Martin Hyde (17 page)

Presently the mate came down with orders to me to leave the ship at once. I asked him for my own clothes; but he told me sharply to be thankful for what I had, since I'd done no work to earn them; by work he meant the brainless manual work done by people like himself. So going on deck I called a boatman, who for twopence put me ashore on the Kingswear side of the river. He gave me full directions for finding Mr. Blick's house, telling me that in another five minutes I should come to it, if I followed my nose. As I started from the landing place I looked back at the barquentine, where I had had so many adventures. She was lying at anchor at a little distance from the Dartmouth landing place, making a fair show, under her flag, in spite of her jury foretopmast. As I looked, the boatman jogged my elbow, pointing across the river to the strip of road
which edges the stream. "A young lady waving to you," he said. Sure enough a lady was waving to me. I supposed that it was Aurelia, asking pardon, trying to show me that we parted friends. I would not wave at first; I was surly; but after about a minute I waved my hat to her. Then I set off up the road to Mr. Blick's. Ten minutes later, I was in Mr. Blick's house, telling him all that I have now told you.

Mr. Blick kept me in his house for a day or two less than four weeks, when business took him to Exeter. I went with him; for he gave out that he was taking me to school there, as his dead sister had wished. His real reason was to pass the word through the country that King Monmouth was coming. He was one of the few men in full knowledge of the Duke's plans; but as we went about from town to town, spreading the word among the faithful, I saw that the Duke was expected by vast numbers of the country folk. Our clients were not much among the gentry; they hung by themselves, as, in this country, they always will, in times of popular stir. But among the poorer people, such as small farmers, or common labouring men, we were looked for as men sent from on high. At more than one little quiet village, when we went into the inn-parlour, we saw the men looking at us, half frightened, half expectant, as though we, being strangers, must needs have news of the King for whom they longed. Often some publican or maltster would tell us that Gyle (their name for the
unfortunate Argyle, then a defeated man in Scotland, if not already put to death for his rebellion) was taken, looking at us carefully as he spoke, for fear lest we should be of the wrong side. Then, if we seemed sympathetic, he would tell us how perhaps another would have better luck elsewhere. After that, we would tell our news. It was dangerous work, though, carrying that message across the country. In many of the towns we found guards of the Devon red regiment of militia. I am quite sure that if Mr. Blick had not had me by his side, as an excellent excuse for travelling to Exeter, he would have been lodged in gaol as a suspicious character. The soldiers had arrested many travellers already; the gaols were full. King James's great man in those parts, the Earl of Albemarle, knew very well that something was in the air; but as he was a great lord the hearts of the poor were hidden from him. He had no guess of what was planning. In a way, the Duke's affairs were very well planned. The eastern end of Devon, all Somerset, with the western end of Dorset, were all ripe to rise, directly he appeared. They knew that he was coming; they were prepared to join him; they knew at about what time he would come, at about a fortnight from hay-harvest. Already, quite unknown to the authorities, we had men picked out to carry the news of the landing to different parts of the country. So far, I think, the Duke's affairs were well planned. But though we had all this enthusiasm in three counties, besides promises
of similar risings in London, we were in no real case to take the field. Our adherents, however numerous, however brave, were only a mob, when all is said; they were not an army. The Duke thought that the regular army, or at least some regiments of it, would desert to him, as happened some years later, when the great Prince William did what my master attempted. But my master forgot that he had neither the arms nor the officers to make his faction a likely body for regular troops to join.

CHAPTER XV

THE ROAD TO LYME

W
E
spread the tidings as far as Exeter, where Mr. Blick made some pretence of handing me over to a schoolmaster, one Hubble, a red-faced, cheery clergyman, one of the most ardent rebels on our side. Indeed, the clergymen everywhere supported us, as defenders of the Protestant faith, which that dastard James would have destroyed. Mr. Hubble made some excuse for not taking me in at the instant; but gave us letters of introduction to people in towns further on, so that we could pass the militia without difficulty, to give the news in western Dorset. So after waiting for a little while in Exeter, gathering all the news we could of the whereabouts of the troops of militia, we pushed on eastward, by way of Sidmouth, to the big town of Dorchester. As we came east, we found the militia very much more suspicious than they had been on the western side of Exeter. At every little town we found a strong guard so placed that no one could enter without passing under the captain's eye. We were brought before militia captains some two or three times a day. Sometimes we were searched; sometimes, if the captain happened to be
drunk, we were bullied with threats of the gaol. Mr. Blick in these cases always insisted on being brought before the magistrate, to whom he would tell a fine indignant tale, saying what a shame it was that he could not take his orphan nephew peaceably to school, without being suspected of complicity in a rebellion. He would then show Mr. Hubble's letters, or some other papers signed by the Dartmouth magistrates. These always cleared our characters, so that we were allowed to proceed; but I did not like the way in which our descriptions were taken. Once on our journey, shortly after we had left Sidmouth, where the soldiers had been very suspicious, we turned out of the highway to leave word at a town called Seaton. We spread the watchword at several villages near the sea, before we came to Seaton, so that we were rather late in arriving. Thinking no wrong, we put up at one of the inns in Seaton, intending to pass the night there. We were at supper in our inn, when some yeomanry rode up to the door, to ask the landlord if an elderly man had passed that way with a boy. The landlord, who was a good deal scared by the soldiers, showed the captain in to us at once. We were quite as much scared to see him as the landlord had been. The captain of the soldiers was the very man who had given us such a searching examination in Sidmouth that morning.

"Well," he said to Mr. Blick, "I thought you were going to Dorchester. What brings you here?"

"Sir," said Mr. Blick, "we've been so much interrupted by soldiers that we hoped to travel away from the main-roads."

"Well, sir," said the captain, "I've had you watched. Since you left Sidmouth, you've been into every inn upon the road, listening to a lot of seditious talk about Argyle. That's not my point, though. You gave out to me that you were going to Dorchester. Instead of that you slink off the Dorchester road at the first opportunity. You will have to explain yourself to my superiors. You're under arrest."

"Sir," said Mr. Blick, "I am sorry that you should think ill of me. We will gladly come with you to answer for our conduct to the authorities. But while the horses are being saddled, perhaps you will join us at supper. Landlord, bring a couple of bottles more. The captain sups with us."

But though the captain drank his couple of bottles of port, he did not become any gentler with us. As soon as supper was over we had to ride on again, with the troopers all round us.

"Sir," said Mr. Blick, "may I ask you where we are going with you?"

"Axminster," said the captain.

"Well. That's on my way," said Mr. Blick.

"It'll probably end your way, for some time," said the captain.

"I'm perfectly willing to abide by the decision of the
authorities," Mr. Blick answered calmly. "But what is the meaning of all these soldiers everywhere? I've asked people; but nobody seems able to give a straight answer."

"I think you know what the soldiers mean well enough," answered the captain. "If you hadn't known you wouldn't have turned out of the highway."

At about midnight we reached Axminster. We were taken before a couple of officers who sat at work by candlelight over a mass of papers, in an upper chamber of an inn. They had a wild air of having been without sleep for some time. Their muddy riding boots were drying in front of the fire. They had a map of the countryside before them, all stuck about with little flags, some red, some yellow, to show where the different troops of militia were stationed. After saluting these officers, the captain made his report about us, saying that we were suspicious persons, who had started from Sidmouth, towards Dorchester. He had waited to receive word from the troops stationed along the highway of our arrival at various points upon the road; but, failing to hear about us, he had searched for us, with the result that he had found us at Seaton, some miles out of our way. The officers questioned us closely about our plans, making notes of what we said. They kept referring to a book of letters, as though to verify what we said. Mr. Blick's answers made them take a favourable view of us; but they told him in a friendly
way that the officer had done right to arrest us. They complimented the captain on his zeal. Meanwhile, they said, since we were going to Dorchester, we could not object to going with a military escort. A troop of cavalry was to start in a couple of hours; we could go with that.

We were in Dorchester for a few days, always under the eye of the soldiers. It was a bustling, suspicious time full of false alarms. Mr. Blick told me that the message "King Golden Cap. After six one," meant that the Duke was to be expected off Golden Cap, a cliff a few miles from Lyme Regis, any day after the first of the sixth month. He was on tenterhooks to be in Lyme to greet him on his arrival; but this he could not hope to do. We were watched too carefully to be able to get away to a place upon the sea-coast. We had to be very careful how we sent our secret message abroad into the country. I have never known a time so full of alarms. People would ride in to the town at night with word that Monmouth was landed, or that there was fighting all along the coast, or that King James was dead. The drums would beat; the cavalry would come out clattering. People would be crying out. The loyal would come to their doorsteps ready to fly further inland. Every night, if one lay awake, one could hear the noise of spades in back gardens where misers were burying their money. Then, every day, one would see the troopers coming in, generally two at a time, with a suspected man led by a cord knotted to his two thumbs.
Dorchester gaol was full of suspected people, who were kept in prison indefinitely, without trial, in very great discomfort. King James was afraid, he did not really know of what, so he took measures not so much to prevent trouble as to avenge his own fear. Mr. Blick used to send me to the prison every morning with loaves of fresh bread for the prisoners.

At last, after midnight, in the night of the 11th of June, a memorable day for the West, riders came in with news which destroyed the night's rest of the town. Monmouth had landed at Lyme the evening before, after sailing about in sight of the town all day. That was news indeed. It made a strange uproar in the streets. The trumpets blew from every inn-door to summons the billeted soldiers. Officers ran about bawling for their sergeants; the sergeants hurried about with lanterns, rousing the men from where they slept. All the streets were full of cavalry men trying to form in the crowd. At last, when they were formed, a trumpet sounded, making everyone keep silence. Then in the stillness an officer shouted out an order, which no one, save a soldier, could understand. Instantly the kettle-drums began to pound; the swords jingled; the horses whinnied, tossing up their heads. The soldiers trotted off smartly towards Bridport, leaving the town strangely quiet, strangely scared, to discuss the great news from Lyme.

I was watching the crowd at my bed-room window
when the horsemen trotted off. While I stood looking at them, Mr. Blick ran upstairs, bidding me to come down at once as now there was a chance to get to Lyme. "Come quick," he said. "The troops are gone. We must follow on their tracks. It'll be too late later in the morning." In less than twenty minutes we were trotting after the soldiers at a good pace, passing some scores of men on foot who were hurrying, as they said, to see the battle. Mr. Blick wore a sword which clattered as he rode. The people hearing the noise thought that he was an officer, perhaps a colonel, riding with his servant. Many of the men asked him where the battle was to be, whether it would begin before daylight, whether Monmouth was come with the French, all sorts of questions, to which we answered at random. In the light summer night we had a fair view of things. When we dismounted to lead our horses up or down the steep hills of that road, the straggling sight-seers came all round us as we walked, to hear what we had to tell. We could see their faces all about us, strange in the dusk, like ghosts, not like real men. At the top of one hill, Mr. Blick warned them to look out for themselves. He told them that before morning the highway would be patrolled by troops who would take them in charge as suspicious characters trying to join Monmouth, which actually happened the next day, when the militia officers realized that war had begun. His words scared off a number of them; but many kept on as they were
going, to see the great battle, which, they said, would begin as soon as it was light.

When the sun began to peep, we turned off the highway in order to avoid Bridport, which we passed a little after dawn. A few miles further on we felt that we could turn into the road again as we were safe from the militia at that distance. Then, feeling happy at the thought of the coming contest, which, we felt sure, would be won by our side, we pressed our tired nags over the brook towards the steep hill which separates Charmouth from Lyme.

It was early morning, about five o'clock, when we came to Charmouth; but the little town was as busy as though it were noon on fair-day. The street was crowded. People were coming in from all the countryside. A man was haranguing the crowd from a horseless waggon drawn up at an inn. The horses had no doubt been pressed into Monmouth's service some hours before. I should think that there must have been three hundred people listening to the orator. Men, already half drunk, with green boughs in their hats, were marching about the town in uneven companies, armed with clubs torn from the hedges. Weeping women followed them, trying to persuade their sons or husbands to come home. Other men were bringing out horses from private stables. People were singing. One man, leaning out of a window, kept on firing his pistol as fast as he could load. Waving men cheered from the hill above. The men in the town
cheered back. There was a great deal of noisy joking everywhere. They cheered us as we rode through them, telling us that Monmouth had arms for all. One poor woman begged Mr. Blick to tell her man to come home, as without him the children would all starve. The crowd groaned at her; but Mr. Blick stopped them, calling the husband, who was in a sad state of drunken vainglory, to leave the ranks in which he tried to march. "We don't want fathers of families," he cried. "We want these tight young bachelors. They're the boys." Indeed, the tight young bachelors felt that this was the case, so the woman got her man again; lucky she was to get him. As far as I could judge, the crowd imagined us to be great officers; at any rate our coming drew away the listeners from the waggon. They came flocking to our heels as though we were the Duke himself. A drummer beat up a quickstep; the crowd surged forward. We marched across the fields to Lyme, five hundred strong. One of the men, plucking a sprig of hawthorn from the hedge, asked me to wear it in my hat as the Duke's badge, which I did. He called me "Captain." "Captain," he said. "We had a brush with them already, this morning, along the road here. Two on 'em were killed. They didn't stay for no more." So fighting had begun then, the civil war had taken its first fruits of life. There could be no more shillyshallying; we had put our hands to a big business. In spite of the noise of the march, my spirits were rather dashed by
the thought of those two men, lying dead somewhere on the road behind us, killed by their own countrymen.