Chương Chương 37 · Of the End of it All

And so, my dear children, I come to the end of the history of a

failure--a brave failure and a noble one, but a failure none the less.

In three more years England was to come to herself, to tear the fetters

from her free limbs, and to send James and his poisonous brood flying

from her shores even as I was flying then. We had made the error of

being before our time. Yet there came days when folk thought kindly of

the lads who had fought so stoutly in the West, and when their limbs,

gathered from many a hangman’s pit and waste place, were borne amid the

silent sorrow of a nation to the pretty country burial-grounds where

they would have chosen to lie. There, within the sound of the bell which

from infancy had called them to prayer, beneath the turf over which they

had wandered, under the shadow of those Mendip and Quantock Hills which

they loved so well, these brave hearts lie still and peaceful, like

tired children in the bosom of their mother. Requiescant-requiescant in

pace!

Not another word about myself, dear children. This narrative doth

already bristle with I’s, as though it were an Argus which is a flash

of wit, though I doubt if ye will understand it. I set myself to tell ye

the tale of the war in the West, and that tale ye have heard, nor will

I be coaxed or cajoled into one word further. Ah! ye know well how

garrulous the old man is, and that if you could but get to Flushing with

him he would take ye to the wars of the Empire, to William’s Court, and

to the second invasion of the West, which had a better outcome than the

first. But not an inch further will I budge. On to the green, ye young

rogues! Have ye not other limbs to exercise besides your ears, that ye

should be so fond of squatting round grandad’s chair? If I am spared to

next winter, and if the rheumatiz keeps away, it is like that I may take

up once more the broken thread of my story.

Of the others I can only tell ye what I know. Some slipped out of my

ken entirely. Of others I have heard vague and incomplete accounts.

The leaders of the insurrection got off much more lightly than their

followers, for they found that the passion of greed was even stronger

than the passion of cruelty. Grey, Buyse, Wade, and others bought

themselves free at the price of all their possessions. Ferguson escaped.

Monmouth was executed on Tower Hill, and showed in his last moments

some faint traces of that spirit which spurted up now and again from his

feeble nature, like the momentary flash of an expiring fire.

My father and my mother lived to see the Protestant religion regain its

place once more, and to see England become the champion of the reformed

faith upon the Continent. Three years later I found them in Havant much

as I had left them, save that there were more silver hairs amongst the

brown braided tresses of my mother, and that my father’s great shoulders

were a trifle bowed and his brow furrowed with the lines of care. Hand

in hand they passed onwards down life’s journey, the Puritan and the

Church woman, and I have never despaired of the healing of religious

feud in England since I have seen how easy it is for two folks to retain

the strongest belief in their own creeds, and yet to bear the heartiest

love and respect for the professor of another. The days may come when

the Church and the Chapel may be as a younger and an elder brother,

each working to one end, and each joying in the other’s success. Let

the contest between them be not with pike and pistol, not with court and

prison; but let the strife be which shall lead the higher life, which

shall take the broader view, which shall boast the happiest and best

cared-for poor. Then their rivalry shall be not a curse, but a blessing

to this land of England.

Reuben Lockarby was ill for many months, but when he at last recovered

he found a pardon awaiting him through the interest of Major Ogilvy.

After a time, when the troubles were all blown over, he married the

daughter of Mayor Timewell, and he still lives in Taunton, a well-to-do

and prosperous citizen. Thirty years ago there was a little Micah

Lockarby, and now I am told that there is another, the son of the first,

who promises to be as arrant a little Roundhead as ever marched to the

tuck of drum.

Of Saxon I have heard more than once. So skilfully did he use his hold

over the Duke of Beaufort, that he was appointed through his interest to

the command of an expedition which had been sent to chastise the savages

of Virginia, who had wrought great cruelties upon the settlers. There

he did so out-ambush their ambushes, and out-trick their most cunning

warriors, that he hath left a great name among them, and is still

remembered there by an Indian word which signifieth ‘The long-legged

wily one with the eye of a rat.’ Having at last driven the tribes far

into the wilderness he was presented with a tract of country for his

services, where he settled down. There he married, and spent the rest of

his days in rearing tobacco and in teaching the principles of war to a

long line of gaunt and slab-sided children. They tell me that a great

nation of exceeding strength and of wondrous size promises some day to

rise up on the other side of the water. If this should indeed come to

pass, it may perhaps happen that these young Saxons or their children

may have a hand in the building of it. God grant that they may never

let their hearts harden to the little isle of the sea, which is and must

ever be the cradle of their race.

Solomon Sprent married and lived for many years as happily as his

friends could wish. I had a letter from him when I was abroad, in which

he said that though his consort and he had started alone on the voyage

of wedlock, they were now accompanied by a jolly-boat and a gig. One

winter’s night when the snow was on the ground he sent down for my

father, who hurried up to his house. He found the old man sitting up in

bed, with his flask of rumbo within reach, his tobacco-box beside him,

and a great brown Bible balanced against his updrawn knees. He was

breathing heavily, and was in sore distress.

‘I’ve strained a plank, and have nine feet in the well,’ said he. ‘It

comes in quicker than I can put it out. In truth, friend, I have not

been seaworthy this many a day, and it is time that I was condemned and

broken up.’

My father shook his head sadly as he marked his dusky face and laboured

breathing. ‘How of your soul?’ he asked.

‘Aye!’ said Solomon, ‘that’s a cargo that we carry under our hatches,

though we can’t see it, and had no hand in the stowing of it. I’ve been

overhauling the sailing orders here, and the ten articles of war, but I

can’t find that I’ve gone so far out of my course that I may not hope to

come into the channel again.’

‘Trust not in yourself, but in Christ,’ said my father.

‘He is the pilot, in course,’ replied the old seaman. ‘When I had a

pilot aboard o’ my ship, however, it was my way always to keep my own

weather eye open, d’ye see, and so I’ll do now. The pilot don’t think

none the worse of ye for it. So I’ll throw my own lead line, though I

hear as how there are no soundings in the ocean of God’s mercy. Say,

friend, d’ye think this very body, this same hull o’ mine, will rise

again?’

‘So we are taught,’ my father answered.

‘I’d know it anywhere from the tattoo marks,’ said Solomon. ‘They was

done when I was with Sir Christopher in the West Indies, and I’d be

sorry to part with them. For myself, d’ye see, I’ve never borne ill-will

to any one, not even to the Dutch lubbers, though I fought three wars

wi’ them, and they carried off one of my spars, and be hanged to them!

If I’ve let daylight into a few of them, d’ye see, it’s all in good

part and by way of duty. I’ve drunk my share--enough to sweeten my

bilge-water--but there are few that have seen me cranky in the

upper rigging or refusing to answer to my helm. I never drew pay or

prize-money that my mate in distress was not welcome to the half of it.

As to the Polls, the less said the better. I’ve been a true consort

to my Phoebe since she agreed to look to me for signals. Those are my

papers, all clear and aboveboard. If I’m summoned aft this very night by

the great Lord High Admiral of all, I ain’t afeared that He’ll clap me

into the bilboes, for though I’m only a poor sailor man, I’ve got His

promise in this here book, and I’m not afraid of His going back from

it.’

My father sat with the old man for some hours and did all that he could

to comfort and assist him, for it was clear that he was sinking rapidly.

When he at last left him, with his faithful wife beside him, he grasped

the brown but wasted hand which lay above the clothes.

‘I’ll see you again soon,’ he said.

‘Yes. In the latitude of heaven,’ replied the dying seaman. His

foreboding was right, for in the early hours of the morning his wife,

bending over him, saw a bright smile upon his tanned, weather-beaten

face. Raising himself upon his pillow he touched his forelock, as is

the habit of sailor-men, and so sank slowly and peacefully back into the

long sleep which wakes when the night has ceased to be.

You will ask me doubtless what became of Hector Marot and of the strange

shipload which had set sail from Poole Harbour. There was never a word

heard of them again, unless indeed a story which was spread some months

afterwards by Captain Elias Hopkins, of the Bristol ship _Caroline_, may

be taken as bearing upon their fate. For Captain Hopkins relates that,

being on his homeward voyage from our settlements, he chanced to meet

with thick fogs and a head wind in the neighbourhood of the great cod

banks. One night as he was beating about, with the weather so thick that

he could scarce see the truck of his own mast, a most strange passage

befell him. For as he and others stood upon the deck, they heard to

their astonishment the sound of many voices joined in a great chorus,

which was at first faint and distant, but which presently waxed and

increased until it appeared to pass within a stone-throw of his vessel,

when it slowly died away once more and was lost in the distance. There

were some among the crew who set the matter down as the doing of the

evil one, but, as Captain Elias Hopkins was wont to remark, it was a

strange thing that the foul fiend should choose West-country hymns for

his nightly exercise, and stranger still that the dwellers in the pit

should sing with a strong Somersetshire burr. For myself, I have little

doubt that it was indeed the _Dorothy Fox_ which had swept past in the

fog, and that the prisoners, having won their freedom, were celebrating

their delivery in true Puritan style. Whether they were driven on to the

rocky coast of Labrador, or whether they found a home in some desolate

land whence no kingly cruelty could harry them, is what must remain for

ever unknown.

Zachariah Palmer lived for many years, a venerable and honoured old man,

before he, too, was called to his fathers. A sweet and simple village

philosopher he was, with a child’s heart in his aged breast. The very

thought of him is to me as the smell of violets; for if in my views of

life and in my hopes of the future I differ somewhat from the hard and

gloomy teaching of my father, I know that I owe it to the wise words

and kindly training of the carpenter. If, as he was himself wont to

say, deeds are everything in this world and dogma is nothing, then his

sinless, blameless life might be a pattern to you and to all. May the

dust lie light upon him!

One word of another friend--the last mentioned, but not the least

valued. When Dutch William had been ten years upon the English throne

there was still to be seen in the field by my father’s house a tall,

strong-boned horse, whose grey skin was flecked with dashes of white.

And it was ever observed that, should the soldiers be passing from

Portsmouth, or should the clank of trumpet or the rattle of drum break

upon his ear, he would arch his old neck, throw out his grey-streaked

tail, and raise his stiff knees in a pompous and pedantic canter. The

country folk would stop to watch these antics of the old horse, and then

the chances are that one of them would tell the rest how that charger

had borne one of their own village lads to the wars, and how, when the

rider had to fly the country, a kindly sergeant in the King’s troops

had brought the steed as a remembrance of him to his father at home. So

Covenant passed the last years of his life, a veteran among steeds, well

fed and cared for, and much given, mayhap, to telling in equine language

to all the poor, silly country steeds the wonderful passages which had

befallen him in the West.

APPENDIX

Note A.--Hatred of Learning among the Puritans.

In spite of the presence in their ranks of such ripe scholars as John

Milton, Colonel Hutchinson, and others, there was among the Independents

and Anabaptists a profound distrust of learning, which is commented upon

by writers of all shades of politics. Dr. South in his sermons remarks

that ‘All learning was cried down, so that with them the best preachers

were such as could not read, and the best divines such as could not

write. In all their preachments they so highly pretended to the Spirit,

that some of them could hardly spell a letter. To be blind with them was

a proper qualification of a spiritual guide, and to be book-learned, as

they called it, and to be irreligious, were almost convertible terms.

None save tradesmen and mechanics were allowed to have the Spirit, and

those only were accounted like St. Paul who could work with their hands,

and were able to make a pulpit before preaching in it.’

In the collection of loyal ballads reprinted in 1731, the Royalist bard

harps upon the same characteristic:

‘We’ll down with universities

Where learning is professed,

Because they practise and maintain

The language of the beast.

We’ll drive the doctors out of doors,

And parts, whate’er they be,

We’ll cry all parts and learning down,

And heigh, then up go we!’

Note B.--On the Speed of Couriers.

It is difficult for us in these days of steam and electricity to realise

how long it took to despatch a message in the seventeenth century, even

when the occasion was most pressing. Thus, Monmouth landed at Lyme on

the morning of Thursday, the 11th of June. Gregory Alford, the Tory

mayor of Lyme, instantly fled to Honiton, whence he despatched a

messenger to the Privy Council. Yet it was five o’clock in the morning

of Saturday, the 13th, before the news reached London, though the

distance is but 156 miles.

Note C.--On the Claims of the Lender of a Horse.

The difficulty touched upon by Decimus Saxon, as to the claim of the

lender of a horse upon the booty gained by the rider, is one frequently

discussed by writers of that date upon the usages of war. One

distinguished authority says: Praefectus turmae equitum Hispanorum, cum

proelio tuba caneret, unum ex equitibus suae turmae obvium habuit; qui

questus est quod paucis ante diebus equum suum in certamine amiserat,

propter quod non poterat imminenti proelio interesse; unde jussit

Praefectus ut unum ex suis equis conscenderet et ipsum comitaretur.

Miles, equo conscenso, inter fugandum hostes, incidit in ipsum ducem

hostilis exercitus, quem cepit et consignavit Duci exercitus Hispani,

qui a captivo vicena aureorum millia est consequutus. Dicebat Praefectus

partem pretii hujus redemptionis sibi debere, quod miles equo suo

dimicaverat, qui alias proelio interesse non potuit. Petrinus Bellus

affirmat se, cum esset Bruxellis in curia Hispaniarum Regis de hac

quaestione consultum, et censuisse, pro Praefecto facere aequitatem quae

praecipue respicitur inter milites, quorum controversiae ex aequo et

bono dirimendae sunt; unde ultra conventa quis obligatur ad id quod

alterum alteri prasstare oportet.’ The case, it appears, ultimately went

against the horse-lending praefect.

Note D.--On the Pronunciation of Exquisites.

The substitution of the a for the o was a common affectation in

the speech of the fops of the period, as may be found in Vanbrugh’s

_Relapse_. The notorious Titus Oates, in his efforts to be in the mode,

pushed this trick to excess, and his cries of ‘Oh Lard! Oh Lard!’ were

familiar sounds in Westminster Hall at the time when the Salamanca

doctor was at the flood of his fortune.

Note E.--Hour-glasses in Pulpits.

In those days it was customary to have an hour-glass stationed in

a frame of iron at the side of the pulpit, and visible to the whole

congregation. It was turned up as soon as the text was announced, and a

minister earned a name as a lazy preacher if he did not hold out until

the sand had ceased to run. If, on the other hand, he exceeded that

limit, his audience would signify by gapes and yawns that they had

had as much spiritual food as they could digest. Sir Roger L’Estrange

(_Fables_, Part II. Fab. 262) tells of a notorious spin-text who, having

exhausted his glass and being half-way through a second one, was at

last arrested in his career by a valiant sexton, who rose and departed,

remarking as he did so, ‘Pray, sir, be pleased when you have done to

leave the key under the door.’

Note F.--Disturbances at the old Gast House of Little Burton.

The circumstances referred to by the Mayor of Taunton in his allusion

to the Drummer of Tedsworth are probably too well known to require

elucidation. The haunting of the old Gast House at Burton would,

however, be fresh at that time in the minds of Somersetshire folk,

occurring as it did in 1677. Some short account from documents of that

date may be of interest.

‘The first night that I was there, with Hugh Mellmore and Edward Smith,

they heard as it were the washing of water over their heads. Then,

taking the candle and going up the stairs, there was a wet cloth thrown

at them, but it fell on the stairs. They, going up further, there was

another thrown as before. And when they were come up into the chamber

there stood a bowl of water, looking white, as though soap had been used

in it. The bowl just before was in the kitchen, and could not be carried

up but through the room where they were. The next thing was a terrible

noise, like a clap of thunder, and shortly afterwards they heard a great

scratching about the bedstead, and after that great knocking with a

hammer against the bed’s-head, so that the two maids that were in bed

cried out for help. Then they ran up the stairs, and there lay the

hammer on the bed, and on the bed’s-head there were near a thousand

prints of the hammer. The maids said that they were scratched and

pinched with a hand which had exceeding long nails.

‘The second night that James Sherring and Thomas Hillary were there,

James Sherring sat down in the chimney to fill a pipe of tobacco. He

used the tongs to lift a coal to light his pipe, and by-and-by the tongs

were drawn up the stairs and were cast upon the bed. The same night one

of the maids left her shoes by the fire, and they were carried up into

the chamber, and the old man’s brought down and set in their places.

As they were going upstairs there were many things thrown at them which

were just before in the low room, and when they went down the stairs the

old man’s breeches were thrown down after them.

‘On another night a saddle did come into the house from a pin in the

entry, and did hop about the place from table to table. It was very

troublesome to them, until they broke it into small pieces and threw

it out into the roadway. So for some weeks the haunting continued,

with rappings, scratching, movements of heavy articles, and many other

strange things, as are attested by all who were in the village, until at

last they ceased as suddenly as they had begun.’

Note G.--Monmouth’s Progress in the West.

During his triumphal progress through the western shires, some years

before the rebellion, Monmouth first ventured to exhibit upon his

escutcheon the lions of England and the lilies of France, without the

baton sinister. A still more ominous sign was that he ventured to touch

for the king’s evil. The appended letter, extracted from the collection

of tracts in the British Museum, may be of interest as first-hand

evidence of the occasional efficacy of that curious ceremony.

‘His Grace the Duke of Monmouth honoured in his progress in the West of

England, in an account of an extraordinary cure of the king’s evil.

‘Given in a letter from Crewkhorn, in Somerset, from the minister of the

parish and many others.

‘We, whose names are underwritten, do certify the miraculous cure of

a girl of this town, about twenty, by name Elizabeth Parcet, a poor

widow’s daughter, who hath languished under sad affliction from that

distemper of the king’s evil termed the joint evil, being said to be

the worst evil. For about ten or twelve years’ time she had in her right

hand four running wounds, one on the inside, three on the back of her

hand, as well as two more in the same arm, one above her hand-wrist,

the other above the bending of her arm. She had betwixt her arm-pits a

swollen bunch, which the doctors said fed those six running wounds. She

had the same distemper also on her left eye, so she was almost blind.

Her mother, despairing of preserving her sight, and being not of ability

to send her to London to be touched by the king, being miserably poor,

having many poor children, and this girl not being able to work, her

mother, desirous to have her daughter cured, sent to the chirurgeons for

help, who tampered with it for some time, but could do no good. She

went likewise ten or eleven miles to a seventh son, but all in vain. No

visible hopes remained, and she expected nothing but the grave.

‘But now, in this the girl’s great extremity, God, the great physician,

dictates to her, then languishing in her miserable, hopeless condition,

what course to take and what to do for a cure, which was to go and touch

the Duke of Monmouth. The girl told her mother that, if she could

but touch the Duke she would be well. The mother reproved her for her

foolish conceit, but the girl did often persuade her mother to go to

Lackington to the Duke, who then lay with Mr. Speaks. “Certainly,” said

she, “I should be well if I could touch him.” The mother slighted these

pressing requests, but the more she slighted and reproved, the more

earnest the girl was for it. A few days after, the girl having noticed

that Sir John Sydenham intended to treat the Duke at White Lodge in

Henton Park, this girl with many of her neighbours went to the said

park. She being there timely waited the Duke’s coming. When first she

observed the Duke she pressed in among a crowd of people and caught

him by the hand, his glove being on, and she likewise having a glove to

cover her wounds. She not being herewith satisfied at the first attempt

of touching his glove only, but her mind was she must touch some part

of his bare skin, she, weighing his coming forth, intended a second

attempt. The poor girl, thus between hope and fear, waited his motion.

On a sudden there was news of the Duke’s coming on, which she to be

prepared rent off her glove, that was clung to the sores, in such haste

that she broke her glove, and brought away not only the sores but the

skin. The Duke’s glove, as Providence would have it, the upper part hung

down, so that his hand-wrist was bare. She pressed on, and caught him

by the bare hand-wrist with her running hand, crying, “God bless your

highness!” and the Duke said “God bless you!” The girl, not a little

transported at her good success, came and assured her friends that she

would now be well. She came home to her mother in great joy, and told

her that she had touched the Duke’s hand. The mother, hearing what she

had done, reproved her sharply for her boldness, asked how she durst

do such a thing, and threatened to beat her for it. She cried out, “Oh,

mother, I shall be well again, and healed of my wounds!” And as God

Almighty would have it, to the wonder and admiration of all, the six

wounds were speedily dried up, the eye became perfectly well, and the

girl was in good health. All which has been discovered to us by the

mother and daughter, and by neighbours that know her.

‘Henry Clark, minister; Captain James Bale, &c &c. Whoever doubts the

truth of this relation may see the original under the hands of the

persons mentioned at the Amsterdam Coffee House, Bartholomew Lane, Royal

Exchange.’

In spite of the uncouth verbiage of the old narrative, there is a touch

of human pathos about it which makes it worthy of reproduction.

Note H.--Monmouth’s Contention of Legitimacy.

Sir Patrick Hume, relating a talk with Monmouth before his expedition,

says: ‘I urged if he considered himself as lawful son of King Charles,

late deceased. He said he did. I asked him if he were able to make out

and prove the marriage of his mother to King Charles, and whether he

intended to lay claim to the crown. He answered that he had been able

lately to prove the marriage, and if some persons are not lately dead,

of which he would inform himself, he would yet be able to prove it.

As for his claiming the crown, he intended not to do it unless it were

advised to be done by those who should concern themselves and join for

the delivery of the nations.’

It may be remarked that in Monmouth’s commission to be general, dated

April 1668, he is styled ‘our most entirely beloved and natural son.’

Again, in a commission for the government of Hull, April 1673, he is

‘our well-beloved natural son.’

Note I.--Dragooners and Chargers.

The dragoons, being really mounted infantry, were provided with very

inferior animals to the real cavalry. From a letter of Cromwell’s

[‘Squire Correspondence,’ April 3, 1643), it will be seen that a

dragooner was worth twenty pieces, while a charger could not be obtained

under sixty.

Note J.--Battle of Sedgemoor.

A curious little sidelight upon the battle is afforded by the two

following letters exhibited to the Royal Archaeological Institute by the

Rev. C. W. Bingham.

‘To Mrs. Chaffin at Chettle House.’

‘Monday, about ye forenoon, July 6, 1685.’

‘My dearest creature,--This morning about one o’clock the rebbells fell

upon us whilest we were in our tents in King’s Sedgemoor, with their

whole army.... We have killed and taken at least 1000 of them. They are

fled into Bridgewater. It is said that we have taken all their cannon,

but sure it is that most are, if all be not. A coat with stars on ‘t is

taken. ‘’Tis run through the back. By some ‘tis thought that the Duke

rebbell had it on and is killed, but most doe think that a servant wore

it. I wish he were called, that the wars may be ended. It’s thought

he’ll never be able to make his men fight again. I thank God I am very

well without the least hurt, soe are our Dorsetshire friends. Prythee

let Biddy know this by the first opportunity. I am thyne onely deare,

TOSSEY.’

BRIDGEWATER: July 7, 1685.

‘We have totally routed the enemies of God and the King, and can’t hear

of fifty men together of the whole rebel army. We pick them up every

houre in cornfields and ditches. Williams, the late Duke’s valet de

chambre, is taken, who gives a very ingenious account of the whole

affair, which is too long to write. The last word that he said to him

was at the time when his army fled, that he was undone and must shift

for himself. We think to march with the General this day to Wells, on

his way homeward. At present he is 3 miles off at the camp, soe I can’t

certainly tell whether he intends for Wells. I shall be home certainly

on Saturday at farthest. I believe my deare Nan would for 500 pounds

that her Tossey had served the King to the end of the war.

I am thyne, my deare childe, for ever.’

Note K.--Lord Grey and the Horse at Sedgemoor.

It is only fair to state that Ferguson is held by many to have been

as doughty a soldier as he was zealous in religion. His own account of

Sedgemoor is interesting, as showing what was thought by those who were

actually engaged on the causes of their failure.

‘Now besides these two troops, whose officers though they had no great

skill yet had courage enough to have done something honourably, had they

not for want of a guide met with the aforesaid obstruction, there was

no one of all the rest of our troops that ever advanced to charge or

approached as near to the enemy as to give or receive a wound. Mr.

Hacker, one of our captains, came no sooner within view of their camp

than he villainously fired a pistol to give them notice of our approach,

and then forsook his charge and rode oft with all the speed he could, to

take the benefit of a proclamation emitted by the King, offering pardon

to all such as should return home within such a time. And this he

pleaded at his tryal, but was answered by Jeffreys “that he above all

other men deserved to be hanged, and that for his treachery to Monmouth

as well as his treason to the King.” And though no other of our officers

acted so villainously, yet they were useless and unserviceable, as never

once attempting to charge, nor so much as keeping their men in a body.

And I dare affirm that if our horse had never fired a pistol, but only

stood in a posture to have given jealousy and apprehension to the enemy,

our foot alone would have carried the day and been triumphant. But our

horse standing scattered and disunited, and flying upon every approach

of a squadron of theirs, commanded by Oglethorpe, gave that body of

their cavalry an advantage, after they had hovered up and down in the

field without thinking it necessary to attack those whom their own fears

had dispersed, to fall in at last in the rear of our battalions, and to

wrest that victory out of their hands which they were grasping at, and

stood almost possessed of. Nor was that party of their horse above

three hundred at most, whereas we had more than enough had they had any

courage, and been commanded by a gallant man, to have attacked them

with ease both in front and flank. These things I can declare with

more certainty, because I was a doleful spectator of them; for having

contrary to my custom left attending upon the Duke, who advanced with

the foot, I betook myself to the horse, because the first of that

morning’s action was expected from them, which was to break in and

disorder the enemy’s camp. Against the time that our battalions should

come up, I endeavoured whatsoever I was capable of performing, for I

not only struck at several troopers who had forsaken their station, but

upbraided divers of the captains for being wanting in their duty. But I

spoke with great warmth to my Lord Grey, and conjured him to charge, and

not suffer the victory, which our foot had in a manner taken hold of,

to be ravished from us. But instead of hearkening, he not only as an

unworthy man and cowardly poltroon deserted that part of the field and

forsook his command, but rode with the utmost speed to the Duke, telling

him that all was lost and it was more than time to shift for himself.

Wherebye, as an addition to all the mischief he had been the occasion

of before, he drew the easy and unfortunate gentleman to leave the

battalions while they were courageously disputing on which side the

victory should fall. And this fell most unhappily out, while a certain

person was endeavouring to find out the Duke to have begged of him to

come and charge at the head of his own troops. However, this I dare

affirm, that if the Duke had been but master of two hundred horse,

well mounted, completely armed, personally valiant, and commanded

by experienced officers, they would have been victorious. This is

acknowledged by our enemies, who have often confessed they were ready

to fly through the impressions made upon them by our foot, and must have

been beaten had our horse done their part, and not tamely looked on

till their cavalry retrieved the day by falling into the rear of our

battalions. Nor was the fault in the private men, who had courage

to have followed their leaders, but it was in those who led them,

particularly my Lord Grey, in whom, if cowardice may be called

treachery, we may safely charge him with betraying our cause.’

Extract from MS. of Dr. Ferguson, quoted in ‘Ferguson the Plotter,’ an

interesting work by his immediate descendant, an advocate of Edinburgh.

Note L.--Monmouth’s Attitude after Capture.

The following letter, written by Monmouth to the Queen from the Tower,

is indicative of his abject state of mind.

‘Madam,--I would not take the boldness of writing to your Majesty till

I had shown the King how I do abhor the thing that I have done, and how

much I desire to live to serve him. I hope, madam, by what I have said

to the King to-day will satisfy how sincere I am, and how much I detest

all those people who have brought me to this. Having done this, madam,

I thought I was in a fitt condition to beg your intercession, which I am

sure you never refuse to the distressed, and I am sure, madam, that I

am an object of your pity, having been cousened and cheated into this

horrid business. Did I wish, madam, to live for living sake I would

never give you this trouble, but it is to have life to serve the

King, which I am able to doe, and will doe beyond what I can express.

Therefore, madam, upon such an account as I may take the boldness to

press you and beg of you to intersaid for me, for I am sure, madam, the

King will hearken to you. Your prairs can never be refused, especially

when it is begging for a life only to serve the King. I hope, madam, by

the King’s generosity and goodness, and your intercession, I may hope

for my life which if I have shall be ever employed in showing to your

Majesty all the sense immaginable of gratitude, and in serving of the

King like a true subject. And ever be your Majesty’s most dutiful and

obedient servant, MONMOUTH.’

THE END