“Aurelia,” I said, “I can't talk to you now. Only get out of this. Don't stay here. I'm all right.”
“No, Martin,” she said, in her ordinary voice, “you're not all right. Come out of this. Slip away tonight to Newenham Abbey. It be over there, not more than a couple of miles. Oh, come, come. I can't bear to see you going away to certain death. I KNOW that this force cannot win.”
“Yes, Aurelia,” I answered. “But I'm not going to be a hang-back for all that. I'm not going to be a coward. You risk a horrible death, only to tell me not to do the same. You wouldn't give up a cause you believed in, merely because it was dangerous. I'll stick by my master, Aurelia. Don't try to tempt me.”
She would have said more; she would perhaps have persuaded me from my heroics, had not the guns begun firing. That broke the spell with a vengeance; nothing could be done after that. I shook up my horse, hardly pausing to say “God bless you.” In another minute she was out of sight, while I was cantering off to the extreme right wing with the Duke's orders to his officers to cut in on the road to Chard. As I rode along, behind the scattered line of our men, I could see the rolls of smoke from the firing on the left. The men on the right were not firing, but being raw troops they were edging little by little towards the firing, in which I do not doubt they longed to be, for the sake of the noise. They say now that the Duke threw away this battle at Axminster. He could have cut Albemarle's troops to pieces had he chosen to do so. They made a pretty bold front till we were within gunfire of them, when they all scattered off to the town pell-mell. While they were in the town, we could have cut them off from the Chard road, which would have penned them in while we worked round to seize the bridges. After that, one brisk assault would have made the whole batch of them surrender. Some of our officers galloped from our right wing (where I was) to see how the land lay, before leading off their men as I had brought them word. A few of them fired their pistols, when they came to the road, which was enough to make the right wing double forward to support them without orders. In a minute about a thousand of us were running fast after our officers, while the Duke's aides charged down to stop us. He had decided not to fight, probably thinking that it would do his cause no good by killing a lot of his subjects so early in his reign. We know now that had he made one bold attack that morning, the whole of Albemarle's force, with the exception of a few officers, would have declared for him. In other words we should have added to our army about a thousand drilled armed men who knew the country through which we were to pass. By not fighting, we discouraged our own army, who grumbled bitterly when they found their second battle as ineffectual as the fight at Bridport.
I remember next that I saw the whole of Albemarle's troops flying for their lives along the Chard road, flinging away their weapons as they ran. They had the start of us; but a resolute captain could have brought them to a stand, by pushing forward his cavalry. However “a bridge of gold to a flying foe” is a good saying. We let them go. When our cavalry advanced (to keep them on the move, not to fight with them) they passed the time in collecting what the militia had flung away; about four thousand pounds' worth of soldiers' stores, chiefly uniforms. I went forward with the horse on that occasion. I picked up altogether about a dozen muskets, which I gave to some of our men who were armed only with clubs. Then I rode back to report myself ready for service to my master, who was getting ready for camp, thinking that his men had done enough for one day.
It was a sad waste of time. A rough camp was formed. We went no further for that time. About half a precious day was wasted, which might have brought us nearly to Taunton under a resolute man, sworn to conquer. Some of our men went out to forage, which they did pretty roughly. It was theft with violence, coloured over by some little touch of law. The farmers who were unpopular thereabouts had their cattle driven off; their ricks carted off; their horses stolen; their hen-roosts destroyed. We were like an army of locusts, eating up everything as we passed. Our promises to pay, when the King came to his own, were really additional insult; for the people robbed knew only too well how Stuart kings kept their promises. One strange thing I saw that night. The men who were cooking their newly stolen beef at the camp-fires kept crying out for camp-kettles in which to boil the joints. We had no camp-kettles; but an old man came forward to the Duke's quarters to ask if he might show the men how to cook their meat without kettles. The Duke at once commanded him to show us how this might be done. Like most useful inventions, it was very simple. It was one of those things which are forgotten as life becomes civilised, but for want of which one may perish when one returns to barbarity, as in war. The old man began by placing stout poles in tripods over the camp-fires, lashing them firmly at the top with faggot-binders. Then he took the hide of one of the slaughtered cattle, gathering it up at the corners, so as to form a sort of bag. He cut some long narrow strips from the hide of the legs, with which to tie the four corners together. Then he lashed the four corners to the tripod, so that the bag hung over the fire.
“There,” he said. “There is your kettle. Now put water into en. Boil thy victuals in er. That be a soldier's camp-kettle. You can carry your kettle on your beef till you be ready for en.”
Indeed, it proved to be a very good kind of a kettle after one got used to the nastiness of it, though the smell of burning hair from the kettles was disgusting. To this day, I have only to singe a few hairs in a candle to bring back to my mind's eye that first day in camp at Axminster, the hill, the valley ringed in by combes, the noise of the horses, the sputtering of the fires of green wood, the many men passing about aimlessly, wondering at the ease of a soldier's life after the labour of spring ploughing. It was a wonderful sight, that first camp of ours; but the men for the most part grumbled at not fighting; they wanted to be pushing on, to seize the city of Bristol, instead of camping there. How did they know, they said, that the weather would keep fine? How were we to march with all our ten baggage waggons if the weather turned wet, so that the roads became muddy? The roads in those parts became deep quagmires in rainy weather. A light farmer's market cart might go in up to the axles after a day's steady rain. To march through such roads would break the men's hearts quicker than any quantity of fighting, however disastrous. Thus they grumbled about the camp-fires, while I bustled over the Duke's dinner, in the intervals of running errands for the colonel.
That evening, after the summer dusk had come, but before the army had settled to sleep, I heard an old man, one of our cavalrymen, talking to another trooper. “Ah,” he said, “I was fighting in the old wars under Oliver. I've seen wars enough. You mark my words, boy, this army won't do much. We've not got enough men, for one thing. We could have had fourteen thousand or more if he'd thought to bring muskets for en. We've not got cavalry, that's another thing. When us do come face to face with all the King's men us shall be sore put to it for want of a few trusty horses. Horsemen be the very backbones of armies in the field. Then, boy, we not got any captains, that's worst of all. The Duke's no captain. If he'd been a captain her'd have fought this morning. Them others aren't captains neither, none of them. Besides, what are they doing sitting down in camp like this when we ought to be marching? Us ought to be marching. Marching all night, never setting down once, marching in two armies, one to Exeter, one to Bristol. Us'd 'ave the two towns by late tomorrow night if us was under old Oliver. It'll take us a week to get to Bristol at this rate. By that time it will be full of troops, as well as secured by ships. As for us, by that time we shall have troops all round us, not to speak of club-men.”
“Ah,” said the younger man. “What be club-men, gaffer?”