_MY NEW LIFE._
If I were to begin to set down in order all the many things that
happened to me without and within the town of Taunton during the early
days of my residence there, I should go far to fill a volume ere ever I
had reached the matters of which it is my intention more particularly
to speak.
So I must strive after all the brevity of a skilled master of the craft
of penmanship and story-telling, and seek to skim the cream from the
surface of events, without wearying the reader with overmuch detail.
Let me say, in the first place, that I was very happy in my new life.
I was kindly treated by my relatives. I made myself useful to my uncle
in many ways, and I was a favourite with his guests, who delighted to
hear the news of the day read to them whilst they smoked their pipes at
ease, and who were all ready to talk with me when the reading was over,
one telling me one bit of public gossip, and another another, till my
mind was quite a storehouse of information, and I was able to talk upon
almost any subject with the air of one who knew something about it.
The reputation for cleverness and knowledge which I soon gained
(though in good sooth it was less knowledge than a good memory that I
possessed) gave me a small standing of mine own in the place, and I had
quite a brisk little business erelong, in writing letters for those who
could not do it for themselves, and getting them passed on by trusty
hands, by means of some of the many visitors who passed to and fro
between our town and other places. My uncle let me keep for myself all
such moneys as I gained in this fashion, and so I was able to take home
to my mother and sisters presents which made them open their eyes wide
in amaze, on the occasions when I mounted Blackbird and rode over to
my former home. I was looked upon now as a person of some importance;
and although only a lad of thirteen summers, I felt as if I should soon
arrive at man's estate.
I had something to suffer at the Free School from the gibes and the
envy of the other boys, who liked not to be surpassed at their books
by the "hunchback clown"--such was their name for me for a time--and
who paid me many an ill turn and played off many a malicious trick,
until at last they wearied of it, or I gradually grew into favour,
I scarce knew which, and I was let alone to go mine own way. But in
spite of all this I was happy in my school hours, for I was learning
every day something new; and if the boys misliked me, the masters took
good heed of me and favoured my thirst after knowledge, so that I was
able to study with zeal and success, and to win the praise of Mr. Axe,
who would come from time to time to hear the boys recite, or to ask
them questions from Scripture or secular history, and who never left
without a word of kindness for me.
I came to revere and love Mr. Axe right well. He was not truly the
Vicar of beauteous St. Mary's Church. The Vicar, in very sooth, was
one Mr. Hart, who was (so it was told me) also Canon of Bristol and
Prebendary of Wells, so that he had but scant time to think of his
duties here. Mr. Axe, however, supplied all that was lacking, and was
greatly beloved by us--as much beloved as Mr. Blewer was mistrusted
and feared: for we would cross the street to avoid coming within the
radius of _his_ basilisk glance; and I for one never saw him without
the feeling that he would prove a cruel foe ere we had seen the last of
him.
Now I had scarce been a month at my uncle's house before a great
excitement befell us, and a great fear fell upon many of our
towns-folk; for it was rumoured that this thing would lose the Duke of
Monmouth his head, and that even if his life were spared he would have
to fly the country, and be no more seen in this land.
And the reason for this rumour, which filled all Somersetshire with
sorrow, was the discovery of a vile plot against the life of the King
and that of the Duke of York, which wicked and slanderous tongues were
eager to charge upon the virtuous and high-minded Duke of Monmouth.
Well do I remember the day when first the news of this infamous plot,
which came to be called the Rye House Plot, reached the good citizens
of Taunton.
It was upon a Sunday morning, and I, together with my uncle and aunt
and his daughter Meg, had started forth for Paul's Meeting, which we
always attended for morning service, when we noted that the people in
the streets had an air of gravity and anxiety which was not usual, and
that all seemed to be asking questions one of another, although none
seemed to be ready with an answer.
Now generally we were the first to hear any news that might reach the
town, because that travellers were wont to put up at the Three Cups
rather than at the other hostelries, which were less beliked than our
house. But to-day there had been none arrival, and my uncle stopped to
ask the first acquaintance he encountered what was the meaning of the
general discomposure.
Now it chanced that this acquaintance was none other than Heywood
Dare--"Old Dare," as he was often called, less perhaps from his actual
years than because he had a son who was also a notable man in his way,
and who had a part to play in the days that were coming.
Now old Dare had a story of his own, and was a great man in Taunton. He
was by trade a goldsmith, and a man of substance to boot; but it was
not his wealth that had gained for him the repute in which he was held,
but his courage and devotion to the cause of liberty and justice.
It was one of the grievances of the times that the King would not
permit Parliament to sit sometimes for long years together. Men
whispered that he received great sums of money from France, which
enabled him to dispense with the summoning of his own loyal subjects
to grant supplies. However that may be, the people were grieved and
wroth that their assembly was not called and permitted to sit, as they
claimed that it had the right to do; and petitions from townships were
constantly sent up to his Majesty imploring him to call together his
Parliament, until the King grew greatly incensed, issued proclamations
forbidding the presentation of these petitions, and threatening with
severe penalties those who went about "getting hands," as it was
termed, to put to these documents. Indeed many barbarous severities
had been put in practice against those who still strove to collect
names for such papers; and curious enough were such documents when they
were drawn up, for three-fourths of those who "set hand" to them could
not write their names, but could only make a mark which was to stand
instead of it.
Now some four years back Old Dare had got up a notable petition, and
it had been signed or marked by half Taunton, and by Bridgewater and
Ilminster and many another fair town. The sturdy old goldsmith pursued
his way to London with it. It was his intention to deliver it to the
King with his own hand; and this intention he carried out, meeting
the King hard by the Houses of Parliament, and presenting his paper
on bended knee. The King took it unsuspecting--for it was a bold man
who would venture to place one of the abhorred petitions in the royal
hands; but on unfolding it he became instantly aware of its nature, and
turning sharply upon the offender, he asked him how he dared to do such
a thing. "Sire," replied the intrepid goldsmith, "my name is Dare!" And
forasmuch as there is always something noble in fearless courage, and
that his Majesty is not without nobility of soul, no hurt was done to
the bold petitioner, albeit no good that I ever heard of came from his
petition.
Well then, to return to my present tale, it was Old Dare whom we
encountered in the street to-day; and when my uncle asked what the coil
was all about, he shook his head and answered,--
"I cannot say with knowledge; but a messenger rode post-haste to the
house of the Mayor but now, and it was plain, by the stains of travel
on him and his horse, that they had been hard pushed to reach the
place. It is something of note, I take it, and something of evil, I
fear." He lowered his voice and said in my uncle's ear (yet I heard
every word, being very keen of hearing), "I fear me it will prove to be
some plot to ruin the Duke and his Council of Six. It may be that they
have been something rash and forward. I fear me we shall hear bad news
ere the day is out."
I knew well what was meant by the Council of Six. The Duke of Monmouth
had some faithful friends, lovers of liberty and constitutional
rule--my Lord of Russell and Mr. Algernon Sydney being of the
number--who met together often to discuss what might be done for a
country beginning once again to groan beneath the yoke of an arbitrary
exercise of the power of the Crown. Representations had been made to
the King, it was said, to summon Parliament, and give to the people
their lawful voice in the government; but this having proved of none
avail, it had been whispered that these men had spoken of another
Great Revolution, such as had cost the King's father his head; and of
course such talk was accounted rank treason in those days, and was like
to cost many a man his life.
Now we of the West Country in general, and of Taunton Town in
particular, knew very well that if any rising or tumult took place, it
would be like enough to be in our neighbourhood; and that, even if we
kept ourselves tranquil, we might get the credit of being turbulent,
and have our rights infringed, even if our charter were not taken
from us, as it had been early in the King's reign, although restored
seventeen years later. Also, we all of us pinned our chiefest hopes of
constitutional government and the Protestant religion on the hoped-for
succession of the Duke of Monmouth; and if he were to be implicated in
a plot which should cost him liberty or life, our hopes would receive
a crushing blow, and nothing lie before us but the succession of a
bigoted Papist and a man of known cruelty and tyranny.
Small wonder was it, therefore, that our faces were grave, and that
we all looked anxiously at our minister, Mr. Vincent, as he mounted
the pulpit a little after the usual time, and looked seriously upon
our upturned faces. He made no attempt at a regular sermon that day,
but after giving thanks for the merciful preservation of his gracious
Majesty the King from a recent and great danger, he proceeded to tell
us that a plot had been laid against the King's life and that of the
Duke of York, and how it was currently rumoured that the Duke of
Monmouth and his friends were concerned in the matter. Arrests had
been made of certain persons, and the Duke had fled and hidden himself.
Mr. Vincent also told us, with great seriousness, that rumour had
already been forward to declare that an insurrection had commenced,
with Taunton as its centre; and counselled us, as we valued the peace
of the realm and our own safety, to avoid any cause of offence, and to
remain perfectly quiet and tranquil. The time might come in the future
when it would be a righteous thing to rise up and strike a blow for
the liberty and the faith of the country, but certainly that day had
not yet come. The King upon the throne was the rightful one; his rule
was on the whole fair and just. There was no quarrel with him. Nothing
would so injure the righteous cause as a revolt against law and order;
nothing would so greatly hurt the cause of the young Duke of Monmouth.
We must show discretion and wisdom at this time, that none might have
cause to look with suspicion upon us.
This wise counsel from one who was a pillar of strength amongst us was
not without due effect. We looked at one another and resolved to abide
by Mr. Vincent's counsel. We knew that our Mayor was a bitter enemy to
all dissenters, and would fasten upon us an indictment of disaffection
if we gave the smallest ground. Indeed he took instant action upon
hearing of the plot, and called some bands of the militia into the
town; and I verily believe that it was with his consent, if not at his
instigation, that a deed was done in the town which made us who called
ourselves dissenters tingle with rage and feel almost ready to raise
the very tumult of which we were altogether innocent in fact.
Now the thing of which I speak was nothing less than the demolishing of
the great chapel called Paul's Meeting, of which I have spoken, and in
which hundreds of citizens met to worship Sunday by Sunday. And this
thing was done, to the great shame of those concerned in it, just when
the excitement which I have mentioned prevailed, notwithstanding that
Mr. Vincent and Mr. Burgess, both of whom preached to us there, were
godly men, and taught us submission to lawful rulers, and spoke no evil
of dignitaries.
The first I knew of this was one evening just before our house
generally closed for the night--it was summer then, and not dark till
ten of the clock--when Will Wiseman came rushing into the yard, all
bursting with excitement, and crying out to me in panting gasps,--
"Dicon, Dicon, come and see! come and see! They are pulling our
meeting-house to pieces, and say they will make such a bonfire of our
pews and pulpit as shall light to bed every dissenter in the county!
Come and see! come and see! I would not go myself till I had told thee!"
Will Wiseman was certain to be in the forefront of everything; but I
had no mind to be left behind. Forthwith we both rushed out from the
yard, and soon the noise of a great tumult fell upon our ears. In the
streets men were gathered together with dark faces and threatening
mien, some talking angrily against the dissenters, who, it was
declared, had been guilty of plotting against the King's life, but many
more holding a stern silence and regarding their enemies with silent
hostility; whilst hoarse cries and shouts rent the air, and grew louder
and more distinct as we drew near to Paul's Meeting.
Once within sight of the building, we saw that it was lighted up from
within; and unable to come near to the door for the surging mob around
it, we climbed up to one of the windows and looked in.
What a sight it was! There were a hundred men inside, I should think,
armed with hammers and saws and other tools and weapons; and these
were all engaged in hammering, sawing, breaking down, and demolishing
the whole of the woodwork in the chapel; and as fast as some pew, or
great piece of panelling, or any large fragment of pulpit or gallery
was broken off, other men would rush forward and drag it forth from
the door, to carry it away into Paul's Fields, where it was plain that
the great bonfire was to be made. And all the while they worked, they
shouted out threats against their fellow-townsmen, calling out, "Down
with all traitors! Down with the King's enemies! We will have nothing
but the Church and the King!"
Yet many of the fellows now working like furies and shouting out these
words had attended many a service in Paul's Meeting, and were friendly
enough towards us, albeit perhaps not men of much personal godliness.
But they were carried away by the excitement of the moment, and by the
coward fear of getting into trouble with the Mayor should they show
any lack of zeal. Men all over the kingdom were trembling just now in
apprehension of arrest; for informers were going about the country,
and many a lowly as well as many a noble and high personage was flung
into prison on the most trivial charge. To join hands in reviling the
dissenters and calling down blessings upon the King and the Church
seemed the safest way of propitiating the authorities at such a moment;
and this was what our towns-folk were now doing, by demolishing our
chapel, and showing their zeal towards the Court party.
It was all very exciting; and though my heart and Will's swelled
with indignation, we could not help watching till the whole of the
building was stripped. Then we followed in the wake of the shouting
crowd, and soon saw a great pillar of fire rising up from the midst
of the assembled throng. As the great mountain of flame rose higher
and higher, and waved its crown of smoke and sparks up to the roof of
heaven as it seemed, the crowd yelled and shouted and danced around
the pyre, bawling out every kind of folly that came into their heads;
whilst outside the yelling ring, and a little distance away, stood
the stern-faced men who had been wont to worship there, together
with the ministers who had occupied the pulpit, and they looked on
in silence, and gathered sometimes in groups together. Will Wiseman,
who had the faculty of hearing what everybody said without seeming to
listen, whispered to me, "They are saying that they will still meet for
preaching and prayer whatever is done to their meeting-house."
And so indeed it proved, although the Mayor looked stern and dark,
and sometimes uttered hints that sounded almost like a threat against
"conventicles," as he termed them. Indeed he made himself so heartily
misliked amongst the towns-folk, that but for the authority and
protection bestowed by his office, I think some mischief would have
been done him. But though a time of exceeding excitement prevailed for
many weeks, there was no rising in the country; and by-and-by we were
made glad by the tidings that there had been a reconciliation betwixt
the Duke of Monmouth and the King, although Lord William Russell and
Mr. Algernon Sydney ended their lives upon the scaffold.
Not that these men had any complicity in the murder plot against the
King's life. They had souls far above the treachery and meanness
of assassination. But the lesser and more villanous plot of minor
conspirators was grafted upon the larger and wider-reaching intentions
of these champions of liberty and of rule by constitutional rather than
autocratic methods, and they were judged guilty of treason, and were
doomed to death. Some said that the Duke of Monmouth had been led by
promises of restoration to favour to bear witness against his friends.
How that may be I will not say. At this time all Taunton was indignant
at the aspersion cast upon the fair fame of the gallant young Duke, and
the story was indignantly discredited, and by no one more hotly than by
me. Now when my blood is cool, and I have grown wiser and have heard
more of those days, I cannot be so sure of the innocence of the Duke
as I felt then. Men are sorely tempted sometimes, and fall into sin
almost ere they are aware of it. Human nature is weak, and a man may
have many faults and many weaknesses and yet be the idol of the people
for many a long day.
It was at this time that I grew better acquainted with several of the
families in Taunton. I was in great request when the weekly news-letter
came to my uncle's house--he had one of his own as well as that which
was brought to the Mayor; for, as I have said, the Mayor was a bitter
enemy to the dissenting portion of the towns-folk, and that was a
very large section, as the well-filled building, Paul's Meeting, bore
witness Sunday by Sunday.
Foremost amongst my friends I still reckoned Master Simpson and his
family. Will Wiseman was my chosen comrade on all occasions, and Lizzie
was the object of my boyish gallantry, and I continued to think her the
prettiest and most charming maid in all Taunton Town.
But I must not omit to mention others who had a part to play in the
drama that was slowly approaching. Of these I must mention the Herring
family, father and mother, with three daughters, Anne, Susan, and
Grace, all of whom attended Miss Blake's school; and Master John
Hucker, a notable serge-maker, with his daughter Eliza; and the Hewling
family, than which none other was more greatly beloved and esteemed in
the whole of the town.
Mistress Hannah Hewling was mistress of this happy household. She was
a spinster of some thirty years of age, and she played a mother's part
to two virtuous and handsome young men, who were at the time of which
I am now writing aged twenty and seventeen years respectively. This
family had another home in London, where their parents lived, but owned
this house property in Taunton, too, where these two brothers and their
sister lived in the greatest amity and peace. The Hewlings were gentry,
and people of substance, yet so friendly and kindly disposed towards
their towns-folk that we all regarded them as friends. They would stop
to speak a friendly word to any one of us in the street, and many were
the evenings when they would invite some amongst us to their hospitable
house. Sometimes there would be music to enliven us after supper--for
Mistress Hannah played both harp and spinnet right sweetly, whilst
Master Benjamin discoursed eloquent music on the flute, and Master
William could draw strains from his violin that brought tears to the
eyes of the listeners before they well knew it--or failing music, some
one would read aloud from a godly book, or from some history of past
days, and the elder members of the party would be invited to discuss
the subject, whilst the rest of us listened in respectful silence, and
framed our own opinions on what we heard.
It was in this way that I came to understand much of the questions of
the day from the standpoint of those who believed the Duke of Monmouth
to be the champion not of freedom and constitutional rule alone, but
also of the Protestant religion. The things we read about the awful
cruelty and treachery of those who were tainted by the curse of
Popery often made our blood run cold within us; and when it became
increasingly certain that the Duke of York was Papist up to the neck,
and would throw off all disguise when once he ascended the throne, it
was scarce to be marvelled at that we should fix our eyes upon one who
might rise up to be a champion and deliverer, and save us from the
oppression of a tyrant and bigot.
I was heart and soul with all men who held this view, but I noted
often that my uncle would sit mute whilst such talk was going on, and
that he was always slow to commit himself to any open opinion. And
once when I had grown too excited to hold my peace any longer, and had
openly spoken out some of the thoughts that were burning within me,
he had taken me to task afterwards, not sternly indeed, but somewhat
seriously, and had warned me that I had better learn the art of holding
my tongue, and watching the turn of the tide before I launched my bark
upon untried waters.
"But, uncle," I exclaimed eagerly, "surely you are for the Duke?"
"I am for the rightful King of the realm, whoever he be," was the
cautious answer. "It is not given to us to choose our monarch. God sets
Kings upon the throne, and bids us submit ourselves to the powers that
be. That is my principle, and will be my practice; albeit I should
greatly prefer to serve a King of the true faith."
I was puzzled by this way of stating the matter, for it was not after
such cautious fashion that the greater part of our friends talked; but
I began to note as time went by that my uncle was more cautious in many
of his ways than were others, and that he made some small changes in
his methods and habits.
After the Rye House Plot there was great excitement in the country,
and greater efforts than ever were made to force men to attend
public worship in the churches of the Establishment instead of in
meeting-houses of their own. Many such meeting-houses and chapels were
wrecked (like our own) in various places, and the flocks scattered,
so that they could no longer hear their favourite doctrines preached
by their favourite ministers, but must either absent themselves from
public worship or go to church with the orthodox.
Now in St. Mary's Church there was held a grand service of thanksgiving
for the safety of the King and the Duke of York, and the Mayor and
Burgesses all attended in civic pomp. My uncle went, of course, in his
capacity of one of the Capital Burgesses; but rather to our surprise,
he desired that all of us should be present; and from that day forward
he regularly attended the parish church, taking his wife and daughter
and other members of his household. He gave as his reason for this,
that it was right to obey the wishes of the ruling sovereign in so far
as it was possible to do so without violation of the conscience, and
that so long as good Mr. Axe filled the pulpit of St. Mary's, he could
go and hear him with edification and pleasure.
I was quite of that opinion myself, used to the order and liturgy of
the church, and finding the long extempore prayers at Paul's Meeting
less to my liking than the collects set down in the prayer-book. I was
glad to go to church; but I was a little puzzled by my uncle's sudden
zeal for submission and orthodoxy. He said nothing that our friends
could cavil at, and was hearty and warm towards them as ever; but he
seemed to desire to be "all things to all men"--a line of conduct which
I was far too young and hot-headed to understand the use of.
But I must not omit to mention, in dealing with my early experiences
of Taunton, the school next door, and the two kindly gentlewomen who
conducted it.
Meg had once been a scholar there, and kept very friendly relations
with her mistresses. My aunt, too, was very kindly disposed towards
them, and would often send me in with some small delicacy for their
supper; and by-and-by I used to be admitted to the parlour where the
ladies sat, and was sometimes bidden to take a seat and to tell them
some of the gossip of the town. For these gentlewomen seldom stirred
abroad themselves, and all their exercise was taken in the old garden
behind the house, where the pupils walked or played for an hour in the
middle of the day when the weather permitted. As I grew to be better
acquainted with them, I was asked sometimes to read awhile whilst
they plied their needles; and this reading became such a pleasure to
them that by the time the first winter of my stay in Taunton arrived,
I went in about once a week to read the news-letter after it had
been exhausted at the inn, and to tell them all I had gleaned from
travellers or from the talk of the towns-folk upon it.
It was these readings which introduced me first to the notice of fair
Mistress Mary Mead, of whom I had heard upon the very first day of my
sojourn in the town, but of whom I had had no thought till I was months
afterwards brought into her presence.
And I think it behoves me here to explain somewhat of the history of
fair Mistress Mary; for these pages will have a good deal to say of
her, and it may be well that it should be fully understood what manner
of person she was.
Her grandfather had been one of Cromwell's generals--a man stanch to
the side of the Parliament; and he had fallen at the siege of Taunton,
of which mention has been made. His son, Mistress Mary's father, had
been enriched by the spoils of the Cavaliers in their misfortunes,
and had amassed a considerable fortune. This daughter was his only
child, and his wife, who was said to be of a noble royalist family,
died in giving her birth. Sir Thomas Mead--for he had won his spurs of
knighthood--died when his child was ten years old, leaving her to the
guardianship of his friend the Earl of Lonsdale. Sir Thomas had trimmed
his sails with the times, and had welcomed the King back from exile at
the Restoration; but it was always supposed that he had not changed his
views to any notable extent, and that his daughter had been brought up
to glory in the doughty deeds of her grandsire, and to hate and abhor
all undue exercise of royal prerogative, and all indications of Popery.
The girl had been brought up for convenience at the school where the
better towns-folk sent their daughters, Sir Thomas not having yet
learned to hold his head higher than the compeers of his father. When
the child was left an orphan, Lord Lonsdale had summoned her to his
house, and it was supposed that she would remain beneath her guardian's
roof until she married; but some four years later she was suddenly sent
back to the care of Miss Blake and Mrs. Musgrave, not exactly on the
footing of the rest of the scholars, but to remain in their charge as
a member of their household, and to observe the same secluded life as
they did themselves.
Various surmises were afloat with regard to this sudden and unusual
arrangement. Some declared that Mistress Mary's faithful attachment to
her instructors (which was an admitted fact in all quarters) had led to
this step, and that it was her own earnest pleadings which had caused
her to be sent back. Others affirmed that her guardian was alarmed
and displeased by her independence of mind and by her revolutionary
tenets, and had sent her away in disgrace; but that theory was rather
quashed by the improbability of Lord Lonsdale's choosing Miss Blake's
school as the asylum for a refractory maiden, since both the heads of
the establishment were known to be much of the same way of thinking.
The third whisper was that Lord Lonsdale's son, the gallant and dashing
Viscount Vere, had shown such unmistakable signs of falling in love
with his father's ward, that Lord Lonsdale in a great fright (for he
had other views of a more ambitious nature for his son) had sent Mary
away in haste, choosing a place where she was known to have friends
and to be happy, and hoping she would shortly relieve him of all
embarrassment by selecting a husband for herself. But if this was the
case, his choice of a place had hardly been a happy one; for Mistress
Mary led a life of almost nun-like retirement, and had already been
four years with her former mistresses without showing any signs of
entering into bonds of wedlock.
I had heard all these tales and surmises respecting her before ever I
was favoured by the sight of her fair sweet face and graceful form.
But she came to be present often at the readings, and I learned to
think her more exquisitely beautiful every time I saw her. There was
a charm in the steady dark grey eyes, the delicate mobile features,
and the easy grace of her every movement, which my poor pen has no
power to describe. Her voice was low and sweet, the sweetest I have
ever heard, and the rare laugh was like music. Surely had I been a
man, and a comely and gallant one to boot, I should straightway have
fallen in love with sweet Mistress Mary Mead. And I ceased to marvel at
the stories of Viscount Vere; for even as a child she must have been
passing fair, and how could he help loving what was so gracious and so
good?
But I had no suspicion in those early days what I should be called upon
to do for Mistress Mary Mead, nor how great a part I should play in her
life's story.