We must now return to Lyme. The cordial reception Stephen Battiscombe
met with from the Duke made him more than ever devoted to his cause.
Having a good horse, he at once volunteered to ride out and collect
horses with men accustomed to riding, who might be willing to join and
form the nucleus of a cavalry force. The news of the Duke's landing
rapidly spread far and wide. Other friends of the cause galloped off in
all directions, running no little risk of being captured by the militia,
who had been called out by several loyal noblemen and gentlemen on
information being received that the rebellion had commenced. The Duke
was indefatigable in his exertions. Rising at an early hour on the
morning after his arrival, he was ready to receive the volunteers, who
flocked in by hundreds from all directions. When he had caused their
names to be taken down, he sent them by a messenger with a list to the
Town-Hall, where the arms were stored, and persons ready to give them
out. The volunteers were immediately armed and sent to the officers at
different posts which had been established round the town, where they,
without loss of time, were drilled and exercised. All day long, as well
as the following night, people came crowding in, and the next day, which
was Saturday the 13th, they appeared in such prodigious numbers that it
was no easy matter to take down their names and to supply them with
arms. Thus at the close of the day the Duke's army already amounted to
a thousand foot and one hundred and fifty horse, which were every hour
augmenting. Whatever the Duke and the gentlemen who accompanied him,
Lord Grey, Fletcher of Salton, and others, might have thought of this
force, their increasing number greatly raised the enthusiasm of his
followers. They felt themselves ready to undertake any adventure which
might be proposed. Stephen Battiscombe had met his brothers coming to
join the camp. Together they proceeded to the houses of such friends
and acquaintances as they knew were friendly to the cause. Some allowed
their servants and dependants to join, and others sent horses, although
they themselves thought it prudent not to appear in arms on the Duke's
side. So energetically did Stephen execute his commission that in a few
hours he returned with twenty mounted men and several spare horses. The
Duke, immediately on his appearance, appointed him lieutenant of the
troop, observing that he expected before long to be able to give him the
rank of captain.
"We shall probably before long meet the enemy, if they do not rather run
away when they see us. Notice has just been brought in that the Duke of
Albemarle is approaching with a strong body of militia, and intends to
attack this night; but I intend to forestall him, and we are about to
march out to form an ambush, so that we may set upon him suddenly should
he approach."
This news created considerable excitement among the young recruits, who
were eager to strike a blow for the cause they had espoused. As evening
approached the force marched out in silence, orders having been given
that there should be no shouting, lest they should betray their
whereabouts. The force amounted to eight hundred foot and one hundred
and fifty horse, and with it three pieces of cannon. They took up their
position at a cross road behind hedges, and in the narrow way behind
which it was supposed that the Duke of Albemarle would come, the foot
lying in the field with their arms in rank and file, the horsemen
holding their bridles in their hands. Every moment they expected to be
up and doing, but the night drew on and no enemy appeared. At length
day dawned; the men rose to their feet. They had taken their first
lesson in campaigning, and felt the better prepared for meeting the
enemy. Stephen Battiscombe had had more experience than most of his
companions during his adventures in Africa, so that the sort of work was
not quite so new to him as it was to many others. As he surveyed the
rapidly increasing army, he observed that though many of the recruits
had no fire-arms, and were compelled to content themselves with scythes
lashed to the end of stout poles, still these would prove formidable
weapons in the hands of stout men. He rode back at the head of his
little troop to join his brothers and other young gentlemen, some acting
as officers, some as privates, at breakfast, not in those days a meal of
toast, eggs, butter, and tea, but of beef, bread, and beer. They were
still seated at table when the trampling of horses outside announced the
arrival of another party. On running to the window they saw a
grey-haired personage of no very aristocratic appearance, though mounted
on a fine steed, at the head of about forty horsemen; but he was old Mr
Dare, paymaster to the forces. He was one of the two persons who had
landed at Seaton on the morning of the 11th, and had gone inland at no
little risk to apprise Mr Speke of the Duke's arrival. He was a bold
man with much intelligence, and was one of the moving spirits of the
rebellion. As he arrived before the George Inn the Duke went out to
meet him, and welcomed him cordially. The levies came in faster than
ever, and it was as much as the Battiscombes, and other young gentlemen
who could write, could do to take down their names and send them off to
the regiments now forming, called after various colours, as was the
custom in those days. Stephen's zeal was remarked by Fletcher of
Salton, the principal officer of military experience who had joined the
Duke, a man of great talents, but possessed of a hasty and irritable
temper. "I see who will be among our future colonels," he observed, as
he rode by, mounted on a somewhat sorry hack, to dine with the Duke of
Monmouth. Thus encouraged, Stephen continued his labours. His
disappointment was very great when he found that the arms and ammunition
were already running short, and that no weapons were to be procured to
put into the hands of the eager recruits. Numbers had to return home,
fortunately for themselves, who would gladly have fought for the cause.
In the afternoon information was received that a strong body of Dorset
militia had occupied Bridport, and that another regiment, under Sir
William Portman, was expected to disperse these forces. In the hopes
that a large number would come over to him with their arms, the Duke
determined on sending an expedition against the town. It was intended
that Fletcher and Lord Grey should command the horse. The former, after
dining with the Duke, sallied out to make the necessary preparations.
Finding a handsome horse in the stables, he at once appropriated it
without sending to ask leave of the owner, who proved to be Mr Dare,
the paymaster. Stephen was getting his little troop in readiness, as he
expected to be sent on the expedition, when Fletcher rode into the
market square mounted on Mr Dare's horse. The owner, without
considering Fletcher's military rank and social position, came up to
him, and in an insulting manner inquired how Mr Fletcher ventured to
take a horse belonging to him without first asking his leave.
"The exigencies of the moment require it, my friend," answered Fletcher;
"and as I am to command the cavalry, it is important that I should have
a horse capable of performing whatever work I may demand of him. I
therefore considered myself justified in taking the first horse suitable
for my purpose, irrespective to whom he belongs."
"But I am not thus to be ridden over by a Scotch Laird," exclaimed Dare
in an insulting tone; "the horse is mine."
"It may be," said Fletcher, "but you are not about to act as a cavalry
officer, and I am. Therefore, for the good of the service, I consider
myself justified in retaining the horse."
"Retain it you shall not," cried Dare, flourishing a cane which he held
in his hand. "Whether you are a cavalry officer or not, I will make you
dismount from that horse," and he advanced with a threatening gesture
towards the high-spirited Scotchman. A fatal moment. Fletcher drew a
pistol and ordered Dare to stand back. Dare still advanced, when, to
the horror of all the bystanders, the pistol exploded, and Dare fell
mortally wounded to the ground. Stephen and others ran to lift up the
fallen man, but life had fled. Fletcher was instantly seized with
remorse at the fatal act he had committed, when he saw Dare was no more.
Numbers gathered from all parts, and among them came the son of the
slain man, accompanied by a number of the new levies, who demanded
punishment of the assassin. The Duke of Monmouth, hurrying up, in vain
endeavoured to allay their anger. They threatened that if Fletcher was
not arrested, they would take the law into their own hands and tear him
to pieces. The poor Duke was almost distracted by this unfortunate
event. In Dare he had lost a devoted partisan, while Fletcher was the
only man besides himself in his whole army who had seen service, who, by
his talents, was capable of acting as a General. As the only way to
save him, he told him to consider himself under arrest and, turning to
Stephen, directed him to convey Mr Fletcher on board his frigate, which
still lay in the outer roads.
"I regret the duty I am called on to perform, Mr Fletcher," said
Stephen; "you must at once accompany me to the harbour."
"I am under your command," answered Mr Fletcher.
Upon which Stephen surrounded him with a party of his own men, who with
difficulty kept off the followers of Mr Dare, who were thirsting for
his blood. They however reached the quay in safety, when Stephen, with
his prisoner and four of his men, embarked on board one of the frigate's
boats, which had just come to the shore. There was still a risk of
their being pursued, so Stephen ordered the boat to pull off immediately
for the frigate.
"I hope, sir, when it is known what provocation Mr Dare gave you, that
the anger of the people will be appeased, and that you will be able to
return and take command of the army."
"Though disappointed with the class of persons who have flocked to the
Duke's standard, I will still gladly risk all for the sake of the noble
cause in which he has embarked," said Fletcher, "and I may hope that in
a few days the tide will turn in my favour, though I confess with the
deepest regret the result of my hasty temper."
"Can I, in the meantime, be of any use to you on shore?" asked Stephen.
"Thank you, sir," answered Fletcher. "I shall be obliged to you if you
will bring my valise and papers which I left at the George; and as I may
not have an opportunity of seeing the Duke for some time, I beg that you
will express to him how deeply I regret what has taken place."
Mr Fletcher was silent for the greater part of the way, and Stephen,
having seen his prisoner on board, returned with his men to the shore.
On landing he was met by frowning looks from many of those who had
accompanied Mr Dare. Stephen at once made his way back to report what
he had done to the Duke, who replied, "I must send you back once more
with orders to the master of the ship to sail immediately, and to
proceed along the coast to Bristol. I have given directions to have a
mariner, one John Kerridge, impressed, as he is a skilful pilot, and
will be able to conduct the ship to Bristol. You will engage a boat
from the shore, and put him with Mr Fletcher on board."
With these directions Stephen returned to the quay, where he found John
Kerridge, who seemed in no wise desirous of performing the duty imposed
upon him. However, being in the hands of armed men, he could not help
himself, and was placed with a guard in the boat, in which Stephen
conveyed him on board the frigate. Whenever Stephen had left her side,
he saw her crew making preparations for getting under weigh. Her anchor
was hove up, her sails set, and the wind being off shore, she at once
stood out to sea.
"She seems to me to be standing more to the southward than her due
course for the Start," he said to one of the boatmen.
"May be the Captain does not know how the wind will come, which is to
give the Start a wide berth," was the answer.
As far, however, as Stephen could watch, he observed that she held a
south-westerly course. On his arrival on shore he found that
notwithstanding the untoward event of the afternoon, the expedition to
Bridport was still to be carried out. He found a party of three hundred
men under Colonel Wade, with a hundred men under Captain Goodenough,
while the cavalry was commanded by Lord Grey, who had charge of the
whole expedition. They were to march all night in great secrecy, hoping
to fall on the militia early in the morning. They waited till sunset,
when, all being prepared, they marched out of Lyme, the infantry
leading, the cavalry bringing up the rear. The men were ordered to keep
silence, and to make as little noise in any way as possible. It was no
easy matter to induce raw recruits, however, to do this. Stephen of
course, knew every inch of the way. They were still some three or four
miles from Bridport, when the advanced guard met two men coming from the
direction of the town. Instead of running away they advanced boldly,
declared that they had escaped from the town, and that their wish was to
join the Duke of Monmouth.
"You have found them sooner than you expected," said Lieutenant
Mitchell, the officer commanding the vanguard.
The men willingly agreed to return with the party, although they said
that there were no less than one thousand two hundred foot, and a
hundred horse already holding the town. Still, as they had come thus
far and were positively ordered to attack, the leaders were unwilling to
go back without attempting something, although they were far
outnumbered. A thick fog came on towards morning, which completely
concealed their approach towards the end of the town, which consists of
one long broad street with a stone bridge at either end, and a cross
street running north and south. The bridge was quickly won, the
outposts retiring with expedition to the main guard, who speedily
retreated, standing only to receive one volley from Monmouth's vanguard.
The king's horse, with a small body of infantry, alone occupied the
town, and as the troopers ran away, they let their horses go, which were
at once captured by the successful assailants. Colonel Venner now led
on his men to attack the eastern bridge, leaving parties of musketeers
and pikes to command the entrances to the other streets, and fighting
took place in front of the inn, when two of the king's officers and
others lost their lives, and several prisoners were made by Monmouth's
men. Colonel Venner, however, was wounded. When Lord Grey was
advancing on the bridge, the loyal militia fired a heavy volley, which
induced him and his troop to turn their horses' heads and gallop off.
On Colonel Venner being wounded, Colonel Wade took command, and led to
the western part of the town, where for half-an-hour his men and those
of the king's forces were shouting to each other. He then, finding that
the rest of the force had retreated, considered it his duty to retire,
which he did in pretty good order, with thirty horses and about fourteen
prisoners. The whole transaction must have shown the Duke how little
reliance he could place upon his new levies, or even upon some of his
principal officers. The Duke complimented Stephen on his good conduct
in bringing off his men. The party were pretty well knocked up by their
march to Bridport and back, and there was little drilling that evening,
except among the new levies; but early the next morning the drum beat to
arms, the regiments were formed under their respective leaders, and the
Duke, putting himself at the head, passed them all in review. As
Stephen rode near the Duke, he observed that his countenance wore a
melancholy expression, the animation which had at first appeared having
quite faded from it. He evidently had taken greatly to heart the death
of Dare; still, as he had commenced the enterprise, he seemed resolved
to carry it out. His troops were in a very different mood; they saw not
the dangers ahead, and were mostly under the belief that the king's
forces would melt away before them should they be encountered. Stephen,
as he rode among the ranks, observed the awkward movements of some of
the men, the jaunty air of others, and the ragged appearance of the
cavalry, many of the horses being large untrained colts, and began to
feel less confident of success till he recollected that probably the
militia regiments on the king's side were much in the same condition,
and, moreover, that they were well-affected towards the Duke. The army
marched slowly and leisurely along till they reached Axminster, where
news was brought to the Duke that Albemarle was advancing with a large
body of militia to attack them. Monmouth skilfully drew up his forces;
the four field-pieces were planted so as to command the road along which
the Royal troops were approaching, while the thick hedges which on each
side overhung the narrow lanes were lined with musketeers; the cavalry
were held in reserve.
"Here they come, my lads," cried Stephen Battiscombe, as Albemarle's men
were seen in the distance. "Steady, now; if they venture to attack us,
we shall soon send them to the right-about."
At first the enemy came on boldly and rapidly. While still beyond
musket range they were seen to halt, then suddenly to retreat. The
insurgents on this dashed forward. As they heard the cheers and shouts
of Monmouth's men, throwing down their arms they took to flight, and
scampered off in all directions across the country. They were pursued
for some distance, and coats, muskets, and pikes were picked up by the
victorious insurgents.
"Now, surely the Duke of Monmouth will follow up the pursuit, and we
shall probably capture Exeter without a blow," observed Stephen.
"No chance of that, I fear," answered his brother Andrew, who was riding
by his side. "Hark! there is the recall, and it is a signal our raw
fellows will be glad enough to obey."
This last remark was too true. The Duke of Monmouth, probably unwilling
to employ his recruits in any hazardous service till they were better
trained, thought it wise to be satisfied with the advantage he had
already gained, and continued his march towards Taunton, and that
evening reached the neighbourhood of Chard, where the troops encamped in
a meadow outside the town. The Duke was now near the estates of those
friends who had entertained him so sumptuously a few years before, and
he naturally looked forward to being joined by a number of those
gentlemen and their retainers; but only one, John Speke, the son of Mr
George Speke of White Lackington Hall, arrived at the camp, with forty
horsemen of no very imposing appearance from Chard. The next morning
the Duke's forces marched to Ilminster, about four miles off, and
encamped in a field about half a mile beyond the town; still he was
looking forward to the arrival of fresh levies headed by men of
consequence. None, however, arrived, though labouring men in vast
numbers would have joined his standard if arms could have been found for
them. Bad news also arrived from Lyme; the king's frigate had sailed
into the harbour and had captured the _Pink_ and another vessel which
had on board numerous barrels of gunpowder, and several thousand breast
and head pieces for cavalry, though, considering that there were no
horses or men to wear the defensive armour, it was not of much
consequence. Thus far there had been no success. The Duke now resolved
to march to Taunton, that celebrated and beautiful little town which had
endured so heroic a siege under Blake. It was here that during his
progress he had been received with such remarkable honours, and he fully
expected now to receive a similar treatment. Taunton was densely
populated, and was the seat of the trade in serges, and as most of the
manufacturers were Dissenters, they were universally in favour of the
Duke of Monmouth. As Monmouth approached Taunton several persons came
out from the town, who informed him that it had been occupied till the
day before by Royal troops, but they, hearing of the disorder into which
the militia had been thrown between Axminster and Chard, about midnight,
a drum sounding both officers and men, had marched out, having received
orders to appear at Bridgewater. Messengers also promised a cordial
reception to the Duke should he come. The Duke, having encamped his
forces outside the town, prepared to enter it. He was met by a large
body of men on horseback, every person who possessed a steed going out
to meet him, while the rest of the inhabitants on foot rent the air with
applause and acclamations. The streets through which he passed were
strewed with flowers; the windows were thronged with spectators, all
eager to gaze on the hero they had been taught to admire. The Duke's
spirits rose higher than they had been since he landed. The Duke had
taken up his residence at the house of Captain Hucker. The following
morning it was announced to him that a procession was approaching to do
him honour. He descended the steps in front of the house, when he saw
coming towards him a band of young maidens, each carrying banners of
different colours, which they had worked with their own hands. At their
head appeared a lady of more mature age, carrying a naked sword in one
hand and in the other a small curious Bible, which she presented with a
short acceptable speech. The Duke, looking greatly pleased, assured her
that he had undertaken with a resolution to defend the truth contained
in the book, to seal it, should it be required, with his blood. He then
saluted each of the young ladies, as did Lord Grey. His Grace then
mounted his horse, and the twenty-seven young maidens followed, each
bearing a banner, and led by a young man. Among the flags was a golden
banner worked with the initials J.R. and a crown. Having paraded
through the streets, the Duke returned to his abode, and the young
maidens retired to their own homes. The day after, some of his
principal advisers recommended the Duke to assume the title of King.
The Duke was willing to do this, and there were many reasons in favour
of the step, though many also against it. It was argued that a large
number of the nobility were unwilling to take up arms in his cause,
fearing that unless a king was at the head of the movement, it might
result in the establishment of a Commonwealth, to which they were
strongly opposed. Several of his Republican officers, on hearing of the
proposal, expressed themselves greatly averse to it; and it was not
without much difficulty that they were won over to give their consent,
in the hopes that they should be immediately joined by the nobility and
gentry, who were now hanging back. Stephen Battiscombe and his
brothers, knowing their father's principles, felt sure that he would
disapprove of this step; at the same time, they had become so attached
to the Duke that they were ready to agree to anything which it was
supposed would forward his interests. The subject was anxiously
discussed by many of the best friends of the Duke. The flag carried by
Miss Mary Mead, the work of the maids of Taunton, on which were
emblazoned the initials J.R. and the crown, had been seen by thousands,
and that emblem could not have been mistaken. No one had complained.
The fatal step was quickly decided on,--fatal, because should the Duke
fail and be captured, it would cut off all hope of pardon from James the
Second. On Saturday, 20th June, some of the chief magistrates were
compelled to attend in their gowns at the market crossing, where a large
concourse of people were assembled. Mr Tyler then read the following
proclamation:--"Whereas, upon the decease of our Sovereign, Charles the
Second, late King of England, the succession to the Crown of England,
Scotland, France, and Ireland, with the dominions and territories
thereunto belonging, did legally descend and devolve upon the most
illustrious and high-born Prince, James, Duke of Monmouth, son and
heir-apparent to the said King Charles the Second; but James, Duke of
York, taking advantage of the absence of the said James, Duke of
Monmouth, beyond the seas, did first cause the said late King to be
poisoned, and immediately thereupon did usurp and invade the Crown, and
doth continue so to do. We, therefore, the noblemen, gentlemen, and
commons at present assembled, in the names of ourselves and all the
loyal and Protestant noblemen, gentlemen, and commons of England, in
pursuance of our duty and allegiance, and of the delivering of the
kingdom from Popery, tyranny, and oppression, do recognise, publish, and
proclaim the said high and mighty Prince, James, Duke of Monmouth, our
lawful and rightful Sovereign and King, by the name of James the Second,
by the grace of God, King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland,
defender of the Faith," etcetera.
"God bless the King," the people shouted, and immediately the officers
of the army and the principal inhabitants advanced and kissed Monmouth's
hand, and addressed him as, "Sire," and, "Your Majesty." The news
spread far and wide, and an enthusiastic gentleman, Colonel Dore of
Lymington, in Hampshire, proclaimed the Duke of Monmouth, and raised a
troop of a hundred men for his service. Volunteers now poured in in
even greater numbers than before. Many had to be sent back for want of
arms of any description. There was not even a sufficiency of scythes
for all Monmouth still waited in vain for news of an insurrection in
London. Colonel Danvers, who had promised to head it, hung back,
fearing to risk his life in the enterprise. The king's forces were now
gathering from all directions to oppose the Duke. The household troops,
the only real soldiers who could be depended upon, were marching from
London, and were likely to prove formidable antagonists to Monmouth's
ill-disciplined volunteers. Stephen had been sent on outpost duty with
his small body of horse. He had been directed to proceed in the
direction of Chard, when towards evening, as he was about to return, he
discovered a party of Royal horse galloping towards him. Though he soon
discovered that they were superior in numbers to him, he drew up his men
to receive them. They came on, led by a young officer, who showed
abundant bravery if not much skill. As the party advanced Stephen gave
the word to charge. Shots were rapidly exchanged, and swords were
clashing as the combatants met in a doubtful fight. First to fall was
the young officer. Two of Stephen's men dropped from their horses, two
others directly afterwards were shot. Notwithstanding, the Royal
troopers, discouraged by the loss of their officer, wheeled round and
took to flight. Several more of his men had been wounded, so that
Stephen was unable to pursue the enemy, and he judged it wise to make
the best of his way back to Taunton, fearing that he might be shut up in
the town. The Duke at once resolved to march on Bridgewater, where he
might hope to obtain arms and pecuniary assistance from the wealthy
inhabitants devoted to his cause. It had been proposed to fortify
Taunton, but since its memorable siege, when defended by Blake, the
walls and fortifications had been destroyed, and a considerable number
of men would have been required for its defence. The day after Monmouth
had assumed the kingly title he marched out of Taunton at the head of an
army, which, in point of numbers, might well have encouraged him with
hopes of success, but Stephen Battiscombe observed with regret that he
looked dispirited, in spite of the acclamations of the devoted thousands
which were raised wherever he appeared. Stephen, as he was passing out
of the town, observed Mr Ferguson, the Duke's chaplain, whom he had
often met, standing with a drawn sword in his hand, looking more like a
lunatic than a sane minister of the Gospel.
"What can have come over the man?" remarked Stephen to his brother.
"Hark! hear what he is saying."
"Look at me, you have heard of me," shouted the chaplain. "I am
Ferguson, the famous Ferguson, for whose head so many hundred pounds
have been offered." Thus he continued uttering the same or similar
phrases till the army had passed by.
"I have long ago taken the man's measure, and have heartily wished that
the Duke had a better adviser," said Andrew.
The two brothers rode on with their men, keeping a watchful look-out on
every side in case the enemy should suddenly appear. Bridgewater was
reached without opposition, and in the evening Monmouth's army, now
mustering six thousand tolerably armed men, entered Bridgewater. The
Duke met with a cordial reception from the Mayor and Corporation of that
town, who proclaimed him king at the High Cross. The army was encamped
on Castle Field, on the east side of the town, and the Duke himself took
up his lodgings in the castle close by. The Duke might have been
encouraged when he thought of the siege and gallant defence of
Bridgewater by the famous Blake, who was a native of the town. A
body-guard of forty young men, well mounted and armed, who paid their
own expenses, had been formed for the protection of Monmouth's person,
while the whole of his cavalry amounted to a thousand horse. His object
was now to push forward, and, if an opportunity offered, to capture
Bristol. He therefore made but a short stay at Bridgewater, and
proceeded on to Glastonbury, in the famous abbey of which a part of the
army took up their quarters, while others occupied the neighbouring
churches. His intention of taking Bristol was frustrated by the bridge
across the Avon being broken-down, and by the Earl of Feversham having
entered the city at the head of two hundred and fifty of the Horse
Guards, formidable antagonists for Monmouth's ill-disciplined cavalry to
encounter. During the march Monmouth's troops had been greatly harassed
by the cavalry under Lord Churchill, afterwards the famous Duke of
Marlborough. Monmouth knew that the inhabitants of Bristol were ready
to rise the moment he should commence to attack, but the Duke of
Beaufort, who commanded there, threatened to burn down the city at the
least sign of rebellion, and Monmouth was delayed by the destruction of
the bridge, while the king's forces were gathering round him in large
numbers. He was compelled to abandon his design and to countermarch to
Bridgewater. At Philip's Norton the advanced guard of the two armies
met and had a sharp action, that of the Royal army being led by the Duke
of Grafton, a half-brother of Monmouth. Grafton, leading on his men,
found himself in a deep lane with fences on both sides of him, from
which a galling fire of musketry was kept up, but he pushed on boldly
till he came to the entrance of Philip's Norton; there his way was
crossed by a barricade, from which a third fire met him full in front.
His men now lost heart, and made the best of their way out of the lane;
but before they got out of it more than a hundred of them had been
killed or wounded. Grafton now encountered a party of Monmouth's
cavalry, and cutting his way through them, came off safe. Though the
two armies were now face to face, neither was anxious to engage in a
general action. Feversham was waiting for his artillery, and Monmouth
knew that his followers, in spite of their courage and zeal, were no
match for regular soldiers. He had hoped that those regiments which he
had formerly commanded would pass over to his standard, but that hope he
was now compelled to relinquish; his heart filled, and he almost gave
way to despair. Even at this time a proclamation was circulated, issued
by James the Second, offering an amnesty to all who would lay down their
arms and abandon Monmouth, excepting certain leaders who were expressly
named. A meeting was accordingly held by some of Monmouth's chief
supporters, who proposed that those who were excluded from the amnesty
should retreat to the coast and embark for Holland, leaving their
followers to make such terms as they could with the Government.
Monmouth in the present desponding mood was much disposed to adopt this
measure. He did not look upon it as a disgraceful proceeding. Many
lives would be saved, and he and his officers would preserve theirs.
The step, however, was strongly opposed by Lord Grey, who implored the
Duke to face any danger rather than requite with ingratitude and
treachery the devoted attachment of the western peasantry. Abandoning
this project, Monmouth, hearing that there was a rising of the
inhabitants of the districts in the neighbourhood of Bridgewater,
determined to return thither, and re-entered that town on the 2nd of
July, having passed through Wells on his way. He now thought of
fortifying that place, and had commenced the undertaking when the king's
forces appeared in sight. They consisted of two thousand five hundred
troops, and one thousand five hundred of the Wiltshire militia. Instead
of at once attacking the Duke, they encamped on the plain of Sedgemoor,
about three miles from Bridgewater. Stephen Battiscombe, by his courage
and judgment, had risen high in Monmouth's favour, and now, with several
other officers, accompanied the Duke to the top of the parish church
steeple, the loftiest in the county. From it a wide view could be
obtained, and with their glasses they could distinguish across the moor
the villages where the royal army was posted. In one of them, Weston
Zoyland, lay the royal cavalry, and here Feversham had fixed his
head-quarters. Further off lay Middle Zoy, where the Wiltshire militia
were quartered, and upon the moor, not far from Chedzoy, were encamped
several battalions of regular infantry. Among them the Duke
distinguished Dumbarton's regiment, which he himself had once commanded.
"I know those men," he said, turning to Stephen; "they will fight. If I
had but them, all would go well."
Still, formidable as the force appeared, the Duke knew Feversham's
incapacity, and even on the eve of battle his spies brought in word to
Monmouth that his troops were regaling themselves with cider, and that
no regular outposts had been established. On this the idea occurred to
him that it might be possible to surprise the king's forces, and to cut
them to pieces. Lord Grey and the other principal officers agreed to
this, and it was arranged that they should march out that very night.
Castlefield, where they were encamped, presented on that Sunday
afternoon a spectacle which for many a long year had not been seen in
England since the disbanding of Cromwell's soldiers. The greater number
of the men were Dissenters. The day was passed in religious exercises
according to the Puritan fashion. The preachers who had taken up arms
against Popery, some of whom had fought in the great Civil War, appeared
in red coats and jack boots, with swords by their sides. Stephen
Battiscombe heartily joined in the religious exercises, though he
avoided the spot where Ferguson was holding forth, and endeavouring to
prove that the war in which they were engaged was not rebellion, but a
righteous enterprise which merited the support of Heaven. Among the
soldiers were their wives and daughters, who had come into the town from
the surrounding districts to see them on that Sabbath-day; and when the
camp-meeting broke up, and the trumpet summoned the men to their ranks,
many parted who were never to meet again. Evening of that summer day
drew on, and the time to commence the march arrived. As the Duke, with
his body-guard, rode out of the castle, many remarked that his look was
sad and full of evil augury. The night was well suited for the
contemplated enterprise. Though the moon was at the full, and the
northern streamers were shining brilliantly, the marsh fog lay so
thickly on Sedgemoor that no object could be discerned fifty paces off.
The Duke himself led the infantry, while the cavalry, a thousand strong,
had been committed to Lord Grey, notwithstanding the remonstrances of
many who mistrusted him after his previous ill-success. Stephen would
willingly have had a different leader, for though Lord Grey was faithful
to the cause he had espoused and courageous in council, yet he was
destitute of that nerve which is the great requisite of an officer. He
could have had no confidence in the greater number of his men, who,
though brave, were quite undisciplined. Many of them had been embodied
but a few days, and had not learned the use of their weapons, while
their horses were unaccustomed to stand fire, or to act in concert with
each other, so that they could be scarcely kept in their ranks. Even on
the march most of the infantry also lacked discipline. At the same
time, many had served in the militia, and being all animated with the
same zeal, knew that they could trust each other. The scythe-men
especially were sturdy fellows, drawn from the neighbouring mines, and
were ready to fight to the last. Although the distance to Feversham's
camp was little more than three miles, in order to avoid two deep
ditches, called in those parts plungeons or steanings, the Duke, led by
a guide, took a circuitous route of nearly six miles in length. There
was a third ditch, called the Rhine, which still lay between him and the
king's camp, but of which he knew nothing. There was a ford across this
Rhine, by which his troops might have passed over, but which in the
darkness was missed. In silence and darkness Monmouth's devoted troops
marched on. Some confusion and delay were caused by the first two
ditches, but these having been passed, the Duke, believing no
obstruction existed between him and the royal camp, fully expected to
succeed in his enterprise. He here halted for the horse, consisting of
eight squadrons, to advance. The four iron guns followed the horse, at
the head of the foot, which consisted of five great battalions, each
having one company of one hundred scythe-men, who did the duty of
grenadiers. He had got within a mile of the camp, when the advanced
sentries of the Royal Horse Guards were discovered. A party of Lord
Grey's cavalry charged them, when they galloped off to arouse the camp.
Just before this a pistol had been heard to go off, which undoubtedly
drew the attention of the king's troops to the advancing force.
Monmouth, hearing that the king's camp was alarmed, ordered Lord Grey to
advance rapidly with the horse, and to fall among the tents of the foot,
so as to take them in flank, being still ignorant of the great ditch
which protected them. Lord Grey accordingly marched on, to execute the
orders given him, towards the upper plungeon; but he missed the passage
over the ditch, and led his men by the outside till they were opposite
Dumbarton's regiment. Being challenged, some one answered "Albemarle,"
and he accordingly, supposing them to be friends, allowed five hundred
of them to pass. Lord Grey, then coming to the first battalion of the
Guards, Captain Berkley, who commanded the right wing of the musketeers,
inquired whom they were for. The answer was, "The king."
"What king?" he asked.
"Monmouth, and God with us," was the reply.
Berkley then cried out, "Take this with you," when his own and several
battalions opened a heavy fire, and a considerable number of Grey's
horses and men fell. When unable any longer to stand the fire, they
rode off as hard as they could pelt. A smaller body of horse, to which
Stephen belonged, under the command of Captain Jones, made several
desperate charges, and were also compelled to retreat without having
crossed the ditch, when they went off towards Sutton Hill, where they
took up a position to see the issue of the fight. The flight of Lord
Grey's horse threw many of the infantry into confusion. Some refused to
advance, and others ran away; but a still greater disaster was in store,
for on coming to the end of the moor, where forty-two ammunition wagons
had been left, the drivers, alarmed at the arrival of the fugitives, and
being told that the Duke's army had been routed, took to flight, and did
not stop till they arrived at Ware and Axbridge, twelve miles off.
Shortly after the Duke's horse had dispersed themselves over the moor,
his infantry advanced at the double, guided through the gloom by the
lighted matches of Dumbarton's regiment; but on reaching the edge of the
Rhine they halted, and contrary to orders, began firing away, their fire
being returned by part of the royal infantry on the opposite side of the
bank. For three-quarters of an hour the roar of the musketry was
incessant. The guns also opened fire, which was likewise returned by
the king's cannon as soon as they could be brought up. For a
considerable time the battle raged, the sturdy Somersetshire peasants
behaving themselves as though they had been veteran soldiers, though
they levelled their pieces too high. Monmouth was seen like a brave
man, pike in hand, encouraging his men by voice and example. He by this
time saw that all was over; his men had lost the advantage which
surprise and darkness had given them. They were deserted by the horse
and the ammunition wagons. Lord Churchill had made a new disposition of
the royal infantry. The day was about to break. The event of a
conflict on an open plain by broad sunlight could not be doubtful; yet,
brave as he was, the hope of preserving his life prevailed above all
other considerations. In a few minutes the royal cavalry would
intercept his retreat. He mounted and rode for his life, till he was
joined by Lord Grey and a few other officers; but his brave infantry
still made a gallant stand. They were charged right and left by the
Life Guards and Blues, but the Somersetshire clowns, with their scythes
and butt-ends of their muskets, fought to the last. At length their
powder and ball were spent, and cries were heard of "Ammunition; for
God's sake give us ammunition!" But no ammunition was at hand. The
king's artillery began playing on them, and they could no longer
maintain their ranks against the king's cavalry. The infantry came
pouring across the ditch, but even then the Mendip miners sold their
lives dearly. Three hundred of the royal soldiers had been killed or
wounded; of Monmouth's men more than a thousand lay dead on the moor.
Their leader, it was found, had disappeared, the cavalry had been
dispersed, and the survivors fled across the moor towards Bridgewater.
The king's cavalry, meantime, were sweeping over the plain, cutting down
those who attempted to make a stand, which some of the brave fellows
did, while they captured others, till the whole army which marched out
of Bridgewater the previous evening had been completely dispersed.
Before evening five hundred prisoners had been crowded in the parish
church of Weston Zoyland, many of them badly wounded. The church bells
sent out a peal which must have had very different effects upon the ears
of the victors and of the vanquished. The battle was over, but not the
blood-shedding, for Feversham ordered a number of the prisoners for
execution. Gibbets were erected in all directions, and the fatal Bussex
Tree was long known as the place where numbers were put to death without
the form of a trial.
Among those captured was a fine young officer, an ensign in the Duke's
army, who was celebrated for his extraordinary feats of agility; his
powers were described to Feversham, who promised him his life if he
would submit to be stripped, have one end of a rope fastened round his
neck, and the other round that of a wild young colt, and would race the
colt as long as it could run. He agreed to the ordeal; the brutal
Generals and no less brutal soldiers collected round the young man to
prepare him for the race, close to the Bussex Rhine in Weston. Away
they started at a furious rate till the horse fell exhausted by the side
of his ill-fated companion, at Brinsfield Bridge, Chedzoy, a distance of
three-quarters of a mile. The young man, worn out with fatigue,
extricating himself from the halter, claimed his pardon; but the inhuman
General, regardless of his promise, ordered him to be hanged with the
rest. A young lady to whom he was betrothed, on hearing of his fate,
lost her reason, and for many years was to be seen dressed in white,
wandering about the grave in which he and his companions were interred.
The inhabitants of Zoyland still speak of the white lady. We will not
enter into the details of the numerous barbarities which were committed,
nor will we give a prolonged account of Monmouth's well-known fate. On
leaving the battle-field, he was joined by Buise, who, was a German,
Lord Grey, and a few other friends, among whom were Stephen Battiscombe
and his brother. At Chedzoy he stopped a moment to mount a fresh horse,
and then galloped on towards the English Channel. From the rising
ground on the north of the fatal field he saw the last volley fired by
his hapless followers, and before six o'clock he was twenty miles from
Sedgemoor. Here he and his companions pulled rein, many of them
advising him to seek refuge in Wales, but he fancied that he could more
easily get across to Holland should he reach the New Forest, where, till
he could find conveyance, he could hide in the cabins of the
wood-cutters and deer-stealers who inhabited that part of the country.
He, Lord Grey, and Buise consequently separated from the rest, who took
different courses. He and his companions galloped on till they reached
Cranbourne Chase, where their horses broke down. Having concealed the
bridles and saddles, and disguised themselves in the dresses of
countrymen, they proceeded on foot to the New Forest. The direction
they had taken had been discovered, and a large body of militia
surrounded them on every side. Lord Grey was first captured, and a
short time afterwards Buise, who acknowledged that he had parted from
the Duke only a few hours before. The pursuers recommenced the search
with more zeal than ever, and at length a tall gaunt figure was
discovered in a ditch. Some of the men were about to fire at him, but
Sir William Portman coming up, forbade them to use violence. He was
dressed as a shepherd, his beard, several days' growth, was prematurely
grey. He trembled, and was unable to speak. Even those who had often
seen the Duke of Monmouth did not recognise him, till, examining his
pockets, the insignia of the George was discovered, with a purse of gold
and other articles, among them some raw pease, which he had gathered to
satisfy his hunger. This left no doubt who he was. He and Lord Grey
were kept at Ringwood strictly guarded for two days, and then sent up to
London. Broken-down in health and spirits, he wrote abject letters to
his uncle entreating for pardon, and begging that the king would see
him. The latter petition was agreed to, and he was brought into the
presence of James, his arms secured by a silken cord. He had fancied
that should the king see him, his life would be spared, and he made the
most abject proposals to obtain it. James had resolved that the hated
rival should be put out of the way as soon as possible, and refused to
listen to his plea. Lord Grey behaved with far more dignity and courage
than the Duke. Both were sent to the Tower; the Duke was ordered for
execution, Lord Grey was allowed to live, and ultimately, on the payment
of a heavy fine, escaped, though hundreds who were certainly less guilty
in the eye of the law were mercilessly put to death. The Duke was
beheaded a couple of days after being sent to the Tower. As his blood
flowed on the scaffold, the crowd rushed forward to dip their
handkerchiefs in it, and his memory was long cherished by those who had
risen in arms to support his cause, while no inconsiderable number
believed that he was still alive, and would appear again to lead them to
victory. Two impostors in succession, taking advantage of this belief,
represented Monmouth. One was whipped from Newgate to Tyburn; another,
who had raised considerable contributions, was thrown into prison, where
he was maintained in luxury by his deluded followers. So ends the
ill-starred Monmouth's sad history.
We must now return to the more prominent characters of our tale.
Stephen and his brother Andrew, on parting from the Duke, consulted what
direction they should take. They agreed that it would be madness to
attempt returning home. They were proscribed men, and even should they
reach Langton Park, search would be made for them, and their father
would be exposed to danger for sheltering them. Stephen said that he
was sure Mr Willoughby would willingly try to conceal them, but the
Colonel might object to his doing so, from the danger to which he would
be exposed should they be discovered. They agreed at length that their
safest course would be to push to the north coast of Devon or Cornwall,
where they might obtain concealment in the cottages of the fishermen or
miners, who were generally favourable to the Protestant cause, and
thence cross over to the Welsh coast.
"Let us then commence our march," said Stephen, "and pray that we may
escape the dangers that surround us." They rode on rapidly without
speaking. Both their hearts were sad; they had lost many friends and
faithful followers, whom they had led to join the ill-fated expedition.
Stephen was full of self-reproaches. He thought of Alice, who had
warned and besought him not to engage in the enterprise. He had acted
with courage on several occasions, but following the example of his
chief, he had fled from the field of battle, and he felt ashamed of
himself for not having remained with the brave men who fought to the
last, and fallen among them.
"We should have done it," he exclaimed at length, as they had to rein in
their steeds while they ascended a steep hill.
"Done what?" asked Andrew.
"Died on the field, as I wish that the Duke and Lord Grey had done
rather than run away," replied Stephen.
"As we are doing," remarked Andrew; "for my part, I think it is the
wisest course we could have pursued. I hope they will escape to fight
in the same cause on a more favourable occasion; we should have gained
nothing by remaining on the field of battle, and lost everything if we
should have either been killed or captured."
"We should have preserved our honour," said Stephen.
"I do not consider that we have lost that, since every man who had a
horse to carry him has done the same; but there is little use discussing
the subject. At present we must exert our wits to preserve our lives,
and any honour we have lost may be retrieved on a future opportunity."
Andrew had generally an answer for his brother's remarks. Having gained
the brow of the hill, they again pushed forward, keeping as near the
coast as the nature of the ground would allow, and avoiding all villages
and hamlets, though they hoped that the news of their defeat would not
have preceded them in the direction they were going.
The evening of that fatal day was drawing on when they saw before them a
lone cottage by the seaside. Both their horses were knocked up, and
they themselves were much fatigued and desperately hungry. Still
Stephen was unwilling to approach the cottage without first ascertaining
the character of the inmates.
"Ride on a short distance to the south and wait for me there," he said
to his brother; "I will then turn back and see if the people are likely
to treat us hospitably. I will tell them that we want a place of rest,
as we know of none in the neighbourhood, and that if they will find some
oats or beans or other provender for our horses, and provide us with
some food, we will be thankful and pay them whatever they may demand."
Near the cottage was a boat-house, which appeared to be high enough to
serve as a stable, and they hoped that their horses might be sheltered
in it during the night. Accordingly, after proceeding a little distance
beyond the cottage, Stephen turned back and rode up to the door, and
gave a couple of knocks with the hilt of his sword. The next instant it
was opened, and a grey-headed old man in a fisherman's dress appeared.
"What do you want here, master?" he asked.
Stephen, after surveying the old man, answered as he had intended.
"Food for a horse I don't keep in store, and for a man I have little
enough, though I might give you some bread and cheese," said the old
fisherman.
"We will pay you for whatever you can supply us with and be thankful,"
said Stephen.
"Two men and horses; why, you will eat me out of house and home," said
the old man, peering forth at Andrew, whom he could see in the distance.
"My son, however, will be in anon from fishing; if he has got a good
haul there will be food enough, and as for the horses, why, now I come
to think on't, I have a couple of sacks of damaged oats, got out of a
vessel not far off; if your animals are hungry, as you say, they will
manage to eat them."
"By all means, my friend," said Stephen. "And I suppose you can put our
horses up in your boat-house?"
"As to that, as the boat's away, and it is summer weather, there is room
for them."
"Well, then, I will call my brother, and we will take advantage of your
hospitality," said Stephen, and he rode back and called Andrew.
"Bring us the oats without delay, my friend," said Stephen; "our poor
beasts want food as much as we do."
The old man went into his hut and reappeared with a good-sized basketful
of oats. The young men, taking off their bridles, allowed the poor
beasts to commence their meal, fastening them up with some ropes, of
which there were several coils in the boat-house.
"You have come far, I suspect," observed the old fisherman, as he
watched the horses devour their provender.
"You must give them some water, though," said Stephen, "or they will not
get through enough food to sustain them."
The old man got a bucket, and went to a well a little distance from the
cottage, among a group of trees, the only ones to be seen in the
neighbourhood.
"A merciful man is merciful to his beast," he observed, as he brought
the water, which the horses greedily drank. "Travellers have need to
look after their steeds for their own sakes. Are you riding northward?
It may be if you are, you are going to join the Duke of Monmouth's army.
We have heard say that he has gone in that direction."
"No, we have no intention of joining his army," answered Stephen
evasively, thankful to find that the news of the Duke's defeat had not
as yet reached thus far. They now, closing the door of the boat-house,
accompanied the old man to the cottage. They fancied that he was alone,
but on entering they discovered an old woman seated by the fire, engaged
in preparing the evening meal. She looked up from her task, and asked
her husband who the strangers were.
"Travellers, goodwife; they want some food, and you must just put on
whatever you have got to give them. Fry some more bacon and some of the
salt fish we have in store. They will pay for it, goodwife," he
whispered in her ear. "It is some time since your eyes have been
gladdened by the sight of silver."
The old lady looked satisfied, and was soon frying a further supply of
bacon and fish. The smell made Stephen and Andrew feel so sick with
hunger, that they begged leave to fall-to without waiting for the return
of Mark, the son of the old couple. It took them some time, however, to
appease their appetites. The old man and his wife looked on with
astonishment at the amount of food they stowed away.
"One would suppose that you two had not eaten anything since yesterday,"
observed the old man.
"You are not far wrong, friend," answered Stephen. "We have had good
reason for spurring fast. As we are weary, we will beg you to let us
stow ourselves away in a corner of your room and go to sleep, asking you
to call us should any strangers come near the hut."
"You are welcome to do that, seeing we have no beds to offer you except
Mark's, and he might grumble should he find himself turned out of his."
"We would not do that on any account. Do let us lie down without
delay," said Stephen. "See, my brother's head is already nodding over
the table."
They had brought in their cloaks, unstrapped from their saddles, and
rolling themselves up in them, with some lumps of wood for pillows, they
were asleep almost as soon as they had stretched themselves on the
ground.
The old man and his wife sat talking in low voices for some time, every
now and then glancing at their guests, till the door opened, and the son
they had spoken of entered the room. He was a big, broad-shouldered,
black-bearded man.
"Whom have we here?" he asked, turning his eyes towards the sleeping
fugitives.
"That is more than I can tell you, Mark," answered his father. "They
say they came from the south, and, as far as I can make out, they are
pushing on to Bristol. They seem to have ridden hard, and are dead
beat."
"That may or may not be," said Mark. "I heard say yesterday a good many
men have been deserting from the Duke of Monmouth's army. That is not
to be wondered at, seeing that the king's forces are rapidly gathering
around him; wiser if they had never joined. However, that is no
business of ours."
"So I say, son Mark," said the old man. "You are a wise fellow not to
run your head into danger, let the world wag as it lists; all we have to
do is to catch fish and find a market for them. Have you had a good
haul?"
"Pretty fair; and I hope the packman will be here ere long to carry them
to Bridgewater, where they say the Duke of Monmouth and his men are
encamped. I will now turn in, father, to be ready to send off the fish
as soon as the packman comes."
Mark accordingly turned into his bunk in a little recess, for it could
not be called a room, in the hut, and was soon snoring away, while his
father sat up by the fire in a rough arm-chair, ready, apparently, to
awaken him as soon as the packman should arrive. Stephen and Andrew
were so thoroughly done up that they slept on the whole night through,
undisturbed by voices or any other noise; indeed, had a gun been fired
over their heads, they would scarcely have heard it. They started up at
daybreak.
"We should be off as soon as we have taken some food," whispered Stephen
to his brother. "I wish that we had gone a couple of hours ago; the
moon is in the sky, and we could have seen our way."
They rose to their feet, and looked about them; they could see no one in
the hut. Presently the old man appeared from behind a piece of an old
sail, which served to screen off his sleeping-place.
"We must be going, friend," said Stephen, "and we will thank you for
some more food, as we know not when we may obtain any."
"You shall be welcome to what we have," and he called out to his wife,
"Mollie, Mollie, get up and cook some breakfast for these young
gentlemen; they wish to be on their way."
While the meal was preparing they went out to look at their horses. The
animals were munching some oats, which it was evident that either the
old man or his son had given them; the former followed and got some
water, which the poor beasts much required. Both animals looked much
better for their food and rest. Stephen and Andrew hoped that they
should be able to make a long day's journey, and find some safer place
of concealment than the hut of the old fisherman. On their return to it
they found breakfast ready, which they discussed with good appetites;
and then paying the old man handsomely for the food and lodging he had
afforded them, hastened out again, intending to ride off without further
delay. Stephen led out his horse, and Andrew followed, when, as he was
about to mount, he exclaimed, "Why, the poor animal is lame." He led
him on a few paces; there could be no doubt about it.
"This is unfortunate," he said. "But I will not delay you, Stephen; you
ride on, and I will run down his leg; perhaps in the course of an hour
or two the lameness may go off. I cannot fancy what has caused it."
"No, no," answered Stephen; "I will remain with you whatever happens;
the chances are the news of the fight won't reach this place for some
days to come. We will share each other's fortunes, whatever they may
be." All Andrew could say would not induce Stephen to ride on alone.
They examined the horse's leg, but could discover no cause for its
lameness; they rubbed down the leg, and did all they could in hopes of
taking it off. Presently the old fisherman appeared, and seemed much
surprised at hearing that the horse was lame.
"We must trust to your hospitality for a few hours longer," said
Stephen. "We should run the risk of having the horse break down
altogether were we to proceed in its present condition."
The old man made no objection, so they put their horses back into the
boat-house, and re-entered the hut. They inquired if his son had
returned on the previous evening.
"Yes," he answered; "and he has now gone out in the boat to catch some
more fish, so we shall have enough to feed you. You must rest on the
ground as you did last night."
As they had scarcely recovered from their fatigue, they were glad enough
to lie down again and get some more sleep. They were aroused for
dinner, which was composed chiefly of fish, and as soon as it was over,
they went out to look at their horses. Andrew led his from the stable,
and walked it up and down; it already appeared better. "I really think
we might push forward; it would be safer than staying here. The chances
are Feversham's cavalry will be scouring the country in all directions
to make prisoners, and before long some of them may be here."
Stephen agreed, and went back to the hut to pay the old man and wish him
good-bye. He was standing at the door of the hut, when Andrew cried
out, "Quick! quick! I see some horsemen in the distance, and they are
coming this way. They may be friends, but they are more likely to be
enemies."
The old man heard what was said, but made no remark. Stephen hurried to
the boat-house, and quickly bridling and saddling his horse, mounted,
without stopping to look behind them.
"Halloo! I thought you were going the other way," the old man shouted
after them.
They waved their hands without replying. On they galloped, and soon
lost sight of the horsemen; but whether the latter were pursuing them
was the question. Andrew's horse went better than they expected. The
country was generally level, though the roads were none of the best.
They had proceeded for a couple of hours or more when Andrew's horse
began to flag; the animal was evidently feeling its lameness; still they
had reached no place where they could hope to obtain the concealment
they sought for. Their wish was to get among the rocky and wooded part
of North Devon, and beyond the district from which any of those who had
joined the rebellion would come; there would then be less chance of
their being sought for. Yet they felt, if it was suspected that they
had been with Monmouth, they would even so run the risk of being
betrayed.
"We must obtain disguises of some sort, though it may be difficult to
find them," said Stephen, "for it would be dangerous to enter a town."
It was certainly important to get rid of their uniforms, for those alone
would betray them, as soon as the fate of the battle was known. At the
same time they thought if they could obtain the dresses of gentlemen,
they should less likely be suspected while travelling, at all events,
than if they disguised themselves as countrymen, as their dialect and
appearance would at once show that they were strangers. The long
summer's day was well-nigh closing in when they reached a hilly
district, where they hoped to find concealment.
"What shall we do with our horses?" asked Andrew. "It will be difficult
to hide them and find provender for them at the same time; besides
which, should they be discovered, they would betray that we were in the
neighbourhood. To turn them loose would be equally dangerous, for they
would break into some corn-field or garden, and inquiries would be made
to whom they belonged."
"The only way, I fear, will be to kill them and throw them over the
cliffs," said Stephen.
"Then we shall have no means of travelling farther on," observed Andrew.
"At all events, do not let us kill them to-night, but try to find some
place where we can conceal both ourselves and them."
They rode on, the sun descending on their right into the waters of the
Bristol Channel, enabling them to steer a tolerably direct course. At
last they came to a deep wooded dell, the sides covered with trees,
being so steep that it at first appeared that they could not possibly
get down them. The sound of falling water assured them that there was a
stream at the bottom, which would enable them to give their horses
water. They were not likely to find a better place. They accordingly,
dismounting, led their horses down, endeavouring as little as possible
to disturb the ground, so as to leave no traces behind them. They were
not disappointed in the locality. There was water and grass for their
horses, and they had some dry bread and fish, with which the old
fisherman supplied them, in their knapsacks for themselves, while the
trees grew so closely that it was impossible for any one above to
discover them. They, therefore, having watered their horses and eaten
some of their scanty provision, lay down with a sense of tolerable
security to sleep, while their animals cropped the grass close to them.
Still they were anxious to get farther southward, where, among the rough
Cornish miners, they were likely, they hoped, to be able to effectually
conceal themselves till the search for fugitives from the battle-field
was likely to be over. Night passed quietly away, the weather
continuing fine, and at early dawn, their horses being thoroughly
refreshed, they led them up out of the dell. The country was now much
more wild and rugged than any they had yet passed over, and their
progress was proportionately slow. Under other circumstances they would
have enjoyed the scenery, but their hearts were too sad and their
anxiety too great to enable them to think of anything but the means of
securing their safety. They had proceeded for about a couple of hours,
and were looking out for a place where they could stop and eat the
scanty remains of food they had brought with them, when they caught
sight of two horsemen coming towards them.
"Who can those men be?" asked Andrew.
"King's dragoons," answered Stephen. "It would be no use to fly. Our
only chance is to dash forward and cut our way past them if they attempt
to stop us."
"Agreed," said Andrew. "You take the fellow on our right, and I will
tackle the other."
They rode quietly forward, nerved for the contest; but just as they were
about to plunge their spurs into their horses' flanks, three other
dragoons appeared coming along the road. There was a deep ravine on the
right full of trees and brushwood. Andrew proposed that they should
ride down it as far as they could go, and then throwing themselves from
their horses, endeavour to make their way through the wood till they
could find some place of concealment. The attempt was a desperate one,
as the dragoons might follow as fast as they could. At the same time,
they would have somewhat of a start, and being more lightly clad than
the dragoons, would make quicker way.
"Whatever we do let us keep together," said Stephen; "and, if die we
must, die fighting side by side."
"Agreed," said Andrew, who was always ready to follow his younger
brother's lead. Just, however as Andrew was about to ride his horse
down the steep bank, the dragoons dashed forward at so rapid a rate,
that Stephen saw it would be impossible to follow without the risk of
being cut down when unable to defend himself.
"Keep on the road," he cried out to Andrew, who had just time to turn
his rein, and drawing his sword, galloped forward. The next moment the
dragoons fired. The weapons of all four were clashing together. Both
were tolerably skilful swordsmen. Stephen wounded his antagonist in the
sword-arm. Andrew gave the other a plunge in the side which made him
reel in his saddle, and dashed on to encounter the other three, who were
now spurring forward to meet them. They had some hope of success, and
their courage was high, though their horses were not equal to those of
their opponents. They quickly met, when Stephen found his sword whirled
from his grasp, and his horse borne to the ground. At the same moment
Andrew uttered a cry, and Stephen saw him, to his dismay, fall bleeding
from his horse.
"We give in," cried Stephen, anxious to save his brother.
Notwithstanding, two of the dragoons, with swords uplifted, were about
to cut them down, when the third, who appeared by his uniform to be an
officer, cried out, "Do not strike," throwing up his men's weapons at
the same time.
"You have acted like gallant fellows, whoever you are," he said, turning
to Stephen, and getting off his horse, stepped forward to assist in
lifting up Andrew, whom Stephen was endeavouring to help. The two
dragoons who had first been encountered now came up swearing vengeance.
The officer ordered the other men to look to their hurts, while he
attended to Andrew's, which was not so severe as Stephen had at first
supposed.
"You have come from the field of Sedgemoor," he said, surveying the two
young men. "You will return with us to Lord Feversham's camp, and must
take the consequences of your folly. You are gentlemen, and I do not
wish to treat you as I should common clowns."
The hurts of the wounded men being bound up, the two prisoners were
placed on their own horses, having been deprived of their weapons, while
their arms were bound behind them, and their feet secured under their
saddles. The officer now led the way along the road they had just come.
"We have had a long search for you," observed the officer. "We heard of
your having been harboured at a fisherman's hut, and have been following
you ever since, though you managed to elude us yesterday. I do not wish
to alarm you, but you must be prepared for the fate which has overtaken
all the rebels that have been captured. General Feversham is not very
lenient, and Colonel Kirk, who is expected immediately, is inclined to
hang every one he can catch. I myself will do what I can for you, for I
am pleased with the bold way that you attacked us; I despise a cowardly
enemy."
"We are much obliged to you for your courtesy," answered Stephen. "But,
sir, does it not occur to you that we should be less inconvenienced if
we had at least our arms at liberty, and were able to guide our horses
over this rough road. Should they fall, we shall be in an unpleasant
predicament, and may chance to break our necks or limbs."
"Will you give your word that you will not attempt to escape, rescue or
no rescue?" asked the officer.
Stephen thought for a moment without answering. There might be an
opportunity of getting free, and should they give their word of honour
not to escape, they would be unable to take advantage of it. There was,
however, very little probability that any party of their friends would
be found able to attack five well-armed dragoons, for even the wounded
men were still able to make a stout defence. The officer appeared to
suspect his thoughts.
"Remember, my friends," he observed, "should a rescue be attempted, the
first thing we should do would be to shoot each of you through the
head."
"Thank you for your frankness, sir," said Stephen. "What do you say,
Andrew; shall we give a promise not to escape, with a remote prospect of
being rescued, and the tolerable certainty of being shot should we make
the attempt to take advantage of it?" said Stephen.
"We will give our word provided we are also to have our legs at liberty,
and can ride like gentlemen," answered Andrew. "We must do it
provisionally, however. If the number of men who may attempt to rescue
us is double that of the dragoons, they will then have a good excuse for
letting us go; and that is, I believe, after all, what Cornet Bryce
wishes."
"I fear that the Cornet will not agree to our arrangement," said
Stephen, "though he may think that there is very little chance of ten or
twenty men suddenly appearing in this part of the country to rescue us."
"Still let us try," said Andrew; "it will show him that we entertain
some hope of being rescued, that our friends will revenge themselves on
him if we are ill-treated. As to shooting us, I do not think he is the
man to do that. We must run no small risk either way, and be prepared
for it."
"Well, lads, have you made up your minds?" asked the Cornet, who, though
holding a subordinate rank, was a man of a certain age.
Andrew, as the eldest, made the proposal he had suggested.
"Not very likely that I should agree to it," he answered. "I have you
now in my power, and if your friends attempt to rescue you, I must
pistol you as I promised."
"Look here, Cornet," said Andrew, "should you kill us, our friends will
to a certainty cut you down in revenge; for supposing that twenty or
thirty of them appear, you would have no chance, and as to giving our
word not to attempt under such circumstances to escape, we cannot do
it."
"Well, then, you must take the consequences," answered the Cornet; "you
must ride on with your legs bound under you, but I will allow you the
use of your hands, for if your horses were to fall you might break your
necks, and I should have only dead men to convey to the camp."
Stephen, who all along had had no wish to give his word, was glad of
this arrangement. The Cornet ordering his men to halt, himself unloosed
the prisoners' hands, and bade them take the reins and see that they
kept their horses on their feet. The cavalcade now moved forward at a
more rapid rate than they before ventured to go. Neither Stephen nor
Andrew had the slightest hope of being rescued, as few of the cavalry
who had fled from Sedgemoor had kept together, each man having gone off
in the direction where he hoped safety might most quickly be found.
They concluded, with correctness, that many had been already captured,
and that the dragoons were scouring the country in all directions in
search of others. Their only consolation was, that they had fallen into
the hands of a humane man, who was certainly not thirsting for their
blood. Where there is life there is hope. They therefore rode on less
downcast than under the circumstances might have been expected.