Chapter Fourteen.
Commodore Benbow’s squadron met with tolerably severe weather on its passage to Old England. Not that the Commodore was much given to think about foul weather or fine; blow high or blow low, it was all the same to him; but as the gales were from the eastward, the squadron was considerably delayed, and at length, being in want of water, the Commodore put into Plymouth. Among the first who went on shore was Simon Bates, who was anxious once more to visit his native land. Roger Willoughby accompanied him.
“I congratulate you, my dear fellow,” said Roger, “on being once more a free man, with no one to suspect, except your own immediate relatives, the errant Captain Bates.”
They heard a great deal of talking going round, people speaking in an excited manner, and just then arrived at an inn, from the sign-board of which the countenance of the Prince of Orange was portrayed. They instantly made inquiries.
“Have you not heard? On the 5th of November last the Dutch William, sailing from Holland with a fleet of six hundred vessels, landed at Brixham, and marched with an army of cavalry, artillery, and infantry on to Exeter, while he has since been joined by numerous noblemen and gentlemen of influence.”
“This is indeed glorious news!” exclaimed Captain Bates, or rather Stephen Battiscombe.
“Yes, it is a very different affair from the landing of the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth and his handful of men,” answered his friend. “This time we shall gain the victory, and drive James Stuart from his throne.”
The Governor of Plymouth had sent word to the Prince that the garrison he commanded, and most of the inhabitants of the city, were ready to join him. The Prince was advancing towards London.