[*] Thomas, or Sir Thomas Armstrong, a person who had distinguished
himself in youth by duels and drunken exploits. He was
particularly connected with the Duke of Monmouth, and was said to
be concerned in the Rye-House Plot, for which he suffered capital
punishment, 20th June 1684.
“Let him hold up both hands, and if he count a hundred for each finger,” said the Duke, “it will be more than I expect. You have not spoken to him?”
“Surely not till your Grace’s pleasure was known. But, if he is not applied to, there is the Dutch train, Hans Snorehout’s congregation, in the Strand—there are the French Protestants in Piccadilly—there are the family of Levi in Lewkenor’s Lane—the Muggletonians in Thames Street——”
“Ah, faugh!—Out upon them—out upon them!—How the knaves will stink of cheese and tobacco when they come upon action!—they will drown all the perfumes in Whitehall. Spare me the detail; and let me know, my dearest Ned, the sum total of thy most odoriferous forces.”
“Fifteen hundred men, well armed,” said Christian, “besides the rabble that will rise to a certainty—they have already nearly torn to pieces the prisoners who were this day acquitted on account of the Plot.”
“All, then, I understand.—And now, hark ye, most Christian Christian,” said he, wheeling his chair full in front of that on which his agent was seated, “you have told me many things to-day—Shall I be equally communicative? Shall I show you that my accuracy of information matches yours? Shall I tell you, in a word, why you have at once resolved to push every one, from the Puritan to the free-thinker, upon a general attack of the Palace of Whitehall, without allowing me, a peer of the realm, time either to pause upon or to prepare for a step so desperate? Shall I tell you why you would lead or drive, seduce or compel me, into countenancing your measures?”
“My lord, if you please to form a guess,” said Christian, “I will answer with all sincerity, if you have assigned the right cause.”
“The Countess of Derby is this day arrived, and attends the Court this evening, with hopes of the kindest reception. She may be surprised amid the mêlée?—Ha! said I not right, Master Christian? You, who pretend to offer me revenge, know yourself its exquisite sweetness.”
“I would not presume,” said Christian, half smiling, “to offer your Grace a dish without acting as your taster as well as purveyor.”
“That’s honestly said,” said the Duke. “Away then, my friend. Give Blood this ring—he knows it, and knows how to obey him who bears it. Let him assemble my gladiators, as thou dost most wittily term my coup jarrets. The old scheme of the German music may be resorted to, for I think thou hast the instruments ready. But take notice, I know nothing on’t; and Rowley’s person must be safe—I will hang and burn on all hands if a hair of his black periwig[*] be but singed.—Then what is to follow—a Lord Protector of the realm—or stay—Cromwell has made the word somewhat slovenly and unpopular—a Lord Lieutenant of the Kingdom?—The patriots who take it on themselves to avenge the injustice done to the country, and to remove evil counsellors from before the King’s throne, that it may be henceforward established in righteousness—so I think the rubric runs—cannot fail to make a fitting choice.”