第 三十七 章 · 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