Kabanata Kabanata 32 · Of the Onfall at Sedgemoor（1）

However pressing our own private griefs and needs, we had little time

now to dwell upon them, for the moment was at hand which was to decide

for the time not only our own fates, but that of the Protestant cause

in England. None of us made light of the danger. Nothing less than a

miracle could preserve us from defeat, and most of us were of opinion

that the days of the miracles were past. Others, however, thought

otherwise. I believe that many of our Puritans, had they seen the

heavens open that night, and the armies of the Seraphim and the Cherubim

descending to our aid, would have looked upon it as by no means a

wonderful or unexpected occurrence.

The whole town was loud with the preaching. Every troop or company had

its own chosen orator, and sometimes more than one, who held forth

and expounded. From barrels, from waggons, from windows, and even from

housetops, they addressed the crowds beneath; nor was their eloquence

in vain. Hoarse, fierce shouts rose up from the streets, with broken

prayers and ejaculations. Men were drunk with religion as with wine.

Their faces were flushed, their speech thick, their gestures wild. Sir

Stephen and Saxon smiled at each other as they watched them, for they

knew, as old soldiers, that of all causes which make a man valiant in

deed and careless of life, this religious fit is the strongest and the

most enduring.

In the evening I found time to look in upon my wounded friend, and found

him propped up with cushions upon his couch, breathing with some pain,

but as bright and merry as ever. Our prisoner, Major Ogilvy, who had

conceived a warm affection for us, sat by his side and read aloud to him

out of an old book of plays.

‘This wound hath come at an evil moment,’ said Reuben impatiently.

‘Is it not too much that a little prick like this should send my men

captainless into battle, after all our marching and drilling? I have

been present at the grace, and am cut off from the dinner.’

‘Your company hath been joined to mine,’ I answered, ‘though, indeed,

the honest fellows are cast down at not having their own captain. Has

the physician been to see you?’

‘He has left even now,’ said Major Ogilvy. ‘He pronounces our friend to

be doing right well, but hath warned me against allowing him to talk.’

‘Hark to that, lad!’ said I, shaking my finger at him. ‘If I hear a word

from you I go. You will escape a rough waking this night, Major. What

think you of our chance?’

‘I have thought little of your chance from the first,’ he replied

frankly. ‘Monmouth is like a ruined gamester, who is now putting his

last piece upon the board. He cannot win much, and he may lose all.’

‘Nay, that is a hard saying,’ said I. ‘A success might set the whole of

the Midlands in arms.’

‘England is not ripe for it,’ the Major answered, with a shake of his

head. ‘It is true that it has no fancy either for Papistry or for a

Papist King, but we know that it is but a passing evil, since the next

in succession, the Prince of Orange, is a Protestant. Why, then, should

we risk so many evils to bring that about which time and patience must,

perforce, accomplish between them? Besides, the man whom ye support has

shown that he is unworthy of confidence. Did he not in his declaration

promise to leave the choice of a monarch to the Commons? And yet, in

less than a week, he proclaimed himself at Taunton Market Cross! Who

could believe one who has so little regard for truth?’

‘Treason, Major, rank treason,’ I answered, laughing. ‘Yet if we could

order a leader as one does a coat we might, perchance, have chosen

one of a stronger texture. We are in arms not for him, but for the old

liberties and rights of Englishmen. Have you seen Sir Gervas?’

Major Ogilvy, and even Reuben, burst out laughing. ‘You will find him

in the room above,’ said our prisoner. ‘Never did a famous toast prepare

herself for a court ball as he is preparing for his battle. If the

King’s troops take him they will assuredly think that they have the

Duke. He hath been in here to consult us as to his patches, hosen, and I

know not what beside. You had best go up to him.’

‘Adieu, then, Reuben!’ I said, grasping his hand in mine.

‘Adieu, Micah! God shield you from harm,’ said he.

‘Can I speak to you aside, Major?’ I whispered. ‘I think,’ I went on,

as he followed me into the passage, ‘that you will not say that your

captivity hath been made very harsh for you. May I ask, therefore, that

you will keep an eye upon my friend should we be indeed defeated this

night? No doubt if Feversham gains the upper hand there will be bloody

work. The hale can look after themselves, but he is helpless, and will

need a friend.’

The Major pressed my hand. ‘I swear to God,’ he said, ‘that no harm

shall befall him.’

‘You have taken a load from my heart,’ I answered; ‘I know that I leave

him in safety. ‘I can now ride to battle with an easy mind.’ With a

friendly smile the soldier returned to the sick-room, whilst I ascended

the stair and entered the quarters of Sir Gervas Jerome.

He was standing before a table which was littered all over with pots,

brushes, boxes, and a score of the like trifles, which he had either

bought or borrowed for the occasion. A large hand-mirror was balanced

against the wall, with rush-lights on either side of it. In front of

this, with a most solemn and serious expression upon his pale, handsome

face, the Baronet was arranging and re-arranging a white berdash cravat.

His riding-boots were brightly polished, and the broken seam repaired.

His sword-sheath, breastplate, and trappings were clear and bright.

He wore his gayest and newest suit, and above all he had donned a most

noble and impressive full-bottomed periwig, which drooped down to his

shoulders, as white as powder could make it. From his dainty riding-hat

to his shining spur there was no speck or stain upon him--a sad set-off

to my own state, plastered as I was with a thick crust of the Sedgemoor

mud, and disordered from having ridden and worked for two days without

rest or repose.

‘Split me, but you have come in good time!’ he exclaimed, as I entered.

‘I have even now sent down for a flask of canary. Ah, and here it

comes!’ as a maid from the inn tripped upstairs with the bottle and

glasses. ‘Here is a gold piece, my pretty dear, the very last that I

have in the whole world. It is the only survivor of a goodly family. Pay

mine host for the wine, little one, and keep the change for thyself, to

buy ribbons for the next holiday. Now, curse me if I can get this cravat

to fit unwrinkled!’

‘There is nought amiss with it,’ I answered. ‘How can such trifles

occupy you at such a time?’

‘Trifles!’ he cried angrily. ‘Trifles! Well, there, it boots not to

argue with you. Your bucolic mind would never rise to the subtle import

which may lie in such matters--the rest of mind which it is to have

them right, and the plaguey uneasiness when aught is wrong. It comes,

doubtless, from training, and it may be that I have it more than others

of my class. I feel as a cat who would lick all day to take the least

speck from her fur. Is not the patch over the eyebrow happily chosen?

Nay, you cannot even offer an opinion; I would as soon ask friend Marot,

the knight of the pistol. Fill up your glass!’

‘Your company awaits you by the church,’ I remarked; ‘I saw them as I

passed.’

‘How looked they?’ he asked. ‘Were they powdered and clean?’

‘Nay, I had little leisure to observe. I saw that they were cutting

their matches and arranging their priming.’

‘I would that they had all snaphances,’ he answered, sprinkling himself

with scented water; ‘the matchlocks are slow and cumbersome. Have you

had wine enough?’

‘I will take no more,’ I answered.

‘Then mayhap the Major may care to finish it. It is not often I ask help

with a bottle, but I would keep my head cool this night. Let us go down

and see to our men.’

It was ten o’clock when we descended into the street. The hubbub of

the preachers and the shouting of the people had died away, for the

regiments had fallen into their places, and stood silent and stern,

with the faint light from the lamps and windows playing over their dark

serried ranks. A cool, clear moon shone down upon us from amidst fleecy

clouds, which drifted ever and anon across her face. Away in the north

tremulous rays of light flickered up into the heavens, coming and going

like long, quivering fingers. They were the northern lights, a sight

rarely seen in the southland counties. It is little wonder that, coming

at such a time, the fanatics should have pointed to them as signals

from another world, and should have compared them to that pillar of fire

which guided Israel through the dangers of the desert. The footpaths and

the windows were crowded with women and children, who broke into shrill

cries of fear or of wonder as the strange light waxed and waned.

‘It is half after ten by St. Mary’s clock,’ said Saxon, as we rode up to

the regiment. ‘Have we nothing to give the men?’

‘There is a hogshead of Zoyland cider in the yard of yonder inn,’ said

Sir Gervas. ‘Here, Dawson, do you take those gold sleeve links and give

them to mine host in exchange. Broach the barrel, and let each man have

his horn full. Sink me, if they shall fight with nought but cold water

in them.’

‘They will feel the need of it ere morning,’ said Saxon, as a score

of pikemen hastened off to the inn. ‘The marsh air is chilling to the

blood.’

‘I feel cold already, and Covenant is stamping with it,’ said I. ‘Might

we not, if we have time upon our hands, canter our horses down the

line?’

‘Of a surety,’ Saxon answered gladly, ‘we could not do better;’ so

shaking our bridles we rode off, our horses’ hoofs striking fire from

the flint-paved streets as we passed.

Behind the horse, in a long line which stretched from the Eastover gate,

across the bridge, along the High Street, up the Cornhill, and so past

the church to the Pig Cross, stood our foot, silent and grim, save when

some woman’s voice from the windows called forth a deep, short answer

from the ranks. The fitful light gleamed on scythes-blade or gun-barrel,

and showed up the lines of rugged, hard set faces, some of mere children

with never a hair upon their cheeks, others of old men whose grey beards

swept down to their cross-belts, but all bearing the same stamp of a

dogged courage and a fierce self-contained resolution. Here were still

the fisher folk of the south. Here, too, were the fierce men from the

Mendips, the wild hunters from Porlock Quay and Minehead, the poachers

of Exmoor, the shaggy marshmen of Axbridge, the mountain men from the

Quantocks, the serge and wool-workers of Devonshire, the graziers of

Bampton, the red-coats from the Militia, the stout burghers of Taunton,

and then, as the very bone and sinew of all, the brave smockfrocked

peasants of the plains, who had turned up their jackets to the elbow,

and exposed their brown and corded arms, as was their wont when good

work had to be done. As I speak to you, dear children, fifty years

rolls by like a mist in the morning, and I am riding once more down

the winding street, and see again the serried ranks of my gallant

companions. Brave hearts! They showed to all time how little training it

takes to turn an Englishman into a soldier, and what manner of men are

bred in those quiet, peaceful hamlets which dot the sunny slopes of the

Somerset and Devon downs. If ever it should be that England should

be struck upon her knees, if those who fight her battles should have

deserted her, and she should find herself unarmed in the presence of her

enemy, let her take heart and remember that every village in the realm

is a barrack, and that her real standing army is the hardy courage and

simple virtue which stand ever in the breast of the humblest of her

peasants.

As we rode down the long line a buzz of greeting and welcome rose now

and again from the ranks as they recognised through the gloom Saxon’s

tall, gaunt figure. The clock was on the stroke of eleven as we returned

to our own men, and at that very moment King Monmouth rode out from the

inn where he was quartered, and trotted with his staff down the High

Street. All cheering had been forbidden, but waving caps and brandished

arms spoke the ardour of his devoted followers. No bugle was to sound

the march, but as each received the word the one in its rear followed

its movements. The clatter and shuffle of hundreds of moving feet came

nearer and nearer, until the Frome men in front of us began to march,

and we found ourselves fairly started upon the last journey which many

of us were ever to take in this world.

Our road lay across the Parret, through Eastover, and so along the

winding track past the spot where Derrick met his fate, and the lonely

cottage of the little maid. At the other side of this the road becomes

a mere pathway over the plain. A dense haze lay over the moor, gathering

thickly in the hollows, and veiling both the town which we had left and

the villages which we were approaching. Now and again it would lift

for a few moments, and then I could see in the moonlight the long black

writhing line of the army, with the shimmer of steel playing over it,

and the rude white standards flapping in the night breeze. Far on the

right a great fire was blazing--some farmhouse, doubtless, which the

Tangiers devils had made spoil of. Very slow our march was, and very

careful, for the plain was, as Sir Stephen Timewell had told us, cut

across by great ditches or rhines, which could not be passed save at

some few places. These ditches were cut for the purpose of draining the

marshes, and were many feet deep of water and of mud, so that even

the horse could not cross them. The bridges were narrow, and some time

passed before the army could get over. At last, however, the two main

ones, the Black Ditch and the Langmoor Rhine, were safely traversed and

a halt was called while the foot was formed in line, for we had reason

to believe that no other force lay between the Royal camp and ourselves.

So far our enterprise had succeeded admirably. We were within half a

mile of the camp without mistake or accident, and none of the enemy’s

scouts had shown sign of their presence. Clearly they held us in such

contempt that it had never occurred to them that we might open the

attack. If ever a general deserved a beating it was Feversham that

night. As he drew up upon the moor the clock of Chedzoy struck one.

‘Is it not glorious?’ whispered Sir Gervas, as we reined up upon the

further side of the Langmoor Rhine. ‘What is there on earth to compare

with the excitement of this?’

‘You speak as though it wore a cocking-match or a bull-baiting, ‘I

answered, with some little coldness. ‘It is a solemn and a sad occasion.

Win who will, English blood must soak the soil of England this night.’

‘The more room for those who are left,’ said he lightly. ‘Mark over

yonder the glow of their camp-fires amidst the fog. What was it that

your seaman friend did recommend? Get the weather-gauge of them and

board--eh? Have you told that to the Colonel?’

‘Nay, this is no time for quips and cranks,’ I answered gravely; ‘the

chances are that few of us will ever see to-morrow’s sun rise.’

‘I have no great curiosity to see it,’ he remarked, with a laugh. ‘It

will be much as yesterday’s. Zounds! though I have never risen to see

one in my life, I have looked on many a hundred ere I went to bed.’

‘I have told friend Reuben such few things as I should desire to be done

in case I should fall,’ said I. ‘It has eased my mind much to know that

I leave behind some word of farewell, and little remembrance to all whom

I have known. Is there no service of the sort which I can do for you?’

‘Hum!’ said he, musing. ‘If I go under, you can tell Araminta--nay, let

the poor wench alone! Why should I send her messages which may plague

her! Should you be in town, little Tommy Chichester would be glad to

hear of the fun which we have had in Somerset. You will find him at the

Coca Tree every day of the week between two and four of the clock. There

is Mother Butterworth, too, whom I might commend to your notice. She

was the queen of wet-nurses, but alas! cruel time hath dried up her

business, and she hath need of some little nursing herself.’

‘If I live and you should fall, I shall do what may be done for her,’

said I. ‘Have you aught else to say?’

‘Only that Hacker of Paul’s Yard is the best for vests,’ he answered.

‘It is a small piece of knowledge, yet like most other knowledge it hath

been bought and paid for. One other thing! I have a trinket or two left

which might serve as a gift for the pretty Puritan maid, should our

friend lead her to the altar. Od’s my life, but she will make him read

some queer books! How now, Colonel, why are we stuck out on the moor

like a row of herons among the sedges?’

‘They are ordering the line for the attack,’ said Saxon, who had ridden

up during our conversation. ‘Donnerblitz! Who ever saw a camp so

exposed to an onfall? Oh for twelve hundred good horse--for an hour of

Wessenburg’s Pandours! Would I not trample them down until their camp

was like a field of young corn after a hail-storm!’

‘May not our horse advance?’ I asked.

The old soldier gave a deep snort of disdain. ‘If this fight is to be

won it must be by our foot,’ said he; ‘what can we hope for from such

cavalry? Keep your men well in hand, for we may have to bear the brunt

of the King’s dragoons. A flank attack would fall upon us, for we are in

the post of honour.’

‘There are troops to the right of us,’ I answered, peering through the

darkness.

‘Aye! the Taunton burghers and the Frome peasants. Our brigade covers

the right flank. Next us are the Mendip miners, nor could I wish for

better comrades, if their zeal do not outrun their discretion. They are

on their knees in the mud at this moment.’

‘They will fight none the worse for that,’ I remarked; ‘but surely the

troops are advancing!’

‘Aye, aye!’ cried Saxon joyously, plucking out his sword, and tying

his handkerchief round the handle to strengthen his grip. ‘The hour has

come! Forwards!’

Very slowly and silently we crept on through the dense fog, our feet

splashing and slipping in the sodden soil. With all the care which

we could take, the advance of so great a number of men could not be

conducted without a deep sonorous sound from the thousands of marching

feet. Ahead of us were splotches of ruddy light twinkling through the

fog which marked the Royal watch-fires. Immediately in front in a dense

column our own horse moved forwards. Of a sudden out of the darkness

there came a sharp challenge and a shout, with the discharge of a

carbine and the sound of galloping hoofs. Away down the line we heard

a ripple of shots. The first line of outposts had been reached. At the

alarm our horse charged forward with a huzza, and we followed them as

fast as our men could run. We had crossed two or three hundred yards of

moor, and could hear the blowing of the Royal bugles quite close to us,

when our horse came to a sudden halt, and our whole advance was at a

standstill.

‘Sancta Maria!’ cried Saxon, dashing forward with the rest of us to find

out the cause of the delay. ‘We must on at any cost! A halt now will

ruin our camisado.’

‘Forwards, forwards!’ cried Sir Gervas and I, waving our swords.

‘It is no use, gentlemen,’ cried a cornet of horse, wringing his hands;

‘we are undone and betrayed. There is a broad ditch without a ford in

front of us, full twenty feet across!’

‘Give me room for my horse, and I shall show ye the way across!’ cried

the Baronet, backing his steed. ‘Now, lads, who’s for a jump?’

‘Nay, sir, for God’s sake!’ said a trooper, laying his hand upon his

bridle. ‘Sergeant Sexton hath sprung in even now, and horse and man have

gone to the bottom!’

‘Let us see it, then!’ cried Saxon, pushing his way through the crowd

of horsemen. We followed close at his heels, until we found ourselves on

the borders of the vast trench which impeded our advance.

To this day I have never been able to make up my mind whether it was

by chance or by treachery on the part of our guides that this fosse was

overlooked until we stumbled upon it in the dark. There are some who say

that the Bussex Rhine, as it is called, is not either deep or broad,

and was, therefore, unmentioned by the moorsmen, but that the recent

constant rains had swollen it to an extent never before known. Others

say that the guides had been deceived by the fog, and taken a wrong

course, whereas, had we followed another track, we might have been able

to come upon the camp without crossing the ditch. However that may be,

it is certain that we found it stretching in front of us, broad, black,

and forbidding, full twenty feet from bank to bank, with the cap of the

ill-fated sergeant just visible in the centre as a mute warning to all

who might attempt to ford it.

‘There must be a passage somewhere,’ cried Saxon furiously. ‘Every

moment is worth a troop of horse to them. Where is my Lord Grey? Hath

the guide met with his deserts?’

‘Major Hollis hath hurled the guide into the ditch,’ the young cornet

answered. ‘My Lord Grey hath ridden along the bank seeking for a ford.’

I caught a pike out of a footman’s hand, and probed into the black

oozy mud, standing myself up to the waist in it, and holding Covenant’s

bridle in my left hand. Nowhere could I touch bottom or find any hope of

solid foothold.

‘Here, fellow!’ cried Saxon, seizing a trooper by the arm. ‘Make for

the rear! Gallop as though the devil were behind you! Bring up a pair

of ammunition waggons, and we shall see whether we cannot bridge this

infernal puddle.’

‘If a few of us could make a lodgment upon the other side we might make

it good until help came,’ said Sir Gervas, as the horseman galloped off

upon his mission.

All down the rebel line a fierce low roar of disappointment and rage

showed that the whole army had met the same obstacle which hindered

our attack. On the other side of the ditch the drums beat, the bugles

screamed, and the shouts and oaths of the officers could be heard as

they marshalled their men. Glancing lights in Chedzoy, Westonzoyland,

and the other hamlets to left and right, showed how fast the alarm

was extending. Decimus Saxon rode up and down the edge of the fosse,

pattering forth foreign oaths, grinding his teeth in his fury, and

rising now and again in his stirrups to shake his gauntleted hands at

the enemy.

‘For whom are ye?’ shouted a hoarse voice out of the haze.

‘For the King!’ roared the peasants in answer.

‘For which King?’ cried the voice.

‘For King Monmouth!’

‘Let them have it, lads!’ and instantly a storm of musket bullets

whistled and sung about our ears. As the sheet of flame sprang out of

the darkness the maddened, half-broken horses dashed wildly away across

the plain, resisting the efforts of the riders to pull them up. There

are some, indeed, who say that those efforts were not very strong, and

that our troopers, disheartened at the check at the ditch, were not

sorry to show their heels to the enemy. As to my Lord Grey, I can say

truly that I saw him in the dim light among the flying squadrons, doing

all that a brave cavalier could do to bring them to a stand. Away they

went, however, thundering through the ranks of the foot and out over the

moor, leaving their companions to bear the whole brunt of the battle.

‘On to your faces, men!’ shouted Saxon, in a voice which rose high above

the crash of the musketry and the cries of the wounded. The pikemen and

scythesmen threw themselves down at his command, while the musqueteers

knelt in front of them, loading and firing, with nothing to aim at save

the burning matches of the enemy’s pieces, which could be seen twinkling

through the darkness. All along, both to the right and the left, a

rolling fire had broken out, coming in short, quick volleys from the

soldiers, and in a continuous confused rattle from the peasants. On the

further wing our four guns had been brought into play, and we could hear

their dull growling in the distance.

‘Sing, brothers, sing!’ cried our stout-hearted chaplain, Master Joshua

Pettigrue, bustling backwards and forwards among the prostrate ranks.

‘Let us call upon the Lord in our day of trial!’ The men raised a loud

hymn of praise, which swelled into a great chorus as it was taken up by

the Taunton burghers upon our right and the miners upon our left. At

the sound the soldiers on the other side raised a fierce huzza, and the

whole air was full of clamour.

Our musqueteers had been brought to the very edge of the Bussex Rhine,

and the Royal troops had also advanced as far as they were able, so that

there were not five pikes’-lengths between the lines. Yet that short

distance was so impassable that, save for the more deadly fire, a

quarter of a mile might have divided us. So near were we that the

burning wads from the enemy’s muskets flew in flakes of fire over

our heads, and we felt upon our faces the hot, quick flush of their

discharges. Yet though the air was alive with bullets, the aim of the

soldiers was too high for our kneeling ranks, and very few of the men

were struck. For our part, we did what we could to keep the barrels of

our muskets from inclining upwards. Saxon, Sir Gervas, and I walked

our horses up and down without ceasing, pushing them level with our

sword-blades, and calling on the men to aim steadily and slowly. The

groans and cries from the other side of the ditch showed that some, at

least, of our bullets had not been fired in vain.

‘We hold our own in this quarter,’ said I to Saxon. ‘It seems to me that

their fire slackens.’

‘It is their horse that I fear,’ he answered. ‘They can avoid the ditch,

since they come from the hamlets on the flank. They may be upon us at

any time.’

‘Hullo, sir!’ shouted Sir Gervas, reining up his steed upon the very

brink of the ditch, and raising his cap in salute to a mounted officer

upon the other side. ‘Can you tell me if we have the honour to be

opposed to the foot guards?’

‘We are Dumbarton’s regiment, sir,’ cried the other. ‘We shall give ye

good cause to remember having met us.’

‘We shall be across presently to make your further acquaintance,’ Sir

Gervas answered, and at the same moment rolled, horse and all, into the

ditch, amid a roar of exultation from the soldiers. Half-a-dozen of his

musqueteers sprang instantly, waist deep, into the mud, and dragged our

friend out of danger, but the charger, which had been shot through the

heart, sank without a struggle.

‘There is no harm!’ cried the Baronet, springing to his feet, ‘I would

rather fight on foot like my brave musqueteers.’ The men broke out

a-cheering at his words, and the fire on both sides became hotter

than ever. It was a marvel to me, and to many more, to see these brave

peasants with their mouths full of bullets, loading, priming, and firing

as steadily as though they had been at it all their lives, and holding

their own against a veteran regiment which has proved itself in other

fields to be second to none in the army of England.

The grey light of morning was stealing over the moor, and still the

fight was undecided. The fog hung about us in feathery streaks, and

the smoke from our guns drifted across in a dun-coloured cloud, through

which the long lines of red coats upon the other side of the rhine

loomed up like a battalion of giants. My eyes ached and my lips prinkled

with the smack of the powder. On every side of me men were falling fast,

for the increased light had improved the aim of the soldiers. Our good

chaplain, in the very midst of a psalm, had uttered a great shout

of praise and thanksgiving, and so passed on to join those of his

parishioners who were scattered round him upon the moor. Hope-above

Williams and Keeper Milson, under-officers, and among the stoutest

men in the company, were both down, the one dead and the other sorely

wounded, but still ramming down charges, and spitting bullets into his

gun-barrel. The two Stukeleys of Somerton, twins, and lads of great

promise, lay silently with grey faces turned to the grey sky, united in

death as they had been in birth. Everywhere the dead lay thick amid the

living. Yet no man flinched from his place, and Saxon still walked

his horse among them with words of hope and praise, while his stern,

deep-lined face and tall sinewy figure were a very beacon of hope to

the simple rustics. Such of my scythesmen as could handle a musket were

thrown forward into the fighting line, and furnished with the arms and

pouches of those who had fallen.

Ever and anon as the light waxed I could note through the rifts in the

smoke and the fog how the fight was progressing in other parts of the

field. On the right the heath was brown with the Taunton and Frome

men, who, like ourselves, were lying down to avoid the fire. Along the

borders of the Bussex Rhine a deep fringe of their musqueteers were

exchanging murderous volleys, almost muzzle to muzzle, with the

left wing of the same regiment with which we were engaged, which was

supported by a second regiment in broad white facings, which I believe

to have belonged to the Wiltshire Militia. On either bank of the black

trench a thick line of dead, brown on the one side, and scarlet on the

other, served as a screen to their companions, who sheltered themselves

behind them and rested their musket-barrels upon their prostrate bodies.

To the left amongst the withies lay five hundred Mendip and Bagworthy

miners, singing lustily, but so ill-armed that they had scarce one gun

among ten wherewith to reply to the fire which was poured into them.

They could not advance, and they would not retreat, so they sheltered

themselves as best they might, and waited patiently until their leaders

might decide what was to be done. Further down for half a mile or more

the long rolling cloud of smoke, with petulant flashes of flame spurting

out through it, showed that every one of our raw regiments was bearing

its part manfully. The cannon on the left had ceased firing. The Dutch

gunners had left the Islanders to settle their own quarrels, and were

scampering back to Bridgewater, leaving their silent pieces to the Royal

Horse.