoes, and this captain, with a soul as hard as a stone , will not have to sell them, despite all the certainty he has of it. If he can get out of this situation by saving his skin, he will have more luck than I think. He has a man on board who would make no more fuss than I would about pushing him overboard. ” “What do you mean, Saxon?” I cried. “Have you ever heard of a certain Hector Marot?” “Hector Marot? Yes, certainly, I know him very well.” He was a highway robber, no doubt, but with that a fellow of terrible energy, and a good heart beneath the guise of a thief. –Himself. He is, as you say, an energetic man, and a resolute swordsman, although, from what I have seen of his game, he is weak in pointing strokes, and has an exaggerated preference for cutting strokes and does not attach enough importance to the point. In which he does not pay enough attention to the opinion and teaching of the most remarkable fencers in Europe. Bah! Bah! People differ of opinion on this point as on many others. Yet it seems to me that I would rather be carried off the field of combat, after having used my weapon secundum artem than to leave it without a scratch after having broken the laws of fencing. Quarto, tierce, seconde, that’s what I say, and to hell with your swordsmen and your flirtations. “But it’s about Marot,” I said impatiently. “He’s on board,” said Saxon. ” It seems he was revolted, indignant at the cruelties inflicted on the peasants after the Battle of Bridgewater. As he is a man of rather dark, rather fierce character, his disapproval was expressed in deeds rather than words. Here and there in the countryside, soldiers were found killed with pistols or daggers, without their assailant having left any trace. There were at least a dozen such treaties, and it soon came to be whispered that Hector Marot, the highwayman , was the author of all this and they set out ardently in pursuit of him. “Well, what next?” I asked, for Saxon had paused to light his pipe with the same old metal box containing a lighter he had used at our first meeting. When I think of Saxon, it is almost always as he appeared at that moment, when the red glow lit up his hard, animated, hawk-like face, and showed a thousand little folds and wrinkles that time and care had etched into his tanned brown skin. Sometimes in my dreams, this face appeared to me against a background of darkness. His half-closed eyes, so mobile, so blinking, are turned towards me in that slightly oblique way which was peculiar to him, so that at last I find myself sitting up, and stretching out my hand into the empty space, almost expecting to feel around it another thin, nervous hand. He was, in many respects, a dishonest man, my dear children, a cunning man, full of guile, who had few scruples, few confidences, and yet human nature is such a strange thing, and it is so difficult for us to control our feelings, that my heart warms when I think of him and fifty years have rather increased than weakened the sympathy I have for him. “I have heard,” he said, slowly blowing out puffs of his pipe, that Marot was indeed the man of that stamp, and that he was so closely pressed that he ran the danger of being captured. Consequently, I set out to find him, and I held counsel with him. His mare had perished from a stray bullet, and as he had a great affection for this beast, this event made him more fierce and more dangerous than ever. He no longer had, he said, any taste for his old profession. In fact, he was ripe for anything. That is how one makes useful instruments. I learned that in his youth, he had learned the sailor’s trade. At these words, my plan took shape with as much speed as one fires a petrinal shot. “And then?” I asked, “I don’t see clearly yet.” “Yet, it is quite obvious to you now. Marot’s aim was to give the slip to the people who were pursuing him and to be of service to the exiles.” Could he have done anything better to carry out this project than to enlist as a sailor on board that brig, the DorothĂ©e Fox, and leave England with it? There are only thirty men on board. Below the hatches, there are nearly two hundred, and simple as they may be, you know as well as I do, they have no equal when it comes to using the point and the edge, but they lack the order and discipline that would be necessary in such a case. Marot has only to go down among them, one dark night, free them from their shackles, put in their hands some firearms , some clubs. Ho! Ho! Micah, what do you say? The planters would do well to cultivate their lands themselves, if they have to count in this instance only on the arms of the country people of the West. “Indeed, it is a well-conceived plan,” I said. It is unfortunate, Saxon, that with your ingenuity, your inventive spirit, you do not have an honorable field of action. You are, I know well, as capable of commanding armies, of organizing campaigns as any of those who ever carried a sword. “Look over there,” Saxon said quietly, taking me by the arm. ” Do you see the place lit by the moon, beside the hatchway? Do you not see that short, stocky man who is standing alone lost in his thoughts, his head bowed on his breast? It is Marot. I assure you, if I were Captain Pogram, I would rather have for first mate, for bedfellow the devil himself , horns, hooves, and tail, than have that man on board my ship. You have no reason to worry about the prisoners, Micah. Their future is decided.” “Then, Saxon,” I replied, “it only remains for me to thank you and accept these means of salvation that you have placed within my reach. ” “That is speaking like a man,” he said. “Is there anything else I can do for you in England? And yet, by the Mass, it might well be that I will not stay there very long, for, as I have learned, I am to be entrusted with the command of an expedition that is being prepared against the Indians who have ravaged the plantations of our colonists. It will be a good deal to obtain a profitable employment, for I have never seen such a war, where one could neither fight nor plunder. I give you my word, I have barely had any money in my hands since it began. If it were a question of sacking London, I would not want to start it again.” “There is a friendly person whom Sir Gervas Jerome has recommended to my care,” I remarked, “but I have already provided for what he desired. It remains for me to make known to all the people of Havant that a King who has lavished the blood of his subjects, as the one we have, is not destined, in all likelihood, to possess much.” long the throne of England. When it falls, I shall return, and sooner perhaps than one thinks. “This treatment inflicted on the West has, indeed, greatly indisposed the whole country,” said my companion. “From all sides I hear that the hatred against the King and his ministers is more violent than before the explosion. Hey! Captain Pogram, this way! We have arranged the matter, and my friend is ready to leave. ” “I thought he would ask to tack,” said the captain, advancing towards us with a faltering gait which proved that the bottle of rum had kept him company since our departure. By my faith, I was sure of it. And yet, by the Mass, I am not surprised that he thought twice before leaving the Dorothy Fox. She is fitted out for a duchess, by my faith. Where is your boat? ” “Side to side,” said Saxon. My friend joins me, Captain Pogram, in hoping that you will have a pleasant and useful voyage. “I am devilishly obliged to him,” said the captain, waving his tricorn hat in all directions. “And also that you will arrive safe and sound in Barbadoes. ” “There is little doubt of that,” said the captain. “And that you will make good enough use of your merchandise to receive the reward of your humanity. ” “Ah! those are fine words,” cried the captain. “Sir, I am in your debt.” A fishing boat was alongside the brig. By the smoky light of the lanterns in the stern, I could discern men on its deck and the large brown sail all ready to be hoisted. I climbed over the planking and set foot on the rope ladder that led down to it. “Farewell, Decimus,” I said. ” Farewell, my boy. Have you got your money in a safe place? ” “I have it. ” “Then I have another present for you.” It was given to me by a sergeant of the royal cavalry. It is on him that you must rely henceforth, Micah, for food, shelter, and clothing. It is to him that a brave man must always resort for his livelihood. It is the knife with which you will open this oyster that is the world. Look, my boy. This is your saber. “My old saber! My father’s sword!” I cried, in rapture , when Saxon drew from under his cloak and handed me the faded leather scabbard, of the old pattern, with the heavy brass handle that I knew so well. “Here you are now,” he said, “a member of the ancient and honorable corporation of soldiers of fortune. As long as the Turk prowls grunting before the gates of Vienna, there will always be work for strong arms and brave hearts.” You will see that among these wandering warriors, who came from all climes and all nations, the name of English is held in very high esteem. I know very well that it will not decline when you become part of the brotherhood. I wish I could go with you, but I am promised pay and a position which it would be unfortunate to renounce. Farewell, my boy, and may good fortune attend you! I clasped the old soldier’s calloused hand and stepped into the fishing boat. The cable that held us was removed, the sail hoisted, and the boat sped across the bay. It forged ahead through a thickening darkness, a darkness as black, as impenetrable as the future towards which the boat of my life was sailing. Soon the force of the rising and falling told us that we had passed the entrance to the harbor and were in the open channel. On land, flashing lights, appearing at long intervals, marked the line of the coast. As I turned to look back, a cloud, moving slowly, uncovered the moon, and I saw the clear outline of the brig’s rigging on the cold white disc. Near the sails stood the veteran, holding on to a rope with one hand and waving the other in farewell and encouragement. Another great cloud blotted out the light, and that thin, sinewy figure, that long, outstretched arm, were the last sight I saw, for a long and sad time, of the dear country where I was born and brought up. Chapter 10. Where All Things End. So, my dear children, I have come to the end of the tale of a failure—of an adventure that failed bravely, nobly, but was a failure none the less. Three years later, England was to regain possession of herself, to throw off the chains that fettered the freedom of her limbs, to drive James and his poisonous brood far from her shores, just as I was now fleeing them. We had made the mistake of being ahead of our time. And yet there came a time when the lads who had fought so vigorously in the West were remembered with sympathy, when their limbs, gathered from many ditches and the solitudes where the executioners had sown them, were brought back amidst the silent mourning of a nation, to the pretty country cemeteries where they would have liked to rest. There, within reach of the ringing of the bell which had, in their childhood, called them to prayer, under the turf where they had walked, in the shadow of those hills of Mendip and Quantock which they had loved so much, these brave hearts sleep in peace in their mother’s womb. Requiescant! Requiescant in pace! Not another word about myself, dear children. This story is all bristling with I. It sounds like an Argus… That is a witticism, which you may not understand, I suspect. I have undertaken to tell you the history of the War in the West, and you have just heard this story. You may coddle me and cajole me as much as you like, but you will not get another word out of it. Ah! I know how talkative he is, the old man, and that if you could only lead him to Flushing, he would lead you through the wars of the Empire, to the court of William and to the second invasion of the West, which had a happier outcome than the first. But I will not go another inch. Go out onto the lawn, you little scoundrels. Have you nothing to exercise but your ears, to love squatting around Grandfather’s chair so much? If I last until next winter and the rheumatism leaves me alone, it may well be that I will tie up the broken threads of my story. As for the other characters, I can only say what I know of them. Some disappeared entirely from my knowledge. Of some others, I have heard only vague and incomplete things . The leaders of the insurrection escaped much more easily than those who followed them, for they perceived that the passion of greed is even stronger than that of cruelty. Grey, Buyse, Wade, and others redeemed themselves with all they possessed. Ferguson escaped. Monmouth was executed on the mound of the Tower, and at least in his last moments he displayed that spirit which, from time to time, shone through his natural weakness, like the flame that flashes intermittently from a fire that is about to go out. My father and mother lived to see the Protestant Religion resume its ancient place and England become the champion of the Reformed faith on the Continent. Three years later I found them again at Havant, almost as I had left them, except that there were a few more silver threads in my mother’s brown tresses, my father’s broad shoulders were a little stooped, and his brow was furrowed with care lines. They made life’s journey hand in hand, he the Puritan, and she a follower of the Church, and I have never despaired of seeing religious hostility healed in England, after having recognized how It is easy for two people to maintain the most energetic faith in their own creed, while feeling the most sincere affection and respect for that which professes another religion. Perhaps a day will come when Church and Chapel will be to each other like a younger brother and an older brother, working together for the same purpose and each rejoicing in the success of the other. Let the disagreement between them be expressed in something other than the pike and the pistol, the court and the prison, let it be rivalry for a higher life, for who will adopt the broadest view , for who will be able to boast of showing the poorer classes the happiest and best cared for. From then on this rivalry will no longer be a curse, but a blessing for this country of England. Ruben Lockarby was ill for many months, but when at last he recovered, he found himself amnestied thanks to the care Major Ogilvy gave himself. After a time, when the commotion had entirely subsided, he married Mayor Timewell’s daughter, and still lives in Taunton as a wealthy, prosperous citizen. Thirty years ago a little Micah Lockarby was born, and now I hear there is another, son of the first, who promises to be as spunky a Roundhead as any who marched to the beat of a drum. As for Saxon, I have heard from him more than once. He made such skillful use of the hold he had on the Duke of Beaufort that, through the latter’s protection, he obtained the command of an expedition sent to punish the savages of Virginia, who had committed great cruelties against the colonists. For he fought so well with ambushes against their ambushes, played such tricks on their most cunning warriors, that he left a great name among them and his memory still lives among them, under an Indian sobriquet, which means the sly man with long legs and rat eyes . After driving the tribes far into the desert, he received as a reward for his services a territory, on which he settled. There he married and spent the rest of his days growing tobacco and teaching the principles of war to a numerous line of gangly children, as long as poles. I am informed that a great nation of people of astonishing strength and extraordinary stature promises to be formed on the other side of the water. If this really comes to pass, it may well be that these young Saxons or their children will contribute to it. Would to God their hearts may never harden toward this little island in the sea, which is, and must always be, the cradle of their race! Solomon Sprent married and lived many years as happily as his friends could wish. While I was abroad, I received a letter from him, in which he informed me that although he and his companion ship had set out alone on the marriage passage, they were now escorted by a small boat and a passing boat. One winter night when the ground was covered with snow, he sent for my father, who ran home. He found the old sailor sitting up in bed, his bottle of rum within reach, his tobacco box beside him, and a large yellowed Bible balanced on his bent knees. He was breathing hard and in terrible trances. “I have a battered plank and nine feet of water in the hold.” It came faster than I can explain. In truth, friend, I have not been fit for sea for many days, and it is time I was condemned and cast off. My father nodded sadly, noticing the dark color of his face and his embarrassed breathing. “What is the state of your soul?” he asked. “Ah! yes,” said Solomon, “that is a cargo we are carrying under our hatches, without being able to see it and we have not gave a hand in securing it. I have just re-read the sailing orders here and the ten articles of war, but I do not find, it seems to me, that I have deviated from my course to the point of not having to hope to enter the channel. “Do not trust in yourself, but in Christ,” said my father. “He is the pilot naturally,” replied the old sailor. “But when I had a pilot on board, I never failed, as usual, to keep an eye on the grain, you see, and that is what I will do now. The pilot does not esteem you any less for that. So I am going to cast my sounding line on my side, although I am told that there is no bottom anywhere in the Ocean of God’s mercy. Tell me, friend, do you think that this same body, this same carcass here, will one day be resurrected? ” “That is what we are taught,” replied my father. “I’ll know her anywhere by the tattoos,” said Solomon. “They were made when I was with Sir Christopher in the West Indies, and I should be sorry to have to lose them. As for me, you see, I never meant harm to anyone, not even to those pot-bellied Dutchmen, though I fought against them in three wars, and they took one of my spars, and he’s hanged after them! If I brought daylight into some of them, you see, it was in good part and a matter of service. I drank my share, my good share, enough to sweeten my bilge water, but very few people saw me in bad shape in the rigging above, or refusing to obey my helm. I never drew my pay or my share of the prize, without my sailor being kindly received to ask for half.” As for the whores, the less said about them the better. I have been a faithful shipmate to my Phoebe ever since she saw fit to wait for my signals. Here are my papers, all clean and with nothing hidden. If I am summoned to the stern this very night by the Supreme Lord High Admiral in Chief, I have no fear that he will have me put in irons, for though I am only a poor seaman, I have found in this book a promise, and I have no fear that He will not keep it. My father spent some hours with the old man and did his best to comfort and help him, for it was evident that he was rapidly declining. When at last he left him, leaving him with his faithful wife near him, he seized the brown but emaciated hand that lay on the blankets. “I will see you again,” he said. “Yes, in the latitude of heaven,” replied the dying sailor. His hunch was right, for in the early hours of the morning, his wife, leaning over him, saw a beautiful smile on his tanned face, bronzed by the blows of the sea. Raising himself on his pillow, he raised his hand to a lock of hair on his forehead, as is the custom of sailors, then he fell slowly, peacefully back into the long sleep from which one awakens when night ceases to exist. You will doubtless ask me what became of Hector Marot and the strange cargo that had set sail from the port of Poole. They were never heard of, unless one applies to their fate a rumor that was spread a few months later by Captain Elias Hopkins, of the ship La Caroline, of Bristol. Captain Hopkins reports that on the crossing back from our colonies, he encountered a thick fog and had the wind head on in the vicinity of the large schools of cod. One night, while he was making his rounds, in a fog so dense that he could scarcely see the head of his own mast, he experienced a most strange sensation, for as he and others were standing on deck, they heard, to their great astonishment, the sound of a great number of voices, which seemed to form a chorus, a sound at first faint and certain, but soon growing in volume, until which it seemed to be within a stone’s throw. After which it diminished and slowly faded away, disappearing into the distance. Some of the crew put the matter down to the Accursed One, but as Captain Elias Hopkins did not fail to point out , it was very strange that the Evil One should have chosen familiar hymns of the West for his nocturnal exercise, and stranger still that the inhabitants of the deep should have, in singing, an pronunciation as slurred as that of the County of Somerset. As for me, I have little doubt that it was indeed the Dorothy Fox who had passed by in the fog, and that the prisoners, having regained their liberty, celebrated their deliverance in the manner of true Puritans. Whither were they led? Whether it was on the rocky coast of Labrador, or whether they found refuge in some desolate region where royal cruelty could not pursue them, must remain eternally unknown. Zacharias Palmer lived many years as a venerable and honored old man, before being called in his turn to his fathers. He was a gentle and simple village philosopher, that man, and in his old breast there was a child’s heart. Just thinking of him, a scent of violets comes to me, for if in my way of looking at life, and in my hopes for the future, I do not share in every point the hard and dark doctrines of my father, I know that I owe it to the wise words and the benevolent teachings of the carpenter. If deeds are everything, if dogmas are nothing in this world, as he liked to say, then his faultless life, exempt from blame, could serve as a model for you and for all. May the dust be light on him! A word about another friend, the last I recall, but not the least appreciated. William the Dutchman had occupied the throne of England for ten years, and a large, strongly built horse, whose gray coat was speckled with white markings, could still be seen in the field near his father’s house. And, as has always been observed, when the soldiers marched out of Plymouth, or the shrill sound of the trumpet or the roll of the drum reached his ear, he would arch his neck, weary with age, wag his gray-tinged tail, and raise his stiff knees to make a stately and pedantic trot. The country folk would gladly stop to watch the old horse’s romps, and it is quite likely that one of them would tell the others that this steed had carried one of the young men from their own village to war , and how the rider had had to flee the country, but also how a good sergeant of the royal troops had brought the horse back to the young man’s father as a souvenir of him. This was how Covenant spent his last years, as a veteran of horses, well-fed, well-groomed and perhaps very inclined to tell in horse language, to all the poor fools of the countryside, the marvelous adventures he had had in the West. Thus ends the third volume of Micah Clarke, where Doyle succeeds in combining the epic breath of history with the intimate force of the story of a man in search of truth and justice. Between battles and betrayals, Micah Clarke reminds us that personal choices always resonate in the collective tumult. 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