Chương Chương 14 · Of the Stiff-legged Parson and his Flock

Our road lay through Castle Carey and Somerton, which are small towns

lying in the midst of a most beautiful pastoral country, well wooded and

watered by many streams. The valleys along the centre of which the road

lies are rich and luxuriant, sheltered from the winds by long rolling

hills, which are themselves highly cultivated. Here and there we passed

the ivy-clad turret of an old castle or the peaked gables of a rambling

country house, protruding from amongst the trees and marking the country

seat of some family of repute. More than once, when these mansions were

not far from the road, we were able to perceive the unrepaired dints and

fractures on the walls received during the stormy period of the civil

troubles. Fairfax it seems had been down that way, and had left abundant

traces of his visit. I have no doubt that my father would have had much

to say of these signs of Puritan wrath had he been riding at our side.

The road was crowded with peasants who were travelling in two strong

currents, the one setting from east to west, and the other from west to

east. The latter consisted principally of aged people and of children,

who were being sent out of harm’s way to reside in the less disturbed

counties until the troubles should be over. Many of these poor folk were

pushing barrows in front of them, in which a few bedclothes and some

cracked utensils represented the whole of their worldly goods. Others

more prosperous had small carts, drawn by the wild shaggy colts which

are bred on the Somerset moors. What with the spirit of the half-tamed

beasts and the feebleness of the drivers, accidents were not uncommon,

and we passed several unhappy groups who had been tumbled with their

property into a ditch, or who were standing in anxious debate round a

cracked shaft or a broken axle.

The countrymen who were making for the West were upon the other hand

men in the prime of life, with little or no baggage. Their brown faces,

heavy boots, and smockfrocks proclaimed most of them to be mere hinds,

though here and there we overtook men who, by their top-boots and

corduroys, may have been small farmers or yeomen. These fellows walked

in gangs, and were armed for the most part with stout oak cudgels,

which were carried as an aid to their journey, but which in the hands of

powerful men might become formidable weapons. From time to time one

of these travellers would strike up a psalm tune, when all the others

within earshot would join in, until the melody rippled away down the

road. As we passed some scowled angrily at us, while others whispered

together and shook their heads, in evident doubt as to our character and

aims. Now and again among the people we marked the tall broad-brimmed

hat and Geneva mantle which were the badges of the Puritan clergy.

‘We are in Monmouth’s country at last,’ said Saxon to me, for Reuben

Lockarby and Sir Gervas Jerome had ridden on ahead. ‘This is the raw

material which we shall have to lick into soldiership.’

‘And no bad material either,’ I replied, taking note of the sturdy

figures and bold hearty faces of the men. ‘Think ye that they are bound

for Monmouth’s camp, then?’

‘Aye, are they. See you yon long-limbed parson on the left--him with the

pent-house hat. Markest thou not the stiffness wherewith he moves his

left leg!’

‘Why, yes; he is travel-worn doubtless.’

‘Ho! ho!’ laughed my companion. ‘I have seen such a stiffness before

now. The man hath a straight sword within he leg of his breeches. A

regular Parliamentary tuck, I’ll warrant. When he is on safe ground he

will produce it, aye, and use it too, but until he is out of all danger

of falling in with the King’s horse he is shy of strapping it to his

belt. He is one of the old breed by his cut, who:

“Call fire and sword and desolation,

A godly thorough reformation.”

Old Samuel hath them to a penstroke! There is another ahead of him

there, with the head of a scythe inside his smock. Can you not see the

outline? I warrant there is not one of the rascals but hath a pike-head

or sickle-blade concealed somewhere about him. I begin to feel the

breath of war once more, and to grow younger with it. Hark ye, lad! I am

glad that I did not tarry at the inn.’

‘You seemed to be in two minds about it,’ said I.

‘Aye, aye. She was a fine woman, and the quarters were comfortable. I do

not gainsay it. But marriage, d’ye see, is a citadel that it is plaguy

easy to find one’s way into, but once in old Tilly himself could not

bring one out again with credit, I have known such a device on the

Danube, where at the first onfall the Mamelukes have abandoned the

breach for the very purpose of ensnaring the Imperial troops in the

narrow streets beyond, from which few ever returned. Old birds are not

caught with such wiles. I did succeed in gaining the ear of one of the

gossips, and asking him what he could tell me of the good dame and her

inn. It seemeth that she is somewhat of a shrew upon occasion, and that

her tongue had more to do with her husband’s death than the dropsy which

the leech put it down to. Again, a new inn hath been started in the

village, which is well-managed, and is like to draw the custom from

her. It is, too, as you have said, a dull sleepy spot. All these reasons

weighed with me, and I decided that it would be best to raise my siege

of the widow, and to retreat whilst I could yet do so with the credit

and honours of war.’

‘’Tis best so,’ said I; ‘you could not have settled down to a life of

toping and ease. But our new comrade, what think you of him?’

‘Faith!’ Saxon answered, ‘we shall extend into a troop of horse if we

add to our number every gallant who is in want of a job. As to this Sir

Gervas, however, I think, as I said at the inn, that he hath more mettle

in him than one would judge at first sight. These young sprigs of the

gentry will always fight, but I doubt if he is hardened enough or

hath constancy enough for such a campaign as this is like to be. His

appearance, too, will be against him in the eyes of the saints; and

though Monmouth is a man of easy virtue, the saints are like to have the

chief voice in his councils. Now do but look at him as he reins up that

showy grey stallion and gazes back at us. Mark his riding-hat tilted

over his eye, his open bosom, his whip dangling from his button-hole,

his hand on his hip, and as many oaths in his mouth as there are ribbons

to his doublet. Above all, mark the air with which he looks down upon

the peasants beside him. He will have to change his style if he is to

fight by the side of the fanatics. But hark! I am much mistaken if they

have not already got themselves into trouble.’

Our friends had pulled up their horses to await our coming. They had

scarce halted, however, before the stream of peasants who had been

moving along abreast of them slackened their pace, and gathered round

them with a deep ominous murmur and threatening gestures. Other

rustics, seeing that there was something afoot, hurried up to help their

companions. Saxon and I put spurs to our horses, and pushing through the

throng, which was becoming every instant larger and more menacing, made

our way to the aid of our friends, who were hemmed in on every side by

the rabble. Reuben had laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword, while

Sir Gervas was placidly chewing his toothpick and looking down at the

angry mob with an air of amused contempt.

‘A flask or two of scent amongst them would not be amiss,’ he remarked;

‘I would I had a casting bottle.’

‘Stand on your guard, but do not draw,’ cried Saxon. ‘What the henker

hath come over the chaw-bacons? They mean mischief. How now, friends,

why this uproar?’

This question instead of allaying the tumult appeared to make it tenfold

worse. All round us twenty deep were savage faces and angry eyes,

with the glint here and there of a weapon half drawn from its place of

concealment. The uproar, which had been a mere hoarse growl, began to

take shape and form. ‘Down with the Papists!’ was the cry. ‘Down with

the Prelatists!’ ‘Smite the Erastian butchers!’ ‘Smite the Philistine

horsemen!’ ‘Down with them!’

A stone or two had already whistled past our ears, and we had been

forced in self-defence to draw our swords, when the tall minister whom

we had already observed shoved his way through the crowd, and by dint of

his lofty stature and commanding voice prevailed upon them to be silent.

‘How say ye,’ he asked, turning upon us, ‘fight ye for Baal or for the

Lord? He who is not with us is against us.’

‘Which is the side of Baal, most reverend sir, and which of the Lord?’

asked Sir Gervas Jerome. ‘Methinks if you were to speak plain English

instead of Hebrew we might come to an understanding sooner.’

‘This is no time for light words,’ the minister cried, with a flush of

anger upon his face. ‘If ye would keep your skins whole, tell me, are ye

for the bloody usurper James Stuart, or are ye for his most Protestant

Majesty King Monmouth?’

‘What! He hath come to the title already!’ exclaimed Saxon. ‘Know then

that we are four unworthy vessels upon our way to offer our services to

the Protestant cause.’

‘He lies, good Master Pettigrue, he lies most foully,’ shouted a burly

fellow from the edge of the crowd. ‘Who ever saw a good Protestant in

such a Punchinello dress as yonder? Is not Amalekite written upon his

raiment? Is he not attired as becometh the bridegroom of the harlot of

Rome? Why then should we not smite him?’

‘I thank you, my worthy friend,’ said Sir Gervas, whose attire had moved

this champion’s wrath. ‘If I were nearer I should give you some return

for the notice which you have taken of me.’

‘What proof have we that ye are not in the pay of the usurper, and on

your way to oppress the faithful?’ asked the Puritan divine.

‘I tell you, man,’ said Saxon impatiently, ‘that we have travelled all

the way from Hampshire to fight against James Stuart. We will ride with

ye to Monmouth’s camp, and what better proof could ye desire than that?’

‘It may be that ye do but seek an opportunity of escaping from our

bondage,’ the minister observed, after conferring with one or two of the

leading peasants. ‘It is our opinion, therefore, that before coming

with us ye must deliver unto us your swords, pistols, and other carnal

weapons.’

‘Nay, good sir, that cannot be,’ our leader answered. ‘A cavalier may

not with honour surrender his blade or his liberty in the manner ye

demand. Keep close to my bridle-arm, Clarke, and strike home at any

rogue who lays hands on you.’

A hum of anger rose from the crowd, and a score of sticks and

scythe-blades were raised against us, when the minister again interposed

and silenced his noisy following.

‘Did I hear aright?’ he asked. ‘Is your name Clarke?’

‘It is,’ I answered.

‘Your Christian name?’

‘Micah.’

‘Living at?’

‘Havant.’

The clergyman conferred for a few moments with a grizzly-bearded,

harsh-faced man dressed in black buckram who stood at his elbow.

‘If you are really Micah Clarke of Havant,’ quoth he, ‘you will be able

to tell us the name of an old soldier, skilled in the German wars, who

was to have come with ye to the camp of the faithful.’

‘Why, this is he,’ I answered; ‘Decimus Saxon is his name.’

‘Aye, aye, Master Pettigrue,’ cried the old man. ‘The very name given by

Dicky Rumbold. He said that either the old Roundhead Clarke or his son

would go with him. But who are these?’

‘This is Master Reuben Lockarby, also of Havant, and Sir Gervas Jerome

of Surrey,’ I replied. ‘They are both here as volunteers desiring to

serve under the Duke of Monmouth.’

‘Right glad I am to see ye, then,’ said the stalwart minister heartily.

‘Friends, I can answer for these gentlemen that they favour the honest

folk and the old cause.’

At these words the rage of the mob turned in an instant into the most

extravagant adulation and delight. They crowded round us, patting our

riding-boots, pulling at the skirts of our dress, pressing our hands and

calling down blessings upon our heads, until their pastor succeeded

at last in rescuing us from their attentions and in persuading them to

resume their journey. We walked our horses in the midst of them whilst

the clergyman strode along betwixt Saxon and myself. He was, as Reuben

remarked, well fitted to be an intermediary between us, for he was

taller though not so broad as I was, and broader though not so tall as

the adventurer. His face was long, thin, and hollow-cheeked, with a pair

of great thatched eyebrows and deep sunken melancholy eyes, which lit up

upon occasion with a sudden quick flash of fiery enthusiasm.

‘Joshua Pettigrue is my name, gentlemen,’ said he; ‘I am an unworthy

worker in the Lord’s vineyard, testifying with voice and with arm to His

holy covenant. These are my faithful flock, whom I am bringing westward

that they may be ready for the reaping when it pleases the Almighty to

gather them in.’

‘And why have you not brought them into some show of order or

formation?’ asked Saxon. ‘They are straggling along the road like a line

of geese upon a common when Michaelmas is nigh. Have you no fears? Is

it not written that your calamity cometh suddenly--suddenly shall you be

broken down without remedy?’

‘Aye, friend, but is it not also written, “Trust in the Lord with all

thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding!” Mark ye, if I

were to draw up my men in military fashion it would invite attention and

attack from any of James Stuart’s horse who may come our way. It is my

desire to bring my flock to the camp and obtain pieces for them before

exposing them to so unequal a contest.’

‘Truly, sir, it is a wise resolution,’ said Saxon grimly, ‘for if a

troop of horse came down upon these good people the pastor would find

himself without his flock.’

‘Nay, that could never be!’ cried Master Pettigrue with fervour. ‘Say

rather that pastor, flock, and all would find their way along the thorny

track of martyrdom to the new Jerusalem. Know, friend, that I have come

from Monmouth in order to conduct these men to his standard. I received

from him, or rather from Master Ferguson, instructions to be on the

lookout for ye and for several others of the faithful we expect to join

us from the East. By what route came ye?’

‘Over Salisbury Plain and so through Bruton.’

‘And saw ye or met ye any of our people upon the way?’

‘None,’ Saxon answered. ‘We left the Blue Guards at Salisbury, however,

and we saw either them or some other horse regiment near this side of

the Plain at the village of Mere.’

‘Ah, there is a gathering of the eagles,’ cried Master Joshua Pettigrue,

shaking his head. ‘They are men of fine raiment, with war-horses and

chariots and trappings, like the Assyrians of old, yet shall the angel

of the Lord breathe upon them in the night. Yea, He shall cut them off

utterly in His wrath, and they shall be destroyed.’

‘Amen! Amen!’ cried as many of the peasants as were within earshot.

‘They have elevated their horn, Master Pettigrue,’ said the

grizzly-haired Puritan. ‘They have set up their candlestick on high--the

candlestick of a perverse ritual and of an idolatrous service. Shall it

not be dashed down by the hands of the righteous?’

‘Lo, this same candle waxed big and burned sooty, even as an offence to

the nostrils, in the days of our fathers,’ cried a burly red-faced man,

whose dress proclaimed him to be one of the yeoman class. ‘So was it

when Old Noll did get his snuffing shears to work upon it. It is a wick

which can only be trimmed by the sword of the faithful.’ A grim laugh

from the whole party proclaimed their appreciation of the pious waggery

of their companion.

‘Ah, Brother Sandcroft,’ cried the pastor, ‘there is much sweetness and

manna hidden in thy conversation. But the way is long and dreary. Shall

we not lighten it by a song of praise? Where is Brother Thistlethwaite,

whose voice is as the cymbal, the tabor, and the dulcimer?’

‘Lo, most pious Master Pettigrue,’ said Saxon, ‘I have myself at times

ventured to lift up my voice before the Lord.’ Without any further

apology he broke out in stentorian tones into the following hymn, the

refrain of which was caught up by pastor and congregation.

The Lord He is a morion

That guards me from all wound;

The Lord He is a coat of mail

That circles me all round.

Who then fears to draw the sword,

And fight the battle of the Lord?

The Lord He is the buckler true

That swings on my left arm;

The Lord He is the plate of proof

That shieldeth me from harm.

Who then fears to draw the sword,

And fight the battle of the Lord?

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?

Who then fears to draw the sword,

And fight the battle of the Lord!

My faith is like a citadel

Girt round with moat and wall,

No mine, or sap, or breach, or gap

Can ere prevail at all.

Who then fears to draw the sword,

And fight the battle of the Lord?

Saxon ceased, but the Reverend Joshua Pettigrue waved his long arms and

repeated the refrain, which was taken up again and again by the long

column of marching peasants.

‘It is a godly hymn,’ said our companion, who had, to my disgust and

to the evident astonishment of Reuben and Sir Gervas, resumed the

snuffling, whining voice which he had used in the presence of my father.

‘It hath availed much on the field of battle.’

‘Truly,’ returned the clergyman, ‘if your comrades are of as sweet

a savour as yourself, ye will be worth a brigade of pikes to the

faithful,’ a sentiment which raised a murmur of assent from the Puritans

around. ‘Since, sir,’ he continued, ‘you have had much experience in the

wiles of war, I shall be glad to hand over to you the command of this

small body of the faithful, until such time as we reach the army.’

‘It is time, too, in good faith, that ye had a soldier at your head,’

Decimus Saxon answered quietly. ‘My eyes deceive me strangely if I

do not see the gleam of sword and cuirass upon the brow of yonder

declivity. Methinks our pious exercises have brought the enemy upon us.’