Kabanata Kabanata 36 · Of the Devil in Wig and Gown

There was no delay in the work of slaughter. That very night the great

gallows was erected outside the White Hart inn. Hour after hour we could

hear the blows of mallets and the sawing of beams, mingled with the

shoutings and the ribald choruses of the Chief Justice’s suite, who were

carousing with the officers of the Tangiers regiment in the front room,

which overlooked the gibbet. Amongst the prisoners the night was passed

in prayer and meditation, the stout-hearted holding forth to their

weaker brethren, and exhorting them to play the man, and to go to

their death in a fashion which should be an example to true Protestants

throughout the world. The Puritan divines had been mostly strung up

off-hand immediately after the battle, but a few were left to sustain

the courage of their flocks, and to show them the way upon the scaffold.

Never have I seen anything so admirable as the cool and cheerful bravery

wherewith these poor clowns faced their fate. Their courage on the

battlefield paled before that which they showed in the shambles of the

law. So amid the low murmur of prayer and appeals for mercy to God from

tongues which never yet asked mercy from man, the morning broke, the

last morning which many of us were to spend upon earth.

The court should have opened at nine, but my Lord Chief Justice was

indisposed, having sat up somewhat late with Colonel Kirke. It was

nearly eleven before the trumpeters and criers announced that he had

taken his seat. One by one my fellow-prisoners were called out by name,

the more prominent being chosen first. They went out from amongst us

amid hand-shakings and blessings, but we saw and heard no more of them,

save that a sudden fierce rattle of kettledrums would rise up now and

again, which was, as our guards told us, to drown any dying words which

might fall from the sufferers and bear fruit in the breasts of those who

heard them. With firm steps and smiling faces the roll of martyrs went

forth to their fate during the whole of that long autumn day, until the

rough soldiers of the guard stood silent and awed in the presence of

a courage which they could not but recognise as higher and nobler than

their own. Folk may call it a trial that they received, and a trial it

really was, but not in the sense that we Englishmen use it. It was but

being haled before a Judge, and insulted before being dragged to the

gibbet. The court-house was the thorny path which led to the scaffold.

What use to put a witness up, when he was shouted down, cursed at,

and threatened by the Chief Justice, who bellowed and swore until the

frightened burghers in Fore Street could hear him? I have heard from

those who were there that day that he raved like a demoniac, and that

his black eyes shone with a vivid vindictive brightness which was scarce

human. The jury shrank from him as from a venomous thing when he

turned his baleful glance upon them. At times, as I have been told, his

sternness gave place to a still more terrible merriment, and he would

lean back in his seat of justice and laugh until the tears hopped down

upon his ermine. Nearly a hundred were either executed or condemned to

death upon that opening day.

I had expected to be amongst the first of those called, and no doubt I

should have been so but for the exertions of Major Ogilvy. As it was,

the second day passed, but I still found myself overlooked. On the

third and fourth days the slaughter was slackened, not on account of

any awakening grace on the part of the Judge, but because the great Tory

landowners, and the chief supporters of the Government, had still some

bowels of compassion, which revolted at this butchery of defenceless

men. Had it not been for the influence which these gentlemen brought

to bear upon the Judge, I have no doubt at all that Jeffreys would have

hung the whole eleven hundred prisoners then confined in Taunton. As

it was, two hundred and fifty fell victims to this accursed monster’s

thirst for human blood.

On the eighth day of the assizes there were but fifty of us left in

the wool warehouse. For the last few days prisoners had been tried

in batches of ten and twenty, but now the whole of us were taken in

a drove, under escort, to the court-house, where as many as could be

squeezed in were ranged in the dock, while the rest were penned, like

calves in the market, in the body of the hall. The Judge reclined in a

high chair, with a scarlet dais above him, while two other Judges, in

less elevated seats, were stationed on either side of him. On the right

hand was the jury-box, containing twelve carefully picked men--Tories

of the old school--firm upholders of the doctrines of non-resistance and

the divine right of kings. Much care had been taken by the Crown in

the choice of these men, and there was not one of them but would have

sentenced his own father had there been so much as a suspicion that he

leaned to Presbyterianism or to Whiggery. Just under the Judge was a

broad table, covered with green cloth and strewn with papers. On

the right hand of this were a long array of Crown lawyers, grim,

ferret-faced men, each with a sheaf of papers in his hands, which they

sniffed through again and again, as though they were so many bloodhounds

picking up the trail along which they were to hunt us down. On the other

side of the table sat a single fresh-faced young man, in silk gown and

wig, with a nervous, shuffling manner. This was the barrister, Master

Helstrop, whom the Crown in its clemency had allowed us for our defence,

lest any should be bold enough to say that we had not had every fairness

in our trial. The remainder of the court was filled with the servants

of the Justices’ retinue and the soldiers of the garrison, who used the

place as their common lounge, looking on the whole thing as a mighty

cheap form of sport, and roaring with laughter at the rude banter and

coarse pleasantries of his Lordship.

The clerk having gabbled through the usual form that we, the prisoners

at the bar, having shaken off the fear of God, had unlawfully and

traitorously assembled, and so onwards, the Lord Justice proceeded to

take matters into his own hands, as was his wont.

‘I trust that we shall come well out of this!’ he broke out. ‘I

trust that no judgment will fall upon this building! Was ever so much

wickedness fitted into one court-house before? Who ever saw such an

array of villainous faces? Ah, rogues, I see a rope ready for every

one of ye! Art not afraid of judgment? Art not afraid of hell-fire? You

grey-bearded rascal in the corner, how comes it that you have not had

more of the grace of God in you than to take up arms against your most

gracious and loving sovereign?’

‘I have followed the guidance of my conscience, my Lord,’ said the

venerable cloth-worker of Wellington, to whom he spoke.

‘Ha, your conscience!’ howled Jeffreys. ‘A ranter with a conscience!

Where has your conscience been these two months back, you villain and

rogue? Your conscience will stand you in little stead, sirrah, when

you are dancing on nothing with a rope round your neck. Was ever such

wickedness? Who ever heard such effrontery? And you, you great hulking

rebel, have you not grace enough to cast your eyes down, but must needs

look justice in the face as though you were an honest man? Are you not

afeared, sirrah? Do you not see death close upon you?’

‘I have seen that before now, my Lord, and I was not afeared,’ I

answered.

‘Generation of vipers!’ he cried, throwing up his hands. ‘The best of

fathers! The kindest of kings! See that my words are placed upon the

record, clerk! The most indulgent of parents! But wayward children

must, with all kindness, be flogged into obedience. Here he broke into

a savage grin. ‘The King will save your own natural parents all further

care on your account. If they had wished to keep ye, they should have

brought ye up in better principles. Rogues, we shall be merciful to

ye--oh, merciful, merciful! How many are here, recorder?’

‘Fifty and one, my Lord.’

‘Oh, sink of villainy! Fifty and one as arrant knaves as ever lay on

a hurdle! Oh, what a mass of corruption have we here! Who defends the

villains?’

‘I defend the prisoners, your Lordship,’ replied the young lawyer.

‘Master Helstrop, Master Helstrop!’ cried Jeffreys, shaking his great

wig until the powder flew out of it; ‘you are in all these dirty cases,

Master Helstrop. You might find yourself in a parlous condition, Master

Helstrop. I think sometimes that I see you yourself in the dock, Master

Helstrop. You may yourself soon need the help of a gentleman of the long

robe, Master Helstrop. Oh, have a care! Have a care!’

‘The brief is from the Crown, your Lordship,’ the lawyer answered, in a

quavering voice.

‘Must I be answered back, then!’ roared Jeffreys, his black eyes blazing

with the rage of a demon. ‘Am I to be insulted in my own court? Is every

five-groat piece of a pleader, because he chance to have a wig and a

gown, to browbeat the Lord Justice, and to fly in the face of the ruling

of the Court? Oh, Master Helstrop, I fear that I shall live to see some

evil come upon you!’

‘I crave your Lordship’s pardon!’ cried the faint-hearted barrister,

with his face the colour of his brief.

‘Keep a guard upon your words and upon your actions?’ Jeffreys answered,

in a menacing voice. ‘See that you are not too zealous in the cause

of the scum of the earth. How now, then? What do these one and fifty

villains desire to say for themselves? What is their lie? Gentlemen of

the jury, I beg that ye will take particular notice of the cut-throat

faces of these men. ‘Tis well that Colonel Kirke hath afforded the Court

a sufficient guard, for neither justice nor the Church is safe at their

hands.’

‘Forty of them desire to plead guilty to the charge of taking up arms

against the King,’ replied our barrister.

‘Ah!’ roared the Judge. ‘Was ever such unparalleled impudence? Was there

ever such brazen effrontery? Guilty, quotha! Have they expressed their

repentance for this sin against a most kind and long-suffering monarch!

Put down those words on the record, clerk!’

‘They have refused to express repentance, your Lordship!’ replied the

counsel for the defence.

‘Oh, the parricides! Oh, the shameless rogues!’ cried the Judge. ‘Put

the forty together on this side of the enclosure. Oh, gentlemen, have ye

ever seen such a concentration of vice? See how baseness and wickedness

can stand with head erect! Oh, hardened monsters! But the other eleven.

How can they expect us to believe this transparent falsehood--this

palpable device? How can they foist it upon the Court?’

‘My Lord, their defence hath not yet been advanced!’ stammered Master

Helstrop.

‘I can sniff a lie before it is uttered,’ roared the Judge, by no means

abashed. ‘I can read it as quick as ye can think it. Come, come, the

Court’s time is precious. Put forward a defence, or seat yourself, and

let judgment be passed.’

‘These men, my Lord,’ said the counsel, who was trembling until the

parchment rattled in his hand. ‘These eleven men, my Lord--’

‘Eleven devils, my Lord,’ interrupted Jeffreys.

‘They are innocent peasants, my Lord, who love God and the King, and

have in no wise mingled themselves in this recent business. They have

been dragged from their homes, my Lord, not because there was suspicion

against them, but because they could not satisfy the greed of certain

common soldiers who were balked of plunder in--’

‘Oh, shame, shame!’ cried Jeffreys, in a voice of thunder. ‘Oh,

threefold shame, Master Helstrop! Are you not content with bolstering

up rebels, but you must go out of your way to slander the King’s troops?

What is this world coming to? What, in a word, is the defence of these

rogues?’

‘An alibi, your Lordship.’

‘Ha! The common plea of every scoundrel. Have they witnesses?’

‘We have here a list of forty witnesses, your Lordship. They are waiting

below, many of them having come great distances, and with much toil and

trouble.’

‘Who are they? What are they?’ cried Jeffreys.

‘They are country folk, your Lordship. Cottagers and farmers, the

neighbours of these poor men, who knew them well, and can speak as to

their doings.’

‘Cottagers and farmers!’ the Judge shouted. ‘Why, then, they are drawn

from the very class from which these men come. Would you have us believe

the oath of those who are themselves Whigs, Presbyterians, Somersetshire

ranters, the pothouse companions of the men whom we are trying? I

warrant they have arranged it all snugly over their beer--snugly,

snugly, the rogues!’

‘Will you not hear the witnesses, your Lordship?’ cried our counsel,

shamed into some little sense of manhood by this outrage.

‘Not a word from them, sirrah,’ said Jeffreys. ‘It is a question whether

my duty towards my kind master the King--write down “kind master,”

clerk--doth not warrant me in placing all your witnesses in the dock as

the aiders and abettors of treason.’

‘If it please your Lordship,’ cried one of the prisoners, ‘I have for

witnesses Mr. Johnson, of Nether Stowey, who is a good Tory, and also

Mr. Shepperton, the clergyman.’

‘The more shame to them to appear in such a cause,’ replied Jeffreys.

‘What are we to say, gentlemen of the jury, when we see county gentry

and the clergy of the Established Church supporting treason and

rebellion in this fashion? Surely the last days are at hand! You are a

most malignant and dangerous Whig to have so far drawn them from their

duty.’

‘But hear me, my Lord!’ cried one of the prisoners.

‘Hear you, you bellowing calf!’ shouted the Judge. ‘We can hear naught

else. Do you think that you are back in your conventicle, that you

should dare to raise your voice in such a fashion? Hear you, quotha! We

shall hear you at the end of a rope, ere many days.’

‘We scarce think, your Lordship,’ said one of the Crown lawyers,

springing to his feet amid a great rustling of papers, ‘we scarce think

that it is necessary for the Crown to state any case. We have already

heard the whole tale of this most damnable and execrable attempt many

times over. The men in the dock before your Lordship have for the most

part confessed to their guilt, and of those who hold out there is not

one who has given us any reason to believe that he is innocent of

the foul crime laid to his charge. The gentlemen of the long robe are

therefore unanimously of opinion that the jury may at once be required

to pronounce a single verdict upon the whole of the prisoners.’

‘Which is--?’ asked Jeffreys, glancing round at the foreman--

‘Guilty, your Lordship,’ said he, with a grin, while his brother jurymen

nodded their heads and laughed to one another.

‘Of course, of course! guilty as Judas Iscariot!’ cried the Judge,

looking down with exultant eyes at the throng of peasants and burghers

before him. ‘Move them a little forwards, ushers, that I may see them

to more advantage. Oh, ye cunning ones! Are ye not taken? Are ye not

compassed around? Where now can ye fly? Do ye not see hell opening

at your feet? Eh? Are ye not afraid? Oh, short, short shall be your

shrift!’ The very devil seemed to be in the man, for as he spoke he

writhed with unholy laughter, and drummed his hand upon the red cushion

in front of him. I glanced round at my companions, but their faces were

all as though they had been chiselled out of marble. If he had hoped to

see a moist eye or a quivering lip, the satisfaction was denied him.

‘Had I my way,’ said he, ‘there is not one of ye but should swing for

it. Aye, and if I had my way, some of those whose stomachs are too nice

for this work, and who profess to serve the King with their lips while

they intercede for his worst enemies, should themselves have cause to

remember Taunton assizes. Oh, most ungrateful rebels! Have ye not

heard how your most soft-hearted and compassionate monarch, the best of

men--put it down in the record, clerk--on the intercession of that great

and charitable statesman, Lord Sunderland--mark it down, clerk--hath

had pity on ye? Hath it not melted ye? Hath it not made ye loathe

yourselves? I declare, when I think of it’--here, with a sudden catching

of the breath, he burst out a-sobbing, the tears running down his

cheeks--‘when I think of it, the Christian forbearance, the ineffable

mercy, it doth bring forcibly to my mind that great Judge before whom

all of us--even I--shall one day have to render an account. Shall I

repeat it, clerk, or have you it down?’

‘I have it down, your Lordship.’

‘Then write “sobs” in the margin. ‘Tis well that the King should

know our opinion on such matters. Know, then, you most traitorous and

unnatural rebels, that this good father whom ye have spurned has stepped

in between yourselves and the laws which ye have offended. At his

command we withhold from ye the chastisement which ye have merited.

If ye can indeed pray, and if your soul-cursing conventicles have not

driven all grace out of ye, drop on your knees and offer up thanks when

I tell ye that he hath ordained that ye shall all have a free pardon.’

Here the Judge rose from his seat as though about to descend from the

tribunal, and we gazed upon each other in the utmost astonishment at

this most unlooked-for end to the trial. The soldiers and lawyers were

equally amazed, while a hum of joy and applause rose up from the few

country folk who had dared to venture within the accursed precincts.

‘This pardon, however,’ continued Jeffreys, turning round with a

malicious smile upon his face, ‘is coupled with certain conditions and

limitations. Ye shall all be removed from here to Poole, in chains,

where ye shall find a vessel awaiting ye. With others ye shall be stowed

away in the hold of the said vessel, and conveyed at the King’s expense

to the Plantations, there to be sold as slaves. God send ye masters who

will know by the free use of wood and leather to soften your stubborn

thoughts and incline your mind to better things.’ He was again about to

withdraw, when one of the Crown lawyers whispered something across to

him.

‘Well thought of, coz,’ cried the Judge. ‘I had forgot. Bring back the

prisoners, ushers! Perhaps ye think that by the Plantations I mean his

Majesty’s American dominions. Unhappily, there are too many of your

breed in that part already. Ye would fall among friends who might

strengthen ye in your evil courses, and so risk your salvation. To send

ye there would be to add one brand to another and yet hope to put

out the fire. By the Plantations, therefore, I mean Barbadoes and the

Indies, where ye shall live with the other slaves, whose skins may be

blacker than yours, but I dare warrant that their souls are more white.’

With this concluding speech the trial ended, and we were led back

through the crowded streets to the prison from which we had been

brought. On either side of the street, as we passed, we could see

the limbs of former companions dangling in the wind, and their heads

grinning at us from the tops of poles and pikes. No savage country in

the heart of heathen Africa could have presented a more dreadful sight

than did the old English town of Taunton when Jeffreys and Kirke had

the ordering of it. There was death in the air, and the townsfolk crept

silently about, scarcely daring to wear black for those whom they had

loved and lost, lest it should be twisted into an act of treason.

We were scarce back in the wool-house once more when a file of

guards with a sergeant entered, escorting a long, pale-faced man with

protruding teeth, whose bright blue coat and white silk breeches,

gold-headed sword, and glancing shoe-buckles, proclaimed him to be one

of those London exquisites whom interest or curiosity had brought down

to the scene of the rebellion. He tripped along upon his tiptoes like a

French dancing-master, waving his scented kerchief in front of his

thin high nose, and inhaling aromatic salts from a blue phial which he

carried in his left hand.

‘By the Lard!’ he cried, ‘but the stench of these filthy wretches is

enough to stap one’s breath. It is, by the Lard! Smite my vitals if

I would venture among them if I were not a very rake hell. Is there a

danger of prison fever, sergeant? Heh?’

‘They are all sound as roaches, your honour,’ said the under-officer,

touching his cap.

‘Heh, heh!’ cried the exquisite, with a shrill treble laugh. ‘It is

not often ye have a visit from a person of quality, I’ll warrant. It

is business, sergeant, business! “Auri sacra fames”--you remember what

Virgilius Maro says, sergeant?’

‘Never heard the gentleman speak, sir--at least not to my knowledge,

sir,’ said the sergeant.

‘Heh, heh! Never heard him speak, heh? That will do for Slaughter’s,

sergeant. That will set them all in a titter at Slaughter’s. Pink my

soul! but when I venture on a story the folk complain that they can’t

get served, for the drawers laugh until there is no work to be got out

of them. Oh, lay me bleeding, but these are a filthy and most ungodly

crew! Let the musqueteers stand close, sergeant, lest they fly at me.’

‘We shall see to that, your honour.’

‘I have a grant of a dozen of them, and Captain Pogram hath offered me

twelve pounds a head. But they must be brawny rogues--strong and brawny,

for the voyage kills many, sergeant, and the climate doth also tell upon

them. Now here is one whom I must have. Yes, in very truth he is a

young man, and hath much life in him and much strength. Tick him off,

sergeant, tick him off!’

‘His name is Clarke,’ said the soldier. ‘I have marked him down.’

‘If this is the clerk I would I had a parson to match him,’ cried the

fop, sniffing at his bottle. ‘Do you see the pleasantry, sergeant. Heh,

heh! Does your sluggish mind rise to the occasion? Strike me purple, but

I am in excellent fettle! There is yonder man with the brown face, you

can mark him down. And the young man beside him, also. Tick him off. Ha,

he waves his hand towards me! Stand firm, sergeant! Where are my salts?

What is it, man, what is it?’

‘If it plaize your han’r,’ said the young peasant, ‘if so be as you

have chose me to be of a pairty, I trust that you will allow my vaither

yander to go with us also.’

‘Pshaw, pshaw!’ cried the fop, ‘you are beyond reason, you are indeed!

Who ever heard of such a thing? Honour forbids it! How could I foist

an old man upon mine honest friend, Captain Pogram. Fie, fie! Split

me asunder if he would not say that I had choused him! There is yonder

lusty fellow with the red head, sergeant! The blacks will think he is

a-fire. Those, and these six stout yokels, will make up my dozen.’

‘You have indeed the pick of them,’ said the sergeant.

‘Aye, sink me, but I have a quick eye for horse, man, or woman! I’ll

pick the best of a batch with most. Twelve twelves, close on a hundred

and fifty pieces, sergeant, and all for a few words, my friend, all for

a few words. I did but send my wife, a demmed handsome woman, mark you,

and dresses in the mode, to my good friend the secretary to ask for some

rebels. “How many?” says he. “A dozen will do,” says she. It was all

done in a penstroke. What a cursed fool she was not to have asked for a

hundred! But what is this, sergeant, what is this?’

A small, brisk, pippin-faced fellow in a riding-coat and high boots had

come clanking into the wool-house with much assurance and authority,

with a great old-fashioned sword trailing behind him, and a riding-whip

switching in his hand.

‘Morning, sergeant!’ said he, in a loud, overbearing voice. ‘You may

have heard my name? I am Master John Wooton, of Langmere House, near

Dulverton, who bestirred himself so for the King, and hath been termed

by Mr. Godolphin, in the House of Commons, one of the local pillars of

the State. Those were his words. Fine, were they not? Pillars, mark ye,

the conceit being that the State was, as it were, a palace or a temple,

and the loyal men so many pillars, amongst whom I also was one. I am a

local pillar. I have received a Royal permit, sergeant, to choose from

amongst your prisoners ten sturdy rogues whom I may sell as a reward

to me for my exertions. Draw them up, therefore, that I may make my

choice!’

‘Then, sir, we are upon the same errand,’ quoth the Londoner, bowing

with his hand over his heart, until his sword seemed to point straight

up to the ceiling. ‘The Honourable George Dawnish, at your service! Your

very humble and devoted servant, sir! Yours to command in any or

all ways. It is a real joy and privilege to me, sir, to make your

distinguished acquaintance. Hem!’

The country squire appeared to be somewhat taken aback at this shower

of London compliments. ‘Ahem, sir! Yes, sir!’ said he, bobbing his head.

‘Glad to see you, sir! Most damnably so! But these men, sergeant? Time

presses, for to-morrow is Shepton market, and I would fain see my old

twenty-score boar once more before he is sold. There is a beefy one.

I’ll have him.’

‘Ged, I’ve forestalled you,’ cried the courtier. ‘Sink me, but it gives

me real pain. He is mine.’

‘Then this,’ said the other, pointing with his whip.

‘He is mine, too. Heh, heh, heh! Strike me stiff, but this is too

funny!’

‘Od’s wounds! How many are yours!’ cried the Dulverton squire.

‘A dozen. Heh, heh! A round dozen. All those who stand upon this side.

Pink me, but I have got the best of you there! The early bird--you know

the old saw!’

‘It is a disgrace,’ the squire cried hotly. ‘A shame and a disgrace. We

must needs fight for the King and risk our skins, and then when all is

done, down come a drove of lacqueys in waiting, and snap up the pickings

before their betters are served.’

‘Lacqueys in waiting, sir!’ shrieked the exquisite. ‘S’death, sir! This

toucheth mine honour very nearly! I have seen blood flow, yes, sir, and

wounds gape on less provocation. Retract, sir, retract!’

‘Away, you clothes-pole!’ cried the other contemptuously. ‘You are come

like the other birds of carrion when the fight is o’er. Have you been

named in full Parliament? Are you a local pillar? Away, away, you

tailor’s dummy!’

‘You insolent clodhopper!’ cried the fop. ‘You most foul-mouthed

bumpkin! The only local pillar that you have ever deserved to make

acquaintance with is the whipping-post. Ha, sergeant, he lays his

hand upon his sword! Stop him, sergeant, stop him, or I may do him an

injury.’

‘Nay, gentlemen,’ cried the under officer. ‘This quarrel must not

continue here. We must have no brawling within the prison. Yet there is

a level turf without, and as fine elbow-room as a gentleman could wish

for a breather.’

This proposal did not appear to commend itself to either of the angry

gentlemen, who proceeded to exchange the length of their swords, and to

promise that each should hear from the other before sunset. Our owner,

as I may call him, the fop, took his departure at last, and the country

squire having chosen the next ton swaggered off, cursing the courtiers,

the Londoners, the sergeant, the prisoners, and above all, the

ingratitude of the Government which had made him so small a return

for his exertions. This was but the first of many such scenes, for the

Government, in endeavouring to satisfy the claims of its supporters, had

promised many more than there were prisoners. I am grieved to say that

I have seen not only men, but even my own countrywomen, and ladies of

title to boot, wringing their hands and bewailing themselves because

they were unable to get any of the poor Somersetshire folk to sell as

slaves. Indeed, it was only with difficulty that they could be made

to see that their claim upon Government did not give them the right of

seizing any burgher or peasant who might come in their way, and shipping

him right off for the Plantations.

Well, my dear grandchildren, from night to night through this long and

weary winter I have taken you back with me into the past, and made you

see scenes the players in which are all beneath the turf, save

that perhaps here and there some greybeard like myself may have a

recollection of them. I understand that you, Joseph, have every morning

set down upon paper that which I have narrated the night before. It is

as well that you should do so, for your own children and your children’s

children may find it of interest, and even perhaps take a pride in

hearing that their ancestors played a part in such scenes. But now

the spring is coming, and the green is bare of snow, so that there are

better things for you to do than to sit listening to the stories of

a garrulous old man. Nay, nay, you shake your heads, but indeed those

young limbs want exercising and strengthening and knitting together,

which can never come from sitting toasting round the blaze. Besides, my

story draws quickly to an end now, for I had never intended to tell you

more than the events connected with the Western rising. If the closing

part hath been of the dreariest, and if all doth not wind up with

the ringing of bells and the joining of hands, like the tales in the

chap-books, you must blame history and not me. For Truth is a stern

mistress, and when one hath once started off with her one must follow

on after the jade, though she lead in flat defiance of all the rules and

conditions which would fain turn that tangled wilderness the world into

the trim Dutch garden of the story-tellers.

Three days after our trial we were drawn up in North Street in front

of the Castle with others from the other prisons who were to share our

fate. We were placed four abreast, with a rope connecting each rank,

and of these ranks I counted fifty, which would bring our total to two

hundred. On each side of us rode dragoons, and in front and behind were

companies of musqueteers to prevent any attempt at rescue or escape.

In this order we set off upon the tenth day of September, amidst the

weeping and wailing of the townsfolk, many of whom saw their sons or

brothers marching off into exile without their being able to exchange a

last word or embrace with them. Some of these poor folk, doddering old

men and wrinkled, decrepit women, toiled for miles after us down the

high-road, until the rearguard of foot faced round upon them, and drove

them away with curses and blows from their ramrods.

That day we made our way through Yeovil and Sherborne, and on the morrow

proceeded over the North Downs as far as Blandford, where we were penned

together like cattle and left for the night. On the third day we

resumed our march through Wimbourne and a line of pretty Dorsetshire

villages--the last English villages which most of us were destined to

see for many a long year to come. Late in the afternoon the spars and

rigging of the shipping in Poole Harbour rose up before us, and in

another hour we had descended the steep and craggy path which leads to

the town. Here we were drawn up upon the quay opposite the broad-decked,

heavy-sparred brig which was destined to carry us into slavery. Through

all this march we met with the greatest kindness from the common people,

who flocked out from their cottages with fruit and with milk, which

they divided amongst us. At other places, at, the risk of their lives,

Dissenting ministers came forth and stood by the wayside, blessing us as

we passed, in spite of the rough jeers and oaths of the soldiers.

We were marched aboard and led below by the mate of the vessel, a tall

red-faced seaman with ear-rings in his ears, while the captain stood on

the poop with his legs apart and a pipe in his mouth, checking us off

one by one by means of a list which he held in his hand. As he looked

at the sturdy build and rustic health of the peasants, which even their

long confinement had been unable to break down, his eyes glistened, and

he rubbed his big red hands together with delight.

‘Show them down, Jem!’ he kept shouting to the mate. ‘Stow them safe,

Jem! There’s lodgings for a duchess down there, s’help me, there’s

lodgings for a duchess! Pack ‘em away!’

One by one we passed before the delighted captain, and down the steep

ladder which led into the hold. Here we were led along a narrow passage,

on either side of which opened the stalls which were prepared for us. As

each man came opposite to the one set aside for him he was thrown into

it by the brawny mate, and fastened down with anklets of iron by the

seaman armourer in attendance. It was dark before we were all secured,

but the captain came round with a lanthorn to satisfy himself that all

his property was really safe. I could hear the mate and him reckoning

the value of each prisoner, and counting what he would fetch in the

Barbadoes market.

‘Have you served out their fodder, Jem?’ he asked, flashing his light

into each stall in turn. ‘Have you seen that they had their rations?’

‘A rye bread loaf and a pint o’ water,’ answered the mate.

‘Fit for a duchess, s’help me!’ cried the captain. ‘Look to this one,

Jem. He is a lusty rogue. Look to his great hands. He might work for

years in the rice-swamps ere the land crabs have the picking of him.’

‘Aye, we’ll have smart bidding amid the settlers for this lot. ‘Cod,

captain, but you have made a bargain of it! Od’s bud! you have done

these London fools to some purpose.’

‘What is this?’ roared the captain. ‘Here is one who hath not touched

his allowance. How now, sirrah, art too dainty in the stomach to eat

what your betters have eaten before you?’

‘I have no hairt for food, zur,’ the prisoner answered.

‘What, you must have your whims and fancies! You must pick and you must

choose! I tell you, sirrah, that you are mine, body and soul! Twelve

good pieces I paid for you, and now, forsooth, I am to be told that you

will not eat! Turn to it at this instant, you saucy rogue, or I shall

have you triced to the triangles!’

‘Here is another,’ said the mate, ‘who sits ever with his head sunk upon

his breast without spirit or life.’

‘Mutinous, obstinate dog!’ cried the captain. ‘What ails you then? Why

have you a face like an underwriter in a tempest?’

‘If it plaize you, zur,’ the prisoner answered, ‘Oi do but think o’ m’

ould mother at Wellington, and woonder who will kape her now that Oi’m

gone!’

‘And what is that to me?’ shouted the brutal seaman. ‘How can you arrive

at your journey’s end sound and hearty if you sit like a sick fowl upon

a perch? Laugh, man, and be merry, or I will give you something to weep

for. Out on you, you chicken-hearted swab, to sulk and fret like a babe

new weaned! Have you not all that heart could desire? Give him a touch

with the rope’s-end, Jem, if ever you do observe him fretting. It is but

to spite us that he doth it.’

‘If it please your honour,’ said a seaman, coming hurriedly down from

the deck, ‘there is a stranger upon the poop who will have speech with

your honour.’

‘What manner of man, sirrah?’

‘Surely he is a person of quality, your honour. He is as free wi’ his

words as though he were the captain o’ the ship. The boatswain did but

jog against him, and he swore so woundily at him and stared at him so,

wi’ een like a tiger-cat, that Job Harrison says we have shipped the

devil himsel.’ The men don’t like the look of him, your honour!’

‘Who the plague can this spark be?’ said the skipper. ‘Go on deck, Jem,

and tell him that I am counting my live stock, and that I shall be with

him anon.’

‘Nay, your honour! There will trouble come of it unless you come up. He

swears that he will not bear to be put off, and that he must see you on

the instant.’

‘Curse his blood, whoever he be!’ growled the seaman. ‘Every cock on

his own dunghill. What doth the rogue mean? Were he the Lord High Privy

Seal, I would have him to know that I am lord of my own quarter-deck!’

So saying, with many snorts of indignation, the mate and the captain

withdrew together up the ladder, banging the heavy hatchways down as

they passed through.

A single oil-lamp swinging from a beam in the centre of the gangway

which led between the rows of cells was the only light which was

vouchsafed us. By its yellow, murky glimmer we could dimly see the great

wooden ribs of the vessel, arching up on either side of us, and crossed

by the huge beams which held the deck. A grievous stench from foul bilge

water poisoned the close, heavy air. Every now and then, with a squeak

and a clutter, a rat would dart across the little zone of light and

vanish in the gloom upon the further side. Heavy breathing all round

me showed that my companions, wearied out by their journey and their

sufferings, had dropped into a slumber. From time to time one could hear

the dismal clank of fetters, and the start and incatching of the breath,

as some poor peasant, fresh from dreams of his humble homestead amid the

groves of the Mendips, awoke of a sudden to see the great wooden coffin

around him, and to breathe the venomous air of the prison ship.

I lay long awake full of thought both for myself and for the poor souls

around me. At last, however, the measured swash of the water against

the side of the vessel and the slight rise and fall had lulled me into

a sleep, from which I was suddenly aroused by the flashing of a light

in my eyes. Sitting up, I found several sailors gathered about me, and

a tall man with a black cloak swathed round him swinging a lanthorn over

me.

‘That is the man,’ he said.

‘Come, mate, you are to come on deck!’ said the seaman armourer. With a

few blows from his hammer he knocked the irons from my feet.

‘Follow me!’ said the tall stranger, and led the way up the hatchway

ladder. It was heavenly to come out into the pure air once more. The

stars were shining brightly overhead. A fresh breeze blew from the

shore, and hummed a pleasant tune among the cordage. Close beside us

the lights of the town gleamed yellow and cheery. Beyond, the moon was

peeping over the Bournemouth hills.

‘This way, sir,’ said the sailor, ‘right aft into the cabin, sir.’

Still following my guide, I found myself in the low cabin of the brig.

A square shining table stood in the centre, with a bright swinging

lamp above it. At the further end in the glare of the light sat the

captain--his face shining with greed and expectation. On the table stood

a small pile of gold pieces, a rum-flask, glasses, a tobacco-box, and

two long pipes.

‘My compliments to you, Captain Clarke,’ said the skipper, bobbing his

round bristling head. ‘An honest seaman’s compliments to you. It seems

that we are not to be shipmates this voyage, after all.’

‘Captain Micah Clarke must do a voyage of his own,’ said the stranger.

At the sound of his voice I sprang round in amazement. ‘Good Heavens!’ I

cried, ‘Saxon!’

‘You have nicked it,’ said he, throwing down his mantle and showing the

well-known face and figure of the soldier of fortune. ‘Zounds, man! if

you can pick me out of the Solent, I suppose that I may pick you out of

this accursed rat-trap in which I find you. Tie and tie, as we say at

the green table. In truth, I was huffed with you when last we parted,

but I have had you in my mind for all that.’

‘A seat and a glass, Captain Clarke,’ cried the skipper. ‘Od’s bud! I

should think that you would be glad to raise your little finger and wet

your whistle after what you have gone through.’

I seated myself by the table with my brain in a whirl. ‘This is more

than I can fathom,’ said I. ‘What is the meaning of it, and how comes it

about?’

‘For my own part, the meaning is as clear as the glass of my binnacle,’

quoth the seaman. ‘Your good friend Colonel Saxon, as I understand his

name to be, has offered me as much as I could hope to gain by selling

you in the Indies. Sink it, I may be rough and ready, but my heart is in

the right place! Aye, aye! I would not maroon a man if I could set him

free. But we have all to look for ourselves, and trade is dull.’

‘Then I am free!’ said I.

‘You are free,’ he answered. ‘There is your purchase-money upon the

table. You can go where you will, save only upon the land of England,

where you are still an outlaw under sentence.’

‘How have you done this, Saxon?’ I asked. ‘Are you not afraid for

yourself?’

‘Ho, ho!’ laughed the old soldier. ‘I am a free man, my lad! I hold my

pardon, and care not a maravedi for spy or informer. Who should I meet

but Colonel Kirke a day or so back. Yes, lad! I met him in the street,

and I cocked my hat in his face. The villain laid his hand upon his

hilt, and I should have out bilbo and sent his soul to hell had they not

come between us. I care not the ashes of this pipe for Jeffreys or any

other of them. I can snap this finger and thumb at them, so! They would

rather see Decimus Saxon’s back than his face, I promise ye!’

‘But how comes this about?’ I asked.

‘Why, marry, it is no mystery. Cunning old birds are not to be caught

with chaff. When I left you I made for a certain inn where I could count

upon finding a friend. There I lay by for a while, en cachette, as the

Messieurs call it, while I could work out the plan that was in my head.

Donner wetter! but I got a fright from that old seaman friend of yours,

who should be sold as a picture, for he is of little use as a man. Well,

I bethought me early in the affair of your visit to Badminton, and of

the Duke of B. We shall mention no names, but you can follow my meaning.

To him I sent a messenger, to the effect that I purposed to purchase my

own pardon by letting out all that I knew concerning his double dealing

with the rebels. The message was carried to him secretly, and his

answer was that I should meet him at a certain spot by night. I sent my

messenger instead of myself, and he was found in the morning stiff and

stark, with more holes in his doublet than ever the tailor made. On

this I sent again, raising my demands, and insisting upon a speedy

settlement. He asked my conditions. I replied, a free pardon and a

command for myself. For you, money enough to land you safely in some

foreign country where you can pursue the noble profession of arms. I got

them both, though it was like drawing teeth from his head. His name hath

much power at Court just now, and the King can refuse him nothing. I

have my pardon and a command of troops in New England. For you I have

two hundred pieces, of which thirty have been paid in ransom to the

captain, while twenty are due to me for my disbursements over the

matter. In this bag you will find the odd hundred and fifty, of which

you will pay fifteen to the fishermen who have promised to see you safe

to Flushing.’

I was, as you may readily believe, my dear children, bewildered by this

sudden and most unlooked-for turn which events had taken. When Saxon had

ceased to speak I sat as one stunned, trying to realise what he had said

to me. There came a thought into my head, however, which chilled the

glow of hope and of happiness which had sprung up in me at the thought

of recovering my freedom. My presence had been a support and a comfort

to my unhappy companions. Would it not be a cruel thing to leave them in

their distress? There was not one of them who did not look to me in his

trouble, and to the best of my poor power I had befriended and consoled

them. How could I desert them now?

‘I am much beholden to you, Saxon,’ I said at last, speaking slowly and

with some difficulty, for the words were hard to utter. ‘But I fear that

your pains have been thrown away. These poor country folk have none to

look after or assist them. They are as simple as babes, and as little

fitted to be landed in a strange country. I cannot find it in my heart

to leave them!’

Saxon burst out laughing, and leaned back in his seat with his long legs

stretched straight out and his hands in his breeches pockets.

‘This is too much!’ he said at last. ‘I saw many difficulties in my way,

yet I did not foresee this one. You are in very truth the most contrary

man that ever stood in neat’s leather. You have ever some outlandish

reason for jibbing and shying like a hot-blooded, half-broken colt. Yet

I think that I can overcome these strange scruples of yours by a little

persuasion.’

‘As to the prisoners, Captain Clarke,’ said the seaman, ‘I’ll be as good

as a father to them. S’help me, I will, on the word of an honest sailor!

If you should choose to lay out a trifle of twenty pieces upon their

comfort, I shall see that their food is such as mayhap many of them

never got at their own tables. They shall come on deck, too, in watches,

and have an hour or two o’ fresh air in the day. I can’t say fairer!’

‘A word or two with you on deck!’ said Saxon. He walked out of the cabin

and I followed him to the far end of the poop, where we stood leaning

against the bulwarks. One by one the lights had gone out in the town,

until the black ocean beat against a blacker shore.

‘You need not have any fear of the future of the prisoners,’ he said,

in a low whisper. ‘They are not bound for the Barbadoes, nor will this

skinflint of a captain have the selling of them, for all that he is so

cocksure. If he can bring his own skin out of the business, it will be

more than I expect. He hath a man aboard his ship who would think no

more of giving him a tilt over the side than I should.’

‘What mean you, Saxon?’ I cried.

‘Hast ever heard of a man named Marot?’

‘Hector Marot! Yes, surely I knew him well. A highwayman he was, but a

mighty stout man with a kind heart beneath a thief’s jacket.’

‘The same. He is as you say a stout man and a resolute swordsman, though

from what I have seen of his play he is weak in stoccado, and perhaps

somewhat too much attached to the edge, and doth not give prominence

enough to the point, in which respect he neglects the advice and

teaching of the most noteworthy fencers in Europe. Well, well, folk

differ on this as on every other subject! Yet it seems to me that I

would sooner be carried off the field after using my weapon secundum

artem, than walk off unscathed after breaking the laws d’escrime.

Quarte, tierce, and saccoon, say I, and the devil take your estramacons

and passados!’

‘But what of Marot?’ I asked impatiently.

‘He is aboard,’ said Saxon. ‘It appears that he was much disturbed in

his mind over the cruelties which were inflicted on the country folk

after the battle at Bridgewater. Being a man of a somewhat stern and

fierce turn of mind, his disapproval did vent itself in actions rather

than words. Soldiers were found here and there over the countryside

pistolled or stabbed, and no trace left of their assailant. A dozen or

more were cut off in this way, and soon it came to be whispered about

that Marot the highwayman was the man that did it, and the chase became

hot at his heels.’

‘Well, and what then?’ I asked, for Saxon had stopped to light his pipe

at the same old metal tinder-box which he had used when first I met

him. When I picture Saxon to myself it is usually of that moment that I

think, when the red glow beat upon his hard, eager, hawk-like face, and

showed up the thousand little seams and wrinkles which time and care had

imprinted upon his brown, weather-beaten skin. Sometimes in my dreams

that face in the darkness comes back to me, and his half-closed eyelids

and shifting, blinky eyes are turned towards me in his sidelong fashion,

until I find myself sitting up and holding out my hand into empty space,

half expecting to feel another thin sinewy hand close round it. A bad

man he was in many ways, my dears, cunning and wily, with little scruple

or conscience; and yet so strange a thing is human nature, and so

difficult is it for us to control our feelings, that my heart warms when

I think of him, and that fifty years have increased rather than weakened

the kindliness which I hear to him.

‘I had heard,’ quoth he, puffing slowly at his pipe, ‘that Marot was a

man of this kidney, and also that he was so compassed round that he was

in peril of capture. I sought him out, therefore, and held council with

him. His mare, it seems, had been slain by some chance shot, and as he

was much attached to the brute, the accident made him more savage and

more dangerous than ever. He had no heart, he said, to continue in his

old trade. Indeed, he was ripe for anything--the very stuff out of which

useful tools are made. I found that in his youth he had had a training

for the sea. When I heard that, I saw my way in the snap of a petronel.’

‘What then?’ I asked. ‘I am still in the dark.’

‘Nay, it is surely plain enough to you now. Marot’s end was to baffle

his pursuers and to benefit the exiles. How could he do this better than

by engaging as a seaman aboard this brig, the _Dorothy Fox_, and sailing

away from England in her? There are but thirty of a crew. Below hatches

are close on two hundred men, who, simple as they may be, are, as you

and I know, second to none in the cut-and-thrust work, without order or

discipline, which will be needed in such an affair. Marot has but to go

down amongst them some dark night, knock off their anklets, and fit them

up with a few stanchions or cudgels. Ho, ho, Micah! what think you? The

planters may dig their plantations themselves for all the help they are

like to get from West countrymen this bout.’

‘It is, indeed, a well-conceived plan,’ said I. ‘It is a pity, Saxon,

that your ready wit and quick invention hath not had a fair field. You

are, us I know well, as fit to command armies and to order campaigns as

any man that ever bore a truncheon.’

‘Mark ye there!’ whispered Saxon, grasping me by the arm. ‘See where

the moonlight falls beside the hatchway! Do you not see that short squat

seaman who stands alone, lost in thought, with his head sunk upon his

breast? It is Marot! I tell you that if I were Captain Pogram I would

rather have the devil himself, horns, hoofs, and tail, for my first

mate and bunk companion, than have that man aboard my ship. You need not

concern yourself about the prisoners, Micah. Their future is decided.’

‘Then, Saxon,’ I answered, ‘it only remains for me to thank you, and to

accept the means of safety which you have placed within my reach.’

‘Spoken like a man,’ said he; ‘is there aught which I may do for thee in

England? though, by the Mass, I may not be here very long myself, for,

as I understand, I am to be entrusted with the command of an expedition

that is fitting out against the Indians, who have ravaged the

plantations of our settlers. It will be good to get to some profitable

employment, for such a war, without either fighting or plunder, I have

never seen. I give you my word that I have scarce fingered silver since

the beginning of it. I would not for the sacking of London go through

with it again.’

‘There is a friend whom Sir Gervas Jerome did commend to my care,’ I

remarked; ‘I have, however, already taken measures to have his wishes

carried out. There is naught else save to assure all in Havant that a

King who hath battened upon his subjects, as this one of ours hath done,

is not one who is like to keep his seat very long upon the throne of

England. When he falls I shall return, and perhaps it may be sooner than

folk think.’

‘These doings in the West have indeed stirred up much ill-feeling all

over the country,’ said my companion. ‘On all hands I hear that there is

more hatred of the King and of his ministers than before the outbreak.

What ho, Captain Pogram, this way! We have settled the matter, and my

friend is willing to go.’

‘I thought he would tack round,’ the captain said, staggering towards us

with a gait which showed that he had made the rum bottle his companion

since we had left him. ‘S’help me, I was sure of it! Though, by the

Mass, I don’t wonder that he thought twice before leaving the _Dorothy

Fox_, for she is fitted up fit for a duchess, s’help me! Where is your

boat?’

‘Alongside,’ replied Saxon; ‘my friend joins with me in hoping that you,

Captain Pogram, will have a pleasant and profitable voyage.’

‘I am cursedly beholden to him,’ said the captain, with a flourish of

his three-cornered hat.

‘Also that you will reach Barbadoes in safety.’

‘Little doubt of that!’ quoth the captain.

‘And that you will dispose of your wares in a manner which will repay

you for your charity and humanity.’

‘Nay, these are handsome words,’ cried the captain. ‘Sir, I am your

debtor.’

A fishing-boat was lying alongside the brig. By the murky light of the

poop lanterns I could see the figures upon her deck, and the great brown

sail all ready for hoisting. I climbed the bulwark and set my foot upon

the rope-ladder which led down to her.

‘Good-bye, Decimus!’ said I.

‘Good-bye, my lad! You have your pieces all safe?’

‘I have them.’

‘Then I have one other present to make you. It was brought to me by a

sergeant of the Royal Horse. It is that, Micah, on which you must now

depend for food, lodging, raiment, and all which you would have. It

is that to which a brave man can always look for his living. It is the

knife wherewith you can open the world’s oyster. See, lad, it is your

sword!’

‘The old sword! My father’s sword!’ I cried in delight, as Saxon drew

from under his mantle and handed to me the discoloured, old-fashioned

leathern sheath with the heavy brass hilt which I knew so well.

‘You are now,’ said he, ‘one of the old and honourable guild of soldiers

of fortune. While the Turk is still snarling at the gates of Vienna

there will ever be work for strong arms and brave hearts. You will find

that among these wandering, fighting men, drawn from all climes and

nations, the name of Englishman stands high. Well I know that it will

stand none the lower for your having joined the brotherhood. I would

that I could come with you, but I am promised pay and position which it

would be ill to set aside. Farewell, lad, and may fortune go with you!’

I pressed the rough soldier’s horny hand, and descended into the

fishing-boat. The rope that held us was cast off, the sail mounted up,

and the boat shot out across the bay. Onward she went and on, through

the gathering gloom--a gloom as dark and impenetrable as the future

towards which my life’s bark was driving. Soon the long rise and fall

told us that we were over the harbour bar and out in the open channel.

On the land, scattered twinkling lights at long stretches marked the

line of the coast. As I gazed backwards a cloud trailed off from the

moon, and I saw the hard lines of the brig’s rigging stand out against

the white cold disk. By the shrouds stood the veteran, holding to a

rope with one hand, and waving the other in farewell and encouragement.

Another groat cloud blurred out the light, and that lean sinewy figure

with its long extended arm was the last which I saw for a weary time of

the dear country where I was born and bred.