At every step he found people in doubt what to do. Many of these were glad to join in an organisation for patrolling the streets and neighbourhood, to prevent bloodshed, if possible, and violence of every sort, till some issue should be found from the perplexity of the day. Monmouth must either march onwards, or re-embark and go away before any force from London could arrive; and nothing could be gained by fighting in the present condition of the town. When it was found that, by preserving the peace of the town, any man helping therein would save his neck in regard to King James, while such conduct would not preclude his joining Monmouth if, on knowing more, he should see fit, the Squire’s company of town-guards increased from moment to moment, till hundreds had fallen into the march.
In the way to the market-place a loud voice was crying out to all good Protestants to repair to the standard of King Monmouth, and see what great things the Lord was that day doing for England—now again England of the Reformation. John Hickes was showing himself openly, and, in a manner, preaching, in defiance of the Five Mile Act. He was on horseback, bareheaded, and in gown and bands, inviting the people by vehement gestures into the market-place: and everybody followed. There he dismounted, and laying hold of the blue flag,—Monmouth’s standard,—erected there, devoutly kissed it, and, displaying it to the people, told them that this day they must look upon it as the banner of Christ. He then addressed himself to preach; and his old friends and hearers in the crowd believed that the very stones of the streets would rise before harm would befall Monmouth in Lyme, after that discourse.
He told his hearers that on the beach cannon were being landed from the ships, and endless suits of brilliant armour; and they had their choice whether to go and see that spectacle or hear from him what should happen to those who should put on that armour on behalf of the Bible and a Protestant king, and what to those who should sell themselves to the popish usurper whose day of mercy was gone by. The picture was so vivid, of woes which were breaking men’s hearts, and of the joys of the rescue which they were praying for day and night, that, if the proceedings had ended with Hickes’s discourse, nearly all Lyme would have been in rebellion long before night.
But there was a Declaration to be read in the name of Monmouth, which divided the crowd. The lower order of them, the fanatics, and the ignorant shouted for King Monmouth more vehemently than ever after it; but the more intelligent and reasonable regretted it on all accounts. As for the Squire, he shook off the impression of the preacher’s eloquence, gathered round him his extempore town-guard, told them that this Declaration was a new danger to the peace of the place, and appointed various beats to certain divisions of their body. As he was setting them forward under their leaders, he was accosted by a gentleman in rich armour, who asked him whether he was not Mr. Battiscombe of this town, saying further that he was sent by one who was charged with despatches for Mr. Battiscombe from M. Emmanuel Florien.
“Probably M. Florien himself,” observed the Squire.
“By no means: M. Florien is not in England. No, nor on the English seas,” continued the messenger, in reply to the glance the Squire directed to the bay.
“I cannot at present leave my company,” said the Squire: and he really meant this: but when he was made to understand that it was Monmouth himself who summoned him, he saw, as he believed, so signal a divine leading in such an incident, that he could have no doubt about his duty. He delegated his command for a short time to a neighbour, and entered the George, heedless of the twitches at his coat, and of the groans and prayers of some, and the cheers of others who had no doubt that in crossing that threshold his fate was sealed, for evil or for good.
Monmouth looked older, and so far better for his enterprise, than the Squire had expected;—certainly more than five years older than on his last visit to the west of England. He was handsomer than ever; and his countenance was radiant with joy at his reception: yet an experienced eye might discern the traces of past anxieties which had worn him long. He was richly dressed; and his armour lay ready to be assumed at any moment. The gentlemen in attendance were in full panoply, as messages were perpetually arriving which might call them hither and thither, without notice.
The Duke advanced a step or two when the Squire entered the room, and made his obeisance. It was no more than a very low bow. There was evidently no intention of kneeling; and the Duke therefore did not offer his hand to be kissed, as he had obviously been about to do. His manner was not the less gracious, as he said,
“We have met before, I think, Mr. Battiscombe. You were our guide, I remember, five years ago, in an admirable day’s sport on your fine downs here.”
“I was so honoured in your Grace’s service.”
Glances and whispers went on behind the Duke’s back at this method of accost; and Lord Grey of Wark made bold to suggest the question whether His Majesty was understood by the country-people to be the same personage that they had received so heartily on that occasion.
“Unquestionably,” was the reply. “Nothing was more clearly apprehended by the people at large than the claims of his Grace, the Duke of Monmouth.”
“His Grace again!” Then the Battiscombes had failed the cause! Anger and gloom overspread all the faces present except Monmouth’s. He looked all good-humour as he related that he had seen M. Florien the day before he sailed. Some time ago, it was true; for the voyage had been wretchedly tedious. Florien had entrusted him with a letter for Mr. Battiscombe, of too much consequence to be confided to the ordinary chances of conveyance. His Grace’s secretary produced the letter; and Mr. Battiscombe was requested, as a favour, to read it without delay, in the next room.
Before he had quite finished the voluminous