To this monster (man I cannot call him) was left the task of hunting down the wretched fugitives, and I, perforce, served under him; though 'tis something to my comfort to remember that, at the risk of life itself, I helped more than one poor creature to escape; nor was I in Kirke's service long, as you will see.
Having worked his will at Bridgewater, he moved on to Taunton, taking with him a long string of prisoners, chained two and two, while others who were wounded lay with their wounds undressed (heaped in a wagon). More were caught upon the way, and so, when at last we marched into the town, whose people, not a month before, had strewn flowers in Monmouth's path, and given him a rich-worked banner, we drove before us such a herd of poor distracted creatures, of all ages, as might have made a Spartan pitiful.
And now there happened that which made me think it shame instead of honour, to be serving as a soldier of King James.
At Taunton Kirke took up his quarters at the White Hart Inn, and straightway turned the very sign thereof into a gibbet. Thus, seated at the window, drinking with his officers, he laughed and jested while dozens of his hapless fellow-countrymen were swung to death upon this homely gallows. And when they kicked and struggled in their agony he bade the drums beat, saying he would give them music for their dancing.
Nor was this all. On pain of instant death, if he refused, they had forced a hapless yokel to be quarterer (Tom Boilman, as he was thenceforward known throughout that countryside by shuddering men and women, who would not go within a yard of him). And there he stood beneath the gallows, working for very life amid the blood and boiling pitch. That was enough for me. Rushing to Kirke's room, I told him hotly that I would not serve another hour on such a frightful business.
He sprang up, and, with his sword half-drawn, cried:
"What's that, you saucy dog?"
"Why, this," I thundered, "that I will not serve another minute under such a bloody-minded wretch as you! Here is my commission." And I threw it on the table.
His face and head went red with anger; the veins upon his neck stood out like cords; and for a time he could not speak.
"Whelp!" he hissed at last. "You shall smart for this! Yea, verily," he added, with an awful oath, "but you shall dance like yonder rebel!" He pointed to a struggling figure which had just been raised aloft.