"'Tis hard," said Dr. Temple, who stood next me, "that we should have to say good-bye to all this brightness."
He waved his hand around.
"'Tis hard, indeed," I answered. "Naught is left us now, except to go through bravely with the business."
"True, true," he murmured: "and I, who have seen death, and fought him too in almost every ugly form, should be the last to fear him now. Sir, my thoughts are chiefly set upon my native town of Nottingham. Wast ever there?"
"Nay, sir, but my father was, and he hath told me of it."
"Ah! 'tis a lovely place, set high upon the hills, with a noble river winding by it through the meadows. And on its highest hill there stands a fine old church--St. Mary's it is called. Its great tower rises up before me even now. There was I baptized, confirmed, and married; and there my young wife lieth buried. Ah! if I could but see that spot once more, methinks I should die happier!"
He turned his face away, and I was silent. There was much singing on the way, and Sampson Larke, the minister, spoke many ringing words of hope; for though his poor old wife lay dying even then in Lyme, he hid his own grief manfully, and strove amain to comfort those about him. He was a fine, upstanding fellow, and as he stood there in the cart behind us with his long hair streaming in the wind, his hand raised, and his face aglow with zeal, he made a picture that brought into my mind the ancient prophets.
As for little Samuel Robins, he bore up bravely, joining with a high shrill voice in hymn and psalm, until at last the great blue bay of Lyme burst suddenly in view. But this was too much for him. Stretching out his hands towards it, he broke down utterly and sobbed like any child.
Soon after this a strange thing happened; for as we gained the bottom of the hill and neared the sea, the horses utterly refused to face it. They kicked and plunged, and neither word nor blow could urge them forward. It seemed as if the poor dumb beasts rebelled against the duty forced upon them. So, in the end, we were taken out and marched on foot down to the place of death.
The gallows (two stout uprights with a cross-beam) had been set up behind the Cobb--that is, upon the western side of it, not twenty paces from the spot where Monmouth landed. Here a silent, awe-struck crowd was gathered, and as we passed between the lines of saddened, tearful faces, 'twas like a funeral procession.