What happened next I know not. It seemed as though, with some frightful shock, I was hurled against a solid rock. Sparks danced before my eyes. There was a sound of singing in my ears; and then another sound—that of the rattle of musketry. And at that sound I felt Blackbird rear up on his hind legs as though he would fall over backwards; but he righted himself, and then, with a swiftness and skill with which I could scarce have credited him, he dashed off through the heaving mass of combatants. How he did it I know not to this day; but with the sound of musket shots and the clash of swords in our ears, he galloped off as though for dear life as hard as hoofs could take him.
So bewildered and breathless was I that it was long ere I could check him. I felt all the while like one in a dream, and knew not whether the thing were true or no, nor, if it were, whether I had received some grievous hurt in that first fierce onslaught. But gradually as I succeeded in pulling up my foaming horse, I came to the conclusion that I was sound and whole, and was grievously ashamed at having been thus carried out of the battle by my terrified and refractory steed. But Blackbird had never been in such a terrible scene, nor had he ever heard fire-arms save at a distance, and then it was hard to hold him. I could not wonder that he had served me so; yet I was grievously ashamed that I had seen none of the fighting, and had left my lord the Viscount in such a fashion.
But as I urged the reluctant Blackbird back whence he had come, I saw that he was not the only horse who had been seized with a like panic at the rattle of musketry. Horses—some with riders and some without—were careering wildly about in extremity of terror, and quite unmanageable; whilst, to my display and terror, I speedily singled out from amongst these the fine charger ridden by my lord, who so soon as he saw his friend and comrade of the past days, came and ranged himself beside Blackbird, as though ready for another charge.
My heart was full of fear and woe as I saw this, for I knew that Bucephalus had no fear of fire, that he had been trained to such scenes, and that to see him thus riderless betokened some hurt to my lord.
Already it seemed as though the brief tide of battle was turned back. I saw a compact body of horsemen, looking like the enemy, riding fast away. Later I discovered that they had taken us for friends at first, and had been riding to join us, when they suddenly found out their mistake, and had been compelled to meet and repel our charge before they could re-form and retreat. Had our horses and soldiers been trained, we should have made prisoners of the whole company; as it was, only a few prisoners were made. The rest galloped off in safety; but they left lying on the ground as one dead the gallant young captain who had led the charge against them; and with a cry of fear and horror, I saw my lord stretched out upon the miry earth, looking as still and rigid as the soldier on the leads at dawn that day, who had been struck dead by a blow from my lord's sword.
IN SUSPENSE.
With a lamentable cry I flung myself from Blackbird's back, and knelt beside my lord's prostrate figure; and almost at once there was a crowd about us, and presently I heard a voice speaking in tones of authority, "Make way, men, make way! Here is the surgeon!"
The next moment somebody else was kneeling beside me, and I saw the grave, clever face of Mr. Oliver, one of the Duke's surgeons.
"Is he dead? is he dead?" I moaned; for I felt all the courage and life taken out of me at sight of that white still face.
"Killed! not a bit of it, boy. It is but a swoon from loss of blood. Here, let me get to him to stanch the bleeding, else he may bleed to death!" and the surgeon's busy hands moved to and fro, whilst the flow of life-blood was quickly checked. But over and above the deep gash in the shoulder from which the crimson stream flowed, the bone of the sword-arm had been shattered by a musket-ball; and Mr. Oliver, as he drew forth the bullet and proceeded to swathe up the injured limb, shook his head with the remark,—
"This will be the last of your fighting for some time to come, my good sir. The cause will be lost or won without your aid before you can cross saddle or wield weapon again."
The Viscount heard not a word, being still sunk in deep unconsciousness; but a voice above us said in sorrowful accents,—
"And so I lose another of those very few who know the art of war. Soon I shall have not a soldier left!"
Raising my eyes, I saw our Duke looking down upon my lord's white face with eyes full of compassion and regret.
"To lose such a soldier in so small an affray! and he one of the very few who had the art to command his men!" said the Duke again. And I loved him the more for his words and his look, seeing that he, too, loved my lord right well.
"It is greatly to be regretted, sire," answered the surgeon, who was now adjusting the torn doublet, and looking about as though to know what next was to be done with the patient. "Lord Vere is a heavy loss to us; but he must be well tended and have care and nursing, or it may go hard with him after such a hurt. He has not that iron frame which a soldier needs. He is an instrument something too finely tempered for such rough and ready warfare.—Boy," he said, looking straight at me, "art thou his servant? I have seen thee ofttimes beside him. Where can we carry him, so that he shall be well tended whilst he lies helpless and sick?"
"His father's house would surely be his best asylum," said the Duke; but I shook my head doubtfully.
"I misdoubt me if my lord would go there. His father has cast him off for joining your Majesty. But if I could get him taken back as far as Bridgewater, I could there get him all he needs, and he would be well cared for and tended."
"He will need that," said the surgeon, with his hand upon the wrist of my lord. "He will probably fall into a fever from his wounds. But, boy, let not any leech take more blood from him on that account. He has lost more already than he can spare. See that further loss is spared him, if thou be with him. A little more, and they would drain the life from him altogether—as has been done before now!"
"I will see to it," I answered eagerly, vowing in my heart that nobody should do a thing for my lord that I could do myself. He seemed all at once to have become my charge. My heart swelled with happiness in feeling this, and yet sank at the thought of the many perils and difficulties which lay before me. How was I to get him all those long miles back to Bridgewater? and if I could not get him there, how could I tend him and care for him in a strange place, from which all stores had been taken to feed the army, and amidst strangers who would pay little heed to my prayers, and to whom my lord's life would be of no moment?
"I pray you, sir, stay with him but a brief time, and I will see where I can take him," I petitioned of the doctor; and he nodded, being in fact still busy over his patient, striving to restore him to consciousness after his long swoon. We had carried him beneath a group of fir trees, where the ground was soft and dry; and his cloak had been rolled up for a pillow beneath his head.
Leaving him there in good hands, I made my way to the rear of the army, where the baggage-waggons and guns were, and where I was sure I had seen a familiar face not long since—the face of a farmer from the neighbourhood of Bridgewater with whom I was acquainted, and who was, as I well knew, a kindly man, and a person of substance and importance. I had seen him in Bridgewater, too, and he had told me there that he was bringing six of his men to join the Duke, as well as two loads of provisions for the army. He had shown me one of his waggons—and waggons were not then so common as they are becoming now—and he was mighty proud of it. It was laden with provender for man and beast, and was to follow the army till the corn was all gone. It came into my head that if that waggon were to be returning empty now, I might get my lord conveyed as far as Bridgewater therein; and once at Bridgewater I should be amongst his friends and mine, and could get him tendance and comfort without fear of rebuff.
And not to make too long a story of it, I found the farmer, and the empty waggon too; and not only did he enter into my plans for my lord, but he said he would come back himself with us, which was a mighty comfort to me. He had seen enough of fighting—for there had been skirmishes all along the road these past days—to see that he was not made for a soldier. He had been somewhat scurvily treated by some of the officers, and though still loyal to the cause, he was weary of the long wet marches. He wanted to be at home again, to see how matters were going there. His ardour for a personal share in the campaign had considerably dwindled, and the whisper which was going round that it would not be long before the King's army was upon them four thousand strong, in which case a real engagement would become inevitable, added very much to his desire to find himself amongst more peaceable surroundings.
So he threw himself with great zeal into my plans for the Viscount. Together we collected moss in great quantities, and made a deep bed of it on the floor of the waggon; nor were we content till we had piled it up two feet high, so that it made the softest of beds for a wounded man. It was rather damp, to be sure; but the farmer's sacks were spread in great numbers upon the top, and we were both proud of our handiwork before it was done. There was some trouble in getting the two strong horses which had drawn the waggon; for horses were greatly needed by the army, and it was easier to bring them in than to take them away again. But by using the Duke's name, and by my making over my lord's charger, which I knew he would not want for many a week to come, and which was of real use in battle, we succeeded at last in getting our horses and yoking them to the waggon. The farmer had kept victuals enough for the journey, and we were resolved to start at once, and take a little-trodden route, so as to avoid the bands of soldiers hanging about the rear of the Duke's army, and perhaps by the morning to be clear of them.
Whilst thus bustling about in the camp, I heard news that I thought augured ill for the success of the Duke's arms. Since the capture of a few troopers of the enemy, with whom we had engaged not long since, in the engagement which had cost the Viscount so dear, it had been decided not to march on Bristol to-night. The Duke had heard that there was an army of four thousand men close at hand, and he was afraid that he should be attacked before and behind if he pursued his intention, and be discomfited altogether. He spoke now of turning aside to Bath, and trying to obtain possession of that place. For my part, I grieved to think that he should not seize upon the more important city, and one which was so well disposed towards him and so full of stores and all things that he needed. But I was no soldier, and moreover I had other matters to think of; and by the time we had reached the Viscount once more with our waggon, I had almost ceased to think of the Duke or the army, or indeed of anything in the world except my lord.
His eyes were half open now, and he gave me a feeble smile as I approached; but his voice was so weak that I was frightened, and had much ado to keep back my tears. I began to wonder whether we should ever get him to Bridgewater alive; but both the surgeon and the farmer were inclined to laugh at my fears, and to tell me I should make but a sorry soldier if I were so disconcerted at the sight of a little blood.
They both approved the plan of carrying him to Bridgewater, out of the immediate tide of battle. As for himself, he was so spent with pain and loss of blood that he could scarce take note of our words, and let us do with him what we would. He had lost much blood in the morning before this second wound laid him low; and I never saw living man look more like death than he did when at last he lay upon the couch we had made for him, wrapped up in his cloak and mine against the sharpness of the night air.
The surgeon looked at him thoughtfully.
"Take him gently, take him gently, and give him frequently to drink of this cordial. Get him away out of this harassed country, where nothing can be had save the bare necessaries of life. Get him to some quiet place where he can be tended and watched. He should do well then; but he lacks the toughness of fibre which a soldier needs. He is all fire and force, but the body is not seasoned. He has the soul of a soldier, but the frame of a girl."
I was rather indignant at the last words, albeit there was some truth in them; for my lord looked almost like some fair young maiden with his white face and golden hair, as he lay with closed eyes upon his couch. It was too much like the marble face of some sculptured monument not to awaken a sense of pain within me; but I fiercely held back my fears, and declared that I would save him yet—for Mistress Mary.
As we journeyed slowly through the summer night—and the night was fair and starlight, though the ground was heavy with the recent rain—I mused much of Mistress Mary, wondering how matters were going with her, and whether I should be able to see and speak with her when I was as near as Bridgewater, and whether perchance I might so contrive that she should have sight and speech of my lord.
I rode Blackbird close behind the waggon for the most part, and when we halted I strove to give the cordial to my lord, and to get him to take food; but this he could not be persuaded to do, and sometimes seemed so sunk in mists of weakness as to know neither me nor what was happening to him.
That long journey, which we accomplished safely in two days and three nights, seems always like a dream to me. We met with no mishap. We saw no soldiers or foes. The country people were kind, and brought us milk for my lord whenever we passed a village or farmstead, and listened with wondering eyes to our tale. I was just absorbed in striving to keep my lord alive till we could get him proper help and tendance. He lay almost like one dead, save when the pain of his wound would rouse him, if the road were more rough and bad than usual. Then he would strive to raise himself and ease his pain, and would sometimes speak my name in a tone of gentle fondness when I sought to do aught for his comfort. But the fever was ofttimes upon him too, and he would lie back with his lips moving and his eyes seeing things invisible to us; and at such times he would seem to be in converse with Mistress Mary or with the Duke, or commanding his men in some sudden attack of the enemy. It was often hard to keep him from rising and hurting himself; and night and day I had to watch him, afraid to close my eyes lest he should be wanting something or doing himself a mischief.
Right glad was I when at last, upon the evening of the second day, the sight of the familiar walls and chimneys of Bridgewater rose up before my weary eyes. My lord was lying like one dead in the cart, sunk in a deep unconsciousness, and I verily began to fear that he would die ere ever we could reach the town.
I took him straight to my uncle Robert's house—the Cross Keys Inn, as it was called—and there we met such a welcome as cheered my heart and took a load of anxiety from my mind.
All Bridgewater was agog for news of the army, and any follower of the Duke's was welcomed with the greatest love and kindliness. There was something in the beauty of my lord that appealed to all hearts at first sight of him; moreover, in Bridgewater he was well known and well loved for his own sake, and the people were ready to make an idol of him forthwith when they understood that he had given up everything to join the Duke, and that he had met his grievous wound in the good cause.
He was carried forthwith to the best bed-chamber in my uncle's house, and before long all the leeches in the town had gathered round him, and I was in the greatest fear lest they should want to use their lancets upon him—for such was the custom for almost every malady—and I had to repeat the words of Mr. Oliver many times over; but having done so, I saw that they would prevail.
The doctors looked at each other and nodded and shook their heads: one said that there might be something in the argument, whilst another said that an army surgeon ought to know what he was talking of. A third, the eldest, remarked that perhaps a sound sleep would be the best thing for the patient, and that he had a potion which would probably induce a long and sweet sleep, and he said he would at least try that before resorting to any other methods. All having agreed to this, the potion was given, and soon the furrows of pain smoothed themselves from my lord's brow, and he sank into a sleep very different from the trance-like condition in which he had lain often for half a day together in the waggon, and which seemed to me like a harbinger of coming life.
As soon as this was so I stretched myself on a couch at the foot of the bed and slept also; and I think never was sleep so sound or sweet as mine that Saturday night.
During the week which I spent in Bridgewater many things happened, and I scarce know in what order to tell them, nor which will seem of most moment to the reader. Perhaps that which at that time seemed of most moment to me—namely, that I succeeded in getting Mistress Mary Mead to ride out with me one day from Taunton, and spend a few hours beside my lord. Such a thing might not have been so easy to compass but for the excitement and stir prevailing at this time in both towns. It was a period of intense suspense. We knew not from day to day what news would be brought in. We heard all manner of rumours of which no man knew the origin. Sometimes we heard that the Duke's army had been cut to pieces and was in full flight; at others, that he had obtained a mighty victory over the King's forces, and was in full march for London, which was ready to receive him with open arms. One flying scout declared that there had been a fight at Philip's Norton, that at the first experience of real warfare the Duke's army had begun to melt, and that thousands had departed to their own homes. Another report said that Mr. Adlam from Wiltshire, with a great body of horse, was on his way to effect a junction with the Duke; whilst the club-men, ten thousand strong, had gathered somewhere upon Pedwell Plain, and had sent a message to the Duke promising to join him.
Perhaps some may not know what manner of men these club-men were; and indeed their proffer of assistance came to almost nothing in the end. I have heard that the club-men had their origin in the days of the civil war, when the people, finding themselves robbed and plundered by two rival armies without hope of redress or compensation, resolved to defend themselves from such attacks, and refuse to allow their property to be taken from them by either party. The men thus banded together were armed with clubs, and went by the name of club-men. Whether they were ever much of a power I know not, but from my boyhood I had heard them spoken of in the country; and now it was said that they were up and in arms, and ready to join the Duke in considerable numbers.
Another and a very disquieting rumour also reached us during this week, which was that the King had issued a manifesto to those engaged in the service of the Duke, to say that if within certain dates they should quit the Duke's army and join that of the King, they should be pardoned their rebellion, and be safe from all punishment. This promise, it was said, had had the effect of inducing many to quit the Duke's army; and so disheartened had our young uncrowned monarch become (so the voice of rumour said) with these desertions, and the failure of the Bristol project, and the slackness of the gentry to join him, that he had seriously spoken of flying with his officers to some neighbouring seaport and taking ship for Holland, leaving his army to avail themselves of the King's promise of clemency, and be safe from further harm.
You may guess what a ferment was stirred up in men's minds by all these contrary and disquieting rumours. Bridgewater and Taunton were all in a tumult from morning till night, waiting for fresh news, discussing what had last been brought, and sending messengers to and fro to seek tidings and ask their neighbours what they had heard. It was thus easier than it would have been at any other time to ride unnoticed from place to place. By the time Thursday came my lord began to show real traces of amendment. He was as weak as a sick child, and could scarce lift his head from the pillow, and at present he asked nothing of the news of the day, seeming too weak to wish to be disturbed. But the fever had left him, and the good soup and possets which my aunt made for him were bringing back his strength little by little; and so I felt that I might safely leave him for a day, and go to Taunton to seek tidings of my relations there, and, if possible, to gain speech of Mistress Mary and tell her of her lover.
All Taunton was in a fever of excitement when I arrived; and I heard that news had been brought thither that the Duke's army was actually in retreat, that no help had come from Wiltshire, that Argyll had been defeated in Scotland, that the army was deserting fast on all sides, and that the Duke, in great depression of spirits, was falling back upon those cities which had welcomed him at first. Also a messenger had come in with the notice of the King's promise to deserters from the cause, and a great tumult had been thereby stirred up, none knowing what effect such a manifesto might have upon the soldiers.
But what I chiefly noted was the change in the feelings of the Taunton citizens. They who had been so forward to welcome him at first were now talking together at street corners, and the words that I heard were such as these:—
"Let him not come back hither! Let him not return to Taunton! We gave him all we had last time. We plundered ourselves to furnish him. We have no more to offer. We shall be undone by a second visitation! Let him not come hither again. Let us send word whilst there is yet time that we want no second visit!"
What a change from the Taunton of a fortnight ago! I could scarce believe my ears. Well indeed has it been written that there is no confidence to be placed in any child of man! When I reached my uncle's house, I found the tone of his talk quite altered. Without openly asserting enmity to the Duke, he spoke in a way which made me certain that his heart had turned against him in the hour of adversity. Since no capture of Bristol had been made, and no rising amongst the gentry had followed the proclamation of the Duke's title to the throne, doubt and despondency had fallen upon Taunton; and my uncle, ever prone to sail with the wind, was amongst the first to listen with respect to Mr. Axe's persuasions and the arguments of the Mayor and magistrates, and avow himself on the side of law and order. He was sincerely relieved to find that I had been so little with the army, and that I was now at Bridgewater in quite a humble capacity as body servant to my lord. He advised me to dissuade my lord from mixing himself up any more in what he now termed a rebellion; and I was able to answer that I thought this would be an impossibility in the future, for my lord was like to be a long while healing of his wounds; whilst, if things did not take a turn, the Duke would scarce be here in arms more than a short time longer.
But I was very sad to find Taunton so changed: for I loved the Duke, and still cherished bright dreams of what England would be like living under the righteous sway of such a King. I thought I would go to Miss Blake's without delay, and give my account of my lord to her and Mistress Mary. I had scarce put into form my hope that she would come back with me and see him, and yet such was the case; for scarce had she fully comprehended that he lay in Bridgewater sick and wounded—wounded in the righteous cause—than she went up to Miss Blake, who was listening with tears of sympathy in her eyes, and said,—
"Prithee, dear madam, take me to him! I must see him, my gallant love, who has gotten this hurt in the good cause which, for love of me, he embraced. Ah! dear lady, the days be long and the way is short! Dicon will find us horses to take us. Prithee, take me there, dear madam, and I will bless thee to the last hour of my life!"
I know not what heart could have resisted Mistress Mary's sweet pleading; certainly not that of Miss Blake, who was as full of romance and enthusiasm as any girl, and whose loyalty towards the Duke had never failed nor faltered through good report or evil report. That is the way, I think, with women. Love is with them an instinct, and it is far more faithful and lasting than with men, who reason and think and weigh matters again and again in the balance. It mattered not to them that the cause was beginning to look gloomy, that some even went so far as to say it was lost. They loved and trusted just the same, and believed that right would be done at last; and since the Viscount had got his grievous wound in the righteous cause, and Mistress Mary must needs see him, her good friend rode forth willingly with her that day, and we reached Bridgewater before the sun had begun to get low in the sky.
As I have said, there was too much astir just then, too much coming and going, and talking and discussing, for the doings of quiet people to excite much comment. We rode forth without meeting any questions, and at Bridgewater, where the ladies were not known, no one paid any heed to us. The town was full of excitement because it was said that both the army of the Duke and the army of the King were drawing near, and some thought there would be a battle nigh against the town; whilst others averred that only the Duke was coming, and that he had already routed his foes. Any way, there was so much stir in the streets that none paused to look at us; and soon we alighted at my uncle's inn, whilst my aunt came forth to welcome the strangers, and listened in smiling amaze as I whispered my story in her ear.
"Nay, but thou hast brought him the best medicine of all, Dicon!" she exclaimed at the close; and when she had taken the visitors to the parlour, and had seen Mistress Mary without her riding-hood, her heart was more than won, and nothing was good enough for her. She bustled about to get the table set, whilst I went to my lord's room, and found him lately wakened from a sweet sleep, and looking more like himself than he had done since he was first laid low.
I did not tell him that Mistress Mary had come; I only told him that I had been to Taunton, and that I had seen and spoken with her. Even that word brought a flush of colour to the wan cheek—the first I had seen; and as he lay looking at me whilst I told of her, and tried to remember some of her words, the door behind us opened softly, and a light footstep crossed the floor.
The next moment I saw such a light leap into my lord's face that I knew in a moment who had come in.
"Mary—my Mary!" he cried, and would have lifted himself but that she came swiftly forward and laid her hand upon him to restrain him.
"Reginald," she said softly, "you have gotten your wound for my sake. I must needs come to help to heal it."
"It is healed already at sight of thee, sweetheart!" he said; and then I rose and stole forth from the chamber, for I felt that it was no longer any place for me.
BACK AT BRIDGEWATER.
"The Duke back in the town—here!" cried my lord, and he half rose from his pillows in his excitement; whilst Miss Blake and Mistress Mary, who were sitting together near to the pleasant oriel window, started up, and Mistress Mary exclaimed,—
"Sure I thought that I heard the sound of a distant tumult but now. Dicon, Dicon! art sure of it? What has brought him hither again? not misfortune? Say it is not misfortune!"
"Mistress, I know not the rights of it yet," I answered, breathless with the haste with which I had rushed back with the news. "All I can say is that he is here, and his army is fast following; that all the town is gone out to meet him, and that the streets are full of people all talking and welcoming him. There is no cloud on their faces. They are as glad and as loving as when he entered last. I stayed to ask nothing, but fled back with the news. I saw him riding bravely amidst his officers, and I missed no familiar face. If some of his soldiers have deserted him, I think his captains are stanch."
"Back at Bridgewater!" repeated my lord, who had sunk again upon his pillows, being indeed too feeble to sit up. "That is strange! Is it a retreat, or but a piece of strategy? Dicon, go forth and ask more, and come and tell us again. Where are the Wiltshire horse of which we have heard? Ask that, good Dicon. And how about the march upon London? Has that, too, been abandoned? Does the Duke think his work is done when but a few ungarrisoned towns in the West stand for his cause?"
"Dear love, be not dismayed," said Mistress Mary, rising and coming towards him with that light in her eyes which I knew so well. "What does it matter to God whether deliverance is wrought by many or by few? He is the God of battles. He fights ever upon the rightful side. Why need our hearts quake or feel fear? All will be well. The Lord will arise, and His enemies will be scattered!"
I saw a strange smile cross the Viscount's face as Mistress Mary spoke these words in that full, sweet voice of hers that was like music in his ears. He did not answer, but put out his uninjured hand, and she came and laid hers upon it. Then they looked into each other's eyes, and I think that all thoughts of the Duke or of coming warfare passed out of the minds of both. I have lived to see something of the power of love in human lives, but I think I never saw such beautiful and perfect love as that which existed between my lord and fair Mistress Mary. From the time, only a day and a half now, since she had first appeared beside him, he had made a wonderful advance on the road to recovery; and Miss Blake had, of her own accord, offered to stay for a few days at the inn, that Mistress Mary might help to nurse her lover back to health and strength. Just now the whole country was so disturbed that the movements of private individuals were not like to attract notice. Lord Lonsdale had gone to London, Mr. Blewer was away none knew whither. There was nobody to note the absence of Mistress Mary from her accustomed home; and if any asked for her, he would be content on knowing that she was away with Miss Blake upon a visit. Her guardian, the only person who could interfere, was at a safe distance, and there was no schooling going on at such a time of excitement. Many parents had removed their daughters in affright at the turn affairs were taking, and at the prominent way in which Miss Blake and her pupils had come forward on the occasion of the proclamation of the kingship of the Duke. So it was easy for both to be absent just now; and it was the best of medicines for my lord to see the sweet face of Mistress Mary beside him, and to be ministered to by her gentle hands. I was never afraid to leave him now, and just at this exciting time was glad of my liberty.
I rushed forthwith into the streets again, and soon found my way to the soldiers' quarters, where they were being bountifully done to by the loyal towns-folk. There was nothing of dismay or fear in their aspect, and they told us of a gallant victory they had won at Philip's Norton over the enemy. I never had a very clear idea of what that battle was like, for some said one thing and some another; but it was plain our army had discomfited that of the false King, and that after some sharp fighting, and a good deal of cannonading which had made great noise but done little hurt, the rival army had drawn off in retreat, leaving our bold fellows masters of the field.
Why they had not then marched forward instead of retreating backward is a matter I have never fully understood. I think the men themselves did not know. Some said that they had not enough horse to cross Salisbury Plain, since Mr. Adlam had not brought his promised troop; and others, that the Duke was still thinking of a retrograde move upon Bristol. But however that may have been, the men were very bold of aspect and full of martial ardour. They admitted that there had been a good many desertions after the fight at Philip's Norton. Numbers of poor yokels, who had never seen war before, and had been scared by the guns and disheartened by the hardships of the wet marches and lack of food, had deserted to their homes upon finding themselves so near. But the stouter-hearted fellows who remained laughed at the poor spirit of these comrades, and vowed themselves better off without them. Mistress Mary, when she heard, looked at her lover with one of her radiant glances, and said,—
"Is it not like that sifting of Gideon's little band? All who were faint-hearted were to go to their own homes. In a holy cause we want none but those whose hearts are set upon the noble end, and who know not a thought of faltering and fear. Oh, I am glad there has been such a sifting! I think that God will never work with unworthy instruments. Dear love, how I would that thou couldst go forth with them again! Yet I will not even repine at that, since thy hurt was gotten in a righteous cause, and I have the sweet task of ministering to thee."
Such sweet words and looks went far to reconcile my lord to the fret and weariness of sickness. I think he scarce felt the pain of his wounds when Mistress Mary was by; and if his nights were sometimes restless and full of feverish visions of disquiet (for my lord always felt that ill would come of this thing), by day his lady's presence would chase these visions away, and give him that rest of body and mind which his state so greatly needed.
The next day, Saturday, completed the week which we had spent at Bridgewater, and certainly a great change for the better had taken place in my lord's condition. He was so much stronger that I sometimes thought he would ask speech of some of his brothers in arms, now in the town once more; but he never did. And it may be that this thing was the saving of him in the days which quickly followed, for I do not think his presence in the town was ever really known. Men had so much to think of in those days that faces and names slipped out of their minds, and there was such coming and going that none could rightly say who was here and who was not. We had not thought to keep my lord's presence a secret, yet I verily believe the thing remained hidden from knowledge. He lay in a large chamber well out of the way of the noise of the inn, and Mistress Mary took the charge of him, with Miss Blake to help her, and in all the excitement and stir in the place that quiet upper chamber and its occupant were well-nigh forgotten.
Saturday was a day of rejoicing to the town. It was said that help was at hand, though none knew exactly from whence it was coming. A report that eight thousand troops from France had been landed to quell the insurrection in the West was proved to be untrue. Messengers had been sent out from the Duke in various directions, and the people believed that great things would come of it. The march upon London was still eagerly spoken of, and it was in all men's mouths that news was daily looked for of a rising there; whilst lower whispers declared that there was a plot on foot to stab the usurping King in Whitehall, and that Colonel Danvers had declared he believed it would soon be done, the people being so incensed against him, and that then the Duke would only have to march boldly forward to find himself King of all the realm.
The temper of the soldiers was so loyal and fervent that all the Taunton men were permitted to go home to see their wives that day, on the promise of returning on the morrow; and that promise they faithfully fulfilled. And I trust that Taunton felt something ashamed of its panic of a few days since when tidings reached it of the bravery of the Duke's army, and the successes it had gained.
My lord heard all this with great quietness, and it was Mistress Mary's eyes that kindled and glowed and flashed as I came in and out with news. Not that any plot for assassination found favour in her pure eyes; but she said with grave severity of mien,—
"A man does but reap that which he sows. If ever monarch has sowed evil and cruelty and injustice, it is he who now sits upon England's throne. God is in heaven, judging right; and if He send him a quick retribution in this life, it may be that he will find pardon in the world to come."
Sunday dawned fair and clear, and we had no thoughts of what a day it would be for us. I had heard that the Rev. Robert Ferguson, of whom mention has been made, who was one of the Duke's chiefest advisers and the chaplain to the army, was to preach to the soldiers upon the Castle Green that morning; and I was very anxious to hear him, albeit I had taken a great dislike to the man from some words dropped anent him by my lord, who made no secret of his distrust of the fellow. He had been hoping to preach at Taunton in St. Mary Magdalene's Church two Sundays before, had it not been decided to move from that city upon that day. He had even made a raid on Mr. Harte's house in Taunton, where he seldom was to be found, since he lived at his Cathedral residence, and left Mr. Axe in charge there, and had robbed him of a gown in which to enter the pulpit. But the sermon had after all never been preached, and now we were to hear it in Bridgewater.
I remember little of the discourse save the text, which was received with a murmur of approbation when it was spoken, though afterwards I remember that I thought of it with a certain thrill of dismay,—"The Lord God of gods, the Lord God of gods, he knoweth, and Israel he shall know; if it be In Rebellion, or if in transgression against the Lord (save us not this day)."
Mistress Mary was with me, and listened to every word, and went back to her lover with a new light in her eyes and colour on her cheek. I fear I looked more at the people than at the preacher, and that his eloquence was lost upon me. But men said that he had preached a fine sermon; and when I heard Mistress Mary quote pieces of it to my lord, I thought it sounded finer and better and purer than it had come from his lips. I think my lord felt the same, for he presently said with a smile,—
"I think that thou couldst convert me to anything, sweet Mary; but I fear the reverend gentleman's remarks would have found but little echo in mine heart. A man must be true to himself and his cause ere he can look for others to trust him; and if treachery was ever written upon any face, it is written on the face of that man."
"But he will not betray the cause?" asked Mistress Mary, breathlessly.
"May be not. He has more to hope from the Duke than from any other man or any other cause. Self-interest may keep him stanch; but such a man as that would sell himself anywhere to the highest bidder. I misdoubt me now that he is not half a spy."
Leaving Mistress Mary and my lord to talk these things over together, I strolled into the sunny street, for to-day was bright and fine; and hardly had I gone a few furlongs before I was met by a fellow whose face and name were known to me—one Richard Godfrey, servant to a gentleman of the neighbouring village of Chedzoy. He was hot with the haste with which he had come, and on seeing me he cried out,—
"Hi, Dicon lad! dost know where the Duke of Monmouth—the King—is to be seen?"
At first I thought him jesting, and answered with a jest; but he quickly made me understand that he really meant what he said.
"My master has sent me," he said, "to tell the Duke that the King's army has encamped not six miles away on the plain of Sedgemoor. We saw them from the church tower this morn, and he sent me to spy out their numbers, and to bring speedy news thereof to the Duke here. There be several thousand lying there, close to the village of Weston Zoyland on Penzoy Pound—thou knowest the place, Dicon. But they be drinking and revelling, and have no thought, as it seems, of attack. Bring me to the Duke, and let me tell him all. So is my master's will."
After hearing this, I lost not a moment in conducting the messenger to the Duke's quarters; and, as good fortune would have it, we met him coming forth with several of his officers, all of whom were speaking of a move that day, though whether upon London, or whether into Gloucestershire, we humble folks did not know.
Upon hearing Godfrey's message great excitement prevailed, and a rapid move was made towards the church tower, from whence, by the aid of spy-glasses, we could descry the position of the enemy, and see that our messenger had brought us true tidings.
Now instantly there came into the minds of the Duke's counsellors the desire to make a sudden attack by night upon the careless and unsuspecting foe. We could not see whether they had intrenched themselves or no, but Godfrey said he would go again and bring us word, and then guide us over the plain of Sedgemoor by night; for there were various rhines—as we call the deep water-drains which intersect it—to be crossed, and only those familiar with the district knew the places where these were fordable.
Meantime the waggons were loaded up, the soldiers were drawn up and fed, and preparations made for a march out so soon as the evening should be come. The soldiers returning from Taunton, whither they had gone to see their wives or friends, found that they were to be led into battle that very night, to cut to pieces (as we fondly hoped) the whole army of the Earl of Feversham!
The greatest joy and enthusiasm prevailed. The men who had seen the King's troops draw off from Philip's Norton, and who had never met any serious check, despite the fact that they had not been led to the walls of Bristol, or been called upon for any very great achievement, felt confident of winning a great victory over a sleeping and careless army. When Godfrey returned with the news that the enemy was not intrenched, that the greatest carelessness prevailed, that officers and men were drinking themselves drunk, and that Lord Feversham was at Chedzoy with one of his bodies of horse, the men huzzahed aloud, and tossed their caps into the air. Visions of easy victory, a routed army, and abundance of plunder rose up before their eyes, and they only clamoured to be led against the foe as fast as they could travel.
Godfrey was our leader. He advised the Duke not to take the direct route to Weston Zoyland, because the Earl had placed bodies of horse to guard that road; and we must also make a circuit to avoid Chedzoy, where more dragoons had been posted. Our way lay along the Eastern Causeway, as the lane is called, as far as Peasy Farm, and then bearing round to the south, we should march straight down upon them, leaving Chedzoy on our right.
How shall I describe the brave show that our army made marching forth in the bright sunshine of that July evening?—the horsemen with my Lord Grey (the Duke would not divide the cavalry, as some wished him to do, though, had my lord the Viscount been there, methinks he would have put one half under his charge); then the foot-soldiers, the Blue, the White, the Red, the Green, the Yellow regiments, as well as the independent company from Lyme; and behind these the waggons of artillery and the four field-pieces. Never had I seen a more gallant sight; and I could no more keep away from following than a bee can tear himself from a flower. Blackbird was as eager as I, and as much excited; and I rode ahead beside Godfrey, and let him ease himself by resting a hand on Blackbird's neck as we went.
At first we did not hasten, for we wanted the darkness to fall before we emerged from the shelter of the lanes upon the open moor. And as we wended our way through the gathering dusk, we talked of the great things that would follow this coming victory, and how, when once the King's army had dispersed before us, we should march unimpeded to London to set the crown upon the royal victor's head.
The march of a great host is a more tedious matter than one would believe who has not seen it, and darkness had fallen before we reached the moor. This was what we wanted; but the darkness was bewildering too, and the crossing of the two great rhines which lay in our path became more difficult than had been supposed. Indeed Godfrey lost his way altogether for a time, so that some have said he betrayed us and the cause, and have spoken much ill of him. But I am well assured that such was not so, for I was hard by him all that strange journey, and I am very sure that he did his best to lead us by the right road.
The troops, as you may guess, were thrown somewhat into disorder by the passing of these fords; and now believing that the rival army lay before us without intrenchment or defence of any kind, and being hot and eager for the struggle, the men marched very fast, and so increased the disorder in their ranks.
After passing the second rhine, we were (according to Godfrey) not more than a mile from the enemy; and here the Duke halted, and I heard that the cavalry were ordered to advance, followed by the guns, and that the foot were to get into rank and follow to support the horse so soon as the first charge had been made.
And how shall I describe that battle, fought in the darkness of a summer night, about which so many stories are told that one's brain reels with the effort of trying to understand and piece together all that is spoken concerning it? Perhaps I had better content myself with telling as far as I can remember what I myself saw and heard, though my recollections are indistinct, and so mixed with the tales afterwards heard that sometimes I scarce know what it was I saw in person, and what it was that was afterwards told me.
But at least I know that when the horse had started I followed behind them on Blackbird, too eager to feel fear, and resolved, should a splendid and victorious charge be made, to be the first to carry back the news of it to the Duke, who remained with the infantry.
Up till now we believed that our approach had been unknown to the carelessly-guarded army; but we knew that it could not remain unknown much longer. The horse were charging straight upon the camp, when suddenly there came a halt, some angry and dismayed exclamations, and the sudden accidental discharge of a pistol. Who fired the shot has never been known; it was believed to have been an accident, caused by the dismay which seized the horse on finding that a deep rhine—the Old Bussex Rhine—of which Godfrey seemed to know nothing lay between them and the camp on Penzoy Pound.
Immediately confusion reigned, but the word was given to skirt along and find a ford. In the darkness and disorder I knew little of what passed; but the whole place was astir—sentries were calling, the rattle of arms was heard, when suddenly I heard a shout which told me that our men were across the rhine. Next moment the darkness was lit up by a flash of fire, whilst the terrible roll of musketry rang through the night air. These volleys were repeated again and again; yet it seemed but a few minutes before I was almost carried off my feet by the return of our horsemen, who came galloping back in confusion and dismay.
"What has happened?" I cried breathlessly, as Blackbird was carried along by the backward rush of the snorting horses, terrified at the flash and smell and noise of fire-arms, so that their riders could not control them even had they desired to lead them again against the foe.
Then one said one thing and one another; but all agreed that we were betrayed, that the cause was lost, that the enemy was securely intrenched behind a deep fosse, and that those of the horse who had crossed it would never come back alive.
At that methinks some spirit not mine own possessed me, for I fell into a kind of fury, and called out to those about me,—
"Men, if you be men and not cowards, follow me for the sake of England's honour, and strike one blow for freedom and the Duke, if we die for it!"
Then pulling up Blackbird, and making him wheel round sorely against his will, I seized an axe from the belt of one of the men near to me, and galloped furiously back toward the camp, where the battle was raging hotly.
I know not how many came with me; some twenty or thirty, I think. I trow I must surely have been mad at that moment; but I cared not what befell me, so that I struck but one blow for the cause I loved. And I think that the fury of my spirit entered into Blackbird, for he no longer feared to face the flash of fire nor the rattle of the muskets, and even the boom of the great field-pieces only made him gallop the more willingly. I think it was his instinct that led us to the place where the rhine could be crossed, or else he leaped clean over it. For the next minute I and some score of followers were charging through the enemy's camp, scattering right and left all who opposed us, and for the moment spreading confusion in our train.
"King Monmouth! King Monmouth!" I shouted at the top of my voice, as I waved my axe about my head, feeling that I could slay the veriest giant as though he had been a child; and indeed I did cut down more than one adversary who aimed a blow at me as I swept past.
"Down with all usurpers! Death to all traitors and Papists! King Monmouth! King Monmouth for England!"
Shouting these words, and charging through the camp like furies, I and my few followers dashed on madly, whilst behind us we heard the tide of battle raging, and knew not how the day would turn. Suddenly we were brought to a halt by a shock the like of which I had never felt before. We had flung ourselves in the darkness upon a compact mass of horsemen, drawn up in Weston Zoyland by the Earl of Feversham himself (as I heard later), and about to start forth to the relief of those in front.
"Down with the traitors! No quarter!" I heard shouted, as the awful shock brought Blackbird to a standstill, flinging him back on his haunches, and nearly knocking the breath out of my body.
I remember setting my teeth and trying to pray; for I was assured that my last hour had now come, and was surprised that I felt no fear, being yet full of the overmastering fury which had first possessed me when I saw the flight of Lord Grey's horse. But quicker than lightning Blackbird had recovered himself; and wheeling round with that dexterous agility of which he was such a master, he was off through the darkness like a flash, whither I knew not. I heard a rattle behind me; there was a whizzing and singing in my ears. The right arm, with which I was still holding my axe, dropped numb to my side, although I felt no pain. A sort of mist came round me. The sound of the battle reached my ears like a continuous hum. I found myself thinking that I was in church, and that the organ was playing; then I remember nothing more for what seemed to me an immense time, and woke to find myself lying in a ditch with Blackbird above me, and the clear light of a summer's morning breaking slowly in the east.
Where was I? what had happened? and what meant all that noise of crying and shouting, groaning and shrieking, which assailed my ears?
FATAL SEDGEMOOR.
Was I alive or dead, sleeping or waking? Was all this tumult part of a horrid dream? or was I in the midst of unknown and undreamed of horrors? With a sense of strange suffocation I strove to rise, but was unable to do so. I was lying in a dry ditch, and Blackbird was on the top of me, not crushing me by his weight, but so placed that I could not do more than lift my head and look about me.
Day had broken, the long low shafts of light fell across the plain, and I saw, as in a dream, the figures of men in hot pursuit one of another. I saw men smitten down by their fellows, falling sometimes without a groan, sometimes with shrieks of agony. I saw worse things than that too; for even as I lay and watched, scarce knowing who I was nor where I had got, nor what this fearful sight could mean, I saw fierce-faced men with bloody swords striding amongst ghastly heaps of writhing human forms, and dealing awful blows here and there with remorseless fury, sometimes even laughing at the suppliant cries and groans of the wounded wretches, but only driving home more fiercely their gory blades, with a brutal oath or the exclamation, "There goes another traitor!"
As I watched with that awful fascination which a scene of horror always inspires, shivering and shuddering lest my own turn should come next, sense and memory returned to me. I remembered the events of the previous night—the strange dark march to Sedgemoor, the attack in the dead of night, the rout, the fierce irresponsible onset that I had made, and the roar of battle which had been in my ears when I was smitten down, I knew not when nor how.
But now the battle was over. Now there was nothing but an awful carnage that was not warfare but a shambles. And I lay and watched it, and tried to pray to God to spare me, or to give me courage to die; and I kept asking in my heart how the battle had gone, though I knew all too well by the sights I saw.
For they were not our men who were marching to and fro upon the bloody field, slaying without pity all whom they could find. They wore the dress of the regular army; they had the mien and air of practised soldiers. They challenged one another in the name of the King, and they shouted, "Down with all rebels! down with Scott's vagabonds!" as they sent poor half-armed, wounded rustics to their last account.
I verily believed that Blackbird saved my life that day; I will say how anon. As I lay in the ditch, wondering whether he too were dead, and whether I should ever be able to rise and stand on my feet again, or whether I should be despatched by the sword-thrust of one of these bloody men, a groan close at hand told me that I was not alone, and I spoke low, asking who was there.
"A wounded soldier," was the answer. "I thought that all were dead here in this ditch save me. Art thou from Monmouth's following?"
"I came to see the battle. I am no soldier, but only a lad untrained to arms. Who art thou? And how came the battle to be lost? Surely we outnumbered the foe; and we took them unawares in the darkness."
"It was those accursed horsemen," groaned my unseen companion, who lay behind me in the ditch. "We always said that my Lord Grey would ruin any cause. Had the horse but stood their ground even without striking a blow, we would have won the battle without them. Curse upon those cowards who taught them to flee! A plague upon Lord Grey and his poltroons!"
"What did he do? what did he do?" I asked, in great excitement and indignation.
"Do? why, fled like a coward after the first charge; and though we of the infantry came up rank after rank and fired for hours, and would have stood firm and won the battle for the Duke yet if we had had ammunition, those cursed horsemen charged back into the rear and cried that all was lost; so the waggons made off, and the rear ranks took fright, and all fled helter-skelter as they could. As for us, we stood firm, and fired all our ammunition; and when all was done, and no waggons came up, and we kept calling, 'Ammunition, ammunition! for the Lord's sake ammunition!' and none was brought us, we had to lay aside our muskets and take our pikes. And when at last the enemy's horse formed and charged, we were broken to pieces, and fled; and they came and cut us down like sheep. A curse upon those horsemen who lost us the battle!"
The poor fellow did not speak all this in one breath as I have written it down, but in gasps and disjointed fragments; and I found he had heard a part from other fugitives, who had fled with him, but had become confused, as he was himself in the darkness, and had lost themselves upon the moor, wounded and faint, and had been struck down by the weapons of the pursuing soldiers.
"Where is the Duke?" I asked; and the answer came with another groan,—
"Fled—fled with my Lord Grey, long before we had ceased firing, and when we would have won him the battle yet if the horse had returned and the waggons come up. Ah me! ah me! it is not hard to die in a good cause; but it is hard to be deserted by those who should be our leaders and commanders when the battle is still being fought."
It was very terrible to lie there and hear all this, and picture that gallant stand of the untrained foot on the edge of the rhine; and to know that whilst they were firing, firing, firing, and throwing death and confusion into the enemy's ranks, they had been deserted by the Duke, and left to their fate by the cavalry and the rest of the army. I could well understand that it might not be all the fault of my Lord Grey, that the untrained horses might soon become unmanageable in the darkness and the tumult, and that a rout was due more to that than to the cowardice of their riders; but still they need not have communicated panic to the rear of the army. They should have encouraged and not discouraged the fellows behind. But what boots it to muse or to speak thus? The battle was lost; the Duke was fled; and now what lay before those who had embraced his cause?
I was soon to see something of that all too near. Steps were heard approaching, and a brutal laugh sounded so close above my head that I shut my eyes and set my teeth, believing verily that my last hour had come.
"Here is another of them," cried a voice. "A militiaman too—a deserter to the rebels! Let us take him to the Earl to be hanged, as an example to all loyal folks."
"Get up, you hound!" cried another voice; and I heard the sound of a blow or kick, followed by a groan from the voice of the man who had talked to me.
"I cannot," he said faintly; "I am sore wounded. Have mercy, sirs."
"Mercy for a rebel cur! You and your fellows will soon see what the mercy of the gracious King is like. Get up, you hound!"
Another blow, another groan, and then the first voice said,—
"Never mind him; he's not worth the trouble. Kill him, and come away."
The next moment a sickening sound reached my ears, as a sword was buried in the unhappy man's body, and he expired with a gurgling groan.
A cold sweat broke out over me. My head fell back, and my eyes closed. I felt the horse above move slightly, and his head seemed to come down upon mine. For a moment I thought I should be suffocated, and almost cried aloud; but fear held me mute, and almost at once the steps passed on. Then I felt another movement of Blackbird's, and presently his whole body moved, there was a struggle and a quiver, and he rose and stood upon his feet, looking down at me, and touching my face with his velvet nose, caressing me in his silent fashion, as though he would ask how I fared.
I had thought him dead all this while. But he was only exhausted, and I verily believe some instinct of self-preservation and the preservation of his master had kept him perfectly still and quiet all this while; for it was not till the field at this part was deserted of soldiers that he rose to his feet. And when I struggled upon mine I was alone with the dead, and nothing but the reddened earth and heaps of slain to say how the conflict had sped.
I felt all my limbs, but found none of them broken. I had a wound on both sides of my arm, where a ball had passed through it; and the effusion of blood must have made me faint, and then have stopped. I bound the wound with a kerchief and slipped it under my sleeve, that I might not look like a wounded man. I washed my face and hands in a ditch, and rearranged my disordered habiliments. My plain leather doublet and gaiters did not tell tales, and Blackbird's glossy coat was soon restored to order by a little careful grooming. I had lost my cap; but there were many lying about the field, and I found a plain one suited to my appearance, and put it on, with a shudder as I thought that its owner was probably lying cold in the sleep of death.
Having done all this, I mounted Blackbird, and began to pick my way across the plain in the direction that I saw by the sun must lead me back to Bridgewater. I knew that I was liable to be caught and slain at any moment if I met a party of soldiers who suspected me; but I was too dazed with horrors to feel anything but a sort of numb desire to save myself if possible. If I did perish, I did perish. There was certainly nothing else to be done than to try to get back home.
As I picked my way across the plain, Blackbird snorting and turning aside again and again from heaps of corpses, I suddenly became aware of a strange sight. Across the plain in front of me there came at lightning speed a wild young horse galloping madly. A rope was round his neck, and the other end of the rope was tied round the neck of a fine-looking young man, who was stripped of almost all his clothing. And fast as the horse ran, the man kept pace with him step for step; till just as they reached one of the great rhines of which I have spoken, the horse tripped, and fell exhausted, and the man upon him.
Behind came a number of horsemen, galloping as hard as they could, with much shouting and laughing. Curiosity got the better of prudence, and I rode up and asked what was going on.
"Marry, it is the Earl's sport," cried the fellow I had addressed. "Yon man was to purchase his life by running with the horse. It was told my lord that he could run with any steed, and he was promised his life if he proved it true. Verily it was a brave run. The horse fell before the man. He has earned his ransom well. Why are they bringing him back?"
For the runner had been taken by two troopers, and, panting and exhausted, was being led back in the direction in which all were now moving.
"Where take they him now?" I asked, looking with curiosity and awe into the face of a gallant-looking soldier, whose arms and accoutrements and mien pronounced him to be a leader and general.
"To the camp at Weston, I suppose," answered my informant. "We are about to hang a batch of rebels. Thou hadst better come and see the fun, boy. There will be rare times for the country now! First they will have military vengeance from my lord the Earl of Feversham, him yonder with the stern brow and eagle eyes, and from Colonel Kirke and his Lambs, of whom doubtless thou hast heard; and when these have done their part, the Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys will come down and do his office. And a rare time you good rebel folks will have when he comes. Ho! ho! ho!"
The laugh which followed made my blood run cold; but I dared not refuse to follow the band, lest I should draw suspicion upon myself. It did not appear that anybody so far had troubled to waste a thought upon me. My youth and my hunched back preserved me from suspicion.
The camp at Weston Zoyland presented a strange and animated appearance. Already the news of the defeat and flight of the Duke had reached far and wide, and farmers and gentlemen anxious to propitiate the victors had come crowding out with hogsheads of beer and wine and provisions of all sorts for the soldiers, together with loyal expressions of good-will, and every appearance of delight at the termination of the ill-starred rebellion. Mirth, revelry, and cruelty were reigning rampant; and there were nigh upon a score of trembling prisoners only waiting the word of the Earl to be hanged upon the great oak tree, still known as the Bussex Oak, and called by the peasants "Hangman's Oak."
"String him up with the rest!" cried Lord Feversham, pointing to the man who had won his race, and whose life had been promised to him as the reward; and in spite of his pleading and remonstrance he was dragged off to the tree with the rest. A great fellow with a horrid-looking knife came forward from the group of soldiers, and I knew that his office was to dismember the miserable wretches, probably before they were quite dead, that their heads and quarters might be nailed up in high places, a terror and a warning to others.
But I could not stay to see it done. A sickening horror possessed me. I turned Blackbird's head, and dug my heels into his sides; and unnoticed in the crowd and in the midst of so much revelry and excitement, I galloped off along the near road into Bridgewater, which I reached faint and exhausted some time not long after noon on Tuesday morning.
What a changed place it was from the one I had quitted on the Sunday evening! Then all had been hope and brightness and enthusiasm; now a look of blank terror was seen stamped upon all faces. The people went about as if afraid each man to look at his neighbour; and in many houses the shutters were shut and the windows all shrouded, because the families had fled from the expected vengeance, and were striving to put the sea between themselves and their remorseless enemies.
In the market-place there were still drawn up some bodies of troops, which had fled there with the horsemen on hearing that the Duke had taken flight and deserted his army. Colonel Hucker was there with his troop, and I sometimes think that even then if the Duke had but remained, something might yet have been done to retrieve the fortunes of the day.
It has been reported of Colonel Hucker that he betrayed the cause of the Duke on Sedgemoor, first by firing the pistol which gave the alarm to the foe, and then by flying with his men before defeat had become a fact; but those who thus speak do him an injustice, for he never sought to save himself. It is true that had Taunton been fortified he would have been made governor, and he was anxious that this should be done; but his disappointment on that score never made him disloyal to the cause, as was proved by the fact that he sealed it with his blood, when he had ample opportunity to make good his escape had he been so minded.
The news which I brought of the hangings and massacres on Sedgemoor added to the terror and despair of the people. The bands of soldiers melted away, the poor wretches fearing for their lives, as well they might; and Bridgewater was left defenceless to the fury of the avenger.
All that day, men were at work all along the road betwixt Weston and the city, erecting a row of ghastly gibbets; and before two days had passed, every one of these gibbets bore a horrid burden of human forms—some hung in chains, to remain there for months and years, the last being not removed until the landing of William of Orange.
I think that when I brought the evil tidings to Mistress Mary and my lord, I gave her a blow from which she found it hard to recover. I well remember the white face and wild eyes she turned towards me, and the way in which she wrung her slim white hands together, looking first at me and then at my lord, as she cried out,—
"I brought him into this—and the cause is lost! God has not been on our side. And perhaps he will even have to die for it. And the fault is mine! the fault is mine!"
Then she put her hands before her face, and we saw the tears forcing themselves through her fingers; and my lord rose up on his elbow and said,—
"Mary, sweetheart, come hither to me!"
She came weeping, and kneeling down beside his bed she prayed,—
"Reginald, canst thou forgive me?"
"Nay, I have nothing to forgive, sweetheart. And, dearest, if the cause be good, it is none the less so for being unfortunate. If I have taken up arms for liberty and right, and God sees not fit to crown those efforts of ours with victory, it is not that the cause is not rightful, nor that He will desert the right, but that His time is not yet, or that He has other means in store by which to work. Be not faint-hearted, be not cast down. All this has drawn us but close and closer to one another. I would not have it otherwise; and thou dost know well, sweetheart, that I was never very sure of present victory. I did not enter the cause with blinded eyes; and if I have to lay down my life, as many will, I shall die happy in knowing that thy love has been mine, and that thou wilt be loving me and praying for me to the last."