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580 for it was uncertain how many of the insurgent force were ignorant idolaters of a handsome and affable young prince, and how few or many might be men who were devoting themselves for the final overthrow of Popery, and the rescue of the Puritan faith and worship from the oppressions and corruptions of the prelatical Church.

Once he had been compelled to halt, to refresh his horse as well as himself; but it was not for long. He had looked out behind him all the morning, with the idea that Reuben would overtake him, and he was half disappointed at having to proceed after his hasty meal of beef and ale without news of his servant, whose absence ruffled him, without creating any serious doubt of the man’s fidelity. The next incident of his journey banished for the moment all speculations of every sort.

A cloud of dust came into view far away over the open land. It came on along the lanes and over the fields, and the hasty tramp of horses was heard. When the riders came near, Christopher knew too many of them, begrimed as they were with dust. One after another of these acquaintances of his drew rein for a moment, and told him that the Duke had been defeated, and that all was lost. Their leader rode up, learned who Christopher was, announced himself as Lord Grey of Wark, and said it was false as hell that the Duke’s cause was lost. No man had ever before been cursed with such a rabble, in the name of cavalry, as he had been that day. The fellows said their horses ran away with them; some cart-horses were as unmanageable as elephants; and none could bear the sight of a line of soldiers; and the consequence was

The consequence was left for Christopher to conjecture; for there was an alarm of pursuit, from more dust rising westwards, and the whole troop, Lord Grey and all, spurred back to Lyme at their fullest speed, pouring down into the town before night, and alarming almost every household but the Mayor’s, and those of a few Tory magistrates, with news of an immense army under the Duke of Albemarle having scattered the forces and the hopes of Monmouth. The news was left at Farmer Dunn’s by some of the fugitives, and avouched to the Squire in the market-place of Lyme; and carried on to Dorchester, to the High Sheriff, by zealous newsmongers; so that the parents, the sisters, and betrothed of one of the Protestant champions gone forth to the war were all struggling with their apprehensions about what had become of Christopher.

Christopher was in no way disheartened. He had not for an instant thought of turning back with the remnant of Monmouth’s so-called cavalry; and the next people he met told him that it was a false alarm.

Those people were a congregation of country folk assembled at a cross where four roads met, to hear a preacher who had been in the fight. The minister was John Hickes,—the man of all men whom Christopher would at the moment have chosen to see. A dozen words from Hickes sent him forward with more eagerness than ever. Though the cavalry had turned tail, the infantry had not. They had driven the militia at first, then had given way when Grey’s troop had scampered off; but had been easily rallied, and had held their ground. With such reinforcements as were offering every hour, it would be easy to deal with the Exeter forces to-morrow; and the reverend ministers in Monmouth’s train, as being most easily spared, were playing the recruiting officer in all the country round. So Christopher rode on, and Hickes resumed his discourse, satisfying the people that the overthrow of Babylon was at hand, and sending the men in a body to Monmouth’s camp, leaving the women wringing their hands that they could not go too.

The most dubious appearance which presented itself to Christopher was his own welcome to Monmouth’s presence. He had come to offer his sword and his right arm, as any other man might do; and his professional judgment, if occasion required. He found himself welcomed as a great captain, or a noble with a large band of retainers might have been. This seemed to show that there were few real soldiers, and few men of birth or influence in the camp.

“I could not have believed it if I had not seen it,” said Monmouth to him, late that night, in confidential discourse: “but it is too surely true that my own staff of gentlemen,—the men by whom I am represented wherever I go,—the men who induced me to come,—the men who professed to be charged with the public opinion of Protestant England, areare now, when the critical moment has arrivedI cannot bring myself to say it”

“Not cowards, I trust,” said Christopher.

“Certainly unequal to the occasion. It is necessary that you should know this: but I cannot utter a needless word about it. You saw yourself how it was with Grey. It was Wade who saved the day. In fight we may rely on him: but in policy”

“Can doubts have arisen already about your Grace’s course?”

The Duke’s reply was—

“What would you have it to be?—in one word.”

“Drive back the Duke of Albemarle, and march to Exeter.”

“No doubt: but Wade is for going to Bristol.”

“He is a Bristol man: and may have large expectations of support there.”

“He has: but am I to take his word for it? And he leaves me if I do not follow his counsel.”

“That is unpardonable!”

“It seems so to me. Yet there are others who thrust their schemes upon me peremptorily. Heaven forgive me if I wrong them! but I doubt whether it be not,—with some of them, at least,—a device for slipping out of the danger they have brought me into. But I will not speak further of it.”

“I honour your Grace’s discretion. Happily, the next step is plain. The Duke of Albemarle driven back, or his force dispersed, there will be a new clearness in the case. Wavering minds will be settled; and if, as may possibly happen, the trainbands should come over to our side, the country will doubtless rise, and cowards will either