CHAPTER XVII

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*Tells how I had Speech of Ferguson*

Sound sleep works wonders on a healthy body, and so the morning found me mightily refreshed; nor did it trouble me to think that three dead men lay out upon the eastern shore. I had not sought the quarrel, but had only fought for life and liberty; therefore I felt no guiltiness, and let the matter rest: and, truly, there was quite enough to occupy my thoughts in other ways.

I will not dwell upon the saddened doings of that day. Ere noon we laid my father in his grave, high up above the sea--fit resting-place for one who had been born and bred in hearing of its solemn music, and who had ever loved it dearly.

Few people (scarce a dozen) gathered round us in the churchyard; nor was I sorry, for at such times a crowd of staring eyes is little to my liking. A week before it had been vastly different; scores would then have flocked to see the last of him who had been known by everyone. But now the town was rife with rank rebellion. Its people had gone mad with frenzied hopes as vain and empty as a shadow, but which, alas! within a few short weeks were turned into a scourge of death too horrible to contemplate. Yes, verily, Lyme Regis had gone daft in Monmouth's cause. The turmoil of it reached us like a sound of mockery in which we had no part; and, gazing down into the silent grave, I felt that it was well indeed with him who lay therein. And so we left him there, in peace, beside my mother.

That sad business done, the hours dragged by in dreary fashion, for at such times the mourners lag behind to mope and weep, as though 'twere sinful to be brave and cheerful, as though, in fact, there were no hope beyond the tomb. The only time I caught a change--a glint of hopefulness upon their dolorous faces--was at the reading of the will; and even that soon passed, for everything was left to me.

But all things, whether good or evil, have an end, and ere sunset I had waved a glad good-bye unto the last of those my doleful guests, and so was free to dwell in silence on my future plans. And truly there was plenty to be done, and little time in which to do it; for I had resolved to ride forth with the dawn to Exeter, where lay the Royalist army, commanded by the Duke of Albemarle.

I had come suddenly to this decision after that affair upon the shore, though not from any great love of the King's cause; rather had I reached it on account of what, to me, at any rate, seemed three good reasons. First, having once drawn my sword I felt that I must either go on fighting or go daft; secondly, I could no more fight for Monmouth, knowing what I did, than for the Evil One himself; and thirdly, I had a growing hope that I might meet both Ferguson and Tubal Ammon on the battlefield. Truly, I might kill the former while he yet stalked bare-faced in our midst; but that would mean sure death, and life had still some sweetness left for me. As for Ammon, well, it was far from likely that he would show himself in Lyme again. And even if he did, and we were favoured with a meeting, my killing of him would, I felt assured, be just as fatal to me as the slaying of his wicked master.

Thus you will see that I had no desire to draw my sword against my wretched and misguided fellow-countrymen; but to compass the destruction of the two arch-villains who, by their abominable machinations, had thus turned my life into a barren wilderness. 'Twas not a very clear or hopeful plan, I own, but still it was the best that I could frame; and at any rate, it would afford me plenteous room for vigorous action--the thing I needed most of all just then.

Meanwhile, as I have said before, there was a great deal to be done, and very little time in which to do it. First of all I called up Anne, the housekeeper, and Tom, the groom, into the study, and swiftly told them that I was going to leave them for a space, and that The Havering would be in their sole charge till my return. They were amazed, but seeing how firm-set and sharp I was about the business, they swore fidelity and asked no questions. That done, I locked up my father's papers, together with the broken Black Box, in our iron-bound deed-chest, and then bethought me to pay a final visit to the town; partly to learn the latest news concerning Monmouth, and partly (let me freely own it) that I might say farewell to Miriam at the "George". In doing this I ran some risk, but what were risks to one who had already fought, and killed three men?

Thus, when the dusk began to fall, I walked down into Lyme, as bold as brass. My mission to the "George" proved unavailing, for Miriam was not in; and though her father was I did not tarry. He had strong views upon the Monmouth rising (as indeed he had on everything), and would fain have set them out before me at great length, but time was far too precious. So, leaving messages for Miriam, I betook me to the Market Place, and found it full of soldiery and gaping townsfolk.

News had come in that the Dorset militia had marched into Bridport (a town some eight miles east of Lyme), and after hasty counsel with his generals, Monmouth had decided to attack them. As near as I could judge the force drawn up within the market square consisted of about five hundred foot, including fifty musketeers, together with some fourscore or so of horsemen. They were commanded by Lord Grey, and for the most part were trained soldiers who had seen hard fighting in the past.

The bright blue banner floated bravely in the wind, and beneath it sat the Duke on horseback. Just as I arrived upon the scene, he raised his hand; the crowd was hushed to sudden silence; and then, in a few clear, ringing words, he wished his little army God-speed, victory, and a safe return. At that a great shout rent the air; kerchiefs and hats were waved aloft, while on all sides the cry uprose:

"Monmouth! Our Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!"

It was, indeed, a stirring scene, and as I think upon it now, and see again the Duke, all gracious smiles and bows, deep sadness holds me that the consummation of such zeal and great devotion should have been the hangman's rope--the headsman's axe!

But at the time I had small thought for anything save him who stood a few yards from the Duke, waving his hat, and shouting till his red-blotched face seemed like to burst into a ravening fire. Yes, Ferguson, the plotter, led the loud hosannas with a will; his voice rang high above the rest; and when the cries began to lull 'twas he who started fresh ones. I watched him for a moment, then, scarce knowing why, pressed through the crowd until I stood beside him. Turning my way, he saw me, ceased shouting, put on his hat, and drawing his cloak about him, moved away. Following, I plucked him by the sleeve, and, with a mocking smile, said:

"Good evening to you, Master Ferguson! That plot of yours last night proved somewhat of a failure, did it not?"

The face he turned upon me at those words was such as I shall ne'er forget; if looks could kill a man, I had most surely been dead then, as, with one fierce, hateful glance, and dog-like baring of the teeth, he turned his back upon me. But for all that I had not done with him. Following, I caught him by the sleeve again, and said:

"Stay, one moment, reverend sir, I pray you! Listen, I have at home a sweet memorial of your godliness; to wit, a small black box. And you hold that which lay therein; use such power against me as you will--I care not; but be assured of this, that you and I will meet again, and that I will have vengeance on those black-souled, murderous villains, Tubal Ammon and Elijah Annabat."

He started at that latter name, and so, with one long meaning stare I strode away, and took my stand right opposite the Duke.

From thence I saw friend Ferguson speak hurriedly to four rough, evil-looking men, the while he pointed at me; I saw them nod and rub their chins; I saw them move away. Then someone touched me on the shoulder and a voice said in my ear:

"Fool! Why run this risk? Was not last night enough?"

Turning, I found Dan Foe behind me.

"Ah, you!" said I. "What now?"

"What now!" he echoed sharply. "Why, this. I have seen everything, and they will surely have you by the heels unless you run for it at once."

There seemed to be some truth in that, and I was more than half inclined to act upon his seasonable warning, when a horseman clattered up behind us and forced his way into the crowd, crying:

"Make way! Make way!"

'Twas Fletcher of Saltoun, and the steed he rode was such as made one break the tenth commandment. Indeed, I never saw a finer horse.

The crowd fell back on either side to let him pass, and he was making straight towards the standard, when Old Dare of Taunton stepped out suddenly and seized the bridle.

"How now!" said he. "How came you by that horse?"

[Illustration: "HOW NOW! HOW CAME YOU BY THAT HORSE?"]

"I took it from its stable at the 'George'," replied the other.

"Then know that it is mine, and take it back," rejoined Old Dare with heat.

"Nay, friend," said Fletcher calmly, "you err most grievously; for are not all things common to the Cause? Let go her head, I pray you."

"Nay, but I will not," rejoined the old man stoutly. "No legs save mine have stridden her, nor shall they."

"Ah! there you surely err again," laughed Fletcher, "for are not mine astride her at this very moment?"

That angered Dare beyond endurance; putting forth all his strength he strove to turn the horse, while Fletcher, using rein and bridle, urged it forward. At this Old Dare went clean beside himself with rage; let go a string of oaths and curses terrible to hear; and, when the other mocked him, drew a riding-switch from out his boot and struck him full across the face. 'Twas a cruel, maddening blow, and, in an instant, Fletcher snatched a pistol from his saddle-bow and shot the old man dead.

A moment's gasping silence was followed by a ravening roar of voices, and verily the people would have torn young Fletcher limb from limb (for Dare was much beloved by Western folk) had not the Duke of Monmouth ridden up and saved his life by ordering him aboard the frigate as a prisoner. I did not wait to see the end of it, but, taking advantage of the turmoil, broke out from the crowd and made all speed for home. There I fell to making final preparations for the morrow, and midnight struck before I was abed. Soon after three I was astir again, and ere four was riding on my way to Exeter. The past few days had brought me many strange and perilous adventures; but these were as nothing when compared with those which lay before me in the unknown future. Should you doubt that statement, you have but to follow me to prove its truth.

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