الفصل الفصل 19 · Of a Brawl in the Night

Decimus Saxon refused to avail himself of Master Timewell’s house and

table for the reason, as I afterwards learned, that, the Mayor being a

firm Presbyterian, he thought it might stand him in ill stead with the

Independents and other zealots were he to allow too great an intimacy

to spring up between them. Indeed, my dears, from this time onward this

cunning man framed his whole life and actions in such a way as to make

friends of the sectaries, and to cause them to look upon him as their

leader. For he had a firm belief that in all such outbreaks as that in

which we were engaged, the most extreme party is sure in the end to gain

the upper hand. ‘Fanatics,’ he said to me one day, ‘mean fervour, and

fervour means hard work, and hard work means power.’ That was the centre

point of all his plotting and scheming.

And first of all he set himself to show how excellent a soldier he was,

and he spared neither time nor work to make this apparent. From morn

till midday, and from afternoon till night, we drilled and drilled until

in very truth the shouting of the orders and the clatter of the arms

became wearisome to our ears. The good burghers may well have

thought that Colonel Saxon’s Wiltshire foot were as much part of the

market-place as the town cross or the parish stocks. There was much to

be done in very little time, so much that many would have thought it

hopeless to attempt it. Not only was there the general muster of the

regiment, but we had each to practise our own companies in their several

drills, and to learn as best we could the names and the wants of the

men. Yet our work was made easier to us by the assurance that it was not

thrown away, for at every gathering our bumpkins stood more erect,

and handled their weapons more deftly. From cock-crow to sun-down the

streets resounded with ‘Poise your muskets! Order your muskets! Rest

your muskets! Handle your primers!’ and all the other orders of the old

manual exercise.

As we became more soldierly we increased in numbers, for our smart

appearance drew the pick of the new-comers into our ranks. My own

company swelled until it had to be divided, and others enlarged in

proportion. The baronet’s musqueteers mustered a full hundred, skilled

for the most part in the use of the gun. Altogether we sprang from

three hundred to four hundred and fifty, and our drill improved until we

received praise from all sides on the state of our men.

Late in the evening I was riding slowly back to the house of Master

Timewell when Reuben clattered after me, and besought me to turn back

with him to see a noteworthy sight. Though feeling little in the mood

for such things, I turned Covenant and rode with him down the length of

High Street, and into the suburb which is known as Shuttern, where my

companion pulled up at a bare barn-like building, and bade me look in

through the window.

The interior, which consisted of a single great hall, the empty

warehouse in which wool had used to be stored, was all alight with lamps

and candles. A great throng of men, whom I recognised as belonging to

my own company, or that of my companion, lay about on either side, some

smoking, some praying, and some burnishing their arms. Down the middle a

line of benches had been drawn up, on which there were seated astraddle

the whole hundred of the baronet’s musqueteers, each engaged in plaiting

into a queue the hair of the man who sat in front of him. A boy walked

up and down with a pot of grease, by the aid of which with some whipcord

the work was going forward merrily. Sir Gervas himself with a great

flour dredger sat perched upon a bale of wool at the head of the line,

and as quickly as any queue was finished he examined it through his

quizzing glass, and if it found favour in his eyes, daintily powdered it

from his dredger, with as much care and reverence as though it were some

service of the Church. No cook seasoning a dish could have added

his spices with more nicety of judgment than our friend displayed in

whitening the pates of his company. Glancing up from his labours he saw

our two smiling faces looking in at him through the window, but his work

was too engrossing to allow him to leave it, and we rode off at last

without having speech with him.

By this time the town was very quiet and still, for the folk in those

parts were early bed-goers, save when some special occasion kept them

afoot. We rode slowly together through the silent streets, our horses’

hoofs ringing out sharp against the cobble stones, talking about such

light matters as engage the mind of youth. The moon was shining very

brightly above us, silvering the broad streets, and casting a fretwork

of shadows from the peaks and pinnacles of the churches. At Master

Timewell’s courtyard I sprang from my saddle, but Reuben, attracted by

the peace and beauty of the scene, rode onwards with the intention of

going as far as the town gate.

I was still at work upon my girth buckles, undoing my harness, when of

a sudden there came from the street a shouting and a rushing, with the

clinking of blades, and my comrade’s voice calling upon me for help.

Drawing my sword I ran out. Some little way down there was a clear

space, white with the moonshine, in the centre of which I caught a

glimpse of the sturdy figure of my friend springing about with an

activity for which I had never given him credit, and exchanging sword

thrusts with three or four men who were pressing him closely. On the

ground there lay a dark figure, and behind the struggling group Reuben’s

mare reared and plunged in sympathy with her master’s peril. As I rushed

down, shouting and waving my sword, the assailants took flight down

a side street, save one, a tall sinewy swordsman, who rushed in upon

Reuben, stabbing furiously at him, and cursing him the while for a

spoil-sport. To my horror I saw, as I ran, the fellow’s blade slip

inside my friend’s guard, who threw up his arms and fell prostrate,

while the other with a final thrust dashed off down one of the narrow

winding lanes which lead from East Street to the banks of the Tone.

‘For Heaven’s sake where are you hurt?’ I cried, throwing myself upon my

knees beside his prostrate body. ‘Where is your injury, Reuben?’

‘In the wind, mostly,’ quoth he, blowing like a smithy bellows;

‘likewise on the back of my pate. Give me your hand, I pray.’

‘And are you indeed scathless?’ I cried, with a great lightening of

the heart as I helped him to his feet. ‘I thought that the villain had

stabbed you.’

‘As well stab a Warsash crab with a bodkin,’ said he. ‘Thanks to good

Sir Jacob Clancing, once of Snellaby Hall and now of Salisbury Plain,

their rapiers did no more than scratch my plate of proof. But how is it

with the maid?’

‘The maid?’ said I.

‘Aye, it was to save her that I drew. She was beset by these night

walkers. See, she rises! They threw her down when I set upon them.’

‘How is it with you, Mistress?’ I asked; for the prostrate figure

had arisen and taken the form of a woman, young and graceful to all

appearance, with her face muffled in a mantle. ‘I trust that you have

met with no hurt.’

‘None, sir,’ she answered, in a low, sweet voice, ‘but that I have

escaped is due to the ready valour of your friend, and the guiding

wisdom of Him who confutes the plots of the wicked. Doubtless a true man

would have rendered this help to any damsel in distress, and yet it may

add to your satisfaction to know that she whom you have served is no

stranger to you.’ With these words she dropped her mantle and turned her

face towards us in the moonlight.

‘Good lack! it is Mistress Timewell!’ I cried, in amazement.

‘Let us homewards,’ she said, in firm, quick tones. ‘The neighbours are

alarmed, and there will be a rabble collected anon. Let us escape from

the babblement.’

Windows had indeed begun to clatter up in every direction, and loud

voices to demand what was amiss. Far away down the street we could

see the glint of lanthorns swinging to and fro as the watch hurried

thitherwards. We slipped along in the shadow, however, and found

ourselves safe within the Mayor’s courtyard without let or hindrance.

‘I trust, sir, that you have really met with no hurt,’ said the maiden

to my companion.

Reuben had said not a word since she had uncovered her face, and bore

the face of a man who finds himself in some pleasant dream and is vexed

only by the fear lest he wake up from it. ‘Nay, I am not hurt,’ he

answered, ‘but I would that you could tell us who these roving blades

may be, and where they may be found.’

‘Nay, nay,’ said she, with uplifted finger, ‘you shall not follow the

matter further. As to the men, I cannot say with certainty who they

may have been. I had gone forth to visit Dame Clatworthy, who hath the

tertian ague, and they did beset me on my return. Perchance they are

some who are not of my grandfather’s way of thinking in affairs of

State, and who struck at him through me. But ye have both been so kind

that ye will not refuse me one other favour which I shall ask ye?’

We protested that we could not, with our hands upon our sword-hilts.

‘Nay, keep them for the Lord’s quarrel,’ said she, smiling at the

action. ‘All that I ask is that ye will say nothing if this matter to my

grandsire. He is choleric, and a little matter doth set him in a flame,

so old as he is. I would not have his mind turned from the public needs

to a private trifle of this sort. Have I your promises?’

‘Mine,’ said I, bowing.

‘And mine,’ said Lockarby.

‘Thanks, good friends. Alack! I have dropped my gauntlet in the street.

But it is of no import. I thank God that no harm has come to any one. My

thanks once more, and may pleasant dreams await ye.’ She sprang up the

steps and was gone in an instant.

Reuben and I unharnessed our horses and saw them cared for in silence.

We then entered the house and ascended to our chambers, still without a

word. Outside his room door my friend paused.

‘I have heard that long man’s voice before, Micah,’ said he.

‘And so have I,’ I answered. ‘The old man must beware of his ‘prentices.

I have half a mind to go back for the little maiden’s gauntlet.’

A merry twinkle shot through the cloud which hid gathered on Reuben’s

brow. He opened his left hand and showed me the doe-skin glove crumpled

up in his palm.

‘I would not barter it for all the gold in her grandsire’s coffers,’

said he, with a sudden outflame, and then half-laughing, half-blushing

at his own heat, he whisked in and left me to my thoughts.

And so I learned for the first time, my dears, that my good comrade had

been struck by the little god’s arrows. When a man’s years number one

score, love springs up in him, as the gourd grew in the Scriptures, in a

single night. I have told my story ill if I have not made you understand

that my friend was a frank, warm-hearted lad of impulse, whose reason

seldom stood sentry over his inclinations. Such a man can no more draw

away from a winning maid than the needle can shun the magnet. He loves

as the mavis sings or the kitten plays. Now, a slow-witted, heavy fellow

like myself, in whose veins the blood has always flowed somewhat coolly

and temperately, may go into love as a horse goes into a shelving

stream, step by step, but a man like Reuben is kicking his heels upon

the bank one moment, and is over ears in the deepest pool the nest.

Heaven only knows what match it was that had set the tow alight. I can

but say that from that day on my comrade was sad and cloudy one hour,

gay and blithesome the next. His even flow of good spirits had deserted

him, and he became as dismal as a moulting chicken, which has ever

seemed to me to be one of the strangest outcomes of what poets have

called the joyous state of love. But, indeed, pain and pleasure are so

very nearly akin in this world, that it is as if they were tethered

in neighbouring stalls, and a kick would at any time bring down the

partition. Here is a man who is as full of sighs as a grenade is of

powder, his face is sad, his brow is downcast, his wits are wandering;

yet if you remark to him that it is an ill thing that he should be

in this state, he will answer you, as like as not, that he would not

exchange it for all the powers and principalities. Tears to him are

golden, and laughter is but base coin. Well, my dears, it is useless

for me to expound to you that which I cannot myself understand. If, as I

have heard, it is impossible to get the thumb-marks of any two men to

be alike, how can we expect their inmost thoughts and feelings to tally?

Yet this I can say with all truth, that when I asked your grandmother’s

hand I did not demean myself as if I were chief mourner at a funeral.

She will bear me out that I walked up to her with a smile upon my face,

though mayhap there was a little flutter at my heart, and I took her

hand and I said--but, lack-a-day, whither have I wandered? What has all

this to do with Taunton town and the rising of 1685?

On the night of Wednesday, June 17, we learned that the King, as

Monmouth was called throughout the West, was lying less than ten miles

off with his forces, and that he would make his entry into the loyal

town of Taunton the next morning. Every effort was made, as ye may well

guess, to give him a welcome which should be worthy of the most Whiggish

and Protestant town in England. An arch of evergreens had already

been built up at the western gate, bearing the motto, ‘Welcome to King

Monmouth!’ and another spanned the entrance to the market-place from the

upper window of the White Hart Inn, with ‘Hail to the Protestant Chief!’

in great scarlet letters. A third, if I remember right, bridged the

entrance to the Castle yard, but the motto on it has escaped me. The

cloth and wool industry is, as I have told you, the staple trade of

the town, and the merchants had no mercy on their wares, but used them

freely to beautify the streets. Rich tapestries, glossy velvets, and

costly brocades fluttered from the windows or lined the balconies. East

Street, High Street, and Fore Street were draped from garret to basement

with rare and beautiful fabrics, while gay flags hung from the roofs

on either side, or fluttered in long festoons from house to house.

The royal banner of England floated from the lofty tower of St. Mary

Magdalene, while the blue ensign of Monmouth waved from the sister

turret of St. James. Late into the night there was planing and

hammering, working and devising, until when the sun rose upon Thursday,

June 18, it shone on as brave a show of bunting and evergreen as ever

graced a town. Taunton had changed as by magic from a city into a flower

garden.

Master Stephen Timewell had busied himself in these preparations, but he

had borne in mind at the same time that the most welcome sight which

he could present to Monmouth’s eyes was the large body of armed men who

were prepared to follow his fortunes. There were sixteen hundred in the

town, two hundred of which were horse, mostly well armed and equipped.

These were disposed in such a way that the King should pass them in his

progress. The townsmen lined the market-place three deep from the

Castle gate to the entrance to the High Street; from thence to Shuttern,

Dorsetshire, and Frome peasants were drawn up on either side of the

street; while our own regiment was stationed at the western gate. With

arms well burnished, serried ranks, and fresh sprigs of green in every

bonnet, no leader could desire a better addition to his army. When

all were in their places, and the burghers and their wives had arrayed

themselves in their holiday gear, with gladsome faces and baskets of

new-cut flowers, all was ready for the royal visitor’s reception.

‘My orders are,’ said Saxon, riding up to us as we sat our horses reside

our companions, ‘that I and my captains should fall in with the King’s

escort as he passes, and so accompany him to the market-place. Your men

shall present arms, and shall then stand their ground until we return.’

We all three drew our swords and saluted.

‘If ye will come with me, gentlemen, and take position to the right of

the gate here,’ said he, ‘I may be able to tell ye something of these

folk as they pass. Thirty years of war in many climes should give me the

master craftsman’s right to expound to his apprentices.’

We all very gladly followed his advice, and passed out through the gate,

which was now nothing more than a broad gap amongst the mounds which

marked the lines of the old walls. ‘There is no sign of them yet,’ I

remarked, as we pulled up upon a convenient hillock. ‘I suppose that

they must come by this road which winds through the valley before us.’

‘There are two sorts of bad general,’ quoth Saxon, ‘the man who is too

fast and the man who is too slow. His Majesty’s advisers will never be

accused of the former failing, whatever other mistakes they may fall

into. There was old Marshal Grunberg, with whom I did twenty-six months’

soldiering in Bohemia. He would fly through the country pell-mell,

horse, foot, and artillery, as if the devil were at his heels. He might

make fifty blunders, but the enemy had never time to take advantage. I

call to mind a raid which we made into Silesia, when, after two days or

so of mountain roads, his Oberhauptmann of the staff told him that it

was impossible for the artillery to keep up. “Lass es hinter!” says he.

So the guns were left, and by the evening of the next day the foot were

dead-beat. “They cannot walk another mile!” says the Oberhauptmann.

“Lassen Sie hinter!” says he. So on we went with the horse--I was in his

Pandour regiment, worse luck! But after a skirmish or two, what with the

roads and what with the enemy, our horses were foundered and useless.

“The horses are used up!” says the Oberhauptmann. “Lassen Sie hinter!”

he cries; and I warrant that he would have pushed on to Prague with his

staff, had they allowed him. “General Hinterlassen” we called him after

that.’

‘A dashing commander, too,’ cried Sir Gervas. ‘I would fain have served

under him.’

‘Aye, and he had a way of knocking his recruits into shape which would

scarce be relished by our good friends here in the west country,’ said

Saxon. ‘I remember that after the leaguer of Salzburg, when we had taken

the castle or fortalice of that name, we were joined by some thousand

untrained foot, which had been raised in Dalmatia in the Emperor’s

employ. As they approached our lines with waving of hands and blowing of

bugles, old Marshal Hinterlassen discharged a volley of all the cannon

upon the walls at them, killing three score and striking great panic

into the others. “The rogues must get used to standing fire sooner

or later,” said he, “so they may as well commence their education at

once.”’

‘He was a rough schoolmaster,’ I remarked. ‘He might have left that part

of the drill to the enemy.’

‘Yet his soldiers loved him,’ said Saxon. ‘He was not a man, when a city

had been forced, to inquire into every squawk of a woman, or give ear to

every burgess who chanced to find his strong-box a trifle the lighter.

But as to the slow commanders, I have known none to equal Brigadier

Baumgarten, also of the Imperial service. He would break up his

winter-quarters and sit down before some place of strength, where he

would raise a sconce here, and sink a sap there, until his soldiers were

sick of the very sight of the place. So he would play with it, as a cat

with a mouse, until at last it was about to open its gates, when,

as like as not, he would raise the leaguer and march back into his

winter-quarters. I served two campaigns under him without honour, sack,

plunder, or emolument, save a beggarly stipend of three gulden a day,

paid in clipped money, six months in arrear. But mark ye the folk upon

yonder tower! They are waving their kerchiefs as though something were

visible to them.’

‘I can see nothing,’ I answered, shading my eyes and gazing down the

tree-sprinkled valley which rose slowly in green uplands to the grassy

Blackdown hills.

‘Those on the housetops are waving and pointing,’ said Reuben. ‘Methinks

I can myself see the flash of steel among yonder woods.’

‘There it is,’ cried Saxon, extending his gauntleted hand, ‘on the

western bank of the Tone, hard by the wooden bridge. Follow my finger,

Clarke, and see if you cannot distinguish it.’

‘Yes, truly,’ I exclaimed, ‘I see a bright shimmer coming and going. And

there to the left, where the road curves over the hill, mark you that

dense mass of men! Ha! the head of the column begins to emerge from the

trees.’

There was not a cloud in the sky, but the great heat had caused a haze

to overlie the valley, gathering thickly along the winding course of

the river, and hanging in little sprays and feathers over the woodlands

which clothe its banks. Through this filmy vapour there broke from time

to time fierce sparkles of brilliant light as the sun’s rays fell upon

breastplate or headpiece. Now and again the gentle summer breeze

wafted up sudden pulses of martial music to our ears, with the blare of

trumpets and the long deep snarl of the drums. As we gazed, the van of

the army began to roll out from the cover of the trees and to darken the

white dusty roads. The long line slowly extended itself, writhing out of

the forest land like a dark snake with sparkling scales, until the whole

rebel army--horse, foot, and ordnance--were visible beneath us. The

gleam of the weapons, the waving of numerous banners, the plumes of the

leaders, and the deep columns of marching men, made up a picture which

stirred the very hearts of the citizens, who, from the housetops and

from the ruinous summit of the dismantled walls, were enabled to gaze

down upon the champions of their faith. If the mere sight of a passing

regiment will cause a thrill in your bosoms, you can fancy how it is

when the soldiers upon whom you look are in actual arms for your own

dearest and most cherished interests, and have just come out victorious

from a bloody struggle. If every other man’s hand was against us, these

at least were on our side, and our hearts went out to them as to friends

and brothers. Of all the ties that unite men in this world, that of a

common danger is the strongest.

It all appeared to be most warlike and most imposing to my inexperienced

eyes, and I thought as I looked at the long array that our cause was as

good as won. To my surprise, however, Saxon pished and pshawed under his

breath, until at last, unable to contain his impatience, he broke out in

hot discontent.

‘Do but look at that vanguard as they breast the slope,’ he cried.

‘Where is the advance party, or Vorreiter, as the Germans call them?

Where, too, is the space which should be left between the fore-guard and

the main battle? By the sword of Scanderbeg, they remind me more of a

drove of pilgrims, as I have seen them approaching the shrine of St.

Sebaldus of Nurnberg with their banners and streamers. There in

the centre, amid that cavalcade of cavaliers, rides our new monarch

doubtless. Pity he hath not a man by him who can put this swarm of

peasants into something like campaign order. Now do but look at those

four pieces of ordnance trailing along like lame sheep behind the flock.

Caracco, I would that I were a young King’s officer with a troop of

light horse on the ridge yonder! My faith, how I should sweep down yon

cross road like a kestrel on a brood of young plover! Then heh for cut

and thrust, down with the skulking cannoniers, a carbine fire to cover

us, round with the horses, and away go the rebel guns in a cloud of

dust! How’s that, Sir Gervas?’

‘Good sport, Colonel,’ said the baronet, with a touch of colour in his

white cheeks. ‘I warrant that you did keep your Pandours on the trot.’

‘Aye, the rogues had to work or hang--one or t’other. But methinks our

friends here are scarce as numerous as reported. I reckon them to be a

thousand horse, and mayhap five thousand two hundred foot. I have been

thought a good tally-man on such occasions. With fifteen hundred in the

town that would bring us to close on eight thousand men, which is no

great force to invade a kingdom and dispute a crown.’

‘If the West can give eight thousand, how many can all the counties of

England afford?’ I asked. ‘Is not that the fairer way to look at it?’

‘Monmouth’s popularity lies mostly in the West,’ Saxon answered. ‘It

was the memory of that which prompted him to raise his standard in these

counties.’

‘His standards, rather,’ quoth Reuben. ‘Why, it looks as though they had

hung their linen up to dry all down the line.’

‘True! They have more ensigns than ever I saw with so small a force,’

Saxon answered, rising in his stirrups. ‘One or two are blue, and the

rest, as far as I can see for the sun shining upon them, are white, with

some motto or device.’

Whilst we had been conversing, the body of horse which formed the

vanguard of the Protestant army had approached within a quarter of a

mile or less of the town, when a loud, clear bugle-call brought them to

a halt. In each successive regiment or squadron the signal was repeated,

so that the sound passed swiftly down the long array until it died away

in the distance. As the coil of men formed up upon the white road, with

just a tremulous shifting motion along the curved and undulating line,

its likeness to a giant serpent occurred again to my mind.

‘I could fancy it a great boa,’ I remarked, ‘which was drawing its coils

round the town.’

‘A rattlesnake, rather,’ said Reuben, pointing to the guns in the rear.

‘It keeps all its noise in its tail.’

‘Here comes its head, if I mistake not,’ quoth Saxon. ‘It were best

perhaps that we stand at the side of the gate.’

As he spoke a group of gaily dressed cavaliers broke away from the main

body and rode straight for the town. Their leader was a tall, slim,

elegant young man, who sat his horse with the grace of a skilled rider,

and who was remarkable amongst those around him for the gallantry of his

bearing and the richness of his trappings. As he galloped towards the

gate a roar of welcome burst from the assembled multitude, which was

taken up and prolonged by the crowds behind, who, though unable to see

what was going forward, gathered from the shouting that the King was

approaching.