The assize at Dorchester was opened on the 3rd of September. Jeffreys
had already passed through Hampshire, and succeeded in Winchester in
pronouncing sentence on the Lady Lisle for harbouring two fugitives from
Sedgemoor. He condemned her to be burnt alive that very afternoon, but,
happily, the excessive barbarity moved the feelings of the clergy of the
cathedral, who induced him to put off the execution; and though every
effort was made to obtain her pardon, the utmost that was gained was
that her sentence should be commuted from burning to being beheaded.
She was put to death on a scaffold in the market-place of Winchester,
and underwent her fate with serene courage. At Dorchester more than
three hundred prisoners were to be tried. The court was hung with
scarlet, an indication of the bloody purpose of the Chief Justice. It
would seem that the work would require a long time to get through.
Jeffreys, to make it light, let it be understood that the only chance to
obtain a pardon or respite was to plead guilty. On the following
morning he attended Divine service at Saint Mary's Church. When the
clergyman, in his sermon, spoke of mercy, Jeffreys was observed to
laugh,--an omen of coming vengeance. The sermon over, the Judge,
attended by many of the principal gentry of Dorset, Somerset, and Devon,
entered the Great Hall. Without loss of time he commenced his charge to
the Grand Jury in a tone of voice and language which astonished and
alarmed all who heard it. He warned them that their business was to
make most strict inquiries not only after principals but after aiders
and abettors, the fact being that many of the jury had sheltered
refugees, thus making them accessory to high treason after the fact. As
not only weeks but months might have been consumed had the ordinary
process been proceeded with, to avoid this the Judge adopted a plan to
shorten the business, and to procure a confession, without which not a
tenth part would have been legally proved guilty. Two officers, such
was his plan, were sent into the jail to call over and take the names of
the prisoners; they were to promise pardon or execution. If the
prisoners confessed, they were told that they might expect mercy,
otherwise not; and as many were induced to accept the proffered mercy,
these officers were in a condition to appear as witnesses of their
confession. The first thirty, however, mistrusting the cruel Judge,
preferred the chances of an ordinary trial. This was on Saturday. The
same evening Jeffreys signed a warrant to hang thirteen on the following
Monday, which was punctually performed. Nearly the whole of the
remainder were executed. Witnesses were brow-beaten in a most fearful
manner. Jeffreys thundered at them, using the most abusive language;
but the scenes which took place are too horrible, too disgraceful, to be
dwelt on. No less than two hundred and ninety-two persons received
sentence of death at Dorchester alone. Among them were the two
Battiscombes; they had nothing to plead, except that they had taken up
arms under the firm belief that they were fighting for the defence of
the Protestant faith against Popery. Very many others were in the same
case. Mr Battiscombe did not venture to plead for his sons, for he
might himself have been seized and condemned by the unjust Judge, while
he was utterly powerless to assist them openly. The health of the
Colonel did not allow him to leave home, or, interested as he was in the
fate of his young friends, he would have gone to try and help them. Mr
Willoughby, however, who was dauntless in a good cause, offered to
attend the assize to be ready to take advantage of any opening which
might occur. As he listened, however, to the language of the Judge, who
looked more like a drunken madman than a minister of justice, he was in
despair; he exerted himself to ascertain the places and time of
execution of the different prisoners. He found that Andrew, together
with Colonel Holmes, Dr Temple--the Duke's physician--Mr Tyler, who
had read the Declaration, were to be executed at Lyme, near the spot
where the Duke of Monmouth had landed, about half a mile west of the
town. It gave him slight hope that Stephen might escape; but he in vain
endeavoured to see him or to ascertain what was to be his fate. He was
returning from the Court to his inn, when he saw before him a slight
female figure in a riding-dress; it was Alice.
"Oh, uncle Willoughby!" she exclaimed, taking his hand; "do not blame
me; while there is life there is hope. I cannot let Stephen perish
without endeavouring to save him; I should never forgive myself."
"I cannot blame you, Alice," said Mr Willoughby. "How are you going to
proceed? What means have you at your disposal?"
"I know that I can promise any sum that Mr Battiscombe has it in his
power to pay, and I propose seeing the Judge himself," said Alice. "I
will tell him that the death of one brother is sufficient to appease the
demands of justice."
"But I fear, Alice, that he will say both are equally guilty," observed
Mr Willoughby. "And you must be prepared for a refusal. Still, I
would not hinder you from seeing the Judge, terrible as he is in his
manner and appearance."
"I have thought over everything," answered Alice, "and resolved to brave
the lion in his den. He condemned the elder brother to death, and he
may be induced to suppose that the younger was led to join the Duke by
his influence."
"I fear much, Alice, that he will be influenced by no other
consideration beyond the amount you can offer him," said Mr Willoughby.
Strong in the justice of her cause, and prompted by her devotion to
Stephen, in spite of the savage nature of the Judge, her aim was to see
him before he entered the Court; for she heard that once there, inflamed
and excited by his drams of spirits, and by his remarks to prisoners,
witnesses, counsel, and jury, she was less likely to induce him to
listen to her petition, or to understand its object. She had therefore
to remain all night in an agony of doubt and fear in a room next to Mr
Willoughby's. She awoke at early dawn from hearing a noise in the
street, and, looking out of her window, the first figure she recognised
was that of Andrew Battiscombe; there were two other gentlemen whom she
knew by having seen them in court, and who she heard were condemned to
death. Her eye ranged over the others, in dread lest Stephen might be
seen; but he was not there. She felt relieved, and yet she knew how he
must be grieving for the loss of his brother. She hurriedly dressed, in
the hopes of being able to say a few words of comfort to poor Andrew, to
hear from him of his parting with his brother, also to tell him of her
intention of having an interview with the Judge. Scarcely, however, had
she reached the street than the mournful procession, guarded by a strong
band of soldiers, was ordered to march on. She would have rushed
forward to speak to Andrew, as others were doing to their friends and
relatives, but the soldiers closed round them, and kept every one off.
She returned to her room to finish her toilet, so that she might be
prepared to set out with Mr Willoughby as soon as it was likely that
the Judge would have risen. Mr Willoughby was soon ready, and as it
was understood the Judge breakfasted early, she was eager to start. She
had nerved herself up for the encounter, fully prepared for whatever
might be said to her. She had heard of the language Jeffreys was
accustomed to use towards people of all classes, and she did not suppose
her sex and youth would enable her to escape. She was glad, however, to
lean on Mr Willoughby's arm as they approached the house where the
Chief Justice had taken up his quarters. Alice had a letter ready,
requesting to see him on an important matter. In a short time the
servant, to whom she had given the letter, appeared and said that the
Chief Justice would see her. Mr Willoughby thought it prudent to
remain in the court below. He knew that, should he go in with her,
unpleasant questions would be asked, and he would probably be branded as
a Puritan, and perhaps sent off to prison to undergo his trial. Alice,
without trembling, followed her guide and was ushered into a large room,
at the further end of which sat the Chief Justice before a
plentifully-spread breakfast-table. His eyes were ferrety, his nose and
cheeks fiery red, his countenance even in rest had a savage expression.
"Well, young woman, who are you, and what do you want?" he asked in a
gruff tone.
"Please, my lord, I am grand-daughter of a Cavalier who died fighting
for his king; my father was a loyal gentleman, and I have been brought
up by my guardian, Colonel Tregellen, an old Cavalier. I have had no
sympathy with the late Duke of Monmouth, and yet I come to plead for the
life of one who has been implicated in his rebellion."
"Some crop-eared knave with whom thou hast fallen in love, wench,"
growled the Chief Justice. "Out on thee, for an idle baggage!"
"I come to plead for the life of my betrothed husband," said Alice.
"And, my lord, there are those who value him for his honesty and other
good qualities, and are ready to pay as large a sum of money as they can
collect, to obtain his pardon, and I am authorised to hand it over to
your Lordship, that you may do with it as you think fit."
Jeffrey's eyes sparkled as he turned them towards Alice. "What is the
name of this precious youth, thy betrothed husband, wench? I warrant he
thinks thou art worth living for."
"Stephen Battiscombe," answered Alice.
"Why, he is one I yesterday sentenced to death; he should have been hung
by this time, so you are too late, wench."
"Please you, my lord, it was his elder brother, Andrew Battiscombe,"
said Alice. "Were he even more criminal than he is, surely the death of
one in the family is sufficient to satisfy the ends of justice."
"I would stamp out the whole brood of vipers, could I catch them," said
Jeffreys.
Poor Alice felt her heart sink, but she was not to be defeated.
"Whatever his crime, my lord, the sum I am authorised to place in your
Lordship's hands, on receiving his pardon, will, I hope, condone it."
"Ho, ho," said the Chief Justice, eyeing the notes and rolls of gold;
then, turning to a list he had by his side: "I see he is condemned to be
hung, and should have been strung up with his brother this afternoon.
To pardon him is impossible. All I can do is to commute his sentence,
and condemn him to be sent as a slave to the West Indies. There, do not
be weeping, wench. You have obtained your lover's life, at a cheap rate
too. If you care for him you will rejoice. You have saved him for a
trumpery thousand pounds."
"But can he not be pardoned, can he not be pardoned, my lord?" exclaimed
Alice, clasping her hands. "To be banished to the West Indies as a
slave is a terrible punishment."
"We can hang him instead," said Jeffreys.
"Then, will you give me a paper stating that his sentence is commuted?"
"You doubt my word, wench? Well, you shall have it to satisfy your
incredulity," and he wrote a few lines. "Stephen Battiscombe, sentenced
to death, punishment commuted to ten years' slavery in Jamaica."
Alice could scarcely refrain from giving a cry of dismay as she saw
this. "Could he not be sent to Virginia?" she asked.
"Could you not go out and join him there?" exclaimed the Judge,
tauntingly. "If you are not content with having saved your crop-eared
lover's life, you shall have his dead body by to-morrow morning, wench,
and I will order him to be hung forthwith."
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Alice, clasping her hands. "Let him live--in
your clemency let him live!" and, scarcely waiting to pay a formal
farewell to the Judge, she hastened out to rejoin Mr Willoughby. He
had in the meantime discovered the prison where Stephen was confined.
It was not a place into which Alice could have entered alone, but she
was able to accompany him. Together they sought out the officer who had
charge of the prisoners, and presented the document which the Judge had
given to Alice, to prevent the risk of any mistake being made. The man
looked well pleased. "A live prisoner is worth ten dead ones, and you
may depend on it we will not hang him if we can help it."
Alice had hoped to have been allowed to see Stephen, to communicate to
him the fact that his life had been spared. This the jailer said was
impossible, though he promised to do so as soon as he could. Alice
remained another day with her kind friend Mr Willoughby, and at length
succeeded in obtaining an interview. Stephen had heard the change in
his fate. "While there is life there is hope," he said. "I may reach
Jamaica; when there, I may succeed in obtaining my liberation, and
happier days may be in store for England, and I may be able to return
without let or hindrance."
Alice was equally hopeful, and they parted, she having the satisfaction
of believing that she had contributed to save Stephen's life.
The Colonel received her with a look of approbation as she arrived.
"You have acted like a brave girl," he said. "I trust that we shall
welcome Stephen back again some day, though."
The Colonel tried to keep up Alice's spirits, and did not tell her of
the cruel execution which had taken place at Lyme a few days before,
when twelve gentlemen, all of education and high character, were put to
death, including poor Andrew Battiscombe.
The fate of those who were transported was still more cruel. They were
indiscriminately sold to West India merchants, planters, and others, who
shipped them off crowded together in small vessels to Jamaica. Stephen,
with upwards of eight hundred poor wretches, who had been condemned to
be sold as slaves by Jeffreys, arrived in London, having been carried
there in carts. Here they were awarded to the various noblemen,
courtiers, and others who had applied for them, who sold them for the
sum of ten pounds each. Few of them were of the rank of gentlemen--
nearly all Monmouth's officers having been executed, with the exception
of such as could pay heavy fines for their lives. Lord Grey, Ferguson,
Wade, and other leading men were allowed to live, the former paying
forty thousand pounds to the Lord Treasurer, and smaller sums to other
courtiers, for their lives. In London the slaves met many of the
followers of Argyll, who had, like them, been condemned to the West
Indies. Stephen, with about sixty others, was shipped on board a small
vessel, the _Surge_, Captain Hawkins, which, with seven other vessels
freighted in the same way, set sail together from the Thames. Never a
sadder fleet left the shores of England. The unhappy passengers knew
that they were never likely to see those shores again; they had been
torn from their families, their relatives and friends, and were going to
a pestiferous climate, to be employed in the open air under a burning
sun, like the negroes from Africa,--a climate which, under such
circumstances, is sure to prove fatal to Europeans. Stephen,
notwithstanding what he had gone through, was in tolerable health, and
he did his utmost to keep up his spirits. Scarcely was the fleet free
of the Channel than, a heavy gale springing up, the _Surge_ was
separated from her consorts, and proceeded on her voyage alone. The
passengers were secured together below like African slaves, on a deck
extending nearly fore and aft, with low benches on which they could sit,
a bar running behind it with iron rings to which they were chained.
Here they were compelled to sleep and take their meals, a few only being
allowed on deck at a time. Stephen contrived to make himself known to
the Captain, who listened with interest to the account of his adventures
in Africa, and allowed him more liberty than the rest. The _Surge_ had
not made much progress when she encountered another gale, in which she
received much damage. A heavy sea came sweeping over her deck.
"Hold on for your lives," shouted the Captain. When the sea had passed,
the second mate and two other men had disappeared; they were seen for an
instant struggling in the waves astern. There was no hope of saving
them; indeed, it seemed but too likely that the _Surge_ herself would
ere long founder. The pumps were manned, but the crew were soon knocked
up. Stephen proposed to the Captain to liberate the slaves, in order to
get them to work the pumps, and explain to them that unless they did so,
the vessel would sink, and they would lose their lives. To this they
agreed, Stephen setting them the example. Many of them, who had
suffered greatly from the voyage, were unequal to the task, and sank
down exhausted. The crew, who had no intention again of working the
pumps themselves, endeavoured to stir them up. Several declared their
inability to labour, and proved it by dying shortly afterwards on the
deck where they lay. Stephen, however, urged the stronger ones to
persevere explaining to them that they were working for the common good.
The leak continued, and though by keeping the pumps going the water did
not gain on the ship, it was found impossible to discover it, and it was
evident that only by the greatest exertions they could hope to reach
their port. A fever, however, of a malignant character broke out among
the unhappy passengers as soon as they got into warm latitudes. No
surgeon had been sent on board. First one died, then another, and
another. Stephen suggested to Captain Hawkins various means for
remedying the malady by fumigating the vessel. Nothing seemed to have
the slightest effect on those once stricken. Before long two of the
crew were attacked, and died. The weather again became calm, and the
leak with considerable exertion was kept under, but the fever did not
abate. The death-ship sailed on, losing sometimes three or four of her
crew or passengers daily. The Captain had asked Stephen to take charge
of a watch, and he now enjoyed perfect liberty, and took possession of
the cabin of the second mate, who had been lost overboard. Should the
death-rate continue there would be few left on board when the vessel
arrived at Jamaica, even should the fair wind and fine weather continue.
The first mate did not appear to be much of a navigator, and on the
fever attacking the crew as well as the passengers, he lost all heart.
Stephen did his best to doctor him, but before long he also succumbed,
and the _Surge_ was left with a very limited crew.
Captain Hawkins was a stout-hearted man, and kept up his courage. He
asked Stephen to select some of the passengers to assist him in working
the ship. It was Stephen's afternoon watch, when he saw heavy clouds
gathering in the west. They came on rapidly, while the sea below them
was broken up into a mass of foam. He immediately sent and summoned the
Captain, and ordered sail to be shortened. Short-handed as the _Surge_
was through the loss of so many of her crew, this was done but slowly.
The Captain, who had quickly come on deck, and Stephen exerted
themselves to the utmost, while they tried to obtain the assistance of
some of the passengers; but those not labouring at the pumps were unable
to be of much use. Before all the canvas could be reduced the hurricane
struck her abeam. Had she been under her usual sail she would have been
sent completely over and have foundered. As it was, she heeled before
the blast. The next instant two loud crashes came; she rose on an even
keel, but her masts were gone. The Captain and Stephen summoned all
hands to clear away the wreck before the butt-ends of the masts should
stave in the vessel with the tremendous thumps they were giving against
the side. Axes were found, shrouds and other ropes which held fast the
masts were speedily cut. Still the hapless vessel lay in the trough of
the sea, the waves dashing against her sides, and threatening to sweep
everything overboard. The great object now was to get a sail rigged on
the stump of the foremast and put her before the wind. When the masts
fell several people had been injured, the Captain among them. At first
he made light of it. Now that he wished to exert himself more than
ever, he was unable to do so. He called for a chair, and sat aft,
giving his directions. Stephen had to take everything upon himself.
The men obeyed him willingly. While he and the party were working
forward, the sea came rolling up and struck the vessel amidships. They
held on for their lives. The sea washed right aft, carrying everything
before it. When it had disappeared, Stephen looked for the Captain, who
was nowhere to be seen, nor were any of those who were standing in that
part of the deck; the helmsman among them was gone. Another hand was
sent to the helm, the sail, which had been got ready, hoisted, and the
vessel put before the wind. Stephen now found himself in command of the
_Surge_, but from her condition he had very little hope of ever arriving
at a port. To go to Jamaica was not to be thought of, as he should be
delivering his companions, and possibly himself, into slavery. He
resolved, therefore, if he could save the _Surge_, to carry her to one
of the New England settlements, where he and his companions would be
received as friends; indeed, all those who had escaped from Sedgemoor
had probably already arrived there, and would welcome him with open
arms. The number of the passengers and crew were, however, sadly
reduced. Of the former, scarcely twenty remained alive, while of the
crew only six were fit for duty--not a single officer, the boatswain
having succumbed to the fever. Stephen picked out two of the best men
to act as mates, though neither of them could take an observation. When
he informed the passengers of his intention of steering for New England,
as soon as the hurricane should be over, they all willingly undertook to
aid him to the utmost. Of late the vessel did not leak as much as
before; something had apparently got into the opening which prevented
the water entering. This tended to keep up the spirits of the
storm-tossed party. Still they were in a very desperate condition.
They could hope to get up only very imperfect jury-masts, and then, even
should they obtain a favourable wind, they would be a long time in
reaching a New England port. With their reduced numbers, and their
provisions and water, they hoped to hold out, if all hands were at once
put on an allowance. Stephen determined to see to this matter as soon
as the gale was over. Still the fever continued among them. One of the
crew and two more of the passengers died the day after the loss of the
Captain. Poor fellows! it seemed a hard thing, in the prospect of
liberty, thus to be summoned away after all they had gone through.
Stephen had kept the deck nearly two days without once going below,
having his food brought to him. At length, worn out with fatigue, he
was compelled to seek an hour or two's rest in the cabin to enable him
to continue his work. How long he had closed his eyes he could not
tell, when he felt that the ship hove on her beam ends. He rushed up on
deck, and shouted to the crew. No voices replied. It was very dark,
but he made out that the jury-mast had been carried away, and the vessel
lay in the trough of the sea. He went to the helm. The rudder had been
injured, if not carried away; scarcely any of the bulwarks remained.
The _Surge_ lay a complete wreck amid the wild raging waters. Another
sea had apparently swept the deck and carried away every one within its
power. As he went below to ascertain if any of the crew survived, cries
and groans of the terrified passengers met his ears. He had little or
no hope to offer them. Going forward, he could not discover one of the
crew. He aroused the passengers, and urged them to turn to at the
pumps. They might keep the vessel afloat till the morning, and then
build a raft, or perchance a sail might heave in sight and rescue them.
Few, however, were able to labour efficiently. It seemed a wonder to
Stephen that his own strength had been kept up, when he saw stout
fellows, accustomed to wield the scythe and flail, reduced to mere
skeletons. The morning came, the _Surge_ still floated, but to build a
raft seemed beyond the power of those on board. They wanted both
strength and skill. Stephen urged them to try, however. Collecting all
the spars and planks to be found, he commenced to work, showing them as
far as he was able what to do. The wind had fallen, the sea was going
down, or they could not possibly have made even the attempt. The ship,
too, had risen more on an even keel than before. It seemed very
doubtful whether she would exist much longer above water. The hours
went slowly by. The poor fellows laboured as hard as they could. First
one dropped, then another, some from fever, others from fatigue. The
_Surge_ had been kept afloat during the day. Another night was
approaching; nothing could be done during it; even seamen could have
scarcely worked in the dark. Stephen, as he went below to kneel in
prayer, as was his wont, did not expect to see the sun rise again over
the waste of waters.