I know not how long I had been writing when a hand was laid upon my shoulder, and a familiar voice spoke in my ear,—
"Dicon lad, Dicon Snowe, is this the way in which thou dost follow the behests of thy prudent uncle? Is this how thou dost cater for true news for him? Is this how thou dost prudently wait the issue of events ere thou dost declare for one side or the other?"
Looking up quickly—for the enlisting was well-nigh done for the day, and there were few left to be enrolled—I encountered the gaze of my lord the Viscount's dark-blue eyes fixed full upon me with a glance half of reproach, half of humorous amusement.
Truth to tell, I had indeed forgotten my character of scout, and had flung myself into the very thick of the movement; though the future alone could say whether men would come to call it by the name of victorious revolution or seditious rebellion. I had been carried away by the excitement of the scene and by my personal bias, and I had thrown to the wind alike the prudence inculcated by my uncle and the diplomacy I had promised to exercise on his behalf. Nevertheless I had not betrayed myself, and I had not enlisted as a soldier; for who would enlist a hunchbacked lad like me? Nor had I even told my name, it not having been asked of me; so that I was not exactly committed to aught. Yet I felt a thrill of shame run through me, as though I had in some sort betrayed trust; and I said to my lord with some humbleness,—
"My uncle shall not suffer aught through any act of mine. I will keep my pledge to him, and let him know all I can find ere the Duke enters Taunton; but how may I hold back from him when I see him face to face, and when you, my lord, are serving with him, whom I would fain follow to the world's end or to death?"
The Viscount smiled that smile of his which I never quite understood, but the pressure of his hand upon my shoulder was kindly and friendly.
"It is like enough to be one or the other, wert thou simple enough to throw in thy lot with me," he said in a low voice. "Exile or death is like enough to be the fate of those who meddle in this matter."
His voice was only for my ear, and I heard his words with a start of dismay and incredulity.
"But, good my lord, look on these rolls—look on this list of names! A few hours have brought all these men flocking to the Duke's standard. What will not days do, and when all the country side knows that he is here at last?"
Over the Viscount's face there passed another fleeting smile, and his eye rested upon my scroll with a strange expression.
"A few hundred ill-armed, undisciplined, untrained rustic hinds, who know no more of warfare than I of the plough! Dicon, hast thou read thy history so ill as that thou thinkest England and England's armies can be subdued by such as these?"
"But, good my lord, the train-bands will desert to the Duke as fast as they are brought into the field against him," I answered eagerly. "All men say so; and those I have spoken to have sons or brothers or lovers in the ranks, and they know what they say. O fear not, my lord; be not down-hearted. The will of the nation is with the Duke."
"The will of the nation—the hearts of the people!" repeated the Viscount slowly. "That may be, Dicon, in thy sense, and yet misfortune may not be far off. Dost know, lad, that except my unworthy self, not one bearing the name of gentleman has joined the Duke to-day? Even Mr. Trenchard, who was to have met him with fifteen hundred men, has fled to France out of the way of peril. We will see what the morrow and the morrow's morrow bring forth; but methinks if his Grace be wise he will take to his ships again, and quit the country ere he rouses up the lion to intercept and destroy him!"
"O my lord," I cried in distress, "not that—not that!"
But he made no direct reply, and we could no longer talk together where we were, for a great cry was raised, "The Declaration! the Declaration!" and one whom I may call a herald stood forth before the people with a printed paper in his hand, and forthwith avowed that he would read in the ears of the people the Declaration drawn up by the noble Duke of Monmouth, stating wherefore he had come to England, and what was his object in so doing.
Now all the people were very attentive to hear this, and held a great silence; and I listened with the best of them, striving to retain all in my memory, that I might retail it in Taunton Town when I returned, and have wherewithal to answer the questions which should be put to me.
I cannot set down all here, for it was very long, and would weary both reader and writer; but it was a clear exposition of the wrongs that the people were enduring from an "unlawful and absolute tyranny" foreign to the constitution and rights of the nation. It stated also the perils of Popery and Papist plots, reminding us that the burning of London in the last King's reign was held to have been the work of Papists; that the Duke of York, now calling himself King, had unlawfully instituted all manner of Popish idolatries, had set up the Mass, and was about to persecute with fierce cruelty all those who opposed him or upheld the true religion of the land. Next, we were reminded how he had done to death the late King by poison, and mention was made of others also who had been put from his path by like means; and as these things were read, the wrath and ire of the people grew so great and terrible that they broke at last into yells of rage and execrations against the false usurper on the throne, and some voice raised a shout, which was instantly taken up by hundreds and thousands,—
"King Monmouth! King Monmouth! We will have no King but him!"
Was this cry raised spontaneously at this point, or had it been begun by some person for the sake of effect? At the time I never thought of such a thing, but later on I have wondered whether some agent of the treacherous Ferguson may not have been primed to the part. For the words which followed seemed to fall almost too aptly on our ears, although we none of us felt it at the time. I can repeat this paragraph by heart to-day, having studied it from the Declaration itself, which was once in my hands, though soon it was death and dishonour to have a copy of it in one's keeping:—
"And forasmuch as the said James, Duke of Monmouth, the now Head and General of the Protestant forces of this kingdom, assembled in pursuance of the ends aforesaid, hath been and still is believed to have a legitimate and legal right to the crowns of England, France, Scotland, and Ireland, with the dominions thereunto belonging, of which he doubts not in the least to give the world full satisfaction notwithstanding the means used by the late King, his father, upon Popish motives, and at the instigation of the said James, Duke of York, to weaken and obscure it,—the said James, Duke of Monmouth, from the generousness of his own nature, and the love he bears to these nations (whose welfare and settlement he infinitely prefers to whatsoever may concern himself), doth not at present insist upon his title, but leaves the determination thereof to the wisdom, justice, and authority of a Parliament legally chosen, and acting with freedom; and in the meantime doth profess and declare, by all that is sacred, that he will, in conjunction with the people of England, employ all the abilities bestowed upon him by God and nature for the re-establishment and preservation of the Protestant Reformed Religion in these kingdoms, and for restoring the subjects of the same to a free exercise thereof, in opposition to Popery, and the consequences of it, tyranny and slavery. To the obtaining of which ends he doth hereby promise and oblige himself to the people of England to consent unto and promote the passing into laws all the methods aforesaid, that it may never more be in the power of any single person on the throne to deprive the subjects of their rights, or subvert the fundamental laws of the Government designed for their preservation."
Was it wonderful that such words as these raised our enthusiasm and joy to the greatest height? No more packed Parliaments subservient to the will of the King, instead of breathing forth the will of the nation! No more pandering to France, and receiving bribes from her for the perverting and corrupting of English ministers! No more Mass! No more idolatry! No more absolutism and oppression and tyranny!
Oh, how the people cheered and flung their hats into the air! Was it wonderful that we shouted aloud for "King Monmouth! King Monmouth!"
Who had drawn up that Declaration? I afterwards heard it was the Rev. Robert Ferguson, the man who was ever in the Duke's counsels now, and who was foremost in the cause, and eager to counsel boldness and advance.
Long afterwards I heard it whispered that he was one of those crawling creatures who, to make their own skins safe, play false to their own friends, by giving secret intelligence to the other side, and therefore are bold to urge rash counsel on others. What the truth of this may be I know not. I can only say that Ferguson had the face of a villain, and that I marvelled to see the Duke take so much heed to him.
But I must not omit to mention my other acquaintances and friends whom I saw in the muster about the Duke. Young Mr. William Hewling was there, and Masters Hucker and Herring, both looking very soldier-like in their trappings, and now bearing the commission of captains of the Duke's forces. I quickly distinguished, too, the fine face of Heywood Dare, which I had not seen for some while. He was paymaster of the forces, and seemed much in the confidence of the Duke. His son was ensign to Captain Goodenough, and both gave me a nod and a smile when they saw me.
Besides the Viscount, known to my readers, there was no man of rank in this assembly save Lord Grey, who was in command of the cavalry, and had solicited the assistance of Viscount Vere. Many harsh things have since been spoken of Lord Grey, and methinks he lacked skill and courage in action, as will be seen anon; but he was faithful to the cause of the Duke, and I like not to hear him railed upon.
So soon as I could get away after hearing the Declaration read, I hastened to the town-hall, where the recruits were all taken when enrolled to be provided with arms, and put through certain martial exercises in preparation for what might lie before them. The Mayor of Lyme had fled, we heard, to the Duke of Albemarle at Exeter, with news of what was passing. Another gentleman, Mr. Dassell, who had striven to induce the authorities to fire upon the vessels of the Duke before he landed, had started off, it was said, for London. We began to understand that we must make the best of our time before the enemy came upon us; but it was needful that the recruits should be trained at least how to carry their arms, and how to obey the word of command, ere they were brought into the field and set in array against trained soldiers.
Thursday evening and Friday were thus spent, my lord the Viscount being one of the most forward and ready to assist in these matters.
In the counsels of the Duke he seemed to take but little part, but he was ready to do his utmost in showing the raw rustics how to shoulder a pike or aim a carbine. And sometimes he would step aside and speak a few words to me (for I could not keep away from the Bowling Green, where these things were going on), and he would say with something of sternness in his aspect,—
"At least the honest rogues shall not be shot down like sheep, or butchered as if in the shambles. They shall learn all that can be taught them in a few days."
But as more and more men kept pouring in, it became evident that arms were giving out, and that all sorts of shifts would have to be resorted to to put them into the field at all. True, we were cheered by the sight of many small companies of armed militiamen deserting to the Duke, and making gay and martial-looking those companies which were forming with all possible speed.
We began to speak of the Blue Regiment, the White Regiment, the Yellow Regiment, according to the prevailing colour of the militia uniform. No enemy appeared against us. No news came of anything but loyal support. It was said by scouts from Devonshire that the Duke of Albemarle was approaching, but that his soldiers were deserting in great numbers—a fact of which we had the best testimony—and that he was more than half afraid to bring the rest against us, lest they should go over in a mass to our Duke.
All faces brightened at this news. We cheered and huzzahed till the welkin rang. Even the Viscount's smile was a little more free and full, and he clapped me on the shoulder and said,—
"Perchance I have been a false prophet after all, lad. At least thou canst bear back good tidings to Taunton and to Mistress Mary. The issue of the day is yet to come, but at least so far the auguries seem happy. Let us live in the present, and leave the future to take care of itself."
BACK TO TAUNTON.
Had I been free, had I had none else to think of, had I not been bound in honour to my uncle, nothing would have held me back from openly espousing the cause of the Duke, and seeking if I might not at least enrol myself in some capacity amongst his followers. I would have implored the Viscount to let me serve him in the capacity of groom or valet, so that I might be with him, and follow the fortunes of war.
But I knew that until I had fulfilled the task intrusted to me I was not mine own master; and yet I felt the fire burning so hot within me, as I saw the muster of this goodly array and the martial aspect of the town, that I felt my only safety lay in flight, and that I must tear myself away before I took some step which would be disloyal to mine uncle, and a breach of the trust he had reposed in me.
I thought of all this as I lay in a narrow bed in an attic, counting myself lucky to have so much as a straw pallet to rest my weary bones upon—for weary I was with the excitements of the day; and the town was so full of recruits that numbers of these had to camp in the open field or in yards and barns. This was no great hardship whilst the dry warm weather lasted; and all men were so wrought up by the thought of the coming deliverance from Popery and tyranny, that nothing was counted a grievance in the good cause.
On Saturday morning I woke betimes, and after turning over all things in my mind, I resolved that I must not linger longer where I was, but make my way back that day as far as my aunt's house at Ilminster—according to promise—and then on to Taunton on Monday. The Duke, I had heard, would not leave Lyme before Monday, so I should be at home in good time to give notice of his approach.
But I felt that I could not leave without one more look at the Duke; and, moreover, I bethought me that my lord the Viscount might desire to send some letter or message to Mistress Mary: in fine, I had a hundred good reasons for not hastening away, as it might have been wise to do.
I took as good a breakfast as I could get at such a busy time, and putting the saddle on Blackbird, sallied forth in the brave sunshine to find the Viscount, and to pick up as much information as I could as to the plans and route of the Duke.
Now, although I think that this was not very well resolved on my part, I have never regretted it; for it enabled me to witness a most extraordinary and lamentable occurrence, which did much to damp the joy which was in all our hearts, and to send me on my way a sadder and a wiser man. But yet, I ween, there is something in our nature which makes us eager to see all that is to be seen, whether the sight be of sorrow or terror or joy; and therefore, when I approached the place where the Duke's standard had been set up, and saw that some sort of a tumult was going on about and around it, I pressed the more eagerly forward, and soon made my way (thinking less of my manners than of my eagerness and curiosity) into the innermost circle.
I have spoken many times of Old Dare, as he is still called in Taunton Town, where his memory is kept green, and of his forwardness in the cause of liberty and of the Duke; and how that he was always first to be on the spot when there was any fighting and any struggle for freedom. He had spent most of the time since landing in scouring the country for horses for the Duke, and had come in late the previous evening with some forty good beasts—the one he had purchased for himself being a very fine animal.
All this I did not know at the time, but heard it afterwards. What I did see when I approached was that one of the Duke's captains, whose name I had been told was Fletcher (I have not spoken of all the captains, fearing to confuse the reader with so many new names), was seated upon a fine horse, ready equipped, as it appeared, for a journey, and that Old Dare stood beside him with his hand upon the bridle, speaking loud words in a very angry manner.
Now it had been said to me that the Scotchman Fletcher was one of the few men about the Duke who really understood the art of war, and that he was the most valuable man we had on our side; so that I was astonished to hear high words passing between him and Old Dare, and to observe that the altercation was fast growing into a serious quarrel.
But even then I was little enough prepared for what my eyes witnessed. Scarce had I come into full sight and hearing of the disputants, before Dare raised his hand in a threatening manner, as though he would have struck his adversary with the cane in his hand; whereupon Captain Fletcher, roused to a great wrath, drew forth his pistol and shot Old Dare dead as he stood.
I could scarce believe my eyes. A mist seemed to swim before them as I saw the gallant figure totter and sway, and fall helplessly to the ground. Instantly all was commotion and alarm. The Scottish gentleman turned in his saddle and addressed those about him in loud tones,—
"Gentlemen, I call you to witness that the fault is none of mine. No man of honour could suffer himself to be insulted as that fellow was insulting me. I appeal to any gentleman who saw and heard all. Could I have done other than I did?"
A clamour and tumult at once arose of such magnitude that I was glad to back away out of the forefront of the commotion, and trust to chance to pick up later the gist of the matter. But whilst the crowd surged round the body of Old Dare on the ground, and round his slayer, yet mounted upon the fine charger over which the dispute had appeared to arise, Captain Thomas Dare came hurrying up at the head of his levies, and all were crying in loud and angry tones,—
"Vengeance! vengeance! Shall the murderer of Dare go free? Let him be taken before the Duke! Let justice be done upon him! Vengeance—vengeance—vengeance!"
The Duke was already upon the scene, a very troubled and anxious look on his face, as was indeed no wonder, seeing that the day had begun thus badly. There was a great and increasing tumult around him, and I could not tear myself away, although I could hear nothing of what was going on.
After a long time, I saw Captain Fletcher being escorted to the shore by a body of officers and troops, followed by a storm of execrations and hootings. He held his head proudly, and looked indifferent and scornful. I knew not whether he were going to instant death, or what had been decreed by the Duke; but as I pressed forward to look, and strove to learn the truth from those who stood by, I chanced upon my lord the Viscount, who was looking very grave and anxious.
"A bad omen, Dicon," he said as I rode up to him; "a bad beginning when we turn our arms against one another. Nay, I know not where the blame most lay. It was Dare's charger, but Fletcher had taken it in the service of the Duke, the better to perform the duty intrusted to him. It was not matter enough to cause the spilling of blood. And yet it has lost us two of our best men. Dare lies weltering in his blood, and Fletcher has been taken on board the frigate to save him from the fury of the people. He will be carried to foreign shores by the sailing-master, and we have lost the best officer we have amongst us."
I was distressed and grieved at the news, yet full of mine own plans and projects too. I desired (as we do desire such things—I know not why) to carry the news of this disaster to Taunton myself, albeit it would be sorrowful tidings there, for Old Dare was greatly beloved and respected; and my lord encouraged me to leave Lyme and return to my uncle with the news. He sent messages to Mistress Mary, and trusted soon to see her; but all through his discourse I felt that there ran a thread of warning and disquietude. He cautioned me to avoid getting myself too deeply implicated with the cause of the Duke, reminding me that those were safest who stood aloof and took no open share in the quarrel. I could well see that he himself had great doubts about the triumphant march to London of which our mouths and hearts were full. He had been driven himself by several goading motives to take up arms in the Duke's cause, but he was wishful to warn others from following him too blindly.
I rode away from Lyme thoughtfully enough; yet all I saw that day tended to raise my spirits. From all parts men were pouring in to join the Duke. I met them in companies of two or three, up to a dozen or twenty, all bent upon the same errand, and hungry to gain news from one who had seen the Duke and knew what was happening at Lyme. Then there was another sign which gave me food for pleasant speculation: at many cross-roads the authorities had posted constables to turn back the people who should be faring forth in the direction of Lyme. But these worthies were themselves all for the Duke; and though they stopped many travellers and asked whither they were bound, and so forth, yet, so soon as they heard, they wished them good journey, and so let them go, and then laughed between themselves as though it were all an excellent joke.
I made friends with many of these good fellows as I journeyed, and heard from them how all the country was for the Duke; and indeed I could make certain of this myself from the numbers of persons going to join him, many of them being clad in the gay uniform of the militia. My heart grew light as I journeyed, and by the time I had reached Ilminster and my aunt's house there, I had forgotten all my doubts and fears. She received me joyfully, and that evening and the next day I was beset by eager men and women all agog to hear my tale, and ready to dance for joy at hearing that the Duke would pass through their city shortly, on his way to Taunton.
Already they began to hang their windows with bright stuffs, and the town took quite a festive aspect before I left on Monday morning. Children were scouring the fields and woods for green boughs to make arches, and posies to crown staffs. It seemed to me that the Duke had nothing but a triumphal march before him, unless indeed, as some averred, the Duke of Albemarle was on the march eastward from Exeter to try to intercept him before he reached the heart of the Western loyalists.
One thing I must not omit to mention regarding my brief stay at my aunt's house. Of course she had many questions to ask about the Viscount, who had so won upon her a day or two before; and in speaking of him, I could not but say that I feared he was not so hopeful as to the success of the Duke as we were, and that I sometimes fancied he himself looked forward to a death upon the scaffold. At that my aunt looked very grave and troubled; yet both she and I saw that were the Duke to be defeated, it was likely enough examples would be made of the leaders and men of most mark and young Viscount Vere might be one chosen to expiate his rebellious act (as it would then be termed) upon the scaffold.
But such a thought filled us both with great dismay; for I loved the Viscount with a love I cannot hope to express in words. And suddenly my aunt rose and took a lighted taper, and said (it was now dark and late at night, and all her household was abed, we having sat up talking long after all others had gone),—
"Dicon, come with me. I will show thee a certain thing; and if the day should come when it can serve thee or thy good lord the young Viscount, remember—and I will not fail either him or thee!"
As I followed my aunt, in great curiosity as to what this speech could mean, she led me up and up through the house into a great attic in the roof, whither walking was difficult because of crossed timber beams and chests stored with household goods; and suddenly stooping down in one corner, she made a curious clicking sound—I could not see how—and then, to my astonishment and momentary fear, seemed to sink into the floor, for soon only her head was visible to me.
"Come quietly after me, Dicon," she said; and then I saw that she was pushing herself down through a narrow aperture from which a rickety ladder led somewhere below. Following her through this trap-door—for such it must be, though cunningly hidden, as I saw afterwards—I by-and-by found my hand taken by hers and myself conducted through such strange narrow places as I had never been in before, till we came out at last into a small but not incommodious chamber, where stood a bed and a chair or two and a small table. And then I divined that I was looking upon one of those secret hidden chambers that were ofttimes to be found in ancient houses, contrived as places of safety for hunted priests or monks or Lollards, as the case might be.
My aunt put her lantern on the table, and said in a low voice,—
"I will make provision for an inmate, lest the day go against us; and if thou, Dicon, or the Viscount should come to trouble and be forced to fly, fear not to come hither, and I will shelter you. For myself I have no fears. I am a quiet woman, and take no part in great matters, and all of my towns-folk think well of me. I shall not be disturbed. But I will gladly give shelter to some hunted friend of the Duke's if it be needed. Not a soul in the town knows aught of this chamber. I trow I could keep any man safe for a month here, and none guess at his presence."
I was too much resolved to see nothing but triumph for the Duke to believe that we should ever need such shelter as this; yet I was interested in the chamber, and thankful to my good aunt for her kindness in thus promising me help for myself or my lord should it be needed.
On Monday morning, the fifteenth day of June, I started off with the first of the light to take to Taunton the news of the approach of the Duke. A messenger had come in overnight to say that the Duke would be leaving Lyme that morning, and unless delayed by any encounter with the forces of the Duke of Albemarle, which were said to be advancing towards Axminster, might be looked for at Ilminster perhaps by the evening, or at any rate on Tuesday. So I felt there was no time to be lost in getting to Taunton; and as Blackbird seemed of the same way of thinking, and went his best and fleetest, it was only high noon before we arrived at the outskirts of the town, to see in a moment that the whole place was in a ferment of excitement.
Had I once allowed myself to be stopped and questioned, had it once been known that I came from Lyme with tidings direct, I should never have been suffered to pass on my way, so clamorous were all the people after news. But as I was sure that this would be so, I kept my mouth shut, and put Blackbird to a hand-gallop, never drawing rein till I had him safe within the yard of the Three Cups itself.
At sound of the horse's feet my uncle came hurrying out, and almost fell on my neck in his transport of joy.
"Ah, Dicon lad, how I have watched and longed for thee! Come in, come in! I made sure some ill had befallen thee. Now tell me all—tell me all! The whole place is full of rumours, and never heard I such contrary tales. Our prisons are full of country yokels and farmers, caught in the act of going to Lyme to join the forces of the Duke. They tell us here that he will never reach Taunton; that the Duke of Albemarle will meet and rout him ere the day be done. Tell me, boy, what news dost thou bring? for faith I am half afraid to stir hand or foot, lest I find myself in some horrible trouble."
Well, I told my story as plain as I could, neither making light of such perils as I had heard of, nor yet failing to report how forward were all the country folks in the cause of the Duke. My uncle listened, and his face did not lose its look of perplexity; but after I had told my tale, I was eager to know, on my side, what had happened at Taunton during my absence, and my cousin Meg coming in and exclaiming at sight of me, I quickly got from her the news, whilst my uncle went out to confer with those of his friends who were still left in the town.
Meg told me that the public feeling was rising higher and higher for the Duke, and that soon after I had left Sir Edward Phillips and Colonel Lutterell had come in with several companies of soldiers to keep the town quiet. But on Saturday the latter had marched away with the most part of the troops to join the Duke of Albemarle at Chard or Axminster, and strive to intercept the advance of the Duke, and cut to pieces his army, thus quelling the rebellion at a blow.
Now this had been very grievous news for the people of Taunton, who knew not whether their beloved Duke might not be forced to fly or ever he had come to them as deliverer and saviour. The magistrates now had charge of the town, and were holding the people in check from any sort of rising, both by their authority and through the doubts entertained of the result of the engagement between the forces of the two Dukes.
When I told Meg how many and great were the forces pouring in to the Duke's standard, and how he was surrounded by so gallant a band of officers and gentlemen, and how the militia were deserting to him from every quarter, she took courage and heart again; and others coming in to hear my news, also thought well of it, and ere nightfall a new feeling had spread through the town, whilst whispers were abroad that it would be an easy thing in the absence of the soldiers to make a general rising, surprise the guard, overawe the magistrates, and seize and hold Taunton for the Duke.
But as yet it was only a whisper, and no man dared to speak aloud of such a thing. Order still prevailed, although I felt that the city was like to the hot crust over the crater of a volcano, and that at any moment a tongue of flame might spring forth, and the whole aspect be changed to seething heat and violent eruption.
As I was sitting at table satisfying my hunger after so much talking, and telling those who stood by of the death of Dare—a thing which caused much grief and heart-burning in the minds of his townsmen—my uncle came behind me and said that Lord Lonsdale had come in. After hearing that I had been to Lyme, he had asked to have speech with me; and I rose at once, and found him in the small parlour where guests of the better sort were entertained.
Now although my Lord Lonsdale had not played the part of a good father (in my humble opinion at least) to his son, and though he was known as a determined enemy of the Duke, yet to me he had always shown himself kind and gracious, and I was grieved to see the look of pain and anxiety upon his handsome face.
"Dicon Snowe," he said, as I appeared, "it has been told me that thou hast ridden scout for Taunton, and hast been as far as Lyme, and seen the following of the Duke of Monmouth. Tell me truly, boy, hast thou seen aught of my son? He has vanished no man knows where since the first day of the month, and all that I can hear of him is that he was seen riding south, as though he would make for the coast. I have been consumed with fear lest the foolish boy has run himself into deadly peril. Tell me, Dicon, hast thou seen him? and what was he doing?"
What could I say? I am a bad hand at lying even to my foes, and to lie to one who had ever treated me well would have been a disgrace. I could but tell my lord the truth—that his son the Viscount, goaded by fears of being forced to wed a lady for whom he had no love, had broken the yoke the best way he could, and so he had joined himself to the Duke, his heart not being truly in the cause; and he was now doing all that one man may do to drill the raw recruits, and make soldiers out of men used only to the plough. Having so begun, he would, I was convinced, see this matter through to the end; nor would any misfortune that befell the Duke draw him from the standard, so long as that standard floated over the plains of England.
Whilst I spoke in the finest words I could pick, my lord wrung his hands together and lamented openly the folly of the "boy," as he called him, the hot-headed rashness of youth, and the fearful peril into which he had run himself through his reckless impatience. I was sorry for the distracted father, who plainly feared his son's head would pay the penalty; but my sympathies were all the while with the gallant young Viscount. Nor did I think the cause lost, as the Earl plainly did, although prudence caused me to be silent on that point, and to express no opinion. My journey to Lyme was not thought to be an incriminating thing. Even the Mayor, Mr. Smith, who came to see me and ask questions, rather praised than blamed me for thus faring forth after news. I think I sent that worthy away with a flea in his ear. For I spoke of all the brave sights I had seen, and how joyful the cities were at thought of the approach of the Duke; and I think he wished himself anywhere but in charge of Taunton Town, with the citizens all in a ferment, and the soldiers drawn off elsewhere.
But my day's work was not done until I had seen Mistress Mary and given her her lover's messages; and so soon as I could shake myself free of the crowds that kept coming to hear the news afresh, I stood at the door of Miss Blake's parlour and sued for admittance.
I was welcomed almost with tears when it was known where I had been, and both Mrs. Musgrave and Mistress Mary were summoned to hear my tale, which did not grow less through repetition.
Oh how Mistress Mary's eyes did kindle and glow when I spoke to her of the Viscount, and how he had joined himself to the Duke, and was in command of a fine company of horse-soldiers under Earl Grey! If she had never loved him before, I think she would have loved him then on hearing what he had done, and knowing that for love of herself he had thus thrown all else to the winds and joined the Duke's standard. As it was, loving him heart and soul before, her heart could scarce hold all the joy and gladness that my words aroused; and when I whispered in her ears the messages with which I was charged, her beautiful eyes kindled and flashed, and she clasped her hands together as though hardly knowing how to keep back the words that sprang burning hot to her lips.
In this house there was no fear as to the result.
"God will fight for the right," said Miss Blake solemnly. "He will succour the oppressed in the time of need, and will not suffer His cause to be trampled in the dust."
Then she went out of the room for a brief time, and returned bearing a great burden, which Mistress Mary hastened to help her to undo, and before my dazzled eyes was then displayed the result of those weeks and months of patient toil.
Twenty-seven banners, or colours, as it was the fashion to call them, were spread out before my admiring gaze. The rich materials had been provided by the secret gifts of many wealthy inhabitants of Taunton, but the beautiful needlework had been done by Miss Blake's pupils under her own eyes; and Mistress Mary's banner—the most beautiful and the boldest of all, as I have said elsewhere—was her own work every stitch, and she had purchased with her own money all the materials to boot.
"When the King-Duke comes to his loyal city of Taunton," said Miss Blake with pardonable pride, as she folded the colours once again and laid them by in order, "a right royal welcome shall not be lacking him, shall it, Mary my dear?"
And Mary's eyes kindled and glowed and her cheeks flushed as she lightly passed her hands over the great raised letters J.R. worked upon her banner, and looked up to answer,—
"Nay; and if they call Taunton the 'Queen of the West,' it is but right that the Queen should be ready with royal honours for her King."
Well was it that such words as these were spoken with closed doors! Yet methinks these women had such courage and devotion that they would have spoken them aloud for all the world to hear had there been any cause.
After I had said good-night to these ladies, I found myself so tired out with the labours and excitements of the day, that I must needs find my way to my bed; and in spite of all the stir and tumult which reached me from the street below, I slept well and soundly, unconscious of what was passing, until daybreak on the following morning, when I was awakened by such a noise and commotion as would have aroused even the Seven Sleepers.
But the account of that memorable day and the rise of Taunton I must keep for a fresh chapter.
THE REVOLT OF TAUNTON.
I woke with a start from a deep sleep, to find that already a new day had dawned, and to hear in the streets below the sound of trampling feet and the hum of a multitude of voices.
Springing out of bed and commencing to dress myself in a great hurry, I heard steps approaching along the passage, and my uncle came quickly in, looking haggard and dishevelled, as indeed he well might, not having been in bed or asleep for two nights.
"Heaven save us all!" he cried, in a state of genuine alarm. "All the soldiers have been called out. They say the Duke of Albemarle's forces have been overthrown, and that the Duke of Monmouth will be here by noon. Others say that the Duke of Monmouth's army is in full flight, and that the soldiers have been called out to help to cut them to pieces and drive them into the sea, so that not one of them shall remain alive by this time to-morrow. God save us all! What is a man to think or do, with such frightful news pouring in, and none knowing the truth of it!" and my uncle groaned aloud.
Now when I went to bed about ten o'clock the town had been quiet enough, as I have said. The regular soldiers had most of them gone, but several bands of the militia were still there, and these were quite sufficient to overawe the citizens; for they were not at all disposed to desert to the enemy, like those bands in other places of which I have spoken, and the magistrates and the Mayor had taken every precaution that the city should be kept tranquil.
But with the first light of dawn flying scouts kept hurrying in with news that there had been a battle between the two Dukes, and now the whole town was up and astir in the wildest excitement. My uncle could not learn the truth from anybody. The Mayor and magistrates tried hard to persuade the people that the Duke of Albemarle was triumphing, and that he had called upon the militia to finish the good work his soldiers had begun; but the tale told by flying soldiers who made their way into the city from Colonel Lutterell's regiment was very different. They declared that the train-bands under the Duke of Albemarle had given way everywhere before the Duke of Monmouth's troops. The engagement had been more or less in the dark and between hedges. The accounts were so confused that it was hard to tell what was the truth of the matter; but at any rate there were confusion and panic everywhere, and all lovers of order were alarmed, striving hard to quiet the tumultuous citizens and get them to return to their houses instead of running wildly about the streets adding rumour to rumour, till none could tell where the truth might lie.
All through that day this state of wild excitement lasted. Mr. Axe was to be seen in all parts of the town trying to persuade the populace to be orderly and quiet; but when towards evening the news came that the Duke—our Duke, the Duke of Monmouth himself—was in full march for Taunton, there was no keeping down the tumultuous happiness of the people. They cheered, they laughed, they shouted, they sang. When Mr. Nicholas Blewer appeared in the streets (he had been forward in spreading rumours that the Duke was overthrown, and in striving to set the people against him by threats of fearful penalties to be dealt to all traitors), he was so hooted and hustled that he was forced to fly almost for his life; whilst Will Wiseman led a hooting crowd of half-mad apprentice boys after him, and drove him ignominiously into his lodging.
But yet we dared not do more than raise our voices for the Duke when no magistrate was by: for there were still bands of militia in the town, despite the fact that continually companies were marching forth by one route or another; and guards were set everywhere, whilst the constables were busy keeping order, though not quite with that air of authority and certainty that they had shown before; and Mr. Axe and the Mayor worked hand in hand to keep order in the city.
There was no going to bed for me that night. I felt that a crisis was at hand—as indeed proved to be the case; and I sat with Will in a nook in the Cornhill, which was always like to be the centre of any disturbance.
Quiet seemed to have been restored at dark; but that quiet did not last long, for at midnight the roll of the drums began again, and we started to our feet, to become quickly aware that the last of the troops were being marched out of the town. By one or two o'clock in the morning there was not a soldier left, only the guard and the constables; and these, if the truth were known, in a great fright for their own safety.
"The soldiers have gone! the soldiers have gone!" cried Will, in a fever of excitement; and forthwith he went from house to house, knocking cautiously at doors, which flew open without any delay—plainly showing that the inhabitants were not asleep or abed that night; and I followed his example, till from all quarters men began pouring into the street, and the first dawn of the midsummer morning saw all the Cornhill full of people, looking into each other's faces as though asking what should be done next.
I know not who spoke the word first. It is always hard to say when the explosion comes whose hand set light to the gunpowder. For some while it had become known that no militia band was in the town, that the soldiers had gone, that none remained now to impose order upon the citizens. The town was practically in their own hands; they could do what they would.
Then there arose first a low whisper, just a rustle through the moving mass of humanity, but the whisper that became a shout, and the shout that became a yell, and was taken up and passed on, till every throat was vociferating the one word,—
"Arms! arms! arms!"
Now in the tower of St. Mary Magdalene's Church a quantity of arms and ammunition had been stored in case of emergency, and this fact was well known to the crowd. Accordingly a movement was made in the direction of the church, although the doors were known to be very strong; and we still had reverence for sacred buildings, whilst contemning the idolatrous usages of Popery.
But the blood of the citizens was up, and a trifle was not to stay them. Will Wiseman had, as usual, managed to get into the forefront of the crowd, and as they halted beside the church, wondering how to get at the stores, he cried out boldly,—
"Help me up, good people; hoist me on your shoulders. Let me but get footing on yonder ledge, and I'll get the window open and throw you out the arms as fast as you can catch them!"
A shout was the answer, and in another minute I saw the bold Will swarming up to the leads of the church roof, followed by first one and then another active man or lad. To wrench open the windows, to get at the store of arms, to pass them to those below until nothing remained within the tower, was but the work of an hour. By six o'clock every capable citizen of Taunton was armed and equipped. Those who had horses were already talking of going forth to meet the Duke and escort him to the loyal town. Women were hanging their windows with the costliest stuff their stores contained; children were going forth, as from Ilminster a few days before, to get flowers for garlands and green boughs for arches. We laughed aloud in the joy of our hearts. We shouted for the Duke till our throats were sore. Every flying scout who came into the city brought some fresh tale of disaster to the King's forces, and of triumph to the Duke's. Our Mayor had not shown his face since dawn. It was supposed that he and the magistrates, and those of the Burgesses who could not bring themselves to declare for the Duke, were hiding away in fear of the anger of the people, and the possible punishment the new King (as some of us boldly called him) might inflict upon them for their resistance.
Mr. Axe, indeed, came towards us, to try to speak in the name of order and authority; but an excited citizen marched up to him with a musket, and exclaiming, "We will not hear you! the town is ours!" looked so threatening in his aspect that the clergyman quietly retired.
And then the cry broke out,—
"Loose the prisoners! Release Mr. Vincent! Have out the loyal knaves, who will raise a shout for the Duke!"
No sooner said than done. The prison was broken open by the mob. Mr. Vincent appeared before our eyes carried high on the shoulders of the wildly-cheering crowd.
"A Monmouth! a Monmouth! Down with Popery! Down with tyranny! A Protestant King for England! A Monmouth! a Monmouth!"
There was no resisting that sort of shout; we joined in it almost to a man. Even my uncle, who took no open part in these proceedings, remembering perhaps that as Capital Burgess he was expected to be on the side of law and order, could not refrain from adding a cheer as the procession went by. The crowd, despite the efforts of Mr. Vincent to free himself from their well-meant attentions, insisted on carrying him in triumph through all the main thoroughfares, shouting themselves hoarse the while; whilst other inferior prisoners were treated to as much ale and sack as they could drink, and were listened to with admiration and delight as they told the tale of their capture. We were assured by this time that all England would declare for the Duke, and that he would make Taunton his capital in the West, and perhaps even allow himself to be crowned here (so fast did our imaginations and our tongues outrun reason and sense); that his enemies would fly before him, and be scattered as we heard the forces of the Duke of Albemarle had already been. In our great joy we were like men intoxicated, and every sense was strained to catch the first tread of approaching horsemen, which should betoken the coming of the deliverer.
Toward four o'clock that same afternoon a mighty shout was raised: "He comes! he comes! The Duke! the Duke!" And men began rushing wildly towards the road from the south, by which approach to the town from the coast might be expected.
Will Wiseman was at the head of the rushing crowd, and as I tried vainly to keep up with his flying feet, he cried that from the tower of St. Mary's a scout had seen the approach of a band of horsemen; and that was quite enough to rouse the shouts which were echoing down the streets, and to send the whole populace flying forth in one direction.
Although outrun by Will and the foremost of the crowd, I yet reached the limit of the town before the horsemen came up.
Right gallantly did the little cavalcade approach us; yet when they were near enough for us to distinguish faces, we saw that the leader was not the Duke himself, but our good friend and townsman John Hucker, now appearing in all the bravery of his military dress—a Captain in right of the Duke's commission, and bearing himself right gallantly, so that we all looked at him in admiration and amaze.
He drew rein at sight of such a crowd of friends, and his honest face beamed with pleasure.
"Good news, my friends, good news!" he cried. "His Grace the Duke is on his way, and will be here to-morrow with his victorious army, which has put to flight at Axminster all the army of the Duke of Albemarle. We are to march straight to Bristol and secure that for the Duke, and then we look that all the country shall have risen in his favour. London will be the next place. The King and the Court are quaking and shaking. They dare not bring men into the field against us, lest they all desert to the Duke's standard. The stars in their courses are fighting for the righteous cause. Citizens, be ready with a loyal welcome to-morrow for the noble Duke—the future King of England!"
Oh how we did shout and cheer and laugh and weep! This brave message seemed to infuse new life into us. We on our side pressed round Captain Hucker, to tell him how we had risen for the Duke, and gained the mastery of the town in defiance of guard and Mayor and magistrates. We no longer trembled to think of our audacity and the consequences it might lead to. We were full of triumphant gladness; and our townsman promised that the whole story should be told to the Duke, that he might know and appreciate the loving loyalty and devotion of the men of Taunton.
Captain Hucker, however, had private matters to attend to, when he had given us his first good news, and was able to leave his soldiers in our care and ride to his own home.
I think I have said before that Master Hucker—as we had hitherto called him—was a great serge-maker of the town of Taunton. He had his mills in the fair valley of the river Tone hard by the town, and he had a fine house within the city, where he lived with his wife and his daughter Eliza, who was one of the maidens of Miss Blake's school, and had been engaged upon that goodly task of working the colours for the Duke's army.
Captain Hucker now hastened home; and as it chanced that he passed me on the way, he asked news of mine uncle and the rest of our household, and by me sent him a message to ask if he could supply him with any of those notable wines which he was known to keep in his cellar, and which commanded a price higher than men cared to give save on very especial occasions.
"For, Dicon," added Captain Hucker, "thou mayest tell thine uncle that the Duke of Monmouth has graciously promised to be my guest during the days of his stay in Taunton. My poor house is to be honoured as the resting-place of His Grace, and thou wilt see how it beseems me to have the wherewithal for his entertainment. And listen again, Dicon." The Captain leaned from his saddle-bow with a beaming face, though he spoke in a very low and cautious tone. "It behoves us to give a right royal reception to the Duke; for although he enters Taunton but as Duke of Monmouth, yet (if I do not greatly err) it will be as King of all England that he will quit it."
And while I stood open-mouthed in amazement, not seeing how this thing could come so speedily, Captain Hucker laughed and nodded and rode on, only calling back to me not to forget about the wine, and to bring him word in a short space what mine uncle could do for him.
King of all England! The words rang bravely in my ears, but I could scarce credit them myself. To think that fortune's wheel should bring to pass that I had seen and spoken to a King, and had held his hand in mine even for a moment!
I went with my message to my uncle, who forthwith started off to Captain Hucker's house to see and speak with him face to face. Doubtless he wished to learn from him other matters than the amount of wine to be delivered. As for me, I made my way to Master Simpson's; for I had seen his face amongst the horsemen who had ridden into Taunton, and I knew that he would tell us everything that had befallen, and not send me away from sharing the narrative.
He was in the garden behind the house and shop—a right pleasant place, where I had spent many a happy hour with Will and Lizzie. They were with him in the arbour, filling his glass with the mead he loved best, and heaping his plate with such viands as they thought he best relished. He was both thirsty and hungry, as was natural after the day's march, but he was talking all the while nevertheless; and when Lizzie saw me she darted forth and dragged me within the pleasant arbour, exclaiming,—
"Now come and hear all father's tale. Oh, why was I not born a lad, that I might have ridden forth beside him, and joined in the glorious victory!"
But her father fondly stroked her bright hair, and said,—
"Nay, nay, my maid, but thou hast done thy share at home; and the maidens' work shall never be forgotten in Taunton Town.—Well, Dicon, so thou didst find thy way safe home? Thou didst miss the fight at Axminster, and the rout of the King's general there. Ah! it was a goodly sight to see. If all battles end as speedily and as merrily, I care not how many of them we fight."
He told us all the details of that skirmishing fight in the lanes—how so many of their adversaries had deserted to them, and how it was supposed that the Duke of Albemarle had drawn off the rest in fear lest all his army should melt away before his eyes.
"Why did you not pursue them, father," cried Lizzie, "and kill all who would not join you? That is what I should have done. I would not have left alive one soldier or officer who could hurt us afterwards. I would have scattered and slain even as the angel of the Lord we read of in the Bible. Now the Duke of Albemarle will gather his men and bring them up again perchance. I would not have left him even the remnant of an army."
"Well done, little general!" cried the father, looking well pleased at Lizzie's martial ardour; and then growing a little more grave, he added, "I have heard others say that that is what we should have done. Lord Vere was very urgent to pursue and scatter the band; but Lord Grey was against it, and his word prevailed. I am not a soldier born; my duty is to obey my superior. Yet if mine opinion had been asked, I would have said, as my maid here says, that it were better to rout and disperse the band than give it time and opportunity to re-form and harass us as we move."
"I have heard a whisper that my Lord Grey is but a sorry soldier," I ventured to remark in a low tone; for it is not for us citizens to condemn our betters. "Did not men say that at Bridport he fled scarce striking a blow, and left the infantry to be cut to pieces; and no thanks to him that Colonel Wade got them together and brought them safe off? That is a story one man told me. I prithee what be the truth of it, Master Simpson?"
He laughed a little uneasily.
"Oh, as for that little skirmish at Bridport, we take none account of it, being but a small affair," he answered. "We sent to surprise the militia there, and we gained possession of the town right speedily. But there was some blundering and misunderstanding betwixt the officers; Colonel Venner was wounded; and the cavalry under my Lord Grey galloped back to Lyme. But no great harm was done. Colonel Wade brought his men back in good order. They say small skirmishes like that accompany all warfare, but are of small note in the course of the campaign."
"I would the Duke would give my lord the Viscount the command of the horse," I said. "He would not gallop away from the scene of action, and leave the foot-soldiers to their fate."
Master Simpson shook his head at my temerity in thus speaking, yet he could not but say that he thought the Viscount would make the better leader; then we fell to talking of the death of Dare, and the unfortunate loss of two such good men as himself and Fletcher. For it had been found impossible to use Fletcher any more in the West Country, and the sailing-master of the frigate had weighed anchor and taken him off elsewhere. Thus one of the best soldiers was lost to us; and, as we all very well knew, out of those who went in the ranks by the brave names of colonels, captains, and ensigns, scarce more than two or three had been trained in arms or had seen service.
But on a day like this we were not disposed to let grave and despondent thoughts gain the upper hand. The victorious Duke was on his way to the town, and all Taunton was decking itself for the reception on the morrow.
Master Simpson said he must see what he could do to brighten up his house, and went to take counsel with his sister; whilst Will and Lizzie and I went forth together and paraded the streets, watching the erection of triumphal arches, the decking of windows and balconies, and listening to the joyful cries and shouts of the people, as they ever and anon let their spirits get the upper hand, and broke forth into song and cheering.
Lizzie was anxious to see her schoolmistress and take her all the news, so I escorted her thither, and we passed inside together, to find the house all in commotion. The town girls had not gathered for schooling upon such a day of excitement. No study could be thought of at a time like this, yet never had there been a busier day in Miss Blake's establishment.
If every window and balcony in the town was to be decorated, how much was it incumbent upon her to get done before the glorious morrow! All the resident pupils and the two mistresses were working might and main, and at once Lizzie and I were pressed into the service; and as our fingers moved our tongues wagged, and such a clatter as we made amongst us you would scarce believe.
Mistress Mary was there, of course—the most skilful of all, and with her whole heart in the work. Yet she found time to come up to me and ask in a whisper,—
"Has he come in to-day?"
"No," I answered; "he comes with the Duke to-morrow. You will see him then, Mistress Mary." And her cheek kindled and glowed; yet there was a sorrowful look in her eyes also, and I noted it the more because upon such a day as this I should have thought nobody could have had aught but thoughts of joy and triumph.
As we were decorating a window together later on, and nobody else chanced to be by, I ventured to ask respectfully,—
"Is aught amiss, fair mistress?"
She looked at me, and suddenly the tears sprang to her eyes. She clasped her hands together, letting her wreath fall to the ground.
"O Dicon," she exclaimed, in a passionate way quite foreign to her usual calm, "how will this end—how will it end? Ah, if I only knew that ill and hurt would not come from it!"
"Why, Mistress Mary," I said in surprise, "you have been ever most forward to prophesy victory, even when things looked dark; and now, when all the world is full of confidence and hope, are you to fear and doubt?"
"Dicon," she said in a low tone, "I had a dream last night—a dream of terror and dread. And yesterday my guardian came to me and said terrible words."
"What did he say?" I ventured to ask.
"He said that I had tempted his son to his own undoing; that I had put a halter round his neck, and had led him to his ruin. He said that none but women and fools could believe that aught could come of this rebellion—that was his word—save a rapid downfall, to be followed, if the King is of the temper he has shown himself ever, by a fearful and exemplary vengeance. He said things which made me shake for very fear, and he spoke with a certainty that rang like a knell in mine ears. And then I had such a frightful dream of dreadful deaths upon the scaffold, the hideous form of the executioner, the crowds of faces, the horror and the agony. And above all, I seemed to see his face looking reproach upon me, and his voice saying in my heart, if not in my ears, 'It was for thy sake I did it, Mary. I am dying now by thy act.' Oh, it was terrible, terrible, terrible! I have scarce been able to enjoy this day for the thought of it."
I confess I did not like that dream. I had known before of such that had proved much too terribly true. Also it reminded me unpleasantly of Mother Whale's prediction about much blood and little glory, which had always borne a sinister sound in my ears ever since I had heard it. But then had she not said that the King should die in exile? And if that should indeed be true, why need we fear the rest?
However, to Mistress Mary I strove to make light of the dream, and spoke to her of the prognostications we were hearing on all sides of the triumphal march lying before the Duke; so I think I left her comforted. Nor could any person loving the Duke fail to be glad and happy that night, for we all knew him to be close at hand, and looked to see him bravely welcomed on the morrow by all Taunton Town.
A GLORIOUS DAY.
I had slept soundly and well upon the night preceding that glorious and memorable eighteenth of June, despite all the excitements of the day; for the previous night I had not troubled my bed, and nature will claim her dues, be the moment never so full of stress and emotion.
But though I slept soundly and well, I awoke betimes; and I was not astir before others, for I heard the sound of songs and glad voices in the streets before I left my room. Below in mine uncle's inn all was life and bustle, for the country folks were pouring in from far and near to witness the arrival of the Duke; and every hostelry was taxed to the limit of its resources to find even sitting room for the merry company, to say nothing of food for man and beast.
I had never seen our stables so crowded with beasts, and we had to tether them in the yard beside heaps of fragrant grass and hay. My uncle's face was wreathed in smiles, and he welcomed every comer with his wonted heartiness. For the time being he was carried away by the stream of popular enthusiasm; and although still carefully refraining from taking any overt part in the day's proceedings, was ready to give welcome to all comers, and was perhaps glad to be tied by the exigencies of business within the doors of his house, so that did he wish it never so much, he could not make shift to leave it, be it the King himself who was coming to the town that day.
We knew that the Duke had slept at Ilminster the past night, and therefore that he could not be here very early, since a march of sixteen miles is not made without considerable loss of time with an army of some thousands of men.
But then there was enough to do, in order to receive that army with hospitality, to keep us all busy, and I would I could describe the appearance presented by Paul's Field and the meadows adjoining, where we guessed the soldiers would encamp; for every citizen, however humble, had some small contribution to make towards the accommodation of the good Duke's army and the hospitable welcome of his followers, and the place looked like a great fair with its tents and roughly-knocked-up sheds, and its supplies of provision for man and beast hastily contributed by the eager towns-folk.
As for the number of horses in the place that day, I never saw the like. Everybody who had a horse, or could by any means obtain one, had it ready to ride forth later on to meet the Duke. I could have sold Blackbird a dozen times over for thrice his value would he but have suffered any other rider to mount him. As it was, several yeomen and gentlemen would not be satisfied without making trial of their prowess; but although one or two contrived by dint of excellent horsemanship to maintain a seat upon his back for a while, yet none after that trial desired to conclude any bargain, and Blackbird remained in mine own keeping, as I was sure from the first he would do.
Towards noon the horsemen began to gather and ride out along the Ilminster road, and I perforce went with them, though I could ill be spared from the inn; but mine uncle saw that my heart was no longer in my task, and good-naturedly bid me go forth to see the show.
Almost needless to say that there in the forefront of the riders—albeit with none but his own feet to carry him—was Will Wiseman; and so soon as he saw me he came to my side, and I gave him hold of my stirrup leather, as we had many times done before when I rode forth, and he ran beside me gallantly, as untired as the horse.
"The witch is not right, Dicon," he cried more than once; "for come what may in the future, is not this glory enow to satisfy the heart of man? Didst ever see town so bedecked as Taunton is this day? And there will be yet more to follow on the morrow!"
For Will and I knew what gay show had been devised for the morrow, and how it would be one that would rouse the enthusiasm of the town to the highest pitch. And Will (who had a wonderful gift for hearing news before anybody else) whispered to me that there would be other brave shows ere the Duke left the Queen city of the West; but when I asked him what he meant, he only laid his finger on his lips and whispered,—
"Hist, Dicon! This be not the time or place to speak of such things. But dost thou think that England will be content to follow a Duke, even though he be the son of a King? We want a King and not a Duke to reign over us. How can men flock to the standard of a Duke, when there is a King upon the throne? We must have a King, too, else all will be confusion and mischance."
This word from Will confirmed what I had heard yesterday about the Duke's leaving the town as King. I confess I was perplexed how such a thing could be, the more so as in the Declaration which I had heard read he had spoken of not insisting upon his title as yet, and only doing so at the request of Parliament. But then I had read enough history to be very well aware that no Prince could always adhere to the resolves laid down at the first. The tide of popular sentiment often carries them beyond the bound originally set; and it might be very true, as Will whispered, that the title of Duke would not be sufficient to content the ardent followers who had flocked to the banner of one whom they hoped to see reigning as England's King.
All this was very exciting, and stirred my pulses not a little. At last my longings were gratified. I was living in times that were truly historic. I was going forth to meet the champion and deliverer of the people. What could heart of man wish more? I should see him and behold his triumphal entry into the city. I should have lived in days which would go down to posterity as the days of a great epoch in our country's story.
Presently the cries and shouts of those in advance of us told us that the Duke and his army had been sighted. The cloud of dust which the horse-hoofs of our advance-guard raised kept us for a time from a view of what they saw; but presently the cloud subsided. All of us drew away right and left upon the turf, leaving the road track clear for the coming vanguard; and in another minute cheers and shouts began to rend the air, and we all tossed up our caps, crying lustily, "God save the Duke! God save the Duke! God be with your Grace! A Monmouth! a Monmouth!"
And one voice was boldly raised to cry, "God save the rightful King!"
The Duke came forward, riding a fine horse with all the grace and manly skill which helped to make him a King amongst men. His face was bright with smiles, he held his head-piece in his hand, and bowed right and left as he passed through the ranks of shouting, cheering citizens and country folk, all come out to do him honour.
Beside him rode a body-guard of some forty or fifty gentlemen, well mounted and equipped; and amongst these I soon singled out my lord the Viscount, whose gallant bearing and golden locks made him conspicuous even amongst so many gay riders. He saw me too, and gave me a smile and a nod. But he kept his place near to the Duke, and we who had come out to welcome him escorted that gallant band at a short distance, the main body of the horse following about a quarter of a mile behind, and the infantry, waggons, and guns (of which there were very few) bringing up the rear half a mile away, and proceeding much more leisurely.