I say, then, that Barnaby answered my questions, as we rode along, briefly, and as if such matters troubled him not. When I asked him, for example, how the poor miserable slaves liked being captured and sold and put on board ship crowded together for so long a voyage, Barnaby replied that he did not know, his business being to buy them and carry them across the water, and if they rebelled on board ship to shoot them down or flog them; and when they got to Jamaica to sell them: where, if they would not work, they would be flogged until they came to a better mind. If a man was born a negro, what else, he asked, could he expect?
There was one question which I greatly desired to ask him, but dared not. It concerned the welfare of his soul. Presently, however, Barnaby answered that question, before I put it.
'Sister,' he said, 'my mother's constant affliction concerning me, before I ran away, was as to the salvation of my soul. And truly, that formerly seemed to me so difficult a thing to compass (like navigation to an unknown port over an unknown sea set everywhere with hidden rocks and liable to sudden gusts) that I could not understand how a plain man could ever succeed in it. Wherefore it comforted me mightily after I got to sea to learn on good authority that there is another way, which, compared with my father's, is light and easy. In short, Sister, though he knows it not, there is one religion for lands-folk and another for sailor-folk. A sailor (everybody knows) cannot get so much as a sail bent without cursing and swearing – this, which is desperately wicked ashore, counts for nothing at all afloat: and so with many other things; and the long and the short of it is that if a sailor does his duty, fights his ship like a man, is true to his owners and faithful to his messmates, it matters not one straw whether he hath daily sworn great oaths, drunk himself (whenever he went ashore) as helpless as a log, and kissed a pretty girl whenever his good luck gave him the chance – which does, indeed, seldom come to most sailors' – he added this with a deep sigh – 'I say, Sister, that for such a sailor, when his ship goes down with him, or when he gets a grapeshot through his vitals, or when he dies of fever, as happens often enough in the hot climates, there is no question as to the safety of his soul, but he goes straight to heaven. What he is ordered to do when he gets there,' said Barnaby, 'I cannot say; but it will be something, I doubt not, that a sailor will like to do. No catechism or Latin syntax. Wherefore, Sister, you can set my mother's heart – poor soul! – quite at rest on this important matter. You can tell her that you have conversed with me, and that I have that very same inward assurance of which my father speaks so much and at such length. The very same assurance it is – tell her that. And beg her to ask me no questions upon the matter.'
'Well, Barnaby; but art thou sure' —
'It is a heavenly comfort,' he replied, before I had time to finish, 'to have such an assurance. For why? A man that hath it doth never more trouble himself about what shall happen to him after he is dead. Therefore he goes about his duty with an easy mind; and so, Sister, no more upon this head, if you love me and desire peace of mind for my mother.'
So nothing more was said upon that subject then or afterwards. A sailor to be exempted by right of his calling from the religion of the landsman! 'Tis a strange and dangerous doctrine. But, if all sailors believe it, yet how can it be? This question, I confess, is too high for me. And as for my mother, I gave her Barnaby's message, begging her at the same time not to question him further. And she sighed, but obeyed.
Presently Barnaby asked me if we had any money.
I had none, and I knew that my mother could have but little. Of course, my father never had any. I doubt if he had possessed a single penny since his ejection.
'Well,' said Barnaby, 'I thought to give my money to mother. But I now perceive that if she has it she will give it to Dad; and, if he has it, he will give it all to the Duke for the Cause – wherefore, Sister, do you take it and keep it, not for me, but to be expended as seemeth you best.' He lugged out of his pocket a heavy bag. 'Here is all the money I have saved in ten years. Nay – I am not as some sailors, one that cannot keep a penny in purse, but must needs fling all away. Here are two hundred and fifty gold pieces. Take them, Alice. Hang the bag round thy neck, and never part with it, day or night. And say nothing about the money either to mother or to Dad, for he will assuredly do with it as I have said. A time may come when thou wilt want it.'
Two hundred and fifty gold pieces! Was it possible that Barnaby could be so rich? I took the bag and hung it round my waist – not my neck – by the string which he had tied above the neck, and, as it was covered by my mantle, nobody ever suspected that I had this treasure. In the end, as you shall hear, it seemed to be useful.
It was now broad daylight, and the sun was up. As we drew near Bridport there stood a man in the road armed with a halbert.
'Whither go ye, good people?' he asked. 'What is your business?'
'Friend,' said Barnaby, flourishing his oaken staff, 'we ride upon our own business. Stand aside, or thou mayest henceforth have no more business to do upon this earth!'
'Ride on then – ride on,' he replied, standing aside with great meekness. This was one of the guards whom they posted everywhere upon the roads in order to stop the people who were flocking to the camp. In this way many were sent back, and many were arrested on their way to join Monmouth.
Now, as we drew near to Bridport, the time being about four o'clock, we heard the firing of guns and a great shouting.
'They have begun the fighting,' said Barnaby. 'I knew it would not be long a-coming.'
It was, in fact, the first engagement, when the Dorsetshire Militia were driven out of Bridport by the Duke's troops, and there would have been a signal victory at the very outset but for the cowardice of Lord Grey, who ran away with the Horse.
Well, it was a strange and a wonderful thing to think that close at hand were men killing each other on the Sabbath; yea, and some lying wounded on the roads; and that civil war had again begun.
'Let us push on,' said Humphrey, 'out of the way of these troops. They are but country lads all of them. If they retreat, they will run; and if they run they will be seized with a panic, and will run all the way back to Lyme, trampling on everything that is in the road.'
This was sound advice, which we followed, taking an upper track which brought us into the high road a mile or so nearer Charmouth.
I do not think there can be anywhere a finer road than that which runs from Charmouth to Lyme. It runneth over high hills, sometimes above the sea, which rolls far below, and sometimes above a great level inland plain, the name of which I have forgotten. The highest of the hills is called Golden Cap; the reason why was plainly shown this morning when the sky was clear and the sun was shining from the south-east full upon this tall pico. When we got into this road we found it full of young fellows, lusty and well-conditioned, all marching, running, walking, shouting, and singing on their way to join Monmouth. Some were adorned with flowers, some wore the blue favour of the Duke, some had cockades in their hats, and some again were armed with musket or with sword; some carried pikes, some knives tied on to long poles, some had nothing but thick cudgels, which they brandished valiantly. At sight of these brave fellows my father lifted his head and waved his hand, crying 'A Monmouth! a Monmouth! Follow me, brave lads!' just as if he had been a captain encouraging his men to charge.
The church of Lyme standeth high upon the cliff which faces the sea; it is on the eastern side of the town, and before you get to the church, on the way from Charmouth, there is a broad field also on the edge of the cliff. It was this field that was the first camp of Monmouth's men. There were no tents for the men to lie in, but there were waggons filled, I suppose, with munitions of war; there were booths where things were sold, such as hot sausages fried over a charcoal fire, fried fish, lobsters and periwinkles, cold bacon and pork, bread, cheese, and such like, and barrels of beer and cider on wooden trestles. The men were haggling for the food and drink, and already one or two seemed fuddled. Some were exercising in the use of arms; some were dancing, and some singing. And no thought or respect paid at all to the Sabbath. Oh! was this the pious and godly camp which I had expected?
'Sister,' said Barnaby, 'this is a godly and religious place to which the wisdom of Dad hath brought thee. Perhaps he meaneth thee to lie in the open like the lads.'
'Where is the Duke?' asked my father, looking wrathfully at these revellers and Sabbath-breakers.
'The Duke lies at the George Inn,' said Barnaby. 'I will show the way.'
In the blue parlour of the George the Duke was at that time holding a council. There were different reports as to the Bridport affair. Already it was said that Lord Grey was unfit to lead the Horse, having been the first to run away; and some said that the Militia were driven out of the town in a panic, and some that they made a stand, and that our men had fled. I know not what was the truth, and now it matters little, except that the first action of our men brought them little honour. When the council was finished, the Duke sent word that he would receive Dr. Challis (that was Humphrey) and Dr. Comfort Eykin.
So they were introduced to the presence of his Grace, and first my father – as Humphrey told me – fell into a kind of ecstasy, praising God for the landing of the Duke, and foretelling such speedy victory as would lay the enemies of the country at his feet. He then drew forth a roll of paper in which he had set down, for the information of the Duke, the estimated number of the disaffected in every town of the south and west of England, with the names of such as could be trusted not only to risk their own bodies and estates in the Cause, but would stir up and encourage their friends. There were so many on these lists that the Duke's eyes brightened as he read them.
'Sir,' he said, 'if these reports can be depended upon, we are indeed made men. What is your opinion, Dr. Challis?'
'My opinion, Sir, is that these are the names of friends and well-wishers; if they see your Grace well supported at the outset they will flock in; if not, many of them will stand aloof.'
'Will Sir Christopher join me?' asked the Duke.
'No, Sir; he is now seventy-five years of age.'
The Duke turned away. Presently he returned to the lists and asked many more questions.
'Sir,' said my father, at length, 'I have given you the names of all that I know who are well affected to the Protestant Cause; they are those who have remained faithful to the ejected Ministers. Many a time have I secretly preached to them. One thing is wanting: the assurance that your Grace will bestow upon us liberty of conscience and freedom of worship. Else will not one of them move hand or foot.'
'Why,' said the Duke, 'for what other purpose am I come? Assure them, good friend, assure them in my name; make the most solemn pledge that is in your power and in mine.'
'In that case, Sir,' said my father, 'I will at once write letters with my own hand to the brethren everywhere. There are many honest country lads who will carry the letters by ways where they are not likely to be arrested and searched. And now, Sir, I pray your leave to preach to these your soldiers. They are at present drinking, swearing, and breaking the Sabbath. The campaign which should be begun with prayer and humiliation for the sins of the country hath been begun with many deadly sins, with merriment, and with fooling. Suffer me, then, to preach to them.'
'Preach, by all means,' said the Duke. 'You shall have the parish church. I fear, Sir, that my business will not suffer me to have the edification of your sermon, but I hope that it will tend to the soberness and earnestness of my men. Forgive them, Sir, for their lightness of heart. They are for the most part young. Encourage them by promises rather than by rebuke. And so, Sir, for this occasion, farewell!'
In this way my father obtained the wish of his heart, and preached once more in a church before the people who were the young soldiers of Monmouth's army.
I did not hear that sermon, because I was asleep. It was in tones of thunder that my father preached to them. He spoke of the old war, and the brave deeds that their fathers had done under Cromwell; theirs was the victory. Now, as then, the victory should be theirs, if they carried the spirit of faithfulness into battle. He warned them of their sins, sparing none; and, in the end, he concluded with such a denunciation of the King as made all who heard it, and had been taught to regard the King's Majesty as sacred, open their mouths and gape upon each other; for then, for the first time, they truly understood what it was that they were engaged to do.
While my father waited to see the Duke, Barnaby went about looking for a lodging. The town is small, and the houses were all filled, but he presently found a cottage (call it rather a hut) on the shore beside the Cobb, where, on promise of an extravagant payment, the fisherman's wife consented to give up her bed to my mother and myself. Before the bargain was concluded, I had laid myself down upon it and was sound asleep.
So I slept the whole day; though outside there was such a trampling on the beach, such a landing of stores and creaking of chains, as might have awakened the Seven Sleepers. But me nothing could awaken.
In the evening I woke up refreshed. My mother was already awake, but for weariness could not move out of her chair. The good woman of the cottage, a kindly soul, brought me rough food of some kind with a drink of water – the army had drunk up all the milk, eaten all the cheese, the butter, the eggs, and the pork, beef and mutton, in the place. And then Humphrey came and asked if I would go with him into the town to see the soldiers. So I went, and glad I was to see the sight. But Lord! to think that it was the Sabbath evening! For the main street of Lyme was full of men, swaggering with long swords at their sides and some with spurs – feathers in their hats, and pistols stuck in their belts – all were talking loud, as I am told is the custom in a camp of soldiers. Outside the George there was a barrel on a stand, and vendors and drawers ran about with cans, fetching and carrying the liquor for which the men continually called. Then at the door of the George there appeared the Duke himself with his following of gentlemen. All rose and huzzaed while the Duke came down the steps and turned towards the camp outside the town.
I saw his face very well as he passed. Indeed, I saw him many times afterwards, but I declare that my heart sank when first I gazed upon him as he stood upon the steps of the George Inn. For on his face, plain to read, was the sadness of coming ruin. I say I knew from that moment what would be his end. Nay, I am no prophetess, nor am I a witch to know beforehand the counsels of the Almighty; yet the Lord hath permitted by certain signs the future to become apparent to those who know how to read them. In the Duke of Monmouth the signs were a restless and uneasy eye, an air of preoccupation, a trembling mouth and a hesitating manner. There was in him nothing of the confidence of one who knows that fortune is about to smile upon him. This, I say, was my first thought about the Duke, and the first thought is prophecy.
There sat beside the benches a secretary, or clerk, who took down the names of recruits. The Duke stopped and looked on. A young man, in a sober suit of brown, in appearance different from the country lads, was giving in his name.
'Daniel Foe, your Grace,' said the clerk, looking up. 'He is from London.'
'From London,' the Duke repeated. 'I have many friends in London. I expect them shortly. Thou art a worthy lad and deservest encouragement.' So he passed on his way.
CHAPTER XVI.
ON THE MARCH
At daybreak, next morning, the drums began to beat, and the trumpets began to blow, and, after breakfast, the newly-raised army marched out in such order as was possible. I have not to write a history of this rebellion, which hath already been done by able hands; I speak only of what I saw, and the things with which I was concerned.
First, then, it is true that the whole country was swiftly put into a ferment by the Duke's landing; and, had those who planned the expedition provided a proper supply of arms, the army would have quickly mustered 20,000 men, all resolute and capable of meeting any force that the King could have raised. Nay, it would have grown and swelled as it moved. But there were never enough arms from the outset. Everything at first promised well for the Duke. But there were not arms for the half of those who came in. The spirit of the Devon and Somerset Militia was lukewarm; they ran at Bridport, at Axminster, and at Chard; nay, some of them even deserted to join the Duke. There were thousands scattered about the country – those, namely, who still held to the doctrines of the persecuted ministers, and those who abhorred the Catholic religion – who wished well and would have joined – Humphrey knew well-wishers by the thousand whose names were on the lists in Holland – but how could they join when the army was so ill-found? And this was the principal reason, I have been assured, why the country gentlemen, with their following, did not come in at first – because there were no arms. How can soldiers fight when they have no arms? How could the Duke have been suffered to begin with so scanty a preparation of arms? Afterwards, when Monmouth proclaimed himself King, there were, perhaps, other reasons why the well-wishers held aloof. Some of them certainly, who were known to be friends of the Duke (among them our old friend Mr. Prideaux, of Ford Abbey), were arrested and thrown into prison, while many thousands who were flocking to the standard were either turned back upon the road or seized and thrown into prison.
As for the quality of the troops which formed the army, I know nothing, except that at Sedgemoor they continued to fight valiantly after their leaders had fled. They were raw troops – mere country lads – and their officers were, for the most part, simple tradesmen who had no knowledge of the art of war. Dare the younger was a goldsmith; Captain Perrot was a dyer; Captain Hucker, a maker of serge; and so on with all of them. It was unfortunate that Mr. Andrew Fletcher, of Saltoun, should have killed Mr. Dare the elder on the first day, because, as everybody agrees, the former was the most experienced soldier in the whole army.
The route proposed by the Duke was known to everybody. He intended to march through Taunton, Bridgwater, and Bristol to Gloucester, where he thought he would be joined by a new army raised by his friends in Cheshire. He also reckoned on receiving adherents everywhere on the road, and on easily defeating any force that the King should be able to send against him. How he fared in that notable scheme is common history.
Long before the army was ready to march, Humphrey came to advise with us. First of all, he endeavoured to have speech with my father, but in vain (henceforth my father seemed to have no thought of his wife and daughter). Humphrey, therefore, advised us to go home. 'As for your alleged dedication to the Cause,' he said, 'I think that he hath already forgotten it, seeing that it means nothing, and that your presence with us cannot help. Go home, then, Madam, and let Alice persuade Robin to stay at home in order to take care of you.'
'Nay,' said my mother; 'that may we not do. I must obey my husband, who commanded us to follow him. Whither he goeth thither also I will follow.'
Finding that she was resolute upon this point, Humphrey told us that the Duke would certainly march upon Taunton, where more than half of the town were his friends. He therefore advised that we should ride to that place – not following the army, but going across the country, most of which is a very wild and desolate part, where we should be in no danger except from gipsies and such wild people, robbers and rogues, truly, but now making the most of the disturbed state of the country, and running about the roads plundering and thieving. But he said he would himself provide us with a guide, one who knew the way, and a good stout fellow, armed with a cudgel, at least. To this my mother agreed, fearing to anger her husband if she should disturb him at his work.
Humphrey had little trouble in finding the guide for us. He was an honest lad from a place called Holford, in the Quantock Hills, who, finding that there were no arms for him, was going home again. Unhappily, when we got to Taunton, he was persuaded – partly by me, alas! – to remain. He joined Barnaby's company, and was either killed at Sedgemoor, or was one of those hanged at Weston Zoyland, or Bridgwater. For he was no more heard of.
This business settled, we went up to the churchyard in order to see the march of the army out of camp. And a brave show the gallant soldiers made.
First rode Colonel Wade with the vanguard. After them, with a due interval, rode the greater part of the Horse, already three hundred strong, under Lord Grey, of Wark. Among them was the company sent by Mr. Speke, of White Lackington, forty very stout fellows, well armed, and mounted on cart-horses. The main army was composed of four regiments. The first was the Blue Regiment, or the Duke's Own, whose Colonel was the aforesaid Wade. They formed the van, and were seven hundred strong. The others were the White, commanded by Colonel Foukes; the Green, by Colonel Holmes; and the Yellow, by Colonel Fox. All these regiments were fully armed, the men wearing favours or rosettes in their hats and on their arms of the colour from which their regiment was named.
The Duke himself, who rode a great white horse, was surrounded by a small bodyguard of gentlemen (afterwards they became a company of forty), richly dressed and well mounted. With him were carried the colours, embroidered with the words 'Pro Religione et Libertate.' This was the second time that I had seen the Duke, and again I felt at sight of his face the foreknowledge of coming woe. On such an occasion the chief should show a gallant mien and a face of cheerful hope. The Duke, however, looked gloomy, and hung his head.
Truly, it seemed to me as if no force could dare so much as to meet this great and invincible army. And certainly there could nowhere be gathered together a more stalwart set of soldiers, nearly all young men, and full of spirit. They shouted and sang as they marched. Presently there passed us my brother Barnaby, with his company of the Green Regiment. It was easy to perceive by the handling of his arms, and by his bearing, that he was accustomed to act with others, and already he had so begun to instruct his men that they set an example to the rest both in their orderliness of march and the carriage of their weapons.
After the main army they carried the ordnance – four small cannon – and the ammunition in waggons, with guards and horsemen. Lastly, there rode those who do not fight, yet belong to the army. These were the Chaplain to the army, Dr. Hooke, a grave clergyman of the Church of England; Mr. Ferguson, the Duke's private Chaplain, a fiery person, of whom many hard things have been said, which here concern us not; and my father, who thus rode openly with the other two, in order that the Nonconformists might be encouraged by his presence, as an equal with the two chaplains. He was clad in a new cassock, obtained I know not whence. He sat upright in the saddle, a Bible in his hand, his long white locks lying on his shoulders like a perruque, but more venerable than any wig. His thin face was flushed with the joy of coming victory, and his eyes flashed fire. If all the men had shown such a spirit, the army would have overrun the whole country. The four surgeons – Dr. Temple, Dr. Gaylard, Dr. Oliver, and Humphrey – followed, all splendid in black velvet and great periwigs. Lastly marched the rear-guard; and after the army there followed such a motley crew as no one can conceive. There were gipsies, with their black tents and carts, ready to rob and plunder; there were tinkers who are nothing better than gipsies, and are even said to speak their language; there were men with casks on wheels filled with beer or cider; there were carts carrying bread, cakes, biscuits, and such things as one can buy in a booth or at a fair; there were women of bold and impudent looks, singing as they walked; there were, besides, whole troops of country lads, some of them mere boys, running and strutting along in hopes to receive arms and to take a place in the regiments.
Presently they were all gone, and Lyme was quit of them. What became in the end of all the rabble rout which followed the army I know not. One thing was certain: the godly disposition, the pious singing of psalms, and the devout exposition of the Word which I had looked for in the army were not anywhere apparent. Rather there was evident a tumultuous joy, as of schoolboys out for a holiday – certainly no schoolboys could have made more noise or showed greater happiness in their faces. Among them, however, there were some men of middle age, whose faces showed a different temper; but these were rare.
'Lord help them!' said our friendly fisherwoman, who stood with us. 'There will be hard knocks before those fine fellows go home again.'
'They fight on the Lord's side,' said my mother; 'therefore they may be killed, but they will not wholly perish.'
As for the hard knocks, they began without any delay, and on that very morning. For at Axminster they encountered the Somerset and Devon Militia, who thought to join their forces, but were speedily put to flight by the rebels – a victory which greatly encouraged them.
It hath been maliciously said, I have heard, that we followed the army – as if we were two sutler women – on foot, I suppose, tramping in the dust, singing ribald songs like those poor creatures whom we saw marching out of Lyme. You have heard how we agreed to follow Humphrey's advice. Well, we left Lyme very early the next morning (our fisherwoman having now become very friendly and loth to let us go) and rode out, our guide (poor lad! his death lies heavy on my soul, yet I meant the best: and, truly, he was on the side of the Lord) marching beside us armed with a stout bludgeon. We kept the main road (which was very quiet at this early hour) as far as Axminster, where we left it; and, after crossing the river by a ford or wash, we engaged upon a track, or path, which led along the banks of a little stream for a mile or two – as far as the village of Chardstock. Here we made no halt; but, leaving it behind, we struck into a most wild and mountainous country full of old forests and great bare places. It is called the Forest of Neroche, and is said to shelter numbers of gipsies and vagabonds, and to have in it some of those wild people who live in the hills and woods of Somerset, and do no work except to gather the dry broom and tie it up and sell it, and so live hard and hungry lives, but know not any master. These are reported to be a harmless people, but the gipsies are dangerous because they are ready to rob and even murder. I thought of Barnaby's bag of gold tied about my waist, and trembled. However, we met with none of them on our journey, because just then they were all running after Monmouth's army. There was no path over the hills by the way we took; but our guide knew the country so well that he needed none, pointing out all the hills with a kind of pride as if they belonged to him, and telling us the name of every one; but these I have long since forgotten. The country, however, I can never forget, because it is so wild and beautiful. One place I remember. It is a very strange and wonderful place. The ground here is high, and at one place it rises to a kind of point or hill, falling away, on all sides but one, in steep sides, up which a man could climb with difficulty. Round the hill have been cut deep trenches, no doubt to fortify and strengthen the place, which is by nature a fortress. And on the side where the ground is level there are raised very high earth-works or walls with trenches beyond, most wonderful to consider. Within this double or triple circle of trenches and earthen walls there stands a farm-house, solitary among the hills. Here we found an ancient dame who told us that the place had been a castle of the Romans: yet it was not like unto the castle at Sherborne, which Oliver Cromwell slighted after he took the place, blowing it up with gunpowder: nor was it like the castle at Taunton which I afterwards saw, for there were no stone walls or towers, or any appearance of stone work. To be sure, Sherborne Castle was not built by the Romans. Then this old dame showed us bits of pots dug up within the walls, and rusty arrow heads and green copper things, which she said were buckles to fasten their clothes withal. She gave us a cup of cider while we rested and took here our dinner of cold bacon and bread which we had brought with us. After dinner our guide took us to the hill called the Beacon, and showed us the broad Vale of Taunton, spread out below us like unto a map, with its farm-houses, fields, orchards, and churches. 'And all for Monmouth,' he said. Surely there cannot be a richer, more fertile, or more lovely place in all England than the Vale of Taunton. When we had rested, and enjoyed this enchanting prospect, we remounted our nags and descended by a gradual incline into the plain below. Humphrey had provided us with a letter commendatory. He, who knew the names of all who were well affected, assured us that the lady to whom the letter was addressed, Miss Susan Blake by name, was one of the most forward in the Protestant Cause. She was well known and much respected, and she kept a school for young gentlewomen, where many children of the Nonconformist gentry were educated. He instructed us to proceed directly to her house, and to ask her to procure for us a decent and safe lodging. He could not have given us a letter to any better person.