Bab Bab 15 · Of our Brush with the King’s Dragoons

Some little distance from us a branch road ran into that along which we

and our motley assemblage of companions-in-arms were travelling. This

road curved down the side of a well-wooded hill, and then over the level

for a quarter of a mile or so before opening on the other. Just at the

brow of the rising ground there stood a thick bristle of trees, amid the

trunks of which there came and went a bright shimmer of sparkling steel,

which proclaimed the presence of armed men. Farther back, where the road

took a sudden turn and ran along the ridge of the hill, several horsemen

could be plainly seen outlined against the evening sky. So peaceful,

however, was the long sweep of countryside, mellowed by the golden light

of the setting sun, with a score of village steeples and manor-houses

peeping out from amongst the woods, that it was hard to think that the

thundercloud of war was really lowering over that fair valley, and that

at any instant the lightning might break from it.

The country folk, however, appeared to have no difficulty at all in

understanding the danger to which they were exposed. The fugitives from

the West gave a yell of consternation, and ran wildly down the road or

whipped up their beasts of burden in the endeavour to place as safe a

distance as possible between themselves and the threatened attack. The

chorus of shrill cries and shouts, with the cracking of whips, creaking

of wheels, and the occasional crash when some cart load of goods came to

grief, made up a most deafening uproar, above which our leader’s voice

resounded in sharp, eager exhortation and command. When, however, the

loud brazen shriek from a bugle broke from the wood, and the head of

a troop of horse began to descend the slope, the panic became greater

still, and it was difficult for us to preserve any order at all amidst

the wild rush of the terrified fugitives.

‘Stop that cart, Clarke,’ cried Saxon vehemently, pointing with his

sword to an old waggon, piled high with furniture and bedding, which was

lumbering along drawn by two raw-boned colts. At the same moment I saw

him drive his horse into the crowd and catch at the reins of another

similar one.

Giving Covenant’s bridle a shake I was soon abreast of the cart which

he had indicated, and managed to bring the furious young horses to a

stand-still.

‘Bring it up!’ cried our leader, working with the coolness which only a

long apprenticeship to war can give. ‘Now, friends, cut the traces!’

A dozen knives were at work in a moment, and the kicking, struggling

animals scampered off, leaving their burdens behind them. Saxon sprang

off his horse and set the example in dragging the waggon across the

roadway, while some of the peasants, under the direction of Reuben

Lockarby and of Master Joshua Pettigrue, arranged a couple of other

carts to block the way fifty yards further down. The latter precaution

was to guard against the chance of the royal horse riding through

the fields and attacking us from behind. So speedily was the scheme

conceived and carried out, that within a very few minutes of the first

alarm we found ourselves protected front and rear by a lofty barricade,

while within this improvised fortress was a garrison of a hundred and

fifty men.

‘What firearms have we amongst us?’ asked Saxon hurriedly.

‘A dozen pistols at the most,’ replied the elderly Puritan, who was

addressed by his companions as Hope-above Williams. ‘John Rodway,

the coachman, hath his blunderbuss. There are also two godly men from

Hungerford, who are keepers of game, and who have brought their pieces

with them.’

‘They are here, sir,’ cried another, pointing to two stout, bearded

fellows, who were ramming charges into their long-barrelled muskets.

‘Their names are Wat and Nat Millman.’

‘Two who can hit their mark are worth a battalion who shoot wide,’ our

leader remarked, ‘Get under the waggon, my friends, and rest your pieces

upon the spokes. Never draw trigger until the sons of Belial are within

three pikes’ length of ye.’

‘My brother and I,’ quoth one of them, ‘can hit a running doe at two

hundred paces. Our lives are in the hands of the Lord, but two, at

least, of these hired butchers we shall send before us.’

‘As gladly as ever we slew stoat or wild-cat,’ cried the other, slipping

under the waggon. ‘We are keeping the Lord’s preserves now, brother Wat,

and truly these are some of the vermin that infest them.’

‘Let all who have pistols line the waggon,’ said Saxon, tying his mare

to the hedge--an example which we all followed. ‘Clarke, do you take

charge upon the right with Sir Gervas, while Lockarby assists Master

Pettigrue upon the left. Ye others shall stand behind with stones.

Should they break through our barricades, slash at the horses with your

scythes. Once down, the riders are no match for ye.’

A low sullen murmur of determined resolution rose from the peasants,

mingled with pious ejaculations and little scraps of hymn or of prayer.

They had all produced from under their smocks rustic weapons of some

sort. Ten or twelve had petronels, which, from their antique look and

rusty condition, threatened to be more dangerous to their possessors

than to the enemy. Others had sickles, scythe-blades, flails,

half-pikes, or hammers, while the remainder carried long knives and

oaken clubs. Simple as were these weapons, history has proved that in

the hands of men who are deeply stirred by religious fanaticism they are

by no means to be despised. One had but to look at the stern, set faces

of our followers, and the gleam of exultation and expectancy which shone

from their eyes, to see that they were not the men to quail, either from

superior numbers or equipment.

‘By the Mass!’ whispered Sir Gervas, ‘it is magnificent! An hour of this

is worth a year in the Mall. The old Puritan bull is fairly at bay. Let

us see what sort of sport the bull-pups make in the baiting of him! I’ll

lay five pieces to four on the chaw-bacons!’

‘Nay, it’s no matter for idle betting,’ said I shortly, for his

light-hearted chatter annoyed me at so solemn a moment.

‘Five to four on the soldiers, then!’ he persisted. ‘It is too good a

match not to have a stake on it one way or the other.’

‘Our lives are the stake,’ said I.

‘Faith, I had forgot it!’ he replied, still mumbling his toothpick. ‘“To

be or not to be?” as Will of Stratford says. Kynaston was great on the

passage. But here is the bell that rings the curtain up.’

Whilst we had been making our dispositions the troop of horse--for there

appeared to be but one--had trotted down the cross-road, and had drawn

up across the main highway. They numbered, as far as I could judge,

about ninety troopers, and it was evident from their three-cornered

hats, steel plates, red sleeves, and bandoliers, that they were dragoons

of the regular army. The main body halted a quarter of a mile from us,

while three officers rode to the front and held a short consultation,

which ended in one of them setting spurs to his horse and cantering down

in our direction. A bugler followed a few paces behind him, waving a

white kerchief and blowing an occasional blast upon his trumpet.

‘Here comes an envoy,’ cried Saxon, who was standing up in the waggon.

‘Now, my brethren, we have neither kettle-drum nor tinkling brass, but

we have the instrument wherewith Providence hath endowed us. Let us show

the redcoats that we know how to use it.

“Who then dreads the violent,

Or fears the man of pride?

Or shall I flee from two or three

If He be by my side?”’

Seven score voices broke in, in a hoarse roar, upon the chorus--

‘Who then fears to draw the sword,

And fight the battle of the Lord?’

I could well believe at that moment that the Spartans had found the lame

singer Tyrtaeus the most successful of their generals, for the sound of

their own voices increased the confidence of the country folk, while the

martial words of the old hymn roused the dogged spirit in their breasts.

So high did their courage run that they broke off their song with a

loud warlike shout, waving their weapons above their heads, and ready I

verily believe to march out from their barricades and make straight for

the horsemen. In the midst of this clamour and turmoil the young dragoon

officer, a handsome, olive-faced lad, rode fearlessly up to the barrier,

and pulling up his beautiful roan steed, held up his hand with an

imperious gesture which demanded silence.

‘Who is the leader of this conventicle?’ he asked.

‘Address your message to me, sir,’ said our leader from the top of

the waggon, ‘but understand that your white flag will only protect you

whilst you use such language as may come from one courteous adversary to

another. Say your say or retire.’

‘Courtesy and honour,’ said the officer, with a sneer, ‘are not extended

to rebels who are in arms against their lawful sovereign. If you are the

leader of this rabble, I warn you if they are not dispersed within five

minutes by this watch’--he pulled out an elegant gold time-piece--‘we

shall ride down upon them and cut them to pieces.’

‘The Lord can protect His own,’ Saxon answered, amid a fierce hum of

approval from the crowd. ‘Is this all thy message?’

‘It is all, and you will find it enough, you Presbyterian traitor,’

cried the dragoon cornet. ‘Listen to me, misguided fools,’ he continued,

standing up upon his stirrups and speaking to the peasants at the

other side of the waggon. ‘What chance have ye with your whittles and

cheese-scrapers? Ye may yet save your skins if ye will but deliver up

your leaders, throw down what ye are pleased to call your arms, and

trust to the King’s mercy.’

‘This exceedeth the limitations of your privileges,’ said Saxon, drawing

a pistol from his belt and cocking it. ‘If you say another word to

seduce these people from their allegiance, I fire.’

‘Hope not to benefit Monmouth,’ cried the young officer, disregarding

the threat, and still addressing his words to the peasants. ‘The whole

royal army is drawing round him and--’

‘Have a care!’ shouted our leader, in a deep harsh voice.

‘His head within a month shall roll upon the scaffold.’

‘But you shall never live to see it,’ said Saxon, and stooping over

he fired straight at the cornet’s head. At the flash of the pistol the

trumpeter wheeled round and galloped for his life, while the roan horse

turned and followed with its master still seated firmly in the saddle.

‘Verily you have missed the Midianite!’ cried Hope-above Williams.

‘He is dead,’ said our leader, pouring a fresh charge into his pistol.

‘It is the law of war, Clarke,’ he added, looking round at me. ‘He hath

chosen to break it, and must pay forfeit.’

As he spoke I saw the young officer lean gradually over in his saddle,

until, when about half-way back to his friends, he lost his balance and

fell heavily in the roadway, turning over two or three times with

the force of his fall, and lying at last still and motionless, a

dust-coloured heap. A loud yell of rage broke from the troopers at

the sight, which was answered by a shout of defiance from the Puritan

peasantry.

‘Down on your faces!’ cried Saxon; ‘they are about to fire.’

The crackle of musketry and a storm of bullets, pinging on the hard

ground, or cutting twigs from the hedges on either side of us, lent

emphasis to our leader’s order. Many of the peasants crouched behind the

feather beds and tables which had been pulled out of the cart. Some lay

in the waggon itself, and some sheltered themselves behind or underneath

it. Others again lined the ditches on either side or lay flat upon the

roadway, while a few showed their belief in the workings of Providence

by standing upright without flinching from the bullets. Amongst these

latter were Saxon and Sir Gervas, the former to set an example to his

raw troops, and the latter out of pure laziness and indifference.

Reuben and I sat together in the ditch, and I can assure you, my dear

grandchildren, that we felt very much inclined to bob our heads when we

heard the bullets piping all around them. If any soldier ever told you

that he did not the first time that he was under fire, then that soldier

is not a man to trust. After sitting rigid and silent, however, as if

we had both stiff necks, for a very few minutes, the feeling passed

completely away, and from that day to this it has never returned to me.

You see familiarity breeds contempt with bullets as with other things,

and though it is no easy matter to come to like them, like the King of

Sweden or my Lord Cutts, it is not so very hard to become indifferent to

them.

The cornet’s death did not remain long unavenged. A little old man with

a sickle, who had been standing near Sir Gervas, gave a sudden sharp

cry, and springing up into the air with a loud ‘Glory to God!’ fell flat

upon his face dead. A bullet had struck him just over the right eye.

Almost at the same moment one of the peasants in the waggon was shot

through the chest, and sat up coughing blood all over the wheel. I saw

Master Joshua Pettigrue catch him in his long arms, and settle some

bedding under his head, so that he lay breathing heavily and pattering

forth prayers. The minister showed himself a man that day, for amid the

fierce carbine fire he walked boldly up and down, with a drawn rapier in

his left hand--for he was a left-handed man--and his Bible in the other.

‘This is what you are dying for, dear brothers,’ he cried continually,

holding the brown volume up in the air; ‘are ye not ready to die for

this?’ And every time he asked the question a low eager murmur of assent

rose from the ditches, the waggon, and the road.

‘They aim like yokels at a Wappenschaw,’ said Saxon, seating himself

on the side of the waggon. ‘Like all young soldiers they fire too high.

When I was an adjutant it was my custom to press down the barrels of the

muskets until my eye told me that they were level. These rogues think

that they have done their part if they do but let the gun off, though

they are as like to hit the plovers above us as ourselves.’

‘Five of the faithful have fallen,’ said Hope-above Williams. ‘Shall we

not sally forth and do battle with the children of Antichrist? Are we to

lie here like so many popinjays at a fair for the troopers to practise

upon?’

‘There is a stone barn over yonder on the hill-side,’ I remarked. ‘If

we who have horses, and a few others, were to keep the dragoons in

play, the people might be able to reach it, and so be sheltered from the

fire.’

‘At least let my brother and me have a shot or two back at them,’ cried

one of the marksmen beside the wheel.

To all our entreaties and suggestions, however, our leader only replied

by a shake of the head, and continued to swing his long legs over the

side of the waggon with his eyes fixed intently upon the horsemen, many

of whom had dismounted and were leaning their carbines over the cruppers

of their chargers.

‘This cannot go on, sir,’ said the pastor, in a low earnest voice; ‘two

more men have just been hit.’

‘If fifty more men are hit we must wait until they charge,’ Saxon

answered. ‘What would you do, man? If you leave this shelter you will

be cut off and utterly destroyed. When you have seen as much of war as

I have done, you will learn to put up quietly with what is not to be

avoided. I remember on such another occasion when the rearguard or

nachhut of the Imperial troops was followed by Croats, who were in

the pay of the Grand Turk, I lost half my company before the mercenary

renegades came to close fighting. Ha, my brave boys, they are mounting!

We shall not have to wait long now.’

The dragoons were indeed climbing into their saddles again, and forming

across the road, with the evident intention of charging down upon us.

At the same time about thirty men detached themselves from the main body

and trotted away into the fields upon our right. Saxon growled a hearty

oath under his breath as he observed them.

‘They have some knowledge of warfare after all,’ said he. ‘They mean to

charge us flank and front. Master Joshua, see that your scythesmen

line the quickset hedge upon the right. Stand well up, my brothers, and

flinch not from the horses. You men with the sickles, lie in the ditch

there, and cut at the legs of the brutes. A line of stone throwers

behind that. A heavy stone is as sure as a bullet at close quarters. If

ye would see your wives and children again, make that hedge good against

the horsemen. Now for the front attack. Let the men who carry petronels

come into the waggon. Two of yours, Clarke, and two of yours, Lockarby.

I can spare one also. That makes five. Now here are ten others of a sort

and three muskets. Twenty shots in all. Have you no pistols, Sir Gervas?

‘No, but I can get a pair,’ said our companion, and springing upon his

horse he forced his way through the ditch, past the barrier, and so down

the road in the direction of the dragoons.

The movement was so sudden and so unexpected that there was a dead

silence for a few seconds, which was broken by a general howl of hatred

and execration from the peasants. ‘Shoot upon him! Shoot down the false

Amalekite!’ they shrieked. ‘He hath gone to join his kind! He hath

delivered us up into the hands of the enemy! Judas! Judas!’ As to the

horsemen, who were still forming up for a charge and waiting for the

flanking party to get into position, they sat still and silent, not

knowing what to make of the gaily-dressed cavalier who was speeding

towards them.

We were not left long in doubt, however. He had no sooner reached the

spot where the cornet had fallen than he sprang from his horse and

helped himself to the dead man’s pistols, and to the belt which

contained his powder and ball. Mounting at his leisure, amid a shower of

bullets which puffed up the white dust all around him, he rode onwards

towards the dragoons and discharged one of his pistols at them. Wheeling

round he politely raised his cap, and galloped back to us, none the

worse for his adventure, though a ball had grazed his horse’s fetlock

and another had left a hole in the skirt of his riding-coat. The

peasants raised a shout of jubilation as he rode in, and from that day

forward our friend was permitted to wear his gay trappings and to bear

himself as he would, without being suspected of having mounted the

livery of Satan or of being wanting in zeal for the cause of the saints.

‘They are coming,’ cried Saxon. ‘Let no man draw trigger until he sees

me shoot. If any does, I shall send a bullet through him, though it was

my last shot and the troopers were amongst us.’

As our leader uttered this threat and looked grimly round upon us with

an evident intention of executing it, a shrill blare of a bugle burst

from the horsemen in front of us, and was answered by those upon our

flank. At the signal both bodies set spurs to their horses and dashed

down upon us at the top of their speed. Those in the field were delayed

for a few moments, and thrown into some disorder, by finding that the

ground immediately in front of them was soft and boggy, but having

made their way through it they re-formed upon the other side and rode

gallantly at the hedge. Our own opponents, having a clear course before

them, never slackened for an instant, but came thundering down with a

jingling of harness and a tempest of oaths upon our rude barricades.

Ah, my children! when a man in his age tries to describe such things as

these, and to make others see what he has seen, it is only then that he

understands what a small stock of language a plain man keeps by him for

his ordinary use in the world, and how unfit it is to meet any call

upon it. For though at this very moment I can myself see that white

Somersetshire road, with the wild whirling charge of the horsemen, the

red angry faces of the men, and the gaping nostrils of the horses all

wreathed and framed in clouds of dust, I cannot hope to make it clear

to your young eyes, which never have looked, and, I trust, never shall

look, upon such a scene. When, too, I think of the sound, a mere rattle

and jingle at first, but growing in strength and volume with every step,

until it came upon us with a thunderous rush and roar which gave the

impression of irresistible power, I feel that that too is beyond the

power of my feeble words to express. To inexperienced soldiers like

ourselves it seemed impossible that our frail defence and our feeble

weapons could check for an instant the impetus and weight of the

dragoons. To right and left I saw white set faces, open-eyed and rigid,

unflinching, with a stubbornness which rose less from hope than from

despair. All round rose exclamations and prayers. ‘Lord, save Thy

people!’ ‘Mercy, Lord, mercy!’ ‘Be with us this day!’ ‘Receive our

souls, O merciful Father!’ Saxon lay across the waggon with his eyes

glinting like diamonds and his petronel presented at the full length

of his rigid arm. Following his example we all took aim as steadily as

possible at the first rank of the enemy. Our only hope of safety lay

in making that one discharge so deadly that our opponents should be too

much shaken to continue their attack.

Would the man never fire? They could not be more than ten paces from us.

I could see the buckles of the men’s plates and the powder charges in

their bandoliers. One more stride yet, and at last our leader’s pistol

flashed and we poured in a close volley, supported by a shower of heavy

stones from the sturdy peasants behind. I could hear them splintering

against casque and cuirass like hail upon a casement. The cloud of smoke

veiling for an instant the line of galloping steeds and gallant riders

drifted slowly aside to show a very different scene. A dozen men and

horses were rolling in one wild blood-spurting heap, the unwounded

falling over those whom our balls and stones had brought down.

Struggling, snorting chargers, iron-shod feet, staggering figures rising

and falling, wild, hatless, bewildered men half stunned by a fall, and

not knowing which way to turn--that was the foreground of the picture,

while behind them the remainder of the troop were riding furiously back,

wounded and hale, all driven by the one desire of getting to a place of

safety where they might rally their shattered formation. A great shout

of praise and thanksgiving rose from the delighted peasants, and

surging over the barricade they struck down or secured the few uninjured

troopers who had boon unable or unwilling to join their companions in

their flight. The carbines, swords, and bandoliers were eagerly pounced

upon by the victors, some of whom had served in the militia, and knew

well how to handle the weapons which they had won.

The victory, however, was by no means completed. The flanking squadron

had ridden boldly at the hedge, and a dozen or more had forced their way

through, in spite of the showers of stones and the desperate thrusts of

the pikemen and scythemen. Once amongst the peasants, the long swords

and the armour of the dragoons gave them a great advantage, and though

the sickles brought several of the horses to the ground the soldiers

continued to lay about them freely, and to beat back the fierce but

ill-armed resistance of their opponents. A dragoon sergeant, a man of

great resolution and of prodigious strength, appeared to be the leader

of the party, and encouraged his followers both by word and example.

A stab from a half-pike brought his horse to the ground, but he

sprang from the saddle as it fell, and avenged its death by a sweeping

back-handed cut from his broadsword. Waving his hat in his left hand he

continued to rally his men, and to strike down every Puritan who came

against him, until a blow from a hatchet brought him on his knees and

a flail stroke broke his sword close by the hilt. At the fall of their

leader his comrades turned and fled through the hedge, but the gallant

fellow, wounded and bleeding, still showed fight, and would assuredly

have been knocked upon the head for his pains had I not picked him up

and thrown him into the waggon, where he had the good sense to lie quiet

until the skirmish was at an end. Of the dozen who broke through, not

more than four escaped, and several others lay dead or wounded upon the

other side of the hedge, impaled by scythe-blades or knocked off

their horses by stones. Altogether nine of the dragoons were slain

and fourteen wounded, while we retained seven unscathed prisoners, ten

horses fit for service, and a score or so of carbines, with good store

of match, powder, and ball. The remainder of the troop fired a

single, straggling, irregular volley, and then galloped away down the

cross-road, disappearing amongst the trees from which they had emerged.

All this, however, had not been accomplished without severe loss upon

our side. Three men had been killed and six wounded, one of them

very seriously, by the musketry fire. Five had been cut down when

the flanking party broke their way in, and only one of these could be

expected to recover. In addition to this, one man had lost his life

through the bursting of an ancient petronel, and another had his arm

broken by the kick of a horse. Our total losses, therefore, were eight

killed and the same wounded, which could not but be regarded as a very

moderate number when we consider the fierceness of the skirmish, and the

superiority of our enemy both in discipline and in equipment.

So elated were the peasants by their victory, that those who had secured

horses were clamorous to be allowed to follow the dragoons, the more so

as Sir Gervas Jerome and Reuben were both eager to lead them. Decimus

Saxon refused, however, to listen to any such scheme, nor did he show

more favour to the Reverend Joshua Pettigrue’s proposal, that he should

in his capacity as pastor mount immediately upon the waggon, and improve

the occasion by a few words of healing and unction.

‘It is true, good Master Pettigrue, that we owe much praise and much

outpouring, and much sweet and holy contending, for this blessing which

hath come upon Israel,’ said he, ‘but the time hath not yet arrived.

There is an hour for prayer and an hour for labour. Hark ye, friend’--to

one of the prisoners--‘to what regiment do you belong?’

‘It is not for me to reply to your questions,’ the man answered sulkily.

Nay, then, we’ll try if a string round your scalp and a few twists of a

drumstick will make you find your tongue,’ said Saxon, pushing his face

up to that of the prisoner, and staring into his eyes with so savage an

expression that the man shrank away affrighted.

‘It is a troop of the second dragoon regiment,’ he said.

‘Where is the regiment itself?’

‘We left it on the Ilchester and Langport road.’

‘You hear,’ said our leader. ‘We have not a moment to spare, or we may

have the whole crew about our ears. Put our dead and wounded in the

carts, and we can harness two of these chargers to them. We shall not be

in safety until we are in Taunton town.’

Even Master Joshua saw that the matter was too pressing to permit of

any spiritual exercises. The wounded men were lifted into the waggon and

laid upon the bedding, while our dead were placed in the cart which had

defended our rear. The peasants who owned these, far from making any

objection to this disposal of their property, assisted us in every way,

tightening girths and buckling traces. Within an hour of the ending of

the skirmish we found ourselves pursuing our way once more, and looking

back through the twilight at the scattered black dots upon the white

road, where the bodies of the dragoons marked the scene of our victory.