Roger Willoughby: A Story of the Times of Benbow

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  We must now return to Lyme. The cordial reception Stephen Battiscombemet with from the Duke made him more than ever devoted to his cause.Having a good horse, he at once volunteered to ride out and collecthorses with men accustomed to riding, who might be willing to join andform the nucleus of a cavalry force. The news of the Duke's landingrapidly spread far and wide. Other friends of the cause galloped off inall directions, running no little risk of being captured by the militia,who had been called out by several loyal noblemen and gentlemen oninformation being received that the rebellion had commenced. The Dukewas indefatigable in his exertions. Rising at an early hour on themorning after his arrival, he was ready to receive the volunteers, whoflocked in by hundreds from all directions. When he had caused theirnames to be taken down, he sent them by a messenger with a list to theTown-Hall, where the arms were stored, and persons ready to give themout. The volunteers were immediately armed and sent to the officers atdifferent posts which had been established round the town, where they,without loss of time, were drilled and exercised. All day long, as wellas the following night, people came crowding in, and the next day, whichwas Saturday the 13th, they appeared in such prodigious numbers that itwas no easy matter to take down their names and to supply them witharms. Thus at the close of the day the Duke's army already amounted toa thousand foot and one hundred and fifty horse, which were every houraugmenting. Whatever the Duke and the gentlemen who accompanied him,Lord Grey, Fletcher of Salton, and others, might have thought of thisforce, their increasing number greatly raised the enthusiasm of hisfollowers. They felt themselves ready to undertake any adventure whichmight be proposed. Stephen Battiscombe had met his brothers coming tojoin the camp. Together they proceeded to the houses of such friendsand acquaintances as they knew were friendly to the cause. Some allowedtheir servants and dependants to join, and others sent horses, althoughthey themselves thought it prudent not to appear in arms on the Duke'sside. So energetically did Stephen execute his commission that in a fewhours he returned with twenty mounted men and several spare horses. TheDuke, immediately on his appearance, appointed him lieutenant of thetroop, observing that he expected before long to be able to give him therank of captain.

  "We shall probably before long meet the enemy, if they do not rather runaway when they see us. Notice has just been brought in that the Duke ofAlbemarle is approaching with a strong body of militia, and intends toattack this night; but I intend to forestall him, and we are about tomarch out to form an ambush, so that we may set upon him suddenly shouldhe approach."

  This news created considerable excitement among the young recruits, whowere eager to strike a blow for the cause they had espoused. As eveningapproached the force marched out in silence, orders having been giventhat there should be no shouting, lest they should betray theirwhereabouts. The force amounted to eight hundred foot and one hundredand fifty horse, and with it three pieces of cannon. They took up theirposition at a cross road behind hedges, and in the narrow way behindwhich it was supposed that the Duke of Albemarle would come, the footlying in the field with their arms in rank and file, the horsemenholding their bridles in their hands. Every moment they expected to beup and doing, but the night drew on and no enemy appeared. At lengthday dawned; the men rose to their feet. They had taken their firstlesson in campaigning, and felt the better prepared for meeting theenemy. Stephen Battiscombe had had more experience than most of hiscompanions during his adventures in Africa, so that the sort of work wasnot quite so new to him as it was to many others. As he surveyed therapidly increasing army, he observed that though many of the recruitshad no fire-arms, and were compelled to content themselves with scytheslashed to the end of stout poles, still these would prove formidableweapons in the hands of stout men. He rode back at the head of hislittle troop to join his brothers and other young gentlemen, some actingas officers, some as privates, at breakfast, not in those days a meal oftoast, eggs, butter, and tea, but of beef, bread, and beer. They werestill seated at table when the trampling of horses outside announced thearrival of another party. On running to the window they saw agrey-haired personage of no very aristocratic appearance, though mountedon a fine steed, at the head of about forty horsemen; but he was old MrDare, paymaster to the forces. He was one of the two persons who hadlanded at Seaton on the morning of the 11th, and had gone inland at nolittle risk to apprise Mr Speke of the Duke's arrival. He was a boldman with much intelligence, and was one of the moving spirits of therebellion. As he arrived before the George Inn the Duke went out tomeet him, and welcomed him cordially. The levies came in faster thanever, and it was as much as the Battiscombes, and other young gentlemenwho could write, could do to take down their names and send them off tothe regiments now forming, called after various colours, as was thecustom in those days. Stephen's zeal was remarked by Fletcher ofSalton, the principal officer of military experience who had joined theDuke, a man of great talents, but possessed of a hasty and irritabletemper. "I see who will be among our future colonels," he observed, ashe rode by, mounted on a somewhat sorry hack, to dine with the Duke ofMonmouth. Thus encouraged, Stephen continued his labours. Hisdisappointment was very great when he found that the arms and ammunitionwere already running short, and that no weapons were to be procured toput into the hands of the eager recruits. Numbers had to return home,fortunately for themselves, who would gladly have fought for the cause.In the afternoon information was received that a strong body of Dorsetmilitia had occupied Bridport, and that another regiment, under SirWilliam Portman, was expected to disperse these forces. In the hopesthat a large number would come over to him with their arms, the Dukedetermined on sending an expedition against the town. It was intendedthat Fletcher and Lord Grey should command the horse. The former, afterdining with the Duke, sallied out to make the necessary preparations.Finding a handsome horse in the stables, he at once appropriated itwithout sending to ask leave of the owner, who proved to be Mr Dare,the paymaster. Stephen was getting his little troop in readiness, as heexpected to be sent on the expedition, when Fletcher rode into themarket square mounted on Mr Dare's horse. The owner, withoutconsidering Fletcher's military rank and social position, came up tohim, and in an insulting manner inquired how Mr Fletcher ventured totake a horse belonging to him without first asking his leave.

  "The exigencies of the moment require it, my friend," answered Fletcher;"and as I am to command the cavalry, it is important that I should havea horse capable of performing whatever work I may demand of him. Itherefore considered myself justified in taking the first horse suitablefor my purpose, irrespective to whom he belongs."

  "But I am not thus to be ridden over by a Scotch Laird," exclaimed Darein an insulting tone; "the horse is mine."

  "It may be," said Fletcher, "but you are not about to act as a cavalryofficer, and I am. Therefore, for the good of the service, I considermyself justified in retaining the horse."

  "Retain it you shall not," cried Dare, flourishing a cane which he heldin his hand. "Whether you are a cavalry officer or not, I will make youdismount from that horse," and he advanced with a threatening gesturetowards the high-spirited Scotchman. A fatal moment. Fletcher drew apistol and ordered Dare to stand back. Dare still advanced, when, tothe horror of all the bystanders, the pistol exploded, and Dare fellmortally wounded to the ground. Stephen and others ran to lift up thefallen man, but life had fled. Fletcher was instantly seized withremorse at the fatal act he had committed, when he saw Dare was no more.Numbers gathered from all parts, and among them came the son of theslain man, accompanied by a number of the new levies, who demandedpunishment of the assassin. The Duke of Monmouth, hurrying up, in vainendeavoured to allay their anger. They threatened that if Fletcher wasnot arrested, they would take the law into their own hands and tear himto pieces. The poor Duke was almost distracted by this unfortunateevent. In Dare he had lost a devoted partisan, while Fletcher was theonly man besides himself in his whole army who had seen service, w
ho, byhis talents, was capable of acting as a General. As the only way tosave him, he told him to consider himself under arrest and, turning toStephen, directed him to convey Mr Fletcher on board his frigate, whichstill lay in the outer roads.

  "I regret the duty I am called on to perform, Mr Fletcher," saidStephen; "you must at once accompany me to the harbour."

  "I am under your command," answered Mr Fletcher.

  Upon which Stephen surrounded him with a party of his own men, who withdifficulty kept off the followers of Mr Dare, who were thirsting forhis blood. They however reached the quay in safety, when Stephen, withhis prisoner and four of his men, embarked on board one of the frigate'sboats, which had just come to the shore. There was still a risk oftheir being pursued, so Stephen ordered the boat to pull off immediatelyfor the frigate.

  "I hope, sir, when it is known what provocation Mr Dare gave you, thatthe anger of the people will be appeased, and that you will be able toreturn and take command of the army."

  "Though disappointed with the class of persons who have flocked to theDuke's standard, I will still gladly risk all for the sake of the noblecause in which he has embarked," said Fletcher, "and I may hope that ina few days the tide will turn in my favour, though I confess with thedeepest regret the result of my hasty temper."

  "Can I, in the meantime, be of any use to you on shore?" asked Stephen.

  "Thank you, sir," answered Fletcher. "I shall be obliged to you if youwill bring my valise and papers which I left at the George; and as I maynot have an opportunity of seeing the Duke for some time, I beg that youwill express to him how deeply I regret what has taken place."

  Mr Fletcher was silent for the greater part of the way, and Stephen,having seen his prisoner on board, returned with his men to the shore.On landing he was met by frowning looks from many of those who hadaccompanied Mr Dare. Stephen at once made his way back to report whathe had done to the Duke, who replied, "I must send you back once morewith orders to the master of the ship to sail immediately, and toproceed along the coast to Bristol. I have given directions to have amariner, one John Kerridge, impressed, as he is a skilful pilot, andwill be able to conduct the ship to Bristol. You will engage a boatfrom the shore, and put him with Mr Fletcher on board."

  With these directions Stephen returned to the quay, where he found JohnKerridge, who seemed in no wise desirous of performing the duty imposedupon him. However, being in the hands of armed men, he could not helphimself, and was placed with a guard in the boat, in which Stephenconveyed him on board the frigate. Whenever Stephen had left her side,he saw her crew making preparations for getting under weigh. Her anchorwas hove up, her sails set, and the wind being off shore, she at oncestood out to sea.

  "She seems to me to be standing more to the southward than her duecourse for the Start," he said to one of the boatmen.

  "May be the Captain does not know how the wind will come, which is togive the Start a wide berth," was the answer.

  As far, however, as Stephen could watch, he observed that she held asouth-westerly course. On his arrival on shore he found thatnotwithstanding the untoward event of the afternoon, the expedition toBridport was still to be carried out. He found a party of three hundredmen under Colonel Wade, with a hundred men under Captain Goodenough,while the cavalry was commanded by Lord Grey, who had charge of thewhole expedition. They were to march all night in great secrecy, hopingto fall on the militia early in the morning. They waited till sunset,when, all being prepared, they marched out of Lyme, the infantryleading, the cavalry bringing up the rear. The men were ordered to keepsilence, and to make as little noise in any way as possible. It was noeasy matter to induce raw recruits, however, to do this. Stephen ofcourse, knew every inch of the way. They were still some three or fourmiles from Bridport, when the advanced guard met two men coming from thedirection of the town. Instead of running away they advanced boldly,declared that they had escaped from the town, and that their wish was tojoin the Duke of Monmouth.

  "You have found them sooner than you expected," said LieutenantMitchell, the officer commanding the vanguard.

  The men willingly agreed to return with the party, although they saidthat there were no less than one thousand two hundred foot, and ahundred horse already holding the town. Still, as they had come thusfar and were positively ordered to attack, the leaders were unwilling togo back without attempting something, although they were faroutnumbered. A thick fog came on towards morning, which completelyconcealed their approach towards the end of the town, which consists ofone long broad street with a stone bridge at either end, and a crossstreet running north and south. The bridge was quickly won, theoutposts retiring with expedition to the main guard, who speedilyretreated, standing only to receive one volley from Monmouth's vanguard.The king's horse, with a small body of infantry, alone occupied thetown, and as the troopers ran away, they let their horses go, which wereat once captured by the successful assailants. Colonel Venner now ledon his men to attack the eastern bridge, leaving parties of musketeersand pikes to command the entrances to the other streets, and fightingtook place in front of the inn, when two of the king's officers andothers lost their lives, and several prisoners were made by Monmouth'smen. Colonel Venner, however, was wounded. When Lord Grey wasadvancing on the bridge, the loyal militia fired a heavy volley, whichinduced him and his troop to turn their horses' heads and gallop off.On Colonel Venner being wounded, Colonel Wade took command, and led tothe western part of the town, where for half-an-hour his men and thoseof the king's forces were shouting to each other. He then, finding thatthe rest of the force had retreated, considered it his duty to retire,which he did in pretty good order, with thirty horses and about fourteenprisoners. The whole transaction must have shown the Duke how littlereliance he could place upon his new levies, or even upon some of hisprincipal officers. The Duke complimented Stephen on his good conductin bringing off his men. The party were pretty well knocked up by theirmarch to Bridport and back, and there was little drilling that evening,except among the new levies; but early the next morning the drum beat toarms, the regiments were formed under their respective leaders, and theDuke, putting himself at the head, passed them all in review. AsStephen rode near the Duke, he observed that his countenance wore amelancholy expression, the animation which had at first appeared havingquite faded from it. He evidently had taken greatly to heart the deathof Dare; still, as he had commenced the enterprise, he seemed resolvedto carry it out. His troops were in a very different mood; they saw notthe dangers ahead, and were mostly under the belief that the king'sforces would melt away before them should they be encountered. Stephen,as he rode among the ranks, observed the awkward movements of some ofthe men, the jaunty air of others, and the ragged appearance of thecavalry, many of the horses being large untrained colts, and began tofeel less confident of success till he recollected that probably themilitia regiments on the king's side were much in the same condition,and, moreover, that they were well-affected towards the Duke. The armymarched slowly and leisurely along till they reached Axminster, wherenews was brought to the Duke that Albemarle was advancing with a largebody of militia to attack them. Monmouth skilfully drew up his forces;the four field-pieces were planted so as to command the road along whichthe Royal troops were approaching, while the thick hedges which on eachside overhung the narrow lanes were lined with musketeers; the cavalrywere held in reserve.

  "Here they come, my lads," cried Stephen Battiscombe, as Albemarle's menwere seen in the distance. "Steady, now; if they venture to attack us,we shall soon send them to the right-about."

  At first the enemy came on boldly and rapidly. While still beyondmusket range they were seen to halt, then suddenly to retreat. Theinsurgents on this dashed forward. As they heard the cheers and shoutsof Monmouth's men, throwing down their arms they took to flight, andscampered off in all directions across the country. They were pursuedfor some distance, and coats, muskets, and pikes were picked up by thevictorious insurgents.

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; "Now, surely the Duke of Monmouth will follow up the pursuit, and weshall probably capture Exeter without a blow," observed Stephen.

  "No chance of that, I fear," answered his brother Andrew, who was ridingby his side. "Hark! there is the recall, and it is a signal our rawfellows will be glad enough to obey."

  This last remark was too true. The Duke of Monmouth, probably unwillingto employ his recruits in any hazardous service till they were bettertrained, thought it wise to be satisfied with the advantage he hadalready gained, and continued his march towards Taunton, and thatevening reached the neighbourhood of Chard, where the troops encamped ina meadow outside the town. The Duke was now near the estates of thosefriends who had entertained him so sumptuously a few years before, andhe naturally looked forward to being joined by a number of thosegentlemen and their retainers; but only one, John Speke, the son of MrGeorge Speke of White Lackington Hall, arrived at the camp, with fortyhorsemen of no very imposing appearance from Chard. The next morningthe Duke's forces marched to Ilminster, about four miles off, andencamped in a field about half a mile beyond the town; still he waslooking forward to the arrival of fresh levies headed by men ofconsequence. None, however, arrived, though labouring men in vastnumbers would have joined his standard if arms could have been found forthem. Bad news also arrived from Lyme; the king's frigate had sailedinto the harbour and had captured the _Pink_ and another vessel whichhad on board numerous barrels of gunpowder, and several thousand breastand head pieces for cavalry, though, considering that there were nohorses or men to wear the defensive armour, it was not of muchconsequence. Thus far there had been no success. The Duke now resolvedto march to Taunton, that celebrated and beautiful little town which hadendured so heroic a siege under Blake. It was here that during hisprogress he had been received with such remarkable honours, and he fullyexpected now to receive a similar treatment. Taunton was denselypopulated, and was the seat of the trade in serges, and as most of themanufacturers were Dissenters, they were universally in favour of theDuke of Monmouth. As Monmouth approached Taunton several persons cameout from the town, who informed him that it had been occupied till theday before by Royal troops, but they, hearing of the disorder into whichthe militia had been thrown between Axminster and Chard, about midnight,a drum sounding both officers and men, had marched out, having receivedorders to appear at Bridgewater. Messengers also promised a cordialreception to the Duke should he come. The Duke, having encamped hisforces outside the town, prepared to enter it. He was met by a largebody of men on horseback, every person who possessed a steed going outto meet him, while the rest of the inhabitants on foot rent the air withapplause and acclamations. The streets through which he passed werestrewed with flowers; the windows were thronged with spectators, alleager to gaze on the hero they had been taught to admire. The Duke'sspirits rose higher than they had been since he landed. The Duke hadtaken up his residence at the house of Captain Hucker. The followingmorning it was announced to him that a procession was approaching to dohim honour. He descended the steps in front of the house, when he sawcoming towards him a band of young maidens, each carrying banners ofdifferent colours, which they had worked with their own hands. At theirhead appeared a lady of more mature age, carrying a naked sword in onehand and in the other a small curious Bible, which she presented with ashort acceptable speech. The Duke, looking greatly pleased, assured herthat he had undertaken with a resolution to defend the truth containedin the book, to seal it, should it be required, with his blood. He thensaluted each of the young ladies, as did Lord Grey. His Grace thenmounted his horse, and the twenty-seven young maidens followed, eachbearing a banner, and led by a young man. Among the flags was a goldenbanner worked with the initials J.R. and a crown. Having paradedthrough the streets, the Duke returned to his abode, and the youngmaidens retired to their own homes. The day after, some of hisprincipal advisers recommended the Duke to assume the title of King.The Duke was willing to do this, and there were many reasons in favourof the step, though many also against it. It was argued that a largenumber of the nobility were unwilling to take up arms in his cause,fearing that unless a king was at the head of the movement, it mightresult in the establishment of a Commonwealth, to which they werestrongly opposed. Several of his Republican officers, on hearing of theproposal, expressed themselves greatly averse to it; and it was notwithout much difficulty that they were won over to give their consent,in the hopes that they should be immediately joined by the nobility andgentry, who were now hanging back. Stephen Battiscombe and hisbrothers, knowing their father's principles, felt sure that he woulddisapprove of this step; at the same time, they had become so attachedto the Duke that they were ready to agree to anything which it wassupposed would forward his interests. The subject was anxiouslydiscussed by many of the best friends of the Duke. The flag carried byMiss Mary Mead, the work of the maids of Taunton, on which wereemblazoned the initials J.R. and the crown, had been seen by thousands,and that emblem could not have been mistaken. No one had complained.The fatal step was quickly decided on,--fatal, because should the Dukefail and be captured, it would cut off all hope of pardon from James theSecond. On Saturday, 20th June, some of the chief magistrates werecompelled to attend in their gowns at the market crossing, where a largeconcourse of people were assembled. Mr Tyler then read the followingproclamation:--"Whereas, upon the decease of our Sovereign, Charles theSecond, late King of England, the succession to the Crown of England,Scotland, France, and Ireland, with the dominions and territoriesthereunto belonging, did legally descend and devolve upon the mostillustrious and high-born Prince, James, Duke of Monmouth, son andheir-apparent to the said King Charles the Second; but James, Duke ofYork, taking advantage of the absence of the said James, Duke ofMonmouth, beyond the seas, did first cause the said late King to bepoisoned, and immediately thereupon did usurp and invade the Crown, anddoth continue so to do. We, therefore, the noblemen, gentlemen, andcommons at present assembled, in the names of ourselves and all theloyal and Protestant noblemen, gentlemen, and commons of England, inpursuance of our duty and allegiance, and of the delivering of thekingdom from Popery, tyranny, and oppression, do recognise, publish, andproclaim the said high and mighty Prince, James, Duke of Monmouth, ourlawful and rightful Sovereign and King, by the name of James the Second,by the grace of God, King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland,defender of the Faith," etcetera.

  "God bless the King," the people shouted, and immediately the officersof the army and the principal inhabitants advanced and kissed Monmouth'shand, and addressed him as, "Sire," and, "Your Majesty." The newsspread far and wide, and an enthusiastic gentleman, Colonel Dore ofLymington, in Hampshire, proclaimed the Duke of Monmouth, and raised atroop of a hundred men for his service. Volunteers now poured in ineven greater numbers than before. Many had to be sent back for want ofarms of any description. There was not even a sufficiency of scythesfor all Monmouth still waited in vain for news of an insurrection inLondon. Colonel Danvers, who had promised to head it, hung back,fearing to risk his life in the enterprise. The king's forces were nowgathering from all directions to oppose the Duke. The household troops,the only real soldiers who could be depended upon, were marching fromLondon, and were likely to prove formidable antagonists to Monmouth'sill-disciplined volunteers. Stephen had been sent on outpost duty withhis small body of horse. He had been directed to proceed in thedirection of Chard, when towards evening, as he was about to return, hediscovered a party of Royal horse galloping towards him. Though he soondiscovered that they were superior in numbers to him, he drew up his mento receive them. They came on, led by a young officer, who showedabundant bravery if not much skill. As the party advanced Stephen gavethe word to charge. Shots were rapidly exchanged, and swords wereclashing as the combatants met in a doubtful fight. First to fall wasthe young officer. Two of Stephen's men dropped from their horses, twoothers directly afterwards were shot. Notwithstanding, the Royaltroopers, discouraged by the loss of their officer, wheeled round andtook
to flight. Several more of his men had been wounded, so thatStephen was unable to pursue the enemy, and he judged it wise to makethe best of his way back to Taunton, fearing that he might be shut up inthe town. The Duke at once resolved to march on Bridgewater, where hemight hope to obtain arms and pecuniary assistance from the wealthyinhabitants devoted to his cause. It had been proposed to fortifyTaunton, but since its memorable siege, when defended by Blake, thewalls and fortifications had been destroyed, and a considerable numberof men would have been required for its defence. The day after Monmouthhad assumed the kingly title he marched out of Taunton at the head of anarmy, which, in point of numbers, might well have encouraged him withhopes of success, but Stephen Battiscombe observed with regret that helooked dispirited, in spite of the acclamations of the devoted thousandswhich were raised wherever he appeared. Stephen, as he was passing outof the town, observed Mr Ferguson, the Duke's chaplain, whom he hadoften met, standing with a drawn sword in his hand, looking more like alunatic than a sane minister of the Gospel.

  "What can have come over the man?" remarked Stephen to his brother."Hark! hear what he is saying."

  "Look at me, you have heard of me," shouted the chaplain. "I amFerguson, the famous Ferguson, for whose head so many hundred poundshave been offered." Thus he continued uttering the same or similarphrases till the army had passed by.

  "I have long ago taken the man's measure, and have heartily wished thatthe Duke had a better adviser," said Andrew.

  The two brothers rode on with their men, keeping a watchful look-out onevery side in case the enemy should suddenly appear. Bridgewater wasreached without opposition, and in the evening Monmouth's army, nowmustering six thousand tolerably armed men, entered Bridgewater. TheDuke met with a cordial reception from the Mayor and Corporation of thattown, who proclaimed him king at the High Cross. The army was encampedon Castle Field, on the east side of the town, and the Duke himself tookup his lodgings in the castle close by. The Duke might have beenencouraged when he thought of the siege and gallant defence ofBridgewater by the famous Blake, who was a native of the town. Abody-guard of forty young men, well mounted and armed, who paid theirown expenses, had been formed for the protection of Monmouth's person,while the whole of his cavalry amounted to a thousand horse. His objectwas now to push forward, and, if an opportunity offered, to captureBristol. He therefore made but a short stay at Bridgewater, andproceeded on to Glastonbury, in the famous abbey of which a part of thearmy took up their quarters, while others occupied the neighbouringchurches. His intention of taking Bristol was frustrated by the bridgeacross the Avon being broken-down, and by the Earl of Feversham havingentered the city at the head of two hundred and fifty of the HorseGuards, formidable antagonists for Monmouth's ill-disciplined cavalry toencounter. During the march Monmouth's troops had been greatly harassedby the cavalry under Lord Churchill, afterwards the famous Duke ofMarlborough. Monmouth knew that the inhabitants of Bristol were readyto rise the moment he should commence to attack, but the Duke ofBeaufort, who commanded there, threatened to burn down the city at theleast sign of rebellion, and Monmouth was delayed by the destruction ofthe bridge, while the king's forces were gathering round him in largenumbers. He was compelled to abandon his design and to countermarch toBridgewater. At Philip's Norton the advanced guard of the two armiesmet and had a sharp action, that of the Royal army being led by the Dukeof Grafton, a half-brother of Monmouth. Grafton, leading on his men,found himself in a deep lane with fences on both sides of him, fromwhich a galling fire of musketry was kept up, but he pushed on boldlytill he came to the entrance of Philip's Norton; there his way wascrossed by a barricade, from which a third fire met him full in front.His men now lost heart, and made the best of their way out of the lane;but before they got out of it more than a hundred of them had beenkilled or wounded. Grafton now encountered a party of Monmouth'scavalry, and cutting his way through them, came off safe. Though thetwo armies were now face to face, neither was anxious to engage in ageneral action. Feversham was waiting for his artillery, and Monmouthknew that his followers, in spite of their courage and zeal, were nomatch for regular soldiers. He had hoped that those regiments which hehad formerly commanded would pass over to his standard, but that hope hewas now compelled to relinquish; his heart filled, and he almost gaveway to despair. Even at this time a proclamation was circulated, issuedby James the Second, offering an amnesty to all who would lay down theirarms and abandon Monmouth, excepting certain leaders who were expresslynamed. A meeting was accordingly held by some of Monmouth's chiefsupporters, who proposed that those who were excluded from the amnestyshould retreat to the coast and embark for Holland, leaving theirfollowers to make such terms as they could with the Government.Monmouth in the present desponding mood was much disposed to adopt thismeasure. He did not look upon it as a disgraceful proceeding. Manylives would be saved, and he and his officers would preserve theirs.The step, however, was strongly opposed by Lord Grey, who implored theDuke to face any danger rather than requite with ingratitude andtreachery the devoted attachment of the western peasantry. Abandoningthis project, Monmouth, hearing that there was a rising of theinhabitants of the districts in the neighbourhood of Bridgewater,determined to return thither, and re-entered that town on the 2nd ofJuly, having passed through Wells on his way. He now thought offortifying that place, and had commenced the undertaking when the king'sforces appeared in sight. They consisted of two thousand five hundredtroops, and one thousand five hundred of the Wiltshire militia. Insteadof at once attacking the Duke, they encamped on the plain of Sedgemoor,about three miles from Bridgewater. Stephen Battiscombe, by his courageand judgment, had risen high in Monmouth's favour, and now, with severalother officers, accompanied the Duke to the top of the parish churchsteeple, the loftiest in the county. From it a wide view could beobtained, and with their glasses they could distinguish across the moorthe villages where the royal army was posted. In one of them, WestonZoyland, lay the royal cavalry, and here Feversham had fixed hishead-quarters. Further off lay Middle Zoy, where the Wiltshire militiawere quartered, and upon the moor, not far from Chedzoy, were encampedseveral battalions of regular infantry. Among them the Dukedistinguished Dumbarton's regiment, which he himself had once commanded.

  "I know those men," he said, turning to Stephen; "they will fight. If Ihad but them, all would go well."

  Still, formidable as the force appeared, the Duke knew Feversham'sincapacity, and even on the eve of battle his spies brought in word toMonmouth that his troops were regaling themselves with cider, and thatno regular outposts had been established. On this the idea occurred tohim that it might be possible to surprise the king's forces, and to cutthem to pieces. Lord Grey and the other principal officers agreed tothis, and it was arranged that they should march out that very night.Castlefield, where they were encamped, presented on that Sundayafternoon a spectacle which for many a long year had not been seen inEngland since the disbanding of Cromwell's soldiers. The greater numberof the men were Dissenters. The day was passed in religious exercisesaccording to the Puritan fashion. The preachers who had taken up armsagainst Popery, some of whom had fought in the great Civil War, appearedin red coats and jack boots, with swords by their sides. StephenBattiscombe heartily joined in the religious exercises, though heavoided the spot where Ferguson was holding forth, and endeavouring toprove that the war in which they were engaged was not rebellion, but arighteous enterprise which merited the support of Heaven. Among thesoldiers were their wives and daughters, who had come into the town fromthe surrounding districts to see them on that Sabbath-day; and when thecamp-meeting broke up, and the trumpet summoned the men to their ranks,many parted who were never to meet again. Evening of that summer daydrew on, and the time to commence the march arrived. As the Duke, withhis body-guard, rode out of the castle, many remarked that his look wassad and full of evil augury. The night was well suited for thecontemplated enterprise. Though the moon was at the full, and thenorthern streamers were shin
ing brilliantly, the marsh fog lay sothickly on Sedgemoor that no object could be discerned fifty paces off.The Duke himself led the infantry, while the cavalry, a thousand strong,had been committed to Lord Grey, notwithstanding the remonstrances ofmany who mistrusted him after his previous ill-success. Stephen wouldwillingly have had a different leader, for though Lord Grey was faithfulto the cause he had espoused and courageous in council, yet he wasdestitute of that nerve which is the great requisite of an officer. Hecould have had no confidence in the greater number of his men, who,though brave, were quite undisciplined. Many of them had been embodiedbut a few days, and had not learned the use of their weapons, whiletheir horses were unaccustomed to stand fire, or to act in concert witheach other, so that they could be scarcely kept in their ranks. Even onthe march most of the infantry also lacked discipline. At the sametime, many had served in the militia, and being all animated with thesame zeal, knew that they could trust each other. The scythe-menespecially were sturdy fellows, drawn from the neighbouring mines, andwere ready to fight to the last. Although the distance to Feversham'scamp was little more than three miles, in order to avoid two deepditches, called in those parts plungeons or steanings, the Duke, led bya guide, took a circuitous route of nearly six miles in length. Therewas a third ditch, called the Rhine, which still lay between him and theking's camp, but of which he knew nothing. There was a ford across thisRhine, by which his troops might have passed over, but which in thedarkness was missed. In silence and darkness Monmouth's devoted troopsmarched on. Some confusion and delay were caused by the first twoditches, but these having been passed, the Duke, believing noobstruction existed between him and the royal camp, fully expected tosucceed in his enterprise. He here halted for the horse, consisting ofeight squadrons, to advance. The four iron guns followed the horse, atthe head of the foot, which consisted of five great battalions, eachhaving one company of one hundred scythe-men, who did the duty ofgrenadiers. He had got within a mile of the camp, when the advancedsentries of the Royal Horse Guards were discovered. A party of LordGrey's cavalry charged them, when they galloped off to arouse the camp.Just before this a pistol had been heard to go off, which undoubtedlydrew the attention of the king's troops to the advancing force.Monmouth, hearing that the king's camp was alarmed, ordered Lord Grey toadvance rapidly with the horse, and to fall among the tents of the foot,so as to take them in flank, being still ignorant of the great ditchwhich protected them. Lord Grey accordingly marched on, to execute theorders given him, towards the upper plungeon; but he missed the passageover the ditch, and led his men by the outside till they were oppositeDumbarton's regiment. Being challenged, some one answered "Albemarle,"and he accordingly, supposing them to be friends, allowed five hundredof them to pass. Lord Grey, then coming to the first battalion of theGuards, Captain Berkley, who commanded the right wing of the musketeers,inquired whom they were for. The answer was, "The king."

  "What king?" he asked.

  "Monmouth, and God with us," was the reply.

  Berkley then cried out, "Take this with you," when his own and severalbattalions opened a heavy fire, and a considerable number of Grey'shorses and men fell. When unable any longer to stand the fire, theyrode off as hard as they could pelt. A smaller body of horse, to whichStephen belonged, under the command of Captain Jones, made severaldesperate charges, and were also compelled to retreat without havingcrossed the ditch, when they went off towards Sutton Hill, where theytook up a position to see the issue of the fight. The flight of LordGrey's horse threw many of the infantry into confusion. Some refused toadvance, and others ran away; but a still greater disaster was in store,for on coming to the end of the moor, where forty-two ammunition wagonshad been left, the drivers, alarmed at the arrival of the fugitives, andbeing told that the Duke's army had been routed, took to flight, and didnot stop till they arrived at Ware and Axbridge, twelve miles off.Shortly after the Duke's horse had dispersed themselves over the moor,his infantry advanced at the double, guided through the gloom by thelighted matches of Dumbarton's regiment; but on reaching the edge of theRhine they halted, and contrary to orders, began firing away, their firebeing returned by part of the royal infantry on the opposite side of thebank. For three-quarters of an hour the roar of the musketry wasincessant. The guns also opened fire, which was likewise returned bythe king's cannon as soon as they could be brought up. For aconsiderable time the battle raged, the sturdy Somersetshire peasantsbehaving themselves as though they had been veteran soldiers, thoughthey levelled their pieces too high. Monmouth was seen like a braveman, pike in hand, encouraging his men by voice and example. He by thistime saw that all was over; his men had lost the advantage whichsurprise and darkness had given them. They were deserted by the horseand the ammunition wagons. Lord Churchill had made a new disposition ofthe royal infantry. The day was about to break. The event of aconflict on an open plain by broad sunlight could not be doubtful; yet,brave as he was, the hope of preserving his life prevailed above allother considerations. In a few minutes the royal cavalry wouldintercept his retreat. He mounted and rode for his life, till he wasjoined by Lord Grey and a few other officers; but his brave infantrystill made a gallant stand. They were charged right and left by theLife Guards and Blues, but the Somersetshire clowns, with their scythesand butt-ends of their muskets, fought to the last. At length theirpowder and ball were spent, and cries were heard of "Ammunition; forGod's sake give us ammunition!" But no ammunition was at hand. Theking's artillery began playing on them, and they could no longermaintain their ranks against the king's cavalry. The infantry camepouring across the ditch, but even then the Mendip miners sold theirlives dearly. Three hundred of the royal soldiers had been killed orwounded; of Monmouth's men more than a thousand lay dead on the moor.Their leader, it was found, had disappeared, the cavalry had beendispersed, and the survivors fled across the moor towards Bridgewater.The king's cavalry, meantime, were sweeping over the plain, cutting downthose who attempted to make a stand, which some of the brave fellowsdid, while they captured others, till the whole army which marched outof Bridgewater the previous evening had been completely dispersed.Before evening five hundred prisoners had been crowded in the parishchurch of Weston Zoyland, many of them badly wounded. The church bellssent out a peal which must have had very different effects upon the earsof the victors and of the vanquished. The battle was over, but not theblood-shedding, for Feversham ordered a number of the prisoners forexecution. Gibbets were erected in all directions, and the fatal BussexTree was long known as the place where numbers were put to death withoutthe form of a trial.

  Among those captured was a fine young officer, an ensign in the Duke'sarmy, who was celebrated for his extraordinary feats of agility; hispowers were described to Feversham, who promised him his life if hewould submit to be stripped, have one end of a rope fastened round hisneck, and the other round that of a wild young colt, and would race thecolt as long as it could run. He agreed to the ordeal; the brutalGenerals and no less brutal soldiers collected round the young man toprepare him for the race, close to the Bussex Rhine in Weston. Awaythey started at a furious rate till the horse fell exhausted by the sideof his ill-fated companion, at Brinsfield Bridge, Chedzoy, a distance ofthree-quarters of a mile. The young man, worn out with fatigue,extricating himself from the halter, claimed his pardon; but the inhumanGeneral, regardless of his promise, ordered him to be hanged with therest. A young lady to whom he was betrothed, on hearing of his fate,lost her reason, and for many years was to be seen dressed in white,wandering about the grave in which he and his companions were interred.The inhabitants of Zoyland still speak of the white lady. We will notenter into the details of the numerous barbarities which were committed,nor will we give a prolonged account of Monmouth's well-known fate. Onleaving the battle-field, he was joined by Buise, who, was a German,Lord Grey, and a few other friends, among whom were Stephen Battiscombeand his brother. At Chedzoy he stopped a moment to mount a fresh horse,and then galloped on towards the E
nglish Channel. From the risingground on the north of the fatal field he saw the last volley fired byhis hapless followers, and before six o'clock he was twenty miles fromSedgemoor. Here he and his companions pulled rein, many of themadvising him to seek refuge in Wales, but he fancied that he could moreeasily get across to Holland should he reach the New Forest, where, tillhe could find conveyance, he could hide in the cabins of thewood-cutters and deer-stealers who inhabited that part of the country.He, Lord Grey, and Buise consequently separated from the rest, who tookdifferent courses. He and his companions galloped on till they reachedCranbourne Chase, where their horses broke down. Having concealed thebridles and saddles, and disguised themselves in the dresses ofcountrymen, they proceeded on foot to the New Forest. The directionthey had taken had been discovered, and a large body of militiasurrounded them on every side. Lord Grey was first captured, and ashort time afterwards Buise, who acknowledged that he had parted fromthe Duke only a few hours before. The pursuers recommenced the searchwith more zeal than ever, and at length a tall gaunt figure wasdiscovered in a ditch. Some of the men were about to fire at him, butSir William Portman coming up, forbade them to use violence. He wasdressed as a shepherd, his beard, several days' growth, was prematurelygrey. He trembled, and was unable to speak. Even those who had oftenseen the Duke of Monmouth did not recognise him, till, examining hispockets, the insignia of the George was discovered, with a purse of goldand other articles, among them some raw pease, which he had gathered tosatisfy his hunger. This left no doubt who he was. He and Lord Greywere kept at Ringwood strictly guarded for two days, and then sent up toLondon. Broken-down in health and spirits, he wrote abject letters tohis uncle entreating for pardon, and begging that the king would seehim. The latter petition was agreed to, and he was brought into thepresence of James, his arms secured by a silken cord. He had fanciedthat should the king see him, his life would be spared, and he made themost abject proposals to obtain it. James had resolved that the hatedrival should be put out of the way as soon as possible, and refused tolisten to his plea. Lord Grey behaved with far more dignity and couragethan the Duke. Both were sent to the Tower; the Duke was ordered forexecution, Lord Grey was allowed to live, and ultimately, on the paymentof a heavy fine, escaped, though hundreds who were certainly less guiltyin the eye of the law were mercilessly put to death. The Duke wasbeheaded a couple of days after being sent to the Tower. As his bloodflowed on the scaffold, the crowd rushed forward to dip theirhandkerchiefs in it, and his memory was long cherished by those who hadrisen in arms to support his cause, while no inconsiderable numberbelieved that he was still alive, and would appear again to lead them tovictory. Two impostors in succession, taking advantage of this belief,represented Monmouth. One was whipped from Newgate to Tyburn; another,who had raised considerable contributions, was thrown into prison, wherehe was maintained in luxury by his deluded followers. So ends theill-starred Monmouth's sad history.

  We must now return to the more prominent characters of our tale.Stephen and his brother Andrew, on parting from the Duke, consulted whatdirection they should take. They agreed that it would be madness toattempt returning home. They were proscribed men, and even should theyreach Langton Park, search would be made for them, and their fatherwould be exposed to danger for sheltering them. Stephen said that hewas sure Mr Willoughby would willingly try to conceal them, but theColonel might object to his doing so, from the danger to which he wouldbe exposed should they be discovered. They agreed at length that theirsafest course would be to push to the north coast of Devon or Cornwall,where they might obtain concealment in the cottages of the fishermen orminers, who were generally favourable to the Protestant cause, andthence cross over to the Welsh coast.

  "Let us then commence our march," said Stephen, "and pray that we mayescape the dangers that surround us." They rode on rapidly withoutspeaking. Both their hearts were sad; they had lost many friends andfaithful followers, whom they had led to join the ill-fated expedition.Stephen was full of self-reproaches. He thought of Alice, who hadwarned and besought him not to engage in the enterprise. He had actedwith courage on several occasions, but following the example of hischief, he had fled from the field of battle, and he felt ashamed ofhimself for not having remained with the brave men who fought to thelast, and fallen among them.

  "We should have done it," he exclaimed at length, as they had to rein intheir steeds while they ascended a steep hill.

  "Done what?" asked Andrew.

  "Died on the field, as I wish that the Duke and Lord Grey had donerather than run away," replied Stephen.

  "As we are doing," remarked Andrew; "for my part, I think it is thewisest course we could have pursued. I hope they will escape to fightin the same cause on a more favourable occasion; we should have gainednothing by remaining on the field of battle, and lost everything if weshould have either been killed or captured."

  "We should have preserved our honour," said Stephen.

  "I do not consider that we have lost that, since every man who had ahorse to carry him has done the same; but there is little use discussingthe subject. At present we must exert our wits to preserve our lives,and any honour we have lost may be retrieved on a future opportunity."Andrew had generally an answer for his brother's remarks. Having gainedthe brow of the hill, they again pushed forward, keeping as near thecoast as the nature of the ground would allow, and avoiding all villagesand hamlets, though they hoped that the news of their defeat would nothave preceded them in the direction they were going.

  The evening of that fatal day was drawing on when they saw before them alone cottage by the seaside. Both their horses were knocked up, andthey themselves were much fatigued and desperately hungry. StillStephen was unwilling to approach the cottage without first ascertainingthe character of the inmates.

  "Ride on a short distance to the south and wait for me there," he saidto his brother; "I will then turn back and see if the people are likelyto treat us hospitably. I will tell them that we want a place of rest,as we know of none in the neighbourhood, and that if they will find someoats or beans or other provender for our horses, and provide us withsome food, we will be thankful and pay them whatever they may demand."Near the cottage was a boat-house, which appeared to be high enough toserve as a stable, and they hoped that their horses might be shelteredin it during the night. Accordingly, after proceeding a little distancebeyond the cottage, Stephen turned back and rode up to the door, andgave a couple of knocks with the hilt of his sword. The next instant itwas opened, and a grey-headed old man in a fisherman's dress appeared.

  "What do you want here, master?" he asked.

  Stephen, after surveying the old man, answered as he had intended.

  "Food for a horse I don't keep in store, and for a man I have littleenough, though I might give you some bread and cheese," said the oldfisherman.

  "We will pay you for whatever you can supply us with and be thankful,"said Stephen.

  "Two men and horses; why, you will eat me out of house and home," saidthe old man, peering forth at Andrew, whom he could see in the distance."My son, however, will be in anon from fishing; if he has got a goodhaul there will be food enough, and as for the horses, why, now I cometo think on't, I have a couple of sacks of damaged oats, got out of avessel not far off; if your animals are hungry, as you say, they willmanage to eat them."

  "By all means, my friend," said Stephen. "And I suppose you can put ourhorses up in your boat-house?"

  "As to that, as the boat's away, and it is summer weather, there is roomfor them."

  "Well, then, I will call my brother, and we will take advantage of yourhospitality," said Stephen, and he rode back and called Andrew.

  "Bring us the oats without delay, my friend," said Stephen; "our poorbeasts want food as much as we do."

  The old man went into his hut and reappeared with a good-sized basketfulof oats. The young men, taking off their bridles, allowed the poorbeasts to commence their meal, fastening them up with some ropes
, ofwhich there were several coils in the boat-house.

  "You have come far, I suspect," observed the old fisherman, as hewatched the horses devour their provender.

  "You must give them some water, though," said Stephen, "or they will notget through enough food to sustain them."

  The old man got a bucket, and went to a well a little distance from thecottage, among a group of trees, the only ones to be seen in theneighbourhood.

  "A merciful man is merciful to his beast," he observed, as he broughtthe water, which the horses greedily drank. "Travellers have need tolook after their steeds for their own sakes. Are you riding northward?It may be if you are, you are going to join the Duke of Monmouth's army.We have heard say that he has gone in that direction."

  "No, we have no intention of joining his army," answered Stephenevasively, thankful to find that the news of the Duke's defeat had notas yet reached thus far. They now, closing the door of the boat-house,accompanied the old man to the cottage. They fancied that he was alone,but on entering they discovered an old woman seated by the fire, engagedin preparing the evening meal. She looked up from her task, and askedher husband who the strangers were.

  "Travellers, goodwife; they want some food, and you must just put onwhatever you have got to give them. Fry some more bacon and some of thesalt fish we have in store. They will pay for it, goodwife," hewhispered in her ear. "It is some time since your eyes have beengladdened by the sight of silver."

  The old lady looked satisfied, and was soon frying a further supply ofbacon and fish. The smell made Stephen and Andrew feel so sick withhunger, that they begged leave to fall-to without waiting for the returnof Mark, the son of the old couple. It took them some time, however, toappease their appetites. The old man and his wife looked on withastonishment at the amount of food they stowed away.

  "One would suppose that you two had not eaten anything since yesterday,"observed the old man.

  "You are not far wrong, friend," answered Stephen. "We have had goodreason for spurring fast. As we are weary, we will beg you to let usstow ourselves away in a corner of your room and go to sleep, asking youto call us should any strangers come near the hut."

  "You are welcome to do that, seeing we have no beds to offer you exceptMark's, and he might grumble should he find himself turned out of his."

  "We would not do that on any account. Do let us lie down withoutdelay," said Stephen. "See, my brother's head is already nodding overthe table."

  They had brought in their cloaks, unstrapped from their saddles, androlling themselves up in them, with some lumps of wood for pillows, theywere asleep almost as soon as they had stretched themselves on theground.

  The old man and his wife sat talking in low voices for some time, everynow and then glancing at their guests, till the door opened, and the sonthey had spoken of entered the room. He was a big, broad-shouldered,black-bearded man.

  "Whom have we here?" he asked, turning his eyes towards the sleepingfugitives.

  "That is more than I can tell you, Mark," answered his father. "Theysay they came from the south, and, as far as I can make out, they arepushing on to Bristol. They seem to have ridden hard, and are deadbeat."

  "That may or may not be," said Mark. "I heard say yesterday a good manymen have been deserting from the Duke of Monmouth's army. That is notto be wondered at, seeing that the king's forces are rapidly gatheringaround him; wiser if they had never joined. However, that is nobusiness of ours."

  "So I say, son Mark," said the old man. "You are a wise fellow not torun your head into danger, let the world wag as it lists; all we have todo is to catch fish and find a market for them. Have you had a goodhaul?"

  "Pretty fair; and I hope the packman will be here ere long to carry themto Bridgewater, where they say the Duke of Monmouth and his men areencamped. I will now turn in, father, to be ready to send off the fishas soon as the packman comes."

  Mark accordingly turned into his bunk in a little recess, for it couldnot be called a room, in the hut, and was soon snoring away, while hisfather sat up by the fire in a rough arm-chair, ready, apparently, toawaken him as soon as the packman should arrive. Stephen and Andrewwere so thoroughly done up that they slept on the whole night through,undisturbed by voices or any other noise; indeed, had a gun been firedover their heads, they would scarcely have heard it. They started up atdaybreak.

  "We should be off as soon as we have taken some food," whispered Stephento his brother. "I wish that we had gone a couple of hours ago; themoon is in the sky, and we could have seen our way."

  They rose to their feet, and looked about them; they could see no one inthe hut. Presently the old man appeared from behind a piece of an oldsail, which served to screen off his sleeping-place.

  "We must be going, friend," said Stephen, "and we will thank you forsome more food, as we know not when we may obtain any."

  "You shall be welcome to what we have," and he called out to his wife,"Mollie, Mollie, get up and cook some breakfast for these younggentlemen; they wish to be on their way."

  While the meal was preparing they went out to look at their horses. Theanimals were munching some oats, which it was evident that either theold man or his son had given them; the former followed and got somewater, which the poor beasts much required. Both animals looked muchbetter for their food and rest. Stephen and Andrew hoped that theyshould be able to make a long day's journey, and find some safer placeof concealment than the hut of the old fisherman. On their return to itthey found breakfast ready, which they discussed with good appetites;and then paying the old man handsomely for the food and lodging he hadafforded them, hastened out again, intending to ride off without furtherdelay. Stephen led out his horse, and Andrew followed, when, as he wasabout to mount, he exclaimed, "Why, the poor animal is lame." He ledhim on a few paces; there could be no doubt about it.

  "This is unfortunate," he said. "But I will not delay you, Stephen; youride on, and I will run down his leg; perhaps in the course of an houror two the lameness may go off. I cannot fancy what has caused it."

  "No, no," answered Stephen; "I will remain with you whatever happens;the chances are the news of the fight won't reach this place for somedays to come. We will share each other's fortunes, whatever they maybe." All Andrew could say would not induce Stephen to ride on alone.They examined the horse's leg, but could discover no cause for itslameness; they rubbed down the leg, and did all they could in hopes oftaking it off. Presently the old fisherman appeared, and seemed muchsurprised at hearing that the horse was lame.

  "We must trust to your hospitality for a few hours longer," saidStephen. "We should run the risk of having the horse break downaltogether were we to proceed in its present condition."

  The old man made no objection, so they put their horses back into theboat-house, and re-entered the hut. They inquired if his son hadreturned on the previous evening.

  "Yes," he answered; "and he has now gone out in the boat to catch somemore fish, so we shall have enough to feed you. You must rest on theground as you did last night."

  As they had scarcely recovered from their fatigue, they were glad enoughto lie down again and get some more sleep. They were aroused fordinner, which was composed chiefly of fish, and as soon as it was over,they went out to look at their horses. Andrew led his from the stable,and walked it up and down; it already appeared better. "I really thinkwe might push forward; it would be safer than staying here. The chancesare Feversham's cavalry will be scouring the country in all directionsto make prisoners, and before long some of them may be here."

  Stephen agreed, and went back to the hut to pay the old man and wish himgood-bye. He was standing at the door of the hut, when Andrew criedout, "Quick! quick! I see some horsemen in the distance, and they arecoming this way. They may be friends, but they are more likely to beenemies."

  The old man heard what was said, but made no remark. Stephen hurried tothe boat-house, and quickly bridling and saddling his horse, mounted,without stoppi
ng to look behind them.

  "Halloo! I thought you were going the other way," the old man shoutedafter them.

  They waved their hands without replying. On they galloped, and soonlost sight of the horsemen; but whether the latter were pursuing themwas the question. Andrew's horse went better than they expected. Thecountry was generally level, though the roads were none of the best.They had proceeded for a couple of hours or more when Andrew's horsebegan to flag; the animal was evidently feeling its lameness; still theyhad reached no place where they could hope to obtain the concealmentthey sought for. Their wish was to get among the rocky and wooded partof North Devon, and beyond the district from which any of those who hadjoined the rebellion would come; there would then be less chance oftheir being sought for. Yet they felt, if it was suspected that theyhad been with Monmouth, they would even so run the risk of beingbetrayed.

  "We must obtain disguises of some sort, though it may be difficult tofind them," said Stephen, "for it would be dangerous to enter a town."

  It was certainly important to get rid of their uniforms, for those alonewould betray them, as soon as the fate of the battle was known. At thesame time they thought if they could obtain the dresses of gentlemen,they should less likely be suspected while travelling, at all events,than if they disguised themselves as countrymen, as their dialect andappearance would at once show that they were strangers. The longsummer's day was well-nigh closing in when they reached a hillydistrict, where they hoped to find concealment.

  "What shall we do with our horses?" asked Andrew. "It will be difficultto hide them and find provender for them at the same time; besideswhich, should they be discovered, they would betray that we were in theneighbourhood. To turn them loose would be equally dangerous, for theywould break into some corn-field or garden, and inquiries would be madeto whom they belonged."

  "The only way, I fear, will be to kill them and throw them over thecliffs," said Stephen.

  "Then we shall have no means of travelling farther on," observed Andrew."At all events, do not let us kill them to-night, but try to find someplace where we can conceal both ourselves and them."

  They rode on, the sun descending on their right into the waters of theBristol Channel, enabling them to steer a tolerably direct course. Atlast they came to a deep wooded dell, the sides covered with trees,being so steep that it at first appeared that they could not possiblyget down them. The sound of falling water assured them that there was astream at the bottom, which would enable them to give their horseswater. They were not likely to find a better place. They accordingly,dismounting, led their horses down, endeavouring as little as possibleto disturb the ground, so as to leave no traces behind them. They werenot disappointed in the locality. There was water and grass for theirhorses, and they had some dry bread and fish, with which the oldfisherman supplied them, in their knapsacks for themselves, while thetrees grew so closely that it was impossible for any one above todiscover them. They, therefore, having watered their horses and eatensome of their scanty provision, lay down with a sense of tolerablesecurity to sleep, while their animals cropped the grass close to them.Still they were anxious to get farther southward, where, among the roughCornish miners, they were likely, they hoped, to be able to effectuallyconceal themselves till the search for fugitives from the battle-fieldwas likely to be over. Night passed quietly away, the weathercontinuing fine, and at early dawn, their horses being thoroughlyrefreshed, they led them up out of the dell. The country was now muchmore wild and rugged than any they had yet passed over, and theirprogress was proportionately slow. Under other circumstances they wouldhave enjoyed the scenery, but their hearts were too sad and theiranxiety too great to enable them to think of anything but the means ofsecuring their safety. They had proceeded for about a couple of hours,and were looking out for a place where they could stop and eat thescanty remains of food they had brought with them, when they caughtsight of two horsemen coming towards them.

  "Who can those men be?" asked Andrew.

  "King's dragoons," answered Stephen. "It would be no use to fly. Ouronly chance is to dash forward and cut our way past them if they attemptto stop us."

  "Agreed," said Andrew. "You take the fellow on our right, and I willtackle the other."

  They rode quietly forward, nerved for the contest; but just as they wereabout to plunge their spurs into their horses' flanks, three otherdragoons appeared coming along the road. There was a deep ravine on theright full of trees and brushwood. Andrew proposed that they shouldride down it as far as they could go, and then throwing themselves fromtheir horses, endeavour to make their way through the wood till theycould find some place of concealment. The attempt was a desperate one,as the dragoons might follow as fast as they could. At the same time,they would have somewhat of a start, and being more lightly clad thanthe dragoons, would make quicker way.

  "Whatever we do let us keep together," said Stephen; "and, if die wemust, die fighting side by side."

  "Agreed," said Andrew, who was always ready to follow his youngerbrother's lead. Just, however as Andrew was about to ride his horsedown the steep bank, the dragoons dashed forward at so rapid a rate,that Stephen saw it would be impossible to follow without the risk ofbeing cut down when unable to defend himself.

  "Keep on the road," he cried out to Andrew, who had just time to turnhis rein, and drawing his sword, galloped forward. The next moment thedragoons fired. The weapons of all four were clashing together. Bothwere tolerably skilful swordsmen. Stephen wounded his antagonist in thesword-arm. Andrew gave the other a plunge in the side which made himreel in his saddle, and dashed on to encounter the other three, who werenow spurring forward to meet them. They had some hope of success, andtheir courage was high, though their horses were not equal to those oftheir opponents. They quickly met, when Stephen found his sword whirledfrom his grasp, and his horse borne to the ground. At the same momentAndrew uttered a cry, and Stephen saw him, to his dismay, fall bleedingfrom his horse.

  "We give in," cried Stephen, anxious to save his brother.Notwithstanding, two of the dragoons, with swords uplifted, were aboutto cut them down, when the third, who appeared by his uniform to be anofficer, cried out, "Do not strike," throwing up his men's weapons atthe same time.

  "You have acted like gallant fellows, whoever you are," he said, turningto Stephen, and getting off his horse, stepped forward to assist inlifting up Andrew, whom Stephen was endeavouring to help. The twodragoons who had first been encountered now came up swearing vengeance.The officer ordered the other men to look to their hurts, while heattended to Andrew's, which was not so severe as Stephen had at firstsupposed.

  "You have come from the field of Sedgemoor," he said, surveying the twoyoung men. "You will return with us to Lord Feversham's camp, and musttake the consequences of your folly. You are gentlemen, and I do notwish to treat you as I should common clowns."

  The hurts of the wounded men being bound up, the two prisoners wereplaced on their own horses, having been deprived of their weapons, whiletheir arms were bound behind them, and their feet secured under theirsaddles. The officer now led the way along the road they had just come.

  "We have had a long search for you," observed the officer. "We heard ofyour having been harboured at a fisherman's hut, and have been followingyou ever since, though you managed to elude us yesterday. I do not wishto alarm you, but you must be prepared for the fate which has overtakenall the rebels that have been captured. General Feversham is not verylenient, and Colonel Kirk, who is expected immediately, is inclined tohang every one he can catch. I myself will do what I can for you, for Iam pleased with the bold way that you attacked us; I despise a cowardlyenemy."

  "We are much obliged to you for your courtesy," answered Stephen. "But,sir, does it not occur to you that we should be less inconvenienced ifwe had at least our arms at liberty, and were able to guide our horsesover this rough road. Should they fall, we shall be in an unpleasantpredicament, and may chance to break our necks or
limbs."

  "Will you give your word that you will not attempt to escape, rescue orno rescue?" asked the officer.

  Stephen thought for a moment without answering. There might be anopportunity of getting free, and should they give their word of honournot to escape, they would be unable to take advantage of it. There was,however, very little probability that any party of their friends wouldbe found able to attack five well-armed dragoons, for even the woundedmen were still able to make a stout defence. The officer appeared tosuspect his thoughts.

  "Remember, my friends," he observed, "should a rescue be attempted, thefirst thing we should do would be to shoot each of you through thehead."

  "Thank you for your frankness, sir," said Stephen. "What do you say,Andrew; shall we give a promise not to escape, with a remote prospect ofbeing rescued, and the tolerable certainty of being shot should we makethe attempt to take advantage of it?" said Stephen.

  "We will give our word provided we are also to have our legs at liberty,and can ride like gentlemen," answered Andrew. "We must do itprovisionally, however. If the number of men who may attempt to rescueus is double that of the dragoons, they will then have a good excuse forletting us go; and that is, I believe, after all, what Cornet Brycewishes."

  "I fear that the Cornet will not agree to our arrangement," saidStephen, "though he may think that there is very little chance of ten ortwenty men suddenly appearing in this part of the country to rescue us."

  "Still let us try," said Andrew; "it will show him that we entertainsome hope of being rescued, that our friends will revenge themselves onhim if we are ill-treated. As to shooting us, I do not think he is theman to do that. We must run no small risk either way, and be preparedfor it."

  "Well, lads, have you made up your minds?" asked the Cornet, who, thoughholding a subordinate rank, was a man of a certain age.

  Andrew, as the eldest, made the proposal he had suggested.

  "Not very likely that I should agree to it," he answered. "I have younow in my power, and if your friends attempt to rescue you, I mustpistol you as I promised."

  "Look here, Cornet," said Andrew, "should you kill us, our friends willto a certainty cut you down in revenge; for supposing that twenty orthirty of them appear, you would have no chance, and as to giving ourword not to attempt under such circumstances to escape, we cannot doit."

  "Well, then, you must take the consequences," answered the Cornet; "youmust ride on with your legs bound under you, but I will allow you theuse of your hands, for if your horses were to fall you might break yournecks, and I should have only dead men to convey to the camp."

  Stephen, who all along had had no wish to give his word, was glad ofthis arrangement. The Cornet ordering his men to halt, himself unloosedthe prisoners' hands, and bade them take the reins and see that theykept their horses on their feet. The cavalcade now moved forward at amore rapid rate than they before ventured to go. Neither Stephen norAndrew had the slightest hope of being rescued, as few of the cavalrywho had fled from Sedgemoor had kept together, each man having gone offin the direction where he hoped safety might most quickly be found.They concluded, with correctness, that many had been already captured,and that the dragoons were scouring the country in all directions insearch of others. Their only consolation was, that they had fallen intothe hands of a humane man, who was certainly not thirsting for theirblood. Where there is life there is hope. They therefore rode on lessdowncast than under the circumstances might have been expected.