CHAPTER XIII
In the Great Room--and Afterwards
The room was packed; and never saw I such a piteous sight as was presented by that crowd of gaping, moon-struck faces, which, as it seemed to me, stared forth like poor penned cattle into certain doom. On each was writ in fatal characters the one word--Death! Yet all were mighty eager to be signing on; in truth, by the pressing and the jostling it might have been the statutes at a fair.
On a little platform at one end of the room, and not far from where I was standing, sat Monmouth with his officers--Lord Grey, Fletcher of Saltoun, Old Dare (as he was called), the Taunton goldsmith, and others whom I knew not. The Duke, all smiles and bows, watched everything with eager, anxious eyes, and even spoke a word or two when one big strapping fellow, towering high above the rest of them, stepped up to volunteer.
But for me there was small interest either in Monmouth or those who flocked to serve him. My eyes were fixed upon a wry-wigged gentleman who sat before a little table taking down the names. Yes, there, in all his blotch-faced ugliness--a hulking, bony, ill-dressed heap of perfidy--sat Robert Ferguson, the Plotter. His pen was whirling like a windmill; he seemed to catch a name up with the feather of his quill and run it down on paper wellnigh as soon as it was spoken; and all the time he never ceased to jerk forth jests and mock encouragement to those who, in their ignorance, were little more than clay within his hands. Thus, as I entered, he was saying:
"Come on, my friends, come on! Ah, what amazing, lovely zeal is this which moves your hearts! Fear not, the Lord of Hosts is with us, as the Scripture hath it, and verily we must prevail. The next--the next! ... Now, by my life, if such a fine upstanding man as thou shouldst not be captain in a month or so! Yes ... yes ... or more, perchance. Come on! the next! Oh, who shall stand against such zeal as this upon the day of battle? Ah, who, indeed? Not those, I trow, whose hands are stained with blood! Not those who have forsworn the Lord of Hosts and set up their abominations in high places. Not those, I say, not those! The next, the next! Come on, I pray you, speedily, or we shall hear the cock crow ere we've finished. What's that you say, friend? Yes, yes, I have you down quite clearly to the very letter: Uriah Smite--and may you smite full lustily! That is a merry jest, but something to the point, I vow. Back, friend, I pray you, and make room for him who stands behind.... Ah, what's that? You fought with Cromwell, say you? Truly, a handsome warrant for your zeal; and may you fight as well for us. Grey hairs, when mixed with zeal and wisdom, count for much. And as for that sword-cut on your face, well, what adornment could outvie it in true loveliness? ...
"Next, next! Remember that there is something for you all. Here a little--there a little--everywhere a little, and much for those as are right valiant. The Duke is not one to forget, I tell you. No, no, the sowers shall indeed reap heavily! What now, there, you who hold back, muttering? Hath Satan put a craven fear within your hearts? If so, take courage from my case. Look on me! I'm that man, that Ferguson, for whose unworthy life five hundred pounds were offered. Yea, I am he who years ago was driven forth from England, as a thing accurst, by those whose wickedness rose up to heaven like foul black smoke. I say again, I am that man, that Ferguson, who was accounted carrion for the evil-doers, a thing to be cast out and trodden underfoot like Jezebel of old. Yet here am I this day among you, called forth to be the scourge of them who would have slain me. What then! will you, whose road to victory is as broad and easy as the king's highway--will you, I say, hold back like frightened sheep when such a work is calling? Nay, nay, methinks I read a better tale than that upon your faces! Again, I say the Lord of Hosts is on our side, and your enemies shall crumple up before you like a scroll of parchment. Hark to the shouts of them who press behind you in the street! 'A Monmouth! True religion! Liberty! Down with the Scarlet Woman!' Ah, friends, what sweet, melodious, heavenly music! It sounds like Miriam's song of victory in mine ears! Come on, come boldly on, and let there be no Didymus among us!"
I will not weary you with more of the amazing wretch's sayings; but for me, who watched and listened, and knew him for the foul, cold-blooded murderer he was, his every word and movement were alive with grim suggestiveness. In very truth he held me spellbound as a thing scarce human. It seemed as though the Evil One himself sat there taking toll for Hades.
Nor was it less astonishing to note the swaying power he exercised upon a crowd of stalwart, sinewy fellows, who, had they known him rightly, might have torn him limb from limb. His strength in this respect made Monmouth and the rest of them appear like grinning images, whose fate this wicked, frowsy villain juggled with like dice. And as I watched him the desire to put a bullet through his wicked head grew stronger every moment. His ugly, working mouth was what I would have aimed for, and more than once my fingers crept towards a pistol-stock; but, verily, the crowd which was for ever moving straight in front of me would have made shooting something of a risky business even had the power of self-restraint been lacking; and so I stood there with my back against the wall and feasted greedily on Ferguson's each word and movement.
When he had filled a sheet 'twas handed to a messenger, who took it to the town hall, followed by the men whose names it bore, who there received their arms and so passed on to drill.