THE PRISONER OF THE CASTLE.
I scarce know how many days had passed after these things before there happened that which was to me more terrible than all.
The military executions in Taunton were over. Many soldiers remained, but the people ceased to go in terror of their lives—for the moment. An awful sense of coming judgment hung over us. None knew who would be arrested for complicity in the plot, and haled before the terrible judge who was coming shortly. But for the moment there was a slight lull, and the wheels of life revolved just a little more in their accustomed grooves.
Sorrow and mourning and fear prevailed in too many homes, however. Master Hucker was a prisoner awaiting his trial. Master Simpson had fled none knew whither, and his sister feared him dead. Both the gentle brothers Hewling had been taken, and were in London for the time being, though it was said that they would be sent down to Taunton to be tried. More homes than I can mention here were desolated by the events which I have been striving to record, and I felt almost heart-broken now when I went to my friends the Simpsons; for Lizzie's face was pale and tearful, and even gay Will Wiseman, ever of a joyous courage in olden days, looked gloomy and troubled. He had loved his master well, and was faithfully serving him now in his absence, and acting almost like a son to good Mistress Simpson, the sister. But they lived in daily fear of hearing of his arrest; and sometimes Lizzie, weeping with my arm about her—for we were like brother and sister in love—would say,—
"Sometimes I think I would almost rejoice to hear that he were dead! It is such a fearful thing to think that he may even now be brought before that terrible judge who is coming, and have to suffer the awful death of traitor. Oh, if we only knew him safe—even if it were in the safety of a soldier's death!"
For the prisons were filling fast with fugitives and suspected persons, and none knew who might be the next to be haled off, there to linger until the Special Commission headed by Judge Jeffreys sat to judge and condemn those who had been concerned in this matter. Many judged those happy who had met a soldier's death, or had been hanged by the soldiers in the first onset. To linger in suspense in a dismal dungeon, often laden with irons, and subjected to cruel privations, only to be brought at last before that merciless man in whose hands the issues of life and death were to rest, seemed harder than a short shrift and a long rope at the hands of Kirke and his men. I know I often thought (shivering lest I might be recognized and sent to prison) that if that were so with me, I should live to wish I had perished on the fatal field of Sedgemoor. But my uncle stood high in favour. No word had been breathed against him. Colonel Kirke had called him an honest knave, and a credit to his trade; and the Snowes had always held a good repute in the town for loyalty and order, wherefore I was let alone.
But to return to the point from which I started, how may I tell the grief and terror I was thrown into by a sight I saw during the days of that lull which came betwixt the departure of Colonel Kirke and the arrival of Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys?
I was coming through the streets toward my home, when I perceived a small knot of soldiers, who seemed to be bringing in a prisoner in their midst. Now this had become so common a sight that I might not greatly have heeded it, had it not been that I saw Mr. Blewer riding with the soldiers, his face wearing its most evil smile of malevolent triumph.
At that sight I looked again at the party, and as I did so my heart stood still within me. There in the midst of the soldiers, partly held and partly tied upon his horse—for he was almost fainting from sickness and his wounds—was none other than my lord the Viscount; and the party were heading straight for the Castle, into which they presently disappeared with their captive.