In Taunton town : a story of the rebellion of James Duke of Monmouth in 1685

by Evelyn Everett-Green

I thought of all this as I lay in a narrow bed in an attic, counting myself lucky to have so much as a straw pallet to rest my weary bones upon—for weary I was with the excitements of the day; and the town was so full of recruits that numbers of these had to camp in the open field or in yards and barns. This was no great hardship whilst the dry warm weather lasted; and all men were so wrought up by the thought of the coming deliverance from Popery and tyranny, that nothing was counted a grievance in the good cause.

On Saturday morning I woke betimes, and after turning over all things in my mind, I resolved that I must not linger longer where I was, but make my way back that day as far as my aunt's house at Ilminster—according to promise—and then on to Taunton on Monday. The Duke, I had heard, would not leave Lyme before Monday, so I should be at home in good time to give notice of his approach.

But I felt that I could not leave without one more look at the Duke; and, moreover, I bethought me that my lord the Viscount might desire to send some letter or message to Mistress Mary: in fine, I had a hundred good reasons for not hastening away, as it might have been wise to do.

I took as good a breakfast as I could get at such a busy time, and putting the saddle on Blackbird, sallied forth in the brave sunshine to find the Viscount, and to pick up as much information as I could as to the plans and route of the Duke.

Now, although I think that this was not very well resolved on my part, I have never regretted it; for it enabled me to witness a most extraordinary and lamentable occurrence, which did much to damp the joy which was in all our hearts, and to send me on my way a sadder and a wiser man. But yet, I ween, there is something in our nature which makes us eager to see all that is to be seen, whether the sight be of sorrow or terror or joy; and therefore, when I approached the place where the Duke's standard had been set up, and saw that some sort of a tumult was going on about and around it, I pressed the more eagerly forward, and soon made my way (thinking less of my manners than of my eagerness and curiosity) into the innermost circle.

I have spoken many times of Old Dare, as he is still called in Taunton Town, where his memory is kept green, and of his forwardness in the cause of liberty and of the Duke; and how that he was always first to be on the spot when there was any fighting and any struggle for freedom. He had spent most of the time since landing in scouring the country for horses for the Duke, and had come in late the previous evening with some forty good beasts—the one he had purchased for himself being a very fine animal.

All this I did not know at the time, but heard it afterwards. What I did see when I approached was that one of the Duke's captains, whose name I had been told was Fletcher (I have not spoken of all the captains, fearing to confuse the reader with so many new names), was seated upon a fine horse, ready equipped, as it appeared, for a journey, and that Old Dare stood beside him with his hand upon the bridle, speaking loud words in a very angry manner.

Now it had been said to me that the Scotchman Fletcher was one of the few men about the Duke who really understood the art of war, and that he was the most valuable man we had on our side; so that I was astonished to hear high words passing between him and Old Dare, and to observe that the altercation was fast growing into a serious quarrel.

But even then I was little enough prepared for what my eyes witnessed. Scarce had I come into full sight and hearing of the disputants, before Dare raised his hand in a threatening manner, as though he would have struck his adversary with the cane in his hand; whereupon Captain Fletcher, roused to a great wrath, drew forth his pistol and shot Old Dare dead as he stood.