difficulty preserved the altar from the insults of some ruffians who wished to carouse round it, by taking his stand before it with his sword drawn.* On Thursday, the second of July, Monmouth again entered Bridgewater, in circumstances far less cheering than those in which he had marched thence ten days before. The reënforcement which he found there was inconsiderable. The royal army was drawing nigh. At one moment he thought of fortifying the town; and hundreds of laborers were summoned to dig trenches and throw up mounds. Then his mind recurred to the plan of marching into Cheshire, a plan which he had rejected as impracticable when he was at Keynsham, and which assuredly was not more practicable now that he was at Bridgewater.t While he was thus wavering between projects equally hope. less, the king's forces came in sight. They consisted of about two thousand five hundred regular troops, and of about fifteen hundred of the Wiltshire militia. Early on the morn ng of Sunday, the fifth of July, they left Somerton, and pitched their tents that day about three miles from Bridgewater, on the plain of Sedgemoor. Doctor Peter Mew, Bishop of Winchester, accompanied them. This prelate had in his youth borne arms for Charles the First against the parliament. Neither his years nor his profession had wholly extinguished his martial ardor; and he probably thought that the appearance of a father of the Protestant church in the king's camp might reassure some honest men who were wavering between their horror of Popery and their horror of rebellion. The steeple of the parish church of Bridgewater is said to be the loftiest in Somersetshire, and commands a wide view over the surrounding country. Monmouth, accompanied by some of his officers, went up to the top of the square tower from which the spire ascends, and observed through a telescope the position of the enemy. Beneath him lay a flat expanse, now rich with cornfields and apple-trees, but then, as its name imports, for the most part a dreary morass. When the rains were heavy, and the Parret and its tributary streams rose above their banks, this tract was often flooded. It was indeed anciently part of that great swamp renowned in our * London Gazette, July 6, 1685; Citters, July Oldmixon, 703. + Wade's Confession. early chronicles as having arrested the progress of two suc cessive races of invaders. It had long protected the Celts against the aggressions of the kings of Wessex; and it nad sheltered Alfred from the pursuit of the Danes. In those remote times this region could be traversed only in boats. I was a vast pool, wherein were scattered many islets of shifting and treacherous soil, overhung with rank jungle, and swarming with deer and wild swine. Even in the days of the Tudors, the traveller whose journey lay from Ilchester to Bridgewater was forced to make a circuit of several miles in order to avoid the waters. When Monmouth looked upon Sedgemoor, it had been partially reclaimed by art, and was intersected by many deep and wide trenches which, in that country, are called rhines. In the midst of the moor rose, clustering round the towers of churches, a few villages, of which the names seem to indicate that they once were sur rounded by waves. In one of these villages, called Weston Zoyland, the royal cavalry lay; and Feversham had fixed his head-quarters there. Many persons still living have seen the daughter of the servant girl who waited on him that day at table; and a large dish of Persian ware, which was set before him, is still carefully preserved in the neighborhood. It is to be observed that the population of Somersetshire does not, like that of the manufacturing districts, consist of emigrants from distant places. It is by no means unusual to find farm ers who cultivate the same land which their ancestors cultivated when the Plantagenets reigned in England. The Somersetshire traditions are, therefore, of no small value to an historian.* At a greater distance from Bridgewater lies the village of Middlezoy. In that village and its neighborhood, the Wiltshire militia were quartered, under the command of Pembroke. On the open moor, not far from Chedzoy, were encamped several battalions of regular infantry. Monmouth looked gloomily on them. He could not but remember how, a few Matt. West. Flor. Hist., A. D. 878; MS. Chronicle quoted by Mr. Sharon Turner in the History of the Anglo-Saxons, book IV. chap xix.; Drayton's Polyolbion, iii.; Leland's Itinerary; Oldmixon, 703. Oldmixon was then at Bridgewater, and probably saw the duke on the church tower. The dish mentioned in the text is the property of Mr. Stradling, who has taken laudable vains to preserve the relics and traditions of the western insurrection. years oefore, he had, at the head of a column composed of some of those very men, driven before him in confusion the fierce enthusiasts who defended Bothwell Bridge. He could distinguish among the hostile ranks that gallant band which was then called, from the name of its colonel, Dumbarton's regiment, but which has long been known as the first of the line, and which, in all the four quarters of the world, has nobly supported its early reputation. "I know those mer," said Monmouth; "they will fight. If I had but them, all would go well! Yet the aspect of the enemy was not altogether discourag ing. The three divisions of the royal army lay far apart from one another. There was an appearance of negligence and of relaxed discipline in all their movements. It was reported that they were drinking themselves drunk with the Zoyland cider. The incapacity of Feversham, who commanded in chief, was notorious. Even at this momentous crisis he thought only of eating and sleeping. Churchill was indeed a captain equal to tasks far more arduous than that of scattering a crowd of ill-armed and ill-trained peasants. But the genius which, at a later period, humbled six marshals of France, was not now in its proper place. Feversham told Churchill little, and gave him no encouragement to offer any suggestion. The lieutenant, conscious of superior abilities and science, impatient of the control of a chief whom he despised, and trembling for the fate of the army, nevertheless preserved his characteristic self-command, and dissembled his feelings so well, that his submissive alacrity was praised by Feversham in a report made to the king.† Monmouth, having observed the disposition of the royal forces, and having been apprized of the state in which they were, conceived that a night attack might be attended with success. He resolved to run the hazard, and preparations were instantly made. It was Sunday; and his followers, who had, for the most part, been brought up after the Puritan fashion, passed a great part of the day in religious exercises. The Castle Field, in which they were encamped, presented a spectacle such as, since the dissolution of Cromwell's army, England had never The dissenting preachers who had taken arms against seen. * Oldmixon, 703. + Churchill to Clarendon, July 4, 1685. Popery, and some of whom had probably fought in the great civil war, prayed and preached in red coats and huge jackboots, with swords by their sides. Ferguson was one of those who harangued. He took for his text the awful imprecation by which the Israelites who dwelt beyond Jordan cleared themselves from the charge ignorantly brought against them by their brethren on the other side of the river. "The Lord God of Gods, the Lord God of Gods, he knoweth, and Israel he shall know. If it be in rebellion, or if in transgression against the Lord, save us not this day."* That an attack was to be made under cover of the night was no secret in Bridgewater. The town was full of women, who had repaired thither by hundreds from the surrounding region, to see their husbands, sons, lovers, and brothers, once more. There were many sad partings that day; and many parted never to meet again. The report of the intended attack came to the ears of a young girl who was zealous for the king. Though of modest character, she had the courage to resolve that she would herself bear the intelligence to Feversham. She stole out of Bridgewater, and made her way to the royal camp. But that camp was not a place where female innocence could be safe. Even the officers, despising alike the irregular force to which they were opposed, and the negligent general who commanded them, had indulged largely in wine, and were ready for any excess of licentiousness and cruelty. One of them seized the unhappy maiden, refused to listen to her errand, and brutally outraged her. She fled in agonies of rage and shame, leaving the wicked army to its doom ‡ And now the time for the great hazard drew near. The night was not ill suited for such an enterprise. The moon was indeed at the full, and the northern streamers were shining brilliantly. But the marsh fog lay so thick on Sedgemoor hat no object could be discerned there at the distance of fifty paces. * Oldmixon, 703; Observator, Aug. 1, 1685. + Paschall's Narrative in Heywood's Appendix. Kennet, Ed. 1719, iii. 432. I am forced to believe that this lamentable story is true. The bishop declares that it was commuricated to him in the year 1718 by a brave officer of the horse guards, who had fought at Sedgemoor, and who had himself seen the poor giri depart in an agony of distress. Narrative of an officer of the horse guards in Kennet, Ed. 1719; iii. 432; MS. Journal of the Western Rebellion, kept by Mr. Ed. The clock struck eleven; and the duke, with his body guard, rode out of the castle. He was not in the frame of mind which befits one who is about to strike a decisive blow. The very children who pressed to see him pass observed, and long remembered, that his look was sad and full of evil augury. His army marched by a circuitous path, nearly six miles in length, towards the royal encampment on Sedgemoor." Part of the route is to this day called War Lane. The foot were led by Monmouth himself. The horse were confided to Grey, in spite of the remonstrances of some who remembered the mishap at Bridport. Orders were given that strict silence. should be preserved, that no drum should be beaten, and no shot fired. The word by which the insurgents were to recognize one another in the darkness was Soho. It had doubtless been selected in allusion to Soho Fields in London, where their leader's palace stood.* At about one in the morning of Monday the sixth of July, the rebels were on the open moor. But between them and the enemy lay three broad rhines filled with water and soft mud. Two of these, called the Black Ditch and the Langmoor Rhine, Monmouth knew that he must pass. But, strange to say, the existence of a trench, called the Bussex Rhine, which immediately covered the royal encampment, had not been mentioned to him by any of his scouts. The wains which carried the ammunition remained at the entrance of the moor. The horse and foot, in a long, narrow column, passed the Black Ditch by a causeway. There was ward Dummer; Dryden's Hind and Panther, part II. The lines of Dryden are remarkable : "Such were the pleasing triumphs of the sky The pledge of his almighty patron's love, * It has been said by many writers, and among them by Pennant, that the district in London called Soho derived its name from the watchword of Monmouth's army at Sedgemoor. Mention of Soho Fields will be found in books printed before the western insurrection, for example, in Chamberlayne's State of England, 1684. |