A general gloom
overhung
the capital.
Macaulay
If he should
be vanquished and taken, there would be no hazard and no difficulty in
trying him. It was afterwards remembered as a curious circumstance that,
among zealous Tories who went up with the bill from the House of
Commons to the bar of the Lords, was Sir John Fenwick, member for
Northumberland. This gentleman, a few years later, had occasion to
reconsider the whole subject, and then came to the conclusion that acts
of attainder are altogether unjustifiable. [370]
The Parliament gave other proofs of loyalty in this hour of peril.
The Commons authorised the King to raise an extraordinary sum of four
hundred thousand pounds for his present necessities, and that he
might have no difficulty in finding the money, proceeded to devise new
imposts. The scheme of taxing houses lately built in the capital was
revived and strenuously supported by the country gentlemen. It was
resolved not only that such houses should be taxed, but that a bill
should be brought in prohibiting the laying of any new foundations
within the bills of mortality. The resolution, however, was not carried
into effect. Powerful men who had land in the suburbs and who hoped to
see new streets and squares rise on their estates, exerted all their
influence against the project. It was found that to adjust the details
would be a work of time; and the King's wants were so pressing that he
thought it necessary to quicken the movements of the House by a gentle
exhortation to speed. The plan of taxing buildings was therefore
relinquished; and new duties were imposed for a term of five years on
foreign silks, linens, and spirits. [371]
The Tories of the Lower House proceeded to introduce what they called
a bill for the preservation of the King's person and government.
They proposed that it should be high treason to say that Monmouth was
legitimate, to utter any words tending to bring the person or government
of the sovereign into hatred or contempt, or to make any motion
in Parliament for changing the order of succession. Some of these
provisions excited general disgust and alarm. The Whigs, few and weak
as they were, attempted to rally, and found themselves reinforced by a
considerable number of moderate and sensible Cavaliers. Words, it was
said, may easily be misunderstood by a dull man. They may be easily
misconstrued by a knave. What was spoken metaphorically may be
apprehended literally. What was spoken ludicrously may be apprehended
seriously. A particle, a tense, a mood, an emphasis, may make the whole
difference between guilt and innocence. The Saviour of mankind himself,
in whose blameless life malice could find no acts to impeach, had been
called in question for words spoken. False witnesses had suppressed
a syllable which would have made it clear that those words were
figurative, and had thus furnished the Sanhedrim with a pretext under
which the foulest of all judicial murders had been perpetrated. With
such an example on record, who could affirm that, if mere talk were
made a substantive treason, the most loyal subject would be safe? These
arguments produced so great an effect that in the committee amendments
were introduced which greatly mitigated the severity of the bill. But
the clause which made it high treason in a member of Parliament to
propose the exclusion of a prince of the blood seems to have raised no
debate, and was retained. That clause was indeed altogether unimportant,
except as a proof of the ignorance and inexperience of the hotheaded
Royalists who thronged the House of Commons. Had they learned the first
rudiments of legislation, they would have known that the enactment
to which they attached so much value would be superfluous while the
Parliament was disposed to maintain the order of succession, and would
be repealed as soon as there was a Parliament bent on changing the order
of succession. [372]
The bill, as amended, was passed and carried up to the Lords, but
did not become law. The King had obtained from the Parliament all the
pecuniary assistance that he could expect; and he conceived that, while
rebellion was actually raging, the loyal nobility and gentry would be
of more use in their counties than at Westminster. He therefore hurried
their deliberations to a close, and, on the second of July, dismissed
them. On the same day the royal assent was given to a law reviving that
censorship of the press which had terminated in 1679. This object was
affected by a few words at the end of a miscellaneous statute which
continued several expiring acts. The courtiers did not think that they
had gained a triumph. The Whigs did not utter a murmur. Neither in the
Lords nor in the Commons was there any division, or even, as far as
can now be learned, any debate on a question which would, in our age,
convulse the whole frame of society. In truth, the change was slight and
almost imperceptible; for, since the detection of the Rye House plot,
the liberty of unlicensed printing had existed only in name. During many
months scarcely one Whig pamphlet had been published except by stealth;
and by stealth such pamphlets might be published still. [373]
The Houses then rose. They were not prorogued, but only adjourned,
in order that, when they should reassemble, they might take up their
business in the exact state in which they had left it. [374]
While the Parliament was devising sharp laws against Monmouth and his
partisans, he found at Taunton a reception which might well encourage
him to hope that his enterprise would have a prosperous issue. Taunton,
like most other towns in the south of England, was, in that age, more
important than at present. Those towns have not indeed declined. On the
contrary, they are, with very few exceptions, larger and richer, better
built and better peopled, than in the seventeenth century. But, though
they have positively advanced, they have relatively gone back. They have
been far outstripped in wealth and population by the great manufacturing
and commercial cities of the north, cities which, in the time of the
Stuarts, were but beginning to be known as seats of industry. When
Monmouth marched into Taunton it was an eminently prosperous place.
Its markets were plentifully supplied. It was a celebrated seat of
the woollen manufacture. The people boasted that they lived in a land
flowing with milk and honey. Nor was this language held only by partial
natives; for every stranger who climbed the graceful tower of St. Mary
Magdalene owned that he saw beneath him the most fertile of English
valleys. It was a country rich with orchards and green pastures, among
which were scattered, in gay abundance, manor houses, cottages, and
village spires. The townsmen had long leaned towards Presbyterian
divinity and Whig politics. In the great civil war Taunton had, through
all vicissitudes, adhered to the Parliament, had been twice closely
besieged by Goring, and had been twice defended with heroic valour by
Robert Blake, afterwards the renowned Admiral of the Commonwealth.
Whole streets had been burned down by the mortars and grenades of
the Cavaliers. Food had been so scarce that the resolute governor had
announced his intention of putting the garrison on rations of horse
flesh. But the spirit of the town had never been subdued either by fire
or by hunger. [375]
The Restoration had produced no effect on the temper of the Taunton men.
They had still continued to celebrate the anniversary of the happy day
on which the siege laid to their town by the royal army had been raised;
and their stubborn attachment to the old cause had excited so much fear
and resentment at Whitehall that, by a royal order, their moat had
been filled up, and their wall demolished to the foundation. [376] The
puritanical spirit had been kept up to the height among them by the
precepts and example of one of the most celebrated of the dissenting
clergy, Joseph Alleine. Alleine was the author of a tract, entitled, An
Alarm to the Unconverted, which is still popular both in England and
in America. From the gaol to which he was consigned by the victorious
Cavaliers, he addressed to his loving friends at Taunton many epistles
breathing the spirit of a truly heroic piety. His frame soon sank under
the effects of study, toil, and persecution: but his memory was long
cherished with exceeding love and reverence by those whom he had
exhorted and catechised. [377]
The children of the men who, forty years before, had manned the ramparts
of Taunton against the Royalists, now welcomed Monmouth with transports
of joy and affection. Every door and window was adorned with wreaths
of flowers. No man appeared in the streets without wearing in his hat
a green bough, the badge of the popular cause. Damsels of the best
families in the town wove colours for the insurgents. One flag in
particular was embroidered gorgeously with emblems of royal dignity, and
was offered to Monmouth by a train of young girls. He received the gift
with the winning courtesy which distinguished him. The lady who headed
the procession presented him also with a small Bible of great price.
He took it with a show of reverence. "I come," he said, "to defend the
truths contained in this book, and to seal them, if it must be so, with
my blood. " [378]
But while Monmouth enjoyed the applause of the multitude, he could not
but perceive, with concern and apprehension, that the higher classes
were, with scarcely an exception, hostile to his undertaking, and that
no rising had taken place except in the counties where he had himself
appeared. He had been assured by agents, who professed to have derived
their information from Wildman, that the whole Whig aristocracy was
eager to take arms. Nevertheless more than a week had now elapsed since
the blue standard had been set up at Lyme. Day labourers, small farmers,
shopkeepers, apprentices, dissenting preachers, had flocked to the rebel
camp: but not a single peer, baronet, or knight, not a single member
of the House of Commons, and scarcely any esquire of sufficient note to
have ever been in the commission of the peace, had joined the invaders.
Ferguson, who, ever since the death of Charles, had been Monmouth's evil
angel, had a suggestion ready. The Duke had put himself into a false
position by declining the royal title. Had he declared himself sovereign
of England, his cause would have worn a show of legality. At present it
was impossible to reconcile his Declaration with the principles of
the constitution. It was clear that either Monmouth or his uncle
was rightful King. Monmouth did not venture to pronounce himself the
rightful King, and yet denied that his uncle was so. Those who fought
for James fought for the only person who ventured to claim the throne,
and were therefore clearly in their duty, according to the laws of the
realm. Those who fought for Monmouth fought for some unknown polity,
which was to be set up by a convention not yet in existence. None could
wonder that men of high rank and ample fortune stood aloof from
an enterprise which threatened with destruction that system in the
permanence of which they were deeply interested. If the Duke would
assert his legitimacy and assume the crown, he would at once remove this
objection. The question would cease to be a question between the old
constitution and a new constitution. It would be merely a question of
hereditary right between two princes.
On such grounds as these Ferguson, almost immediately after the landing,
had earnestly pressed the Duke to proclaim himself King; and Grey had
seconded Ferguson. Monmouth had been very willing to take this advice;
but Wade and other republicans had been refractory; and their chief,
with his usual pliability, had yielded to their arguments. At
Taunton the subject was revived. Monmouth talked in private with the
dissentients, assured them that he saw no other way of obtaining the
support of any portion of the aristocracy, and succeeded in extorting
their reluctant consent. On the morning of the twentieth of June he was
proclaimed in the market place of Taunton. His followers repeated his
new title with affectionate delight. But, as some confusion might have
arisen if he had been called King James the Second, they commonly used
the strange appellation of King Monmouth: and by this name their unhappy
favourite was often mentioned in the western counties, within the memory
of persons still living. [379]
Within twenty-four hours after he had assumed the regal title, he put
forth several proclamations headed with his sign manual. By one of these
he set a price on the head of his rival. Another declared the Parliament
then sitting at Westminster an unlawful assembly, and commanded the
members to disperse. A third forbade the people to pay taxes to the
usurper. A fourth pronounced Albemarle a traitor. [380]
Albemarle transmitted these proclamations to London merely as specimens
of folly and impertinence. They produced no effect, except wonder and
contempt; nor had Monmouth any reason to think that the assumption of
royalty had improved his position. Only a week had elapsed since he
had solemnly bound himself not to take the crown till a free Parliament
should have acknowledged his rights. By breaking that engagement he had
incurred the imputation of levity, if not of perfidy. The class which he
had hoped to conciliate still stood aloof. The reasons which prevented
the great Whig lords and gentlemen from recognising him as their King
were at least as strong as those which had prevented them from rallying
round him as their Captain General. They disliked indeed the person, the
religion, and the politics of James. But James was no longer young. His
eldest daughter was justly popular. She was attached to the reformed
faith. She was married to a prince who was the hereditary chief of
the Protestants of the Continent, to a prince who had been bred in a
republic, and whose sentiments were supposed to be such as became a
constitutional King. Was it wise to incur the horrors of civil war, for
the mere chance of being able to effect immediately what nature
would, without bloodshed, without any violation of law, effect, in all
probability, before many years should have expired? Perhaps there might
be reasons for pulling down James. But what reason could be given for
setting up Monmouth? To exclude a prince from the throne on account of
unfitness was a course agreeable to Whig principles. But on no principle
could it be proper to exclude rightful heirs, who were admitted to
be, not only blameless, but eminently qualified for the highest public
trust. That Monmouth was legitimate, nay, that he thought himself
legitimate, intelligent men could not believe. He was therefore not
merely an usurper, but an usurper of the worst sort, an impostor. If
he made out any semblance of a case, he could do so only by means of
forgery and perjury. All honest and sensible persons were unwilling to
see a fraud which, if practiced to obtain an estate, would have been
punished with the scourge and the pillory, rewarded with the English
crown. To the old nobility of the realm it seemed insupportable that
the bastard of Lucy Walters should be set up high above the lawful
descendants of the Fitzalans and De Veres. Those who were capable of
looking forward must have seen that, if Monmouth should succeed in
overpowering the existing government, there would still remain a war
between him and the House of Orange, a war which might last longer
and produce more misery than the war of the Roses, a war which might
probably break up the Protestants of Europe into hostile parties, might
arm England and Holland against each other, and might make both those
countries an easy prey to France. The opinion, therefore, of almost all
the leading Whigs seems to have been that Monmouth's enterprise could
not fail to end in some great disaster to the nation, but that, on the
whole, his defeat would be a less disaster than his victory.
It was not only by the inaction of the Whig aristocracy that the
invaders were disappointed. The wealth and power of London had sufficed
in the preceding generation, and might again suffice, to turn the scale
in a civil conflict. The Londoners had formerly given many proofs of
their hatred of Popery and of their affection for the Protestant Duke.
He had too readily believed that, as soon as he landed, there would be
a rising in the capital. But, though advices came down to him that many
thousands of the citizens had been enrolled as volunteers for the good
cause, nothing was done. The plain truth was that the agitators who
had urged him to invade England, who had promised to rise on the first
signal, and who had perhaps imagined, while the danger was remote, that
they should have the courage to keep their promise, lost heart when the
critical time drew near. Wildman's fright was such that he seemed to
have lost his understanding. The craven Danvers at first excused his
inaction by saying that he would not take up arms till Monmouth was
proclaimed King, and when Monmouth had been proclaimed King, turned
round and declared that good republicans were absolved from all
engagements to a leader who had so shamefully broken faith. In every age
the vilest specimens of human nature are to be found among demagogues.
[381]
On the day following that on which Monmouth had assumed the regal
title he marched from Taunton to Bridgewater. His own spirits, it was
remarked, were not high. The acclamations of the devoted thousands who
surrounded him wherever he turned could not dispel the gloom which
sate on his brow. Those who had seen him during his progress through
Somersetshire five years before could not now observe without pity the
traces of distress and anxiety on those soft and pleasing features which
had won so many hearts. [382]
Ferguson was in a very different temper. With this man's knavery was
strangely mingled an eccentric vanity which resembled madness. The
thought that he had raised a rebellion and bestowed a crown had turned
his head. He swaggered about, brandishing his naked sword, and crying to
the crowd of spectators who had assembled to see the army march out of
Taunton, "Look at me! You have heard of me. I am Ferguson, the famous
Ferguson, the Ferguson for whose head so many hundred pounds have been
offered. " And this man, at once unprincipled and brainsick, had in his
keeping the understanding and the conscience of the unhappy Monmouth.
[383]
Bridgewater was one of the few towns which still had some Whig
magistrates. The Mayor and Aldermen came in their robes to welcome
the Duke, walked before him in procession to the high cross, and there
proclaimed him King. His troops found excellent quarters, and were
furnished with necessaries at little or no cost by the people of the
town and neighbourhood. He took up his residence in the Castle, a
building which had been honoured by several royal visits. In the Castle
Field his army was encamped. It now consisted of about six thousand men,
and might easily have been increased to double the number, but for the
want of arms. The Duke had brought with him from the Continent but
a scanty supply of pikes and muskets. Many of his followers had,
therefore, no other weapons than such as could be fashioned out of
the tools which they had used in husbandry or mining. Of these rude
implements of war the most formidable was made by fastening the blade
of a scythe erect on a strong pole. [384] The tithing men of the country
round Taunton and Bridgewater received orders to search everywhere
for scythes and to bring all that could be found to the camp. It was
impossible, however, even with the help of these contrivances, to supply
the demand; and great numbers who were desirous to enlist were sent
away. [385]
The foot were divided into six regiments. Many of the men had been in
the militia, and still wore their uniforms, red and yellow. The cavalry
were about a thousand in number; but most of them had only large colts,
such as were then bred in great herds on the marshes of Somersetshire
for the purpose of supplying London with coach horses and cart horses.
These animals were so far from being fit for any military purpose that
they had not yet learned to obey the bridle, and became ungovernable as
soon as they heard a gun fired or a drum beaten. A small body guard of
forty young men, well armed, and mounted at their own charge, attended
Monmouth. The people of Bridgewater, who were enriched by a thriving
coast trade, furnished him with a small sum of money. [386]
All this time the forces of the government were fast assembling. On the
west of the rebel army, Albemarle still kept together a large body
of Devonshire militia. On the east, the trainbands of Wiltshire had
mustered under the command of Thomas Herbert, Earl of Pembroke. On the
north east, Henry Somerset, Duke of Beaufort, was in arms. The power of
Beaufort bore some faint resemblance to that of the great barons of the
fifteenth century. He was President of Wales and Lord Lieutenant of four
English counties. His official tours through the extensive region in
which he represented the majesty of the throne were scarcely inferior in
pomp to royal progresses. His household at Badminton was regulated after
the fashion of an earlier generation. The land to a great extent
round his pleasure grounds was in his own hands; and the labourers who
cultivated it formed part of his family. Nine tables were every day
spread under his roof for two hundred persons. A crowd of gentlemen and
pages were under the orders of the steward. A whole troop of cavalry
obeyed the master of the horse. The fame of the kitchen, the cellar, the
kennel, and the stables was spread over all England. The gentry, many
miles round, were proud of the magnificence of their great neighbour,
and were at the same time charmed by his affability and good nature. He
was a zealous Cavalier of the old school. At this crisis, therefore,
he used his whole influence and authority in support of the crown, and
occupied Bristol with the trainbands of Gloucestershire, who seem to
have been better disciplined than most other troops of that description.
[387]
In the counties more remote from Somersetshire the supporters of the
throne were on the alert. The militia of Sussex began to march westward,
under the command of Richard, Lord Lumley, who, though he had lately
been converted from the Roman Catholic religion, was still firm in his
allegiance to a Roman Catholic King. James Bertie, Earl of Abingdon,
called out the array of Oxfordshire. John Fell, Bishop of Oxford,
who was also Dean of Christchurch, summoned the undergraduates of his
University to take arms for the crown. The gownsmen crowded to give in
their names. Christchurch alone furnished near a hundred pikemen and
musketeers. Young noblemen and gentlemen commoners acted as officers;
and the eldest son of the Lord Lieutenant was Colonel. [388]
But it was chiefly on the regular troops that the King relied. Churchill
had been sent westward with the Blues; and Feversham was following with
all the forces that could be spared from the neighbourhood of London.
A courier had started for Holland with a letter directing Skelton
instantly to request that the three English regiments in the Dutch
service might be sent to the Thames. When the request was made,
the party hostile to the House of Orange, headed by the deputies of
Amsterdam, again tried to cause delay. But the energy of William, who
had almost as much at stake as James, and who saw Monmouth's progress
with serious uneasiness, bore down opposition, and in a few days the
troops sailed. [389] The three Scotch regiments were already in England.
They had arrived at Gravesend in excellent condition, and James had
reviewed them on Blackheath. He repeatedly declared to the Dutch
Ambassador that he had never in his life seen finer or better
disciplined soldiers, and expressed the warmest gratitude to the Prince
of Orange and the States for so valuable and seasonable a reinforcement
This satisfaction, however, was not unmixed. Excellently as the men went
through their drill, they were not untainted with Dutch politics and
Dutch divinity. One of them was shot and another flogged for drinking
the Duke of Monmouth's health. It was therefore not thought advisable to
place them in the post of danger. They were kept in the neighbourhood of
London till the end of the campaign. But their arrival enabled the King
to send to the West some infantry which would otherwise have been wanted
in the capital. [390]
While the government was thus preparing for a conflict with the rebels
in the field, precautions of a different kind were not neglected. In
London alone two hundred of those persons who were thought most likely
to be at the head of a Whig movement were arrested. Among the prisoners
were some merchants of great note. Every man who was obnoxious to the
Court went in fear.
A general gloom overhung the capital. Business
languished on the Exchange; and the theatres were so generally deserted
that a new opera, written by Dryden, and set off by decorations of
unprecedented magnificence, was withdrawn, because the receipts would
not cover the expenses of the performance. [391] The magistrates and
clergy were everywhere active, the Dissenters were everywhere closely
observed. In Cheshire and Shropshire a fierce persecution raged; in
Northamptonshire arrests were numerous; and the gaol of Oxford was
crowded with prisoners. No Puritan divine, however moderate his
opinions, however guarded his conduct, could feel any confidence that he
should not be torn from his family and flung into a dungeon. [392]
Meanwhile Monmouth advanced from Bridgewater harassed through the whole
march by Churchill, who appears to have done all that, with a handful
of men, it was possible for a brave and skilful officer to effect. The
rebel army, much annoyed, both by the enemy and by a heavy fall of rain,
halted in the evening of the twenty-second of June at Glastonbury. The
houses of the little town did not afford shelter for so large a force.
Some of the troops were therefore quartered in the churches, and others
lighted their fires among the venerable ruins of the Abbey, once the
wealthiest religious house in our island. From Glastonbury the Duke
marched to Wells, and from Wells to Shepton Mallet. [393]
Hitherto he seems to have wandered from place to place with no other
object than that of collecting troops. It was now necessary for him to
form some plan of military operations. His first scheme was to seize
Bristol. Many of the chief inhabitants of that important place were
Whigs. One of the ramifications of the Whig plot had extended thither.
The garrison consisted only of the Gloucestershire trainbands. If
Beaufort and his rustic followers could be overpowered before the
regular troops arrived, the rebels would at once find themselves
possessed of ample pecuniary resources; the credit of Monmouth's
arms would be raised; and his friends throughout the kingdom would be
encouraged to declare themselves. Bristol had fortifications which, on
the north of the Avon towards Gloucestershire, were weak, but on
the south towards Somersetshire were much stronger. It was therefore
determined that the attack should be made on the Gloucestershire side.
But for this purpose it was necessary to take a circuitous route, and
to cross the Avon at Keynsham. The bridge at Keynsham had been partly
demolished by the militia, and was at present impassable. A detachment
was therefore sent forward to make the necessary repairs. The other
troops followed more slowly, and on the evening of the twenty-fourth
of June halted for repose at Pensford. At Pensford they were only five
miles from the Somersetshire side of Bristol; but the Gloucestershire
side, which could be reached only by going round through Keynsham, was
distant a long day's march. [394]
That night was one of great tumult and expectation in Bristol. The
partisans of Monmouth knew that he was almost within sight of their
city, and imagined that he would be among them before daybreak. About
an hour after sunset a merchantman lying at the quay took fire. Such an
occurrence, in a port crowded with shipping, could not but excite great
alarm. The whole river was in commotion. The streets were crowded.
Seditious cries were heard amidst the darkness and confusion. It was
afterwards asserted, both by Whigs and by Tories, that the fire had
been kindled by the friends of Monmouth, in the hope that the trainbands
would be busied in preventing the conflagration from spreading, and that
in the meantime the rebel army would make a bold push, and would enter
the city on the Somersetshire side. If such was the design of the
incendiaries, it completely failed. Beaufort, instead of sending his men
to the quay, kept them all night drawn up under arms round the beautiful
church of Saint Mary Redcliff, on the south of the Avon. He would see
Bristol burnt down, he said, nay, he would burn it down himself, rather
than that it should be occupied by traitors. He was able, with the help
of some regular cavalry which had joined him from Chippenham a few hours
before, to prevent an insurrection. It might perhaps have been beyond
his power at once to overawe the malecontents within the walls and to
repel an attack from without: but no such attack was made. The fire,
which caused so much commotion at Bristol, was distinctly seen at
Pensford. Monmouth, however, did not think it expedient to change his
plan. He remained quiet till sunrise, and then marched to Keynsham.
There he found the bridge repaired. He determined to let his army rest
during the afternoon, and, as soon as night came, to proceed to Bristol.
[395]
But it was too late. The King's forces were now near at hand. Colonel
Oglethorpe, at the head of about a hundred men of the Life Guards,
dashed into Keynsham, scattered two troops of rebel horse which ventured
to oppose him, and retired after inflicting much injury and suffering
little. In these circumstances it was thought necessary to relinquish
the design on Bristol. [396]
But what was to be done? Several schemes were proposed and discussed. It
was suggested that Monmouth might hasten to Gloucester, might cross
the Severn there, might break down the bridge behind him, and, with his
right flank protected by the river, might march through Worcestershire
into Shropshire and Cheshire. He had formerly made a progress through
those counties, and had been received there with as much enthusiasm as
in Somersetshire and Devonshire. His presence might revive the zeal of
his old friends; and his army might in a few days be swollen to double
its present numbers.
On full consideration, however, it appeared that this plan, though
specious, was impracticable. The rebels were ill shod for such work as
they had lately undergone, and were exhausted by toiling, day after day,
through deep mud under heavy rain. Harassed and impeded as they would
be at every stage by the enemy's cavalry, they could not hope to reach
Gloucester without being overtaken by the main body of the royal troops,
and forced to a general action under every disadvantage.
Then it was proposed to enter Wiltshire. Persons who professed to know
that county well assured the Duke that he would be joined there by such
strong reinforcements as would make it safe for him to give battle.
[397]
He took this advice, and turned towards Wiltshire. He first summoned
Bath. But Bath was strongly garrisoned for the King; and Feversham was
fast approaching. The rebels, therefore made no attempt on the walls,
but hastened to Philip's Norton, where they halted on the evening of the
twenty-sixth of June.
Feversham followed them thither. Early on the morning of the
twenty-seventh they were alarmed by tidings that he was close at hand.
They got into order, and lined the hedges leading to the town.
The advanced guard of the royal army soon appeared. It consisted of
about five hundred men, commanded by the Duke of Grafton, a youth of
bold spirit and rough manners, who was probably eager to show that he
had no share in the disloyal schemes of his half brother. Grafton soon
found himself in a deep lane with fences on both sides of him, from
which a galling fire of musketry was kept up. Still he pushed boldly
on till he came to the entrance of Philip's Norton. There his way was
crossed by a barricade, from which a third fire met him full in front.
His men now lost heart, and made the best of their way back. Before
they got out of the lane more than a hundred of them had been killed or
wounded. Grafton's retreat was intercepted by some of the rebel cavalry:
but he cut his way gallantly through them, and came off safe. [398]
The advanced guard, thus repulsed, fell back on the main body of the
royal forces. The two armies were now face to face; and a few shots were
exchanged that did little or no execution. Neither side was impatient to
come to action. Feversham did not wish to fight till his artillery came
up, and fell back to Bradford. Monmouth, as soon as the night closed
in, quitted his position, marched southward, and by daybreak arrived at
Frome, where he hoped to find reinforcements.
Frome was as zealous in his cause as either Taunton or Bridgewater,
but could do nothing to serve him. There had been a rising a few days
before; and Monmouth's declaration had been posted up in the market
place. But the news of this movement had been carried to the Earl of
Pembroke, who lay at no great distance with the Wiltshire militia. He
had instantly marched to Frome, had routed a mob of rustics who, with
scythes and pitchforks, attempted to oppose him, had entered the town
and had disarmed the inhabitants. No weapons, therefore, were left
there; nor was Monmouth able to furnish any. [399]
The rebel army was in evil case. The march of the preceding night had
been wearisome. The rain had fallen in torrents; and the roads had
become mere quagmires. Nothing was heard of the promised succours from
Wiltshire. One messenger brought news that Argyle's forces had been
dispersed in Scotland. Another reported that Feversham, having been
joined by his artillery, was about to advance. Monmouth understood war
too well not to know that his followers, with all their courage and
all their zeal, were no match for regular soldiers. He had till lately
flattered himself with the hope that some of those regiments which he
had formerly commanded would pass over to his standard: but that hope he
was now compelled to relinquish. His heart failed him. He could scarcely
muster firmness enough to give orders. In his misery he complained
bitterly of the evil counsellors who had induced him to quit his happy
retreat in Brabant. Against Wildman in particular he broke forth into
violent imprecations. [400] And now an ignominious thought rose in his
weak and agitated mind. He would leave to the mercy of the government
the thousands who had, at his call and for his sake, abandoned their
quiet fields and dwellings. He would steal away with his chief officers,
would gain some seaport before his flight was suspected, would escape to
the Continent, and would forget his ambition and his shame in the arms
of Lady Wentworth. He seriously discussed this scheme with his leading
advisers. Some of them, trembling for their necks, listened to it with
approbation; but Grey, who, by the admission of his detractors, was
intrepid everywhere except where swords were clashing and guns going
off around him, opposed the dastardly proposition with great ardour,
and implored the Duke to face every danger rather than requite with
ingratitude and treachery the devoted attachment of the Western
peasantry. [401]
The scheme of flight was abandoned: but it was not now easy to form any
plan for a campaign. To advance towards London would have been madness;
for the road lay right across Salisbury Plain; and on that vast open
space regular troops, and above all regular cavalry, would have acted
with every advantage against undisciplined men. At this juncture a
report reached the camp that the rustics of the marshes near Axbridge
had risen in defence of the Protestant religion, had armed themselves
with flails, bludgeons, and pitchforks, and were assembling by thousands
at Bridgewater. Monmouth determined to return thither, and to strengthen
himself with these new allies. [402]
The rebels accordingly proceeded to Wells, and arrived there in no
amiable temper. They were, with few exceptions, hostile to Prelacy; and
they showed their hostility in a way very little to their honour. They
not only tore the lead from the roof of the magnificent Cathedral to
make bullets, an act for which they might fairly plead the necessities
of war, but wantonly defaced the ornaments of the building. Grey with
difficulty preserved the altar from the insults of some ruffians who
wished to carouse round it, by taking his stand before it with his sword
drawn. [403]
On Thursday, the second of July, Monmouth again entered Bridgewater,
In circumstances far less cheering than those in which he had marched
thence ten days before. The reinforcement which he found there was
inconsiderable. The royal army was close upon him. At one moment he
thought of fortifying the town; and hundreds of labourers were summoned
to dig trenches and throw up mounds. Then his mind recurred to the plan
of marching into Cheshire, a plan which he had rejected as impracticable
when he was at Keynsham, and which assuredly was not more practicable
now that he was at Bridgewater. [404]
While he was thus wavering between projects equally hopeless, the King's
forces came in sight. They consisted of about two thousand five hundred
regular troops, and of about fifteen hundred of the Wiltshire militia.
Early on the morning of Sunday, the fifth of July, they left Somerton,
and pitched their tents that day about three miles from Bridgewater, on
the plain of Sedgemoor.
Dr. Peter Mew, Bishop of Winchester, accompanied them. This prelate had
in his youth borne arms for Charles the First against the Parliament.
Neither his years nor his profession had wholly extinguished his martial
ardour; and he probably thought that the appearance of a father of the
Protestant Church in the King's camp might confirm the loyalty of some
honest men who were wavering between their horror of Popery and their
horror of rebellion.
The steeple of the parish church of Bridgewater is said to be the
loftiest of Somersetshire, and commands a wide view over the surrounding
country. Monmouth, accompanied by some of his officers, went up to
the top of the square tower from which the spire ascends, and observed
through a telescope the position of the enemy. Beneath him lay a flat
expanse, now rich with cornfields and apple trees, but then, as its name
imports, for the most part a dreary morass. When the rains were heavy,
and the Parret and its tributary streams rose above their banks, this
tract was often flooded. It was indeed anciently part of that great
swamp which is renowned in our early chronicles as having arrested the
progress of two successive races of invaders, which long protected
the Celts against the aggressions of the kings of Wessex, and which
sheltered Alfred from the pursuit of the Danes. In those remote times
this region could be traversed only in boats. It was a vast pool,
wherein were scattered many islets of shifting and treacherous soil,
overhung with rank jungle, and swarming with deer and wild swine.
Even in the days of the Tudors, the traveller whose journey lay from
Ilchester to Bridgewater was forced to make a circuit of several miles
in order to avoid the waters. When Monmouth looked upon Sedgemoor, it
had been partially reclaimed by art, and was intersected by many deep
and wide trenches which, in that country, are called rhines. In the
midst of the moor rose, clustering round the towers of churches, a
few villages of which the names seem to indicate that they once were
surrounded by waves. In one of these villages, called Weston Zoyland,
the royal cavalry lay; and Feversham had fixed his headquarters there.
Many persons still living have seen the daughter of the servant girl who
waited on him that day at table; and a large dish of Persian ware, which
was set before him, is still carefully preserved in the neighbourhood.
It is to be observed that the population of Somersetshire does not, like
that of the manufacturing districts, consist of emigrants from distant
places. It is by no means unusual to find farmers who cultivate the same
land which their ancestors cultivated when the Plantagenets reigned in
England. The Somersetshire traditions are therefore, of no small value
to a historian. [405]
At a greater distance from Bridgewater lies the village of Middlezoy.
In that village and its neighbourhood, the Wiltshire militia were
quartered, under the command of Pembroke. On the open moor, not far from
Chedzoy, were encamped several battalions of regular infantry. Monmouth
looked gloomily on them. He could not but remember how, a few years
before, he had, at the head of a column composed of some of those very
men, driven before him in confusion the fierce enthusiasts who defended
Bothwell Bridge He could distinguish among the hostile ranks that
gallant band which was then called from the name of its Colonel,
Dumbarton's regiment, but which has long been known as the first of
the line, and which, in all the four quarters of the world, has nobly
supported its early reputation. "I know those men," said Monmouth; "they
will fight. If I had but them, all would go well. " [406]
Yet the aspect of the enemy was not altogether discouraging. The three
divisions of the royal army lay far apart from one another. There was
all appearance of negligence and of relaxed discipline in all their
movements. It was reported that they were drinking themselves drunk with
the Zoyland cider. The incapacity of Feversham, who commanded in chief,
was notorious. Even at this momentous crisis he thought only of eating
and sleeping. Churchill was indeed a captain equal to tasks far more
arduous than that of scattering a crowd of ill armed and ill trained
peasants. But the genius, which, at a later period, humbled six Marshals
of France, was not now in its proper place. Feversham told Churchill
little, and gave him no encouragement to offer any suggestion. The
lieutenant, conscious of superior abilities and science, impatient of
the control of a chief whom he despised, and trembling for the fate of
the army, nevertheless preserved his characteristic self-command, and
dissembled his feelings so well that Feversham praised his submissive
alacrity, and promised to report it to the King. [407]
Monmouth, having observed the disposition of the royal forces, and
having been apprised of the state in which they were, conceived that
a night attack might be attended with success. He resolved to run the
hazard; and preparations were instantly made.
It was Sunday; and his followers, who had, for the most part, been
brought up after the Puritan fashion, passed a great part of the day in
religious exercises. The Castle Field, in which the army was encamped,
presented a spectacle such as, since the disbanding of Cromwell's
soldiers, England had never seen. The dissenting preachers who had taken
arms against Popery, and some of whom had probably fought in the great
civil war, prayed and preached in red coats and huge jackboots, with
swords by their sides. Ferguson was one of those who harangued. He took
for his text the awful imprecation by which the Israelites who dwelt
beyond Jordan cleared themselves from the charge ignorantly brought
against them by their brethren on the other side of the river. "The Lord
God of Gods, the Lord God of Gods, he knoweth; and Israel he shall know.
If it be in rebellion, or if in transgression against the Lord, save us
not this day. " [408]
That an attack was to be made under cover of the night was no secret
in Bridgewater. The town was full of women, who had repaired thither
by hundreds from the surrounding region, to see their husbands, sons,
lovers, and brothers once more. There were many sad partings that day;
and many parted never to meet again. [409] The report of the intended
attack came to the ears of a young girl who was zealous for the King.
Though of modest character, she had the courage to resolve that she
would herself bear the intelligence to Feversham. She stole out of
Bridgewater, and made her way to the royal camp. But that camp was not a
place where female innocence could be safe. Even the officers, despising
alike the irregular force to which they were opposed, and the negligent
general who commanded them, had indulged largely in wine, and were ready
for any excess of licentiousness and cruelty. One of them seized the
unhappy maiden, refused to listen to her errand, and brutally outraged
her. She fled in agonies of rage and shame, leaving the wicked army to
its doom. [410]
And now the time for the great hazard drew near. The night was not ill
suited for such an enterprise. The moon was indeed at the full, and the
northern streamers were shining brilliantly. But the marsh fog lay
so thick on Sedgemoor that no object could be discerned there at the
distance of fifty paces. [411]
The clock struck eleven; and the Duke with his body guard rode out of
the Castle. He was not in the frame of mind which befits one who is
about to strike a decisive blow. The very children who pressed to see
him pass observed, and long remembered, that his look was sad and full
of evil augury. His army marched by a circuitous path, near six miles in
length, towards the royal encampment on Sedgemoor. Part of the route is
to this day called War Lane. The foot were led by Monmouth himself. The
horse were confided to Grey, in spite of the remonstrances of some who
remembered the mishap at Bridport. Orders were given that strict silence
should be preserved, that no drum should be beaten, and no shot fired.
The word by which the insurgents were to recognise one another in the
darkness was Soho. It had doubtless been selected in allusion to Soho
Fields in London, where their leader's palace stood. [412]
At about one in the morning of Monday the sixth of July, the rebels were
on the open moor. But between them and the enemy lay three broad rhines
filled with water and soft mud. Two of these, called the Black Ditch
and the Langmoor Rhine, Monmouth knew that he must pass. But, strange
to say, the existence of a trench, called the Bussex Rhine, which
immediately covered the royal encampment, had not been mentioned to him
by any of his scouts.
The wains which carried the ammunition remained at the entrance of the
moor. The horse and foot, in a long narrow column, passed the Black
Ditch by a causeway. There was a similar causeway across the Langmoor
Rhine: but the guide, in the fog, missed his way. There was some delay
and some tumult before the error could be rectified. At length the
passage was effected: but, in the confusion, a pistol went off. Some men
of the Horse Guards, who were on watch, heard the report, and perceived
that a great multitude was advancing through the mist. They fired their
carbines, and galloped off in different directions to give the alarm.
Some hastened to Weston Zoyland, where the cavalry lay. One trooper
spurred to the encampment of the infantry, and cried out vehemently that
the enemy was at hand. The drums of Dumbarton's regiment beat to arms;
and the men got fast into their ranks. It was time; for Monmouth was
already drawing up his army for action. He ordered Grey to lead the way
with the cavalry, and followed himself at the head of the infantry.
Grey pushed on till his progress was unexpectedly arrested by the Bussex
Rhine. On the opposite side of the ditch the King's foot were hastily
forming in order of battle.
be vanquished and taken, there would be no hazard and no difficulty in
trying him. It was afterwards remembered as a curious circumstance that,
among zealous Tories who went up with the bill from the House of
Commons to the bar of the Lords, was Sir John Fenwick, member for
Northumberland. This gentleman, a few years later, had occasion to
reconsider the whole subject, and then came to the conclusion that acts
of attainder are altogether unjustifiable. [370]
The Parliament gave other proofs of loyalty in this hour of peril.
The Commons authorised the King to raise an extraordinary sum of four
hundred thousand pounds for his present necessities, and that he
might have no difficulty in finding the money, proceeded to devise new
imposts. The scheme of taxing houses lately built in the capital was
revived and strenuously supported by the country gentlemen. It was
resolved not only that such houses should be taxed, but that a bill
should be brought in prohibiting the laying of any new foundations
within the bills of mortality. The resolution, however, was not carried
into effect. Powerful men who had land in the suburbs and who hoped to
see new streets and squares rise on their estates, exerted all their
influence against the project. It was found that to adjust the details
would be a work of time; and the King's wants were so pressing that he
thought it necessary to quicken the movements of the House by a gentle
exhortation to speed. The plan of taxing buildings was therefore
relinquished; and new duties were imposed for a term of five years on
foreign silks, linens, and spirits. [371]
The Tories of the Lower House proceeded to introduce what they called
a bill for the preservation of the King's person and government.
They proposed that it should be high treason to say that Monmouth was
legitimate, to utter any words tending to bring the person or government
of the sovereign into hatred or contempt, or to make any motion
in Parliament for changing the order of succession. Some of these
provisions excited general disgust and alarm. The Whigs, few and weak
as they were, attempted to rally, and found themselves reinforced by a
considerable number of moderate and sensible Cavaliers. Words, it was
said, may easily be misunderstood by a dull man. They may be easily
misconstrued by a knave. What was spoken metaphorically may be
apprehended literally. What was spoken ludicrously may be apprehended
seriously. A particle, a tense, a mood, an emphasis, may make the whole
difference between guilt and innocence. The Saviour of mankind himself,
in whose blameless life malice could find no acts to impeach, had been
called in question for words spoken. False witnesses had suppressed
a syllable which would have made it clear that those words were
figurative, and had thus furnished the Sanhedrim with a pretext under
which the foulest of all judicial murders had been perpetrated. With
such an example on record, who could affirm that, if mere talk were
made a substantive treason, the most loyal subject would be safe? These
arguments produced so great an effect that in the committee amendments
were introduced which greatly mitigated the severity of the bill. But
the clause which made it high treason in a member of Parliament to
propose the exclusion of a prince of the blood seems to have raised no
debate, and was retained. That clause was indeed altogether unimportant,
except as a proof of the ignorance and inexperience of the hotheaded
Royalists who thronged the House of Commons. Had they learned the first
rudiments of legislation, they would have known that the enactment
to which they attached so much value would be superfluous while the
Parliament was disposed to maintain the order of succession, and would
be repealed as soon as there was a Parliament bent on changing the order
of succession. [372]
The bill, as amended, was passed and carried up to the Lords, but
did not become law. The King had obtained from the Parliament all the
pecuniary assistance that he could expect; and he conceived that, while
rebellion was actually raging, the loyal nobility and gentry would be
of more use in their counties than at Westminster. He therefore hurried
their deliberations to a close, and, on the second of July, dismissed
them. On the same day the royal assent was given to a law reviving that
censorship of the press which had terminated in 1679. This object was
affected by a few words at the end of a miscellaneous statute which
continued several expiring acts. The courtiers did not think that they
had gained a triumph. The Whigs did not utter a murmur. Neither in the
Lords nor in the Commons was there any division, or even, as far as
can now be learned, any debate on a question which would, in our age,
convulse the whole frame of society. In truth, the change was slight and
almost imperceptible; for, since the detection of the Rye House plot,
the liberty of unlicensed printing had existed only in name. During many
months scarcely one Whig pamphlet had been published except by stealth;
and by stealth such pamphlets might be published still. [373]
The Houses then rose. They were not prorogued, but only adjourned,
in order that, when they should reassemble, they might take up their
business in the exact state in which they had left it. [374]
While the Parliament was devising sharp laws against Monmouth and his
partisans, he found at Taunton a reception which might well encourage
him to hope that his enterprise would have a prosperous issue. Taunton,
like most other towns in the south of England, was, in that age, more
important than at present. Those towns have not indeed declined. On the
contrary, they are, with very few exceptions, larger and richer, better
built and better peopled, than in the seventeenth century. But, though
they have positively advanced, they have relatively gone back. They have
been far outstripped in wealth and population by the great manufacturing
and commercial cities of the north, cities which, in the time of the
Stuarts, were but beginning to be known as seats of industry. When
Monmouth marched into Taunton it was an eminently prosperous place.
Its markets were plentifully supplied. It was a celebrated seat of
the woollen manufacture. The people boasted that they lived in a land
flowing with milk and honey. Nor was this language held only by partial
natives; for every stranger who climbed the graceful tower of St. Mary
Magdalene owned that he saw beneath him the most fertile of English
valleys. It was a country rich with orchards and green pastures, among
which were scattered, in gay abundance, manor houses, cottages, and
village spires. The townsmen had long leaned towards Presbyterian
divinity and Whig politics. In the great civil war Taunton had, through
all vicissitudes, adhered to the Parliament, had been twice closely
besieged by Goring, and had been twice defended with heroic valour by
Robert Blake, afterwards the renowned Admiral of the Commonwealth.
Whole streets had been burned down by the mortars and grenades of
the Cavaliers. Food had been so scarce that the resolute governor had
announced his intention of putting the garrison on rations of horse
flesh. But the spirit of the town had never been subdued either by fire
or by hunger. [375]
The Restoration had produced no effect on the temper of the Taunton men.
They had still continued to celebrate the anniversary of the happy day
on which the siege laid to their town by the royal army had been raised;
and their stubborn attachment to the old cause had excited so much fear
and resentment at Whitehall that, by a royal order, their moat had
been filled up, and their wall demolished to the foundation. [376] The
puritanical spirit had been kept up to the height among them by the
precepts and example of one of the most celebrated of the dissenting
clergy, Joseph Alleine. Alleine was the author of a tract, entitled, An
Alarm to the Unconverted, which is still popular both in England and
in America. From the gaol to which he was consigned by the victorious
Cavaliers, he addressed to his loving friends at Taunton many epistles
breathing the spirit of a truly heroic piety. His frame soon sank under
the effects of study, toil, and persecution: but his memory was long
cherished with exceeding love and reverence by those whom he had
exhorted and catechised. [377]
The children of the men who, forty years before, had manned the ramparts
of Taunton against the Royalists, now welcomed Monmouth with transports
of joy and affection. Every door and window was adorned with wreaths
of flowers. No man appeared in the streets without wearing in his hat
a green bough, the badge of the popular cause. Damsels of the best
families in the town wove colours for the insurgents. One flag in
particular was embroidered gorgeously with emblems of royal dignity, and
was offered to Monmouth by a train of young girls. He received the gift
with the winning courtesy which distinguished him. The lady who headed
the procession presented him also with a small Bible of great price.
He took it with a show of reverence. "I come," he said, "to defend the
truths contained in this book, and to seal them, if it must be so, with
my blood. " [378]
But while Monmouth enjoyed the applause of the multitude, he could not
but perceive, with concern and apprehension, that the higher classes
were, with scarcely an exception, hostile to his undertaking, and that
no rising had taken place except in the counties where he had himself
appeared. He had been assured by agents, who professed to have derived
their information from Wildman, that the whole Whig aristocracy was
eager to take arms. Nevertheless more than a week had now elapsed since
the blue standard had been set up at Lyme. Day labourers, small farmers,
shopkeepers, apprentices, dissenting preachers, had flocked to the rebel
camp: but not a single peer, baronet, or knight, not a single member
of the House of Commons, and scarcely any esquire of sufficient note to
have ever been in the commission of the peace, had joined the invaders.
Ferguson, who, ever since the death of Charles, had been Monmouth's evil
angel, had a suggestion ready. The Duke had put himself into a false
position by declining the royal title. Had he declared himself sovereign
of England, his cause would have worn a show of legality. At present it
was impossible to reconcile his Declaration with the principles of
the constitution. It was clear that either Monmouth or his uncle
was rightful King. Monmouth did not venture to pronounce himself the
rightful King, and yet denied that his uncle was so. Those who fought
for James fought for the only person who ventured to claim the throne,
and were therefore clearly in their duty, according to the laws of the
realm. Those who fought for Monmouth fought for some unknown polity,
which was to be set up by a convention not yet in existence. None could
wonder that men of high rank and ample fortune stood aloof from
an enterprise which threatened with destruction that system in the
permanence of which they were deeply interested. If the Duke would
assert his legitimacy and assume the crown, he would at once remove this
objection. The question would cease to be a question between the old
constitution and a new constitution. It would be merely a question of
hereditary right between two princes.
On such grounds as these Ferguson, almost immediately after the landing,
had earnestly pressed the Duke to proclaim himself King; and Grey had
seconded Ferguson. Monmouth had been very willing to take this advice;
but Wade and other republicans had been refractory; and their chief,
with his usual pliability, had yielded to their arguments. At
Taunton the subject was revived. Monmouth talked in private with the
dissentients, assured them that he saw no other way of obtaining the
support of any portion of the aristocracy, and succeeded in extorting
their reluctant consent. On the morning of the twentieth of June he was
proclaimed in the market place of Taunton. His followers repeated his
new title with affectionate delight. But, as some confusion might have
arisen if he had been called King James the Second, they commonly used
the strange appellation of King Monmouth: and by this name their unhappy
favourite was often mentioned in the western counties, within the memory
of persons still living. [379]
Within twenty-four hours after he had assumed the regal title, he put
forth several proclamations headed with his sign manual. By one of these
he set a price on the head of his rival. Another declared the Parliament
then sitting at Westminster an unlawful assembly, and commanded the
members to disperse. A third forbade the people to pay taxes to the
usurper. A fourth pronounced Albemarle a traitor. [380]
Albemarle transmitted these proclamations to London merely as specimens
of folly and impertinence. They produced no effect, except wonder and
contempt; nor had Monmouth any reason to think that the assumption of
royalty had improved his position. Only a week had elapsed since he
had solemnly bound himself not to take the crown till a free Parliament
should have acknowledged his rights. By breaking that engagement he had
incurred the imputation of levity, if not of perfidy. The class which he
had hoped to conciliate still stood aloof. The reasons which prevented
the great Whig lords and gentlemen from recognising him as their King
were at least as strong as those which had prevented them from rallying
round him as their Captain General. They disliked indeed the person, the
religion, and the politics of James. But James was no longer young. His
eldest daughter was justly popular. She was attached to the reformed
faith. She was married to a prince who was the hereditary chief of
the Protestants of the Continent, to a prince who had been bred in a
republic, and whose sentiments were supposed to be such as became a
constitutional King. Was it wise to incur the horrors of civil war, for
the mere chance of being able to effect immediately what nature
would, without bloodshed, without any violation of law, effect, in all
probability, before many years should have expired? Perhaps there might
be reasons for pulling down James. But what reason could be given for
setting up Monmouth? To exclude a prince from the throne on account of
unfitness was a course agreeable to Whig principles. But on no principle
could it be proper to exclude rightful heirs, who were admitted to
be, not only blameless, but eminently qualified for the highest public
trust. That Monmouth was legitimate, nay, that he thought himself
legitimate, intelligent men could not believe. He was therefore not
merely an usurper, but an usurper of the worst sort, an impostor. If
he made out any semblance of a case, he could do so only by means of
forgery and perjury. All honest and sensible persons were unwilling to
see a fraud which, if practiced to obtain an estate, would have been
punished with the scourge and the pillory, rewarded with the English
crown. To the old nobility of the realm it seemed insupportable that
the bastard of Lucy Walters should be set up high above the lawful
descendants of the Fitzalans and De Veres. Those who were capable of
looking forward must have seen that, if Monmouth should succeed in
overpowering the existing government, there would still remain a war
between him and the House of Orange, a war which might last longer
and produce more misery than the war of the Roses, a war which might
probably break up the Protestants of Europe into hostile parties, might
arm England and Holland against each other, and might make both those
countries an easy prey to France. The opinion, therefore, of almost all
the leading Whigs seems to have been that Monmouth's enterprise could
not fail to end in some great disaster to the nation, but that, on the
whole, his defeat would be a less disaster than his victory.
It was not only by the inaction of the Whig aristocracy that the
invaders were disappointed. The wealth and power of London had sufficed
in the preceding generation, and might again suffice, to turn the scale
in a civil conflict. The Londoners had formerly given many proofs of
their hatred of Popery and of their affection for the Protestant Duke.
He had too readily believed that, as soon as he landed, there would be
a rising in the capital. But, though advices came down to him that many
thousands of the citizens had been enrolled as volunteers for the good
cause, nothing was done. The plain truth was that the agitators who
had urged him to invade England, who had promised to rise on the first
signal, and who had perhaps imagined, while the danger was remote, that
they should have the courage to keep their promise, lost heart when the
critical time drew near. Wildman's fright was such that he seemed to
have lost his understanding. The craven Danvers at first excused his
inaction by saying that he would not take up arms till Monmouth was
proclaimed King, and when Monmouth had been proclaimed King, turned
round and declared that good republicans were absolved from all
engagements to a leader who had so shamefully broken faith. In every age
the vilest specimens of human nature are to be found among demagogues.
[381]
On the day following that on which Monmouth had assumed the regal
title he marched from Taunton to Bridgewater. His own spirits, it was
remarked, were not high. The acclamations of the devoted thousands who
surrounded him wherever he turned could not dispel the gloom which
sate on his brow. Those who had seen him during his progress through
Somersetshire five years before could not now observe without pity the
traces of distress and anxiety on those soft and pleasing features which
had won so many hearts. [382]
Ferguson was in a very different temper. With this man's knavery was
strangely mingled an eccentric vanity which resembled madness. The
thought that he had raised a rebellion and bestowed a crown had turned
his head. He swaggered about, brandishing his naked sword, and crying to
the crowd of spectators who had assembled to see the army march out of
Taunton, "Look at me! You have heard of me. I am Ferguson, the famous
Ferguson, the Ferguson for whose head so many hundred pounds have been
offered. " And this man, at once unprincipled and brainsick, had in his
keeping the understanding and the conscience of the unhappy Monmouth.
[383]
Bridgewater was one of the few towns which still had some Whig
magistrates. The Mayor and Aldermen came in their robes to welcome
the Duke, walked before him in procession to the high cross, and there
proclaimed him King. His troops found excellent quarters, and were
furnished with necessaries at little or no cost by the people of the
town and neighbourhood. He took up his residence in the Castle, a
building which had been honoured by several royal visits. In the Castle
Field his army was encamped. It now consisted of about six thousand men,
and might easily have been increased to double the number, but for the
want of arms. The Duke had brought with him from the Continent but
a scanty supply of pikes and muskets. Many of his followers had,
therefore, no other weapons than such as could be fashioned out of
the tools which they had used in husbandry or mining. Of these rude
implements of war the most formidable was made by fastening the blade
of a scythe erect on a strong pole. [384] The tithing men of the country
round Taunton and Bridgewater received orders to search everywhere
for scythes and to bring all that could be found to the camp. It was
impossible, however, even with the help of these contrivances, to supply
the demand; and great numbers who were desirous to enlist were sent
away. [385]
The foot were divided into six regiments. Many of the men had been in
the militia, and still wore their uniforms, red and yellow. The cavalry
were about a thousand in number; but most of them had only large colts,
such as were then bred in great herds on the marshes of Somersetshire
for the purpose of supplying London with coach horses and cart horses.
These animals were so far from being fit for any military purpose that
they had not yet learned to obey the bridle, and became ungovernable as
soon as they heard a gun fired or a drum beaten. A small body guard of
forty young men, well armed, and mounted at their own charge, attended
Monmouth. The people of Bridgewater, who were enriched by a thriving
coast trade, furnished him with a small sum of money. [386]
All this time the forces of the government were fast assembling. On the
west of the rebel army, Albemarle still kept together a large body
of Devonshire militia. On the east, the trainbands of Wiltshire had
mustered under the command of Thomas Herbert, Earl of Pembroke. On the
north east, Henry Somerset, Duke of Beaufort, was in arms. The power of
Beaufort bore some faint resemblance to that of the great barons of the
fifteenth century. He was President of Wales and Lord Lieutenant of four
English counties. His official tours through the extensive region in
which he represented the majesty of the throne were scarcely inferior in
pomp to royal progresses. His household at Badminton was regulated after
the fashion of an earlier generation. The land to a great extent
round his pleasure grounds was in his own hands; and the labourers who
cultivated it formed part of his family. Nine tables were every day
spread under his roof for two hundred persons. A crowd of gentlemen and
pages were under the orders of the steward. A whole troop of cavalry
obeyed the master of the horse. The fame of the kitchen, the cellar, the
kennel, and the stables was spread over all England. The gentry, many
miles round, were proud of the magnificence of their great neighbour,
and were at the same time charmed by his affability and good nature. He
was a zealous Cavalier of the old school. At this crisis, therefore,
he used his whole influence and authority in support of the crown, and
occupied Bristol with the trainbands of Gloucestershire, who seem to
have been better disciplined than most other troops of that description.
[387]
In the counties more remote from Somersetshire the supporters of the
throne were on the alert. The militia of Sussex began to march westward,
under the command of Richard, Lord Lumley, who, though he had lately
been converted from the Roman Catholic religion, was still firm in his
allegiance to a Roman Catholic King. James Bertie, Earl of Abingdon,
called out the array of Oxfordshire. John Fell, Bishop of Oxford,
who was also Dean of Christchurch, summoned the undergraduates of his
University to take arms for the crown. The gownsmen crowded to give in
their names. Christchurch alone furnished near a hundred pikemen and
musketeers. Young noblemen and gentlemen commoners acted as officers;
and the eldest son of the Lord Lieutenant was Colonel. [388]
But it was chiefly on the regular troops that the King relied. Churchill
had been sent westward with the Blues; and Feversham was following with
all the forces that could be spared from the neighbourhood of London.
A courier had started for Holland with a letter directing Skelton
instantly to request that the three English regiments in the Dutch
service might be sent to the Thames. When the request was made,
the party hostile to the House of Orange, headed by the deputies of
Amsterdam, again tried to cause delay. But the energy of William, who
had almost as much at stake as James, and who saw Monmouth's progress
with serious uneasiness, bore down opposition, and in a few days the
troops sailed. [389] The three Scotch regiments were already in England.
They had arrived at Gravesend in excellent condition, and James had
reviewed them on Blackheath. He repeatedly declared to the Dutch
Ambassador that he had never in his life seen finer or better
disciplined soldiers, and expressed the warmest gratitude to the Prince
of Orange and the States for so valuable and seasonable a reinforcement
This satisfaction, however, was not unmixed. Excellently as the men went
through their drill, they were not untainted with Dutch politics and
Dutch divinity. One of them was shot and another flogged for drinking
the Duke of Monmouth's health. It was therefore not thought advisable to
place them in the post of danger. They were kept in the neighbourhood of
London till the end of the campaign. But their arrival enabled the King
to send to the West some infantry which would otherwise have been wanted
in the capital. [390]
While the government was thus preparing for a conflict with the rebels
in the field, precautions of a different kind were not neglected. In
London alone two hundred of those persons who were thought most likely
to be at the head of a Whig movement were arrested. Among the prisoners
were some merchants of great note. Every man who was obnoxious to the
Court went in fear.
A general gloom overhung the capital. Business
languished on the Exchange; and the theatres were so generally deserted
that a new opera, written by Dryden, and set off by decorations of
unprecedented magnificence, was withdrawn, because the receipts would
not cover the expenses of the performance. [391] The magistrates and
clergy were everywhere active, the Dissenters were everywhere closely
observed. In Cheshire and Shropshire a fierce persecution raged; in
Northamptonshire arrests were numerous; and the gaol of Oxford was
crowded with prisoners. No Puritan divine, however moderate his
opinions, however guarded his conduct, could feel any confidence that he
should not be torn from his family and flung into a dungeon. [392]
Meanwhile Monmouth advanced from Bridgewater harassed through the whole
march by Churchill, who appears to have done all that, with a handful
of men, it was possible for a brave and skilful officer to effect. The
rebel army, much annoyed, both by the enemy and by a heavy fall of rain,
halted in the evening of the twenty-second of June at Glastonbury. The
houses of the little town did not afford shelter for so large a force.
Some of the troops were therefore quartered in the churches, and others
lighted their fires among the venerable ruins of the Abbey, once the
wealthiest religious house in our island. From Glastonbury the Duke
marched to Wells, and from Wells to Shepton Mallet. [393]
Hitherto he seems to have wandered from place to place with no other
object than that of collecting troops. It was now necessary for him to
form some plan of military operations. His first scheme was to seize
Bristol. Many of the chief inhabitants of that important place were
Whigs. One of the ramifications of the Whig plot had extended thither.
The garrison consisted only of the Gloucestershire trainbands. If
Beaufort and his rustic followers could be overpowered before the
regular troops arrived, the rebels would at once find themselves
possessed of ample pecuniary resources; the credit of Monmouth's
arms would be raised; and his friends throughout the kingdom would be
encouraged to declare themselves. Bristol had fortifications which, on
the north of the Avon towards Gloucestershire, were weak, but on
the south towards Somersetshire were much stronger. It was therefore
determined that the attack should be made on the Gloucestershire side.
But for this purpose it was necessary to take a circuitous route, and
to cross the Avon at Keynsham. The bridge at Keynsham had been partly
demolished by the militia, and was at present impassable. A detachment
was therefore sent forward to make the necessary repairs. The other
troops followed more slowly, and on the evening of the twenty-fourth
of June halted for repose at Pensford. At Pensford they were only five
miles from the Somersetshire side of Bristol; but the Gloucestershire
side, which could be reached only by going round through Keynsham, was
distant a long day's march. [394]
That night was one of great tumult and expectation in Bristol. The
partisans of Monmouth knew that he was almost within sight of their
city, and imagined that he would be among them before daybreak. About
an hour after sunset a merchantman lying at the quay took fire. Such an
occurrence, in a port crowded with shipping, could not but excite great
alarm. The whole river was in commotion. The streets were crowded.
Seditious cries were heard amidst the darkness and confusion. It was
afterwards asserted, both by Whigs and by Tories, that the fire had
been kindled by the friends of Monmouth, in the hope that the trainbands
would be busied in preventing the conflagration from spreading, and that
in the meantime the rebel army would make a bold push, and would enter
the city on the Somersetshire side. If such was the design of the
incendiaries, it completely failed. Beaufort, instead of sending his men
to the quay, kept them all night drawn up under arms round the beautiful
church of Saint Mary Redcliff, on the south of the Avon. He would see
Bristol burnt down, he said, nay, he would burn it down himself, rather
than that it should be occupied by traitors. He was able, with the help
of some regular cavalry which had joined him from Chippenham a few hours
before, to prevent an insurrection. It might perhaps have been beyond
his power at once to overawe the malecontents within the walls and to
repel an attack from without: but no such attack was made. The fire,
which caused so much commotion at Bristol, was distinctly seen at
Pensford. Monmouth, however, did not think it expedient to change his
plan. He remained quiet till sunrise, and then marched to Keynsham.
There he found the bridge repaired. He determined to let his army rest
during the afternoon, and, as soon as night came, to proceed to Bristol.
[395]
But it was too late. The King's forces were now near at hand. Colonel
Oglethorpe, at the head of about a hundred men of the Life Guards,
dashed into Keynsham, scattered two troops of rebel horse which ventured
to oppose him, and retired after inflicting much injury and suffering
little. In these circumstances it was thought necessary to relinquish
the design on Bristol. [396]
But what was to be done? Several schemes were proposed and discussed. It
was suggested that Monmouth might hasten to Gloucester, might cross
the Severn there, might break down the bridge behind him, and, with his
right flank protected by the river, might march through Worcestershire
into Shropshire and Cheshire. He had formerly made a progress through
those counties, and had been received there with as much enthusiasm as
in Somersetshire and Devonshire. His presence might revive the zeal of
his old friends; and his army might in a few days be swollen to double
its present numbers.
On full consideration, however, it appeared that this plan, though
specious, was impracticable. The rebels were ill shod for such work as
they had lately undergone, and were exhausted by toiling, day after day,
through deep mud under heavy rain. Harassed and impeded as they would
be at every stage by the enemy's cavalry, they could not hope to reach
Gloucester without being overtaken by the main body of the royal troops,
and forced to a general action under every disadvantage.
Then it was proposed to enter Wiltshire. Persons who professed to know
that county well assured the Duke that he would be joined there by such
strong reinforcements as would make it safe for him to give battle.
[397]
He took this advice, and turned towards Wiltshire. He first summoned
Bath. But Bath was strongly garrisoned for the King; and Feversham was
fast approaching. The rebels, therefore made no attempt on the walls,
but hastened to Philip's Norton, where they halted on the evening of the
twenty-sixth of June.
Feversham followed them thither. Early on the morning of the
twenty-seventh they were alarmed by tidings that he was close at hand.
They got into order, and lined the hedges leading to the town.
The advanced guard of the royal army soon appeared. It consisted of
about five hundred men, commanded by the Duke of Grafton, a youth of
bold spirit and rough manners, who was probably eager to show that he
had no share in the disloyal schemes of his half brother. Grafton soon
found himself in a deep lane with fences on both sides of him, from
which a galling fire of musketry was kept up. Still he pushed boldly
on till he came to the entrance of Philip's Norton. There his way was
crossed by a barricade, from which a third fire met him full in front.
His men now lost heart, and made the best of their way back. Before
they got out of the lane more than a hundred of them had been killed or
wounded. Grafton's retreat was intercepted by some of the rebel cavalry:
but he cut his way gallantly through them, and came off safe. [398]
The advanced guard, thus repulsed, fell back on the main body of the
royal forces. The two armies were now face to face; and a few shots were
exchanged that did little or no execution. Neither side was impatient to
come to action. Feversham did not wish to fight till his artillery came
up, and fell back to Bradford. Monmouth, as soon as the night closed
in, quitted his position, marched southward, and by daybreak arrived at
Frome, where he hoped to find reinforcements.
Frome was as zealous in his cause as either Taunton or Bridgewater,
but could do nothing to serve him. There had been a rising a few days
before; and Monmouth's declaration had been posted up in the market
place. But the news of this movement had been carried to the Earl of
Pembroke, who lay at no great distance with the Wiltshire militia. He
had instantly marched to Frome, had routed a mob of rustics who, with
scythes and pitchforks, attempted to oppose him, had entered the town
and had disarmed the inhabitants. No weapons, therefore, were left
there; nor was Monmouth able to furnish any. [399]
The rebel army was in evil case. The march of the preceding night had
been wearisome. The rain had fallen in torrents; and the roads had
become mere quagmires. Nothing was heard of the promised succours from
Wiltshire. One messenger brought news that Argyle's forces had been
dispersed in Scotland. Another reported that Feversham, having been
joined by his artillery, was about to advance. Monmouth understood war
too well not to know that his followers, with all their courage and
all their zeal, were no match for regular soldiers. He had till lately
flattered himself with the hope that some of those regiments which he
had formerly commanded would pass over to his standard: but that hope he
was now compelled to relinquish. His heart failed him. He could scarcely
muster firmness enough to give orders. In his misery he complained
bitterly of the evil counsellors who had induced him to quit his happy
retreat in Brabant. Against Wildman in particular he broke forth into
violent imprecations. [400] And now an ignominious thought rose in his
weak and agitated mind. He would leave to the mercy of the government
the thousands who had, at his call and for his sake, abandoned their
quiet fields and dwellings. He would steal away with his chief officers,
would gain some seaport before his flight was suspected, would escape to
the Continent, and would forget his ambition and his shame in the arms
of Lady Wentworth. He seriously discussed this scheme with his leading
advisers. Some of them, trembling for their necks, listened to it with
approbation; but Grey, who, by the admission of his detractors, was
intrepid everywhere except where swords were clashing and guns going
off around him, opposed the dastardly proposition with great ardour,
and implored the Duke to face every danger rather than requite with
ingratitude and treachery the devoted attachment of the Western
peasantry. [401]
The scheme of flight was abandoned: but it was not now easy to form any
plan for a campaign. To advance towards London would have been madness;
for the road lay right across Salisbury Plain; and on that vast open
space regular troops, and above all regular cavalry, would have acted
with every advantage against undisciplined men. At this juncture a
report reached the camp that the rustics of the marshes near Axbridge
had risen in defence of the Protestant religion, had armed themselves
with flails, bludgeons, and pitchforks, and were assembling by thousands
at Bridgewater. Monmouth determined to return thither, and to strengthen
himself with these new allies. [402]
The rebels accordingly proceeded to Wells, and arrived there in no
amiable temper. They were, with few exceptions, hostile to Prelacy; and
they showed their hostility in a way very little to their honour. They
not only tore the lead from the roof of the magnificent Cathedral to
make bullets, an act for which they might fairly plead the necessities
of war, but wantonly defaced the ornaments of the building. Grey with
difficulty preserved the altar from the insults of some ruffians who
wished to carouse round it, by taking his stand before it with his sword
drawn. [403]
On Thursday, the second of July, Monmouth again entered Bridgewater,
In circumstances far less cheering than those in which he had marched
thence ten days before. The reinforcement which he found there was
inconsiderable. The royal army was close upon him. At one moment he
thought of fortifying the town; and hundreds of labourers were summoned
to dig trenches and throw up mounds. Then his mind recurred to the plan
of marching into Cheshire, a plan which he had rejected as impracticable
when he was at Keynsham, and which assuredly was not more practicable
now that he was at Bridgewater. [404]
While he was thus wavering between projects equally hopeless, the King's
forces came in sight. They consisted of about two thousand five hundred
regular troops, and of about fifteen hundred of the Wiltshire militia.
Early on the morning of Sunday, the fifth of July, they left Somerton,
and pitched their tents that day about three miles from Bridgewater, on
the plain of Sedgemoor.
Dr. Peter Mew, Bishop of Winchester, accompanied them. This prelate had
in his youth borne arms for Charles the First against the Parliament.
Neither his years nor his profession had wholly extinguished his martial
ardour; and he probably thought that the appearance of a father of the
Protestant Church in the King's camp might confirm the loyalty of some
honest men who were wavering between their horror of Popery and their
horror of rebellion.
The steeple of the parish church of Bridgewater is said to be the
loftiest of Somersetshire, and commands a wide view over the surrounding
country. Monmouth, accompanied by some of his officers, went up to
the top of the square tower from which the spire ascends, and observed
through a telescope the position of the enemy. Beneath him lay a flat
expanse, now rich with cornfields and apple trees, but then, as its name
imports, for the most part a dreary morass. When the rains were heavy,
and the Parret and its tributary streams rose above their banks, this
tract was often flooded. It was indeed anciently part of that great
swamp which is renowned in our early chronicles as having arrested the
progress of two successive races of invaders, which long protected
the Celts against the aggressions of the kings of Wessex, and which
sheltered Alfred from the pursuit of the Danes. In those remote times
this region could be traversed only in boats. It was a vast pool,
wherein were scattered many islets of shifting and treacherous soil,
overhung with rank jungle, and swarming with deer and wild swine.
Even in the days of the Tudors, the traveller whose journey lay from
Ilchester to Bridgewater was forced to make a circuit of several miles
in order to avoid the waters. When Monmouth looked upon Sedgemoor, it
had been partially reclaimed by art, and was intersected by many deep
and wide trenches which, in that country, are called rhines. In the
midst of the moor rose, clustering round the towers of churches, a
few villages of which the names seem to indicate that they once were
surrounded by waves. In one of these villages, called Weston Zoyland,
the royal cavalry lay; and Feversham had fixed his headquarters there.
Many persons still living have seen the daughter of the servant girl who
waited on him that day at table; and a large dish of Persian ware, which
was set before him, is still carefully preserved in the neighbourhood.
It is to be observed that the population of Somersetshire does not, like
that of the manufacturing districts, consist of emigrants from distant
places. It is by no means unusual to find farmers who cultivate the same
land which their ancestors cultivated when the Plantagenets reigned in
England. The Somersetshire traditions are therefore, of no small value
to a historian. [405]
At a greater distance from Bridgewater lies the village of Middlezoy.
In that village and its neighbourhood, the Wiltshire militia were
quartered, under the command of Pembroke. On the open moor, not far from
Chedzoy, were encamped several battalions of regular infantry. Monmouth
looked gloomily on them. He could not but remember how, a few years
before, he had, at the head of a column composed of some of those very
men, driven before him in confusion the fierce enthusiasts who defended
Bothwell Bridge He could distinguish among the hostile ranks that
gallant band which was then called from the name of its Colonel,
Dumbarton's regiment, but which has long been known as the first of
the line, and which, in all the four quarters of the world, has nobly
supported its early reputation. "I know those men," said Monmouth; "they
will fight. If I had but them, all would go well. " [406]
Yet the aspect of the enemy was not altogether discouraging. The three
divisions of the royal army lay far apart from one another. There was
all appearance of negligence and of relaxed discipline in all their
movements. It was reported that they were drinking themselves drunk with
the Zoyland cider. The incapacity of Feversham, who commanded in chief,
was notorious. Even at this momentous crisis he thought only of eating
and sleeping. Churchill was indeed a captain equal to tasks far more
arduous than that of scattering a crowd of ill armed and ill trained
peasants. But the genius, which, at a later period, humbled six Marshals
of France, was not now in its proper place. Feversham told Churchill
little, and gave him no encouragement to offer any suggestion. The
lieutenant, conscious of superior abilities and science, impatient of
the control of a chief whom he despised, and trembling for the fate of
the army, nevertheless preserved his characteristic self-command, and
dissembled his feelings so well that Feversham praised his submissive
alacrity, and promised to report it to the King. [407]
Monmouth, having observed the disposition of the royal forces, and
having been apprised of the state in which they were, conceived that
a night attack might be attended with success. He resolved to run the
hazard; and preparations were instantly made.
It was Sunday; and his followers, who had, for the most part, been
brought up after the Puritan fashion, passed a great part of the day in
religious exercises. The Castle Field, in which the army was encamped,
presented a spectacle such as, since the disbanding of Cromwell's
soldiers, England had never seen. The dissenting preachers who had taken
arms against Popery, and some of whom had probably fought in the great
civil war, prayed and preached in red coats and huge jackboots, with
swords by their sides. Ferguson was one of those who harangued. He took
for his text the awful imprecation by which the Israelites who dwelt
beyond Jordan cleared themselves from the charge ignorantly brought
against them by their brethren on the other side of the river. "The Lord
God of Gods, the Lord God of Gods, he knoweth; and Israel he shall know.
If it be in rebellion, or if in transgression against the Lord, save us
not this day. " [408]
That an attack was to be made under cover of the night was no secret
in Bridgewater. The town was full of women, who had repaired thither
by hundreds from the surrounding region, to see their husbands, sons,
lovers, and brothers once more. There were many sad partings that day;
and many parted never to meet again. [409] The report of the intended
attack came to the ears of a young girl who was zealous for the King.
Though of modest character, she had the courage to resolve that she
would herself bear the intelligence to Feversham. She stole out of
Bridgewater, and made her way to the royal camp. But that camp was not a
place where female innocence could be safe. Even the officers, despising
alike the irregular force to which they were opposed, and the negligent
general who commanded them, had indulged largely in wine, and were ready
for any excess of licentiousness and cruelty. One of them seized the
unhappy maiden, refused to listen to her errand, and brutally outraged
her. She fled in agonies of rage and shame, leaving the wicked army to
its doom. [410]
And now the time for the great hazard drew near. The night was not ill
suited for such an enterprise. The moon was indeed at the full, and the
northern streamers were shining brilliantly. But the marsh fog lay
so thick on Sedgemoor that no object could be discerned there at the
distance of fifty paces. [411]
The clock struck eleven; and the Duke with his body guard rode out of
the Castle. He was not in the frame of mind which befits one who is
about to strike a decisive blow. The very children who pressed to see
him pass observed, and long remembered, that his look was sad and full
of evil augury. His army marched by a circuitous path, near six miles in
length, towards the royal encampment on Sedgemoor. Part of the route is
to this day called War Lane. The foot were led by Monmouth himself. The
horse were confided to Grey, in spite of the remonstrances of some who
remembered the mishap at Bridport. Orders were given that strict silence
should be preserved, that no drum should be beaten, and no shot fired.
The word by which the insurgents were to recognise one another in the
darkness was Soho. It had doubtless been selected in allusion to Soho
Fields in London, where their leader's palace stood. [412]
At about one in the morning of Monday the sixth of July, the rebels were
on the open moor. But between them and the enemy lay three broad rhines
filled with water and soft mud. Two of these, called the Black Ditch
and the Langmoor Rhine, Monmouth knew that he must pass. But, strange
to say, the existence of a trench, called the Bussex Rhine, which
immediately covered the royal encampment, had not been mentioned to him
by any of his scouts.
The wains which carried the ammunition remained at the entrance of the
moor. The horse and foot, in a long narrow column, passed the Black
Ditch by a causeway. There was a similar causeway across the Langmoor
Rhine: but the guide, in the fog, missed his way. There was some delay
and some tumult before the error could be rectified. At length the
passage was effected: but, in the confusion, a pistol went off. Some men
of the Horse Guards, who were on watch, heard the report, and perceived
that a great multitude was advancing through the mist. They fired their
carbines, and galloped off in different directions to give the alarm.
Some hastened to Weston Zoyland, where the cavalry lay. One trooper
spurred to the encampment of the infantry, and cried out vehemently that
the enemy was at hand. The drums of Dumbarton's regiment beat to arms;
and the men got fast into their ranks. It was time; for Monmouth was
already drawing up his army for action. He ordered Grey to lead the way
with the cavalry, and followed himself at the head of the infantry.
Grey pushed on till his progress was unexpectedly arrested by the Bussex
Rhine. On the opposite side of the ditch the King's foot were hastily
forming in order of battle.
