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 XXII Leave the Service of King JamesWhen 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 XXIIIn which I become a PrisonerI 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.That day the bloody work began. Prisoners were hurried off in batches to the court-house to be tried, and soon returned with faces which told plainly of the sentence passed upon them. It had been pressed upon us by our jailers that our only chance of pardon lay in pleading guilty, but this was quickly found to be nothing save a wicked trap to hasten on the business; for no sooner did a man plead guilty than he was condemned to death. Never shall I forget the woeful, desperate looks of those poor fellows as they were thrust back into the prison with the shadow of the gallows over them. It was as though each had the noose already round his neck.All day long this branding for the death went forward, until at last, when the judge rose from his labours, nearly a hundred had been sentenced; Dr. Temple, old Sam Larkyns, and Sampson Larke, the grey-haired Baptist minister of Lyme, among them.Next day the ugly tale was taken up afresh--over another hundred were condemned. Then Sunday brought a pause--but what a pause! The fate of two parts of the prisoners was already sealed, while for the rest the future held no sort of hope; nay, rather was that Sabbath but a black suspense which lay between us and our doom. Despite the jailers, hymns and prayers went up through that day of gloom, and when night fell a simple, fervid faith had brought real fortitude to many, though here and there loud cries and sobs betokened broken hearts which naught could heal.My turn came on the Monday, and I recollect how sweet it seemed, in spite of that which lay before me, to pass from such pestiferous foulness into the sunlight and breathe the cool, refreshing air again. But we (there were some eighty of us) had little time to drink in these delights, being hurried, under strong guard, along the streets and so into the court-house.The hall was hung with scarlet (fit colour for so murderous a place!), and at the far end, seated in a high-backed chair upon a crimson-covered dais (as though he swam in blood), I beheld the man whose very name was already a terror and a byword, not only in the stricken West, but throughout the length and breadth of England--the infamous Judge Jeffreys. At a table beneath him sat the Crown lawyers, barristers and others, shuffling and docketing their papers with much show of zeal, as if, forsooth, the trial were a fair and righteous one rather than the ghastly farce it was. On his left, in a sort of long narrow pew, sat the jury--twelve fat, well-liking fellows--picked men from the county, who could be counted on to send their fellow-countrymen to death at Jeffreys' bidding.But though all this was new and strange to me it was the judge himself who most surprised me. I had pictured him an ugly, coarse-faced fellow, with something of the butcher in his bearing, but instead thereof I found a not ill-featured man of under forty, who, notwithstanding that debauchery had set its mark upon him, had still some claim to handsomeness.As he sat there, with his chin upon his hand, watching us in a dreamy, thoughtful fashion as we filed into the hall, it seemed scarce credible that this was the wild, ferocious brute whose ravening thirst for blood had made a mockery of law and justice. But the grim truth soon crashed on us like a thunderbolt.As soon as we were all assembled there was dead silence for a good half minute, then Jeffreys suddenly shot up and for a time stared at us with a look of startled horror, as though he knew not who we were. At last he leaned slowly forward with his hands upon the chair and said:"What have we here? Can it be? Another batch of wickedness already! How many do they number?""Eighty-and-eight, my lord," replied a clerk, rising with swift readiness."Eighty-and-eight!" exclaimed the judge in horrified amazement. "Eighty-and-eight more workers of iniquity! Eighty-and-eight more traitors to as good and kind a king as e'er wore crown! Eighty-and-eight more sinks of villainy and rank rebellion! Good Lord! when shall we reach the end of this long tale of wickedness? Heavens! if it doth not make me ill to think on't! Yes, verily, it breaks my heart!"He sank back, groaning, in his chair and sobbed aloud. But this was quickly past, and then he broke out on us with such a wild vehemence as made the very lawyers gape upon him in amazement. He waved his arms, stamped his feet, and struck the desk before him; his face went red and white by turns, his throat swelled out until it seemed as though his words would choke him. I never saw such blind, ungovernable fury. It was as though some inward demon strove to rend him.I will not make the vain attempt to set down here that mad harangue, for no pen could do it rightly. Not till his breath forsook him did he stop; then, having rested for a moment and refreshed himself with wine, he started straightway on his work of butchery, sending men to their doom at such a pace as gave them scarcely time to realize what had befallen them. The dock was filled and emptied, filled and filled again. No witnesses were called, and though a lawyer, briefed by the Crown, was there for our defence, he soon proved but a puppet in the one great farce, for when he spoke, a look or word from Jeffreys sent him, white and trembling, into ignominious silence. And, if a prisoner dared to raise his voice, he was immediately shouted down, with threatening violence, by the judge.Thus did that cruel, heartless work go on until at last it came to my turn.As I stepped forward and faced that demon in the wig and gown, the court and all that it contained, save him--lawyers, jury, prisoners, and everything--seemed to vanish, leaving us two alone. A pair of cruel, ravening eyes I saw, and nothing else. Yet 'tis certain that I felt no fear; and, indeed, I should have been a poltroon if I had, after seeing how some four-score simple fellows had already faced this bullying monster with unflinching courage and met their fate like heroes. Therefore, with such brave examples as my guide, and looking on my fate as settled, I only wished to get the business over speedily, and to show Jeffreys that, although he had the power to kill me, nothing he might say or do could shake my fortitude.Thus, for what seemed to me some minutes, we stared at one another; then Jeffreys leaned slowly forward, and, in a purring voice, like some great cat about to spring, said:"So you are Michael Fane, eh?""That is my name," I answered coldly."Ah! Michael Fane," he went on in the same low tones, "thou overgrown young shoot of perfidy; thou offshoot of that gnarled old tree of evil, Gilbert Fane, I----""Stop!" I broke in hotly. "Your power to hang me doth not include the right to smirch a fair, good name. My father was as true and brave a gentleman as e'er----"[image]MICHAEL FANE BEFORE JUDGE JEFFREYS"What's that, sirrah?" shrieked the judge with throttling fury. "You dare to interrupt me! Behold him, gentlemen!" he added, turning to the jury, while he waved a hand at me. "Hark how yon mountain of iniquity doth brazenly affront and flout me! Didst ever hear the like of such amazing impudence? Oh, Michael Fane, thou cunning, treacherous dog, have a care, yea, have a care, or 'twill be bad indeed for thee! Again I say you are the offspring of as traitorous and false a sire as----""And I say again----" I began; but at that his fury burst forth like a cataract."Sirrah," he shouted, waving his arms and thumping the desk in front of him, "you dare to interrupt again! Have a care, yea, have a care, you bellowing bull of Bashan! Another word, and, by my life, I'll have you swung off now from yonder beam! Ah! that tames you, does it? Say, how tall are ye?""Six feet two.""Six feet two! Behold him, gentlemen! Measure him with your eyes! Seventy and four inches of such vileness as you ne'er set eyes upon before! And how old are ye, pray?""Eighteen.""Eighteen!" cried Jeffreys, raising both hands as though amazed. "Eighteen, say ye! Gentlemen, gentlemen! Just consider it! To think that such a sapling should have brought forth such a crop of wickedness! Heavens, if it doth not almost make my heart stop beating! Oh, Michael Fane, thou lusty limb of infamy! doth it not seem to you a mockery that I should have to ask what plea you make? Yet, as the law is fair and merciful e'en to such rogues as you, I must. What is it, counsel?"The lawyer who, as I have said, was there for our defence, rose tremblingly and answered:"The prisoner pleads not guilty, your lordship.""What!" shrieked the judge, addressing me. "You dare to make so false a plea? Are ye not afraid of instant judgment from above for uttering so black a lie? Zounds! if I think not that this very court is in rank peril from avenging thunderbolts while we share it with such a Jonah of a villain! Not guilty, quotha? You, who like a wolf in sheep's skin, made pretence to fight at Sedgemoor, and, as I'll warrant me, killed many a king's man under cover of the darkness! You, who aided and abetted rebels! You, who defied that zealous soldier, Colonel Kirke, and strove to stop him in his duty! You, who with rank insolence deserted your sovereign's service! What say ye to these charges, fellow?""It seems as though 'twere folly to say anything," I answered. "Yet will I swear that I fought not treacherously at Sedgemoor, but fair and straight, and that 'twas only Colonel Kirke's abominable cruelty to helpless prisoners which made me----""Stop! stop!" shrieked the judge, thumping the desk before him with both hands. "Such brazen, lying impudence beats everything! I will not listen to it!"And, as he plugged his ears up with his fingers, 'twas useless for me to proceed."Ye hear him, gentlemen, ye hear him!" he continued, perceiving I was silent. "Mark well his words. Remember them; yet know that what already hath been said is not the twentieth, nay, nor the hundredth part of that which stands against him. Listen! On a morning in June last, yon wretch, while holding guilty converse with his villain of a father, was overheard to utter vile, seditious words against his king. But even that is nothing when compared with this, for here I have such evidence against him as would hang a hundred men."Then, indeed, I started, for in the parchment which Jeffreys waved triumphantly above his head I recognized the Black Box documents."Ah! ye may well turn white and tremble," quoth the judge, regarding me with a malicious grin which bared his teeth. "Behold him, gentlemen, and see how even such brazen wickedness and cunning is at last brought low. Here is the corner-stone of his amazing falsity. For what are these?" he added, spreading out the parchments. "Why, nothing more nor less than written lies which seek to prove that Monmouth (who hath already met so well-deserved a fate) was the rightful heir to England's throne. Ye have all heard that monstrous story of a Black Box. Well, here at last we have the secret of it. Forgeries, rank forgeries! the work of that prince of plotters, that sink of falsity, one Robert Ferguson, who hath not thought it shame thus to forge the signature of our late sovereign, King Charles of blessed memory; and who, Heaven grant, may yet be caught. Again, with these vile productions there is a letter to a man, one Jones of Lyme (who, by my life, shall swing for it on a tree in his own garden), warning him secretly of Monmouth's landing. And where, think ye, gentlemen, all these accursed documents were found? Ah! ye may well shake your heads, and ye will scarce credit it when I tell ye that they were found in yonder false, designing miscreant's house! They reached me but this very morning, coming from one unknown, who signs himself 'a friend of good King James'--and truly so, for a friend he is indeed; yea, and 'tis a thousand pities that he hides himself, for otherwise he should have been most handsomely rewarded. Take them, read them for yourselves, and then tell me if ye ever saw so villainous a piece of make-believe."While the jury, with heads clubbed together, were examining the documents, Jeffreys fixed me with a murderous look and hissed:"Well, sirrah, and what say ye now? Wilt, perhaps, deny that they were found inside your house, eh?""I do nothing of the kind," I answered. "They were there, and they were stolen from it by one of Ferguson's tools.""Ah! a pretty tale, quotha! But, say, how came ye by the Black Box which, as reported, held these treasonable things?""My father took it years ago from Ferguson himself by force.""What!" cried Jeffreys, starting upright in his chair. "Attention, gentlemen, attention! Ah! so your father was a friend of Ferguson?""He was no friend of his," I answered curtly. "My father met Ferguson in London, not knowing that 'twas he, for he called himself Elijah Annabat, and professed to be a scrivener in the city. My father trusted him with money, and, when robbed of it, took the Black Box instead.""Lies! lies! lies!" broke in Jeffreys like a maniac, waving his hands and fairly frothing at the mouth. "Oh, Michael Fane, thou wicked son of Anak! Truly, thou art the child of Ananias, of whom we read in Holy Scripture, and, like him, shalt pay the penalty. Ye hear him, gentlemen, how he doth add unto his infamy by mocking us with lying tongue. Was ever so much villainy encompassed in one man before? It seems scarce possible that only eighteen years can have borne so great a crop of evil fruit. The very sight of such a monster of iniquity doth make my eyes sore and my blood run cold. To think that our all-generous, wise, and loving king hath this creature for his subject is more than I can bear; yea, verily, it bursts my heart."With that he leaned forward, with his head upon his arms, and broke out sobbing.While he was thus engaged in grieving for my many sins, a man came pushing through the crowded court until he reached a place in front. To my astonishment I found that it was Dassell, who, as ye well remember, was so much to the fore at Monmouth's landing. He turned and gave me one swift, meaning glance, then stood waiting till the judge at length looked up; then he spoke."My lord," said he, "by your leave, I would say a word for yonder prisoner.""What's that!" roared Jeffreys, glaring at him fiercely. "Have my senses left me? Ye would speak for yonder heap of infamy! Who are ye, fellow?""I am Samuel Dassell, my lord, deputy searcher of the port of Lyme.""Ah, and what would ye say?" asked Jeffreys, with a heavy frown."Why, this, my lord," said Dassell with great haste, "that I have known the prisoner, Michael Fane, and his father many years, and have ever found them true and loyal gentlemen. I never heard a whisper against either of them, and if----""Stop!" roared the judge, bringing a fist down on the desk. "What fresh infamy is this, that you should dare to speak in favour of yon villain? Think ye it not a burning shame that you, who serve the King and eat his very bread, should raise your voice in favour of his enemies? Ah! Samuel Dassell, you are surely in the wrong place; ye should be either in the dock or else in prison. Yea, verily, methinks I see you dancing at a rope-end even now. Deputy searcher, quotha! Go ye and search for the loyalty ye lack! Away with ye! I say, before my zeal doth tempt me to lay hands upon you. Go!"And with a long sad look at me, poor Dassell left the court-house.Then Jeffreys swept the hall with one swift, flashing glance, and, turning to the jury, said:"Gentlemen, ye have surely heard enough, aye, and far more than that, concerning yonder giant of iniquity. Have ye, then, your verdict ready?""We have, your lordship," said the foreman, rising with eager readiness."And it is----""Guilty, your lordship.""Ah, by my life, and I should think so," roared Jeffreys. "Guilty, indeed! guilty as any man who ever faced a judge. Listen, Michael Fane! Ye have tried lying, brazen impudence, and every other wile to save your neck, but all have failed you. One more question: Where is the box in which 'tis said these documents were stored?""How should I know, seeing they were stolen from us?" I answered warily, not meaning to enlighten him on that point. "Ask those who stole them.""Ah! so we flout and snarl unto the end, eh? Well, well, it matters not, for verily that mocking tongue of yours will soon be put to silence. Listen, Michael Fane! Ye die, and would that I only had your wicked father here, that I might send him to his death along with you. He hath sorely cheated me by dying of his own accord. Ye die, I say, and as ye hail from Lyme--that sink of rank rebellion--there ye hang, and that as near as may be to the spot where Monmouth landed. If ye be not quartered also, 'twill be marvellous. I have already twelve more knaves to hang at Lyme--some who came ashore there with their pretty Duke, and some who waited for his coming. Ye make thirteen--a good round baker's dozen! (Make a note of that, clerk--Michael Fane to hang at Lyme with others on the twelfth of this month; and mark it that he dies the last of them.) Oh, Michael Fane, thou lusty scoundrel, doth not even a heart so base as yours feel some small gratitude that I have it in my power to end a life so wicked in its early days? Consider what ye would have grown to, and use what little time remains to you on earth in thinking deeply on your awful sins. Away with ye!"He waved his hands, the warders seized me, and so, like one a-dreaming, I was hurried back to prison. I found it much less crowded than it had been, for many had already gone to death. Many, also, were to die upon the morrow, and for all of us who gathered there that night there was not left a single ray of hope.
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.
That day the bloody work began. Prisoners were hurried off in batches to the court-house to be tried, and soon returned with faces which told plainly of the sentence passed upon them. It had been pressed upon us by our jailers that our only chance of pardon lay in pleading guilty, but this was quickly found to be nothing save a wicked trap to hasten on the business; for no sooner did a man plead guilty than he was condemned to death. Never shall I forget the woeful, desperate looks of those poor fellows as they were thrust back into the prison with the shadow of the gallows over them. It was as though each had the noose already round his neck.
All day long this branding for the death went forward, until at last, when the judge rose from his labours, nearly a hundred had been sentenced; Dr. Temple, old Sam Larkyns, and Sampson Larke, the grey-haired Baptist minister of Lyme, among them.
Next day the ugly tale was taken up afresh--over another hundred were condemned. Then Sunday brought a pause--but what a pause! The fate of two parts of the prisoners was already sealed, while for the rest the future held no sort of hope; nay, rather was that Sabbath but a black suspense which lay between us and our doom. Despite the jailers, hymns and prayers went up through that day of gloom, and when night fell a simple, fervid faith had brought real fortitude to many, though here and there loud cries and sobs betokened broken hearts which naught could heal.
My turn came on the Monday, and I recollect how sweet it seemed, in spite of that which lay before me, to pass from such pestiferous foulness into the sunlight and breathe the cool, refreshing air again. But we (there were some eighty of us) had little time to drink in these delights, being hurried, under strong guard, along the streets and so into the court-house.
The hall was hung with scarlet (fit colour for so murderous a place!), and at the far end, seated in a high-backed chair upon a crimson-covered dais (as though he swam in blood), I beheld the man whose very name was already a terror and a byword, not only in the stricken West, but throughout the length and breadth of England--the infamous Judge Jeffreys. At a table beneath him sat the Crown lawyers, barristers and others, shuffling and docketing their papers with much show of zeal, as if, forsooth, the trial were a fair and righteous one rather than the ghastly farce it was. On his left, in a sort of long narrow pew, sat the jury--twelve fat, well-liking fellows--picked men from the county, who could be counted on to send their fellow-countrymen to death at Jeffreys' bidding.
But though all this was new and strange to me it was the judge himself who most surprised me. I had pictured him an ugly, coarse-faced fellow, with something of the butcher in his bearing, but instead thereof I found a not ill-featured man of under forty, who, notwithstanding that debauchery had set its mark upon him, had still some claim to handsomeness.
As he sat there, with his chin upon his hand, watching us in a dreamy, thoughtful fashion as we filed into the hall, it seemed scarce credible that this was the wild, ferocious brute whose ravening thirst for blood had made a mockery of law and justice. But the grim truth soon crashed on us like a thunderbolt.
As soon as we were all assembled there was dead silence for a good half minute, then Jeffreys suddenly shot up and for a time stared at us with a look of startled horror, as though he knew not who we were. At last he leaned slowly forward with his hands upon the chair and said:
"What have we here? Can it be? Another batch of wickedness already! How many do they number?"
"Eighty-and-eight, my lord," replied a clerk, rising with swift readiness.
"Eighty-and-eight!" exclaimed the judge in horrified amazement. "Eighty-and-eight more workers of iniquity! Eighty-and-eight more traitors to as good and kind a king as e'er wore crown! Eighty-and-eight more sinks of villainy and rank rebellion! Good Lord! when shall we reach the end of this long tale of wickedness? Heavens! if it doth not make me ill to think on't! Yes, verily, it breaks my heart!"
He sank back, groaning, in his chair and sobbed aloud. But this was quickly past, and then he broke out on us with such a wild vehemence as made the very lawyers gape upon him in amazement. He waved his arms, stamped his feet, and struck the desk before him; his face went red and white by turns, his throat swelled out until it seemed as though his words would choke him. I never saw such blind, ungovernable fury. It was as though some inward demon strove to rend him.
I will not make the vain attempt to set down here that mad harangue, for no pen could do it rightly. Not till his breath forsook him did he stop; then, having rested for a moment and refreshed himself with wine, he started straightway on his work of butchery, sending men to their doom at such a pace as gave them scarcely time to realize what had befallen them. The dock was filled and emptied, filled and filled again. No witnesses were called, and though a lawyer, briefed by the Crown, was there for our defence, he soon proved but a puppet in the one great farce, for when he spoke, a look or word from Jeffreys sent him, white and trembling, into ignominious silence. And, if a prisoner dared to raise his voice, he was immediately shouted down, with threatening violence, by the judge.
Thus did that cruel, heartless work go on until at last it came to my turn.
As I stepped forward and faced that demon in the wig and gown, the court and all that it contained, save him--lawyers, jury, prisoners, and everything--seemed to vanish, leaving us two alone. A pair of cruel, ravening eyes I saw, and nothing else. Yet 'tis certain that I felt no fear; and, indeed, I should have been a poltroon if I had, after seeing how some four-score simple fellows had already faced this bullying monster with unflinching courage and met their fate like heroes. Therefore, with such brave examples as my guide, and looking on my fate as settled, I only wished to get the business over speedily, and to show Jeffreys that, although he had the power to kill me, nothing he might say or do could shake my fortitude.
Thus, for what seemed to me some minutes, we stared at one another; then Jeffreys leaned slowly forward, and, in a purring voice, like some great cat about to spring, said:
"So you are Michael Fane, eh?"
"That is my name," I answered coldly.
"Ah! Michael Fane," he went on in the same low tones, "thou overgrown young shoot of perfidy; thou offshoot of that gnarled old tree of evil, Gilbert Fane, I----"
"Stop!" I broke in hotly. "Your power to hang me doth not include the right to smirch a fair, good name. My father was as true and brave a gentleman as e'er----"
[image]MICHAEL FANE BEFORE JUDGE JEFFREYS
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MICHAEL FANE BEFORE JUDGE JEFFREYS
"What's that, sirrah?" shrieked the judge with throttling fury. "You dare to interrupt me! Behold him, gentlemen!" he added, turning to the jury, while he waved a hand at me. "Hark how yon mountain of iniquity doth brazenly affront and flout me! Didst ever hear the like of such amazing impudence? Oh, Michael Fane, thou cunning, treacherous dog, have a care, yea, have a care, or 'twill be bad indeed for thee! Again I say you are the offspring of as traitorous and false a sire as----"
"And I say again----" I began; but at that his fury burst forth like a cataract.
"Sirrah," he shouted, waving his arms and thumping the desk in front of him, "you dare to interrupt again! Have a care, yea, have a care, you bellowing bull of Bashan! Another word, and, by my life, I'll have you swung off now from yonder beam! Ah! that tames you, does it? Say, how tall are ye?"
"Six feet two."
"Six feet two! Behold him, gentlemen! Measure him with your eyes! Seventy and four inches of such vileness as you ne'er set eyes upon before! And how old are ye, pray?"
"Eighteen."
"Eighteen!" cried Jeffreys, raising both hands as though amazed. "Eighteen, say ye! Gentlemen, gentlemen! Just consider it! To think that such a sapling should have brought forth such a crop of wickedness! Heavens, if it doth not almost make my heart stop beating! Oh, Michael Fane, thou lusty limb of infamy! doth it not seem to you a mockery that I should have to ask what plea you make? Yet, as the law is fair and merciful e'en to such rogues as you, I must. What is it, counsel?"
The lawyer who, as I have said, was there for our defence, rose tremblingly and answered:
"The prisoner pleads not guilty, your lordship."
"What!" shrieked the judge, addressing me. "You dare to make so false a plea? Are ye not afraid of instant judgment from above for uttering so black a lie? Zounds! if I think not that this very court is in rank peril from avenging thunderbolts while we share it with such a Jonah of a villain! Not guilty, quotha? You, who like a wolf in sheep's skin, made pretence to fight at Sedgemoor, and, as I'll warrant me, killed many a king's man under cover of the darkness! You, who aided and abetted rebels! You, who defied that zealous soldier, Colonel Kirke, and strove to stop him in his duty! You, who with rank insolence deserted your sovereign's service! What say ye to these charges, fellow?"
"It seems as though 'twere folly to say anything," I answered. "Yet will I swear that I fought not treacherously at Sedgemoor, but fair and straight, and that 'twas only Colonel Kirke's abominable cruelty to helpless prisoners which made me----"
"Stop! stop!" shrieked the judge, thumping the desk before him with both hands. "Such brazen, lying impudence beats everything! I will not listen to it!"
And, as he plugged his ears up with his fingers, 'twas useless for me to proceed.
"Ye hear him, gentlemen, ye hear him!" he continued, perceiving I was silent. "Mark well his words. Remember them; yet know that what already hath been said is not the twentieth, nay, nor the hundredth part of that which stands against him. Listen! On a morning in June last, yon wretch, while holding guilty converse with his villain of a father, was overheard to utter vile, seditious words against his king. But even that is nothing when compared with this, for here I have such evidence against him as would hang a hundred men."
Then, indeed, I started, for in the parchment which Jeffreys waved triumphantly above his head I recognized the Black Box documents.
"Ah! ye may well turn white and tremble," quoth the judge, regarding me with a malicious grin which bared his teeth. "Behold him, gentlemen, and see how even such brazen wickedness and cunning is at last brought low. Here is the corner-stone of his amazing falsity. For what are these?" he added, spreading out the parchments. "Why, nothing more nor less than written lies which seek to prove that Monmouth (who hath already met so well-deserved a fate) was the rightful heir to England's throne. Ye have all heard that monstrous story of a Black Box. Well, here at last we have the secret of it. Forgeries, rank forgeries! the work of that prince of plotters, that sink of falsity, one Robert Ferguson, who hath not thought it shame thus to forge the signature of our late sovereign, King Charles of blessed memory; and who, Heaven grant, may yet be caught. Again, with these vile productions there is a letter to a man, one Jones of Lyme (who, by my life, shall swing for it on a tree in his own garden), warning him secretly of Monmouth's landing. And where, think ye, gentlemen, all these accursed documents were found? Ah! ye may well shake your heads, and ye will scarce credit it when I tell ye that they were found in yonder false, designing miscreant's house! They reached me but this very morning, coming from one unknown, who signs himself 'a friend of good King James'--and truly so, for a friend he is indeed; yea, and 'tis a thousand pities that he hides himself, for otherwise he should have been most handsomely rewarded. Take them, read them for yourselves, and then tell me if ye ever saw so villainous a piece of make-believe."
While the jury, with heads clubbed together, were examining the documents, Jeffreys fixed me with a murderous look and hissed:
"Well, sirrah, and what say ye now? Wilt, perhaps, deny that they were found inside your house, eh?"
"I do nothing of the kind," I answered. "They were there, and they were stolen from it by one of Ferguson's tools."
"Ah! a pretty tale, quotha! But, say, how came ye by the Black Box which, as reported, held these treasonable things?"
"My father took it years ago from Ferguson himself by force."
"What!" cried Jeffreys, starting upright in his chair. "Attention, gentlemen, attention! Ah! so your father was a friend of Ferguson?"
"He was no friend of his," I answered curtly. "My father met Ferguson in London, not knowing that 'twas he, for he called himself Elijah Annabat, and professed to be a scrivener in the city. My father trusted him with money, and, when robbed of it, took the Black Box instead."
"Lies! lies! lies!" broke in Jeffreys like a maniac, waving his hands and fairly frothing at the mouth. "Oh, Michael Fane, thou wicked son of Anak! Truly, thou art the child of Ananias, of whom we read in Holy Scripture, and, like him, shalt pay the penalty. Ye hear him, gentlemen, how he doth add unto his infamy by mocking us with lying tongue. Was ever so much villainy encompassed in one man before? It seems scarce possible that only eighteen years can have borne so great a crop of evil fruit. The very sight of such a monster of iniquity doth make my eyes sore and my blood run cold. To think that our all-generous, wise, and loving king hath this creature for his subject is more than I can bear; yea, verily, it bursts my heart."
With that he leaned forward, with his head upon his arms, and broke out sobbing.
While he was thus engaged in grieving for my many sins, a man came pushing through the crowded court until he reached a place in front. To my astonishment I found that it was Dassell, who, as ye well remember, was so much to the fore at Monmouth's landing. He turned and gave me one swift, meaning glance, then stood waiting till the judge at length looked up; then he spoke.
"My lord," said he, "by your leave, I would say a word for yonder prisoner."
"What's that!" roared Jeffreys, glaring at him fiercely. "Have my senses left me? Ye would speak for yonder heap of infamy! Who are ye, fellow?"
"I am Samuel Dassell, my lord, deputy searcher of the port of Lyme."
"Ah, and what would ye say?" asked Jeffreys, with a heavy frown.
"Why, this, my lord," said Dassell with great haste, "that I have known the prisoner, Michael Fane, and his father many years, and have ever found them true and loyal gentlemen. I never heard a whisper against either of them, and if----"
"Stop!" roared the judge, bringing a fist down on the desk. "What fresh infamy is this, that you should dare to speak in favour of yon villain? Think ye it not a burning shame that you, who serve the King and eat his very bread, should raise your voice in favour of his enemies? Ah! Samuel Dassell, you are surely in the wrong place; ye should be either in the dock or else in prison. Yea, verily, methinks I see you dancing at a rope-end even now. Deputy searcher, quotha! Go ye and search for the loyalty ye lack! Away with ye! I say, before my zeal doth tempt me to lay hands upon you. Go!"
And with a long sad look at me, poor Dassell left the court-house.
Then Jeffreys swept the hall with one swift, flashing glance, and, turning to the jury, said:
"Gentlemen, ye have surely heard enough, aye, and far more than that, concerning yonder giant of iniquity. Have ye, then, your verdict ready?"
"We have, your lordship," said the foreman, rising with eager readiness.
"And it is----"
"Guilty, your lordship."
"Ah, by my life, and I should think so," roared Jeffreys. "Guilty, indeed! guilty as any man who ever faced a judge. Listen, Michael Fane! Ye have tried lying, brazen impudence, and every other wile to save your neck, but all have failed you. One more question: Where is the box in which 'tis said these documents were stored?"
"How should I know, seeing they were stolen from us?" I answered warily, not meaning to enlighten him on that point. "Ask those who stole them."
"Ah! so we flout and snarl unto the end, eh? Well, well, it matters not, for verily that mocking tongue of yours will soon be put to silence. Listen, Michael Fane! Ye die, and would that I only had your wicked father here, that I might send him to his death along with you. He hath sorely cheated me by dying of his own accord. Ye die, I say, and as ye hail from Lyme--that sink of rank rebellion--there ye hang, and that as near as may be to the spot where Monmouth landed. If ye be not quartered also, 'twill be marvellous. I have already twelve more knaves to hang at Lyme--some who came ashore there with their pretty Duke, and some who waited for his coming. Ye make thirteen--a good round baker's dozen! (Make a note of that, clerk--Michael Fane to hang at Lyme with others on the twelfth of this month; and mark it that he dies the last of them.) Oh, Michael Fane, thou lusty scoundrel, doth not even a heart so base as yours feel some small gratitude that I have it in my power to end a life so wicked in its early days? Consider what ye would have grown to, and use what little time remains to you on earth in thinking deeply on your awful sins. Away with ye!"
He waved his hands, the warders seized me, and so, like one a-dreaming, I was hurried back to prison. I found it much less crowded than it had been, for many had already gone to death. Many, also, were to die upon the morrow, and for all of us who gathered there that night there was not left a single ray of hope.