LYME OF THE KING
On the next day, which was Friday, the country folk continued to come in, and by evening Monmouth's forces amounted to a thousand foot and a hundred and fifty horse. The men were armed as fast as they were enrolled, and scarce a field or quiet avenue in the district but resounded to the tramp of feet, the rattle of weapons, and the sharp orders of the officers who, by drilling, were converting this raw material into soldiers. On the Saturday the rally of the Duke's standard was such that Monmouth threw off at last the gloomy forebodings that had burdened his soul since that meeting on Thursday night. Wade, Holmes, Foulkes, and Fox were able to set about forming the first four regiments - the Duke's, and the Green, the White, and the Yellow.
Monmouth's spirits continued to rise, for he had been joined by now by Legge and Hooper - the two upon whom Battiscomb had counted - and by Colonel Joshua Churchill, of whom Battiscomb had been less certain.
Captain Matthews brought news that Lord Wiltshire and the gentlemen of Hampshire might be expected if they could force their way through Albemarle's militia, which was already closing round Lyme.
Long before evening willing fellows were being turned away in hundreds for lack of weapons. In spite of Monmouth's big talk on landing, and of the rumour that had gone out, that he could arm thirty thousand men, his stock of arms was exhausted by a mere fifteen hundred. Trenchard, who now held a Major's rank in the horse attached to the Duke's own regiment, was loud in his scorn of this state of things; Mr. Wilding was sad, and his depression again spread to the Duke after a few words had passed between them towards evening. Fletcher was for heroic measures. He looked only ahead now, like the good soldier that he was; and, already, he began to suggest a bold dash for Exeter, for weapons, horses, and possibly the militia as well, for they had ample evidence that the men composing it might easily be induced to desert to the Duke's side.
The suggestion was one that instantly received Mr. Wilding's heartiest approval. It seemed to fill him suddenly with hope, and he spoke of it, indeed, as an inspiration which, if acted upon, might yet save the situation. The Duke was undecided as ever; he was too much troubled weighing the chances for and against, and he would decide upon nothing until he had consulted Grey and the others. He would summon a council that night, he promised, and the matter should be considered.
But that council was never to be called, for Andrew Fletcher's association with the rebellion was drawing rapidly to its close, and there was that to happen in the next few hours which should counteract all the encouragement with which the Duke had been fortified that day.
Towards evening little Heywood Dare, the Taunton goldsmith, who had landed at Seatown and gone out with the news of the Duke's arrival, rode into Lyme with forty horse, mounted, himself, upon a beautiful charger which was destined to be the undoing of him.
News came, too, that the Dorset militia were at Bridport, eight miles away, whereupon Wilding and Fletcher postponed all further suggestion of the dash for Exeter, proposing that in the mean time a night attack upon Bridport might result well. For once Lord Grey was in agreement with them, and so the matter was decided. Fletcher went down to arm and mount, and all the world knows the story of the foolish, ill-fated quarrel which robbed Monmouth of two of his most valued adherents. By ill-luck the Scot's eyes lighted upon the fine horse that Dare had brought from Ford Abbey. It occurred to him that nothing could be more fitting than that the best man should sit upon the best horse, and he forthwith led the beast from the stables and was about to mount when Dare came forth to catch him in the very act. The goldsmith was a rude, peppery fellow, who did not mince his words.
"What a plague are you doing with that horse?" he cried.
Fletcher paused, one foot in the stirrup, and looked the fellow up and down. "I am mounting it," said he, and proceeded to do as he said.
But Dare caught him by the tails of his coat and brought him back to earth.
"You are ****** a mistake, Mr. Fletcher," he cried angrily. "That horse is mine.
Fletcher, whose temper was by no means of the most peaceful, kept himself with difficulty in hand at the indignity Dare offered him.
"Yours?" quoth he.
"Aye, mine. I brought it from Ford Abbey myself.""For the Duke's service," Fletcher reminded him. "For my own, sir; for my own I would have you know." And brushing the Scot aside, he caught the bridle, and sought to wrench it from Fletcher's hand.
But Fletcher maintained his hold. "Softly, Mr. Dare," said he. "Ye're a trifle o'er true to your name, as you once told his late Majesty yourself.""Take your hands from my horse," Dare shouted, very angry.
Several loiterers in the yard gathered round to watch the scene, culling diversion from it and speculating upon the conclusion it might have.
One rash young fellow offered audibly to lay ten to one that Paymaster Dare would have the best of the argument.
Dare overheard, and was spurred on.
"I will, by God!" he answered. "Come, Mr. Fletcher!" And he shook the bridle again.
There was a dull flush showing through the tan of Fletcher's skin. "Mr.
Dare," said he, "this horse is no more yours than mine. It is the Duke's, and I, as one o' the leaders, claim it in the Duke's service.""Aye, sir," cried an onlooker, encouraging Fletcher, and did the mischief. It so goaded Dare to have his antagonist in this trifling matter supported that he utterly lost his head.
"I have said the horse is mine, and I repeat it. Let go the bridle -let it go!" Still, Fletcher, striving hard to keep his calm, clung to the reins. "Let it go, you damned, thieving Scot!" screamed Dare in a fury, and struck Fletcher with his whip.
