'O Lord! we thank Thee! O Lord! we bless Thee!' Susan repeated on her knees, her voice broken with her joy and triumph. 'Twas all that she could say.
I declare that at that moment I had no more doubt of the victory than I had of the sunshine. There could be no doubt. The joy-bells were ringing: how should we know that the Rev. Mr. Harte, the Vicar, caused them to be rung, and not our friends? There could be no manner of doubt. The people running to and fro in the street had heard the news, and were rushing to tell each other and to hear more—the women who wept were mothers or wives of the slain. Again, we had encouraged each other with assurances of our success, so that we were already fully prepared to believe that it had come. Had we not seen a splendid army, seven thousand strong, march out of Taunton town, led by the bravest man and most accomplished soldier in the English nation? Was not the army on the Lord's side? Were we not in a Protestant country? Were not the very regiments of the King Protestants? Why go on? And yet—oh! sad to think!—even while we knelt and prayed, the army was scattered like a cloud of summer gnats by a shower and a breeze, and hundreds lay dead upon the field, and a thousand men were prisoners; and many were already hanging in gemmaces upon the gibbets, where they remained till King William's coming suffered them to be taken down; and the rest were flying in every direction hoping to escape.
'O Lord! we thank Thee! O Lord! we bless Thee!'
While thus we prayed we heard the door below burst open, and a trampling of a man's boots; and Susan, hastily rolling up her hair, ran downstairs, followed by mother and myself.
There stood Barnaby. Thank God! one of our lads was safe out of the fight. His face and hands were black with powder; his red coat, which had been so fine, was now smirched with mud and stained with I know not what—marks of weather, of dust, and of gunpowder; the right-hand side was torn away; he had no hat upon his head, and a bloody clout was tied about his forehead.
'Barnaby!' I cried.
'Captain Barnaby!' cried Susan, clasping her hands.
'My son!' cried mother. 'Oh! thou art wounded! Quick, Alice, child—a basin of water, quick!'
'Nay—'tis but a scratch,' he said; 'and there is no time for nursing.'
'When—where—how?' we all cried together, 'was the victory won? Is the enemy cut to pieces? Is the war finished?'