Kabanata Kabanata 28 · Of the Fight in Wells Cathedral

I am fairly tied to the chariot-wheels of history now, my dear children,

and must follow on with name and place and date, whether my tale suffer

by it or no. With such a drama as this afoot it were impertinent to

speak of myself, save in so far as I saw or heard what may make these

old scenes more vivid to you. It is no pleasant matter for me to dwell

upon, yet, convinced as I am that there is no such thing as chance

either in the great or the little things of this world, I am very sure

that the sacrifices of these brave men were not thrown away, and that

their strivings were not as profitless as might at first sight appear.

If the perfidious race of Stuart is not now seated upon the throne, and

if religion in England is still a thing of free growth, we may, to my

thinking, thank these Somerset yokels for it, who first showed how small

a thing would shake the throne of an unpopular monarch. Monmouth’s

army was but the vanguard of that which marched throe years later into

London, when James and his cruel ministers were flying as outcasts over

the face of the earth.

On the night of June 27, or rather early in the morning of June 28, we

reached the town of Frome, very wet and miserable, for the rain had come

on again, and all the roads were quagmires. From this next day we pushed

on once more to Wells, where we spent the night and the whole of the

next day, to give the men time to get their clothes dry, and to recover

themselves after their privations.

In the forenoon a parade of our Wiltshire regiment was held in the

Cathedral Close, when Monmouth praised it, as it well deserved, for the

soldierly progress made in so short a time.

As we returned to our quarters after dismissing our men we came upon a

great throng of the rough Bagworthy and Oare miners, who were assembled

in the open space in front of the Cathedral, listening to one of their

own number, who was addressing them from a cart. The wild and frenzied

gestures of the man showed us that he was one of those extreme sectaries

whose religion runs perilously near to madness. The hums and groans

which rose from the crowd proved, however, that his fiery words were

well suited to his hearers, so we halted on the verge of the multitude

and hearkened to his address. A red-bearded, fierce-faced man he was,

with tangled shaggy hair tumbling over his gleaming eyes, and a hoarse

voice which resounded over the whole square.

‘What shall we not do for the Lord?’ he cried; ‘what shall we not do for

the Holy of Holies? Why is it that His hand is heavy upon us? Why is it

that we have not freed this land, even as Judith freed Bethulia? Behold,

we have looked for peace but no good came, and for a time of health, and

behold trouble! Why is this, I say? Truly, brothers, it is because we

have slighted the Lord, because we have not been wholehearted towards

Him. Lo! we have praised Him with our breath, but in our deeds we have

been cold towards Him. Ye know well that Prelacy is an accursed thing--a

hissing and an abomination in the eyes of the Almighty! Yet what have

we, His servants, wrought for Him in this matter? Have we not seen

Prelatist churches, churches of form and of show, where the creature is

confounded with the Creator--have we not seen them, I say, and have we

not forborne to sweep them away, and so lent our sanction to them? There

is the sin of a lukewarm and back-sliding generation! There is the cause

why the Lord should look coldly upon His people! Lo! at Shepton and at

Frome we have left such churches behind us. At Glastonbury, too, we have

spared those wicked walls which were reared by idolatrous hands of old.

Woe unto ye, if, after having put your hands to God’s plough, ye turn

back from the work! See there!’ he howled, facing round to the beautiful

Cathedral, ‘what means this great heap of stones? Is it not an altar of

Baal? Is it not built for man-worship rather than God-worship? Is it not

there that the man Ken, tricked out in his foolish rochet and baubles,

may preach his soulless and lying doctrines, which are but the old dish

of Popery served up under a new cover? And shall we suffer this thing?

Shall we, the chosen children of the Great One, allow this plague-spot

to remain? Can we expect the Almighty to help us when we will not

stretch out a hand to help Him? We have left the other temples of

Prelacy behind us. Shall we leave this one, too, my brothers?’

‘No, no!’ yelled the crowd, tossing and swaying.

‘Shall we pluck it down, then, until no one stone is left upon another?’

‘Yes, yes!’ they shouted.

‘Now, at once?’

‘Yes, yes!’

‘Then to work!’ he cried, and springing from the cart he rushed towards

the Cathedral, with the whole mob of wild fanatics at his heels. Some

crowded in, shouting and yelling, through the open doors, while others

swarmed up the pillars and pedestals of the front, hacking at the

sculptured ornaments, and tugging at the grey old images which filled

every niche.

‘This must be stopped,’ said Saxon curtly. ‘We cannot afford to insult

and estray the whole Church of England to please a few hot-headed

ranters. The pillage of this Cathedral would do our cause more harm than

a pitched battle lost. Do you bring up your company, Sir Gervas, and we

shall do what we can to hold them in check until they come.’

‘Hi, Masterton!’ cried the Baronet, spying one of his under-officers

among the crowd who were looking on, neither assisting nor opposing the

rioters. ‘Do you hasten to the quarters, and tell Barker to bring up the

company with their matches burning. I may be of use here.’

‘Ha, here is Buyse!’ cried Saxon joyously, as the huge German ploughed

his way through the crowd. ‘And Lord Grey, too! We must save the

Cathedral, my lord! They would sack and burn it.’

‘This way, gentlemen,’ cried an old grey-haired man, running out towards

us with hands outspread, and a bunch of keys clanking at his girdle. ‘Oh

hasten, gentlemen, if ye can indeed prevail over these lawless men! They

have pulled down Saint Peter, and they will have Paul down too unless

help comes. There will not be an apostle left. The east window is

broken. They have brought a hogshead of beer, and are broaching it

upon the high altar. Oh, alas, alas! That such things should be in a

Christian land!’ He sobbed aloud and stamped about in a very frenzy of

grief.

‘It is the verger, sirs,’ said one of the townsfolk. ‘He hath grown grey

in the Cathedral.’

‘This way to the vestry door, my lords and gentlemen,’ cried the old

man, pushing a way strenuously through the crowd. ‘Now, lack-a-day, the

sainted Paul hath gone too!’

As he spoke a splintering crash from inside the Cathedral announced some

fresh outrage on the part of the zealots. Our guide hastened on with

renewed speed, until he came to a low oaken door heavily arched, which

he unlocked with much rasping of wards and creaking of hinges. Through

this we sidled as best we might, and hurried after the old man down a

stone-flagged corridor, which led through a wicket into the Cathedral

close by the high altar.

The great building was full of the rioters, who were rushing hither and

thither, destroying and breaking everything which they could lay their

hands on. A good number of these were genuine zealots, the followers of

the preacher whom we had listened to outside. Others, however, were on

the face of them mere rogues and thieves, such as gather round every

army upon the march. While the former were tearing down images from the

walls, or hurling the books of common prayer through the stained-glass

windows, the others were rooting up the massive brass candlesticks,

and carrying away everything which promised to be of value. One ragged

fellow was in the pulpit, tearing off the crimson velvet and hurling it

down among the crowd. Another had upset the reading-desk, and was busily

engaged in wrenching off the brazen fastenings. In the centre of

the side aisle a small group had a rope round the neck of Mark the

Evangelist, and were dragging lustily upon it, until, even as we

entered, the statue, after tottering for a few moments, came crashing

down upon the marble floor. The shouts which greeted every fresh

outrage, with the splintering of woodwork, the smashing of windows, and

the clatter of falling masonry, made up a most deafening uproar, which

was increased by the droning of the organ, until some of the rioters

silenced it by slitting up the bellows.

What more immediately concerned ourselves was the scene which was being

enacted just in front of us at the high altar. A barrel of beer had been

placed upon it, and a dozen ruffians gathered round it, one of whom with

many ribald jests had climbed up, and was engaged in knocking in the

top of the cask with a hatchet. As we entered he had just succeeded in

broaching it, and the brown mead was foaming over, while the mob with

roars of laughter were passing up their dippers and pannikins. The

German soldier rapped out a rough jagged oath at this spectacle, and

shouldering his way through the roisterers he sprang upon the altar.

The ringleader was bending over his cask, black-jack in hand, when the

soldier’s iron grip fell upon his collar, and in a moment his heels were

flapping in the air, and his head three feet deep in the cask, while the

beer splashed and foamed in every direction. With a mighty heave Buyse

picked up the barrel with the half-drowned miner inside, and hurled it

clattering down the broad marble steps which led from the body of the

church. At the same time, with the aid of a dozen of our men who had

followed us into the Cathedral, we drove back the fellow’s comrades, and

thrust them out beyond the rails which divided the choir from the nave.

Our inroad had the effect of checking the riot, but it simply did so by

turning the fury of the zealots from the walls and windows to ourselves.

Images, stone-work, and wood-carvings were all abandoned, and the whole

swarm came rushing up with a hoarse buzz of rage, all discipline and

order completely lost in their religious frenzy. ‘Smite the Prelatists!’

they howled. ‘Down with the friends of Antichrist! Cut them off even at

the horns of the altar! Down with them!’ On either side they massed, a

wild, half-demented crowd, some with arms and some without, but filled

to a man with the very spirit of murder.

‘This is a civil war within a civil war,’ said Lord Grey, with a quiet

smile. ‘We had best draw, gentlemen, and defend the gap in the rails, if

we may hold it good until help arrives.’ He flashed out his rapier as

he spoke, and took his stand on the top of the steps, with Saxon and Sir

Gervas upon one side of him, Buyse, Reuben, and myself upon the other.

There was only room for six to wield their weapons with effect, so our

scanty band of followers scattered themselves along the line of the

rails, which were luckily so high and strong as to make an escalado

difficult in the face of any opposition.

The riot had now changed into open mutiny among these marshmen and

miners. Pikes, scythes, and knives glimmered through the dim light,

while their wild cries re-echoed from the high arched roof like the

howling of a pack of wolves. ‘Go forward, my brothers,’ cried the

fanatic preacher, who had been the cause of the outbreak--‘go forward

against them! What though they be in high places! There is One who

is higher than they. Shall we shrink from His work because of a naked

sword? Shall we suffer the Prelatist altar to be preserved by these sons

of Amalek? On, on! In the name of the Lord!’

‘In the name of the Lord!’ cried the crowd, with a sort of hissing gasp,

like one who is about to plunge into an icy bath. ‘In the name of the

Lord!’ From either side they came on, gathering speed and volume, until

at last with a wild cry they surged right down upon our sword-points.

I can say nothing of what took place to right or left of me during the

ruffle, for indeed there were so many pressing upon us, and the fight

was so hot, that it was all that each of us could do to hold our own.

The very number of our assailants was in our favour, by hampering their

sword-arms. One burly miner cut fiercely at me with his scythe, but

missing me he swung half round with the force of the blow, and I passed

my sword through his body before he could recover himself. It was the

first time that I had ever slain a man in anger, my dear children, and

I shall never forget his white startled face as he looked over his

shoulder at me ere he fell. Another closed in with me before I could get

my weapon disengaged, but I struck him out with my left hand, and then

brought the flat of my sword upon his head, laying him senseless

upon the pavement. God knows, I did not wish to take the lives of the

misguided and ignorant zealots, but our own were at stake. A marshman,

looking more like a shaggy wild beast than a human being, darted under

my weapon and caught me round the knees, while another brought a flail

down upon my head-piece, from which it glanced on to my shoulder. A

third thrust at me with a pike, and pricked me on the thigh, but I shore

his weapon in two with one blow, and split his head with the next. The

man with the flail gave back at sight of this, and a kick freed me from

the unarmed ape-like creature at my feet, so that I found myself clear

of my assailants, and none the worse for my encounter, save for a touch

on the leg and some stiffness of the neck and shoulder.

Looking round I found that my comrades had also beaten off those who

were opposed to them. Saxon was holding his bloody rapier in his left

hand, while the blood was trickling from a slight wound upon his right.

Two miners lay across each other in front of him, but at the feet of

Sir Gervas Jerome no fewer than four bodies were piled together. He had

plucked out his snuff-box as I glanced at him, and was offering it with

a bow and a flourish to Lord Grey, as unconcernedly as though he were

back once more in his London coffee-house. Buyse leaned upon his long

broadsword, and looked gloomily at a headless trunk in front of him,

which I recognised from the dress as being that of the preacher. As to

Reuben, he was unhurt himself, but in sore distress over my own trifling

scar, though I assured the faithful lad that it was a less thing than

many a tear from branch or thorn which we had had when blackberrying

together.

The fanatics, though driven back, were not men to be content with a

single repulse. They had lost ten of their number, including their

leader, without being able to break our line, but the failure only

served to increase their fury. For a minute or so they gathered panting

in the aisle. Then with a mad yell they dashed in once more, and made a

desperate effort to cut a way through to the altar. It was a fiercer and

more prolonged struggle than before. One of our followers was stabbed to

the heart over the rails, and fell without a groan. Another was stunned

by a mass of masonry hurled at him by a giant cragsman. Reuben was

felled by a club, and would have been dragged out and hacked to pieces

had I not stood over him and beaten off his assailants. Sir Gervas was

borne off his legs by the rush, but lay like a wounded wildcat, striking

out furiously at everything which came within his reach. Buyse and

Saxon, back to back, stood firm amidst the seething, rushing crowd,

cutting down every man within sweep of their swords. Yet in such a

struggle numbers must in the end prevail, and I confess that I for one

had begun to have fears for the upshot of our contest, when the heavy

tramp of disciplined feet rang through the Cathedral, and the Baronet’s

musqueteers came at a quick run up the central aisle. The fanatics did

not await their charge, but darted off over benches and pews, followed

by our allies, who were furious on seeing their beloved Captain upon the

ground. There was a wild minute or two, with confused shuffling of feet,

stabs, groans, and the clatter of musket butts on the marble floor. Of

the rioters some were slain, but the greater part threw down their arms

and were arrested at the command of Lord Grey, while a strong guard was

placed at the gates to prevent any fresh outburst of sectarian fury.

When at last the Cathedral was cleared and order restored, we had time

to look around us and to reckon our own injuries. In all my wanderings,

and the many wars in which I afterwards fought--wars compared to which

this affair of Monmouth’s was but the merest skirmish--I have never seen

a stranger or more impressive scene. In the dim, solemn light the pile

of bodies in front of the rails, with their twisted limbs and white-set

faces, had a most sad and ghost-like aspect. The evening light, shining

through one of the few unbroken stained-glass windows, cast great

splotches of vivid crimson and of sickly green upon the heap of

motionless figures. A few wounded men sat about in the front pews or lay

upon the steps moaning for water. Of our own small company not one had

escaped unscathed. Three of our followers had been slain outright, while

a fourth was lying stunned from a blow. Buyse and Sir Gervas were much

bruised. Saxon was cut on the right arm. Reuben had been felled by a

bludgeon stroke, and would certainly have been slain but for the fine

temper of Sir Jacob Clancing’s breastplate, which had turned a fierce

pike-thrust. As to myself it is scarce worth the mention, but my head

sang for some hours like a good wife’s kettle, and my boot was full of

blood, which may have been a blessing in disguise, for Sneckson, our

Havant barber, was ever dinning into my ears how much the better I

should be for a phlebotomy.

In the meantime all the troops had assembled and the mutiny been swiftly

stamped out. There were doubtless many among the Puritans who had no

love for the Prelatists, but none save the most crack-brained fanatics

could fail to see that the sacking of the Cathedral would set the

whole Church of England in arms, and ruin the cause for which they were

fighting. As it was, much damage had been done; for whilst the gang

within had been smashing all which they could lay their hands upon,

others outside had chipped off cornices and gargoyles, and had even

dragged the lead covering from the roof and hurled it down in great

sheets to their companions beneath. This last led to some profit, for

the army had no great store of ammunition, so the lead was gathered up

by Monmouth’s orders and recast into bullets. The prisoners were held

in custody for a time, but it was deemed unwise to punish them, so that

they were finally pardoned and dismissed from the army.

A parade of our whole force was held in the fields outside the town upon

the second day of our stay at Wells, the weather having at last become

warm and sunny. The foot was then found to muster six regiments of nine

hundred men, or five thousand four hundred in all. Of these fifteen

hundred were musqueteers, two thousand were pikemen, and the rest were

scythesmen or peasants with flails and hammers. A few bodies, such as

our own or those from Taunton, might fairly lay claim to be soldiers,

but the most of them were still labourers and craftsmen with weapons

in their hands. Yet, ill-armed and ill-drilled as they were, they were

still strong robust Englishmen, full of native courage and of religious

zeal. The light and fickle Monmouth began to take heart once more at the

sight of their sturdy bearing, and at the sound of their hearty cheers.

I heard him as I sat my horse beside his staff speak exultantly to those

around him, and ask whether these fine fellows could possibly be beaten

by mercenary half-hearted hirelings.

‘What say you, Wade!’ he cried. ‘Are we never to see a smile on that sad

face of yours? Do you not see a woolsack in store for you as you look

upon these brave fellows?’

‘God forbid that I should say a word to damp your Majesty’s ardour,’ the

lawyer answered; ‘yet I cannot but remember that there was a time when

your Majesty, at the head of these same hirelings, did drive men as

brave as these in headlong rout from Bothwell Bridge.’

‘True, true!’ said the King, passing his hand over his forehead--a

favourite motion when he was worried and annoyed. ‘They were bold men,

the western Covenanters, yet they could not stand against the rush of

our battalions. But they had had no training, whereas these can fight in

line and fire a platoon as well as one would wish to see.’

‘If we hadna a gun nor a patronal among us,’ said Ferguson, ‘if we hadna

sae muckle as a sword, but just oor ain honds, yet would the Lard gie us

the victory, if it seemed good in His a’ seeing een.’

‘All battles are but chance work, your Majesty,’ remarked Saxon, whose

sword-arm was bound round with his kerchief. ‘Some lucky turn, some slip

or chance which none can foresee, is ever likely to turn the scale. I

have lost when I have looked to win, and I have won when I have looked

to lose. It is an uncertain game, and one never knows the finish till

the last card is played.’

‘Not till the stakes are drawn,’ said Buyse, in his deep guttural voice.

‘There is many a leader that wins what you call the trick, and yet loses

the game.’

‘The trick being the battle and the game the campaign,’ quoth the King,

with a smile. ‘Our German friend is a master of camp-fire metaphors. But

methinks our poor horses are in a sorry state. What would cousin William

over at The Hague, with his spruce guards, think of such a show as

this?’

During this talk the long column of foot had tramped past, still bearing

the banners which they had brought with them to the wars, though much

the worse for wind and weather. Monmouth’s remarks had been drawn forth

by the aspect of the ten troops of horse which followed. The chargers

had been sadly worn by the continued work and constant rain, while the

riders, having allowed their caps and fronts to get coated with rust,

appeared to be in as bad a plight as their steeds. It was clear to the

least experienced of us that if we were to hold our own it was upon

our foot that we must rely. On the tops of the low hills all round the

frequent shimmer of arms, glancing here and there when the sun’s rays

struck upon them, showed how strong our enemies were in the very point

in which we were so weak. Yet in the main this Wells review was cheering

to us, as showing that the men kept in good heart, and that there was no

ill-feeling at the rough handling of the zealots upon the day before.

The enemy’s horse hovered about us during these days, but the foot had

been delayed through the heavy weather and the swollen streams. On the

last day of June we marched out of Wells, and made our way across flat

sedgy plains and over the low Polden Hills to Bridgewater, where we

found some few recruits awaiting us. Here Monmouth had some thoughts

of making a stand, and even set to work raising earthworks, but it was

pointed out to him that, even could he hold the town, there was not more

than a few days’ provisions within it, while the country round had been

already swept so bare that little more could be expected from it. The

works were therefore abandoned, and, fairly driven to bay, without a

loophole of escape left, we awaited the approach of the enemy.