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Micah Clarke

by Arthur Conan Doyle · English · Gutenberg #9504 · 986,567 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Micah Clarke

Author: Arthur Conan Doyle


        
Release date: December 1, 2005 [eBook #9504]
                Most recently updated: September 30, 2016

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9504

Credits: Produced by Lionel G. Sear, and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MICAH CLARKE ***




Produced by Lionel G. Sear





MICAH CLARKE

HIS STATEMENT AS MADE TO HIS THREE GRANDCHILDREN JOSEPH, GERVAS, AND
REUBEN DURING THE HARD WINTER OF 1734


By Arthur Conan Doyle



CONTENTS


CHAPTER.

I. OF CORNET JOSEPH CLARKE OF THE IRONSIDES.

II. OF MY GOING TO SCHOOL AND OF MY COMING THENCE.

III. OF TWO FRIENDS OF MY YOUTH.

IV. OF THE STRANGE FISH THAT WE CAUGHT AT SPITHEAD.

V. OF THE MAN WITH THE DROOPING LIDS.

VI. OF THE LETTER THAT CAME FROM THE LOWLANDS.

VII. OF THE HORSEMAN WHO RODE FROM THE WEST.

VIII. OF OUR START FOR THE WARS.

IX. OF A PASSAGE OF ARMS AT THE BLUE BOAR.

X. OF OUR PERILOUS ADVENTURE ON THE PLAIN.

XI. OF THE LONELY MAN AND THE GOLD CHEST.

XII. OF CERTAIN PASSAGES UPON THE MOOR.

XIII. OF SIR GERVAS JEROME, KNIGHT BANNERET OF THE COUNTY OF SURREY.

XIV. OF THE STIFF-LEGGED PARSON AND HIS FLOCK.

XV. OF OUR BRUSH WITH THE KING’S DRAGOONS.

XVI. OF OUR COMING TO TAUNTON.

XVII. OF THE GATHERING IN THE MARKET-SQUARE.

XVIII. OF MASTER STEPHEN TIMEWELL, MAYOR OF TAUNTON.

XIX. OF A BRAWL IN THE NIGHT.

XX. OF THE MUSTER OF THE MEN OF THE WEST.

XXI. OF MY HAND-GRIPS WITH THE BRANDENBURGER.

XXII. OF THE NEWS FROM HAVANT.

XXIII. OF THE SNARE ON THE WESTON ROAD.

XXIV. OF THE WELCOME THAT MET ME AT BADMINTON.

XXV. OF STRANGE DOINGS IN THE BOTELER DUNGEON.

XXVI. OF THE STRIFE IN THE COUNCIL.

XXVII OF THE AFFAIR NEAR KEYNSHAM BRIDGE.

XXVIII OF THE FIGHT IN WELLS CATHEDRAL.

XXIX. OF THE GREAT CRY FROM THE LONELY HOUSE.

XXX OF THE SWORDSMAN WITH THE BROWN JACKET.

XXXI. OF THE MAID OF THE MARSH AND THE BUBBLE WHICH ROSE FROM THE
          BOG.

XXXII. OF THE ONFALL AT SEDGEMOOR.

XXXIII. OF MY PERILOUS ADVENTURE AT THE MILL.

XXXIV. OF THE COMING OF SOLOMON SPRENT.

XXXV. OF THE DEVIL IN WIG AND GOWN.

XXXVI. OF THE END OF IT ALL.

          APPENDIX





Chapter I. Of Cornet Joseph Clarke of the Ironsides

It may be, my dear grandchildren, that at one time or another I
have told you nearly all the incidents which have occurred during my
adventurous life. To your father and to your mother, at least, I know
that none of them are unfamiliar. Yet when I consider that time wears
on, and that a grey head is apt to contain a failing memory, I am
prompted to use these long winter evenings in putting it all before
you from the beginning, that you may have it as one clear story in your
minds, and pass it on as such to those who come after you. For now that
the house of Brunswick is firmly established upon the throne and that
peace prevails in the land, it will become less easy for you every
year to understand how men felt when Englishmen were in arms against
Englishmen, and when he who should have been the shield and the
protector of his subjects had no thought but to force upon them what
they most abhorred and detested.

My story is one which you may well treasure up in your memories, and
tell again to others, for it is not likely that in this whole county of
Hampshire, or even perhaps in all England, there is another left alive
who is so well able to speak from his own knowledge of these events,
or who has played a more forward part in them. All that I know I shall
endeavour soberly and in due order to put before you. I shall try to
make these dead men quicken into life for your behoof, and to call back
out of the mists of the past those scenes which were brisk enough in
the acting, though they read so dully and so heavily in the pages of the
worthy men who have set themselves to record them. Perchance my words,
too, might, in the ears of strangers, seem to be but an old man’s
gossip. To you, however, who know that these eyes which are looking at
you looked also at the things which I describe, and that this hand has
struck in for a good cause, it will, I know, be different. Bear in mind
as you listen that it was your quarrel as well as our own in which
we fought, and that if now you grow up to be free men in a free land,
privileged to think or to pray as your consciences shall direct, you may
thank God that you are reaping the harvest which your fathers sowed in
blood and suffering when the Stuarts were on the throne.

I was born then in the year 1664, at Havant, which is a flourishing
village a few miles from Portsmouth off the main London road, and there
it was that I spent the greater part of my youth. It is now as it was
then, a pleasant, healthy spot, with a hundred or more brick cottages
scattered along in a single irregular street, each with its little
garden in front, and maybe a fruit tree or two at the back. In the
middle of the village stood the old church with the square tower, and
the great sun-dial like a wrinkle upon its grey weather-blotched face.
On the outskirts the Presbyterians had their chapel; but when the Act of
Uniformity was passed, their good minister, Master Breckinridge, whose
discourses had often crowded his rude benches while the comfortable pews
of the church were empty, was cast into gaol, and his flock dispersed.
As to the Independents, of whom my father was one, they also were under
the ban of the law, but they attended conventicle at Emsworth, whither
we would trudge, rain or shine, on every Sabbath morning. These meetings
were broken up more than once, but the congregation was composed of such
harmless folk, so well beloved and respected by their neighbours, that
the peace officers came after a time to ignore them, and to let them
worship in their own fashion. There were Papists, too, amongst us, who
were compelled to go as far as Portsmouth for their Mass. Thus, you see,
small as was our village, we were a fair miniature of the whole country,
for we had our sects and our factions, which were all the more bitter
for being confined in so narrow a compass.

My father, Joseph Clarke, was better known over the countryside by the
name of Ironside Joe, for he had served in his youth in the Yaxley
troop of Oliver Cromwell’s famous regiment of horse, and had preached
so lustily and fought so stoutly that old Noll himself called him out
of the ranks after the fight at Dunbar, and raised him to a cornetcy.
It chanced, however, that having some little time later fallen into an
argument with one of his troopers concerning the mystery of the Trinity,
the man, who was a half-crazy zealot, smote my father across the face, a
favour which he returned by a thrust from his broadsword, which sent his
adversary to test in person the truth of his beliefs. In most armies
it would have been conceded that my father was within his rights
in punishing promptly so rank an act of mutiny, but the soldiers of
Cromwell had so high a notion of their own importance and privileges,
that they resented this summary justice upon their companion. A
court-martial sat upon my father, and it is likely that he would have
been offered up as a sacrifice to appease the angry soldiery, had not
the Lord Protector interfered, and limited the punishment to dismissal
from the army. Cornet Clarke was accordingly stripped of his buff
coat and steel cap, and wandered down to Havant, where he settled into
business as a leather merchant and tanner, thereby depriving Parliament
of as trusty a soldier as ever drew blade in its service. Finding
that he prospered in trade, he took as wife Mary Shepstone, a young
Churchwoman, and I, Micah Clarke, was the first pledge of their union.

My father, as I remember him first, was tall and straight, with a great
spread of shoulder and a mighty chest. His face was craggy and stern,
with large harsh features, shaggy over-hanging brows, high-bridged
fleshy nose, and a full-lipped mouth which tightened and set when he
was angry. His grey eyes were piercing and soldier-like, yet I have seen
them lighten up into a kindly and merry twinkle. His voice was the most
tremendous and awe-inspiring that I have ever listened to. I can well
believe what I have heard, that when he chanted the Hundredth Psalm as
he rode down among the blue bonnets at Dunbar, the sound of him rose
above the blare of trumpets and the crash of guns, like the deep roll of
a breaking wave. Yet though he possessed every quality which was
needed to raise him to distinction as an officer, he had thrown off his
military habits when he returned to civil life. As he prospered and grew
rich he might well have worn a sword, but instead he would ever bear a
small copy of the Scriptures bound to his girdle, where other men hung
their weapons. He was sober and measured in his speech, and it was
seldom, even in the bosom of his own family, that he would speak of the
scenes which he had taken part in, or of the great men, Fleetwood and
Harrison, Blake and Ireton, Desborough and Lambert, some of whom had
been simple troopers like himself when the troubles broke out. He was
frugal in his eating, backward in drinking, and allowed himself no
pleasures save three pipes a day of Oronooko tobacco, which he kept ever
in a brown jar by the great wooden chair on the left-hand side of the
mantelshelf.

Yet for all his self-restraint the old leaven would at times begin to
work in him, and bring on fits of what his enemies would call fanaticism
and his friends piety, though it must be confessed that this piety
was prone to take a fierce and fiery shape. As I look back, one or two
instances of that stand out so hard and clear in my recollection that
they might be scenes which I had seen of late in the playhouse, instead
of memories of my childhood more than threescore years ago, when the
second Charles was on the throne.

The first of these occurred when I was so young that I can remember
neither what went before nor what immediately after it. It stuck in my
infant mind when other things slipped through it. We were all in the
house one sultry summer evening, when there came a rattle of kettledrums
and a clatter of hoofs, which brought my mother and my father to the
door, she with me in her arms that I might have the better view. It was
a regiment of horse on their way from Chichester to Portsmouth, with
colours flying and band playing, making the bravest show that ever my
youthful eyes had rested upon. With what wonder and admiration did I
gaze at the sleek prancing steeds, the steel morions, the plumed hats
of the officers, the scarfs and bandoliers. Never, I thought, had such
a gallant company assembled, and I clapped my hands and cried out in my
delight. My father smiled gravely, and took me from my mother’s arms.
‘Nay, lad,’ he said, ‘thou art a soldier’s son, and should have more
judgment than to commend such a rabble as this. Canst thou not, child as
thou art, see that their arms are ill-found, their stirrup-irons rusted,
and their ranks without order or cohesion? Neither have they thrown out
a troop in advance, as should even in times of peace be done, and their
rear is straggling from here to Bedhampton. Yea,’ he continued, suddenly
shaking his long arm at the troopers, and calling out to them, ‘ye are
corn ripe for the sickle and waiting only for the reapers!’ Several of
them reined up at this sudden out-flame. ‘Hit the crop-eared rascal over
the pate, Jack!’ cried one to another, wheeling his horse round; but
there was that in my father’s face which caused him to fall back into
the ranks again with his purpose unfulfilled. The regiment jingled on
down the road, and my mother laid her thin hands upon my father’s arm,
and lulled with her pretty coaxing ways the sleeping devil which had
stirred within him.

On another occasion which I can remember, about my seventh or eighth
year, his wrath burst out with more dangerous effect. I was playing
about him as he worked in the tanning-yard one spring afternoon, when
in through the open doorway strutted two stately gentlemen, with
gold facings to their coats and smart cockades at the side of their
three-cornered hats. They were, as I afterwards understood, officers of
the fleet who were passing through Havant, and seeing us at work in the
yard, designed to ask us some question as to their route. The younger of
the pair accosted my father and began his speech by a great clatter of
words which were all High Dutch to me, though I now see that they were a
string of such oaths as are common in the mouth of a sailor; though why
the very men who are in most danger of appearing before the Almighty
should go out of their way to insult Him, hath ever been a mystery to
me. My father in a rough stern voice bade him speak with more reverence
of sacred things, on which the pair of them gave tongue together,
swearing tenfold worse than before, and calling my father a canting
rogue and a smug-faced Presbytery Jack. What more they might have said I
know not, for my father picked up the great roller wherewith he smoothed
the leather, and dashing at them he brought it down on the side of one
of their heads with such a swashing blow, that had it not been for his
stiff hat the man would never have uttered oath again. As it was, he
dropped like a log upon the stones of the yard, while his companion
whipped out his rapier and made a vicious thrust; but my father, who was
as active as he was strong, sprung aside, and bringing his cudgel down
upon the outstretched arm of the officer, cracked it like the stem of
a tobacco-pipe. This affair made no little stir, for it occurred at
the time when those arch-liars, Oates, Bedloe, and Carstairs, were
disturbing the public mind by their rumours of plots, and a rising of
some sort was expected throughout the country. Within a few days all
Hampshire was ringing with an account of the malcontent tanner of
Havant, who had broken the head and the arm of two of his Majesty’s
servants. An inquiry showed, however, that there was no treasonable
meaning in the matter, and the officers having confessed that the first
words came from them, the Justices contented themselves with imposing a
fine upon my father, and binding him over to keep the peace for a period
of six months.

I tell you these incidents that you may have an idea of the fierce and
earnest religion which filled not only your own ancestor, but most of
those men who were trained in the parliamentary armies. In many ways
they were more like those fanatic Saracens, who believe in conversion by
the sword, than the followers of a Christian creed. Yet they have this
great merit, that their own lives were for the most part clean and
commendable, for they rigidly adhered themselves to those laws which
they would gladly have forced at the sword’s point upon others. It is
true that among so many there were some whose piety was a shell for
their ambition, and others who practised in secret what they denounced
in public, but no cause however good is free from such hypocritical
parasites. That the greater part of the saints, as they termed
themselves, were men of sober and God-fearing lives, may be shown by the
fact that, after the disbanding of the army of the Commonwealth, the old
soldiers flocked into trade throughout the country, and made their mark
wherever they went by their industry and worth. There is many a wealthy
business house now in England which can trace its rise to the thrift and
honesty of some simple pikeman of Ireton or Cromwell.

But that I may help you to understand the character of your
great-grandfather, I shall give an incident which shows how fervent and
real were the emotions which prompted the violent moods which I have
described. I was about twelve at the time, my brothers Hosea and Ephraim
were respectively nine and seven, while little Ruth could scarce have
been more than four. It chanced that a few days before a wandering
preacher of the Independents had put up at our house, and his religious
ministrations had left my father moody and excitable. One night I had
gone to bed as usual, and was sound asleep with my two brothers beside
me, when we were roused and ordered to come downstairs. Huddling on our
clothes we followed him into the kitchen, where my mother was sitting
pale and scared with Ruth upon her knee.

‘Gather round me, my children,’ he said, in a deep reverent voice, ‘that
we may all appear before the throne together. The kingdom of the Lord is
at hand-oh, be ye ready to receive Him! This very night, my loved ones,
ye shall see Him in His splendour, with the angels and the archangels in
their might and their glory. At the third hour shall He come-that very
third hour which is now drawing upon us.’

‘Dear Joe,’ said my mother, in soothing tones, ‘thou art scaring thyself
and the children to no avail. If the Son of Man be indeed coming, what
matters it whether we be abed or afoot?’

‘Peace, woman,’ he answered sternly; ‘has He not said that He will come
like a thief in the night, and that it is for us to await Him? Join
with me, then, in prayerful outpourings that we may be found as those in
bridal array. Let us offer up thanks that He has graciously vouchsafed
to warn us through the words of His servant. Oh, great Lord, look down
upon this small flock and lead it to the sheep fold! Mix not the
little wheat with the great world of chaff. Oh, merciful Father! look
graciously upon my wife, and forgive her the sin of Erastianism, she
being but a woman and little fitted to cast off the bonds of antichrist
wherein she was born. And these too, my little ones, Micah and Hosea,
Ephraim and Ruth, all named after Thy faithful servants of old, oh let
them stand upon Thy right hand this night!’ Thus he prayed on in a wild
rush of burning, pleading words, writhing prostrate upon the floor
in the vehemence of his supplication, while we, poor trembling mites,
huddled round our mother’s skirts and gazed with terror at the contorted
figure seen by the dim light of the simple oil lamp. On a sudden the
clang of the new church clock told that the hour had come. My father
sprang from the floor, and rushing to the casement, stared up with wild
expectant eyes at the starry heavens. Whether he conjured up some vision
in his excited brain, or whether the rush of feeling on finding that his
expectations were in vain, was too much for him, it is certain that
he threw his long arms upwards, uttered a hoarse scream, and tumbled
backwards with foaming lips and twitching limbs upon the ground. For an
hour or more my poor mother and I did what we could to soothe him, while
the children whimpered in a corner, until at last he staggered slowly to
his feet, and in brief broken words ordered us to our rooms. From that
time I have never heard him allude to the matter, nor did he ever give
us any reason why he should so confidently have expected the second
coming upon that particular night. I have learned since, however,
that the preacher who visited us was what was called in those days a
fifth-monarchy man, and that this particular sect was very liable to
these premonitions. I have no doubt that something which he had said had
put the thought into my father’s head, and that the fiery nature of the
man had done the rest.

So much for your great-grandfather, Ironside Joe. I have preferred to
put these passages before you, for on the principle that actions speak
louder than words, I find that in describing a man’s character it is
better to give examples of his ways than to speak in broad and general
terms. Had I said that he was fierce in ins religion and subject to
strange fits of piety, the words might have made little impression
upon you; but when I tell you of his attack upon the officers in the
tanning-yard, and his summoning us down in the dead of the night to
await the second coming, you can judge for yourselves the lengths to
which his belief would carry him. For the rest, he was an excellent man
of business, fair and even generous in his dealings, respected by all
and loved by few, for his nature was too self-contained to admit of much
affection. To us he was a stern and rigid father, punishing us heavily
for whatever he regarded as amiss in our conduct. He bad a store of such
proverbs as ‘Give a child its will and a whelp its fill, and neither
will strive,’ or ‘Children are certain cares and uncertain comforts,’
wherewith he would temper my mother’s more kindly impulses. He could not
bear that we should play trick-track upon the green, or dance with the
other children upon the Saturday night.

As to my mother, dear soul, it was her calm, peaceful influence which
kept my father within bounds, and softened his austere rule. Seldom
indeed, even in his darkest moods, did the touch of her gentle hand and
the sound of her voice fail to soothe his fiery spirit. She came of a
Church stock, and held to her religion with a quiet grip which was proof
against every attempt to turn her from it. I imagine that at one time
her husband had argued much with her upon Arminianism and the sin of
simony, but finding his exhortations useless, he had abandoned the
subject save on very rare occasions. In spite of her Episcopacy,
however, she remained a staunch Whig, and never allowed her loyalty to
the throne to cloud her judgment as to the doings of the monarch who sat
upon it.

Women were good housekeepers fitly years ago, but she was conspicuous
among the best. To see her spotless cuffs and snowy kirtle one would
scarce credit how hard she laboured. It was only the well ordered house
and the dustless rooms which proclaimed her constant industry. She
made salves and eyewaters, powders and confects, cordials and persico,
orangeflower water and cherry brandy, each in its due season, and all of
the best. She was wise, too, in herbs and simples. The villagers and the
farm labourers would rather any day have her advice upon their ailments
than that of Dr. Jackson of Purbrook, who never mixed a draught under
a silver crown. Over the whole countryside there was no woman more
deservedly respected and more esteemed both by those above her and by
those beneath.

Such were my parents as I remember them in my childhood. As to myself, I
shall let my story explain the growth of my own nature. My brothers and
my sister were all brownfaced, sturdy little country children, with no
very marked traits save a love of mischief controlled by the fear of
their father. These, with Martha the serving-maid, formed our whole
household during those boyish years when the pliant soul of the child
is hardening into the settled character of the man. How these influences
affected me I shall leave for a future sitting, and if I weary you by
recording them, you must remember that I am telling these things rather
for your profit than for your amusement; that it may assist you in your
journey through life to know how another has picked out the path before
you.



Chapter II. Of my going to school and of my coming thence.


With the home influences which I have described, it may be readily
imagined that my young mind turned very much upon the subject of
religion, the more so as my father and mother took different views upon
it. The old Puritan soldier held that the bible alone contained all
things essential to salvation, and that though it might be advisable
that those who were gifted with wisdom or eloquence should expound the
Scriptures to their brethren, it was by no means necessary, but rather
hurtful and degrading, that any organised body of ministers or of
bishops should claim special prerogatives, or take the place of
mediators between the creature and the Creator. For the wealthy
dignitaries of the Church, rolling in their carriages to their
cathedrals, in order to preach the doctrines of their Master, who wore
His sandals out in tramping over the countryside, he professed the most
bitter contempt; nor was he more lenient to those poorer members of the
clergy who winked at the vices of their patrons that they might secure
a seat at their table, and who would sit through a long evening of
profanity rather than bid good-bye to the cheesecakes and the wine
flask. That such men represented religious truth was abhorrent to
his mind, nor would he even give his adhesion to that form of church
government dear to the Presbyterians, where a general council of the
ministers directed the affairs of their church. Every man was, in his
opinion, equal in the eyes of the Almighty, and none had a right to
claim any precedence over his neighbour in matters of religion. The book
was written for all, and all were equally able to read it, provided that
their minds were enlightened by the Holy Spirit.

My mother, on the other hand, held that the very essence of a church
was that it should have a hierarchy and a graduated government within
itself, with the king at the apex, the archbishops beneath him, the
bishops under their control, and so down through the ministry to the
common folk. Such was, in her opinion, the Church as established in the
beginning, and no religion without these characteristics could lay any
claim to being the true one. Ritual was to her of as great importance
as morality, and if every tradesman and farmer were allowed to invent
prayers, and change the service as the fancy seized him, it would be
impossible to preserve the purity of the Christian creed. She agreed
that religion was based upon the Bible, but the Bible was a book which
contained much that was obscure, and unless that obscurity were
cleared away by a duly elected and consecrated servant of God, a
lineal descendant of the Disciples, all human wisdom might not serve to
interpret it aright. That was my mother’s position, and neither argument
nor entreaty could move her from it. The only question of belief on
which my two parents were equally ardent was their mutual dislike
and distrust of the Roman Catholic forms of worship, and in this the
Churchwoman was every whit as decided as the fanatical Independent.

It may seem strange to you in these days of tolerance, that the
adherents of this venerable creed should have met with such universal
ill-will from successive generations of Englishmen. We recognise now
that there are no more useful or loyal citizens in the state than our
Catholic brethren, and Mr. Alexander Pope or any other leading Papist is
no more looked down upon for his religion than was Mr. William Penn
for his Quakerism in the reign of King James. We can scarce credit how
noblemen like Lord Stafford, ecclesiastics like Archbishop Plunkett,
and commoners like Langhorne and Pickering, were dragged to death on
the testimony of the vilest of the vile, without a voice being raised in
their behalf; or how it could be considered a patriotic act on the part
of an English Protestant to carry a flail loaded with lead beneath his
cloak as a menace against his harmless neighbours who differed from
him on points of doctrine. It was a long madness which has now happily
passed off, or at least shows itself in a milder and rarer form.

Foolish as it appears to us, there were some solid reasons to account
for it. You have read doubtless how, a century before I was born, the
great kingdom of Spain waxed and prospered. Her ships covered every
sea. Her troops were victorious wherever they appeared. In letters, in
learning, in all the arts of war and peace they were the foremost nation
in Europe. You have heard also of the ill-blood which existed between
this great nation and ourselves; how our adventurers harried their
possessions across the Atlantic, while they retorted by burning such
of our seamen as they could catch by their devilish Inquisition, and by
threatening our coasts both from Cadiz and from their provinces in the
Netherlands. At last so hot became the quarrel that the other nations
stood off, as I have seen the folk clear a space for the sword-players
at Hockley-in-the-Hole, so that the Spanish giant and tough little
England were left face to face to fight the matter out. Throughout all
that business it was as the emissary of the Pope, and as the avenger of
the dishonoured Roman Church, that King Philip professed to come. It
is true that Lord Howard and many another gentleman of the old religion
fought stoutly against the Dons, but the people could never forget that
the reformed faith had been the flag under which they had conquered, and
that the blessing of the Pontiff had rested with their opponents. Then
came the cruel and foolish attempt of Mary to force upon them a creed
for which they had no sympathy, and at the heels of it another great
Roman Catholic power menaced our liberty from the Continent. The growing
strength of France promoted a corresponding distrust of Papistry in
England, which reached a head when, at about the time of which I write,
Louis XIV. threatened us with invasion at the very moment when, by
the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, he showed his intolerant spirit
towards the faith which we held dear. The narrow Protestantism of
England was less a religious sentiment than a patriotic reply to
the aggressive bigotry of her enemies. Our Catholic countrymen were
unpopular, not so much because they believed in Transubstantiation, as
because they were unjustly suspected of sympathising with the Emperor or
with the King of France. Now that our military successes have secured us
against all fear of attack, we have happily lost that bitter religious
hatred but for which Oates and Dangerfield would have lied in vain.

In the days when I was young, special causes had inflamed this dislike
and made it all the more bitter because there was a spice of fear
mingled with it. As long as the Catholics were only an obscure faction
they might be ignored, but when, towards the close of the reign of the
second Charles, it appeared to be absolutely certain that a Catholic
dynasty was about to fill the throne, and that Catholicism was to be the
court religion and the stepping-stone to preferment, it was felt that
a day of vengeance might be at hand for those who had trampled upon
it when it was defenceless. There was alarm and uneasiness amongst all
classes. The Church of England, which depends upon the monarch as an
arch depends upon the keystone; the nobility, whose estates and coffers
had been enriched by the plunder of the abbeys; the mob, whose ideas of
Papistry were mixed up with thumbscrews and Fox’s Martyrology, were all
equally disturbed. Nor was the prospect a hopeful one for their cause.
Charles was a very lukewarm Protestant, and indeed showed upon his
deathbed that he was no Protestant at all. There was no longer any
chance of his having legitimate offspring. The Duke of York, his younger
brother, was therefore heir to the throne, and he was known to be an
austere and narrow Papist, while his spouse, Mary of Modena, was
as bigoted as himself. Should they have children, there could be
no question but that they would be brought up in the faith of their
parents, and that a line of Catholic monarchs would occupy the throne
of England. To the Church, as represented by my mother, and to
Nonconformity, in the person of my father, this was an equally
intolerable prospect.

I have been telling you all this old history because you will find, as
I go on, that this state of things caused in the end such a seething and
fermenting throughout the nation that even I, a simple village lad, was
dragged into the whirl and had my whole life influenced by it. If I did
not make the course of events clear to you, you would hardly understand
the influences which had such an effect upon my whole history. In the
meantime, I wish you to remember that when King James II. ascended the
throne he did so amid a sullen silence on the part of a large class of
his subjects, and that both my father and my mother were among those who
were zealous for a Protestant succession.

My childhood was, as I have already said, a gloomy one. Now and again
when there chanced to be a fair at Portsdown Hill, or when a passing
raree showman set up his booth in the village, my dear mother would
slip a penny or two from her housekeeping money into my hand, and with
a warning finger upon her lip would send me off to see the sights. These
treats were, however, rare events, and made such a mark upon my mind,
that when I was sixteen years of age I could have checked off upon my
fingers all that I had ever seen. There was William Harker the strong
man, who lifted Farmer Alcott’s roan mare; and there was Tubby Lawson
the dwarf, who could fit himself into a pickle jar--these two I well
remember from the wonder wherewith they struck my youthful soul. Then
there was the show of the playing dolls, and that of the enchanted
island and Mynheer Munster from the Lowlands, who could turn himself
round upon a tight-rope while playing most sweetly upon a virginal.
Last, but far the best in my estimation, was the grand play at the
Portsdown Fair, entitled ‘The true and ancient story of Maudlin, the
merchant’s daughter of Bristol, and of her lover Antonio. How they were
cast away on the shores of Barbary, where the mermaids are seen floating
upon the sea and singing in the rocks, foretelling their danger.’ This
little piece gave me keener pleasure than ever in after years I received
from the grandest comedies of Mr. Congreve and of Mr. Dryden, though
acted by Kynaston, Betterton, and the whole strength of the King’s own
company. At Chichester once I remember that I paid a penny to see the
left shoe of the youngest sister of Potiphar’s wife, but as it looked
much like any other old shoe, and was just about the size to have fitted
the show-woman, I have often feared that my penny fell into the hands of
rogues.

There were other shows, however, which I might see for nothing, and yet
were more real and every whit as interesting as any for which I
paid. Now and again upon a holiday I was permitted to walk down to
Portsmouth--once I was even taken in front of my father upon his pad
nag, and there I wandered with him through the streets with wondering
eyes, marvelling over the strange sights around me. The walls and the
moats, the gates and the sentinels, the long High Street with the great
government buildings, and the constant rattle of drums and blare of
trumpets; they made my little heart beat quicker beneath my sagathy
stuff jacket. Here was the house in which some thirty years before the
proud Duke of Buckingham had been struck down by the assassin’s dagger.
There, too, was the Governor’s dwelling, and I remember that even as I
looked he came riding up to it, red-faced and choleric, with a nose such
as a Governor should have, and his breast all slashed with gold. ‘Is he
not a fine man?’ I said, looking up at my father. He laughed and drew
his hat down over his brows. ‘It is the first time that I have seen Sir
Ralph Lingard’s face,’ said he, ‘but I saw his back at Preston fight.
Ah, lad, proud as he looks, if he did but see old Noll coming in through
the door he would not think it beneath him to climb out through the
window!’ The clank of steel or the sight of a buff-coat would always
serve to stir up the old Roundhead bitterness in my father’s breast.

But there were other sights in Portsmouth besides the red-coats and
their Governor. The yard was the second in the kingdom, after Chatham,
and there was ever some new war-ship ready upon the slips. Then there
was a squadron of King’s ships, and sometimes the whole fleet at
Spithead, when the streets would be full of sailors, with their faces as
brown as mahogany and pigtails as stiff and hard as their cutlasses. To
watch their rolling gait, and to hear their strange, quaint talk,
and their tales of the Dutch wars, was a rare treat to me; and I have
sometimes when I was alone fastened myself on to a group of them, and
passed the day in wandering from tavern to tavern. It chanced one day,
however, that one of them insisted upon my sharing his glass of Canary
wine, and afterwards out of roguishness persuaded me to take a second,
with the result that I was sent home speechless in the carrier’s cart,
and was never again allowed to go into Portsmouth alone. My father was
less shocked at the incident than I should have expected, and reminded
my mother that Noah had been overtaken in a similar manner. He also
narrated how a certain field-chaplain Grant, of Desborough’s regiment,
having after a hot and dusty day drunk sundry flagons of mum, had
thereafter sung certain ungodly songs, and danced in a manner unbecoming
to his sacred profession. Also, how he had afterwards explained that
such backslidings were not to be regarded us faults of the individual,
but rather as actual obsessions of the evil one, who contrived in this
manner to give scandal to the faithful, and selected the most godly for
his evil purpose. This ingenious defence of the field-chaplain was the
saving of my back, for my father, who was a believer in Solomon’s axiom,
had a stout ash stick and a strong arm for whatever seemed to him to be
a falling away from the true path.

From the day that I first learned my letters from the horn-book at my
mother’s knee I was always hungry to increase my knowledge, and never a
piece of print came in my way that I did not eagerly master. My father
pushed the sectarian hatred of learning to such a length that he was
averse to having any worldly books within his doors. (Note A, Appendix)
I was dependent therefore for my supply upon one or two of my friends in
the village, who lent me a volume at a time from their small libraries.
These I would carry inside my shirt, and would only dare to produce when
I could slip away into the fields, and lie hid among the long grass, or
at night when the rushlight was still burning, and my father’s snoring
assured me that there was no danger of his detecting me. In this way
I worked up from Don Bellianis of Greece and the ‘Seven Champions,’
through Tarleton’s ‘Jests’ and other such books, until I could take
pleasure in the poetry of Waller and of Herrick, or in the plays of
Massinger and Shakespeare. How sweet were the hours when I could lay
aside all thought of freewill and of predestination, to lie with my
heels in the air among the scented clover, and listen to old Chaucer
telling the sweet story of Grisel the patient, or to weep for the chaste
Desdemona, and mourn over the untimely end of her gallant spouse. There
were times as I rose up with my mind full of the noble poetry, and
glanced over the fair slope of the countryside, with the gleaming sea
beyond it, and the purple outline of the Isle of Wight upon the horizon;
when it would be borne in upon me that the Being who created all this,
and who gave man the power of pouring out these beautiful thoughts, was
not the possession of one sect or another, or of this nation or that,
but was the kindly Father of every one of the little children whom
He had let loose on this fair playground. It grieved me then, and it
grieves me now, that a man of such sincerity and lofty purpose as your
great grandfather should have been so tied down by iron doctrines, and
should imagine his Creator to be so niggard of His mercy as to withhold
it from nine-and-ninety in the hundred. Well, a man is as he is trained,
and if my father bore a narrow mind upon his broad shoulders, he has at
least the credit that he was ready to do and to suffer all things
for what he conceived to be the truth. If you, my dears, have more
enlightened views, take heed that they bring you to lead a more
enlightened life.

When I was fourteen years of age, a yellow-haired, brown-faced lad, I
was packed off to a small private school at Petersfield, and there I
remained for a year, returning home for the last Saturday in each month.
I took with me only a scanty outfit of schoolbooks, with Lilly’s ‘Latin
Grammar,’ and Rosse’s ‘View of all the Religions in the World from the
Creation down to our own Times,’ which was shoved into my hands by my
good mother as a parting present. With this small stock of letters I
might have fared badly, had it not happened that my master, Mr. Thomas
Chillingfoot, had himself a good library, and took a pleasure in
lending his books to any of his scholars who showed a desire to improve
themselves. Under this good old man’s care I not only picked up some
smattering of Latin and Greek, but I found means to read good English
translations of many of the classics, and to acquire a knowledge of the
history of my own and other countries. I was rapidly growing in mind as
well as in body, when my school career was cut short by no less an event
than my summary and ignominious expulsion. How this unlooked-for ending
to my studies came about I must now set before you.

Petersfield had always been a great stronghold of the Church, having
hardly a Nonconformist within its bounds. The reason of this was that
most of the house property was owned by zealous Churchmen, who refused
to allow any one who differed from the Established Church to settle
there. The Vicar, whose name was Pinfold, possessed in this manner great
power in the town, and as he was a man with a high inflamed countenance
and a pompous manner, he inspired no little awe among the quiet
inhabitants. I can see him now with his beaked nose, his rounded
waistcoat, and his bandy legs, which looked as if they had given way
beneath the load of learning which they were compelled to carry. Walking
slowly with right hand stiffly extended, tapping the pavement at every
step with his metal-headed stick, he would pause as each person passed
him, and wait to see that he was given the salute which he thought due
to his dignity. This courtesy he never dreamed of returning, save in
the case of some of his richer parishioners; but if by chance it were
omitted, he would hurry after the culprit, and, shaking his stick in his
face, insist upon his doffing his cap to him. We youngsters, if we met
him on our walks, would scuttle by him like a brood of chickens passing
an old turkey cock, and even our worthy master showed a disposition to
turn down a side-street when the portly figure of the Vicar was seen
rolling in our direction. This proud priest made a point of knowing the
history of every one within his parish, and having learnt that I was the
son of an Independent, he spoke severely to Mr. Chillingfoot upon the
indiscretion which he had shown in admitting me to his school. Indeed,
nothing but my mother’s good name for orthodoxy prevented him from
insisting upon my dismissal.

At the other end of the village there was a large day-school. A constant
feud prevailed between the scholars who attended it and the lads who
studied under our master. No one could tell how the war broke out, but
for many years there had been a standing quarrel between the two, which
resulted in skirmishes, sallies, and ambuscades, with now and then a
pitched battle. No great harm was done in these encounters, for the
weapons were usually snowballs in winter and pine-cones or clods of
earth in the summer. Even when the contest got closer and we came to
fisticuffs, a few bruises and a little blood was the worst that could
come of it. Our opponents were more numerous than we, but we had the
advantage of being always together and of having a secure asylum upon
which to retreat, while they, living in scattered houses all over the
parish, had no common rallying-point. A stream, crossed by two bridges,
ran through the centre of the town, and this was the boundary which
separated our territories from those of our enemies. The boy who crossed
the bridge found himself in hostile country.

It chanced that in the first conflict which occurred after my arrival at
the school I distinguished myself by singling out the most redoubtable
of our foemen, and smiting him such a blow that he was knocked helpless
and was carried off by our party as a prisoner. This feat of arms
established my good name as a warrior, so I came at last to be regarded
as the leader of our forces, and to be looked up to by bigger boys than
myself. This promotion tickled my fancy so much, that I set to work to
prove that I deserved it by devising fresh and ingenious schemes for the
defeat of our enemies.

One winter’s evening news reached us that our rivals were about to make
a raid upon us under cover of night, and that they proposed coming by
the little used plank bridge, so as to escape our notice. This bridge
lay almost out of the town, and consisted of a single broad piece of
wood without a rail, erected for the good of the town clerk, who lived,
just opposite to it. We proposed to hide ourselves amongst the bushes on
our side of the stream, and make an unexpected attack upon the invaders
as they crossed. As we started, however, I bethought me of an ingenious
stratagem which I had read of as being practised in the German wars, and
having expounded it to the great delight of my companions, we took Mr.
Chillingfoot’s saw, and set off for the seat of action.

On reaching the bridge all was quiet and still. It was quite dark and
very cold, for Christmas was approaching. There were no signs of our
opponents. We exchanged a few whispers as to who should do the daring
deed, but as the others shrank from it, and as I was too proud to
propose what I dare not execute, I gripped the saw, and sitting
astraddle upon the plank set to work upon the very centre of it.

My purpose was to weaken it in such a way that, though it would bear the
weight of one, it would collapse when the main body of our foemen were
upon it, and so precipitate them into the ice-cold stream. The water was
but a couple of feet deep at the place, so that there was nothing for
them but a fright and a ducking. So cool a reception ought to deter
them from ever invading us again, and confirm my reputation as a daring
leader. Reuben Lockarby, my lieutenant, son of old John Lockarby of the
Wheatsheaf, marshalled our forces behind the hedgerow, whilst I sawed
vigorously at the plank until I had nearly severed it across. I had no
compunction about the destruction of the bridge, for I knew enough of
carpentry to see that a skilful joiner could in an hour’s work make
it stronger than ever by putting a prop beneath the point where I had
divided it. When at last I felt by the yielding of the plank that I had
done enough, and that the least strain would snap it, I crawled quietly
off, and taking up my position with my schoolfellows, awaited the coming
of the enemy.

I had scarce concealed myself when we heard the steps of some one
approaching down the footpath which led to the bridge. We crouched
behind the cover, convinced that the sound must come from some scout
whom our foemen had sent on in front--a big boy evidently, for his step
was heavy and slow, with a clinking noise mingling with it, of which we
could make nothing. Nearer came the sound and nearer, until a shadowy
figure loomed out of the darkness upon the other side, and after pausing
and peering for a moment, came straight for the bridge. It was only as
he was setting foot upon the plank and beginning gingerly to pick his
way across it, that we discerned the outlines of the familiar form, and
realised the dreadful truth that the stranger whom we had taken for the
advance guard of our enemy was in truth none other than Vicar Pinfold,
and that it was the rhythmic pat of his stick which we heard mingling
with his footfalls. Fascinated by the sight, we lay bereft of all power
to warn him--a line of staring eyeballs. One step, two steps, three
steps did the haughty Churchman take, when there was a rending crack,
and he vanished with a mighty splash into the swift-flowing stream. He
must have fallen upon his back, for we could see the curved outline
of his portly figure standing out above the surface as he struggled
desperately to regain his feet. At last he managed to get erect, and
came spluttering for the bank with such a mixture of godly ejaculations
and of profane oaths that, even in our terror, we could not keep from
laughter. Rising from under his feet like a covey of wild-fowl, we
scurried off across the fields and so back to the school, where, as you
may imagine, we said nothing to our good master of what had occurred.

The matter was too serious, however, to be hushed up. The sudden chill
set up some manner of disturbance in the bottle of sack which the Vicar
had just been drinking with the town clerk, and an attack of gout set in
which laid him on his back for a fortnight. Meanwhile an examination of
the bridge had shown that it had been sawn across, and an inquiry traced
the matter to Mr. Chillingfoot’s boarders. To save a wholesale expulsion
of the school from the town, I was forced to acknowledge myself as both
the inventor and perpetrator of the deed. Chillingfoot was entirely in
the power of the Vicar, so he was forced to read me a long homily
in public--which he balanced by an affectionate leave-taking in
private--and to expel me solemnly from the school. I never saw my old
master again, for he died not many years afterwards; but I hear that his
second son William is still carrying on the business, which is larger
and more prosperous than of old. His eldest son turned Quaker and went
out to Penn’s settlement, where he is reported to have been slain by the
savages.

This adventure shocked my dear mother, but it found great favour in the
eyes of my father, who laughed until the whole village resounded
with his stentorian merriment. It reminded him, he said, of a similar
stratagem executed at Market Drayton by that God-fearing soldier Colonel
Pride, whereby a captain and three troopers of Lunsford’s own regiment
of horse had been drowned, and many others precipitated into a river, to
the great glory of the true Church and to the satisfaction of the
chosen people. Even of the Church folk many were secretly glad at the
misfortune which had overtaken the Vicar, for his pretensions and his
pride had made him hated throughout the district.

By this time I had grown into a sturdy, broad-shouldered lad, and every
month added to my strength and my stature. When I was sixteen I could
carry a bag of wheat or a cask of beer against any man in the village,
and I could throw the fifteen-pound putting-stone to a distance of
thirty-six feet, which was four feet further than could Ted Dawson, the
blacksmith. Once when my father was unable to carry a bale of skins out
of the yard, I whipped it up and bare it away upon my shoulders. The
old man would often look gravely at me from under his heavy thatched
eyebrows, and shake his grizzled head as he sat in his arm-chair puffing
his pipe. ‘You grow too big for the nest, lad,’ he would say. ‘I doubt
some of these days you’ll find your wings and away!’ In my heart I
longed that the time would come, for I was weary of the quiet life of
the village, and was anxious to see the great world of which I had heard
and read so much. I could not look southward without my spirit stirring
within me as my eyes fell upon those dark waves, the white crests of
which are like a fluttering signal ever waving to an English youth and
beckoning him to some unknown but glorious goal.



Chapter III. Of Two Friends of my Youth


I fear, my children, that you will think that the prologue is over long
for the play; but the foundations must be laid before the building is
erected, and a statement of this sort is a sorry and a barren thing
unless you have a knowledge of the folk concerned. Be patient, then,
while I speak to you of the old friends of my youth, some of whom you
may hear more of hereafter, while others remained behind in the country
hamlet, and yet left traces of our early intercourse upon my character
which might still be discerned there.

Foremost for good amongst all whom I knew was Zachary Palmer, the
village carpenter, a man whose aged and labour-warped body contained the
simplest and purest of spirits. Yet his simplicity was by no means the
result of ignorance, for from the teachings of Plato to those of Hobbes
there were few systems ever thought out by man which he had not studied
and weighed. Books were far dearer in my boyhood than they are now,
and carpenters were less well paid, but old Palmer had neither wife nor
child, and spent little on food or raiment. Thus it came about that on
the shelf over his bed he had a more choice collection of books--few as
they were in number--than the squire or the parson, and these books he
had read until he not only understood them himself, but could impart
them to others.

This white-bearded and venerable village philosopher would sit by his
cabin door upon a summer evening, and was never so pleased as when
some of the young fellows would slip away from their bowls and their
quoit-playing in order to lie in the grass at his feet, and ask him
questions about the great men of old, their words and their deeds. But
of all the youths I and Reuben Lockarby, the innkeeper’s son, were his
two favourites, for we would come the earliest and stop the latest to
hear the old man talk. No father could have loved his children better
than he did us, and he would spare no pains to get at our callow
thoughts, and to throw light upon whatever perplexed or troubled us.
Like all growing things, we had run our heads against the problem of
the universe. We had peeped and pryed with our boyish eyes into those
profound depths in which the keenest-sighted of the human race had seen
no bottom. Yet when we looked around us in our own village world, and
saw the bitterness and rancour which pervaded every sect, we could not
but think that a tree which bore such fruit must have something amiss
with it. This was one of the thoughts unspoken to our parents which
we carried to good old Zachary, and on which he had much to say which
cheered and comforted us.

‘These janglings and wranglings,’ said he, ‘are but on the surface,
and spring from the infinite variety of the human mind, which will ever
adapt a creed to suit its own turn of thought. It is the solid core that
underlies every Christian creed which is of importance. Could you
but live among the Romans or the Greeks, in the days before this new
doctrine was preached, you would then know the change that it has
wrought in the world. How this or that text should be construed is a
matter of no moment, however warm men may get over it. What is of the
very greatest moment is, that every man should have a good and solid
reason for living a simple, cleanly life. This the Christian creed has
given us.’

‘I would not have you be virtuous out of fear,’ he said upon another
occasion. ‘The experience of a long life has taught me, however, that
sin is always punished in this world, whatever may come in the next.
There is always some penalty in health, in comfort, or in peace of
mind to be paid for every wrong. It is with nations as it is with
individuals. A book of history is a book of sermons. See how the
luxurious Babylonians were destroyed by the frugal Persians, and how
these same Persians when they learned the vices of prosperity were put
to the sword by the Greeks. Read on and mark how the sensual Greeks were
trodden down by the more robust and hardier Romans, and finally how the
Romans, having lost their manly virtues, were subdued by the nations
of the north. Vice and destruction came ever hand in hand. Thus did
Providence use each in turn as a scourge wherewith to chastise the
follies of the other. These things do not come by chance. They are part
of a great system which is at work in your own lives. The longer you
live the more you will see that sin and sadness are never far apart, and
that no true prosperity can exist away from virtue.’

A very different teacher was the sea-dog Solomon Sprent, who lived in
the second last cottage on the left-hand side of the main street of the
village. He was one of the old tarpaulin breed, who had fought under
the red cross ensign against Frenchman, Don, Dutchman, and Moor, until a
round shot carried off his foot and put an end to his battles for ever.
In person he was thin, and hard, and brown, as lithe and active as a
cat, with a short body and very long arms, each ending in a great hand
which was ever half closed as though shutting on a rope. From head to
foot he was covered with the most marvellous tattooings, done in blue,
red, and green, beginning with the Creation upon his neck and winding up
with the Ascension upon his left ankle. Never have I seen such a walking
work of art. He was wont to say that had he been owned and his body cast
up upon some savage land, the natives might have learned the whole of
the blessed gospel from a contemplation of his carcass. Yet with sorrow
I must say that the seaman’s religion appeared to have all worked into
his skin, so that very little was left for inner use. It had broken out
upon the surface, like the spotted fever, but his system was clear of
it elsewhere. He could swear in eleven languages and three-and-twenty
dialects, nor did he ever let his great powers rust for want of
practice. He would swear when he was happy or when he was sad, when he
was angry or when he was loving, but this swearing was so mere a trick
of speech, without malice or bitterness, that even my father could
hardly deal harshly with the sinner. As time passed, however, the old
man grew more sober and more thoughtful, until in his latter days he
went back to the simple beliefs of his childhood, and learned to fight
the devil with the same steady courage with which he had faced the
enemies of his country.

Old Solomon was a never-failing source of amusement and of interest to
my friend Lockarby and myself. On gala days he would have us in to dine
with him, when he would regale us with lobscouse and salmagundi, or
perhaps with an outland dish, a pillaw or olla podrida, or fish broiled
after the fashion of the Azores, for he had a famous trick of cooking,
and could produce the delicacies of all nations. And all the time that
we were with him he would tell us the most marvellous stories of Rupert,
under whom he served; how he would shout from the poop to his squadron
to wheel to the right, or to charge, or to halt, as the case might be,
as if he were still with his regiment of horse. Of Blake, too, he had
many stories to tell. But even the name of Blake was not so dear to our
old sailor as was that of Sir Christopher Mings. Solomon had at one time
been his coxswain, and could talk by the hour of those gallant deeds
which had distinguished him from the day that he entered the navy as a
cabin boy until he fell upon his own quarter-deck, a full admiral of the
red, and was borne by his weeping ship’s company to his grave in Chatham
churchyard. ‘If so be as there’s a jasper sea up aloft,’ said the old
seaman, ‘I’ll wager that Sir Christopher will see that the English flag
has proper respect paid to it upon it, and that we are not fooled by
foreigners. I’ve served under him in this world, and I ask nothing
better than to be his coxswain in the next--if so be as he should chance
to have a vacancy for such.’ These remembrances would always end in the
brewing of an extra bowl of punch, and the drinking of a solemn bumper
to the memory of the departed hero.

Stirring as were Solomon Sprent’s accounts of his old commanders, their
effect upon us was not so great as when, about his second or third
glass, the floodgates of his memory would be opened, and he would pour
out long tales of the lands which he had visited, and the peoples which
he had seen. Leaning forward in our seats with our chins resting upon
our hands, we two youngsters would sit for hours, with our eyes fixed
upon the old adventurer, drinking in his words, while he, pleased at the
interest which he excited, would puff slowly at his pipe and reel off
story after story of what he had seen or done. In those days, my dears,
there was no Defoe to tell us the wonders of the world, no _Spectator_
to lie upon our breakfast table, no Gulliver to satisfy our love of
adventure by telling us of such adventures as never were. Not once in
a month did a common newsletter fall into our hands. Personal hazards,
therefore, were of more value then than they are now, and the talk of a
man like old Solomon was a library in itself. To us it was all real. His
husky tones and ill-chosen words were as the voice of an angel, and our
eager minds filled in the details and supplied all that was wanting in
his narratives. In one evening we have engaged a Sallee rover off the
Pillars of Hercules; we have coasted down the shores of the African
continent, and seen the great breakers of the Spanish Main foaming upon
the yellow sand; we have passed the black ivory merchants with their
human cargoes; we have faced the terrible storms which blow ever around
the Cape de Boa Esperanza; and finally, we have sailed away out over the
great ocean beyond, amid the palm-clad coral islands, with the knowledge
that the realms of Prester John lie somewhere behind the golden haze
which shimmers upon the horizon. After such a flight as that we would
feel, as we came back to the Hampshire village and the dull realities
of country life, like wild birds who had been snared by the fowler and
clapped into narrow cages. Then it was that the words of my father, ‘You
will find your wings some day and fly away,’ would come back to me, and
set up such a restlessness as all the wise words of Zachary Palmer could
not allay.


Chapter IV. Of the Strange Fish that we Caught at Spithead

One evening in the month of May 1685, about the end of the first week
of the month, my friend Reuben Lockarby and I borrowed Ned Marley’s
pleasure boat, and went a-fishing out of Langston Bay. At that time I
was close on one-and-twenty years of age, while my companion was one
year younger. A great intimacy had sprung up between us, founded on
mutual esteem, for he being a little undergrown man was proud of my
strength and stature, while my melancholy and somewhat heavy spirit took
a pleasure in the energy and joviality which never deserted him, and
in the wit which gleamed as bright and as innocent as summer lightning
through all that he said. In person he was short and broad, round-faced,
ruddy-cheeked, and in truth a little inclined to be fat, though he would
never confess to more than a pleasing plumpness, which was held, he
said, to be the acme of manly beauty amongst the ancients. The stern
test of common danger and mutual hardship entitle me to say that no
man could have desired a stauncher or more trusty comrade. As he was
destined to be with me in the sequel, it was but fitting that he should
have been at my side on that May evening which was the starting-point of
our adventures.

We pulled out beyond the Warner Sands to a place half-way between them
and the Nab, where we usually found bass in plenty. There we cast the
heavy stone which served us as an anchor overboard, and proceeded to
set our lines. The sun sinking slowly behind a fog-bank had slashed the
whole western sky with scarlet streaks, against which the wooded slopes
of the Isle of Wight stood out vaporous and purple. A fresh breeze was
blowing from the south-east, flecking the long green waves with crests
of foam, and filling our eyes and lips with the smack of the salt spray.
Over near St. Helen’s Point a King’s ship was making her way down the
channel, while a single large brig was tacking about a quarter of a mile
or less from where we lay. So near were we that we could catch a glimpse
of the figures upon her deck as she heeled over to the breeze, and could
bear the creaking of her yards and the flapping of her weather-stained
canvas as she prepared to go about.

‘Look ye, Micah,’ said my companion, looking up from his fishing-line.
‘That is a most weak-minded ship--a ship which will make no way in the
world. See how she hangs in the wind, neither keeping on her course nor
tacking. She is a trimmer of the seas--the Lord Halifax of the ocean.’

‘Why, there is something amiss with her,’ I replied, staring across with
hand-shaded eyes. ‘She yaws about as though there were no one at the
helm. Her main-yard goes aback! Now it is forward again! The folk on her
deck seem to me to be either fighting or dancing. Up with the anchor,
Reuben, and let us pull to her.’

‘Up with the anchor and let us get out of her way,’ he answered, still
gazing at the stranger. ‘Why will you ever run that meddlesome head of
yours into danger’s way? She flies Dutch colours, but who can say whence
she really comes? A pretty thing if we were snapped up by a buccaneer
and sold in the Plantations!’

‘A buccaneer in the Solent!’ cried I derisively. ‘We shall be seeing the
black flag in Emsworth Creek next. But hark! What is that?’

The crack of a musket sounded from aboard the brig. Then came a moment’s
silence and another musket shot rang out, followed by a chorus of shouts
and cries. Simultaneously the yards swung round into position, the sails
caught the breeze once more, and the vessel darted away on a course
which would take her past Bembridge Point out to the English Channel. As
she flew along her helm was put hard down, a puff of smoke shot out
from her quarter, and a cannon ball came hopping and splashing over
the waves, passing within a hundred yards of where we lay. With this
farewell greeting she came up into the wind again and continued her
course to the southward.

‘Heart o’ grace!’ ejaculated Reuben in loose lipped astonishment. ‘The
murdering villains!’

‘I would to the Lord that King’s ship would snap them up!’ cried I
savagely, for the attack was so unprovoked that it stirred my bile.
‘What could the rogues have meant? They are surely drunk or mad!’

‘Pull at the anchor, man, pull at the anchor!’ my companion shouted,
springing up from the seat. ‘I understand it! Pull at the anchor!’

‘What then?’ I asked, helping him to haul the great stone up, hand over
hand, until it came dripping over the side.

‘They were not firing at us, lad. They were aiming at some one in the
water between us and them. Pull, Micah! Put your back into it! Some poor
fellow may he drowning.’

‘Why, I declare!’ said I, looking over my shoulder as I rowed, ‘there
is his head upon the crest of a wave. Easy, or we shall be over him! Two
more strokes and be ready to seize him! Keep up, friend! There’s help at
hand!’

‘Take help to those who need help’ said a voice out of the sea. ‘Zounds,
man, keep a guard on your oar! I fear a pat from it very much more than
I do the water.’

These words were delivered in so calm and self-possessed a tone that all
concern for the swimmer was set at rest. Drawing in our oars we faced
round to have a look at him. The drift of the boat had brought us so
close that he could have grasped the gunwale had he been so minded.

‘Sapperment!’ he cried in a peevish voice; ‘to think of my brother Nonus
serving me such a trick! What would our blessed mother have said could
she have seen it? My whole kit gone, to say nothing of my venture in
the voyage! And now I have kicked off a pair of new jack boots that
cost sixteen rix-dollars at Vanseddar’s at Amsterdam. I can’t swim in
jack-boots, nor can I walk without them.’

‘Won’t you come in out of the wet, sir?’ asked Reuben, who could scarce
keep serious at the stranger’s appearance and address. A pair of long
arms shot out of the water, and in a moment, with a lithe, snake-like
motion, the man wound himself into the boat and coiled his great length
upon the stern-sheets. Very lanky he was and very thin, with a craggy
hard face, clean-shaven and sunburned, with a thousand little wrinkles
intersecting it in every direction. He had lost his hat, and his short
wiry hair, slightly flecked with grey, stood up in a bristle all over
his head. It was hard to guess at his age, but he could scarce have been
under his fiftieth year, though the ease with which he had boarded our
boat proved that his strength and energy were unimpaired. Of all his
characteristics, however, nothing attracted my attention so much as his
eyes, which were almost covered by their drooping lids, and yet looked
out through the thin slits which remained with marvellous brightness and
keenness. A passing glance might give the idea that he was languid and
half asleep, but a closer one would reveal those glittering, shifting
lines of light, and warn the prudent man not to trust too much to his
first impressions.

‘I could swim to Portsmouth,’ he remarked, rummaging in the pockets of
his sodden jacket; ‘I could swim well-nigh anywhere. I once swam from
Gran on the Danube to Buda, while a hundred thousand Janissaries
danced with rage on the nether bank. I did, by the keys of St. Peter!
Wessenburg’s Pandours would tell you whether Decimus Saxon could
swim. Take my advice, young men, and always carry your tobacco in a
water-tight metal box.’

As he spoke he drew a flat box from his pocket, and several wooden
tubes, which he screwed together to form a long pipe. This he stuffed
with tobacco, and having lit it by means of a flint and steel with a
piece of touch-paper from the inside of his box, he curled his legs
under him in Eastern fashion, and settled down to enjoy a smoke. There
was something so peculiar about the whole incident, and so preposterous
about the man’s appearance and actions, that we both broke into a roar
of laughter, which lasted until for very exhaustion we were compelled
to stop. He neither joined in our merriment nor expressed offence at
it, but continued to suck away at his long wooden tube with a perfectly
stolid and impassive face, save that the half-covered eyes glinted
rapidly backwards and forwards from one to the other of us.

‘You will excuse our laughter, sir,’ I said at last; ‘my friend and I
are unused to such adventures, and are merry at the happy ending of it.
May we ask whom it is that we have picked up?’

‘Decimus Saxon is my name,’ the stranger answered; ‘I am the tenth child
of a worthy father, as the Latin implies. There are but nine betwixt me
and an inheritance. Who knows? Small-pox might do it, or the plague!’

‘We heard a shot aboard of the brig,’ said Reuben.

‘That was my brother Nonus shooting at me,’ the stranger observed,
shaking his head sadly.

‘But there was a second shot.’

‘Ah, that was me shooting at my brother Nonus.’

‘Good lack!’ I cried. ‘I trust that thou hast done him no hurt.’

‘But a flesh wound, at the most,’ he answered. ‘I thought it best to
come away, however, lest the affair grow into a quarrel. I am sure that
it was he who trained the nine-pounder on me when I was in the water.
It came near enough to part my hair. He was always a good shot with a
falconet or a mortar-piece. He could not have been hurt, however, to get
down from the poop to the main-deck in the time.’

There was a pause after this, while the stranger drew a long knife from
his belt, and cleaned out his pipe with it. Reuben and I took up our
oars, and having pulled up our tangled fishing-lines, which had been
streaming behind the boat, we proceeded to pull in towards the land.

‘The question now is,’ said the stranger, ‘where we are to go to?’

‘We are going down Langston Bay,’ I answered.

‘Oh, we are, are we?’ he cried, in a mocking voice; ‘you are sure of it
eh? You are certain we are not going to France? We have a mast and sail
there, I see, and water in the beaker. All we want are a few fish,
which I hear are plentiful in these waters, and we might make a push for
Barfleur.’

‘We are going down Langston Bay,’ I repeated coldly.

‘You see might is right upon the waters,’ he explained, with a smile
which broke his whole face up into crinkles. ‘I am an old soldier, a
tough fighting man, and you are two raw lads. I have a knife, and you
are unarmed. D’ye see the line of argument? The question now is, Where
are we to go?’

I faced round upon him with the oar in my hand. ‘You boasted that you
could swim to Portsmouth,’ said I, ‘and so you shall. Into the water
with you, you sea-viper, or I’ll push you in as sure as my name is Micah
Clarke.’

‘Throw your knife down, or I’ll drive the boat hook through you,’ cried
Reuben, pushing it forward to within a few inches of the man’s throat.

‘Sink me, but this is most commendable!’ he said, sheathing his weapon,
and laughing softly to himself. ‘I love to draw spirit out of the young
fellows. I am the steel, d’ye see, which knocks the valour out of your
flint. A notable simile, and one in every way worthy of that most witty
of mankind, Samuel Butler. This,’ he continued, tapping a protuberance
which I had remarked over his chest, ‘is not a natural deformity, but is
a copy of that inestimable “Hudibras,” which combines the light touch
of Horace with the broader mirth of Catullus. Heh! what think you of the
criticism?’

‘Give up that knife,’ said I sternly.

‘Certainly,’ he replied, handing it over to me with a polite bow. ‘Is
there any other reasonable matter in which I can oblige ye? I will
give up anything to do ye pleasure-save only my good name and soldierly
repute, or this same copy of “Hudibras,” which, together with a Latin
treatise upon the usages of war, written by a Fleming and printed in
Liege in the Lowlands, I do ever bear in my bosom.’

I sat down beside him with the knife in my hand. ‘You pull both oars,’
I said to Reuben; ‘I’ll keep guard over the fellow and see that he plays
us no trick. I believe that you are right, and that he is nothing better
than a pirate. He shall be given over to the justices when we get to
Havant.’

I thought that our passenger’s coolness deserted him for a moment, and
that a look of annoyance passed over his face.

‘Wait a bit!’ he said; ‘your name, I gather is Clarke, and your home is
Havant. Are you a kinsman of Joseph Clarke, the old Roundhead of that
town?’

‘He is my father,’ I answered.

‘Hark to that, now!’ he cried, with a throb of laughter; ‘I have a
trick of falling on my feet. Look at this, lad! Look at this!’ He drew
a packet of letters from his inside pocket, wrapped in a bit of tarred
cloth, and opening it he picked one out and placed it upon my knee.
‘Read!’ said he, pointing at it with his long thin finger.

It was inscribed in large plain characters, ‘To Joseph Clarke, leather
merchant of Havant, by the hand of Master Decimus Saxon, part-owner of
the ship _Providence_, from Amsterdam to Portsmouth.’ At each side it
was sealed with a massive red seal, and was additionally secured with a
broad band of silk.

‘I have three-and-twenty of them to deliver in the neighbourhood,’ he
remarked. ‘That shows what folk think of Decimus Saxon. Three-and-twenty
lives and liberties are in my hands. Ah, lad, invoices and bills of
lading are not done up in that fashion. It is not a cargo of Flemish
skins that is coming for the old man. The skins have good English hearts
in them; ay, and English swords in their fists to strike out for freedom
and for conscience. I risk my life in carrying this letter to your
father; and you, his son, threaten to hand me over to the justices! For
shame! For shame! I blush for you!’

‘I don’t know what you are hinting at,’ I answered. ‘You must speak
plainer if I am to understand you.’

‘Can we trust him?’ he asked, jerking his head in the direction of
Reuben.

‘As myself.’

‘How very charming!’ said he, with something between a smile and
a sneer. ‘David and Jonathan--or, to be more classical and less
scriptural, Damon and Pythias--eh?’ These papers, then, are from the
faithful abroad, the exiles in Holland, ye understand, who are thinking
of making a move and of coming over to see King James in his own country
with their swords strapped on their thighs. The letters are to those
from whom they expect sympathy, and notify when and where they will make
a landing. Now, my dear lad, you will perceive that instead of my being
in your power, you are so completely in mine that it needs but a word
from me to destroy your whole family. Decimus Saxon is staunch, though,
and that word shall never be spoken.’

‘If all this be true,’ said I, ‘and if your mission is indeed as you
have said, why did you even now propose to make for France?’

‘Aptly asked, and yet the answer is clear enough,’ he replied; ‘sweet
and ingenuous as are your faces, I could not read upon them that ye
would prove to be Whigs and friends of the good old cause. Ye might have
taken me to where excisemen or others would have wanted to pry and peep,
and so endangered my commission. Better a voyage to France in an open
boat than that.’

‘I will take you to my father,’ said I, after a few moments’ thought.
‘You can deliver your letter and make good your story to him. If you
are indeed a true man, you will meet with a warm welcome; but should you
prove, as I shrewdly suspect, to be a rogue, you need expect no mercy.’

‘Bless the youngster! he speaks like the Lord High Chancellor of
England! What is it the old man says?

          “He could not ope
           His mouth, but out there fell a trope.”

But it should be a threat, which is the ware in which you are fond of
dealing.

          “He could not let
           A minute pass without a threat.”

How’s that, eh? Waller himself could not have capped the couplet
neater.’

All this time Reuben had been swinging away at his oars, and we had made
our way into Langston Bay, down the sheltered waters of which we were
rapidly shooting. Sitting in the sheets, I turned over in my mind
all that this waif had said. I had glanced over his shoulder at the
addresses of some of the letters--Steadman of Basingstoke, Wintle
of Alresford, Fortescue of Bognor, all well-known leaders of the
Dissenters. If they were what he represented them to be, it was no
exaggeration to say that he held the fortunes and fates of these men
entirely in his hands. Government would be only too glad to have a valid
reason for striking hard at the men whom they feared. On the whole it
was well to tread carefully in the matter, so I restored our prisoner’s
knife to him, and treated him with increased consideration. It was
well-nigh dark when we beached the boat, and entirely so before we
reached Havant, which was fortunate, as the bootless and hatless state
of our dripping companion could not have failed to set tongues wagging,
and perhaps to excite the inquiries of the authorities. As it was, we
scarce met a soul before reaching my father’s door.



Chapter V. Of the Man with the Drooping Lids

My mother and my father were sitting in their high-backed chairs on
either side of the empty fireplace when we arrived, he smoking his
evening pipe of Oronooko, and she working at her embroidery. The moment
that I opened the door the man whom I had brought stepped briskly in,
and bowing to the old people began to make glib excuses for the lateness
of his visit, and to explain the manner in which we had picked him up. I
could not help smiling at the utter amazement expressed upon my mother’s
face as she gazed at him, for the loss of his jack-boots exposed a pair
of interminable spindle-shanks which were in ludicrous contrast to the
baggy low country knee-breeches which surmounted them. His tunic was
made of coarse sad-coloured kersey stuff with flat new gilded brass
buttons, beneath which was a whitish callamanca vest edged with silver.
Round the neck of his coat was a broad white collar after the Dutch
fashion, out of which his long scraggy throat shot upwards with his
round head and bristle of hair balanced upon the top of it, like the
turnip on a stick at which we used to throw at the fairs. In this guise
he stood blinking and winking in the glare of light, and pattering out
his excuses with as many bows and scrapes as Sir Peter Witling in the
play. I was in the act of following him into the room, when Reuben
plucked at my sleeve to detain me.

‘Nay, I won’t come in with you, Micah,’ said he; ‘there’s mischief
likely to come of all this. My father may grumble over his beer jugs,
but he’s a Churchman and a Tantivy for all that. I’d best keep out of
it.’

‘You are right,’ I answered. ‘There is no need for you to meddle in the
business. Be mum as to all that you have heard.’

‘Mum as a mouse,’ said he, and pressing my hand turned away into the
darkness. When I returned to the sitting-room I found that my mother had
hurried into the kitchen, where the crackling of sticks showed that she
was busy in building a fire. Decimus Saxon was seated at the edge of
the iron-bound oak chest at the side of my father, and was watching him
keenly with his little twinkling eyes, while the old man was fixing
his horn glasses and breaking the seals of the packet which his strange
visitor had just handed to him.

I saw that when my father looked at the signature at the end of the
long, closely written letter he gave a whiff of surprise and sat
motionless for a moment or so staring at it. Then he turned to the
commencement and read it very carefully through, after which he turned
it over and read it again. Clearly it brought no unwelcome news, for his
eyes sparkled with joy when he looked up from his reading, and more than
once he laughed aloud. Finally he asked the man Saxon how it had come
into his possession, and whether he was aware of the contents.

‘Why, as to that,’ said the messenger, ‘it was handed to me by no less
a person than Dicky Rumbold himself, and in the presence of others whom
it’s not for me to name. As to the contents, your own sense will tell
you that I would scarce risk my neck by bearing a message without I
knew what the message was. I am no chicken at the trade, sir. Cartels,
_pronunciamientos_, challenges, flags of truce, and proposals for
waffenstillstands, as the Deutschers call it--they’ve all gone through
my hands, and never one, gone awry.’

‘Indeed!’ quoth my father. ‘You are yourself one of the faithful?’

‘I trust that I am one of those who are on the narrow and thorny track,’
said he, speaking through his nose, as was the habit of the extreme
sectaries.

‘A track upon which no prelate can guide us,’ said my father.

‘Where man is nought and the Lord is all,’ rejoined Saxon.

‘Good! good!’ cried my father. ‘Micah, you shall take this worthy man
to my room, and see that he hath dry linen, and my second-best suit of
Utrecht velvet. It may serve until his own are dried. My boots, too,
may perchance be useful--my riding ones of untanned leather. A hat with
silver braiding hangs above them in the cupboard. See that he lacks for
nothing which the house can furnish. Supper will be ready when he hath
changed his attire. I beg that you will go at once, good Master Saxon,
lest you take a chill.’

‘There is but one thing that we have omitted,’ said our visitor,
solemnly rising up from his chair and clasping his long nervous hands
together. ‘Let us delay no longer to send up a word of praise to the
Almighty for His manifold blessings, and for the mercy wherewith He
plucked me and my letters out of the deep, even as Jonah was saved from
the violence of the wicked ones who hurled him overboard, and it may be
fired falconets at him, though we are not so informed in Holy Writ. Let
us pray, my friends!’ Then in a high-toned chanting voice he offered up
a long prayer of thanksgiving, winding up with a petition for grace and
enlightenment for the house and all its inmates. Having concluded by a
sonorous amen, he at last suffered himself to be led upstairs; while
my mother, who had slipped in and listened with much edification to his
words, hurried away to prepare him a bumper of green usquebaugh with ten
drops of Daffy’s Elixir therein, which was her sovereign recipe against
the effects of a soaking. There was no event in life, from a christening
to a marriage, but had some appropriate food or drink in my mother’s
vocabulary, and no ailment for which she had not some pleasant cure in
her well-stocked cupboards.

Master Decimus Saxon in my father’s black Utrecht velvet and untanned
riding boots looked a very different man to the bedraggled castaway who
had crawled like a conger eel into our fishing-boat. It seemed as if he
had cast off his manner with his raiment, for he behaved to my mother
during supper with an air of demure gallantry which sat upon him better
than the pert and flippant carriage which he had shown towards us in the
boat. Truth to say, if he was now more reserved, there was a very good
reason for it, for he played such havoc amongst the eatables that there
was little time for talk. At last, after passing from the round of cold
beef to a capon pasty, and topping up with a two-pound perch, washed
down by a great jug of ale, he smiled upon us all and told us that his
fleshly necessities were satisfied for the nonce. ‘It is my rule,’ he
remarked, ‘to obey the wise precept which advises a man to rise from
table feeling that he could yet eat as much as he has partaken of.’

‘I gather from your words, sir, that you have yourself seen hard
service,’ my father remarked when the board had been cleared and my
mother had retired for the night.

‘I am an old fighting man,’ our visitor answered, screwing his pipe
together, ‘a lean old dog of the hold-fast breed. This body of mine
bears the mark of many a cut and slash received for the most part in
the service of the Protestant faith, though some few were caught for the
sake of Christendom in general when warring against the Turk. There is
blood of mine, sir, Spotted all over the map of Europe. Some of it, I
confess, was spilled in no public cause, but for the protection of mine
own honour in the private duello or holmgang, as it was called among the
nations of the north. It is necessary that a cavaliero of fortune, being
for the greater part a stranger in a strange land, should be somewhat
nice in matters of the sort, since he stands, as it were, as the
representative of his country, whose good name should be more dear to
him than his own.’

‘Your weapon on such occasions was, I suppose, the sword?’ my father
asked, shifting uneasily in his seat, as he would do when his old
instincts were waking up.

‘Broadsword, rapier, Toledo, spontoon, battle-axe, pike or half-pike,
morgenstiern, and halbert. I speak with all due modesty, but with
backsword, sword and dagger, sword and buckler, single falchion, case of
falchions, or any other such exercise, I will hold mine own against any
man that ever wore neat’s leather, save only my elder brother Quartus.’

‘By my faith,’ said my father with his eyes shining, ‘were I twenty
years younger I should have at you! My backsword play hath been thought
well of by stout men of war. God forgive me that my heart should still
turn to such vanities.’

‘I have heard godly men speak well of it,’ remarked Saxon. ‘Master
Richard Rumbold himself spake of your deeds of arms to the Duke of
Argyle. Was there not a Scotsman, one Storr or Stour?’

‘Ay, ay! Storr of Drumlithie. I cut him nigh to the saddle-bow in a
skirmish on the eve of Dunbar. So Dicky Rumbold had not forgotten it,
eh? He was a hard one both at praying and at fighting. We have ridden
knee to knee in the field, and we have sought truth together in the
chamber. So, Dick will be in harness once again! He could not be still
if a blow were to be struck for the trampled faith. If the tide of war
set in this direction, I too--who knows? who knows?’

‘And here is a stout man-at-arms,’ said Saxon, passing his hand down my
arm.’ He hath thew and sinew, and can use proud words too upon occasion,
as I have good cause to know, even in our short acquaintance. Might it
not be that he too should strike in this quarrel?’

‘We shall discuss it,’ my father answered, looking thoughtfully at me
from under his heavy brows. ‘But I pray you, friend Saxon, to give us
some further account upon these matters. My son Micah, as I understand,
hath picked you out of the waves. How came you there?’

Decimus Saxon puffed at his pipe for a minute or more in silence, as one
who is marshalling facts each in its due order.

‘It came about in this wise,’ he said at last. ‘When John of Poland
chased the Turk from the gates of Vienna, peace broke out in the
Principalities, and many a wandering cavaliero like myself found his
occupation gone. There was no war waging save only some petty Italian
skirmish, in which a soldier could scarce expect to reap either dollars
or repute, so I wandered across the Continent, much cast down at the
strange peace which prevailed in every quarter. At last, however, on
reaching the Lowlands, I chanced to hear that the _Providence_, owned
and commanded by my two brothers, Nonus and Quartus, was about to start
from Amsterdam for an adventure to the Guinea coast. I proposed to them
that I should join them, and was accordingly taken into partnership on
condition that I paid one-third of the cost of the cargo. While waiting
at the port I chanced to come across some of the exiles, who, having
heard of my devotion to the Protestant cause, brought me to the Duke and
to Master Rumbold, who committed these letters to my charge. This makes
it clear how they came into my possession.’

‘But not how you and they came into the water,’ my father suggested.

‘Why, that was but the veriest chance,’ the adventurer answered with
some little confusion of manner. ‘It was the _fortuna belli_, or more
properly _pacis_. I had asked my brothers to put into Portsmouth that I
might get rid of these letters, on which they replied in a boorish and
unmannerly fashion that they were still waiting for the thousand guineas
which represented my share of the venture. To this I answered with
brotherly familiarity that it was a small thing, and should be paid
for out of the profits of our enterprise. Their reply was I that I had
promised to pay the money down, and that money down they must have. I
then proceeded to prove, both by the Aristotelian and by the Platonic
or deductive method, that having no guineas in my possession it was
impossible for me to produce a thousand of them, at the same time
pointing out that the association of an honest man in the business was
in itself an ample return for the money, since their own reputations had
been somewhat blown on. I further offered in the same frank and friendly
spirit to meet either of them with sword or with pistol, a proposal
which should have satisfied any honour-loving Cavaliero. Their base
mercantile souls prompted them, however, to catch up two muskets, one of
which Nonus discharged at me, and it is likely that Quartus would have
followed suit had I not plucked the gun from his hand and unloaded it to
prevent further mischief. In unloading it I fear that one of the slugs
blew a hole in brother Nonus. Seeing that there was a chance of further
disagreements aboard the vessel, I at once decided to leave her, in
doing which I was forced to kick off my beautiful jack-boots, which were
said by Vanseddars himself to be he finest pair that ever went out of
his shop, square-toed, double-soled--alas! alas!’

‘Strange that you should have been picked up by the son of the very man
to whom you had a letter.’

‘The working of Providence,’ Saxon answered. ‘I have two-and-twenty
other letters which must all be delivered by hand. If you will permit me
to use your house for a while, I shall make it my headquarters.’

‘Use it as though it were your own,’ said my father.

‘Your most grateful servant, sir,’ he cried, jumping up and bowing
with his hand over his heart. ‘This is indeed a haven of rest after the
ungodly and profane company of my brothers. Shall we then put up a hymn,
and retire from the business of the day?’

My father willingly agreed, and we sang ‘Oh, happy land!’ after which
our visitor followed me to his room, bearing with him the unfinished
bottle of usquebaugh which my mother had left on the table. He took it
with him, he explained, as a precaution against Persian ague, contracted
while battling against the Ottoman, and liable to recur at strange
moments. I left him in our best spare bedroom, and returned to my
father, who was still seated, heavy with thought, in his old corner.

‘What think you of my find, Dad?’ I asked.

‘A man of parts and of piety,’ he answered; ‘but in truth he has brought
me news so much after my heart, that he could not be unwelcome were he
the Pope of Rome.’

‘What news, then?’

‘This, this!’ he cried joyously, plucking the letter out of his bosom.
‘I will read it to you, lad. Nay, perhaps I had best sleep the night
upon it, and read it to-morrow when our heads are clearer. May the Lord
guide my path, and confound the tyrant! Pray for light, boy, for my life
and yours may be equally at stake.’




Chapter VI. Of the Letter that came from the Lowlands

In the morning I was up betimes, and went forthwith, after the country
fashion, to our quest’s room to see if there was aught in which I could
serve him. On pushing at his door, I found that it was fastened, which
surprised me the more as I knew that there was neither key nor bolt upon
the inside. On my pressing against it, however, it began to yield, and
I could then see that a heavy chest which was used to stand near the
window had been pulled round in order to shut out any intrusion. This
precaution, taken under my father’s roof, as though he were in a den of
thieves, angered me, and I gave a butt with my shoulder which cleared
the box out of the way, and enabled me to enter the room.

The man Saxon was sitting up in bed, staring about him as though he
were not very certain for the moment where he was. He had tied a white
kerchief round his head by way of night bonnet, and his hard-visaged,
clean-shaven face, looking out through this, together with his bony
figure, gave him some resemblance to a gigantic old woman. The bottle
of usquebaugh stood empty by his bedside. Clearly his fears had been
realised, and he had had an attack of the Persian ague.

‘Ah, my young friend!’ he said at last. ‘Is it, then, the custom of this
part of the country to carry your visitor’s rooms by storm or escalado
in the early hours of the morning?’

‘Is it the custom,’ I answered sternly, ‘to barricade up your door when
you are sleeping under the roof-tree of an honest man? What did you
fear, that you should take such a precaution?’

‘Nay, you are indeed a spitfire,’ he replied, sinking back upon the
pillow, and drawing the clothes round him, ‘a feuerkopf as the Germans
call it, or sometimes tollkopf, which in its literal significance
meaneth a fool’s head. Your father was, as I have heard, a strong and a
fierce man when the blood of youth ran in his veins; but you, I should
judge, are in no way behind him. Know, then, that the bearer of papers
of import, _documenta preciosa sed periculosa_, is bound to leave
nought to chance, but to guard in every way the charge which hath been
committed to him. True it is that I am in the house of an honest man,
but I know not who may come or who may go during the hours of the night.
Indeed, for the matter of that--but enough is said. I shall be with you
anon.’

‘Your clothes are dry and are ready for you,’ I remarked.

‘Enough! enough!’ he answered. ‘I have no quarrel with the suit which
your father has lent me. It may be that I have been used to better, but
they will serve my turn. The camp is not the court.’

It was evident to me that my father’s suit was infinitely better, both
in texture and material, than that which our visitor had brought
with him. As he had withdrawn his head, however, entirely beneath the
bedclothes, there was nothing more to be said, so I descended to the
lower room, where I found toy father busily engaged fastening a new
buckle to his sword-belt while my mother and the maid were preparing the
morning meal.

‘Come into the yard with me, Micah,’ quoth my father; ‘I would have
a word with you.’ The workmen had not yet come to their work, so we
strolled out into the sweet morning air, and seated ourselves on the low
stone bankment on which the skins are dressed.

‘I have been out here this morning trying my hand at the broadsword
exercise, ‘said he; ‘I find that I am as quick as ever on a thrust, but
my cuts are sadly stiff. I might be of use at a pinch, but, alas! I
am not the same swordsman who led the left troop of the finest horse
regiment that ever followed a kettledrum. The Lord hath given, and the
Lord hath taken away! Yet, if I am old and worn, there is the fruit of
my loins to stand in my place and to wield the same sword in the same
cause. You shall go in my place, Micah.’

‘Go! Go whither?’

‘Hush, lad, and listen! Let not your mother know too much, for the
hearts of women are soft. When Abraham offered up his eldest born, I
trow that he said little to Sarah on the matter. Here is the letter.
Know you who this Dicky Rumbold is?’

‘Surely I have heard you speak of him as an old companion of yours.’

‘The same--a staunch man and true. So faithful was he--faithful even to
slaying--that when the army of the righteous dispersed, he did not lay
aside his zeal with his buff-coat. He took to business as a maltster at
Hoddesdon, and in his house was planned the famous Rye House Plot, in
which so many good men were involved.’

‘Was it not a foul assassination plot?’ I asked.

‘Nay, nay, be not led away by terms! It is a vile invention of the
malignants that these men planned assassination. What they would do they
purposed doing in broad daylight, thirty of them against fifty of the
Royal Guard, when Charles and James passed on their way to Newmarket. If
the royal brothers got pistol-bullet or sword-stab, it would be in open
fight, and at the risk of their attackers. It was give and take, and no
murder.’

He paused and looked inquiringly at me; but I could not truthfully
say that I was satisfied, for an attack upon the lives of unarmed and
unsuspecting men, even though surrounded by a bodyguard, could not, to
my mind, be justified.

‘When the plot failed,’ my father continued, ‘Rumbold had to fly for his
life, but he succeeded in giving his pursuers the slip and in making his
way to the Lowlands. There he found that many enemies of the Government
had gathered together. Repeated messages from England, especially from
the western counties and from London, assured them that if they would
but attempt an invasion they might rely upon help both in men and in
money. They were, however, at fault for some time for want of a leader
of sufficient weight to carry through so large a project; but now
at last they have one, who is the best that could have been singled
out--none other than the well-beloved Protestant chieftain James, Duke
of Monnmouth, son of Charles II.’

‘Illegitimate son,’ I remarked.

‘That may or may not be. There are those who say that Lucy Walters was
a lawful wife. Bastard or no, he holds the sound principles of the true
Church, and he is beloved by the people. Let him appear in the West, and
soldiers will rise up like the flowers in the spring time.’

He paused, and led me away to the farther end of the yard, for the
workmen had begun to arrive and to cluster round the dipping trough.

‘Monmouth is coming over,’ he continued, ‘and he expects every brave
Protestant man to rally to his standard. The Duke of Argyle is to
command a separate expedition, which will set the Highlands of Scotland
in a blaze. Between them they hope to bring the persecutor of the
faithful on his knees. But I hear the voice of the man Saxon, and I must
not let him say that I have treated him in a churlish fashion. Here is
the letter, lad. Read it with care, and remember that when brave men are
striving for their rights it is fitting that one of the old rebel house
of Clarke should be among them.’

I took the letter, and wandering off into the fields, I settled myself
under a convenient tree, and set myself to read it. This yellow sheet
which I now hold in my hand is the very one which was brought by Decimus
Saxon, and read by me that bright May morning under the hawthorn shade.
I give it to you as it stands;


‘To my friend and companion in the cause of the Lord, Joseph
Clarke.--Know, friend, that aid and delivery is coming upon Israel,
and that the wicked king and those who uphold him shall be smitten and
entirely cast down, until their place in the land shall know them no
more. Hasten, then, to testify to thy own faith, that in the day of
trouble ye be not found wanting.

‘It has chanced from time to time that many of the suffering Church,
both from our own land and from among the Scots, have assembled in this
good Lutheran town of Amsterdam, until enough are gathered together to
take a good work in hand. For amongst our own folk there are my
Lord Grey of Wark, Wade, Dare of Taunton, Ayloffe, Holmes, Hollis,
Goodenough, and others whom thou shalt know. Of the Scots there are the
Duke of Argyle, who has suffered sorely for the Covenant, Sir Patrick
Hume, Fletcher of Saltoun, Sir John Cochrane, Dr. Ferguson, Major
Elphinstone, and others. To these we would fain have added Locke and old
Hal Ludlow, but they are, as those of the Laodicean Church, neither cold
nor warm.

‘It has now come to pass, however, that Monmouth, who has long lived in
dalliance with the Midianitish woman known by the name of Wentworth, has
at last turned him to higher things, and has consented to make a bid for
the crown. It was found that the Scots preferred to follow a chieftain
of their own, and it has therefore been determined that Argyle--M’Callum
More, as the breechless savages of Inverary call him--shall command a
separate expedition landing upon the western coast of Scotland. There
he hopes to raise five thousand Campbells, and to be joined by all the
Covenanters and Western Whigs, men who would make troops of the old
breed had they but God-fearing officers with an experience of the chance
of fields and the usages of war. With such a following he should be able
to hold Glasgow, and to draw away the King’s force to the north. Ayloffe
and I go with Argyle. It is likely that our feet may be upon Scottish
ground before thy eyes read these words.

‘The stronger expedition starts with Monmouth, and lands at a fitting
place in the West, where we are assured that we have many friends. I
cannot name the spot lest this letter miscarry, but thou shalt hear
anon. I have written to all good men along the coast, bidding them to
be prepared to support the rising. The King is weak, and hated by the
greater part of his subjects. It doth but need one good stroke to bring
his crown in the dust. Monmouth will start in a few weeks, when his
equipment is finished and the weather favourable. If thou canst come,
mine old comrade, I know well that thou wilt need no bidding of mine to
bring thee to our banner. Should perchance a peaceful life and waning
strength forbid thy attendance, I trust that thou wilt wrestle for us
in prayer, even as the holy prophet of old; and perchance, since I hear
that thou hast prospered according to the things of this world, thou
mayst be able to fit out a pikeman or two, or to send a gift towards the
military chest, which will be none too plentifully lined. We trust
not to gold, but to steel and to our own good cause, yet gold will be
welcome none the less. Should we fall, we fall like men and Christians.
Should we succeed, we shall see how the perjured James, the persecutor
of the saints with the heart like a nether millstone, the man who smiled
when the thumbs of the faithful were wrenched out of their sockets at
Edinburgh--we shall see how manfully he can bear adversity when it falls
to his lot. May the hand of the Almighty be over us!

‘I know little of the bearer of this, save that he professes to be of
the elect. Shouldst thou go to Monmouth’s camp, see that thou take him
with thee, for I hear that he hath had good experience in the German,
Swedish, and Otttoman wars.--Yours in the faith of Christ, Richard
Rumbold.

‘Present my services to thy spouse. Let her read Timothy chapter two,
ninth to fifteenth verses.’


This long letter I read very carefully, and then putting it in my pocket
returned indoors to my breakfast. My father looked at me, as I entered,
with questioning eyes, but I had no answer to return him, for my own
mind was clouded and uncertain.

That day Decimus Saxon left us, intending to make a round of the country
and to deliver his letters, but promising to be back again ere long. We
had a small mishap ere he went, for as we were talking of his journey
my brother Hosea must needs start playing with my father’s powder-flask,
which in some way went off with a sudden fluff, spattering the walls
with fragments of metal. So unexpected and loud was the explosion,
that both my father and I sprang to our feet; but Saxon, whose back
was turned to my brother, sat four-square in his chair without a glance
behind him or a shade of change in his rugged face. As luck would have
it, no one was injured, not even Hosea, but the incident made me think
more highly of our new acquaintance. As he started off down the village
street, his long stringy figure and strange gnarled visage, with my
father’s silver-braided hat cocked over his eye, attracted rather
more attention than I cared to see, considering the importance of the
missives which he bore, and the certainty of their discovery should he
be arrested as a masterless man. Fortunately, however, the curiosity
of the country folk did but lead them to cluster round their doors and
windows, staring open-eyed, while he, pleased at the attention which
he excited, strode along with his head in the air and a cudgel of
mine twirling in his hand. He had left golden opinions behind him. My
father’s good wishes had been won by his piety and by the sacrifices
which he claimed to have made for the faith. My mother he had taught how
wimples are worn amongst the Serbs, and had also demonstrated to her a
new method of curing marigolds in use in some parts of Lithuania. For
myself, I confess that I retained a vague distrust of the man, and
was determined to avoid putting faith in him more than was needful. At
present, however, we had no choice hut to treat him as an ambassador
from friends.

And I? What was I to do? Should I follow my father’s wishes, and draw
my maiden sword on behalf of the insurgents, or should I stand aside and
see how events shaped themselves? It was more fitting that I should
go than he. But, on the other hand, I was no keen religious zealot.
Papistry, Church, Dissent, I believed that there was good in all of
them, but that not one was worth the spilling of human blood. James
might be a perjurer and a villain, but he was, as far as I could see,
the rightful king of England, and no tales of secret marriages or black
boxes could alter the fact that his rival was apparently an illegitimate
son, and as such ineligible to the throne. Who could say what evil act
upon the part of a monarch justified his people in setting him aside?
Who was the judge in such a case? Yet, on the other hand, the man had
notoriously broken his own pledges, and that surely should absolve
his subjects from their allegiance. It was a weighty question for a
country-bred lad to have to settle, and yet settled it must be, and that
speedily. I took up my hat and wandered away down the village street,
turning the matter over in my head.

But it was no easy thing for me to think seriously of anything in the
hamlet; for I was in some way, my dear children, though I say it myself,
a favourite with the young and with the old, so that I could not walk
ten paces without some greeting or address. There were my own brothers
trailing behind me, Baker Mitford’s children tugging at my skirts, and
the millwright’s two little maidens one on either hand. Then, when I had
persuaded these young rompers to leave me, out came Dame Fullarton the
widow, with a sad tale about how her grindstone had fallen out of its
frame, and neither she nor her household could lift it in again. That
matter I set straight and proceeded on my way; but I could not pass the
sign of the Wheatsheaf without John Lockarby, Reuben’s father, plunging
out at me and insisting upon my coming in with him for a morning cup.

‘The best glass of mead in the countryside, and brewed under my own
roof,’ said he proudly, as he poured it into the flagon. ‘Why, bless
you, master Micah, a man with a frame like yours wants store o’ good
malt to keep it up wi’.’

‘And malt like this is worthy of a good frame to contain it,’ quoth
Reuben, who was at work among the flasks.

‘What think ye, Micah?’ said the landlord. ‘There was the Squire o’
Milton over here yester morning wi’ Johnny Ferneley o’ the Bank side,
and they will have it that there’s a man in Fareham who could wrestle
you, the best of three, and find your own grip, for a good round stake.’

‘Tut! tut!’ I answered; ‘you would have me like a prize mastiff, showing
my teeth to the whole countryside. What matter if the man can throw me,
or I him?’

‘What matter? Why, the honour of Havant,’ quoth he. ‘Is that no matter?
But you are right,’ he continued, draining off his horn. ‘What is all
this village life with its small successes to such as you? You are as
much out of your place as a vintage wine at a harvest supper. The whole
of broad England, and not the streets of Havant, is the fit stage for
a man of your kidney. What have you to do with the beating of skins and
the tanning of leather?’

‘My father would have you go forth as a knight-errant, Micah,’ said
Reuben, laughing. ‘You might chance to get your own skin beaten and your
own leather tanned.’

‘Who ever knew so long a tongue in so short a body?’ cried the
innkeeper. ‘But in good sooth, Master Micah, I am in sober earnest when
I say that you are indeed wasting the years of your youth, when life is
sparkling and clear, and that you will regret it when you have come to
the flat and flavourless dregs of old age.’

‘There spoke the brewer,’ said Reuben; ‘but indeed, Micah, my father is
right, for all that he hath such a hops-and-water manner of putting it.’

‘I will think over it,’ I answered, and with a nod to the kindly couple
proceeded on my way.

Zachariah Palmer was planing a plank as I passed. Looking up he bade me
good-morrow.

‘I have a book for you, lad,’ he said.

‘I have but now finished the “Comus,”’ I answered, for he had lent me
John Milton’s poem. ‘But what is this new book, daddy?’

‘It is by the learned Locke, and treateth of states and statecraft. It
is but a small thing, but if wisdom could show in the scales it would
weigh down many a library. You shall have it when I have finished it,
to-morrow mayhap or the day after. A good man is Master Locke. Is he not
at this moment a wanderer in the Lowlands, rather than bow his knee to
what his conscience approved not of?’

‘There are many good men among the exiles, are there not?’ said I.

‘The pick of the country,’ he answered. ‘Ill fares the land that drives
the highest and bravest of its citizens away from it. The day is coming,
I fear, when every man will have to choose betwixt his beliefs and his
freedom. I am an old man, Micah boy, but I may live long enough to see
strange things in this once Protestant kingdom.’

‘But if these exiles had their way,’ I objected, ‘they would place
Monmouth upon the throne, and so unjustly alter the succession.’

‘Nay, nay,’ old Zachary answered, laying down his plane. ‘If they use
Monmouth’s name, it is but to strengthen their cause, and to show that
they have a leader of repute. Were James driven from the throne, the
Commons of England in Parliament assembled would be called upon to
name his successor. There are men at Monmouth’s back who would not stir
unless this were so.’

‘Then, daddy,’ said I, ‘since I can trust you, and since you will tell
me what you do really think, would it be well, if Monmouth’s standard be
raised, that I should join it?’

The carpenter stroked his white beard and pondered for a while. ‘It is a
pregnant question,’ he said at last, ‘and yet methinks that there is but
one answer to it, especially for your father’s son. Should an end be put
to James’s rule, it is not too late to preserve the nation in its old
faith; but if the disease is allowed to spread, it may be that even the
tyrant’s removal would not prevent his evil seed from sprouting. I hold,
therefore, that should the exiles make such an attempt, it is the duty
of every man who values liberty of conscience to rally round them. And
you, my son, the pride of the village, what better use could you make
of your strength than to devote it to helping to relieve your country
of this insupportable yoke? It is treasonable and dangerous
counsel--counsel which might lead to a short shrift and a bloody
death--but, as the Lord liveth, if you were child of mine I should say
the same.’

So spoke the old carpenter with a voice which trembled with earnestness,
and went to work upon his plank once more, while I, with a few words of
gratitude, went on my way pondering over what he had said to me. I had
not gone far, however, before the hoarse voice of Solomon Sprent broke
in upon my meditations.

‘Hoy there! Ahoy!’ he bellowed, though his mouth was but a few yards
from my ear. ‘Would ye come across my hawse without slacking weigh? Clew
up, d’ye see, clew up!’

‘Why, Captain,’ I said, ‘I did not see you. I was lost in thought.’

‘All adrift and without look-outs,’ quoth he, pushing his way through
the break in the garden hedge. ‘Odd’s niggars, man! friends are not
so plentiful, d’ye see, that ye need pass ‘em by without a dip o’ the
ensign. So help me, if I had had a barker I’d have fired a shot across
your bows.’

‘No offence, Captain,’ said I, for the veteran appeared to be nettled;
‘I have much to think of this morning.’

‘And so have I, mate,’ he answered, in a softer voice. ‘What think ye of
my rig, eh?’ He turned himself slowly round in the sunlight as he spoke,
and I perceived that he was dressed with unusual care. He had a blue
suit of broadcloth trimmed with eight rows of buttons, and breeches of
the same material with great bunches of ribbon at the knee. His vest
was of lighter blue picked out with anchors in silver, and edged with
a finger’s-breadth of lace. His boot was so wide that he might have had
his foot in a bucket, and he wore a cutlass at his side suspended from a
buff belt, which passed over his right shoulder.

‘I’ve had a new coat o’ paint all over,’ said he, with a wink.
‘Carramba! the old ship is water-tight yet. What would ye say, now, were
I about to sling my hawser over a little scow, and take her in tow?’

‘A cow!’ I cried.

‘A cow! what d’ye take me for? A wench, man, and as tight a little craft
as ever sailed into the port of wedlock.’

‘I have heard no better news for many a long day,’ said I; ‘I did not
even know that you were betrothed. When thou is the wedding to be?’

‘Go slow, friend--go slow, and heave your lead-line! You have got out
of your channel, and are in shoal water. I never said as how I was
betrothed.’

‘What then?’ I asked.

‘I am getting up anchor now, to run down to her and summon her. Look
ye, lad,’ he continued, plucking off his cap and scratching his
ragged locks; ‘I’ve had to do wi’ wenches enow from the Levant to the
Antilles--wenches such as a sailorman meets, who are all paint and
pocket. It’s but the heaving of a hand grenade, and they strike their
colours. This is a craft of another guess build, and unless I steer wi’
care she may put one in between wind and water before I so much as
know that I am engaged. What think ye, heh? Should I lay myself boldly
alongside, d’ye see, and ply her with small arms, or should I work
myself clear and try a long range action? I am none of your slippery,
grease-tongued, long-shore lawyers, but if so be as she’s willing for a
mate, I’ll stand by her in wind and weather while my planks hold out.’

‘I can scarce give advice in such a case,’ said I, ‘for my experience is
less than yours. I should say though that you had best speak to her from
your heart, in plain sailor language.’

‘Aye, aye, she can take it or leave it. Phoebe Dawson it is, the sister
of the blacksmith. Let us work back and have a drop of the right Nants
before we go. I have an anker newly come, which never paid the King a
groat.’

‘Nay, you had best leave it alone,’ I answered.

‘Say you so? Well, mayhap you are right. Throw off your moorings, then,
and clap on sail, for we must go.’

‘But I am not concerned,’ said I.

‘Not concerned! Not--’ he was too much overcome to go on, and could
but look at me with a face full of reproach. ‘I thought better of you,
Micah. Would you let this crazy old hulk go into action, and not stand
by to fire a broadside?’

‘What would you have me do then?’

‘Why, I would have you help me as the occasion may arise. If I start
to board her, I would have you work across the bows so as to rake
her. Should I range, up on the larboard quarter, do you lie, on the
starboard. If I get crippled, do you draw her fire until I refit. What,
man, you would not desert me!’

The old seaman’s tropes and maritime conceits were not always
intelligible to me, but it was clear that he had set his heart upon my
accompanying him, which I was equally determined not to do. At last
by much reasoning I made him understand that my presence would be more
hindrance than help, and would probably be fatal to his chances of
success.

‘Well, well,’ he grumbled at last, ‘I’ve been concerned in no such
expedition before. An’ it be the custom for single ships to engage, I’ll
stand to it alone. You shall come with me as consort, though, and stand
to and fro in the offing, or sink me if I stir a step.’

My mind was full of my father’s plans and of the courses which lay
before me. There seemed to be no choice, however, as old Solomon was
in dead earnest, but to lay the matter aside for the moment and see the
upshot of this adventure.

‘Mind, Solomon,’ said I, ‘I don’t cross the threshold.’

‘Aye, aye, mate. You can please yourself. We have to beat up against the
wind all the way. She’s on the look-out, for I hailed her yesternight,
and let her know as how I should bear down on her about seven bells of
the morning watch.’

I was thinking as we trudged down the road that Phoebe would need to be
learned in sea terms to make out the old man’s meaning, when he pulled
up short and clapped his hands to his pockets.

‘Zounds!’ he cried, ‘I have forgot to bring a pistol.’

‘In Heaven’s name!’ I said in amazement, ‘what could you want with a
pistol?’

‘Why, to make signals with,’ said he. ‘Odds me that I should have forgot
it! How is one’s consort to know what is going forward when the flagship
carries no artillery? Had the lass been kind I should have fired one
gun, that you might know it.’

‘Why,’ I answered, ‘if you come not out I shall judge that all is well.
If things go amiss I shall see you soon.’

‘Aye--or stay! I’ll hoist a white jack at the port-hole. A white jack
means that she hath hauled down her colours. Nombre de Dios, when I
was a powder-boy in the old ship _Lion_, the day that we engaged the
_Spiritus Sanctus_ of two tier o’ guns--the first time that ever I heard
the screech of ball--my heart never thumped as it does now. What say ye
if we run back with a fair wind and broach that anker of Nants?’

‘Nay, stand to it, man,’ said I; for by this time, we had come to the
ivy-clad cottage behind which was the village smithy. ‘What, Solomon!
an English seaman never feared a foe, either with petticoats or without
them.’

‘No, curse me if he did!’ quoth Solomon, squaring his shoulders, ‘never
a one, Don, Devil, or Dutchman; so here goes for her!’ So saying he made
his way into the cottage, leaving me standing by the garden wicket, half
amused and half annoyed at this interruption to my musings.

As it proved, the sailor had no very great difficulty with his suit, and
soon managed to capture his prize, to use his own language. I heard from
the garden the growling of his gruff voice, and a good deal of shrill
laughter ending in a small squeak, which meant, I suppose, that he was
coming to close quarters. Then there was silence for a little while, and
at last I saw a white kerchief waving from the window, and perceived,
moreover, that it was Phoebe herself who was fluttering it. Well, she
was a smart, kindly-hearted lass, and I was glad in my heart that the
old seaman should have such a one to look after him.

Here, then, was one good friend settled down finally for life. Another
warned me that I was wasting my best years in the hamlet. A third, the
most respected of all, advised me openly to throw in my lot with the
insurgents, should the occasion arise. If I refused, I should have
the shame of seeing my aged father setting off for the wars, whilst
I lingered at home. And why should I refuse? Had it not long been the
secret wish of my heart to see something of the great world, and what
fairer chance could present itself? My wishes, my friend’s advice, and
my father’s hopes all pointed in the one direction.

‘Father,’ said I, when I returned home, ‘I am ready to go where you
will.’

‘May the Lord be glorified!’ he cried solemnly. ‘May He watch over
your young life, and keep your heart steadfast to the cause which is
assuredly His!’

And so, my dear grandsons, the great resolution was taken, and I found
myself committed to one side in the national quarrel.



Chapter VII. Of the Horseman who rode from the West

My father set to work forthwith preparing for our equipment, furnishing
Saxon out as well as myself on the most liberal scale, for he was
determined that the wealth of his age should be as devoted to the cause
as was the strength of his youth. These arrangements had to be carried
out with the most extreme caution, for there were many Prelatists in
the village, and in the present disturbed state of the public mind any
activity on the part of so well known a man would have at once attracted
attention. So carefully did the wary old soldier manage matters,
however, that we soon found ourselves in a position to start at an
hour’s notice, without any of our neighbours being a whit the wiser.

His first move was to purchase through an agent two suitable horses at
Chichester fair, which were conveyed to the stables of a trusty Whig
farmer living near Portchester, who was ordered to keep them until
they were called for. Of these animals one was a mottled grey, of great
mettle and power, standing seventeen and a half hands high, and well up
to my weight, for in those days, my dears, I had not laid on flesh, and
weighed a little under sixteen stone for all my height and strength.
A critic might have said that Covenant, for so I named my steed, was a
trifle heavy about the head and neck, but I found him a trusty, willing
brute, with great power and endurance. Saxon, who when fully accoutred
could scarce have weighed more than twelve stone, had a light bay
Spanish jennet, of great speed and spirit. This mare he named Chloe,
‘after a godly maiden of his acquaintance,’ though, as my father
remarked, there was a somewhat ungodly and heathenish smack about the
appellation. These horses and their harness were bought and held ready
without my father appearing in the matter in any way.

This important point having been settled, there was the further question
of arms to be discussed, which gave rise to much weighty controversy
between Decimus Saxon and my father, each citing many instances from
their own experiences where the presence or absence of some taslet
or arm-guard had been of the deepest import to the wearer. Your
great-grandfather had set his heart upon my wearing the breastplate
which still bore the dints of the Scottish spears at Dunbar, but on
trying it on we found it was too small for me. I confess that this was a
surprise, for when I looked back at the awe with which I had regarded
my father’s huge proportions, it was marvellous to me to have
this convincing proof that I had outgrown him. By ripping down the
side-leather and piercing holes through which a lace could be passed, my
mother managed to arrange it so that I could wear it without discomfort.
A pair of taslets or thigh-pieces, with guards for the upper arm and
gauntlets, were all borrowed from the old Parliamentary equipment,
together with the heavy straight sword and pair of horse pistols which
formed the usual weapons of a cavalier. My father had chosen me a
head-piece in Portsmouth, fluted, with good barrets, padded inside with
soft leather, very light and yet very strong. When fully equipped,
both Saxon and my father agreed that I had all that was requisite for
a well-appointed soldier. Saxon had purchased a buff-coat, a steel cap,
and a pair of jack-boots, so that with the rapier and pistols which my
father had presented him with, he was ready to take the field at any
time.

There would, we hoped, be no great difficulty in our reaching Monmouth’s
forces when the hour came. In those troublous times the main roads were
so infested by highwaymen and footpads, that it was usual for travellers
to carry weapons and even armour for their protection. There was no
reason therefore why our appearance should excite suspicion. Should
questions be asked, Saxon had a long story prepared, to the effect that
we were travelling to join Henry Somerset, Duke of Beaufort, to whose
household we belonged. This invention he explained to me, with many
points of corroboration which I was to furnish, but when I said
positively that I should rather be hanged as a rebel than speak a
falsehood, he looked at me open-eyed, and shook his head as one much
shocked. A few weeks of campaigning, he said, would soon cure me of my
squeamishness. For himself, no more truthful child had ever carried a
horn-book, but he had learned to lie upon the Danube, and looked upon
it as a necessary part of the soldier’s upbringing. ‘For what are all
stratagems, ambuscades, and outfalls but lying upon a large scale?’ he
argued. ‘What is an adroit commander but one who hath a facility for
disguising the truth? When, at the battle of Senlac, William the Norman
ordered his men to feign flight in order that they might break his
enemy’s array, a wile much practised both by the Scythians of old and by
the Croats of our own day, pray what is it but the acting of a lie? Or
when Hannibal, having tied torches to the horns of great droves of oxen,
caused the Roman Consuls to imagine that his army was in retreat, was it
not a deception or infraction of the truth?--a point well brought out
by a soldier of repute in the treatise “An in bello dolo uti liceat;
an apud hostes falsiloquio uti liceat.” And so if, after these great
models, I in order to gain mine ends do announce that we are bound to
Beaufort when we are in truth making for Monmouth, is it not in accord
with the usages of war and the customs of great commanders?’ All which
specious argument I made no attempt to answer, beyond repeating that he
might avail himself of the usage, but that he must not look to me for
corroboration. On the other hand, I promised to hold my speech and to
say nothing which might hamper him, with which pledge he was forced to
be contented.

And now at last, my patient listeners, I shall be able to carry you out
of the humble life of the village, and to cease my gossip of the men who
were old when I was young, and who are now lying this many a year in
the Bedhampton churchyard. You shall come with me now, and you shall see
England as it was in those days, and you shall hear of how we set forth
to the wars, and of all the adventures which overtook us. And if what
I tell you should ever chance to differ from what you have read in the
book of Mr. Coke or of Mr. Oldmixon, or of any one else who has set
these matters down in print, do ye bear in mind that I am telling of
what I saw with these very eyes, and that I have helped to make history,
which is a higher thing than to write it.

It was, then, towards nightfall upon the twelfth day of June 1685 that
the news reached our part of the country that Monmouth had landed the
day before at Lyme, a small seaport on the boundary between Dorsetshire
and Devonshire. A great beacon blaze upon Portsdown Hill was the first
news that we had of it, and then came a rattling and a drumming
from Portsmouth, where the troops were assembled under arms. Mounted
messengers clattered through the village street with their heads low on
their horses’ necks, for the great tidings must be carried to London,
that the Governor of Portsmouth might know how to act. (Note B,
Appendix.) We were standing at our doorway in the gloaming, watching
the coming and the going, and the line of beacon fires which were
lengthening away to the eastward, when a little man galloped up to the
door and pulled his panting horse up.

‘Is Joseph Clarke here?’ he asked.

‘I am he,’ said my father.

‘Are these men true?’ he whispered, pointing with his whip at Saxon and
myself. ‘Then the trysting-place is Taunton. Pass it on to all whom ye
know. Give my horse a bait and a drink, I beg of ye, for I must get on
my way.’

My young brother Hosea looked to the tired creature, while we brought
the rider inside and drew him a stoup of beer. A wiry, sharp-faced man
he was, with a birth-mark upon his temple. His face and clothes were
caked with dust, and his limbs were so stiff from the saddle that he
could scarce put one foot before another.

‘One horse hath died under me,’ he said, ‘and this can scarce last
another twenty miles. I must be in London by morning, for we hope that
Danvers and Wildman may be able to raise the city. Yester-evening I left
Monmouth’s camp. His blue flag floats over Lyme.’

‘What force hath he?’ my father asked anxiously.

‘He hath but brought over leaders. The force must come from you folk at
home. He has with him Lord Grey of Wark, with Wade, the German Buyse,
and eighty or a hundred more. Alas! that two who came are already lost
to us. It is an evil, evil omen.’

‘What is amiss, then?’

‘Dare, the goldsmith of Taunton, hath been slain by Fletcher of Saltoun
in some child’s quarrel about a horse. The peasants cried out for the
blood of the Scot, and he was forced to fly aboard the ships. A sad
mishap it is, for he was a skilful leader and a veteran soldier.’

‘Aye, aye,’ cried Saxon impatiently, ‘there will be some more skilful
leaders and veteran soldiers in the West presently to take his place.
But if he knew the usages of war, how came it that he should fight upon
a private quarrel at such a time?’ He drew a flat brown book from
his bosom, and ran his long thin finger down the table of contents.
‘Subisectio nona’--‘here is the very case set forth, “An in hello
publico provocatus ad duellum privatae amicitiae causa declinare
possit,” in which the learned Fleming layeth it down that a man’s
private honour must give way to the good of the cause. Did it not happen
in my own case that, on the eve of the raising of the Anlagerung of
Vienna, we stranger officers having been invited to the tent of the
General, it chanced that a red-headed Irisher, one O’Daffy, an ancient
in the regiment of Pappenheimer, did claim precedence of me on the
ground of superiority of blood? On this I drew my glove across his face,
not, mark ye, in anger, but as showing that I differed in some degree
from his opinion. At which dissent he did at once offer to sustain his
contention, but I, having read this subsection to him, did make it clear
to him that we could not in honour settle the point until the Turk was
chased from the city. So after the onfall--’

‘Nay, sir, I may hear the narrative some future day,’ said the
messenger, staggering to his feet. ‘I hope to find a relay at
Chichester, and time presses. Work for the cause now, or be slaves for
ever. Farewell!’ He clambered into his saddle, and we heard the clatter
of his hoofs dying away down the London road.

‘The time hath come for you to go, Micah,’ said my father solemnly.’
Nay, wife, do not weep, but rather hearten the lad on his way by a
blithe word and a merry face. I need not tell you to fight manfully
and fearlessly in this quarrel. Should the tide of war set in this
direction, you may find your old father riding by your side. Let us now
bow down and implore the favour of the Almighty upon this expedition.’

We all knelt down in the low-roofed, heavy-raftered room while the old
man offered up an earnest, strenuous prayer for our success. Even now,
as I speak to ye, that group rises up before mine eyes. I see once
again your ancestor’s stern, rugged face, with his brows knitted and
his corded hands writhed together in the fervour of his supplication. My
mother kneels beside him with the tears trickling down her sweet, placid
face, stifling her sobs lest the sound of them make my leave-taking more
bitter. The children are in the sleeping-room upstairs, and we hear the
patter of their bare feet upon the floor. The man Saxon sprawls across
one of the oaken chairs, half kneeling, half reclining, with his long
legs trailing out behind, and his face buried in his hands. All round
in the flickering light of the hanging lamp I see the objects which have
been so familiar to me from childhood--the settle by the fireplace,
the high-back stiff-elbowed chairs, the stuffed fox above the door, the
picture of Christian viewing the Promised Land from the summit of the
Delectable Mountains--all small trifles in themselves, but making up
among them the marvellous thing we call home, the all-powerful lodestone
which draws the wanderer’s heart from the farther end of the earth.
Should I ever see it again save in my dreams--I, who was leaving this
sheltered cove to plunge into the heart of the storm?

The prayer finished, we all rose with the exception of Saxon, who
remained with his face buried in his hands for a minute or so before
starting to his feet. I shrewdly suspect that he had been fast asleep,
though he explained that he had paused to offer up an additional
supplication. My father placed his hands upon my head and invoked the
blessing of Heaven upon me. He then drew my companion aside, and I
heard the jingling of coin, from which I judge that he was giving him
something wherewith to start upon his travels. My mother clasped me to
her heart, and slipped a small square of paper into my hand, saying that
I was to look at it at my leisure, and that I should make her happy if
I would but conform to the instructions contained in it. This I promised
to do, and tearing myself away I set off down the darkened village
street, with my long-limbed companion striding by my side.

It was close upon one in the morning, and all the country folk had been
long abed. Passing the Wheatsheaf and the house of old Solomon, I could
not but wonder what they would think of my martial garb were they afoot.
I had scarce time to form the same thought before Zachary Palmer’s
cottage when his door flew open, and the carpenter came running out with
his white hair streaming in the fresh night breeze.

‘I have been awaiting you, Micah,’ he cried. ‘I had heard that Monmouth
was up, and I knew that you would not lose a night ere starting. God
bless you, lad, God bless you! Strong of arm and soft of heart, tender
to the weak and stern to the oppressor, you have the prayers and the
love of all who know you.’ I pressed his extended hands, and the last
I saw of my native hamlet was the shadowy figure of the carpenter as he
waved his good wishes to me through the darkness.

We made our way across the fields to the house of Whittier, the Whig
farmer, where Saxon got into his war harness. We found our horses ready
saddled and bridled, for my father had at the first alarm sent a message
across that we should need them. By two in the morning we were breasting
Portsdown Hill, armed, mounted, and fairly started on our journey to the
rebel camp.


Chapter VIII. Of our Start for the Wars

All along the ridge of Portsdown Hill we had the lights of Portsmouth
and of the harbour ships twinkling beneath us on the left, while on
the right the Forest of Bere was ablaze with the signal fires which
proclaimed the landing of the invader. One great beacon throbbed upon
the summit of Butser, while beyond that, as far as eye could reach,
twinkling sparks of light showed how the tidings were being carried
north into Berkshire and eastward into Sussex. Of these fires, some were
composed of faggots piled into heaps, and others of tar barrels set upon
poles. We passed one of these last just opposite to Portchester, and the
watchers around it, hearing the tramp of our horses and the clank of
our arms, set up a loud huzza, thinking doubtless that we were King’s
officers bound for the West.

Master Decimus Saxon had flung to the winds the precise demeanour which
he had assumed in the presence of my father, and rattled away with many
a jest and scrap of rhyme or song as we galloped through the darkness.

‘Gadzooks!’ said he frankly, ‘it is good to be able to speak freely
without being expected to tag every sentence with a hallelujah or an
amen.’

‘You were ever the leader in those pious exercises,’ I remarked drily.

‘Aye, indeed. You have nicked it there! If a thing must be done, then
take a lead in it, whatever it may be. A plaguy good precept, which has
stood me in excellent stead before now. I cannot bear in mind whether I
told you how I was at one time taken prisoner by the Turks and conveyed
to Stamboul. There were a hundred of us or more, but the others either
perished under the bastinado, or are to this day chained to an oar in
the Imperial Ottoman galleys, where they are like to remain until they
die under the lash, or until some Venetian or Genoese bullet finds its
way into their wretched carcasses. I alone came off with my freedom.’

‘And pray, how did you make your escape?’ I asked.

‘By the use of the wit wherewith Providence hath endowed me,’ he
answered complacently; ‘for, seeing that their accursed religion is the
blind side of these infidels, I did set myself to work upon it. To this
end I observed the fashion in which our guard performed their morning
and evening exercises, and having transformed my doublet into a praying
cloth, I did imitate them, save only that I prayed at greater length and
with more fervour.’

‘What!’ I cried in horror. ‘You did pretend to be a Mussulman?’

‘Nay, there was no pretence. I became a Mussulman. That, however,
betwixt ourselves, as it might not stand me in very good stead with some
Reverend Aminadab Fount-of-Grace in the rebel camp, who is no admirer of
Mahmoud.’

I was so astounded at the impudence of this confession, coming from the
mouth of one who had been leading the exercises of a pious Christian
family, that I was fairly bereft of speech. Decimus Saxon whistled a few
bars of a sprightly tune, and then continued--

‘My perseverance in these exercises soon led to my being singled out
from among the other prisoners, until I so prevailed upon my gaolers
that the doors were opened for me, and I was allowed out on condition
of presenting myself at the prison gates once a day. What use, think ye,
did I make of my freedom?’

‘Nay, you are capable of anything,’ said I.

‘I set off forthwith to their chief mosque--that of St. Sophia. When the
doors opened and the muezzin called, I was ever the first to hurry into
devotions and the last to leave them. Did I see a Mussulman strike his
head upon the pavement, I would strike mine twice. Did I see him bend
and bow, I was ready to prostrate myself. In this way ere long the piety
of the converted Giaour became the talk of the city, and I was provided
with a hut in which to make my sacred meditations. Here I might have
done well, and indeed I had well-nigh made up my mind to set up as
a prophet and write an extra chapter to the Koran, when some foolish
trifle made the faithful suspicious of my honesty. It was but some
nonsense of a wench being found in my hut by some who came to consult
me upon a point of faith, but it was enough to set their heathen tongues
wagging; so I thought it wisest to give them the slip in a Levantine
coaster and leave the Koran uncompleted. It is perhaps as well, for it
would be a sore trial to have to give up Christian women and pork, for
their garlic-breathing houris and accursed kybobs of sheep’s flesh.’

We had passed through Fareham and Botley during this conversation, and
were now making our way down the Bishopstoke road. The soil changes
about here from chalk to sand, so that our horses’ hoofs did but make
a dull subdued rattle, which was no bar to our talk--or rather to my
companion’s, for I did little more than listen. In truth, my mind was so
full of anticipations of what was before us, and of thoughts of the
home behind, that I was in no humour for sprightly chatter. The sky was
somewhat clouded, but the moon glinted out between the rifts, showing
us the long road which wound away in front of us. On either side were
scattered houses with gardens sloping down toward the road. The heavy,
sickly scent of strawberries was in the air.

‘Hast ever slain a man in anger?’ asked Saxon, as we galloped along.

‘Never,’ I answered.

‘Ha! You will find that when you hear the clink of steel against steel,
and see your foeman’s eyes, you will straightway forget all rules,
maxims, and precepts of the fence which your father or others may have
taught you.’

‘I have learned little of the sort,’ said I. My father did but teach
me to strike an honest downright blow. This sword can shear through a
square inch of iron bar.’

‘Scanderbeg’s sword must have Scanderbeg’s arm,’ he remarked. ‘I
have observed that it is a fine piece of steel. One of the real old
text-compellers and psalm-expounders which the faithful drew in the days
of yore, when they would:

          “Prove their religion orthodox,
           By Apostolic blows and knocks.”

You have not fenced much, then?’

‘Scarce at all,’ said I.

‘It is as well. With an old and tried swordsman like myself, knowledge
of the use of his weapon is everything; but with a young Hotspur of your
temper, strength and energy go for much. I have oft remarked that those
who are most skilled at the shooting of the popinjay, the cleaving of
the Turk’s head, and other such sports, are ever laggards in the field.
Had the popinjay a crossbow as well, and an arrow on the string, or
had the Turk a fist as well as a head, our young gallant’s nerves would
scarce be as steady over the business. I make no doubt, Master Clarke,
that we shall make trusty comrades. What saith old Butler?

          “Never did trusty squire with knight,
           Or knight with squire ere jump more right.”

I have scarce dared to quote “Hudibras” for these weeks past, lest I
should set the Covenant fermenting in the old man’s veins.’

‘If we are indeed to be comrades,’ said I sternly, ‘you must learn to
speak with more reverence and less flippancy of my father, who would
assuredly never have harboured you had he heard the tale which you have
told me even now.’

‘Belike not,’ the adventurer answered, chuckling to himself. ‘It is a
long stride from a mosque to a conventicle. But be not so hot-headed,
my friend. You lack that repose of character which will come to you,
no doubt, in your more mature years. What, man! within five minutes of
seeing me you would have smitten me on the head with an oar, and ever
since you have been like a bandog at my heels, ready to hark if I do but
set my foot over what you regard as the straight line. Remember that you
go now among men who fight on small occasion of quarrel. A word awry may
mean a rapier thrust.’

‘Do you bear the same in mind,’ I answered hotly; ‘my temper is
peaceful, but covert threats and veiled menace I shall not abide.’

‘Odd’s mercy!’ he cried. ‘I see that you will start carving me anon, and
take me to Monmouth’s camp in sections. Nay, nay, we shall have fighting
enow without falling out among ourselves. What houses are those on the
left?’

‘The village of Swathling,’ I replied. ‘The lights of Bishopstoke lie to
the right, in the hollow.’

‘Then we are fifteen miles on our way, and methinks there is already
some faint flush of dawn in the east. Hullo, what have we here? Beds
must be scarce if folks sleep on the highways.’

A dark blur which I had remarked upon the roadway in front of us had
resolved itself as we approached into the figure of a man, stretched
at full length, with his face downwards, and his head resting upon his
crossed arms.

‘Some reveler, mayhap, from the village inn,’ I remarked.

‘There’s blood in the air,’ said Saxon, raising up his beak-like nose
like a vulture which scents carrion. ‘Methinks he sleeps the sleep which
knows no waking.’

He sprang down from his saddle, and turned the figure over upon his
back. The cold pale light of the early dawn shimmering upon his staring
eyes and colourless face showed that the old soldier’s instinct was
correct, and that he had indeed drawn his last breath.

‘Here’s a pretty piece of work,’ said Saxon, kneeling by the dead man’s
side and passing his hands over his pockets. ‘Footpads, doubtless. Not a
stiver in his pockets, nor as much as a sleeve-link to help pay for the
burial.’

‘How was he slain!’ I asked in horror, looking down at the poor vacant
face, the empty house from which the tenant had departed.

‘A stab from behind and a tap on the head from the butt of a pistol.
He cannot have been dead long, and yet every groat is gone. A man of
position, too, I should judge from his dress--broadcloth coat by the
feel, satin breeches, and silver buckles on his shoes. The rogues must
have had some plunder with him. Could we but run across them, Clarke, it
would be a great and grand thing.’

‘It would indeed,’ said I heartily. ‘What greater privilege than to
execute justice upon such cowardly murderers!’

‘Pooh! pooh!’ he cried. ‘Justice is a slippery dame, and hath a
two-edged sword in her hand. We may have enough of justice in our
character as rebels to give us a surfeit of it. I would fain overtake
these robbers that we may relieve them of their _spolia opima_, together
with any other wealth which they may have unlawfully amassed. My learned
friend the Fleming layeth it down that it is no robbery to rob a robber.
But where shall we conceal this body?’

‘Wherefore should we conceal it?’ I asked.

‘Why, man, unused to war or the precautions of a warrior, you must yet
see that should this body be found here, there will be a hue and cry
through the country, and that strangers like ourselves will be arrested
on suspicion. Should we clear ourselves, which is no very easy matter,
the justice will at least want to know whence we come and whither we
go, which may lead to inquiries that may bode us little good. I shall
therefore take the liberty, mine unknown and silent friend, of dragging
you into yon bushes, where for a day or two at least you are like to lie
unobserved, and so bring no harm upon honest men.’

‘For God’s sake do not treat it so unkindly,’ I cried, springing down
from my horse and laying my hand upon my companion’s arm. ‘There is no
need to trail it in so unseemly a fashion. If it must be moved hence, I
shall carry it with all due reverence. ‘So saying, I picked the body up
in my arms, and bearing it to a wayside clump of yellow gorse bushes, I
laid it solemnly down and drew the branches over it to conceal it.

‘You have the thews of an ox and the heart of a woman, ‘muttered my
companion. ‘By the Mass, that old white-headed psalm-singer was right;
for if my memory serves me, he said words to that effect. A few handfuls
of dust will hide the stains. Now we may jog upon our way without any
fear of being called upon to answer for another man’s sins. Let me but
get my girth tightened and we may soon be out of danger’s way.’

‘I have had to do,’ said Saxon, as we rode onwards, ‘with many gentry
of this sort, with Albanian brigands, the banditti of Piedmont, the
Lanzknechte and Freiritter of the Rhine, Algerine picaroons, and other
such folk. Yet I cannot call to mind one who hath ever been able to
retire in his old age on a sufficient competence. It is but a precarious
trade, and must end sooner or later in a dance on nothing in a tight
cravat, with some kind friend tugging at your legs to ease you of any
breath that you might have left.’

‘Nor does that end all,’ I remarked.

‘No. There is Tophet behind and the flames of hell. So our good friends
the parsons tell us. Well, if a man is to make no money in this world,
be hanged at the end of it, and finally burn for ever, he hath assuredly
wandered on to a thorny track. If, on the other hand, one could always
lay one’s hands on a well-lined purse, as those rogues have done
to-night, one might be content to risk something in the world to come.’

‘But what can the well-filled purse do for them?’ said I. ‘What will
the few score pieces which these bloodthirsty wretches have filched from
this poor creature avail them when their own hour of death comes round?’

‘True,’ said Saxon dryly; ‘they may, however, prove useful in the
meantime. This you say is Bishopstoke. What are the lights over yonder?’

‘They come, I think, from Bishop’s Waltham,’ I answered.

‘We must press on, for I would fain be in Salisbury before it is broad
day. There we shall put our horses up until evening and have some rest,
for there is nothing gained by man or beast coming jaded to the wars.
All this day the western roads will be crowded with couriers, and mayhap
patrolled by cavalry as well, so that we cannot show our faces upon it
without a risk of being stopped and examined. Now if we lie by all day,
and push on at dusk, keeping off the main road and making our way across
Salisbury Plain and the Somersetshire downs, we shall be less likely to
come to harm.’

‘But what if Monmouth be engaged before we come up to him?’ I asked.

‘Then we shall have missed a chance of getting our throats cut. Why,
man, supposing that he has been routed and entirely dispersed, would
it not be a merry conceit for us to appear upon the scene as two loyal
yeomen, who had ridden all the way from Hampshire to strike in against
the King’s enemies? We might chance to get some reward in money or in
land for our zeal. Nay, frown not, for I was but jesting. Breathe our
horses by walking them up this hill. My jennet is as fresh as when we
started, but those great limbs of thine are telling upon the grey.’

The patch of light in the east had increased and broadened, and the sky
was mottled with little pink feathers of cloud. As we passed over
the low hills by Chandler’s Ford and Romsey we could see the smoke of
Southampton to the south-east, and the broad dark expanse of the New
Forest with the haze of morning hanging over it. A few horsemen passed
us, pricking along, too much engrossed in their own errand to inquire
ours. A couple of carts and a long string of pack-horses, laden
principally with bales of wool, came straggling along a byroad, and
the drivers waved their broad hats to us and wished us God-speed. At
Dunbridge the folk were just stirring, and paused in taking down the
cottage shutters to come to the garden railings and watch us pass. As we
entered Dean, the great red sun pushed its rosy rim over the edge of the
horizon, and the air was filled with the buzz of insects and the sweet
scent of the morning. We dismounted at this latter village, and had a
cup of ale while resting and watering the horses. The landlord could
tell us nothing about the insurgents, and indeed seemed to care very
little about the matter one way or the other. ‘As long as brandy pays a
duty of six shillings and eightpence a gallon, and freight and leakage
comes to half a crown, while I am expected to sell it at twelve
shillings, it matters little to me who is King of England. Give me a
king that will prevent the hop-blight and I am his man.’ Those were the
landlord’s politics, and I dare say a good many more were of his way of
thinking.

From Dean to Salisbury is all straight road with moor, morass, and
fenland on either side, broken only by the single hamlet of Aldersbury,
just over the Wiltshire border. Our horses, refreshed by the short rest,
stepped out gallantly, and the brisk motion, with the sunlight and the
beauty of the morning, combined to raise our spirits and cheer us after
the depression of the long ride through the darkness, and the incident
of the murdered traveller. Wild duck, widgeon, and snipe flapped up from
either side of the road at the sound of the horses’ hoofs, and once a
herd of red deer sprang to their feet from among the ferns and scampered
away in the direction of the forest. Once, too, when passing a dense
clump of trees, we saw a shadowy white creature half hidden by the
trunks, which must, I fancy, have been one of those wild cattle of
which I have heard the peasants speak, who dwell in the recesses of
the southern woods, and are so fierce and intractable that none dare
approach them. The breadth of the view, the keenness of the air, and the
novelty of the sense of having great work to do, all combined to send a
flush of life through my veins such as the quiet village existence
had never been able to give. My more experienced companion felt the
influence too, for he lifted up a cracked voice and broke into a droning
chant, which he assured me was an Eastern ode which had been taught him
by the second sister of the Hospodar of Wallachia.

‘Anent Monmouth,’ he remarked, coming back suddenly to the realities of
our position. ‘It is unlikely that he can take the field for some days,
though much depends upon his striking a blow soon, and so raising the
courage of his followers before the King’s troops can come down upon
him. He has, mark ye, not only his troops to find, but their weapons,
which is like to prove a more difficult matter. Suppose he can raise
five thousand men--and he cannot stir with less--he will not have one
musket in five, so the rest must do as they can with pikes and bills, or
such other rude arms as they can find. All this takes time, and though
there may be skirmishes, there can scarce be any engagement of import
before we arrive.’

‘He will have been landed three or four days ere we reach him,’ said I.

‘Hardly time for him with his small staff of officers to enrol his men
and divide them into regiments. I scarce expect to find him at Taunton,
though we were so directed. Hast ever heard whether there are any rich
Papists in those parts?’

‘I know not,’ I replied.

‘If so there might be plate chests and silver chargers, to say nothing
of my lady’s jewels and other such trifles to reward a faithful soldier.
What would war be without plunder! A bottle without the wine--a shell
without the oyster. See the house yonder that peeps through the trees.
I warrant there is a store of all good things under that roof, which you
and I might have for the asking, did we but ask with our swords in our
grip. You are my witness that your father did give and not lend me this
horse.’

‘Why say you that, then?’

‘Lest he claim a half of whatever booty I may chance to gain. What saith
my learned Fleming under the heading “an qui militi equum praebuit,
praedae ab eo captae particeps esse debeat?” which signifieth “whether
he who lendeth a horse hath a claim on the plunder of him who borroweth
it.” In this discourse he cites a case wherein a Spanish commander
having lent a steed to one of his captains, and the said captain having
captured the general of the enemy, the commander did sue him for a
half share of the twenty thousand crowns which formed the ransom of the
prisoner. A like case is noted by the famous Petrinus Bellus in his book
“De Re Militari,” much read by leaders of repute.’ (Note C. Appendix.)

‘I can promise you,’ I answered, ‘that no such claim shall ever be made
by my father upon you. See yonder, over the brow of the hill, how the
sun shines upon the high cathedral tower, which points upwards with its
great stone finger to the road that every man must travel.’

‘There is good store of silver and plate in these same churches,’ quoth
my companion. ‘I remember that at Leipsic, when I was serving my first
campaign, I got a candlestick, which I was forced to sell to a Jew
broker for a fourth of its value; yet even at his price it sufficed to
fill my haversack with broad pieces.’

It chanced that Saxon’s mare had gained a stride or two upon mine whilst
he spoke, so that I was able to get a good view of him without turning
my head. I had scarce had light during our ride to see how his harness
sat upon him, but now I was amazed on looking at him to mark the change
which it had wrought in the man. In his civil dress his lankiness and
length of limb gave him an awkward appearance, but on horse-back, with
his lean, gaunt face looking out from his steel cap, his breastplate
and buff jacket filling out his figure, and his high boots of untanned
leather reaching to the centre of his thighs, he looked the veteran
man-at-arms which he purported to be. The ease with which he sat his
horse, the high, bold expression upon his face, and the great length of
his arms, all marked him as one who could give a good account of himself
in a fray. In his words alone I could have placed little trust, but
there was that in his bearing which assured even a novice like myself
that he was indeed a trained man of war.

‘That is the Avon which glitters amongst the trees,’ I remarked. ‘We are
about three miles from Salisbury town.’

‘It is a noble spire,’ said he, glancing at the great stone spire in
front of us. ‘The men of old would seem to have spent all their days in
piling stones upon stones. And yet we read of tough battles and shrewd
blows struck, showing that they had some time for soldierly relaxation,
and were not always at this mason work.’

‘The Church was rich in those days,’ I answered, shaking my bridle, for
Covenant was beginning to show signs of laziness. ‘But here comes one
who might perhaps tell us something of the war.’

A horseman who bore traces of having ridden long and hard was rapidly
approaching us. Both rider and steed were grey with dust and splashed
with mire, yet he galloped with loosened rein and bent body, as one to
whom every extra stride is of value.

‘What ho, friend!’ cried Saxon, reining his mare across the road so as
to bar the man’s passage. ‘What news from the West?’

‘I must not tarry,’ the messenger gasped, slackening his speed for an
instant. ‘I bear papers of import from Gregory Alford, Mayor of Lyme, to
Ins Majesty’s Council. The rebels make great head, and gather together
like bees in the swarming time. There are some thousands in arms
already, and all Devonshire is on the move. The rebel horse under Lord
Grey hath been beaten back from Bridport by the red militia of Dorset,
but every prickeared Whig from the Channel to the Severn is making his
way to Monmouth.’ With this brief summary of the news he pushed his way
past us and clattered on in a cloud of dust upon his mission.

‘The broth is fairly on the fire, then,’ quoth Decimus Saxon, as we rode
onwards. ‘Now that skins have been slit the rebels may draw their swords
and fling away their scabbards, for it’s either victory for them or
their quarters will be dangling in every market town of the county. Heh,
lad? we throw a main for a brave stake.’

‘Marked ye that Lord Grey had met with a check,’ said I.

‘Pshaw! it is of no import. A cavalry skirmish at the most, for it is
impossible that Monmouth could have brought his main forces to Bridport;
nor would he if he could, for it is out of his track. It was one of
those three-shots-and-a-gallop affrays, where each side runs away and
each claims the victory. But here we are in the streets of Salisbury.
Now leave the talking to me, or your wrong-headed truthfulness may lay
us by the heels before our time.’

Passing down the broad High Street we dismounted in front of the Blue
Boar inn, and handed our tired horses over to the ostler, to whom
Saxon, in a loud voice, and with many rough military oaths, gave strict
injunctions as to their treatment. He then clanked into the inn parlour,
and throwing himself into one chair with his feet upon another, he
summoned the landlord up before him, and explained our needs in a tone
and manner which should give him a due sense of our quality.

‘Of your best, and at once,’ quoth he. ‘Have your largest double-couched
chamber ready with your softest lavender-scented sheets, for we have had
a weary ride and must rest. And hark ye, landlord, no palming off your
stale, musty goods as fresh, or of your washy French wines for the true
Hainault vintage. I would have you to understand that my friend here and
I are men who meet with some consideration in the world, though we
care not to speak our names to every underling. Deserve well of us,
therefore, or it may be the worse for you.’

This speech, combined with my companion’s haughty manner and fierce
face, had such an effect upon the landlord that he straightway sent
us in the breakfast which had been prepared for three officers of the
Blues, who were waiting for it in the next apartment. This kept them
fasting for another half-hour, and we could hear their oaths and
complaints through the partition while we were devouring their capon and
venison pie. Having eaten a hearty meal and washed it down with a bottle
of Burgundy we sought our room, and throwing our tired limbs upon the
bed, were soon in a deep slumber.



Chapter IX. Of a Passage of Arms at the Blue Boar

I had slept several hours when I was suddenly aroused by a prodigious
crash, followed by the clash of arms and shrill cries from the lower
floor. Springing to my feet I found that the bed upon which my comrade
had lain was vacant, and that the door of the apartment was opened. As
the uproar still continued, and as I seemed to discern his voice in the
midst of it, I caught up my sword, and without waiting to put on either
head-piece, steel-breast, or arm-plates, I hurried to the scene of the
commotion.

The hall and passage were filled with silly maids and staring drawers,
attracted, like myself, by the uproar. Through these I pushed my way
into the apartment where we had breakfasted in the morning, which was
a scene of the wildest disorder. The round table in the centre had
been tilted over upon its side, and three broken bottles of wine, with
apples, pears, nuts, and the fragments of the dishes containing them,
were littered over the floor. A couple of packs of cards and a dice-box
lay amongst the scattered feast. Close by the door stood Decimus Saxon,
with his drawn rapier in his hand and a second one beneath his feet,
while facing him there was a young officer in a blue uniform, whose face
was reddened with shame and anger, and who looked wildly about the room
as though in search of some weapon to replace that of which he had been
deprived. He might have served Cibber or Gibbons as a model for a statue
of impotent rage. Two other officers dressed in the same blue uniform
stood by their comrade, and as I observed that they had laid their hands
upon the hilts of their swords, I took my place by Saxon’s side, and
stood ready to strike in should the occasion arise.

‘What would the maitre d’armes say--the maitre d’escrime?’ cried my
companion. ‘Methinks he should lose his place for not teaching you to
make a better show. Out on him! Is this the way that he teaches the
officers of his Majesty’s guard to use their weapons?’

‘This raillery, sir,’ said the elder of the three, a squat, brown,
heavy-faced man, ‘is not undeserved, and yet might perchance be
dispensed with. I am free to say that our friend attacked you somewhat
hastily, and that a little more deference should have been shown by so
young a soldier to a cavalier of your experience.’

The other officer, who was a fine-looking, noble-featured man, expressed
himself in much the same manner. ‘If this apology will serve,’ said he,
‘I am prepared to join in it. If, however, more is required, I shall be
happy to take the quarrel upon myself.’

‘Nay, nay, take your bradawl!’ Saxon answered good-humouredly, kicking
the sword towards his youthful opponent. ‘But, mark you! when you would
lunge, direct your point upwards rather than down, for otherwise you
must throw your wrist open to your antagonist, who can scarce fail to
disarm you. In quarte, tierce, or saccoon the same holds good.’

The youth sheathed his sword, but was so overcome by his own easy defeat
and the contemptuous way in which his opponent had dismissed him, that
he turned and hurried out of the room. Meanwhile Decimus Saxon and the
two officers set to work getting the table upon its legs and restoring
the room to some sort of order, in which I did what I could to assist
them.

‘I held three queens for the first time to-day,’ grumbled the soldier of
fortune. ‘I was about to declare them when this young bantam flew at my
throat. He hath likewise been the cause of our losing three flasks of
most excellent muscadine. When he hath drunk as much bad wine as I have
been forced to do, he will not be so hasty in wasting the good.’

‘He is a hot-headed youngster,’ the older officer replied, ‘and a little
solitary reflection added to the lesson which you have taught him may
bring him profit. As for the muscadine, that loss will soon be repaired,
the more gladly as your friend here will help us to drink it.’

‘I was roused by the crash of weapons,’ said I, ‘and I scarce know now
what has occurred.’

‘Why, a mere tavern brawl, which your friend’s skill and judgment
prevented from becoming serious. I prythee take the rush-bottomed chair,
and do you, Jack, order the wine. If our comrade hath spilled the last
it is for us to furnish this, and the best the cellars contain. We have
been having a hand at basset, which Mr. Saxon here playeth as skilfully
as he wields the small-sword. It chanced that the luck ran against young
Horsford, which doubtless made him prone to be quick in taking offence.
Your friend in conversation, when discoursing of his experiences in
foreign countries, remarked that the French household troops were to
his mind brought to a higher state of discipline than any of our own
regiments, on which Horsford fired up, and after a hot word or two they
found themselves, as you have seen, at drawn bilbo. The boy hath seen no
service, and is therefore over-eager to give proof of his valour.’

‘Wherein,’ said the tall officer, ‘he showed a want of thought towards
me, for had the words been offensive it was for me, who am a senior
captain and brevet-major, to take it up, and not for a slip of a cornet,
who scarce knows enough to put his troop through the exercise.’

‘You say right, Ogilvy,’ said the other, resuming his seat by the table
and wiping the cards which had been splashed by the wine.’ Had the
comparison been made by an officer of Louis’s guard for the purpose
of contumely and braggadocio, it would then indeed have become us to
venture a passado. But when spoken by an Englishman of ripe experience
it becomes a matter of instructive criticism, which should profit rather
than annoy.’

‘True, Ambrose,’ the other answered. ‘Without such criticism a force
would become stagnant, and could never hope to keep level with those
continental armies, which are ever striving amongst themselves for
increased efficacy.’

So pleased was I at these sensible remarks on the part of the strangers,
that I was right glad to have the opportunity of making their closer
acquaintance over a flask of excellent wine. My father’s prejudices
had led me to believe that a King’s officer was ever a compound of the
coxcomb and the bully, but I found on testing it that this idea, like
most others which a man takes upon trust, had very little foundation
upon truth. As a matter of fact, had they been dressed in less warlike
garb and deprived of their swords and jack-boots, they would have passed
as particularly mild-mannered men, for their conversation ran in the
learned channels, and they discussed Boyle’s researches in chemistry and
the ponderation of air with much gravity and show of knowledge. At
the same time, their brisk bearing and manly carriage showed that in
cultivating the scholar they hail not sacrificed the soldier.

‘May I ask, sir,’ said one of them, addressing Saxon, ‘whether in
your wide experiences you have ever met with any of those sages and
philosophers who have conferred such honour and fame upon France and
Germany?’

My companion looked ill at ease, as one who feels that he has been taken
off his ground. ‘There was indeed one such at Nurnberg,’ he answered,
‘one Gervinus or Gervanus, who, the folk said, could turn an ingot of
iron into an ingot of gold as easily as I turn this tobacco into ashes.
Old Pappenheimer shut him up with a ton of metal, and threatened to put
the thumbikins upon him unless he changed it into gold pieces. I can
vouch for it that there was not a yellow boy there, for I was captain of
the guard and searched the whole dungeon through. To my sorrow I say it,
for I had myself added a small iron brazier to the heap, thinking that
if there should be any such change it would be as well that I should
have some small share in the experiment.’

‘Alchemy, transmutation of metals, and the like have been set aside by
true science,’ remarked the taller officer. ‘Even old Sir Thomas Browne
of Norwich, who is ever ready to plead the cause of the ancients, can
find nothing to say in favour of it. From Trismegistus downwards through
Albertus Magnus, Aquinas, Raymond Lullius, Basil Valentine, Paracelsus,
and the rest, there is not one who has left more than a cloud of words
behind him.’

‘Nor did the rogue I mention,’ said Saxon. ‘There was another,
Van Helstatt, who was a man of learning, and cast horoscopes in
consideration of some small fee or honorarium. I have never met so wise
a man, for he would talk of the planets and constellations as though he
kept them all in his own backyard. He made no more of a comet than if it
were a mouldy china orange, and he explained their nature to us, saying
that they were but common stars which had had a hole knocked in them, so
that their insides or viscera protruded. He was indeed a philosopher!’

‘And did you ever put his skill to the test?’ asked one of the officers,
with a smile.

‘Not I, forsooth, for I have ever kept myself clear of black magic or
diablerie of the sort. My comrade Pierce Scotton, who was an Oberst
in the Imperial cavalry brigade, did pay him a rose noble to have his
future expounded. If I remember aright, the stars said that he was
over-fond of wine and women--he had a wicked eye and a nose like a
carbuncle. ‘They foretold also that he would attain a marshal’s baton
and die at a ripe age, which might well have come true had he not been
unhorsed a month later at Ober-Graustock, and slain by the hoofs of his
own troop. Neither the planets nor even the experienced farrier of
the regiment could have told that the brute would have foundered so
completely.’

The officers laughed heartily at my companion’s views, and rose from
their chairs, for the bottle was empty and the evening beginning to
draw in. ‘We have work to do here,’ said the one addressed as Ogilvy.
‘Besides, we must find this foolish boy of ours, and tell him that it is
no disgrace to be disarmed by so expert a swordsman. We have to prepare
the quarters for the regiment, who will be up to join Churchill’s
forces not later than to-night. Ye are yourselves bound for the West, I
understand?’

‘We belong to the Duke of Beaufort’s household,’ said Saxon.

‘Indeed! I thought ye might belong to Portman’s yellow regiment of
militia. I trust that the Duke will muster every man he can, and make
play until the royal forces come up.’

‘How many will Churchill bring?’ asked my companion carelessly.

‘Eight hundred horse at the most, but my Lord Feversham will follow
after with close on four thousand foot.’

‘We may meet on the field of battle, if not before,’ said I, and we bade
our friendly enemies a very cordial adieu.

‘A skilful equivoque that last of yours, Master Micah,’ quoth Decimus
Saxon, ‘though smacking of double dealing in a truth-lover like
yourself. If we meet them in battle I trust that it may be with
chevaux-de-frise of pikes and morgenstierns before us, and a litter of
caltrops in front of them, for Monmouth has no cavalry that could stand
for a moment against the Royal Guards.’

‘How came you to make their acquaintance?’ I asked.

‘I slept a few hours, but I have learned in camps to do with little
rest. Finding you in sound slumber, and hearing the rattle of the
dice-box below, I came softly down and found means to join their
party--whereby I am a richer man by fifteen guineas, and might have
had more had that young fool not lugged out at me, or had the talk not
turned afterwards upon such unseemly subjects as the laws of chemistry
and the like. Prythee, what have the Horse Guards Blue to do with the
laws of chemistry? Wessenburg of the Pandours would, even at his own
mess table, suffer much free talk--more perhaps than fits in with the
dignity of a leader. Had his officers ventured upon such matter as
this, however, there would have been a drum-head court-martial, or a
cashiering at the least.’

Without stopping to dispute either Master Saxon’s judgment or that of
Wessenburg of the Pandours, I proposed that we should order an evening
meal, and should employ the remaining hour or two of daylight in looking
over the city. The principal sight is of course the noble cathedral,
which is built in such exact proportion that one would fail to
understand its great size did one not actually enter it and pace round
the long dim aisles. So solemn were its sweeping arches and the long
shafts of coloured light which shone through the stained-glass windows,
throwing strange shadows amongst the pillars, that even my companion,
albeit not readily impressed, was silent and subdued. It was a great
prayer in stone.

On our way back to the inn we passed the town lock-up, with a railed
space in front of it, in which three great black-muzzled bloodhounds
were stalking about, with fierce crimsoned eyes and red tongues lolling
out of their mouths. They were used, a bystander told us, for the
hunting down of criminals upon Salisbury Plain, which had been a refuge
for rogues and thieves, until this means had been adopted for following
them to their hiding-places. It was well-nigh dark before we returned to
the hostel, and entirely so by the time that we had eaten our suppers,
paid our reckoning, and got ready for the road.

Before we set off I bethought me of the paper which my mother had
slipped into my hand on parting, and drawing it from my pouch I read
it by the rushlight in our chamber. It still bore the splotches of the
tears which she had dropped on it, poor soul, and ran in this wise:--

‘Instructions from Mistress Mary Clarke to her son Micah, on the twelfth
day of June in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and eighty-five.

‘On occasion of his going forth, like David of old, to do battle
with the Goliath of Papistry, which hath overshadowed and thrown into
disrepute that true and reverent regard for ritual which should exist in
the real Church of England, as ordained by law.

‘Let these points be observed by him, namely, to wit:

‘1. Change your hosen when the occasion serves. You have two pairs in
your saddle-bag, and can buy more, for the wool work is good in the
West.

‘2. A hare’s foot suspended round the neck driveth away colic.

‘3. Say the Lord’s Prayer night and morning. Also read the scriptures,
especially Job, the Psalms, and the Gospel according to St. Matthew.

‘4. Daffy’s elixir possesses extraordinary powers in purifying the blood
and working off all phlegms, humours, vapours, or rheums. The dose is
five drops. A small phial of it will be found in the barrel of your left
pistol, with wadding around it lest it come to harm.

‘5. Ten golden pieces are sewn into the hem of your under doublet. Touch
them not, save as a last resource.

‘6. Fight stoutly for the Lord, and yet I pray you, Micah, be not too
forward in battle, but let others do their turn also.

Press not into the heart of the fray, and yet flinch not from the
standard of the Protestant faith.

‘And oh, Micah, my own bright boy, come back safe to your mother, or my
very heart will break!

‘And the deponent will ever pray.’


The sudden gush of tenderness in the last few lines made the tears
spring to my eyes, and yet I could scarce forbear from smiling at the
whole composition, for my dear mother had little time to cultivate the
graces of style, and it was evidently her thought that in order to make
her instructions binding it was needful to express them in some sort of
legal form. I had little time to think over her advice, however, for I
had scarce finished reading it before the voice of Decimus Saxon, and
the clink of the horses’ hoofs upon the cobble-stones of the yard,
informed me that all was ready for our departure.




Chapter X. Of our Perilous Adventure on the Plain

We were not half a mile from the town before the roll of kettledrums and
the blare of bugles swelling up musically through the darkness announced
the arrival of the regiment of horse which our friends at the inn had
been expecting.

‘It is as well, perhaps,’ said Saxon, ‘that we gave them the slip,
for that young springald might have smelled a rat and played us some
ill-turn. Have you chanced to see my silken kerchief?’

‘Not I,’ I answered.

‘Nay, then, it must have fallen from my bosom during our ruffle. I
can ill afford to leave it, for I travel light in such matters. Eight
hundred men, quoth the major, and three thousand to follow. Should I
meet this same Oglethorpe or Ogilvy when the little business is over,
I shall read him a lesson on thinking less of chemistry and more of
the need of preserving military precautions. It is well always to be
courteous to strangers and to give them information, but it is well also
that the information should be false.’

‘As his may have been,’ I suggested.

‘Nay, nay, the words came too glibly from his tongue. So ho, Chloe, so
ho! She is full of oats and would fain gallop, but it is so plaguy dark
that we can scarce see where we are going.’

We had been trotting down the broad high-road shimmering vaguely white
in the gloom, with the shadowy trees dancing past us on either side,
scarce outlined against the dark background of cloud. We were now coming
upon the eastern edge of the great plain, which extends forty miles one
way and twenty the other, over the greater part of Wiltshire and past
the boundaries of Somersetshire. The main road to the West skirts this
wilderness, but we had agreed to follow a less important track,
which would lead us to our goal, though in a more tedious manner. Its
insignificance would, we hoped, prevent it from being guarded by the
King’s horse. We had come to the point where this byroad branches off
from the main highway when we heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs behind
us.

‘Here comes some one who is not afraid to gallop,’ I remarked.

‘Halt here in the shadow!’ cried Saxon, in a short, quick whisper. ‘Have
your blade loose in the scabbard. He must have a set errand who rides so
fast o’ nights.’

Looking down the road we could make out through the darkness a shadowy
blur which soon resolved itself into man and horse. The rider was
well-nigh abreast of us before he was aware of our presence, when he
pulled up his steed in a strange, awkward fashion, and faced round in
our direction.

‘Is Micah Clarke there?’ he said, in a voice which was strangely
familiar to my ears.

‘I am Micah Clarke,’ said I.

‘And I am Reuben Lockarby,’ cried our pursuer, in a mock heroic voice.
‘Ah, Micah lad, I’d embrace you were it not that I should assuredly fall
out of the saddle if I attempted it, and perchance drag you along. That
sudden pull up well-nigh landed me on the roadway. I have been sliding
off and clambering on ever since I bade goodbye to Havant. Sure, such a
horse for slipping from under one was never bestridden by man.’

‘Good Heavens, Reuben!’ I cried in amazement, ‘what brings you all this
way from home?’

‘The very same cause which brings you, Micah, and also Don Decimo Saxon,
late of the Solent, whom methinks I see in the shadow behind you. How
fares it, oh illustrious one?’

‘It is you, then, young cock of the woods!’ growled Saxon, in no very
overjoyed voice.

‘No less a person,’ said Reuben. ‘And now, my gay cavalieros, round with
your horses and trot on your way, for there is no time to be lost. We
ought all to be at Taunton to-morrow.’

‘But, my dear Reuben,’ said I, ‘it cannot be that you are coming with us
to join Monmouth. What would your father say? This is no holiday jaunt,
but one that may have a sad and stern ending. At the best, victory can
only come through much bloodshed and danger. At the worst, we are as
like to wind up upon a scaffold as not.’

‘Forwards, lads, forwards!’ cried he, spurring on his horse, ‘it is all
arranged and settled. I am about to offer my august person, together
with a sword which I borrowed and a horse which I stole, to his most
Protestant highness, James, Duke of Monmouth.’

‘But how comes it all?’ I asked, as we rode on together. ‘It warms my
very heart to see you, but you were never concerned either in religion
or in politics. Whence, then, this sudden resolution?’

‘Well, truth to tell,’ he replied, ‘I am neither a king’s man nor a
duke’s man, nor would I give a button which sat upon the throne. I do
not suppose that either one or the other would increase the custom of
the Wheatsheaf, or want Reuben Lockarby for a councillor. I am a Micah
Clarke man, though, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet;
and if he rides to the wars, may the plague strike me if I don’t stick
to his elbow!’ He raised his hand excitedly as he spoke, and instantly
losing his balance, he shot into a dense clump of bushes by the roadside
whence his legs flapped helplessly in the darkness.

‘That makes the tenth,’ said he, scrambling out and clambering into
his saddle once more. ‘My father used to tell me not to sit a horse too
closely. “A gentle rise and fall,” said the old man. Egad, there is more
fall than rise, and it is anything but gentle.’

‘Odd’s truth!’ exclaimed Saxon. ‘How in the name of all the saints in
the calendar do you expect to keep your seat in the presence of an enemy
if you lose it on a peaceful high-road?’

‘I can but try, my illustrious,’ he answered, rearranging his ruffled
clothing. ‘Perchance the sudden and unexpected character of my movements
may disconcert the said enemy.’

‘Well, well, there may be more truth in that than you are aware of,’
quoth Saxon, riding upon Lockarby’s bridle arm, so that there was scarce
room for him to fall between us. ‘I had sooner fight a man like that
young fool at the inn, who knew a little of the use of his weapon, than
one like Micah here, or yourself, who know nothing. You can tell what
the one is after, but the other will invent a system of his own which
will serve his turn for the nonce. Ober-hauptmann Muller was reckoned to
be the finest player at the small-sword in the Kaiser’s army, and could
for a wager snick any button from an opponent’s vest without cutting the
cloth. Yet was he slain in an encounter with Fahnfuhrer Zollner, who was
a cornet in our own Pandour corps, and who knew as much of the rapier as
you do of horsemanship. For the rapier, be it understood, is designed
to thrust and not to cut, so that no man wielding it ever thinks of
guarding a side-stroke. But Zollner, being a long-armed man, smote his
antagonist across the face with his weapon as though it had been a
cane, and then, ere he had time to recover himself, fairly pinked him.
Doubtless if the matter were to do again, the Oberhauptmann would have
got his thrust in sooner, but as it was, no explanation or excuse could
get over the fact that the man was dead.’

‘If want of knowledge maketh a dangerous swordsman,’ quoth Reuben, ‘then
am I even more deadly than the unpronounceable gentleman whom you have
mentioned. To continue my story, however, which I broke off in order to
step down from my horse, I found out early in the morning that ye were
gone, and Zachary Palmer was able to tell me whither. I made up my mind,
therefore, that I would out into the world also. To this end I borrowed
a sword from Solomon Sprent, and my father having gone to Gosport,
I helped myself to the best nag in his stables--for I have too much
respect for the old man to allow one of his flesh and blood to go
ill-provided to the wars. All day I have ridden, since early morning,
being twice stopped on suspicion of being ill-affected, but having the
good luck to get away each time. I knew that I was close at your heels,
for I found them searching for you at the Salisbury Inn.’

Decimus whistled. ‘Searching for us?’ said he.

‘Yes. It seems that they had some notion that ye were not what ye
professed to be, so the inn was surrounded as I passed, but none knew
which road ye had taken.’

‘Said I not so?’ cried Saxon. ‘That young viper hath stirred up the
regiment against us. We must push on, for they may send a party on our
track.’

‘We are off the main road now, ‘I remarked; ‘even should they pursue us,
they would be unlikely to follow this side track.’

‘Yet it would be wise to show them a clean pair of heels,’ said Saxon,
spurring his mare into a gallop. Lockarby and I followed his example,
and we all three rode swiftly along the rough moorland track.

We passed through scattered belts of pinewood, where the wild cat howled
and the owl screeched, and across broad stretches of fenland and moor,
where the silence was only broken by the booming cry of the bittern or
the fluttering of wild duck far above our heads. The road was in parts
overgrown with brambles, and was so deeply rutted and so studded with
sharp and dangerous hollows, that our horses came more than once upon
their knees. In one place the wooden bridge which led over a stream had
broken down, and no attempt had been made to repair it, so that we were
compelled to ride our horses girth deep through the torrent. At first
some scattered lights had shown that we were in the neighbourhood of
human habitations, but these became fewer as we advanced, until the last
died away and we found ourselves upon the desolate moor which stretched
away in unbroken solitude to the shadowy horizon. The moon had broken
through the clouds and now shone hazily through wreaths of mist,
throwing a dim light over the wild scene, and enabling us to keep to
the track, which was not fenced in in any way and could scarce be
distinguished from the plain around it.

We had slackened our pace under the impression that all fear of pursuit
was at an end, and Reuben was amazing us by an account of the excitement
which had been caused in Havant by our disappearance, when through the
stillness of the night a dull, muffled rat-tat-tat struck upon my ear.
At the same moment Saxon sprang from his horse and listened intently
with sidelong head.

‘Boot and saddle!’ he cried, springing into his seat again. ‘They are
after us as sure as fate. A dozen troopers by the sound. We must shake
them off, or goodbye to Monmouth.’

‘Give them their heads,’ I answered, and striking spurs into our steeds,
we thundered on through the darkness. Covenant and Chloe were as fresh
as could be wished, and soon settled down into a long springy gallop.
Our friend’s horse however, had been travelling all day, and its
long-drawn, laboured breathing showed that it could not hold out for
long. Through the clatter of our horses’ hoofs I could still from time
to time hear the ominous murmur from behind us.

‘This will never do, Reuben,’ said I anxiously, as the weary creature
stumbled, and the rider came perilously near to shooting over its head.

‘The old horse is nearly foundered,’ he answered ruefully. ‘We are off
the road now, and the rough ground is too much for her.’

‘Yes, we are off the track,’ cried Saxon over his shoulder--for he led
us by a few paces. ‘Bear in mind that the Bluecoats have been on the
march all day, so that their horses may also be blown. How in Himmel
came they to know which road we took?’

As if in answer to his ejaculation, there rose out of the still night
behind us a single, clear, bell-like note, swelling and increasing in
volume until it seemed to fill the whole air with its harmony.

‘A bloodhound!’ cried Saxon.

A second sharper, keener note, ending in an unmistakable howl, answered
the first.

‘Another of them,’ said he. ‘They have loosed the brutes that we saw
near the Cathedral. Gad! we little thought when we peered over the rails
at them, a few hours ago, that they would so soon be on our own track.
Keep a firm knee and a steady seat, for a slip now would be your last.’

‘Holy mother!’ cried Reuben, ‘I had steeled myself to die in battle--but
to be dogsmeat! It is something outside the contract.’

‘They hold them in leash,’ said Saxon, between his teeth, ‘else they
would outstrip the horses and be lost in the darkness.

Could we but come on running water we might put them off our track.’

‘My horse cannot hold on at this pace for more than a very few minutes,’
Reuben cried. ‘If I break down, do ye go on, for ye must remember
that they are upon your track and not mine. They have found cause for
suspicion of the two strangers of the inn, but none of me.’

‘Nay, Reuben, we shall stand or fall together,’ said I sadly, for at
every step his horse grew more and more feeble. ‘In this darkness they
will make little distinction between persons.’

‘Keep a good heart,’ shouted the old soldier, who was now leading us by
twenty yards or more. ‘We can hear them because the wind blows from that
way, but it’s odds whether they have heard us. Methinks they slacken in
their pursuit.’

‘The sound of their horses has indeed grown fainter,’ said I joyfully.

‘So faint that I can hear it no longer,’ my companion cried.

We reined up our panting steeds and strained our ears, but not a
sound could we hear save the gentle murmur of the breeze amongst the
whin-bushes, and the melancholy cry of the night-jar. Behind us the
broad rolling plain, half light and half shadow, stretched away to
the dim horizon without sign of life or movement. ‘We have either
outstripped them completely, or else they have given up the chase,’ said
I. ‘What ails the horses that they should tremble and snort?’

‘My poor beast is nearly done for,’ Reuben remarked, leaning forward and
passing his hand down the creature’s reeking neck.

‘For all that we cannot rest,’ said Saxon. ‘We may not be out of danger
yet. Another mile or two may shake us clear. But I like it not.’

‘Like not what?’

‘These horses and their terrors. The beasts can at times both see and
hear more than we, as I could show by divers examples drawn from mine
own experience on the Danube and in the Palatinate, were the time and
place more fitting. Let us on, then, before we rest.’

The weary horses responded bravely to the call, and struggled onwards
over the broken ground for a considerable time. At last we were thinking
of pulling up in good earnest, and of congratulating ourselves upon
having tired out our pursuers, when of a sudden the bell-like baying
broke upon our ears far louder than it had been before--so loud, indeed,
that it was evident that the dogs were close upon our heels.

‘The accursed hounds!’ cried Saxon, putting spurs to his horse and
shooting ahead of us; ‘I feared as much. They have freed them from the
leash. There is no escape from the devils, but we can choose the spot
where we shall make our stand.’

‘Come on, Reuben,’ I shouted. ‘We have only to reckon with the dogs now.
Their masters have let them loose, and turned back for Salisbury.’

‘Pray heaven they break their necks before they get there!’ he cried.
‘They set dogs on us as though we were rats in a cock-pit. Yet they call
England a Christian country! It’s no use, Micah. Poor Dido can’t stir
another step.’

As he spoke, the sharp fierce bay of the hounds rose again, clear and
stern on the night air, swelling up from a low hoarse growl to a high
angry yelp. There seemed to be a ring of exultation in their wild cry,
as though they knew that their quarry was almost run to earth.

‘Not another step!’ said Reuben Lockarby, pulling up and drawing his
sword. ‘If I must fight, I shall fight here.’

‘There could be no better place,’ I replied. Two great jagged rocks rose
before us, jutting abruptly out of the ground, and leaving a space of
twelve or fifteen feet between them. Through this gap we rode, and
I shouted loudly for Saxon to join us. His horse, however, had been
steadily gaining upon ours, and at the renewed alarm had darted off
again, so that he was already some hundred yards from us. It was useless
to summon him, even could he hear our voices, for the hounds would be
upon us before he could return.

‘Never heed him,’ I said hurriedly. ‘Do you rein your steed behind
that rock, and I behind this. They will serve to break the force of the
attack. Dismount not, but strike down, and strike hard.’

On either side in the shadow of the rock we waited in silence for our
terrible pursuers. Looking back at it, my dear children, I cannot but
think that it was a great trial on such young soldiers as Reuben and
myself to be put, on the first occasion of drawing our swords, into such
a position. For I have found, and others have confirmed my opinion,
that of all dangers that a man is called upon to face, that arising from
savage and determined animals is the most unnerving. For with men there
is ever the chance that some trait of weakness or of want of courage may
give you an advantage over them, but with fierce beasts there is no such
hope. We knew that the creatures to whom we were opposed could never
be turned from our throats while there was breath in their bodies. One
feels in one’s heart, too, that the combat is an unequal one, for your
life is precious at least to your friends, while their lives, what are
they? All this and a great deal more passed swiftly through our minds
as we sat with drawn swords, soothing our trembling horses as best we
might, and waiting for the coming of the hounds.

Nor had we long to wait. Another long, deep, thunderous bay sounded
in our ears, followed by a profound silence, broken only by the quick
shivering breathing of the horses. Then suddenly, and noiselessly, a
great tawny brute, with its black muzzle to the earth, and its overhung
cheeks napping on either side, sprang into the band of moonlight between
the rocks, and on into the shadow beyond. It never paused or swerved for
an instant, but pursued its course straight onwards without a glance
to right or to left. Close behind it came a second, and behind that a
third, all of enormous size, and looking even larger and more terrible
than they were in the dim shifting light. Like the first, they took no
notice of our presence, but bounded on along the trail left by Decimus
Saxon.

The first and second I let pass, for I hardly realised that they so
completely overlooked us. When the third, however, sprang out into the
moonlight, I drew my right-hand pistol from its holster, and resting
its long barrel across my left forearm, I fired at it as it passed. The
bullet struck the mark, for the brute gave a fierce howl of rage and
pain, but true to the scent it never turned or swerved. Lockarby fired
also as it disappeared among the brushwood, but with no apparent effect.
So swiftly and so noiselessly did the great hounds pass, that they might
have been grim silent spirits of the night, the phantom dogs of Herne
the hunter, but for that one fierce yelp which followed my shot.

‘What brutes!’ my companion ejaculated; ‘what shall we do, Micah?’

‘They have clearly been laid on Saxon’s trail,’ said I. ‘We must follow
them up, or they will be too many for him. Can you hear anything of our
pursuers?’

‘Nothing.’

‘They have given up the chase, then, and let the dogs loose as a last
resource. Doubtless the creatures are trained to return to the town. But
we must push on, Reuben, if we are to help our companion.’

‘One more spurt, then, little Dido,’ cried Reuben; ‘can you muster
strength for one more? Nay, I have not the heart to put spurs to you. If
you can do it, I know you will.’

The brave mare snorted, as though she understood her riders words, and
stretched her weary limbs into a gallop. So stoutly did she answer the
appeal that, though I pressed Covenant to his topmost speed, she was
never more than a few strides behind him.

‘He took this direction,’ said I, peering anxiously out into the
darkness. ‘He can scarce have gone far, for he spoke of making a stand.
Or, perhaps, finding that we are not with him, he may trust to the speed
of his horse.’

‘What chance hath a horse of outstripping these brutes?’ Reuben
answered. ‘They must run him to earth, and he knows it. Hullo! what have
we here?’

A dark dim form lay stretched in the moonlight in front of us. It was
the dead body of a hound--the one evidently at which I had fired.

‘There is one of them disposed of, ‘I cried joyously; ‘we have but two
to settle with now.’

‘As I spoke we heard the crack of two pistol-shots some little distance
to the left. Heading our steeds in that direction, we pressed on at the
top of our speed. Presently out of the darkness in front of us there
arose such a roaring and a yelping as sent the hearts into our mouths.
It was not a single cry, such as the hounds had uttered when they were
on the scent, but a continuous deep-mouthed uproar, so fierce and so
prolonged, that we could not doubt that they had come to the end of
their run.

‘Pray God that they have not got him down!’ cried Reuben, in a faltering
voice.

The same thought had crossed my own mind, for I have heard a similar
though lesser din come from a pack of otter hounds when they had
overtaken their prey and were tearing it to pieces. Sick at heart, I
drew my sword with the determination that, if we were too late to save
our companion, we should at least revenge him upon the four-footed
fiends. Bursting through a thick belt of scrub and tangled gorse bushes,
we came upon a scene so unlike what we had expected that we pulled up
our horses in astonishment.

A circular clearing lay in front of us, brightly illuminated by the
silvery moonshine. In the centre of this rose a giant stone, one
of those high dark columns which are found all over the plain, and
especially in the parts round Stonehenge. It could not have been less
than fifteen feet in height, and had doubtless been originally straight,
but wind and weather, or the crumbling of the soil, had gradually
suffered it to tilt over until it inclined at such an angle that an
active man might clamber up to the summit. On the top of this ancient
stone, cross-legged and motionless, like some strange carved idol of
former days, sat Decimus Saxon, puffing sedately at the long pipe which
was ever his comfort in moments of difficulty. Beneath him, at the base
of the monolith, as our learned men call them, the two great bloodhounds
were rearing and springing, clambering over each other’s backs in their
frenzied and futile eagerness to reach the impassive figure perched
above them, while they gave vent to their rage and disappointment in the
hideous uproar which had suggested such terrible thoughts to our mind.

We had little time, however, to gaze at this strange scene, for upon our
appearance the hounds abandoned their helpless attempts to reach Saxon,
and flew, with a fierce snarl of satisfaction, at Reuben and myself.
One great brute, with flaring eyes and yawning mouth, his white fangs
glistening in the moonlight, sprang at my horse’s neck; but I met him
fair with a single sweeping cut, which shore away his muzzle, and left

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