Chapter VI: Part 6

"And now I must be riding back again ere I be missed," said he. "Besides, there is this horse which I have borrowed----"

"Or stolen, which?" I asked maliciously.

"Nay, friend, you said that sorry business was now clean forgiven and forgotten."

"And so it is," I answered laughing. "But, say, before you go, hast any news for me from Lyme?"

"Aye, plenty. Old Dare was slain last night by Fletcher of Saltoun. A pretty brawl, 'tis said, about a horse. And Fletcher hath been sent a prisoner to the ship. Thus lose we two good men at once. A grievous loss, indeed."

"Yes, true. I heard of it," said I. "And hath aught else been forward?"

"Yes. Three of our men have been slain on the shore nigh Charmouth."

Again this was no news to me; yet I contrived to say, surprisedly:

"Ah, so! By whom?"

"I know not," answered Coram; "there is some mystery about the matter, but they were slain by sword, and that by one who knew his business well, according to report."

"Well, well," I murmured, "such is war. But, say, how went it with the fight at Bridport?"

"Ill enough for us. Our men were beaten back by the militia. They fled like frightened sheep, and 'tis whispered that my Lord Grey was the worst of all; 'tis said he ne'er drew rein till safe in Lyme again.

"Now, by my life, that was a bad beginning, sure enough!"

"Aye, verily, yet scarce a thing to marvel at, for, look you, how can untrained ploughboys and the like expect to stand an onslaught e'en though it be but that of rough militiamen?"

"Ah, how indeed?" I murmured. "And know you when the Duke rides forth from Lyme?"

"Nay, that I don't, nor, as it seems to me, doth anyone for certain. Some say to-morrow, others Monday. Yet still they dally, signing on fresh men."

"Ah, they still come in to join, then?"

"Aye, that they do--by hundreds; but, oh, such lumbering louts! Save me, if we should not do as well with cows and sheep. And now, to make it worse, we've lost Old Dare and Fletcher. Faith, but I like it less each day, and were it not for Ferguson, Duke Monmouth's cause might whistle for John Coram."

"Ah, so Ferguson doth count for much," I murmured, stroking Kitty's neck to hide my face.

"Yea, much indeed," quoth Coram warmly. "He is a leader born--a man of parts withal; but surely, friend, you know 'tis so as well as I," he added with a searching look, "for have you not had pressing business with our godly chaplain?"

"Yes, by my life I have, and have it still," I answered. "I ride upon it now."

"Another reason why I should not tarry, then," said Coram. "And so farewell, friend. Have a care of Stark, and make sure to kill him if you get the chance."

"Be sure of that," said I.

"My blessing on it," answered Coram fervently, and with that cantered off. At the bending of the lane he turned and waved a hand. I answered with a will, then also sped upon my way, though with a watchful eye for every tree and bush.

*CHAPTER XIX*

*The Affair at the Barn*

As the day grew older and a blazing sun climbed up behind me the heat upon my back became wellnigh unbearable, and a decorous walk was all that Kitty made of it, nor did I wish for more. I was well ahead of Monmouth--therefore of friend Ferguson--and could bide my time.

As I passed along the shady lanes thus leisurely, you may be sure I had continual thought for Tubal Ammon, and when the sound of beast or bird disturbed the leafy silence, my eyes and ears were swiftly turned in that direction. But no harm came of it, and beyond some honest farm hands, who, too wise to change scythe for sword, were laying low the tall, rich grass with measured swing and swish, I chanced on no one. Doubtless the chief reason of this was that, both for purposes of shade and solitude, I kept to bypaths and eschewed the highway. Also, I strove to keep as near the sea as possible, in order that what little breeze there was therefrom might make things more endurable.

But such slow, winding methods take much time, and so, what with that and many stoppages for Kitty's sake, 'twas close on noon ere we had put, maybe, twenty miles behind us, which, reckoning for byways, was little more than half the distance to be covered.

The sun was now at its meridian, and beating down upon us with a fiery heat which threatened danger to my mare, if not to me, for we had now drawn clear of sheltering lanes and come out on a stretch of treeless moorland which ran for miles along the coast. Here the hot air fairly danced above the scorched-up grass and bushes, and naught was to be heard except the languid hum of bees among the gorse. The very sea seemed hushed to languorous silence.

To press on in such a state were cruelty to man and beast, therefore I called a halt and looked about me for some shady place in which to rest. But this was easier sought than found. As far as eye could reach, the barren moor rolled on beneath the shimmering heat, with nothing taller than a stunted thorn bush visible.

As I sat gazing wearily upon this arid sight, while Kitty pawed the turf impatiently and cursed distracting flies (so far as horse was able) with her ears and tail, I saw, far off, a man dart straight across the track and disappear as though the earth had swallowed him, upon the other side.

So quickly had he vanished in a place thus bare of cover that I watched the spot expectantly with shaded eyes, feeling certain he must come to view again. But nothing came of it; indeed, it might have been a rabbit which had gone to earth for any more I saw of him.

This was strange and puzzling beyond measure, and, sun or no sun, must be enquired into. So, marking down the spot, I urged Kitty to a canter and soon reached it. Then that which from a distance had been so mysterious was instantly made plain. A high bank on the left was here divided by a deeply-rutted, and, by the look of it, now unused lane which wound down through a maze of bushes to the sea; and doubtless it was this which had thus swallowed up the flitting figure.

So far so good; but having proved the manner of his disappearance I was minded to explore the matter further.

With this intent I turned my mare into the cutting and rode slowly down the winding track. On either side of me there was a tangle of thick scrub, and on this I kept a ready eye, for a bullet or a poisoned arrow might well prove deadly at so short a range. But nothing stirred, and so at last I came out upon a wide expanse of utter desolation. It was as though the land had slid down seaward and there broken out again in such an uncouth medley of rank, twisted growth as seemed to be scarce English. 'Twas chaos, with the rock-strewn shore beyond.

Who could it be that, flashing as it were from space across my path, had sped to this wild, lonesome place and vanished in its dreary solitude? Ah, who? As I put the question to myself I swept the dreary waste with anxious eyes and thought uneasily of Coram's warning.

My vision of the man had been so sudden and his flight across the path so swift and stoat-like, that, at such a distance, I had been able to make nothing of him. Nor did he now vouchsafe to help me by discovering himself to my enquiring gaze. Not he. Sun-loving insects hummed amid the stifling heat, a dragon-fly hung poised above a bush--a thing of glorious blue--a gull screamed high aloft, while here and there the twittering of tongue-parched birds broke forth in sleepy fashion. But these were the only signs of life; no human being showed himself; my man had vanished like a dream.

What then? To hunt for him among that tangled wilderness in such a blazing heat were folly worse confounded, for, to begin with, I must do the thing on foot--a weary, hopeless task indeed, and risky also if the object of my search were armed with pistol and a bad intention. Yes, there seemed nothing for it but to let the mystery go unsolved, and leave the haunter of this desolation lurking in his hiding-place.

Reluctantly, and not without misgiving, I turned and rode back through the opening to the moor, still musing wonderingly on that which lay behind me. But such thoughts, pressing as they were, gave way at last before my former keen desire for shade. And this time fortune favoured me, for, having ridden on another quarter of a mile or so I saw, not far away, an old grey barn tucked snugly up against the bank, with bushes overshadowing it. What could be better for our sweating needs?

A minute later we were up with it. The entrance lay upon the other side--that is, the shady side--and here a stout oak door hung idly open, thus inviting entrance. How came this stony friend in such a wild deserted spot as that? I could not tell--nor did I care; but verily it was as welcome as an oasis amid the desert. With a blessing on its unknown builder, I dismounted and led Kitty in.

The place was sweet and clean, and thickly carpeted with well-dried bracken, while a gentle sea-breeze found its way inside, thus adding to a most refreshing coolness.

Small wonder that my pretty mare let go a gladsome neigh and rubbed her velvet muzzle on my shoulder. Doubtless she looked upon our new-found quarters as a stable. Having first eased her girths I looked around for water. This I found not far away--a bubbling stream amid the rocks. When poor thirsty Kitty had refreshed herself thereat I led her back to the barn and put her nose-bag on. Then I fell to with a will upon the food that old Anne's forethought had provided. And so, while Kitty munched her oats, I ate my bread and cheese and pasty and drank my wine, and each of us was mightily content. After this refreshment, being wondrous sleepy, I decided to remain there till the sun should have lost something of his fierceness. But, first of all, remembering that flashing vision of a man across the track, I judged it wise to close the heavy door and fasten it, the which I did by running my sword (for lack of wooden pin) through two stout iron staples, thus making it impossible for anyone to attempt an entrance without my hearing him. This done, I lay down on the bracken close beside the door and very soon was wandering in the land of Nod.

Now I count not among my virtues (or, if you will, my vices) that of being what is called a heavy sleeper. Slight noises will awaken me, and so it came about that, while I was slumbering thus, a gentle rattling aroused me thoroughly.

Someone had tried the door, and, as the staples were full long, my sword allowed it to be opened quite four inches. This had been done, and, even as I stared in breathless silence, a great brown hand crept in and groped about in search of that which barred all further entry.

If you have never seen a hand thus armless--lopped off and blindly feeling, as it were--no words of mine can picture it aright for you. 'Twas horrible beyond compare; and though the light which flickered through two narrow slits set high up in the wall was dim enough, it was yet all-sufficient to make plain a sight so awesome--four straining fingers and a thumb which lacked a guiding eye!

I stared like one bewitched until at last the fingers closed upon the sword-hilt; then, with a sudden spring, I tried to seize the wrist, but failed. The hand shot back ere I could even touch it, while next moment swiftly-running feet proclaimed its owner's flight.

Pulling my sword out from the staples, I drew it, and rushed forth in pursuit. Yet, though I had thus lost scarce half a minute, there was no sign of anyone outside; and not a sound came from the bushes which grew thickly all around, and were the only means of hiding near.

Baffled and perplexed, I walked silently along the turf a little way, stopping every yard or so to listen. Still naught was to be heard. That sly disturber of my sleep had disappeared as if by magic.

This was an ugly state of things--indeed, I liked it not; and so, bethinking me that to go farther might spell danger to my mare, I ran back to the stable.

The sun had now moved down considerably (thus proving that I must have slept some hours), and the heat, though still oppressive, was not so overpowering as it had been; but, even had it still been like a furnace, I would not have tarried longer in that haunted place. So, with the memory of a clawing hand to hurry me, I tightened Kitty's girths, and, having led her forth, was just about to mount, when something hissed close past my face and stuck quivering in a tree-stem. It was a small black arrow! The mystery was explained at last, and the knowledge that my dreaded enemy lurked thus close to me was so appalling that I shame not to confess my knees smote one against the other, while a clammy sweat broke out upon my forehead.

Leaping to the saddle I urged Kitty forward, at the same time bending low by instinct; and well it was I did so, for next moment a pistol cracked behind me and the bullet whistled just above my shoulder. Two inches lower and I had been hit!

Glancing back, when we had covered some three hundred yards, I saw no sign of Tubal Ammon, and was just thanking Heaven for such a merciful deliverance, when suddenly my mare stopped dead and broke out trembling with fear.

The cause of this was just ahead, for there an old man lay upon his back among the heather. Going close up I gazed down on him, and, to my horror, found that he was dead. His eyes stared up at me with awful fixedness. Moreover, he had met his death by violence, as was clearly proven by the gaping knife-wound in his breast. Stabbed through the heart!

He was well dressed (a yeoman farmer by the look of him), and wore riding boots with spurs. Thus it was clear he had been riding when death overtook him. What, then? How came he thus? Where was his horse? These questions were full quickly answered; for barely had I put them to myself when from behind there came the sound of thudding hoofs, and, starting round, I saw Tubal Ammon galloping towards me on a long-legged, bony beast.

This made things clear indeed; yea, verily, I understood it all as in a flash. Keeping far ahead of us throughout the morning, running when we walked (though ever making sure of our direction), the miscreant had reached this lonely spot before us, had met this poor old man and slain him for his horse, and, having hidden it, had lurked about in hope of falling me as well by stealth. This having failed, he now pursued me on his blood-bought steed, intent on further mischief.

As this rushed through my mind, I, too, rushed through the air, and such a wild, mad race began as never was. Kitty knew little of the spur, but now I used it on her without knowing that I did so. Heavens, how we flew! The pace we made was such as beggars words. The ugly brute behind, for all his great long legs and furious speed, gained not a yard upon us, for what advantage he possessed in length of limb my mare outwitted by her lightness and agility.

Mile after mile we had covered in this headlong, reckless fashion, when suddenly a shrill cry reached me, and glancing back, I saw that Tubal Ammon's horse was down, while he himself had been shot yards in front of it.

Perceiving this, I stopped to look. Perchance the luckless beast had stumbled in a rabbit burrow, while, by the way its head dropped back when Ammon pulled upon it with the bridle, I judged it to be either broken-necked or broken-hearted. And doubtless its rider shared the same opinion, for, after divers vicious tugs and kicks he dropped the reins, and, turning, shook a fist at me. I answered in like fashion, then trotted on my way.

And here it seems to me that you may well be wondering why, in the name of fortune, I did not instead ride back and try to kill the wicked wretch whose death I so much coveted. But verily, my friends, the chances were not what, to you, they may appear to have been; nay, rather were they all against me. For, look you, thick cover lay on every side, and long ere I could have come up with him, friend Tubal would have darted into hiding; while, having just most providentially escaped from death, I had no mind to seek for it again.

So I pressed on towards Exeter, whose grey cathedral towers were even then just visible, far off, against the glowing sky. But, feeling safe from that which lay behind, I did not hurry, for Kitty's state was truly piteous. Her flanks were streaming, while the foam dripped from her mouth. Thus I walked and trotted her by turns, and the sun was nearly down when at last we clattered noisily along the ancient city's streets.

Here was mighty bustle and excitement, with no little fear mixed up therewith. The streets were all alive with eager, anxious crowds, and many, taking me to be a special messenger bearing news of Monmouth, tried to stop and question me; but, turning a deaf ear to them, I cantered on to Albemarle's head-quarters.

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 of it the combat was a fierce and deadly one. Who could it be who thus fought out their quarrel in this lonely spot two miles from where a battle raged?

Bent on an answer to that question I moved slowly forwards, but had not gone far before a piercing cry rang out. Dead silence followed. The clash of swords had ceased.

Then I moved on again, this time at a canter. The fog had lifted hereabouts, while the first dim light of dawn was in the sky. And thus, on coming round the bushes, I could just make out a man with naked sword standing above another who lay prone upon the ground. On catching sight of me he sheathed his sword and fled with wondrous speed. Passing the stricken man, I followed; but he had a goodly start, and though I kept him well in sight, he beat me at the far end of the wood. There I could see no sign of him.

Puzzled, I looked around, and saw a light some fifty yards away upon the left. For this I made, and soon found out its cause. Here was an old stone hovel, used either for the ponies or the cattle which roam, half wild, on Sedgemoor. Someone (perchance a guard) had been camping there that very night, and a fire of faggots still glowed on the floor, thus lighting up the place.

Dismounting, I went in and glanced about. Nothing was there except a manger full of straw--so bulging full, in fact, that I was minded to explore it. But barely had I gone a step when methought I heard a rustling of the straw, and sure enough next moment something bright came poking through. A pistol barrel! With a diving leap, I seized and turned the threatening thing, forcing the muzzle upwards; and not a whit too soon, for even as I did so it exploded, and the bullet crashed into the rafters. Then as I clutched a bony wrist, and twisted it, a smothered cry arose, the pistol fell, a close-cropped head shot forth, and I was face to face with Tubal Ammon.

Letting go my hold I sprang back, whipped out my sword, and stared at him as one would at a fearsome apparition, while he sat up and fixed me with his cunning eyes.

"At last!" I hissed, as soon as I could find my voice.

"Aye, verily," grinned he, shaking the straw from off his shoulders; "'twould seem that you and I, friend, were ordained to come across each other; 'tis indeed as if our horoscope were cast in----"

"Enough of that," I broke in fiercely. "Come forth, you dog!"

He instantly obeyed. Leaping out, he stood there with folded arms, his ugly head thrust forward, and his eyes fixed hungrily upon the doorway towards which my back was turned.

"What now?" he asked at last, and though he grinned, I saw that fear lurked on his face.

"Why, this," I answered, slowly. "I should do well to put a bullet through so foul a cur, but that is scarcely to my liking. No, Tubal Ammon, I will kill thee in a closer fashion. Therefore, draw sword and fight for it."

Out flashed his blade, while by his look I knew that he was mightily relieved to have so fine a chance, and thought to kill me.

"Art ready?"

"Yes."

"Then, have at you for a murderer and a villain!" With that our swords crossed, and even on that night of battle, with its many hand-to-hand encounters, no fiercer, deadlier combat could have raged than that which now commenced inside that lonely building. If ever two men strove amain to kill each other, we were those two; if ever steel shot forth with hate behind it, that steel was surely ours.

My foe soon proved himself a skilful, wary swordsman, but had he been the finest then in England, methinks I would have mastered him at last. Fearing, if chance afforded, that he might dart out into the night and thus escape me, I kept a stolid back towards the doorway. Thus it was he who did most of the attacking, and so swift and furious was it that more than once his point came dangerously near my heart.

At last I tried a sudden twist (learnt from my father), and thereby forced Ammon's weapon from his grasp. He sprang back hissing like a cat, and doubtless thought his hour was come. But though I longed to kill him that was not my way of doing it. I bid him take his sword again--an act of fairness which came near costing me my life; for presently, presuming on it, he made pretence to lose his weapon yet again, and when I motioned him to take it, made a sudden, upward thrust at me ere I was ready for him. But at last the craftiness of Tubal Ammon failed him utterly. I turned his blade aside so that it ran beneath my arm, and, as he thus rushed blindly forward, my sword shot straight into his breast. Staggering to the wall, he stood there glaring at me for a moment, while the life-blood spurted from him; then with a vengeful cry he tried to spring upon me--failed, and crashed dead at my feet.

Thus died Tubal Ammon, King of Subtlety, and verily it seemed to me the manner of his end was one which well befitted him. 'Twas in a barn that he had tried to kill me privily--'twas in a hovel that I left him dead.

One half of my vow thus happily accomplished, I went in search of him whom Ammon's sword had smitten. I found him lying with his shoulders partly propped up by a tree, to which he had made shift to crawl. His hands were spread in front of him, his chin hung down upon his breast, and so I thought that he was dead. But on kneeling down beside him I found that he still breathed. Having taken off his steel cap I raised the drooping head, then nearly let it fall again, for the bloodless face, on which a setting moon shone, was none other than John Coram's.

His eyes were closed, but when I called his name he opened them and gazed at me in a dim, dazed fashion.

"You here--you?" he murmured.

"Yes, yes; how came it thus?" I said.

"Stark!" he gasped. "We met in battle--I pursued--he led me on--then turned upon me here--and--faith, his accursed sword hath gone clean through my lungs. I bleed within. I die."

"Stark is dead," I said by way of comfort.

"What! didst kill him?"

"Yes. He lies dead scarce two hundred yards from here."

"Good--good!" he murmured fervently. "But stay--it grows amazing dark! Come near, friend."

I put my ear close to his mouth.

"That money which you gave me, friend," he whispered faintly, "'tis in my pocket with some more besides. I have a wife and little girl in Bridgewater. Wilt see they get it?"

"It shall be done," I answered.

Seeking my hand he pressed it closely, saying:

"Thanks, good, true friend; now can I die in peace."

With that he closed his eyes again, his head sank back upon my shoulder, and I thought his life had sped; but suddenly he looked forth with a wild, unearthly stare, and pointed skywards, saying:

"See! see! A mighty army which no man can number! Hark to the tramp of feet! They march, and I must join them! Let me go, friend!"

Springing to his feet, he stood there swaying like a drunken man; and, waving a hand above his head, cried:

"Monmouth! Liberty! God with----"

The choking blood gushed up into his throat, and so he staggered back into my arms--a corpse.

I laid him gently down, folded his hands upon his breast, and having said a simple prayer above him, rode swiftly back to other scenes of death.

*CHAPTER XXI*

*I Leave the Service of King James*

When I reached the battle-field, the dawn was breaking and the fight was all but done. Only the gallant men of Somerset still held their ground--a handful of doomed heroes, who scorned to yield to anything save death, which rushed upon them from all sides. 'Twas a moving sight indeed to see these brave, misguided fellows standing there--hemmed in on every side; deserted by their comrades; mowed down by dozens every minute: yet still fighting manfully with pike and scythe and musket for the cause they held so dear. In the midst of them stood a tall, red-coated minister waving a sword in one hand and a Bible in the other, the while he shouted words of exhortation and encouragement; but just as I drew close a musket bullet struck him in the mouth, and down he went to everlasting silence. Almost as he fell their firing slackened, and a wild, beseeching cry broke from them:

"Powder! for God's sake, powder!"

Their only answer to this piteous appeal was another furious onfall of the Royalist horse, which swept them clean away--and all was over. The struggle for a kingly crown had once more been decided by the sacrifice of innocent and simple men.

The Duke had long since fled the field. While there was hope he fought with bravery (or at least 'tis said so, for I never saw him), leading his men on foot, with pike in hand. But no sooner did defeat seem certain than he galloped off with Grey--his general of horse, and Buyse, the German soldier--leaving his hapless followers to their fate; an act of perfidy, it seems to me, which must for ever brand him as a coward. Yet it availed him nothing, for, as ye know, he was taken two days afterwards, hiding in a ditch at Ringwood, in Hampshire--a wretched, half-starved, bearded creature, disguised in shepherd's clothing, and so changed that those who captured him scarce knew him for the handsome, smiling fellow who had stepped ashore at Lyme less than a month before. From Ringwood he was borne to London, and, notwithstanding all his abject cries for pardon to the king, his uncle, he lost his head within a week on Tower Hill.

But to return to Sedgemoor. The fight was over, and what had it cost? Well, a thousand of the Duke's men lay there dead upon the moor, with some three hundred of our own to keep them company. But this was only the beginning of such wanton butchery as sent all England cold with horror when the tidings of it spread abroad. For throughout those western counties men were harried day and night--hunted down like vermin--and either shot, stabbed, or hanged; while those who escaped so swift a death were driven into the towns chained together like great flocks of sheep, and there cast into prison to await a no less certain doom when Jeffreys came his bloody rounds.

The frightened tithing-men, fearful lest lack of zeal might be construed into a favouring of the rebels, made haste to set up rough gibbets in wellnigh every village, and thereon, day in, day out, hanging went forward at a sickening pace. Nor was this all. It did not stop at hanging. Commands went forth that drawing and quartering was to follow; and so heads and trunks, well seethed in pitch, were scattered broadcast, to be set up as warnings to a people who were already far too terrified to need them.

During those awful days I saw such sights as make this quill of mine pause, shuddering, when I think of them. I will not harrow you by dwelling on them, but here is one instance, out of many, which will go to prove my statement. A youth, but little older than myself, was taken prisoner, and, being famous as a runner, begged for a chance to save his life by racing with a wild moor colt. This, to the captain of the troop which captured him, seemed something of a merry jest. A colt was straightway caught, and they were started off together. Ye will scarce credit it, but the youth kept well ahead for half a mile or more, then dropped. When they came up with him he rose and claimed his life for having won the race. But, no. The cruel brutes made haste to hang him for his pains upon the nearest tree!

Enough--let us leave these awful matters. They are among the blackest annals of our country, and one man at any rate still goes hot with shame to think he only saw such horrors.

After the battle my Lord Feversham posted up to London, there to receive his honours, and left one Colonel Kirke in command at Bridgewater. This fellow was as vile and merciless a wretch as e'er drew sword, while the men of his own regiment (called Kirke's Lambs in bitter mockery) were not a whit less cruel than their master. Nor age nor sex was spared by them.

To this monster (man I cannot call him) was left the task of hunting down the wretched fugitives, and I, perforce, served under him; though 'tis something to my comfort to remember that, at the risk of life itself, I helped more than one poor creature to escape; nor was I in Kirke's service long, as you will see.

Having worked his will at Bridgewater, he moved on to Taunton, taking with him a long string of prisoners, chained two and two, while others who were wounded lay with their wounds undressed (heaped in a wagon). More were caught upon the way, and so, when at last we marched into the town, whose people, not a month before, had strewn flowers in Monmouth's path, and given him a rich-worked banner, we drove before us such a herd of poor distracted creatures, of all ages, as might have made a Spartan pitiful.

And now there happened that which made me think it shame instead of honour, to be serving as a soldier of King James.

At Taunton Kirke took up his quarters at the White Hart Inn, and straightway turned the very sign thereof into a gibbet. Thus, seated at the window, drinking with his officers, he laughed and jested while dozens of his hapless fellow-countrymen were swung to death upon this homely gallows. And when they kicked and struggled in their agony he bade the drums beat, saying he would give them music for their dancing.

Nor was this all. On pain of instant death, if he refused, they had forced a hapless yokel to be quarterer (Tom Boilman, as he was thenceforward known throughout that countryside by shuddering men and women, who would not go within a yard of him). And there he stood beneath the gallows, working for very life amid the blood and boiling pitch. That was enough for me. Rushing to Kirke's room, I told him hotly that I would not serve another hour on such a frightful business.

He sprang up, and, with his sword half-drawn, cried:

"What's that, you saucy dog?"

"Why, this," I thundered, "that I will not serve another minute under such a bloody-minded wretch as you! Here is my commission." And I threw it on the table.

His face and head went red with anger; the veins upon his neck stood out like cords; and for a time he could not speak.

"Whelp!" he hissed at last. "You shall smart for this! Yea, verily," he added, with an awful oath, "but you shall dance like yonder rebel!" He pointed to a struggling figure which had just been raised aloft.

"My Lord Feversham may have a word to say on that point," I answered coldly. "For the rest, I take my chance."

Just then the drums began to beat, and so I turned upon my heel and left him, as he stood there clawing at the air with rage.

Going out I mounted Kitty, and, with my back towards those scenes of butchery, galloped forth for Lyme.

*CHAPTER XXII*

*In which I become a Prisoner*

I found all well at home, though Lyme itself was trembling with fear; as well it might, considering the active part which it had played in Monmouth's luckless venture. The little town, which but a month before had been as blithe as any in the kingdom, now lay beneath a cloud of jeopardy. Indeed, the place seemed half-deserted, for scores of its inhabitants had fled the wrath to come; while those who still remained crept in and out with frightened looks, and trembled when a horseman clattered through the cobbled streets.

Many questioned me about the late rebellion, and not a few, with tearful eyes, implored me to protect them; but, though I strove to soothe them, the comfort that I could offer was a poor, cold thing indeed. For what was I? A youth who, without zeal therein--to serve his own ends, that is--had fought upon the winning side; then, for good reasons, had thrown up the business, and thereby brought upon his head the dire displeasure of a man who, by acts of vilest, wanton cruelty, was mounting higher every day into the royal pleasure. I, who had started out from Lyme three weeks before in search of great revenge, had found it--or at least a part thereof--yet what had it availed me? Nothing. And here, as one who proved its truth to the uttermost, I put on record that revenge when won is but an empty husk. The striving after it is all that counts (that well may stir the blood and make a man a demon, as indeed it does); but the thing itself, when gained, is worse than vanity.

Thus when news came that Ferguson (plotting to the end) had managed to escape from England, the tidings moved me little, and though, had I met him then, I would still have killed him, the keen desire to hunt him down at any price had vanished.

The days and weeks sped by, and I (sad at heart and feeling older by some years) went to and fro, unhindered, on my business, until at last it seemed that, after all, Kirke's threat had either been an empty one or clean forgotten. But like a thunder-clap there came the proof that this was not so; and also that one Robert Ferguson, for all his dash for life, had yet contrived to work me mischief.

One day towards the end of August (on the twenty-seventh of that month, to be exact) a troop of horse drew up before The Havering, and, when I went forth to enquire the cause of it, a captain, with a paper in his hand, strode up to me.

"Are you Cornet Michael Fane?" he asked.

"I am Michael Fane, but cannot claim the rank," I answered coldly, for his bearing was both bold and insolent.

"That matters not," quoth he. "I hold a warrant here for your arrest."

"Ah, so! And, prithee, on what grounds?" I asked.

"Why, on the best of grounds," he answered, opening the paper with a flourish. "For having aided and abetted rebels; for having spoken seditious words against His Majesty, King James, et cetera, et cetera."

"It is a lie!" I thundered.

"Then come and prove it so before my Lord Chief Justice Jeffreys, at Dorchester," said he, folding up the paper with great care.

Dorchester, whose prison was already full to overflowing! and Jeffreys, the heartless monster, who had just sent grey-haired, saintly Alice Lisle to death! I stood and stared until the horsemen, sitting there before me, seemed to vanish like a vision. But I was soon brought back to the grim reality of things.

"Come!" said the captain, striking his jack-boot with the warrant. "There is no time to lose. We have a spare horse here; so, when you're ready----"

There was nothing for it but to go. Calling Tom, the groom, I told him quickly how things stood, at which his terror and amazement were such that he could only stand there dumb and gaping. So I mounted, and away we went.

As we passed through the town the people stared at me as though the end of everything was come: but I took no heed of them; the world and everything therein seemed as nothing to me then. Thus that night found me in the jail at Dorchester.

On the terrors of that pestilential place I will not dwell. Over three hundred prisoners were crowded there like cattle in a pen, and almost every one of them was doomed to certain death. The air was foul and stifling, while cries and groans of anguish made up such a scene of horror as no pen could properly describe.

There were several faces there well known to me, and barely had I entered when a little wizened man came darting through the crowd and seized my hands. 'Twas old Samuel Robins, who, as you will remember, sold fish to Monmouth's men aboard the frigate and was kept there. That was his crime.

"Oh, Master Fane," he cried, looking up at me with wild imploring eyes, "what do it mean? What be Oi here for? I sold them fish as fair and straight as any man; fore-right I did, and how were Oi to know as it were Monmouth's ship? Zur, zur! My pretty boo-at! What be they a-goin' to do wi' me and her? Get back, zur; go you to the King and tell en old Sam Robins ne'er did harm to any man."

He tried to drag me to the door. Alas! he did not understand that I was just as helpless as himself. I tried to comfort him as best I could, but he only raved the louder, wringing his hands and asking God to save him and his "pretty boo-at".

Many of the prisoners were sick, and some still suffering from wounds. Amongst these moved a grey-haired gentleman, endeavouring, by word and touch, to give relief. His name was Dr. Temple, and he told me that he hailed from Nottingham, but had been in the Netherlands some years; that when Monmouth's expedition sailed thence he had shipped as surgeon, being told that they were bound for western seas, and had not found out the truth until they had been two days at sea. At Sedgemoor he had worked zealously among the wounded of both sides--and this was his reward!

"I am old," said he, "and if death comes it finds me well upon the road to meet it. But you are young and strong, and it troubles me to see you here."

Far into the night we two sat talking, until at last, in spite of stifling heat and groans, we fell asleep.

I dreamt prodigiously, and, strange as it may seem to you, my dreams were not unpleasant--being for the most part of old, happy days long passed--but, oh, the grim awakening!

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*"The Scourge of the West"*

For one long, awful week I had lain a prisoner in that foul den, when at length, on the third day of September, the roll of drums and blare of trumpets told us that Lord Chief Justice Jeffreys was come into the town to hold assize. Next morning he attended service at St. Mary's Church, and 'tis said that when the preacher mentioned mercy Jeffreys laughed aloud; and I can well believe it, for with him "the quality of mercy", so far from being "strained", was utterly unknown.