For Faith and Freedom

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER XIX.

  KING MONMOUTH AND HIS CAMP.

  Next day, the town being thronged with people, and the young menpressing in from all quarters to enrol themselves (over fourthousand joined the colours at Taunton alone), another Proclamationwas read--that, namely, by which the Duke claimed the throne.Many opinions have been given as to this step. For the Duke'senemies maintain--first, that his mother was never married to KingCharles the Second (indeed, there is no doubt that the King alwaysdenied the marriage); next, that an illegitimate son could neverbe permitted to sit upon the ancient throne of this realm; and,thirdly, that in usurping the Crown the Duke broke faith with hisfriends, to whom he had solemnly given his word that he would notput forward any such pretensions. Nay, some have gone so far asto allege that he was not the son of Charles at all, but of someother whom they even name; and they have pointed to his face asshowing no resemblance at all to that swarthy and gloomy-lookingKing. On the other hand, the Duke's friends say that there were inhis hands clear proofs of the marriage; that the promise given tohis friends was conditional, and one which could be set aside bycircumstances; that the country gentry, to whom a Republic was mostdistasteful, were afraid that he designed to re-establish that formof government; and, further, that his friends were all fully aware,from the beginning, of his intentions.

  On these points I know nothing; but, when a thing has been done,it is idle to spend time in arguing that it was well or ill done.James, Duke of Monmouth, was now James, King of Great Britain andIreland; and if we were all rebels before, who had risen in thename of religion and liberty, I suppose we were all ten times asmuch rebels now, when we had, in addition, set up another King, anddeclared King James to be an usurper, and no more than the Duke ofYork. Nay, that there might be wanting no single circumstance ofaggravation, it was in this Proclamation declared that the Dukeof York had caused his brother, the late King, to be secretlypoisoned. I know not what foundation exists for this accusation; butI have been told that it gave offence unto many, and that it was anill-advised thing to say.

  The Proclamation was read aloud at the Market Cross by Mr. Tyley,of Taunton, on the Saturday morning, before a great concourse ofpeople. It ended with the words, 'We, therefore, the noblemen,gentlemen, and Commons at present assembled, in the names ofourselves and of all the loyal and Protestant noblemen, gentlemen,and Commons of England, in pursuance of our duty and allegiance,and for the delivering of the Kingdom from Popery, tyranny, andoppression, do recognise, publish, and proclaim the said high andmighty Prince James, Duke of Monmouth, as lawful and rightfulSovereign and King, by the name of James II., by the grace of God,King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, Defender of theFaith. GOD SAVE THE KING!'

  After this the Duke was always saluted as King, prayed for asKing, and styled 'His Majesty.' He also touched some (as only theKing can do) for the king's-evil, and, it is said, wrought manymiracles of healing--a thing which, being noised abroad, shouldhave strengthened the faith of the people in him. But the malignityof our enemies caused these cases of healing to be denied, or elseexplained as fables and inventions of the Duke's friends.

  Among the accessions of this day was one which I cannot forbearto mention. It was that of an old soldier who had been one ofCromwell's captains, Colonel Basset by name. He rode in--being aman advanced in years, yet still strong and hale--at the head of aconsiderable company raised by himself. 'Twas hoped that his examplewould be followed by the adhesion of many more of Cromwell's men,but the event proved otherwise. Perhaps, being old Republicans, theywere deterred by the Proclamation of Monmouth as King. Perhaps theyhad grown slothful with age, and were now unwilling to face oncemore the dangers and fatigues of a campaign. Another recruit was theonce-famous Colonel Perrot, who had been engaged with Colonel Bloodin the robbery of the Crown Jewels--though the addition of a robberto our army was not a matter of pride. He came, it was afterwardssaid, because he was desperate, his fortunes broken, and with noother hope than to follow the fortunes of the Duke.

  It became known in the course of the day that the army was to marchon the Sunday. Therefore, everybody on Saturday evening repairedto the camp: some to bid farewell and Godspeed to their friends,and others to witness the humours of a camp. I was fortunate inhaving Robin for a companion and protector--the place being roughand the behaviour and language of the men coarse even beyond whatone expects at a country fair. The recruits still kept pouring infrom all parts; but, as I have already said, many were disheartenedwhen they found that there were no arms, and went home again. Theywere not all riotous and disorderly. Some of the men, those, namely,who were older and more sober-minded, we found gathered together ingroups, earnestly engaged in conversation.

  'They are considering the Proclamation,' said Robin. 'Truly, we didnot expect that our Duke would so soon become King. They say he isillegitimate. What then? Let him mount the throne by right of arms,as Oliver Cromwell could have done had he pleased--who asks whetherOliver was illegitimate or no? The country will not have anotherCommonwealth--and it will no longer endure a Catholic King. Let ushave King Monmouth, then: who is there better?'

  In all the camp there was none who spoke with greater cheerfulnessand confidence than Robin. Yet he did not disguise from himself thatthere might be warm work.

  'The King's troops,' he said, 'are closing in all round us. Thatis certain. Yet, even if they all join we are still more numerousand in much better heart; of that I am assured. At Wellington, theDuke of Albemarle commands the Devonshire Militia; Lord Churchillis at Chard with the Somerset Regiment; Lord Bath is reported to bemarching upon us with the Cornishmen; the Duke of Beaufort hath theGloucester Militia at Bristol; Lord Pembroke is at Chippenham withthe Wiltshire Trainbands; Lord Feversham is on the march with theKing's standing army. What then? are these men Protestants or arethey Papists? Answer me that, Sweetheart.'

  Alas! had they been true Protestants there would have been such ananswer as would have driven King James across the water three yearssooner.

  The camp was now like a fair, only much finer and bigger than anyfair I have ever seen. That of Lyme Regis could not be compared withit. There were booths where they sold gingerbread, cakes, ale, andcider; Monmouth favours for the recruits to sew upon their hats orsleeves; shoes and stockings were sold in some, and even chap-bookswere displayed. There was a puppet show with Patient Grizzle; and astand where a monkey danced. Men and women carried about in basketslast year's withered apples, with Kentish cobs and walnuts; therewere booths where they fried sausages and roasted pork all daylong; tumblers and clowns were performing in others; painted anddressed-up girls danced in others; there was a bull-baiting; a manwas making a fiery oration on the Duke's Proclamation: but I sawno one preaching a sermon. There were here and there companies ofcountry lads exercising with pike and halbert; and others, moreadvanced, with the loading and firing of their muskets. There weretables at which sat men with cards and dice, gambling: shouting whenthey won and cursing when they lost; others, of more thrifty mind,sat on the ground practising their trade of tailor or cobbler--thuslosing no money, though they did go soldiering; some polishedweapons and sharpened swords, pikes, and scythes; nowhere did wefind any reading the Bible, or singing of hymns, or listening tosermons. Save for a few groups of sober men of whom I have spoken,the love of amusement carried all away; and the officers of thearmy, who might have turned them back to sober thought, were notvisible. Everywhere noise; everywhere beating of drums, playing ofpipes, singing of songs, bowling and laughing. Among the men thereran about a number of saucy gipsy girls, their brown faces showingunder red kerchiefs, their black eyes twinkling (truly they arepretty creatures to look upon when they are young; but they haveno religion, and say of themselves that they have no souls). Thesegirls talked with each other in their own language, which none outof their own nation--except the tinker-folk, who are said to betheir cousins--understand. But English they talk very well, and theyare so clever that, it is said, they will talk to a Somersetshireman in good broad S
omerset, and to a man of Norfolk in his ownspeech, though he of Norfolk would not understand him of Somerset.

  'They are the vultures,' said Robin, 'who follow for prey. Beforethe battle these women cajole the soldiers out of their money, andafter the battle their men rob and even murder the wounded andplunder the dead.'

  Then one of them ran and stood before us.

  'Let me tell thy fortune, handsome gentleman? Let me tell thine,fair lady? A sixpence or a groat to cross my palm, Captain, and youshall know all that is to happen.'

  Robin laughed, but gave her sixpence.

  'Look me in the face, fair lady'--she spoke good, plain English,this black-eyed wench, though but a moment before she had beentalking broad Somerset to a young recruit--'look me in the face;yes. All is not smooth. He loves you; but there will be separationand trouble. One comes between, a big man with a red face; he partsyou. There is a wedding, I see your ladyship plain. Why, you arecrying at it, you cry all the time; but I do not see this gentleman.Then there is another wedding--yes, another--and I see you at both.You will be twice married. Yet, be of good heart, fair lady.'

  She turned away and ran after another couple, no doubt with much thesame tale.

  'How should there be a wedding,' I asked, 'if I am there and you notthere, Robin--and I to be crying? And how could I--oh! Robin--howcould I be married twice?'

  'Nay, Sweetheart, she could not tell what wedding it was. She onlyuttered the gibberish of her trade; I am sorry that I wasted asixpence upon her.'

  'Robin, is it magic that they practise--these gipsies? Do theytraffic with the Devil? We ought not to suffer witches to liveamongst us.'

  'Most are of opinion that they have no other magic than the artof guessing, which they learn to do very quickly, putting thingstogether, from their appearance; so that if brother and sister walkout together they are taken to be lovers, and promised a happymarriage and many children.'

  That may be so, and perhaps the fortune told by this gipsy was onlyguess-work. But I cannot believe it; for the event proved that shehad in reality possessed an exact knowledge of what was about tohappen.

  Some of the gipsy women--but these were the older women, who hadlost their good looks, though not their impudence--were singingsongs, and those, as Robin told me, songs not fit to be sung; andone old crone, sitting before her tent beside a roaring wood fireover which hung a great saucepan, sold charms against shot andsteel. The lads bought these greedily, giving sixpence apiece forthem; so that the old witch must have made a sackful of money. Theycame and looked on shyly. Then one would say to the other, 'Whatthinkest, lad? Is there aught in it?' And the other would say,'Truly, I know not; but she is a proper witch, and I'll buy one.We may have to fight. Best make sure of a whole skin.' And so hebought one, and then all bought. The husbands of the gipsy womenwere engaged, meantime, we understood, in robbing the farm-yards inthe neighbourhood, the blame being afterwards laid upon our honestsoldiers.

  Then there was a ballad-monger singing a song about a man and abroom, and selling it (to those who would buy) printed on a longslip of paper. The first lines were--

  There was an old man and he lived in a wood, And his trade it was making a broom,

  but I heard no more, because Robin hurried me away. Then there weresome who had drunk too much cider or beer, and were now reelingabout with stupid faces and glassy eyes; there were some who werelying speechless or asleep upon the grass; and some were cookingsupper over fires after the manner of the gipsies.

  'I have seen enough, Robin,' I said. 'Alas for sacred Religion ifthese are her defenders!'

  ''Tis always so,' said Robin, 'in time of war. We must encourage ourmen to keep up their hearts. Should we be constantly reminding themthat to-morrow half of them may be lying dead on the battle-field?Then they would mope and hang their heads, and would presentlydesert.'

  'One need not preach of death, but one should preach of godlinessand of sober joy. Look but at those gipsy wenches and those ladsrolling about drunk. Are these things decent? If they escape thedangers of war, will it make them happy to look back upon the memoryof this camp? Is it fit preparation to meet their Maker?'

  'In times of peace, sweet Saint, these lads remember easily thatin the midst of life we are in death, and they govern themselvesaccordingly. In times of war, every man hopes for his own part toescape with a whole skin, though his neighbour fall. That is why weare all so blithe and jolly. Let us now go home--before the nightfalls and the mirth becomes riotous and unseemly.'

  We passed a large booth, whence there issued sounds of singing. Itwas a roofless inclosure of canvas. Some ale-house man of Tauntonhad set it up. Robin drew aside the canvas door.

  'Look in,' he said. 'See the brave defenders of Religion keeping uptheir hearts.'

  It was furnished with benches and rough tables: at one end werecasks. The benches were crowded with soldiers, every man with a potbefore him, and the varlets were running backwards and forwardswith cans of ale and cider. Most of the men were smoking pipes oftobacco, and they were singing a song which seemed to have no end.One bawled the lines, and when it came to the 'Let the hautboysplay!' and the 'Huzza!' they all roared out together:--

  Now, now, the Duke's health, And let the hautboys play, While the troops on their march shall roar Huzza! huzza! huzza!

  Now, now, the Duke's health, And let the hautboys play, While the drums and the trumpets sound from the shore Huzza! huzza! huzza!

  They sang this verse several times over. Then another began--

  Now, now, Lord Grey's health, And let the hautboys play, While the troops on their march shall roar Huzza! huzza! huzza!

  Now, now, Lord Grey's health, And let the hautboys play, While the drums and the trumpets sound from the shore Huzza! huzza! huzza!

  Next a third voice took it up--

  Now, now, the Colonel's health, And let the hautboys play,

  and then a fourth and a fifth, and the last verse was bawled aslustily and with so much joy that one would have thought the meresinging would have gotten them the victory. Men are so made, Isuppose, that they cannot work together without singing and musicto keep up their hearts. Sailors sing when they weigh anchor; menwho unlade ships sing as they carry out the bales; even Cromwell'sIronsides could not march in silence, but sang Psalms as theymarched.

  The sun was set and the twilight falling when we left the camp; andthere was no abatement of the roaring and singing, but rather anincrease.

  'They will go on,' said Robin, 'until the drink or their money givesout; then they will lie down and sleep. You have now seen our camp,Sweetheart. It is not, truth to say, as decorous as a conventicle,nor is the talk so godly as in Sir Christopher's hall. For roughfellows there must be rough play; in a month these lads will beveterans; the singing will have grown stale to them; the black-eyedgipsy-women will have no more power to charm away their money; theywill understand the meaning of war; the camp will be sober if it isnot religious.'

  So we walked homewards, I, for my part, saddened to think in whata spirit of riot these young men, whom I had pictured so full ofgodly zeal, were preparing to meet the chance of immediate death andjudgment.

  'Sweet,' said Robin, 'I read thy thoughts in thy troubled eyes. Prayfor us. Some will fight none the worse for knowing that there aregood women who pray for them.'

  We were now back in the town; the streets were still full of people,and no one seemed to think of bed. Presently we passed the CastleInn; the windows were open, and we could see a great company ofgentlemen sitting round a table on which were candles lit andbowls full of strong drink; nearly every man had his pipe at hislips and his glass before him, and one of them was singing to theaccompaniment of a guitar. Their faces were red and swollen, as ifthey had taken too much. At one end of the table sat Humphrey. What?could Humphrey, too, be a reveller with the
rest? His face, whichwas gloomy, and his eyes, which were sad, showed that he was not.

  'The officers have supped together,' said Robin. 'It may be longbefore we get such good quarters again. A cup of hipsy and a song ingood fellowship, thou wilt not grudge so much?'

  'Nay,' I said, ''tis all of a piece. Like man, like master. Officersand men alike--all drinking and singing. Is there not one good manin all the army?'

  As I spoke one finished a song at which all laughed, exceptHumphrey, and drummed the table with their fists and shouted.

  Then one who seemed to be the president of the table turned toHumphrey.

  'Doctor,' he said, 'thou wilt not drink, thou dost not laugh, andthou hast not sung. Thou must be tried by court-martial, and thesentence of the court is a brimming glass of punch or a song.'

  'Then, gentlemen,' said Humphrey, smiling, 'I will give you a song.But blame me not if you mislike it: I made the song in praise ofthe sweetest woman in the world.' He took the guitar and struckthe strings. When he began to sing, my cheeks flamed and my breathcame and went, for I knew the song; he had given it to me fouryears agone. Who was the sweetest woman in the world? Oh! he madethis song for me!--he made this song for me, and none but me! Butthese rude revellers would not know that--and I never guessed thatthe song was for me. How could I think that he would write theseextravagances for me? But poets cannot mean what they say--

  As rides the moon in azure skies, The twinkling stars beside; As when in splendour she doth rise, Their lesser lights they hide. So beside Celia, when her face we see, All unregarded other maidens be.

  As Helen in the town of Troy Shone fair beyond all thought, That to behold her was a joy By death too poorly bought. So when fair Celia deigns the lawn to grace, All life, all joy, dwells in her lovely face.

  As the sweet river floweth by Green banks and alders tall, It stayeth not for prayer or sigh, Nor answereth if we call. So Celia heeds not though Love cry and weep; She heavenward wendeth while we earthward creep.

  The marbled Saint, so cold and pure, Minds naught of earthly ways; Nor can man's gauds entice or lure That fixed heavenly gaze. So Celia, though thou Queen and Empress art, To heaven, to heaven alone, belongs thy heart.

  Now, while Humphrey sang this song, a hush fell upon the revellers;they had expected nothing but a common drinking-song. After thebawling and the noise and the ribaldry 'twas like a breath of freshair after the closeness of a prison; or like a drink of pure waterto one half-dead with thirst.

  'Robin,' I said, 'there is one good man in the camp.' I say thatwhile Humphrey sang this song--which, to be sure, was neither adrinking-song, nor a party song, nor a song of wickedness andfolly--the company looked at each other in silence, and neitherlaughed nor offered to interrupt. Nay, there were signs of gracein some of their faces, which became grave and thoughtful. WhenHumphrey finished it he laid down the guitar and rose up with a bow,saying, 'I have sung my song, gentlemen all--and so, good-night!'and walked out of the room.

  'Robin,' I said again, 'thank God there is one good man in the camp!I had forgotten Humphrey.'

  'Yes,' Robin replied; 'Humphrey is a good man, if ever there wasone. But he is glum. Something oppresses him. His eyes are troubled,and he hangs his head; or, if he laughs at all, it is as if hewould rather cry. Yet all the way home from Holland he was joyful,save when his head was held over the side of the ship. He sang andlaughed; he spoke of great things about to happen. I have neverknown him more happy. And now his face is gloomy, and he sighs whenhe thinks no one watcheth him. Perhaps, like thee, Sweet, he cannotabide the noise and riot of the camp. He would fain see every manBible in hand. To-day he spent two hours with the Duke before theCouncil, and was with thy father afterwards. 'Tis certain that theDuke hath great confidence in him. Why is he so gloomy? He bitterlyreproached me for leaving Sir Christopher, as if he alone had aconscience to obey or honour to remember!'

  Humphrey came forth at this moment and stood for a moment on thesteps. Then he heaved a great sigh and walked away slowly withhanging head, not seeing us.

  'What is the matter with him?' said Robin. 'Perhaps they flout himfor being a physician. These fellows have no respect for learning orfor anyone who is not a country gentleman. Well, perhaps when we areon the march he will again pick up his spirits. They are going tosing again. Shall we go, Child?'

  But the president called a name which made me stop a little longer.

  'Barnaby!' he cried; 'jolly Captain Barnaby! Now that DoctorGraveairs hath left us we will begin the night. Barnaby, my hero,thy song. Pill up, gentlemen! The night is young, and to-morrow wemarch. Captain Barnaby, tip us a sea-song. Silence, gentlemen, forthe Captain's song.'

  It was my brother that they called upon--no other. He got up fromhis place at the summons and rose to his feet. Heavens! what a broadman he seemed compared with those who sat beside him! His face wasred and his cheeks swollen because of the strong drink he had taken.In his hand he held a full glass of it. Robin called it hipsy--andit is a mixture of wine, brandy, and water with lemon juice andsugar--very heady and strong.

  Said not Barnaby that there was one religion for a landsman andanother for a sailor? I thought of that as he stood looking roundhim. If it were so, it would be truly a happy circumstance for mostsailors; but I know not on what assurance this belief can be argued.Then Barnaby waved his hand.

  'Yoho! my lads!' he shouted. 'The ship's in port and the crew hasgone ashore!'

  Then he began to sing in a deep voice which made the glasses ring--

  Shut the door--lock the door-- Out of window fling the key. Hasten; bring me more, bring me more: Fill it up. Fill it up for me. The daylight which you think, The daylight which you think, The daylight which you think, 'Tis but the candle's flicker: The morning star will never wink, The morning star will never wink, Till there cometh stint of liquor. For 'tis tipple, tipple, tipple all around the world, my lads, And the sun in drink is nightly lapped and curled, my lads, And to-night let us drink, and to-morrow we'll to sea; For 'tis tipple, tipple, tipple--yes, 'tis tipple, tipple, tipple-- Makes the world and us to jee.

  'Take me home, Robin,' I said, 'I have seen and heard enough. Alas!we have need of all the prayers that we can utter from the depths ofour heart, and more!'