Monmouth's face had grown gloomy. He was too good a soldier not to know that what Crosby said was true, that his chance of success was of the feeblest kind. Not a single man of real importance had joined him; already there was regret that he had left his retreat in Brabant to lead such a desperate venture, and deep down in his heart, perhaps, he recognised in Ferguson his evil genius.
"You are a veritable Job's comforter," he said with a forced smile. "You show us a crowd of difficulties, have you any advice how they may be overcome?"
"Bid these men with their scythes and reaping-hooks disperse, and then leave England as quietly as you came."
Such a solution had entered into Monmouth's mind already. It seemed more feasible now that a friend had spoken it.
"You cannot!" exclaimed Lord Grey. "That would be base ingratitude to the men who are encamped without these walls. We have called them to arms, we must stand or fall with them."
"I grant it sounds the more honest advice," said Crosby, "but, my lord, you have to choose between two evils; I only counsel you to take the lesser. A few will suffer, doubtless, if you abandon your enterprise, but if you press on with it the whole of the West Country will be persecuted. King James does not know how to forgive."
"It is too late to turn back," said Monmouth. "Grey is right. These men look to me to lead them to victory. I will make the attempt. I have sworn it on the Holy Book."
Crosby bowed his head and was silent. He could not deny that Monmouth's attitude was that of an honest man.
"And what becomes of this gentleman who is so ready to help our enemies by giving us advice?" asked Ferguson.
"To-night he sups with us, to-morrow he departs," Monmouth answered.