The next thing which I remember was coming out of the mob with the
waggons just behind me, going at a smart pace to a position on the
army's right. The road was pretty full of all sorts of people; but as
we shouted for them to clear the way, they made a lane for us. I saw the
Duke's little clump of staff-officers on a pitch of rising ground, but
there was no firing; only a noise of many voices singing. Just as we
were about to turn off the road into the fields behind our right wing,
I saw the little old lame puppet-man sitting on a donkey by the ditch
at the side of the road. I shouted to the drivers to pass on, which they
did, at full tilt, while I drew rein by the old man's side. “Aurelia,” I
said, “this is no place for you. Do get away from here before they find
you out.”
“Why,” she said, very calmly, in the broad burring man's voice which
she imitated so exactly. “I be come 'ere to find you out. You'm going to
your death, boy. You get out of this 'ere army afore you're took. I
tell ee thy Duke be a doomed man. Look at en's face. Why, boy, there be
eleven thousand soldiers a-marching to put er down. You've only a got
a quarter of that lot. Come out of en, boy. Do-an't ee be led wrong.” I
was touched by her kind thought for me; she was risking her life for
me for the second time, but in the hurry of the moment I could not put
words together to thank her.
“Aurelia,” I said, “I can't talk to you now. Only get out of this. Don't
stay here. I'm all right.”
“No, Martin,” she said, in her ordinary voice, “you're not all right.
Come out of this. Slip away tonight to Newenham Abbey. It be over there,
not more than a couple of miles. Oh, come, come. I can't bear to see you
going away to certain death. I KNOW that this force cannot win.”
“Yes, Aurelia,” I answered. “But I'm not going to be a hang-back for all
that. I'm not going to be a coward. You risk a horrible death, only to
tell me not to do the same. You wouldn't give up a cause you believed
in, merely because it was dangerous. I'll stick by my master, Aurelia.
Don't try to tempt me.”
She would have said more; she would perhaps have persuaded me from my
heroics, had not the guns begun firing. That broke the spell with a
vengeance; nothing could be done after that. I shook up my horse, hardly
pausing to say “God bless you.” In another minute she was out of sight,
while I was cantering off to the extreme right wing with the Duke's
orders to his officers to cut in on the road to Chard. As I rode along,
behind the scattered line of our men, I could see the rolls of smoke
from the firing on the left. The men on the right were not firing, but
being raw troops they were edging little by little towards the firing,
in which I do not doubt they longed to be, for the sake of the noise.
They say now that the Duke threw away this battle at Axminster. He could
have cut Albemarle's troops to pieces had he chosen to do so. They made
a pretty bold front till we were within gunfire of them, when they all
scattered off to the town pell-mell. While they were in the town, we
could have cut them off from the Chard road, which would have penned
them in while we worked round to seize the bridges. After that, one
brisk assault would have made the whole batch of them surrender. Some of
our officers galloped from our right wing (where I was) to see how the
land lay, before leading off their men as I had brought them word. A
few of them fired their pistols, when they came to the road, which was
enough to make the right wing double forward to support them without
orders. In a minute about a thousand of us were running fast after our
officers, while the Duke's aides charged down to stop us. He had decided
not to fight, probably thinking that it would do his cause no good by
killing a lot of his subjects so early in his reign. We know now that
had he made one bold attack that morning, the whole of Albemarle's
force, with the exception of a few officers, would have declared for
him. In other words we should have added to our army about a thousand
drilled armed men who knew the country through which we were to pass.
By not fighting, we discouraged our own army, who grumbled bitterly when
they found their second battle as ineffectual as the fight at Bridport.
I remember next that I saw the whole of Albemarle's troops flying for
their lives along the Chard road, flinging away their weapons as they
ran. They had the start of us; but a resolute captain could have brought
them to a stand, by pushing forward his cavalry. However “a bridge of
gold to a flying foe” is a good saying. We let them go. When our cavalry
advanced (to keep them on the move, not to fight with them) they passed
the time in collecting what the militia had flung away; about four
thousand pounds' worth of soldiers' stores, chiefly uniforms. I went
forward with the horse on that occasion. I picked up altogether about a
dozen muskets, which I gave to some of our men who were armed only with
clubs. Then I rode back to report myself ready for service to my master,
who was getting ready for camp, thinking that his men had done enough
for one day.
It was a sad waste of time. A rough camp was formed. We went no further
for that time. About half a precious day was wasted, which might have
brought us nearly to Taunton under a resolute man, sworn to conquer.
Some of our men went out to forage, which they did pretty roughly. It
was theft with violence, coloured over by some little touch of law.
The farmers who were unpopular thereabouts had their cattle driven off;
their ricks carted off; their horses stolen; their hen-roosts destroyed.
We were like an army of locusts, eating up everything as we passed. Our
promises to pay, when the King came to his own, were really additional
insult; for the people robbed knew only too well how Stuart kings kept
their promises. One strange thing I saw that night. The men who were
cooking their newly stolen beef at the camp-fires kept crying out for
camp-kettles in which to boil the joints. We had no camp-kettles; but an
old man came forward to the Duke's quarters to ask if he might show the
men how to cook their meat without kettles. The Duke at once commanded
him to show us how this might be done. Like most useful inventions, it
was very simple. It was one of those things which are forgotten as life
becomes civilised, but for want of which one may perish when one returns
to barbarity, as in war. The old man began by placing stout poles
in tripods over the camp-fires, lashing them firmly at the top with
faggot-binders. Then he took the hide of one of the slaughtered cattle,
gathering it up at the corners, so as to form a sort of bag. He cut some
long narrow strips from the hide of the legs, with which to tie the four
corners together. Then he lashed the four corners to the tripod, so that
the bag hung over the fire.
“There,” he said. “There is your kettle. Now put water into en. Boil
thy victuals in er. That be a soldier's camp-kettle. You can carry your
kettle on your beef till you be ready for en.”
Indeed, it proved to be a very good kind of a kettle after one got
used to the nastiness of it, though the smell of burning hair from the
kettles was disgusting. To this day, I have only to singe a few hairs
in a candle to bring back to my mind's eye that first day in camp at
Axminster, the hill, the valley ringed in by combes, the noise of the
horses, the sputtering of the fires of green wood, the many men passing
about aimlessly, wondering at the ease of a soldier's life after the
labour of spring ploughing. It was a wonderful sight, that first camp
of ours; but the men for the most part grumbled at not fighting; they
wanted to be pushing on, to seize the city of Bristol, instead of
camping there. How did they know, they said, that the weather would
keep fine? How were we to march with all our ten baggage waggons if the
weather turned wet, so that the roads became muddy? The roads in those
parts became deep quagmires in rainy weather. A light farmer's market
cart might go in up to the axles after a day's steady rain. To march
through such roads would break the men's hearts quicker than any
quantity of fighting, however disastrous. Thus they grumbled about the
camp-fires, while I bustled over the Duke's dinner, in the intervals of
running errands for the colonel.
That evening, after the summer dusk had come, but before the army had
settled to sleep, I heard an old man, one of our cavalrymen, talking to
another trooper. “Ah,” he said, “I was fighting in the old wars under
Oliver. I've seen wars enough. You mark my words, boy, this army won't
do much. We've not got enough men, for one thing. We could have had
fourteen thousand or more if he'd thought to bring muskets for en. We've
not got cavalry, that's another thing. When us do come face to face with
all the King's men us shall be sore put to it for want of a few trusty
horses. Horsemen be the very backbones of armies in the field. Then,
boy, we not got any captains, that's worst of all. The Duke's no
captain. If he'd been a captain her'd have fought this morning. Them
others aren't captains neither, none of them. Besides, what are they
doing sitting down in camp like this when we ought to be marching?
Us ought to be marching. Marching all night, never setting down once,
marching in two armies, one to Exeter, one to Bristol. Us'd 'ave the two
towns by late tomorrow night if us was under old Oliver. It'll take us
a week to get to Bristol at this rate. By that time it will be full of
troops, as well as secured by ships. As for us, by that time we shall
have troops all round us, not to speak of club-men.”
“Ah,” said the younger man. “What be club-men, gaffer?”
“You'll know soon enough what club-men are,” the old man answered, “if
there's any more of this drunken dirty robbery I saw this afternoon.
Those thieves who stole the farmer's cattle would have been shot in
Oliver's time. They'd have cast lots on a drum in sight of all on us,
drawn up. The men who got the low numbers would have been shot. The
captains would have pistolled them where they stood. If this robbing
goes on, all the farmers will club together to defend themselves, making
a sort of second army for us to fight against. That is what club-men
means. It's not a nice thing to fight in a country where there are
club-men all round you. No, boy. So what with all this, boy, I be going
to creep out of this 'ere army. I do-an't like the look of things, nor
I do-an't like the way things are done. If you take a old man's advice
you'll come too.”
“Noa,” said the honest oaf, “I be agoin' to vight. I be a-goin' to
London town to be a girt sol-dier.”
“Ah,” said the old man, shortly, “you be a vule, Tummas. Wish ee good
day, maister.” Then the old man turned sharply on his heel to leave the
camp, which he did easily enough, for he knew several of the sentries.
Even if he had not known them, it would have made little difference,
because our sentries were so lax that the camp was always swarming with
strangers. Women came to see their husbands or sweethearts. Boys came
out of love of mischief. Men came out of curiosity, or out of some wish
to see things before they decided which side to take. Our captains were
never sure at night how many of their men would turn up at muster the
next morning.
After the old man had deserted, I sat down on the high ground above the
camp, in the earthen battery where our four little guns were mounted. I
was oppressed with a sad feeling that we were all marching to death. The
old man's words, “we shall have troops all round us,” rang in my head,
till I could have cried. My mind was full of terrible imaginings. I
saw our army penned up in a little narrow valley where the roads were
quagmires, so that our guns were stuck in the mud, our horses up to
their knees, our men floundering. On the hills all round us I saw
the King's armies, fifty thousand strong, marching to music under the
colours, firing, then wheeling, forming with a glint of pikes, bringing
up guns at a gallop, shooting us down, while we in the mud tried to
form. I knew that the end of it all would be a little clump of men round
the Duke, gathered together on a hillock, holding out to the last. The
men would be dropping as the shot struck them. The wounded would waver,
letting their pike-points drop. Then' there would come a whirling of
cavalry, horses' eyes in the smoke, bright iron horse-shoes gleaming,
swords crashing down on us, an eddy of battle which would end in a hush
as the last of us died. I saw all these pictures in my brain, as clearly
as one sees in a dream. You must not wonder that I looked over the misty
fields towards Newenham Abbey with a sort of longing to be there, well
out of all the war. It was only a mile from me. I could slip away so
easily. I was not bound to stay where I was, to share in the misery
caused by my leader's want of skill. Then I remembered how my father had
believed in the right of the Duke's cause. He would have counselled me
to stay, I thought. It seemed to me, in the dusk of the night, that my
father was by me, urging me to stay. The thought was very blessed; it
cleared away all my troubles as though they had not been. I decided
to look no more towards Newenham; but to go on by the Duke's side to
whatever fortune the wars might bring us. Somehow, the feeling that my
father was by me, made me sure that we were marching to victory. I went
to my quarters comforted, sure of sleeping contentedly.
Like the rest of us, I had to sleep in the open, without any more
shelter than a horse-cloth. Even the Duke was without a tent that night.
He slept in camp with us, to set an example to his men, though he might
well have gone to some house in the town. I liked the notion of sleeping
out in the open. In fine warm summer weather, when the dew is not too
heavy, it is pleasant, until a little before the dawn, when one feels
uneasy, for some reason, as though an enemy were coming. Perhaps our
savage ancestors, the earliest ancient Britons, who lived in hill-camps,
high up, with their cattle round them, expected the attacks of their
enemies always at a little before the dawn; so that, in time, the
entire race learned to be wakeful then, lest the enemy should catch the
slumberers, with flint-axe heads in the skull. It may be that to this
day we feel the fear felt by so many generations of our ancestors. On
this first night in camp, I found that many of the men were sleeping
uneasily, for they did not know the secret of sleeping in the open. They
did not know that to sleep comfortably in the open one must dig a little
hole in the ground, about as big as a porridge bowl, to receive one's
hipbone. If you do this, you sleep at ease, feeling nothing of the
hardness of the bed. If you fail to do it, you wake all bruised, after a
wretched night's tumbling; you ache all the next day.
After grubbing up a hollow with my knife, I swathed myself in my blanket
with a saddle for pillow. I watched the stars for a while, as they
drifted slowly over me. The horses stamped, shaking their picket-ropes.
The sentries walked their rounds, or came to the camp-fires to call
their reliefs. The night was full of strange noises. The presence of so
many sleeping men was strange. It was very beautiful, very solemn. It
gave one a kind of awe to think that thus so many famous armies had
slept before the battles of the world, before Pharsalia, before Chalons,
before Hastings. Presently the murmuring became so slight that I fell
asleep, forgetting everything, only turning uneasily from time to time,
to keep the cool night wind from blowing on my cheeks so as to wake me.
It must have been two in the morning when I was wakened by some armed
men, evidently our sentries, who rolled me over without ceremony.
“Wake up, young master,” they said, grinning. “You'm wanted. You be to
get up to go a errand. You be a soldier now. You does your sleeping in
peace-times when you be a soldier,” I sat up blinking my eyes, in the
early light, thinking how nice t'other forty winks would be.
“Heigho,” I yawned. “All right. I'm awake. What is it? What's the
matter?”
“Lord Grey be a wanting you, young master,” said one of the men. “Down
there, where them horses be in the road.” I picked myself up at that,
wishing for a basin of water into which I might shove my head.
“Yes, yes,” I said. “Thank you. I'll go down.” I left my blanket where
it was, as I expected to be back in a few minutes. I walked down hill
out of the camp to the road where the horses stood; there were four
horses, two of them mounted. The mounted men were regular country
bumpkins, with green sprays in their hats, like the rest of our men; but
their horses were pretty good, much better than most of those we had.
One of them was a stocky old cob, which was no doubt to be mine.
The other was a beast with handsome harness for Lord Grey. “Alas,” I
thought. “No more sleep for me. I've got to ride. I wonder where we are
going.” The men touched their hats to me; for as I was in the Duke's
retinue I was much respected. Some of them no doubt thought I was a
princeling or little lord.
“Where are we going?” I asked the troopers.
“Going scouting out towards Colyton yonder, sir,” said one of them. “Us
be to pick up his Lordship in the town.”