prophesying in the fields and farmyards, fresh detachments set off to join the redeeming army. It was well understood that not a few of the camp-attendants were Quakers;—the smiths, the saddlers, the spurriers, as well as the provision-dealers. It was remarked that there were two sorts of smiths,—one which would only shoe horses and mend utensils; and another which would also make pikes, and convert scythes into weapons; and the more peaceful sort were whispered to be Quakers.
These Quakers could hardly have objected to share in the encounter with the four thousand soldiers under the royalist commander. It was a moral conflict, with an almost entire absence of physical force. Monmouth had his four cannon posted and loaded in full view of the enemy, and a sufficiency of armed men discernible behind the hedges of the lane by which the royal troops must advance. The Duke of Albemarle saw the effect on his trainbands with wrath and shame: but there was nothing to be done but to withdraw them before they went over, one and all, to King Monmouth. At first they retreated; then they fled; and if Monmouth’s army had been the low mob it was reported in London to be, it might have clothed and armed itself by merely picking up the dress and weapons which strewed the roads all the way to Exeter.
In the diary which Christopher kept, for the eye of one from whom he had no secrets, and whose sympathy was the life of his life, he passed over this so-called battle in the slightest possible way.
“There was no fighting,” he said. “I have still to witness my first battle. But it has satisfied me that, if we were as wise as we are willing, we might finish our work almost without a blow,—in this part of the country, if not throughout the kingdom . . . If there is not enough presence of mind among us to secure the advantage before real fighting is needed, there may be battles in plenty for lawyers like me to witness and help in; and then, seeing how raw these yeomen and peasants and tradesmen are, with all their fine spirit, I feel that the issue may not be so clear,—or at least so speedy. But, if we only follow the leadings offered us in these first days of our rebellion, we may restore the reign of the saints, and escape from purgatory into paradise,—if I may hold such Popish language without sin.”
This was all very well while the royal forces were flying or ratting: but, as the insurgent troops moved on through Somersetshire, they heard some things which made sober men grave. Parliament was on the King’s side, Papist as he was. The noblemen and gentlemen of one county after another sent to London assurances of their loyalty, and offers of service and of money. The Duke was attainted, and a reward of five thousand pounds was set upon his head. The most serious circumstance was, that the Whig gentry, who had been reported as the surest sustainers of the rebellion, failed in the proof, from step to step. If written to, they returned the letter, or kept silence, or replied that the time was not fitting, or declared themselves bound by their oath of allegiance. Monmouth observed to Christopher, as they rode under a park wall near Axminster—
“This is a Whig estate, rely upon it.—How do I know?—By the chained-up gates, and the deserted lodge, and the closed windows of the mansion. When I see a mansion more unkind in its aspect than others, and well chained and barricaded, it always turns out to be one belonging to the order of my particular friends.”
At another time, when Colonel Wade was counselling a stricter guard over the person of the Duke, observing that five thousand pounds was a tempting sum to such men as followed at his heels, Monmouth drily assured him that he had no fear of Dorsetshire tradesmen or Somersetshire peasants. If his head was carried to the King’s feet, it would be by some careful Whig, who could at one stroke repair the family mansion, and keep a good footing at Court, till a new reign should open a new career.
The Duke’s staff whispered among themselves that his Majesty was growing cross. This would never do; for his gay good-humour was the charm by which he drew the people to him, and kept them at his side. It was only for a passing moment, however, that the Pretender scowled or dropped bitter words. For the most part he seemed to carry the summer sunshine with him: and never had he been more radiant than when he rode into Taunton,—the shrine of the worship of King Monmouth. No Popish saint was more idolised in any dark old corner of the most Popish county in England than he was in sunny Taunton in that bright June of 1685.
While the Duke and his staff were looking through their prospect-glass, from a distance, at the church tower of St. Mary Magdalen, the summit of which was crowded with, citizens on the look-out, the blue flag was run up, and the group on the tower could be seen frantically waving their hats. Then the bells rang out merrily, as a signal, no doubt, to the townsmen that the Duke’s army was in sight; for such throngs poured out upon the roads that the wonder was whether anybody was left within to give a welcome in the streets. In the orchards along the road, the trees were loaded with spectators, careless of the blossom and fruit, in comparison with getting a sight of King Monmouth. Every field, garden, and housetop was crowded; and everybody wore something blue. The old method of receiving a great man, by opening the gates to him, was impracticable; for the late King’s party had obtained leave and licence to destroy the gates of Taunton, and to fill up the ditch; but, on this first call on the inhabitants to declare their true mind, they did it by an emphatic welcome to the Protestant candidate for the throne. The magistrates and corporation awaited the Duke amidst the charred ruins which showed where the gates had been; and a series of processions met him, did him homage, and turned, in order to precede him to the market-place. There he was shown to a raised seat,—a good imitation of a throne,—opposite to which a pulpit was erected; and in the pulpit was the most esteemed Presbyterian minister of the place, ready to inform his Grace of the history of Taunton since the Reformation,