Micah Clarke

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  Chapter XXIX. Of the Great Cry from the Lonely House

  And so our weary marching and counter-marching came at last to an end,and we found ourselves with our backs fairly against the wall, and thewhole strength of the Government turned against us. Not a word cameto us of a rising or movement in our favour in any part of England.Everywhere the Dissenters were cast into prison and the Church dominant.From north and east and west the militia of the counties was on itsmarch against us. In London six regiments of Dutch troops had arrived asa loan from the Prince of Orange. Others were said to be on their way.The City had enrolled ten thousand men. Everywhere there was musteringand marching to succour the flower of the English army, which wasalready in Somersetshire. And all for the purpose of crushing some fiveor six thousand clodhoppers and fishermen, half-armed and penniless, whowere ready to throw their lives away for a man and for an idea.

  But this idea, my dear children, was a noble one, and one which a manmight very well sacrifice all for, and yet feel that all was well spent.For though these poor peasants, in their dumb, blundering fashion, wouldhave found it hard to give all their reasons in words, yet in the inmostheart of them they knew and felt that it was England's cause which theywere fighting for, and that they were upholding their country's trueself against those who would alter the old systems under which she hadled the nations. Three more years made all this very plain, and showedthat our simple unlettered followers had seen and judged the signs ofthe times more correctly than those who called themselves their betters.There are, to my thinking, stages of human progress for which the Churchof Rome is admirably suited. Where the mind of a nation is young, it maybe best that it should not concern itself with spiritual affairs, butshould lean upon the old staff of custom and authority. But England hadcast off her swaddling-clothes, and was a nursery of strong, thinkingmen, who would bow to no authority save that which their reason andconscience approved. It was hopeless, useless, foolish, to try to drivesuch men back into a creed which they had outgrown. Such an attempt was,however, being made, backed by all the weight of a bigoted king with apowerful and wealthy Church as his ally. In three years the nation wouldunderstand it, and the King would be flying from his angry people; butat present, sunk in a torpor after the long civil wars and the corruptreign of Charles, they failed to see what was at stake, and turnedagainst those who would warn them, as a hasty man turns on the messengerwho is the bearer of evil tidings. Is it not strange, my dears, howquickly a mere shadowy thought comes to take living form, and grow intoa very tragic reality? At one end of the chain is a king brooding over apoint of doctrine; at the other are six thousand desperate men, chiviedand chased from shire to shire, standing to bay at last amid the bleakBridgewater marshes, with their hearts as bitter and as hopeless asthose of hunted beasts of prey. A king's theology is a dangerous thingfor his subjects.

  But if the idea for which these poor men fought was a worthy one, whatshall we say of the man who had been chosen as the champion of theircause? Alas, that such men should have had such a leader! Swinging fromthe heights of confidence to the depths of despair, choosing his futurecouncil of state one day and proposing to fly from the army on thenext, he appeared from the start to be possessed by the very spiritof fickleness. Yet he had borne a fair name before this enterprise. InScotland he had won golden opinions, not only for his success, but forthe moderation and mercy with which he treated the vanquished. On theContinent he had commanded an English brigade in a way that earnedpraise from old soldiers of Louis and the Empire. Yet now, when his ownhead and his own fortunes were at stake, he was feeble, irresolute, andcowardly. In my father's phrase, 'all the virtue had gone out of him.'I declare when I have seen him riding among his troops, with his headbowed upon his breast and a face like a mute at a burying, casting anair of gloom and of despair all round him, I have felt that, even incase of success, such a man could never wear the crown of the Tudors andthe Plantagenets, but that some stronger hand, were it that of one ofhis own generals, would wrest it from him.

  I will do Monmouth the justice to say that from the time when it was atlast decided to fight--for the very good reason that no other course wasopen--he showed up in a more soldierly and manlier spirit. For the firstfew days in July no means were neglected to hearten our troops and tonerve them for the coming battle. From morning to night we were at work,teaching our foot how to form up in dense groups to meet the charge ofhorse, and how to depend upon each other, and look to their officers fororders. At night the streets of the little town from the Castle Fieldto the Parret Bridge resounded with the praying and the preaching. Therewas no need for the officers to quell irregularities, for the troopspunished them amongst themselves. One man who came out on the streetshot with wine was well-nigh hanged by his companions, who finally casthim out of the town as being unworthy to fight in what they lookedupon as a sacred quarrel. As to their courage, there was no occasion toquicken that, for they were as fearless as lions, and the only dangerwas lest their fiery daring should lead them into foolhardiness. Theirdesire was to hurl themselves upon the enemy like a horde of Moslemfanatics, and it was no easy matter to drill such hot-headed fellowsinto the steadiness and caution which war demands.

  Provisions ran low upon the third day of our stay in Bridgewater, whichwas due to our having exhausted that part of the country before, andalso to the vigilance of the Royal Horse, who scoured the district roundand cut off our supplies. Lord Grey determined, therefore, to sendout two troops of horse under cover of night, to do what they could torefill the larder. The command of the small expedition was given overto Major Martin Hooker, an old Lifeguardsman of rough speech and curtmanners, who had done good service in drilling the headstrong farmersand yeomen into some sort of order. Sir Gervas Jerome and I asked leavefrom Lord Grey to join the foray--a favour which was readily granted,since there was little stirring in the town.

  It was about eleven o'clock on a moonless night that we sallied outof Bridgewater, intending to explore the country in the direction ofBoroughbridge and Athelney. We had word that there was no large bodyof the enemy in that quarter, and it was a fertile district wheregood store of supplies might be hoped for. We took with us four emptywaggons, to carry whatever we might have the luck to find. Our commanderarranged that one troop should ride before these and one behind, while asmall advance party, under the charge of Sir Gervas, kept some hundredsof paces in front. In this order we clattered out of the town just asthe late bugles were blowing, and swept away down the quiet shadowyroads, bringing anxious peering faces to the casements of the waysidecottages as we whirled past in the darkness.

  That ride comes very clearly before me as I think of it. The dark loomof the club-headed willows flitting by us, the moaning of the breezeamong the withies, the vague, blurred figures of the troopers, the dullthud of the hoofs, and the jingling of scabbard against stirrup--eye andear can both conjure up those old-time memories. The Baronet and I rodein front, knee against knee, and his light-hearted chatter of life intown, with his little snatches of verse or song from Cowley or Waller,were a very balm of Gilead to my sombre and somewhat heavy spirit.

  'Life is indeed life on such a night as this,' quoth he, as we breathedin the fresh country air with the reeks of crops and of kine. 'Rabbitme! but you are to be envied, Clarke, for having been born and bred inthe country! What pleasures has the town to offer compared to the freegifts of nature, provided always that there be a perruquier's anda snuff merchant's, and a scent vendor's, and one or two tolerableoutfitters within reach? With these and a good coffee-house and aplayhouse, I think I could make shift to lead a simple pastoral life forsome months.'

  'In the country,' said I, laughing, 'we have ever the feeling that thetrue life of mankind, with the growth of knowledge and wisdom, are beingwrought out in the towns.'

  'Ventre Saint-Gris! It was little knowledge or wisdom that I acquiredthere,' he answered. 'Truth to tell, I have lived more and learned moreduring these few weeks that we have been sliding about in the rain withour rag
ged lads, than ever I did when I was page of the court, with theball of fortune at my feet. It is a sorry thing for a man's mind to havenothing higher to dwell upon than the turning of a compliment or thedancing of a corranto. Zounds, lad! I have your friend the carpenter tothank for much. As he says in his letter, unless a man can get the goodthat is in him out, he is of loss value in the world than one of thosefowls that we hear cackling, for they at least fulfill their mission, ifit be only to lay eggs. Ged, it is a new creed for me to be preaching!'

  'But,' said I, 'when you were a wealthy man you must have been ofservice to some one, for how could one spend so much money and yet nonebe the better?'

  'You dear bucolic Micah!' he cried, with a gay laugh. 'You will everspeak of my poor fortune with bated breath and in an awestruck voice, asthough it were the wealth of the Indies. You cannot think, lad, how easyit is for a money-bag to take unto itself wings and fly. It is true thatthe man who spends it doth not consume the money, but passes it on tosome one who profits thereby. Yet the fault lies in the fact that it wasto the wrong folk that we passed our money, thereby breeding a uselessand debauched class at the expense of honest callings. Od's fish, lad!when I think of the swarms of needy beggars, the lecherous pimps, thenose-slitting bullies, the toadies and the flatterers who were reared byus, I feel that in hatching such a poisonous brood our money hath donewhat no money can undo. Have I not seen them thirty deep of a morningwhen I have held my levee, cringing up to my bedside--'

  'Your bedside!' I exclaimed.

  'Aye! it was the mode to receive in bed, attired in laced cambricshirt and periwig, though afterwards it was permitted to sit up in yourchamber, but dressed _a la negligence_, in gown and slippers. The modeis a terrible tyrant, Clarke, though its arm may not extend as far asHavant. The idle man of the town must have some rule of life, so hebecomes a slave to the law of the fashions. No man in London was moresubject to it than myself. I was regular in my irregularities, andorderly in my disorders. At eleven o'clock to the stroke, up came myvalet with the morning cup of hippocras, an excellent thing for thequalms, and some slight refection, as the breast of an ortolan or wingof a widgeon. Then came the levee, twenty, thirty, or forty of the classI have spoken of, though now and then perhaps there might be some honestcase of want among them, some needy man-of-letters in quest of a guinea,or pupil-less pedant with much ancient learning in his head and verylittle modern coinage in his pocket. It was not only that I had somepower of mine own, but I was known to have the ear of my Lord Halifax,Sidney Godolphin, Lawrence Hyde, and others whose will might make or mara man. Mark you those lights upon the left! Would it not be well to seeif there is not something to be had there?'

  'Hooker hath orders to proceed to a certain farm,' I answered. 'This wecould take upon our return should we still have space. We shall be backhere before morning.'

  'We must get supplies, if I have to ride back to Surrey for them,' saidhe. 'Rat me, if I dare look my musqueteers in the face again unless Ibring them something to toast upon the end of their ramrods! They hadlittle more savoury than their own bullets to put in their mouths whenI left them. But I was speaking of old days in London. Our time waswell filled. Should a man of quality incline to sport there was eversomething to attract him. He might see sword-playing at Hockley, orcocking at Shoe Lane, or baiting at Southwark, or shooting at TothillFields. Again, he might walk in the physic gardens of St. James's, or godown the river with the ebb tide to the cherry orchards at Rotherhithe,or drive to Islington to drink the cream, or, above all, walk in thePark, which is most modish for a gentleman who dresses in the fashion.You see, Clarke, that we were active in our idleness, and that there wasno lack of employment. Then as evening came on there were the playhousesto draw us, Dorset Gardens, Lincoln's Inn, Drury Lane, and theQueen's--among the four there was ever some amusement to be found.'

  'There, at least, your time was well employed,' said I; 'you couldnot hearken to the grand thoughts or lofty words of Shakespeare or ofMassinger without feeling some image of them in your own soul.'

  Sir Gervas chuckled quietly. 'You are as fresh to me, Micah, as thissweet country air,' said he. 'Know, thou dear babe, that it was not tosee the play that we frequented the playhouse.'

  'Then why, in Heaven's name?' I asked.

  'To see each other,' he answered. 'It was the mode, I assure you, for aman of fashion to stand with his back turned to the stage from therise of the curtain to the fall of it. There were the orange wenches toquiz--plaguey sharp of tongue the hussies are, too--and there were thevizards of the pit, whose little black masks did invite inquiry, andthere were the beauties of the town and the toasts of the Court,all fair mark for our quizzing-glasses. Play, indeed! S'bud, we hadsomething better to do than to listen to alexandrines or weigh themerits of hexameters! 'Tis true that if La Jeune were dancing, or ifMrs. Bracegirdle or Mrs. Oldfield came upon the boards, we would humand clap, but it was the fine woman that we applauded rather than theactress.'

  'And when the play was over you went doubtless to supper and so to bed?'

  'To supper, certainly. Sometimes to the Rhenish House, sometimes toPontack's in Abchurch Lane. Every one had his own taste in that matter.Then there were dice and cards at the Groom Porter's or under the archesat Covent Garden, piquet, passage, hazard, primero--what you choose.After that you could find all the world at the coffee-houses, where anarriere supper was often served with devilled bones and prunes, to drivethe fumes of wine from the head. Zounds, Micah! If the Jews should relaxtheir pressure, or if this war brings us any luck, you shall come totown with me and shall see all these things for yourself.'

  'Truth to tell, it doth not tempt me much,' I answered. 'Slow and solemnI am by nature, and in such scenes as you have described I should feel avery death's head at a banquet.'

  Sir Gervas was about to reply, when of a sudden out of the silenceof the night there rose a long-drawn piercing scream, which thrilledthrough every nerve of our bodies. I have never heard such a wail ofdespair. We pulled up our horses, as did the troopers behind us, andstrained our ears for some sign as to whence the sound proceeded, forsome were of opinion that it came from our right and some from our left.The main body with the waggons had come up, and we all listened intentlyfor any return of the terrible cry. Presently it broke upon us again,wild, shrill, and agonised: the scream of a woman in mortal distress.

  'Tis over there, Major Hooker,' cried Sir Gervas, standing up in hisstirrups and peering through the darkness. 'There is a house about twofields off. I can see some glimmer, as from a window with the blinddrawn.'

  'Shall we not make for it at once?' I asked impatiently, for ourcommander sat stolidly upon his horse as though by no means sure whatcourse he should pursue.

  'I am here, Captain Clarke,' said he, 'to convey supplies to the army,and I am by no means justified in turning from my course to pursue otheradventures.'

  'Death, man! there is a woman in distress,' cried Sir Gervas. 'Why,Major, you would not ride past and let her call in vain for help? Hark,there she is again!' As he spoke the wild scream rang out once more fromthe lonely house.

  'Nay, I can abide this no longer,' I cried, my blood boiling in myveins; 'do you go on your errand, Major Hooker, and my friend and Ishall leave you here. We shall know how to justify our action to theKing. Come, Sir Gervas!'

  'Mark ye, this is flat mutiny, Captain Clarke,' said Hooker; 'you areunder my orders, and should you desert me you do so at your peril.'

  'In such a case I care not a groat for thy orders,' I answered hotly.Turning Covenant I spurred down a narrow, deeply-rutted lane whichled towards the house, followed by Sir Gervas and two or three of thetroopers. At the same moment I heard a sharp word of command from Hookerand the creaking of wheels, showing that he had indeed abandoned us andproceeded on his mission.

  'He is right,' quoth the Baronet, as we rode down the lane; 'Saxon orany other old soldier would commend his discipline.'

  'There are things which are higher than discipline,' I muttered.'I could not
pass on and leave this poor soul in her distress. Butsee--what have we here?'

  A dark mass loomed in front of us, which proved as we approached to befour horses fastened by their bridles to the hedge.

  'Cavalry horses, Captain Clarke!' cried one of the troopers who hadsprung down to examine them. 'They have the Government saddle andholsters. Here is a wooden gate which opens on a pathway leading to thehouse.'

  'We had best dismount, then,' said Sir Gervas, jumping down and tyinghis horse beside the others. 'Do you, lads, stay by the horses, and ifwe call for ye come to our aid. Sergeant Holloway, you can come with us.Bring your pistols with you!'