الفصل الفصل 16 · Of our Coming to Taunton

The purple shadows of evening had fallen over the countryside, and the

sun had sunk behind the distant Quantock and Brendon Hills, as our rude

column of rustic infantry plodded through Curry Rivell, Wrantage, and

Henlade. At every wayside cottage and red-tiled farmhouse the people

swarmed out us we passed, with jugs full of milk or beer, shaking hands

with our yokels, and pressing food and drink upon them. In the little

villages old and young came buzzing to greet us, and cheered long and

loud for King Monmouth and the Protestant cause. The stay-at-homes were

mostly elderly folks and children, but here and there a young labourer,

whom hesitation or duties had kept back, was so carried away by our

martial appearance, and by the visible trophies of our victory, that he

snatched up a weapon and joined our ranks.

The skirmish had reduced our numbers, but it had done much to turn our

rabble of peasants into a real military force. The leadership of Saxon,

and his stern, short words of praise or of censure had done even more.

The men kept some sort of formation, and stepped together briskly in a

compact body. The old soldier and I rode at the head of the column, with

Master Pettigrue still walking between us. Then came the cartful of

our dead, whom we were carrying with us to insure their decent burial.

Behind this walked two score of scythe and sickle men, with their rude

weapons over their shoulders, preceding the waggon in which the wounded

were carried. This was followed by the main body of the peasants,

and the rear was brought up by ten or twelve men under the command of

Lockarby and Sir Gervas, mounted upon captured chargers, and wearing the

breastplates, swords, and carbines of the dragoons.

I observed that Saxon rode with his chin upon his shoulder, casting

continual uneasy glances behind him, and halting at every piece of

rising ground to make sure that there were no pursuers at our heels. It

was not until, after many weary miles of marching, the lights of Taunton

could be seen twinkling far off in the valley beneath us that he at last

heaved a deep sigh of relief, and expressed his belief that all danger

was over.

‘I am not prone to be fearful upon small occasion,’ he remarked, ‘but

hampered as we are with wounded men and prisoners, it might have puzzled

Petrinus himself to know what we should have done had the cavalry

overtaken us. I can now, Master Pettigrue, smoke my pipe in peace,

without pricking up my ears at every chance rumble of a wheel or shout

of a village roisterer.’

‘Even had they pursued us,’ said the minister stoutly, ‘as long as the

hand of the Lord shall shield us, why should we fear them?’

‘Aye, aye!’ Saxon answered impatiently, ‘but the devil prevaileth at

times. Were not the chosen people themselves overthrown and led into

captivity? How say you, Clarke?’

‘One such skirmish is enough for a day,’ I remarked. ‘Faith! if instead

of charging us they had continued that carbine fire, we must either have

come forth or been shot where we lay.’

‘For that reason I forbade our friends with the muskets to answer it,’

said Saxon. ‘Our silence led them to think that we had but a pistol or

two among us, and so brought them to charge us. Thus our volley became

the more terrifying since it was unexpected. I’ll wager there was not a

man amongst them who did not feel that he had been led into a trap. Mark

you how the rogues wheeled and fled with one accord, as though it had

been part of their daily drill!’

‘The peasants stood to it like men,’ I remarked.

‘There is nothing like a tincture of Calvinism for stiffening a line of

battle,’ said Saxon. ‘Look at the Swede when he is at home. What more

honest, simple-hearted fellow could you find, with no single soldierly

virtue, save that he could put away more spruce beer than you would care

to pay for. Yet if you do but cram him with a few strong, homely texts,

place a pike in his hand, and give him a Gustavus to lead him, there is

no infantry in the world that can stand against him. On the other hand,

I have seen young Turks, untrained to arms, strike in on behalf of the

Koran as lustily as these brave fellows behind us did for the Bible

which Master Pettigrue held up in front of them.’

‘I trust, sir,’ said the minister gravely, ‘that you do not, by

these remarks, intend to institute any comparison between our sacred

scriptures and the writings of the impostor Mahomet, or to infer that

there is any similarity between the devil-inspired fury of the infidel

Saracens and the Christian fortitude of the struggling faithful!’

‘By no means,’ Saxon answered, grinning at me over the minister’s head.

‘I was but showing how closely the Evil One can imitate the workings of

the Spirit.’

‘Too true, Master Saxon, too true!’ the clergyman answered sadly. ‘Amid

the conflict and discord it is hard to pick out the true path. But

I marvel much that amidst the snares and temptations that beset a

soldier’s life you have kept yourself unsullied, with your heart still

set upon the true faith.’

‘It was through no strength of mine own,’ said Saxon piously.

‘In very truth, such men as you are much needed in Monmouth’s army,’

Master Joshua exclaimed. ‘They have there several, as I understand, from

Holland, Brandenburg, and Scotland, who have been trained in arms, but

who care so little for the cause which we uphold that they curse and

swear in a manner that affrights the peasants, and threatens to call

down a judgment upon the army. Others there are who cling close to the

true faith, and have been born again among the righteous; but alas! they

have had no experience of camps and fields. Our blessed Master can work

by means of weak instruments, yet the fact remains that a man may be

a chosen light in a pulpit, and yet be of little avail in an onslaught

such as we have seen this day. I can myself arrange my discourse to the

satisfaction of my flock, so that they grieve when the sand is run out;

(Note E. Appendix) but I am aware that this power would stand me in

little stead when it came to the raising of barricades and the use of

carnal weapons. In this way it comes about, in the army of the faithful,

that those who are fit to lead are hateful to the people, while those to

whose words the people will hearken know little of war. Now we have this

day seen that you are ready of head and of hand, of much experience of

battle, and yet of demure and sober life, full of yearnings after the

word, and strivings against Apollyon. I therefore repeat that you shall

be as a very Joshua amongst them, or as a Samson, destined to tear

down the twin pillars of Prelacy and Popery, so as to bury this corrupt

government in its fall.’

Decimus Saxon’s only reply to this eulogy was one of those groans which

were supposed, among the zealots, to be the symbol of intense inner

conflict and emotion. So austere and holy was his expression, so solemn

his demeanour, and so frequent the upturnings of his eyes, clasping

of his hands, and other signs which marked the extreme sectary, that

I could not but marvel at the depths and completeness of the hypocrisy

which had cast so complete a cloak over his rapacious self. For very

mischief’s sake I could not refrain from reminding him that there was

one at least who valued his professions at their real value.

‘Have you told the worthy minister,’ said I, ‘of your captivity amongst

the Mussulmans, and of the noble way in which you did uphold the

Christian faith at Stamboul?’

‘Nay,’ cried our companion, ‘I would fain hear the tale. I marvel much

that one so faithful and unbending as thyself was ever let loose by the

unclean and bloodthirsty followers of Mahomet.’

‘It does not become me to tell the tale,’ Saxon answered with great

presence of mind, casting at the same time a most venomous sidelong

glance at me. ‘It is for my comrades in misfortune and not for me to

describe what I endured for the faith. I have little doubt, Master

Pettigrue, that you would have done as much had you been there. The town

of Taunton lies very quiet beneath us, and there are few lights for so

early an hour, seeing that it has not yet gone ten. It is clear that

Monmouth’s forces have not reached it yet, else had there been some show

of camp-fires in the valley; for though it is warm enough to lie out in

the open, the men must have fires to cook their victual.’

‘The army could scarce have come so far,’ said the pastor. ‘They have,

I hear, been much delayed by the want of arms and by the need of

discipline. Bethink ye, it was on the eleventh day of the month that

Monmouth landed at Lyme, and it is now but the night of the fourteenth.

There was much to be done in the time.’

‘Four whole days!’ growled the old soldier. ‘Yet I expected no better,

seeing that they have, so far as I can hear, no tried soldiers amongst

them. By my sword, Tilly or Wallenstein would not have taken four days

to come from Lyme to Taunton, though all James Stuart’s cavalry barred

the way. Great enterprises are not pushed through in this halting

fashion. The blow should be sharp and sudden. But tell me, worthy sir,

all that you know about the matter, for we have heard little upon the

road save rumour and surmise. Was there not some fashion of onfall at

Bridport?’

‘There was indeed some shedding of blood at that place. The first two

days were consumed, as I understand, in the enrolling of the faithful

and the search for arms wherewith to equip them. You may well shake your

head, for the hours were precious. At last five hundred men were broken

into some sort of order, and marched along the coast under command of

Lord Grey of Wark and Wade the lawyer. At Bridport they were opposed

by the red Dorset militia and part of Portman’s yellow coats. If all

be true that is said, neither side had much to boast of. Grey and his

cavalry never tightened bridle until they were back in Lyme once more,

though it is said their flight had more to do with the hard mouths

of their horses than with the soft hearts of the riders. Wade and his

footmen did bravely, and had the best of it against the King’s troops.

There was much outcry against Grey in the camp, but Monmouth can

scarce afford to be severe upon the only nobleman who hath joined his

standard.’

‘Pshaw!’ cried Saxon peevishly. ‘There was no great stock of noblemen in

Cromwell’s army, I trow, and yet they held their own against the King,

who had as many lords by him as there are haws in a thicket. If ye have

the people on your side, why should ye crave for these bewigged fine

gentlemen, whose white hands and delicate rapiers are of as much service

as so many ladies’ bodkins?’

‘Faith!’ said I, ‘if all the fops are as careless for their lives as our

friend Sir Gervas, I could wish no better comrades in the field.’

‘In good sooth, yes!’ cried Master Pettigrue heartily. ‘What though he

be clothed in a Joseph’s coat of many colours, and hath strange turns

of speech! No man could have fought more stoutly or shown a bolder front

against the enemies of Israel. Surely the youth hath good in his heart,

and will become a seat of grace and a vessel of the Spirit, though

at present he be entangled in the net of worldly follies and carnal

vanities.’

‘It is to be hoped so,’ quoth Saxon devoutly. ‘And what else can you

tell us of the revolt, worthy sir?’

‘Very little, save that the peasants have flocked in in such numbers

that many have had to be turned away for want of arms. Every tithing-man

in Somersetshire is searching for axes and scythes. There is not

a blacksmith but is at his forge from morn to night at work upon

pike-heads. There are six thousand men of a sort in the camp, but

not one in five carries a musket. They have advanced, I hear, upon

Axminster, where they must meet the Duke of Albemarle, who hath set out

from Exeter with four thousand of the train bands.’

‘Then we shall be too late, after all,’ I exclaimed.

‘You will have enough of battles before Monmouth exchanges his

riding-hat for a crown, and his laced roquelaure for the royal purple,’

quoth Saxon. ‘Should our worthy friend here be correctly informed and

such an engagement take place, it will but be the prologue to the play.

When Feversham and Churchill come up with the King’s own troops, it is

then that Monmouth takes the last spring, that lands him either on the

throne or the scaffold.’

Whilst this conversation had been proceeding we had been walking our

horses down the winding track which leads along the eastern slope of

Taunton Deane. For some time past we had been able to see in the valley

beneath us the lights of Taunton town and the long silver strip of

the river Tone. The moon was shining brightly in a cloudless heaven,

throwing a still and peaceful radiance over the fairest and richest of

English valleys. Lordly manorial houses, pinnacled towers, clusters of

nestling thatch-roofed cottages, broad silent stretches of cornland,

dark groves with the glint of lamp-lit windows shining from their

recesses--it all lay around us like the shadowy, voiceless landscapes

which stretch before us in our dreams. So calm and so beautiful was the

scene that we reined up our horses at the bend of the pathway, the tired

and footsore peasants came to a halt, while even the wounded raised

themselves in the waggon in order to feast their eyes upon this land of

promise. Suddenly, in the stillness, a strong fervent voice was heard

calling upon the source of all life to guard and preserve that which

He had created. It was Joshua Pettigrue, who had flung himself upon his

knees, and who, while asking for future guidance, was returning thanks

for the safe deliverance which his flock had experienced from the many

perils which had beset them upon their journey. I would, my children,

that I had one of those magic crystals of which we have read, that I

might show you that scene. The dark figures of the horsemen, the grave,

earnest bearing of the rustics as they knelt in prayer or leaned upon

their rude weapons, the half-cowed, half-sneering expression of the

captive dragoons, the line of white pain-drawn faces that peeped

over the side of the waggon, and the chorus of groans, cries, and

ejaculations which broke in upon the steady earnest voice of the pastor.

Above us the brilliant heavens, beneath us the beautiful sloping valley,

stretching away in the white moonlight as far as the eye could reach.

Could I but paint such a scene with the brush of a Verrio or Laguerre, I

should have no need to describe it in these halting and feeble words.

Master Pettigrue had concluded his thanksgiving, and was in the act of

rising to his feet, when the musical peal of a bell rose up from the

sleeping town before us. For a minute or more it rose and fell in its

sweet clear cadence. Then a second with a deeper, harsher note joined

in, and then a third, until he air was filled with the merry jangling.

At the same time a buzz of shouting or huzzaing could be heard, which

increased and spread until it swelled into a mighty uproar. Lights

flashed in the windows, drums beat, and the whole place was astir. These

sudden signs of rejoicing coming at the heels of the minister’s prayer

were seized upon as a happy omen by the superstitious peasants, who set

up a glad cry, and pushing onwards were soon within the outskirts of the

town.

The footpaths and causeway were black with throngs of the townsfolk,

men, women, and children, many of whom were bearing torches and

lanthorns, all flocking in the same direction. Following them we found

ourselves in the market-place, where crowds of apprentice lads were

piling up faggots for a bonfire, while others were broaching two or

three great puncheons of ale. The cause of this sudden outbreak of

rejoicing was, we learned, that news had just come in that Albemarle’s

Devonshire militia had partly deserted and partly been defeated at

Axminster that very morning. On hearing of our own successful skirmish

the joy of the people became more tumultuous than ever. They rushed in

amongst us, pouring blessings on our heads, in their strange burring

west-country speech, and embracing our horses as well as ourselves.

Preparations were soon made for our weary companions. A long empty wool

warehouse, thickly littered with straw, was put at their disposal, with

a tub of ale and a plentiful supply of cold meats and wheaten bread.

For our own part we made our way down East Street through the clamorous

hand-shaking crowd to the White Hart Inn, where after a hasty meal we

were right glad to seek our couches. Late into the night, however, our

slumbers were disturbed by the rejoicings of the mob, who, having burned

the effigies of Lord Sunderland and of Gregory Alford, Mayor of Lyme,

continued to sing west-country songs and Puritan hymns into the small

hours of the morning.