The Black Box 30

The Black Box 30

I found him seated at wine in company with divers gay-dressed cavaliers,

who, by the look of them, thought more of drinking than of fighting. At

first they were inclined to flout me; but, verily, a sturdy, well-armed,

six-foot stripling of eighteen, with his wits about him, is something of

a match for such as they. I tossed them back their gibes with interest,

and when ’twas found that I came straight from Lyme, they changed their

tune and pestered me with questions, which I answered coldly.

 

"And so you come to join us, eh, young man?" said Albemarle, when I was

sick of being catechized.

 

"Yes, sir," I answered, and added that my father was an old friend of

Lord Feversham, Commander-General of the forces.

 

That made the Duke sit up and stare at me as though I were a thing of

more importance than he had imagined.

 

"Ah, by my life!" said he at last, "then sink me if I find thee not a

cornetcy. What say you, gentlemen?"

 

With one accord the red-faced fellows smote the table with their fists,

and swore it should be so; then, rising, drank my health.

 

And thus it came about that, after passing safely through another day of

peril, I went to bed a soldier of King James.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER XX*

 

*At Sedgemoor Fight*

 

 

This record deals not mainly with the bold, ill-starred designs of

Monmouth, but rather with the lesser doings of one Michael Fane;

therefore I will not dwell upon the marchings and the counter-marchings,

the petty skirmishes, the knock-kneed weaknesses and pitiable indecision

which led the hapless Duke at last to bloody Sedgemoor and destruction.

 

Sweeping aside, then, as it were, these matters, which, though

contributory to the final great catastrophe, were of themselves but

small affairs, I come to the night of 5th July, 1685, when we of the

Royalist army, scarce four thousand strong, were encamped upon that

wild, vast tract of bog and moorland known as Sedgemoor; while, not far

away, inside the ancient town of Bridgewater (which had proclaimed him

king), lay Monmouth with some eight thousand followers.

 

’Twas a Sunday, and all day long ’tis said the rebel army had been

engaged in deep devotions (a thing I cannot say for our side); while

their preachers, wearing red coats, great jack-boots and swords, held

forth with fiery words from wagons and the like. The far-off, fervid

singing of their psalms and hymns had reached us on the plain, and

brought forth many a ribald jest from men whose earnestness, at least,

was not comparable with theirs.

 

Thus the day dragged by in stifling heat, until at last that fatal night

came on which was to usher in such awful carnage. Again, ’tis no part

of my plan to give a detailed story of the fight. To begin with, I have

not the wherewithal to do it; a man who fights in battle has quite

enough to do, it seems to me, to use his weapons properly, and so can

know but little of the whole design. At least ’twas so in my case; and

even were it otherwise I would scarce attempt it, for the tale has been

already told full oft by abler men than me, and in such glowing words as

I could never hope to compass. Still, as one who fought upon the side

of victory (if such a butcher’s shambles can be rightly called so), I

would make bold to say that but for some blind blundering on the part of

Monmouth’s scouts and guides, together with the accidental firing of a

pistol, a vastly different story might have come down to your ears. For

’tis certain that we had no previous knowledge of this well-planned

night attack, and therefore, but for an eleventh-hour warning, should

have been taken unawares by an army which, notwithstanding all its

ill-armed, untrained state, yet outnumbered ours by two to one, and

moreover, was aflame with burning zeal. With that statement of cold

fact I will content myself, and so press forward, hot-foot, on my own

affairs.

 

It was a full-mooned, starry night, yet for all that a fog so low and

thick hung over marshy Sedgemoor that naught was visible at fifty paces.

The night was still, with scarce a breath of wind to stir the rushes

which abounded; and save for the dismal booming of a bittern, a

roughly-given password or command, and the far-off, muffled sound of

revelry, where heedless officers still sat at their wine--except for

these, I say, no sound was to be heard.

 

As many of you know, the moor is drained to some extent by means of

broad, deep ditches (called Rhines in those parts), and crossed here and

there by causeways. For the most part they are filled with mud and

water, and on the bank of one of them (that called the Bussex Rhine--a

name which surely might have been found graven on poor Monmouth’s

heart)--I, who had now joined Feversham, stood with my men that night.

 

’Twas nearly one o’clock, and I was pacing idly to and fro, full sick of

everything, when suddenly a pistol shot rang out upon the silence,

followed quickly by the deeper note of muskets; then came loud, warning

cries, the furious galloping of horses; and in a moment all was turmoil

and confusion.

 

In this manner did we first get news that Monmouth’s army had crept

close upon us in the darkness. But, alack for such a well-planned

scheme, they had either overlooked or clean forgot the Bussex Rhine; and

as they now pressed on, they found their way barred by a great broad

ditch some twenty feet across, with no near means of crossing it; and

thus it was that we were saved from a surprise attack which might have

cost us dear enough.

 

As I stood there listening keenly, and wondering what all this pother

was about (for of course I did not know), I heard the heavy tramp of

many feet, coming as it seemed towards me from the other side, and

presently a dark, blurred mass of men hove dimly through the fog, then

stopped suddenly, and broke out muttering--dismayed, no doubt, to find

an unexpected ditch before them.

 

Bidding my men draw back, I stepped up to the edge.

 

"Who’s that? Whom are you for?" I called across.

 

"The king," a voice replied.

 

"Which king?" I asked.

 

"King Monmouth!" came the loud, bold answer, and then, as if by one

consent, the Rebel battle-cry rolled forth like thunder:

 

"God with us!"

 

I never heard so great a shout, and as it spread among the teeming

thousands on the moor behind, it seemed to shake the very earth; it was

as though all England raised her voice to Heaven.

 

Barely had that great cry died away when drums and bugles sounded,

matchlocks broke out in a dazzling blaze, and bullets screamed across

the ditch by hundreds. Our infantry had now come up, while Churchill

with the horse, having found a crossing lower down, charged like a

whirlwind on the rebel flank and rear. The battle had begun in right

good earnest. And what a battle! The fog-bound darkness, which made it

hard to tell a foe from a friend, added to its horrors. The crash of

musketry; the roar of cannon and the clash of steel; the cries, and

shrieks, and groans--all this still rises up before me like some ugly

nightmare, even as I write these words.

 

And what was my own part therein? Well, as I said before, I had no

desire to kill my fellow-countrymen, but when a roaring, wild-eyed

fellow comes a-mowing at you with a pike, or scythe stuck endwise on a

pole, you must do something, and--well, I did it; and, as the fight went

on, I had to do it many times, until at length the sword which had been

girded on me by my father in that quiet study had indeed a sorry tale of

death to tell. And here, my friends, a word of warning, or at least of

clean confession. The rack of battle raises Cain in man, until he comes

to kill unthinkingly, if not with grim delight. Beware!

 

And now the fight raged fiercely on all sides; but, though furious and

bloody, it did not last long. Indeed, how could it? Those poor

benighted, ill-trained fellows were no match for men who were, at least,

well-armed and had some claim to being disciplined. Confused, hemmed in,

and badly led, they surged to and fro like flocks of frightened sheep,

an easy prey for sword and bullet; and though full many of them fought

with dogged courage, and others with the fury of despair, there could be

but one end to it. Their horses, for the most part utterly unused to

warfare, were so maddened by the deafening noise of guns and muskets

that they turned and galloped headlong back to Bridgewater. Nor was it

long before many of the rebel foot were fleeing in a like direction;

for, with our infantry across the ditch, the fight became a rout in no

time.

 

Meanwhile I had mounted Kitty, and was in the very thick of it, slashing

and thrusting for my life at every turn. And thus it was I met at last

a tall, red-coated fellow on a big black horse. He came towards me at a

furious gallop, waving his sword and shrieking like a madman:

 

"The God of Abraham! The God of Abraham!" As he flew by he aimed a

savage blow at me. Just then a matchlock blazed and lighted up a

red-blotched face. I knew him instantly. ’Twas Robert Ferguson.

 

So sudden and bewildering had this vision been that for a space I sat

there staring like a man bedazed; but Sedgemoor was that night the last

place to be mooning in, and when a lanky yokel rushed upon me with a

scythe I came back to my senses quick enough. Yet, even so, it was my

mare that saved me. She had seen far too much already to be caught thus

napping. To save her legs from being lopped off by that murderous

blade, she sprang aside; and as the fellow thus foiled swung round,

mowing at the air, I cut him down.

 

Next moment I was flying headlong after Ferguson, with no thought for

the battle left behind. But the time which I had lost since meeting

him, though scarce a minute, yet proved enough to make my chase a

hopeless one; and though I kept a keen eye on all red-coats, I saw no

sign of him I sought.

 

Still, in what mad hope I know not, I tore on, until at length, having

got clear alike of those who fought and those who ran, I realized my

folly, and, pulling up, was just about to turn, when, from ahead, there

came the ringing sound of steel on steel, I listened. Yes, swords were

clashing there not far away behind a straggling wood; and by the noise