_TERRIBLE DAYS._
How is it possible for me to make any understand the unspeakable
horror of the days that followed? Were I even gifted like the great
Shakespeare himself, methinks I should scarce succeed in drawing a
picture of those days and nights of fear, which were prolonged till men
became almost dead to a sense of the peril in which they stood, until
some fresh panic and new report set all hearts quivering with fresh
affright.
Soldiers were scouring the country. Miserable fugitives from the army
taken in barns and ditches and cabins were either hung up then and
there by the soldiers, or brought before the officers to be judged and
condemned by them. And these fared even worse than those butchered by
the troopers, for they received the horrible sentence of traitors, and
had their hearts torn out before their faces or ever the breath had
quite left them, and their members and heads dispersed throughout the
country to be exposed to public view.
How well do I remember seeing the first consignment of these ghastly
trophies passing along the road, and the inn-keepers and such like
being forced to nail them up before their doors as a warning and terror
to the village. Sometimes the air was rendered foul and pestilential
for miles by the hanging corpses and horrid trophies. Women kept within
their doors for weeks together, being so filled with horror at the
sight; and the whole country was filled with stories of marvellous
hairbreadth escapes, or of captures of innocent persons, who were
treated with the same cruelty as those who had been in arms--the
soldiers scarce taking the trouble to listen to their protests, and
brutally telling them that since so many deserving death had escaped,
they must needs die in their stead.
What fearful days to fall upon England, who had called herself a free
country, and whose people had always believed that the innocent were
protected from violence by the strong arm of the law! Alas! we were
soon to find that the most fearful things of all were enacted by those
who came in the name of Justice and Law.
I forget exactly what day it was that news reached us that the Duke
had been captured, and was now on his way to London, where, as all men
said, nothing could save him from the wrath of the King. Some said that
had he not proclaimed himself King he might have had a chance for his
life, but that having done this he had nothing to hope, and would end
his life upon the scaffold.
Yet there were numbers of people who declared that he had got off
safe to Holland in disguise, and that he who was on his way to London
was not the Duke himself, but some follower whose outward aspect was
very like, and who had changed clothes with the Duke and allowed
himself to be taken, that his lord might safely escape and live in
retirement for a while, and then appear again in his kingdom and fight
more successfully for his crown. This belief was held by hundreds and
thousands of people in our western counties for years and years, and
I remember how long it was before the expectation of again seeing the
Duke died out. Some maintained to the end of their lives that he still
lived, and that he would have come again to save England had not the
tyrant monarch been forced to fly, whilst the just William of Orange
ruled (with and in right of his wife) in his stead.
But we in Taunton had other things more near and personal to think of
than whether or not it was the Duke who was taken. The bloody victors
were at our very gates, and none in the town knew who would escape when
once inquisition for blood was about to be made. Was it not in Taunton
that the Duke had been proclaimed King? Was it not in Taunton that
he had received such royal honours, and such help in money and men?
Were not many of his leading officers Taunton men? And if such signal
vengeance had been taken already on the innocent rabble, who had acted
ignorantly, how should the citizens of Taunton hope to escape?
Well do I remember that Thursday morning when we heard the people in
the streets shouting out,--
"Colonel Kirke is coming! Colonel Kirke is coming! God have mercy upon
us! Kirke and his Lambs are on their way!"
I rushed out into the streets to hear the news, and even as I did so
I met a horseman riding into the yard of the inn, as though he came
from the army. But I stayed not to ask news of him, for the people were
crying out that twenty men were to be hanged in the city that day, and
that Master John Mason was of that number.
All the town was in a terror and tumult, for Master John Mason was
a man of most excellent repute, and though he had taken arms in the
Duke's cause, he had only fought at Sedgemoor; and that he of all men
should be a victim was a thing not to be borne.
At our inn, so near to the open Cornhill, all was hurry and confusion;
for Colonel Kirke and his officers were to lodge there, and a banquet
was to be prepared for them at the very hour at which the victims
were to be slain. The town stood aghast at the horror of the thing,
and awful stories were whispered of Kirke during his governorship of
Tangiers. Some believed that he had caused miserable Jews to be burned
alive there; but others said that he had not burned them himself, but
had sent them to the Inquisition in Spain to be burned there--which
seemed not much better. His soldiers were called Lambs, but whether in
derision because of their fierceness, or (as some said) because when in
Tangiers their banner bore the sign of a lamb, I cannot tell. But at
least at the thought of their coming all men's hearts shook with fear,
whilst the ladies of the town resolved that they would so petition for
the life of Master Mason that even Colonel Kirke would not have the
heart to slay him.
There was one, Mistress Elizabeth Rowe, a beautiful and godly matron,
blending the graces of youth with the dignity and softness of maturity,
and well known to every resident in Taunton. There was also a legend
in that city, that a "white woman or woman in white" could always
obtain pardon for a condemned criminal; and good Mistress Elizabeth
declared that she would be that woman, and that she would intercede for
the life of Master Mason. On hearing that there was great joy, for it
seemed to all as though not even the bloody Colonel Kirke could resist
so much goodness and beauty; and as we toiled at our preparations for
the ghastly feast, we spoke in whispers of the appeal to be made, and
wondered whether it would succeed.
What a terrible day that was! The memory of it is yet as clear before
my mind as when it was but a week old.
It was afternoon when we heard the sound of martial music, fifes and
drums, and the marching of many feet. All Taunton rushed to window and
balcony to look out, and beheld the dark-faced Colonel riding along at
the head of his troops. What a difference from the last triumphal entry
into Taunton, when all the town was decked with boughs and garlands,
and every face beamed with joy! Now almost all faces were grey with
fear and grief. Hardly a citizen but trembled for his liberty or
life, or for that of some near and dear one. The few voices raised in
acclamation as the Colonel rode through the streets sounded hollow and
faint. The drums and fifes and martial strains of their own men kept
the silence from being too ominous.
At the Three Cups all was hurry and confusion. A great banquet was
being prepared in the long upper chamber with the balcony which looked
up the Fore Street and towards the Cornhill. But we scarce dared look
out of the window ourselves, for just outside, a little to the right,
where the space was wide and free, soldiers were hastily setting up a
scaffold and gibbet. Close beside this gibbet had halted a cart filled
with groaning and wounded prisoners, amongst whom was good Master
Mason; and a whisper had already run through the crowd that they were
to be hanged and dismembered that very day as an accompaniment to the
Colonel's banquet.
I am proud to say that no Somersetshire man could be found to do the
hideous work of executioner here. The Colonel had had to send for the
executioner from Exeter to do his horrid work. This functionary, whose
gigantic frame and scowling face were enough to inspire terror in the
hearts of all beholders, was already preparing for his bloody task.
He had a great axe and two or three sharp long butcher's knives laid
out before him, and he was calling to the people to bring faggots and
billets for the making of a great fire.
We knew not for what the fire was intended, but we were to know all too
soon.
Sounds of revelry and mirth soon arose from the upper chamber where the
Colonel and his officers were feasting. Little recked those fierce men
of the horror and terror and agony that reigned in Taunton. They had
come to punish rebellion, and to strike terror into the hearts of all
who had been concerned in this thing; and Taunton above all places had
been most deeply implicated.
How shall I speak of the horrors of that day? When the carouse was
at its height, the Colonel, inflamed with wine, appeared upon the
balcony, and his half-drunk officers with him, and gave the signal to
the executioner to commence his task. Already a row of twenty gibbets
had been erected, and the twenty white and wounded prisoners upon the
carts had been set in order beside them. Master John Mason, whom all
Taunton knew and loved, was kneeling devoutly, praying for himself and
his fellow-sufferers, and heeding nothing of what was passing. Some of
those near to him followed his words with tears and ejaculations, and
most of these were calm and resigned; though some, seeing their dear
ones weeping in the crowd, could not keep back their own tears, though
all striving to face death bravely.
Then before our eyes in that upper balcony appeared a white-robed
figure, and those of us--there were not many--who were in the secret of
the petition held our breath to listen, whilst good Mistress Elizabeth
upon her knees pleaded for the life of the righteous citizen. Now I was
very near to the balcony, being, in fact, just under it, and the parley
lasted so long that I feared respite, even if granted, would come too
late; for the halters were about the necks of all the prisoners, and
the cart was about to be pushed away from under their feet.
Suddenly I heard a harsh voice above me saying, "It is granted, madam;"
and then in another tone the same voice said, "Go you, Bushe, and see
to it. Tell the executioner to cut the fellow down."
The next moment one of the younger officers came swaggering half drunk
from the inn door, and went up to the executioner and spoke to him.
There was a brief parley, and he cut one of the halters through. A man
leaped from the cart and dashed away in the crowd, and immediately the
rest were swung into the air, and remained hanging betwixt heaven and
earth.
"Give them music to their dancing!" cried the voice of the Colonel, as
the legs of the dying men twitched and moved in their last agony; and
the drums and pipes struck up a jubilant strain, which was continued
all through the final scenes of that horrid spectacle.
Why did I wait and watch? In truth, I was paralyzed by the awful horror
of it. One by one the dead or half-dead wretches were cut down, the
fierce executioner cleft the senseless trunks asunder by a blow of his
axe, and seizing the heart of the victim, tore it from his body and
flung it into the fire, exclaiming as he did so, "There goes the heart
of a traitor;" and at each repetition of the words the martial music
struck up again, as though some jubilant and joyful thing were being
done.
Yet after all good Master Mason perished with the rest. The Lieutenant
Bushe sent by his Colonel to save the prisoner had not the least idea
of which one the lady had spoken, and on reaching the gallows had said
to the executioner, "Cut down that fellow." "Which fellow?" had been
the question, since twenty were there, and Bushe had no idea which
it was. Master Mason, absorbed in his prayers, took no heed of what
had been passing in the balcony; but another man had seen the whole,
and when the executioner and lieutenant paused in doubt what to do,
he looked up and said that he was the man for whom the lady in white
had pleaded. So the executioner cut the rope, and he sprang away and
vanished in the crowd, as we saw; and in the confusion it was not known
till afterwards that good Master Mason had perished, although his life
had been granted to him at the instance of Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe.
Such things are too often done in the bloody days of war.
Twenty victims (save one) perished that day, and thirty upon the day
following, each time the Colonel holding a great feast, and turning
off on the second occasion ten victims with each of his three great
toasts--one for the King, one for the Queen, and one for "the great
Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys, who is shortly coming to finish the work
that I have just begun."
As those words were heard, a shudder and a shiver passed through
all who heard them, and a groan went up that was not altogether a
groan of compassion for the last of the batch of victims who were
being butchered in cold blood almost in sight of the revellers. We
all knew what terrible days would follow the appearance of the Lord
Chief-Justice amongst us. We had heard enough of his ferocity and
brutality before now; what would it be like when we were forced to
drink to the dregs the cup of his wrath?
Acts of singular ferocity and brutality were daily perpetrated under
our very eyes. One man was hanged whilst in a dying state, unable to
move hand or foot, scarce living when he was swung into space. Another
was hanged three times, and three times cut down to ask if he repented
of his crime; but he boldly answered that were he to have his life
given him to live again, he would do just the same. He was at last
hanged in chains, and left upon the gallows, like several more, till
the coming of William of Orange.
But amongst all these tales of brutality and horror, I must not omit to
mention one incident which reflects credit if not honour upon the cruel
and bloodthirsty Colonel Kirke; and this thing I was witness of with
mine own eyes, so I can testify the truth of it right well.
In spite of all the horrors of that time, business went on at mine
uncle's house as before; and it so chanced that whilst the Colonel was
in the town, and his soldiers more or less ravaging the whole country
side, an order arrived from Bishop's Hull (the home of Mistress Mary
Bridges) to send thither a hogshead of beer without loss of time.
Now with the Colonel and his officers quartered in our house, we were
not a little pressed in those days; and my uncle not knowing how to
get this hogshead sent, I asked if I might not take the cart and
drive it over. I had two reasons for this. One was that I desired if
possible to get speech with young Mistress Mary about Mistress Mary
Mead; another was that I sometimes felt as though I should go mad with
the fear and horror of the sights of Taunton Town. For day by day and
all day long the black-browed executioner, and an assistant whom the
townsmen called "Tom Boilman," were engaged in boiling in pitch the
quarters of the victims of the rebellion; and the whole place reeked of
the awful brew, and turned me sick with horror every time I passed that
way. I felt I must get out into the green fields, if only for a few
hours. I had been too busy to be spared all this while; but this errand
was in my uncle's service, and I went gladly.
It was not a long journey to Bishop's Hull; but the cart travelled at a
slow pace, and I did not hurry the horse. It was a relief to leave the
streets of the city and the careworn faces of the inhabitants behind,
and to see the smiling meadows and innocent, careless life of bird and
beast, unshadowed by the horrors that had fallen upon the land.
But one could not forget even here that a reign of terror ruled. Bands
of soldiers still scoured the country, seeking after fugitives; and in
almost every principal house in the country round men were quartered,
to keep watch both upon the inhabitants and upon any flying to them for
succour.
I knew that there had been soldiers living at free quarters at Bishop's
Hull, and doubtless it was for these that the ale was needed. I drove
my cart into the great yard of the house, and delivered its contents
to the servants there. But being anxious to obtain speech of Mistress
Mary, I did not immediately go away, but tied up the horse to a ring,
and entered into talk with the men of the place.
Sir Ralph was away, I heard. He had been summoned to meet the Duke of
Albemarle, it was thought, or Lord Churchill, and before he left he had
arranged for the removal of the soldiers who had lived for some time in
his house. But to-day some of these had come back and demanded their
old quarters, and some perplexity reigned in the place as to what was
to be done with them. There was confusion in the house, and one of the
servants to whom I spoke, asking news of Mistress Mary, answered,--
"Methinks she is somewhere in the great hall. Go in, lad, and fear not.
There be too many coming and going to-day for thy appearance to be
noted. Go seek her for thyself; I have no time to go with thee."
And in truth every servant about the place seemed flying hither and
thither. I followed the command given me, and made my way towards the
hall of the house, coming upon a scene as strange as any it has been my
lot to witness.
Seated in a high-backed chair beside the great empty hearth, that was
in this summer season decked with green boughs and great spikes of
foxglove--Mistress Mary's hand in every inch of it--was the stately
lady of the house, surrounded by some frightened-looking maidens, who
were gathered together behind her chair, and seemed to be shrinking in
terror from something or somebody. As I advanced a few steps further
into the hall, I saw that it was half filled by swaggering and tipsy
soldiers, who appeared to be clamouring for something which the lady of
the house was not willing to grant, and whose scowling and angry looks
were the cause of the fright in the faces of the maids.
A few paces away from her mother, standing at the other side of the
hearth, her slight, strong figure drawn to its full height, her face
in a quiver of anger and scorn, was little Mistress Mary, such a
light in her eyes as I had never seen there before, her hands locked
together, and her whole figure instinct with suppressed passion. What
had passed before I know not. I think the men had been demanding free
quarters again, and that the lady had been telling them that they had
been withdrawn by their officer, and that they had no right to come
again in such a fashion, or to take that tone with her in absence of
her husband, the master of the house and a loyal servant to the King.
However that may have been, I can answer at least for what happened
next; for as I appeared upon the scene, one great tipsy fellow, who
seemed to be the foremost of the band, came lurching forward, and
offered so great and gross an insult to the stately lady sitting there,
that my pen refuses to put it on paper. But mark what followed. Almost
ere the words had passed the fellow's lips, with a bound like that of
a young tiger Mistress Mary had sprung forward; and ere any man of us
knew or guessed what she was about to do, she had seized the fellow's
sword from its sheath, and had run it through his heart as he stood,
so that he fell dead at her feet without a groan. A deep silence fell
upon us all as we saw this deed; and Mistress Mary, her face as white
as death, but with her eyes still flaming fire, faced round upon the
rest of the soldiers and said, pointing first to the corpse and then to
the door,--
"Take him, and go!"
Mechanically the men obeyed her; but some half-dozen, more sober than
the rest, lingered behind and said, firmly but respectfully,--
"Mistress, you must answer for this deed before the Colonel. You must
come with us at once."
"I am ready," answered Mistress Mary, with heroic firmness. "The sooner
the better; I fear none of you!"
And indeed she spoke no more than the truth. And never have I seen a
more dauntless mien than was carried by that brave child as she rode
beside her mother into Taunton that day, guarded by a band of soldiers,
and followed by me in my cart; for I felt I must see the end of this
thing, and bear my testimony, if I might be heard, when the tale was
told to the fierce Colonel.
He was, as was usual at that hour of the day, in his room at the
Three Cups; and upon hearing that a prisoner had been brought to be
tried by court-martial, he at once summoned his officers to the long
banqueting-room and ordered the prisoner before him.
When his eyes fell upon the tender maiden, not more than twelve years
old, with the dauntless mien and steady eyes, his face changed and even
softened as I had never thought that face could do; and he sternly
asked his men why they had brought a woman before him, and she scarce
more than a child.
When he heard that it was a military offence with which she stood
charged, he bent upon her a searching look, and commanded that all
should be told him. Then the men who had brought her told the tale, not
indeed extenuating the offence of their dead fellow, but putting the
case fairly enough. There was no need for me to speak; there was no
need for Mistress Mary to defend herself. When the Colonel heard the
words which had been addressed to the dignified matron standing just
behind her brave young daughter, and recognized in her the wife of one
of the King's loyal supporters, and the mistress of a house where much
kindness and hospitality had been shown to His Majesty's soldiers, his
face took an expression of mingled sternness and approval which it is
hard to describe; and he said, looking round upon the men who stood
by,--
"Where is the sword with which the deed was done?"
One of the men had chanced to bring it, and it was handed to the
Colonel. The stain of blood was yet upon it, although it had been wiped
clean from blood-drops. The Colonel took it and rose up in his seat. He
made a low bow to Mistress Mary, and handed the sword to her.
"Mistress Mary Bridges," he said, "you are acquitted of the crime laid
to your charge. The action you performed was not only pardonable; it
was legitimate and noble, and does you every honour. Would that there
were more such women in this land to become the mothers of a soldier
race! Take this sword, fair maiden, take it and keep it; and let it
pass down in times to come to other Mary Bridges of your name and race.
May your house never want such a Mary as you have shown yourself, to
act with such courage and resolution in the hour of need.--Madam,
farewell!" (this to Lady Bridges). "A brave mother makes a braver
daughter. Guard well your child, and honour her as she deserves to be
honoured. A maid who will risk her life for her mother's protection is
one to grow up the pride and glory of her house.---Mistress Mary, I
salute you. Farewell; I could almost wish that you had been born a boy,
that I might have numbered you among my own picked soldiers!"
And stooping his dark head the Colonel saluted Mistress Mary on the
cheek, and bending low before her, as did also all his officers, saw
her pass from the room, holding the sword in her hands.
A burst of cheering greeted her as she appeared in the streets clasping
the trophy of victory. Her face was flushed now, and her eyes sparkling
betwixt excitement, triumph, and tears. Her mother's face was quivering
now that the peril was past as it had never quivered whilst her
daughter stood arraigned before the fierce Colonel.
"Dicon, Dicon, I cannot face all these people with my sword!" cried
Mistress Mary, a girlish shrinking suddenly possessing her, showing
that she was still a maid, though she could act with the courage of a
man when need was. "Take me to Miss Blake's! Take me to Mistress Mary;
I must see her ere I go back!"
Lady Bridges was willing enough to get out of the cheering crowd,
and quickly we found ourselves beneath the shelter of the next roof.
Mistress Mary, hearing the tumult, came down the stairs to see what it
meant; and the younger Mary, rushing into her arms, and dropping the
sword upon the floor, cried out, betwixt laughter and tears,--
"Mary, Mary, I have done it! I have slain, with mine own hands, one of
your Duke's foes!"