IN TAUNTON TOWN.
HISTORICAL TALES
BY
E. Everett-Green.
_In handsome crown 8vo volumes, cloth extra, gilt tops. Price 5s. each._
IN TAUNTON TOWN. A Story of the Days of the Rebellion of James, Duke of
Monmouth, in 1685.
SHUT IN. A Tale of the Wonderful Siege of Antwerp in the Year 1585.
THE LOST TREASURE OF TREVLYN. A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot.
IN THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY. A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince.
LOYAL HEARTS AND TRUE. A Story of the Days of Queen Elizabeth.
The Church and the King. A Tale of England in the Days of Henry VIII.
_In post 8vo volumes, cloth extra. Price 2s. 6d. each._
EVIL MAY-DAY. A Story of 1517.
IN THE WARS OF THE ROSES.
THE LORD OF DYNEVOR. A Tale of the Times of Edward the First.
THE SECRET CHAMBER AT CHAD.
_Published by_
T. NELSON AND SONS, London, Edinburgh, and New York
IN TAUNTON
TOWN
[Illustration: _JAMES, DUKE OF MONMOUTH._]
T. NELSON & SONS
_LONDON, EDINBURGH & NEW YORK_
_In Taunton Town_
_A Story of the
Rebellion of James Duke of Monmouth
in 1685_
_By_
_E. EVERETT-GREEN_
_Author of_ "_In the Days of Chivalry_," "_The Church and the King_,"
"_The Lord of Dynevor_," "_Shut In_"
_&c. &c._
[Illustration]
_T. NELSON AND SONS_
_London, Edinburgh, and New York_
_1896_
CONTENTS.
I. THE SNOWE FAMILY, 9
II. MY CAREER IS SETTLED, 25
III. MY NEW HOME, 42
IV. MY NEW LIFE, 59
V. I GET AMONGST FINE FOLK, 79
VI. VISCOUNT VERE, 95
VII. A WINTER OF PLOTS, 112
VIII. "LE ROI EST MORT," 129
IX. THE MUTTERING OF THE STORM, 146
X. MY RIDE TO LYME, 163
XI. OUR DELIVERER, 180
XII. BACK TO TAUNTON, 197
XIII. THE REVOLT OF TAUNTON, 214
XIV. A GLORIOUS DAY, 230
XV. THE MAIDS OF TAUNTON, 250
XVI. "THE TAUNTON KING," 264
XVII. ON THE WAR-PATH, 281
XVIII. IN PERIL IN A STRANGE CITY, 297
XIX. A BAPTISM OF BLOOD, 314
XX. IN SUSPENSE, 331
XXI. BACK AT BRIDGEWATER, 348
XXII. FATAL SEDGEMOOR, 364
XXIII. TERRIBLE DAYS, 381
XXIV. THE PRISONER OF THE CASTLE, 398
XXV. JUST IN TIME, 413
XXVI. THE TERRIBLE JUDGE, 430
XXVII. THE JUDGE'S SENTENCES, 447
XXVIII. PEACE AFTER STORM, 463
XXIX. MY LORD AND MY LADY, 478
XXX. A CHRISTMAS SCENE, 490
EPILOGUE, 497
IN TAUNTON TOWN.
CHAPTER I.
_THE SNOWE FAMILY._
I certainly never thought when I was young that I should live to write
a book! Scarce do I know how it betides that I have the courage to
make so bold, now that I am well stricken in years, and that my hair
has grown grey. To be sure (if I may say so without laying myself open
to the charge of boasting, a thing abhorrent to me), I have always
been reckoned something of a scholar, notwithstanding that I was
born a farmer's son, and that my father would have been proud could
he but have set his name on paper, as men of his station begin to do
now-a-days, and think little of it. But times have changed since I
was a boy--perhaps for the better, perhaps for the worse; who knows?
Anyhow, there is more of learning in the world, for sure, though
whether more of honesty let others be the judge!
And now, how and when am I to begin my tale?
Sitting over the fire and recalling stirring scenes of bygone days,
it seems simple enough to record in writing my memories of those times
when we good folks of the West Country thought we had found a deliverer
who would break from the neck of England the yoke of the hated Papist
tyranny which was being laid upon us (at least so we all feared and
believed) by one whose name is yet spoken in these parts with a curse.
But when one sits to a table with quill and ink-horn beside one, then
it does not appear so simple a task; and inasmuch as I have no skill in
such matters as the writing of chronicles, I must e'en go to work my
own fashion, and if that fashion be a poor one, must ask pardon of all
such as may have the patience or complaisance to read my poor story.
Well, then, it seems that the first thing to do is to state who I am,
and how it came about that I was so mixed up with that brief period of
history which has left such indelible marks in the hearts of the people
of our fair West Country. The former is quickly and easily explained;
the latter will be unfolded as this narrative proceeds.
My father was one Joseph Snowe, a farmer of some substance, and the
eldest of three brothers. He was a man of some importance, being the
owner of Five Gable Farm at Shorthorne; and Shorthorne--as I suppose
all men know--lies midway betwixt Taunton and Bridgewater, two notable
fair towns of our fertile and pleasant county of Somerset.
There was an old saw spoken anent the Snowe family which said that the
men thereof who were not farmers and tillers of the soil were brewers
of malt liquor and the keepers of hostelries. Nor would it become me
to deny with too much eagerness the truth of this saying, seeing that
I myself have been master of an inn these many years, and that I have
brothers who both till the soil and sell and make malt liquor.
But to return to my father and his two brothers. Five Gable Farm had
belonged to the Snowes as far back as we cared to ask questions. It had
passed from father to son for many generations; and since I was the
youngest of six brothers, there seemed little likelihood of its passing
to alien hands for many a day to come.
My father's name was Joseph--as became the eldest of the house; for
Joseph was a great name in the Snowe family. Next to him came Uncle
John, of whom I shall have much to say in these pages; and last of the
three, Uncle Robert, who was a good deal younger than the other pair,
two sisters having been born in between.
Now Uncle John was a big man, as big as father himself, with a loud
voice and a right jovial manner. I doubt not that he found this jovial
address a great source of income to him; for he kept the inn of the
Three Cups in gay Taunton Town, and travellers who paused at his door
to ask the way or quaff a cup of mead on horseback seldom rode onwards
after having had speech of mine host--unless much pressed for time--but
dismounted to taste the good cheer of the house, and more often than
not remained until the morrow beneath the friendly shelter of the
roof-tree. I was to learn all about this in good sooth, as will shortly
be made clear to all.
Uncle Robert had followed the example of Uncle John, or had perhaps
been guided in his choice by the old adage of which I have spoken; for
he too became master of an inn in Bridgewater, by name the Cross Keys.
It was not such a flourishing or important house as the Three Cups in
Taunton, nevertheless it was a comfortable and well-liked place of
rest; and the name of Snowe went far in the district as a warranty for
good cheer and fair charges.
Now it will readily be seen that it was a great matter of advantage to
my father to have two brothers within easy distance of the farm, both
in the inn-keeping line of business. All our spare produce was sent to
one inn or the other, bought readily at fair prices, and often bespoken
for months beforehand. We prided ourselves on the breed of our sheep,
the quality of our beef, the excellence of our smoked hams; and the
fame of all these things made us well known both in Taunton and in
Bridgewater, so that private persons from the neighbourhood would come
craving of mother to spare them of our produce, and these earnings of
hers came in the course of a year to a tidy little sum of money.
But I must not wander on in this fashion, or I shall scarce get my
story told as I have promised. And to pave the way for the tale I am
to tell, I must needs talk for a while about myself, even though this
may savour somewhat of self-conceit and vanity. Not that I have any
cause to be vain of my outward man, as I will incontinently show, for I
have been malformed and somewhat of a hunchback all my life; and if the
word I have used is somewhat too strong, at least it is the one I most
often heard employed towards me when first I mixed with other lads in
Taunton Town. And I may not deny that I had and always have had a stoop
of the neck, and that one of my shoulders is higher than the other,
whilst my stature has always been notably less than that of any of the
men of my name and race.
Now this would be very surprising in a family noted for its tall and
comely sons and daughters, had it not been for the lamentable fact
that in my tender infancy I was overlooked by a witch, or in some sort
bewitched, so that from that day forward I began to grow crooked, and
never attained the grace or stature which my brothers and sisters
inherited as a natural right.
And this misfortune befell me in this wise.
I was but a babe in arms, I think I was nigh upon a year old, and
as fine and comely a child (so at least my mother will have it) as
one need wish to see. She had been out to visit a neighbour, and was
returning across the moor as the dusk was drawing on; and as ill-luck
would have it, her way led her close to the hut where there lived a
witch, who went by the name of Mother Whale--though whether this were
truly her name, or whether witches have rightly any names at all, I
have not knowledge to say. Be that as it may, Mother Whale was so
called by all the country side; and young maids resorted to her to have
their fortunes told, whilst the village swains who dared as much would
purchase from her small bottles in which she had brewed love potions to
win them their sweethearts, or magic draughts to make them strong in
feats of courage or skill. She had worked many notable cures on cattle
and pigs, as well as on human beings, by her charms and simples, and
was held in much repute. Nevertheless men feared her not a little also,
because that she was without doubt possessed of the evil eye; and when
she chose to overlook a man or his possessions, as sure as the sun
shone in the sky some grievous harm would happen to him or to them, as
had been proved times without number--so all the folks of the place
said.
My mother felt a great fear when she found herself nigh to this lonely
hut so near the day's end, for she had an idea that witches who were
fairly friendly and well disposed by day became full of evil purposes
at night (which may or may not be true--I pass no opinion on the
matter), and she was hurrying by in a great fright, when suddenly the
form of the old woman rose from the very ground at her feet.
I have heard my mother tell the story many and many a time; and she
always maintains that there was nothing to conceal the old woman--not
so much as a mound or a tuft of grass--and that she must have sprung
out of the bowels of the earth, for there she suddenly was, standing
full in front of her; and my mother being already somewhat scared, fell
now into such a terrible fright that she dropped me upon a heap of
sharp-pointed stones close by (when I ask her if the old woman might
not have been concealed behind this heap of stones, she always grows
irritable, and tells me not to cavil at her words), and fled for her
very life. But inasmuch as the power of a mother's love is a notable
thing, and will run many a risk sooner than leave a helpless babe in
peril, so it befell that my mother turned back after a while, and even
dared to go boldly up to the very hut itself in search of her offspring.
The door of the hut stood open as she approached, and by the light
of the turf fire she could see what passed within, and a sight was
revealed to her which made her heart stand still and curdled the very
blood in her veins. For the old woman had actually got me laid across
her lap, and was rubbing my back, which was sorely cut and bruised
by the stones, with some preparation of her own; and when my mother
appeared to claim her child, she looked her over with a glance which
made the poor creature shake in her shoes, and chid her severely for
dropping a tender babe and fleeing without so much as a backward glance.
My mother declares that from that day forward she always knew that harm
would come of it; that the witch had overlooked either her or me. And
in truth from that time I grew puny and peaked, and when I began to
walk (which was not till long after a child should do so) it was easy
to see that something was wrong with me. All the place knew that I had
been bewitched, and held Mother Whale responsible, and respected and
feared her the more for it; but for my part I often wonder whether it
was not the fall upon the stones, for Mother Whale was always very good
to me, and in my lonely childhood I found in her one of my chiefest
friends.
For my childhood was lonely. I could not work on the farm like my
brothers. I was sickly and weak until I grew to be ten or twelve years
old. My back would ache for almost nothing, and I was so little use
that I was always pushed on one side, or bidden to run indoors out of
the way. My sisters were kind to me, and would find me little light
household tasks; but the manhood in me revolted from doing "woman's
work," and I suppose that is why I became what the neighbours used to
call a scholar,--which convinced them almost more than anything else
that I had indeed been bewitched.
I could write a long history of the joys opened out before me when
once I had mastered the mysteries of reading, and could cull from
the row of ancient books upon the shelf in the parlour the treasures
they contained. But this would be but tedious reading for others. The
Bible was in itself a perfect storehouse of information, and my mother
encouraged me to read it, thinking that it might prove an antidote to
the poison of witchcraft which she always believed was working within
me. And there were certain godly pamphlets written by persecuted
men of past days, showing forth the evils of Popery, and claiming
for men the rights which Protestants have since won for themselves:
these I was permitted and encouraged to read, and also "Fox's Book of
Martyrs," which had a gruesome fascination for me, the more so as it
was illustrated with many a horrid picture of some martyr enduring
punishment or death. I was brought up in the fervent conviction that
all Papists would like to serve us good Protestants as these martyrs
were being served in my pictures; and not unnaturally I grew up with
a pious horror of the very name of Popery, and shivered from head to
foot when I heard whispers of the Popish inclinations of the King, and
the unconcealed Popery of the Duke of York, who was like to be his
successor--unless, indeed, the Duke of Monmouth should turn out to be
the King's legitimate son, when all danger of a Papist on the throne
would cease at once.
Without therefore pausing to speak of the other books in which I
delighted more than in all these godly writings put together--to wit,
the immortal dramas of the great bard William Shakespeare, and that
marvellous conception of Mr. John Milton's, "Paradise Lost"--I will
pursue the theme just suggested, that of the Protestant Succession, as
men began to call it, meaning the hopes and aspirations of the people
of the country, that if the King died without issue by his Queen, some
way might be found for placing the Duke of Monmouth upon the throne
instead of the dark Duke of York, whom men both feared and hated.
Now it is needless to say much respecting the parentage of the Duke of
Monmouth, for all the world knows that he was the son of Lucy Walters,
a woman of whom little good can be written, and that the King was
always supposed to be his father, and indeed gave to him a father's
affection; so much so that men hoped he would seek to pass an Act of
Parliament excluding the Duke of York from the succession, on account
of his religion, and appointing the Duke of Monmouth to succeed him.
This hope was the more fervent in the minds of the people because there
were many who declared that the Duke was born in lawful wedlock, and
that there was in existence a black box containing all the needful
proofs of this fact. We in the West Country believed in that black box
almost as in an article of faith, and every news-letter that came to
Taunton Town was eagerly opened and scanned in hopes of finding in it
some precious hint with regard to this matter.
But my own interest in the handsome and dashing young Duke was of a
more personal and particular nature than could have been the case
simply from reading books and leaflets and pamphlets, or even from
hearing through our uncles on their visits the talk of the towns.
And it came about in this wise.
I have said before that I was but a puny and sickly child, and that
until I grew to be ten years old I had but little health. This was
indeed my melancholy condition; for in addition to my crooked spine
and lack of muscle, I suffered from time to time from that obscure and
painful malady which used to be known as "King's Evil," and which was
not to be cured by any leech or physician, but only by the touch of the
King's hand, or the hand of his lawful successor. Some indeed declared
that a seventh son could sometimes cure it by touching; but though I
was taken more than once to such, I received no good from the touch.
It was the seventh son of a seventh son in whom the power was said to
lie, and some held that it lay also in the hand of a man who had been
hanged; but my mother would never let me try that touch, and so I went
on enduring the evil until the day of which I am about to write.
I had an aunt in the town of Ilminster, one Betsy Marwell by name, my
mother's sister, and a widow of some substance. She having heard of me
and my malady, sent one day when I was about ten years old, and bid my
mother let me pay a visit to her, for that she knew a great collector
of herbs and simples who had had wonderful success in curing all manner
of maladies that baffled the skill of the leeches; and she would keep
me in her house and doctor me with his preparations, and send me home,
she fondly hoped, in better and sounder health than I had when I came.
I remember well even now that first visit I ever paid away from my own
home, and the excitements of dwelling in a town, and of sitting at
table in a parlour with a carpet laid down in the middle, and eating
with a fork instead of a wooden spoon as I had always done at home. I
remember the grave face and the long beard of the man who came to look
at me, and who bid me take many baths with sundry simples thrown in,
and use certain ointments of his preparation, and who said that in time
I should be sound and whole again.
I abode with my aunt two whole months, and it was during that time that
the wonderful thing happened to me of which I am now about to write.
I had not been long at Ilminster before the whole town was thrown into
joyful excitement by the news that the Duke of Monmouth was about
to make a progress through the county, staying in the houses of such
of the gentry as had accommodation sufficient to receive him and his
suite, and allowing himself to be seen by the people, and approached
by all who desired it. I soon heard that the house of Mr. Speke--White
Lackington by name--was to be one of the places visited. I knew Mr.
Speke by name right well--he and his son-in-law, Mr. Trenchard, being
looked upon in our county as men of great virtue, and stanch to the
Protestant cause, as in very truth they were, and suffered for it
much; and I knew by this time that White Lackington House was but the
distance of a mile or so from Ilminster, and I thought it would go hard
but that I would make shift to see the Duke when he was there, if I
were still with my aunt.
Indeed when the time drew near there was no difficulty about this, for
all the world was agog about the Duke, and preparations were being
made to admit all those who desired to see him to the park of White
Lackington upon a certain day; whilst my aunt Betsy was as eager as any
to see the hero, and before the day arrived she drew me to her side and
spoke to me very earnestly.
First she examined my wounds, and shook her head over them. To be
sure they were better than when I came to her, and some were fast
disappearing; but she was not satisfied with the progress I had made,
and she said to me with grave emphasis,--
"Dicon"--my name, I should say, was Richard, but I was never called
anything but Dicon for many a long year of my life--"Dicon, to-morrow,
if by any hap you can make shift to do so, get near to his Grace the
Duke, and pray of him to lay his hand upon you and touch you for the
King's Evil. If he be, as I hold him, the rightful son of our gracious
King, his touch will be a cure for you such as none other can help you
to. If you can only make shift yourself to touch him in the throng,
it will perchance be enough. But let not this chance slip unused.
Providence, it may be, hath sent it. Let the people but know him for
the true heir to the throne, and not all the Dukes of York ever yet
born shall keep him from his own when the right time comes!"
Whereby it may be seen that my aunt was a woman of spirit, as indeed
she proved herself to be in days to come.
Upon the morrow we, in common with half the good folks of Ilminster,
set forth for White Lackington to see the Duke at our ease. He had
ridden into Ilminster the previous day, to attend divine service in
the church; but although I had been well-nigh squeezed to death in the
press, I had not succeeded in obtaining so much as a sight of him. But
to-day there would be no such crowding and crushing. The wide park land
gave space for us to move at ease, and all would be able to look upon
the face of one whom they loved, perhaps with scarce sufficient cause.
How we huzzahed and shouted, and tossed our caps into the air, when
the party from the great house moved across the sunny gardens and came
toward us! For my part, I had a most excellent view, for I climbed
into the fork of the huge chestnut tree which is one of the notable
objects of interest at White Lackington, and from my perch up there
I beheld the Duke, was able to scan his handsome features, to see the
smiles that lighted his face, and almost to hear the gracious words he
addressed to the people who crowded round him as he moved.
Fortune favoured me that day; for as the throng about him increased,
the Duke took up his position beneath the great chestnut tree, and I
was able to command a fine view of everything that went on.
I was greatly charmed by the gracious manner of the Duke, by his
kindness to all who approached, and by the friendly way in which he
addressed even the humblest who succeeded in reaching him. I was
wondering whether my courage would permit me to drop myself suddenly at
his feet and ask the boon my aunt had desired, when my way was paved in
a curious fashion. A woman suddenly forced her way through the crowd,
threw herself on her knees before the Duke, touched his hand, and as
suddenly disappeared in the throng, before the Duke had time to speak a
single word or ask the meaning of her approach.
"Marry, but that is Elizabeth Parcet," said one of those who stood by;
"the poor soul suffers terribly from the King's Evil. Doubtless she has
touched your Grace with a view to cure herself of her malady."
Now hearing those words, and marking the look upon the Duke's face, I
tarried no longer, but without pausing to think what I was doing or
what I should say, I hastily let myself down from my exalted position,
and fell on my knees before the Duke.
"Touch me, even me also, your Grace!" I cried, clasping my hands
together. "I too am a sufferer from that dread malady, and I would fain
be made whole."
Immediately I felt a hand laid kindly upon me, and my face and hands
were touched by long white fingers such as I had seldom seen in all my
life before.
"There, boy," said a kindly voice which I knew to be the Duke's. "May
thy wish be given thee, and thyself healed of thy malady."
Bowing and blushing, overcome with confusion now that the thing was
done, I made my way out of the crowd, scarce daring to utter the words
of fervent thanks which rose to my lips.
As I went home in triumph that day, I knew within myself that I was
healed, and so I told my aunt and the kind old man who had given me his
simples and herbs, and who listened to my eager tale with a smile on
his lips.
"Ay, lad; ay, lad," he said, nodding his head till his long beard waved
to and fro, "I doubt not that thou wilt be cured. Yet cease not for a
while to use my ointment and simples. They cannot harm thee, and may
give thee strength and health yet."
I promised I would do so, and I kept my word, for that our father had
always bidden us do. But it was the touch of the Duke's hand that cured
me of my malady; that I never doubted at that time, since within a week
of receiving it all my wounds were healed, and at once I began to gain
such strength and power and vigour as I had not known since the day of
my accident. Herbs and simples may have a value of their own--I would
not take upon myself to deny it; but I was cured of the King's Evil by
other means than that, and went to my home rejoicing when the time came
that I had no further need for my good aunt's care or skill.
She shed many tears at parting with me, and bid me not forget her,
and come and see her again some day. This I promised I would do when
occasion served, and I kept my word, as this tale will show. But we
little guessed how and under what circumstances the next visit would be
paid, nor how large a part the gay young Duke who had touched me for my
cure would play in my future life.
At home I was received with wonder and joy. Of course my parents knew
nothing of my adventure at White Lackington, for we did not write
letters to absent friends, as men are beginning to do now. But when
seated at the well-spread supper-table I told them of what had befallen
me, they listened with open eyes and mouths agape, and my father,
bringing his hand heavily down upon the table, cried,--
"That settles the question. The black box could do no more. The Duke
of Monmouth is our rightful King. Hurrah for the Protestant Duke! Down
with the Papists and with the Popish Duke of York!"
And we all echoed these words with acclamation. Our hearts were from
that day forward centred in the Duke.
All this happened in the year 1680, when I was just ten years of age.