Roger Willoughby: A Story of the Times of Benbow

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“God bless the King,” the people shouted, and immediately the officers of the army and the principal inhabitants advanced and kissed Monmouth’s hand, and addressed him as, “Sire,” and, “Your Majesty.” The news spread far and wide, and an enthusiastic gentleman, Colonel Dore of Lymington, in Hampshire, proclaimed the Duke of Monmouth, and raised a troop of a hundred men for his service. Volunteers now poured in in even greater numbers than before. Many had to be sent back for want of arms of any description. There was not even a sufficiency of scythes for all Monmouth still waited in vain for news of an insurrection in London. Colonel Danvers, who had promised to head it, hung back, fearing to risk his life in the enterprise. The king’s forces were now gathering from all directions to oppose the Duke. The household troops, the only real soldiers who could be depended upon, were marching from London, and were likely to prove formidable antagonists to Monmouth’s ill-disciplined volunteers. Stephen had been sent on outpost duty with his small body of horse. He had been directed to proceed in the direction of Chard, when towards evening, as he was about to return, he discovered a party of Royal horse galloping towards him. Though he soon discovered that they were superior in numbers to him, he drew up his men to receive them. They came on, led by a young officer, who showed abundant bravery if not much skill. As the party advanced Stephen gave the word to charge. Shots were rapidly exchanged, and swords were clashing as the combatants met in a doubtful fight. First to fall was the young officer. Two of Stephen’s men dropped from their horses, two others directly afterwards were shot. Notwithstanding, the Royal troopers, discouraged by the loss of their officer, wheeled round and took to flight. Several more of his men had been wounded, so that Stephen was unable to pursue the enemy, and he judged it wise to make the best of his way back to Taunton, fearing that he might be shut up in the town. The Duke at once resolved to march on Bridgewater, where he might hope to obtain arms and pecuniary assistance from the wealthy inhabitants devoted to his cause. It had been proposed to fortify Taunton, but since its memorable siege, when defended by Blake, the walls and fortifications had been destroyed, and a considerable number of men would have been required for its defence. The day after Monmouth had assumed the kingly title he marched out of Taunton at the head of an army, which, in point of numbers, might well have encouraged him with hopes of success, but Stephen Battiscombe observed with regret that he looked dispirited, in spite of the acclamations of the devoted thousands which were raised wherever he appeared. Stephen, as he was passing out of the town, observed Mr Ferguson, the Duke’s chaplain, whom he had often met, standing with a drawn sword in his hand, looking more like a lunatic than a sane minister of the Gospel.

“What can have come over the man?” remarked Stephen to his brother. “Hark! hear what he is saying.”

“Look at me, you have heard of me,” shouted the chaplain. “I am Ferguson, the famous Ferguson, for whose head so many hundred pounds have been offered.” Thus he continued uttering the same or similar phrases till the army had passed by.

“I have long ago taken the man’s measure, and have heartily wished that the Duke had a better adviser,” said Andrew.

The two brothers rode on with their men, keeping a watchful look-out on every side in case the enemy should suddenly appear. Bridgewater was reached without opposition, and in the evening Monmouth’s army, now mustering six thousand tolerably armed men, entered Bridgewater. The Duke met with a cordial reception from the Mayor and Corporation of that town, who proclaimed him king at the High Cross. The army was encamped on Castle Field, on the east side of the town, and the Duke himself took up his lodgings in the castle close by. The Duke might have been encouraged when he thought of the siege and gallant defence of Bridgewater by the famous Blake, who was a native of the town. A body-guard of forty young men, well mounted and armed, who paid their own expenses, had been formed for the protection of Monmouth’s person, while the whole of his cavalry amounted to a thousand horse. His object was now to push forward, and, if an opportunity offered, to capture Bristol. He therefore made but a short stay at Bridgewater, and proceeded on to Glastonbury, in the famous abbey of which a part of the army took up their quarters, while others occupied the neighbouring churches. His intention of taking Bristol was frustrated by the bridge across the Avon being broken-down, and by the Earl of Feversham having entered the city at the head of two hundred and fifty of the Horse Guards, formidable antagonists for Monmouth’s ill-disciplined cavalry to encounter. During the march Monmouth’s troops had been greatly harassed by the cavalry under Lord Churchill, afterwards the famous Duke of Marlborough. Monmouth knew that the inhabitants of Bristol were ready to rise the moment he should commence to attack, but the Duke of Beaufort, who commanded there, threatened to burn down the city at the least sign of rebellion, and Monmouth was delayed by the destruction of the bridge, while the king’s forces were gathering round him in large numbers. He was compelled to abandon his design and to countermarch to Bridgewater. At Philip’s Norton the advanced guard of the two armies met and had a sharp action, that of the Royal army being led by the Duke of Grafton, a half-brother of Monmouth. Grafton, leading on his men, found himself in a deep lane with fences on both sides of him, from which a galling fire of musketry was kept up, but he pushed on boldly till he came to the entrance of Philip’s Norton; there his way was crossed by a barricade, from which a third fire met him full in front. His men now lost heart, and made the best of their way out of the lane; but before they got out of it more than a hundred of them had been killed or wounded. Grafton now encountered a party of Monmouth’s cavalry, and cutting his way through them, came off safe. Though the two armies were now face to face, neither was anxious to engage in a general action. Feversham was waiting for his artillery, and Monmouth knew that his followers, in spite of their courage and zeal, were no match for regular soldiers. He had hoped that those regiments which he had formerly commanded would pass over to his standard, but that hope he was now compelled to relinquish; his heart filled, and he almost gave way to despair. Even at this time a proclamation was circulated, issued by James the Second, offering an amnesty to all who would lay down their arms and abandon Monmouth, excepting certain leaders who were expressly named. A meeting was accordingly held by some of Monmouth’s chief supporters, who proposed that those who were excluded from the amnesty should retreat to the coast and embark for Holland, leaving their followers to make such terms as they could with the Government. Monmouth in the present desponding mood was much disposed to adopt this measure. He did not look upon it as a disgraceful proceeding. Many lives would be saved, and he and his officers would preserve theirs. The step, however, was strongly opposed by Lord Grey, who implored the Duke to face any danger rather than requite with ingratitude and treachery the devoted attachment of the western peasantry. Abandoning this project, Monmouth, hearing that there was a rising of the inhabitants of the districts in the neighbourhood of Bridgewater, determined to return thither, and re-entered that town on the 2nd of July, having passed through Wells on his way. He now thought of fortifying that place, and had commenced the undertaking when the king’s forces appeared in sight. They consisted of two thousand five hundred troops, and one thousand five hundred of the Wiltshire militia. Instead of at once attacking the Duke, they encamped on the plain of Sedgemoor, about three miles from Bridgewater. Stephen Battiscombe, by his courage and judgment, had risen high in Monmouth’s favour, and now, with several other officers, accompanied the Duke to the top of the parish church steeple, the loftiest in the county. From it a wide view could be obtained, and with their glasses they could distinguish across the moor the villages where the royal army was posted. In one of them, Weston Zoyland, lay the royal cavalry, and here Feversham had fixed his head-quarters. Further off lay Middle Zoy, where the Wiltshire militia were quartered, and upon the moor, not far from Chedzoy, were encamped several battalions of regular infantry. Among them the Duke distinguished Dumbarton’s regiment, which he himself had once commanded.

“I know those men,” he said, turning to Stephen; “they will fight. If I had but them, all would go well.”

Still, formidable as the force appeared, the Duke knew Feversham’s incapacity, and even on the eve of battle his spies brought in word to Monmouth that his troops were regaling themselves with cider, and that no regular outposts had been established. On this the idea occurred to him that it might be possible to surprise the king’s forces, and to cut them to pieces. Lord Grey and the other principal officers agreed to this, and it was arranged that they should march out that very night. Castlefield, where they were encamped, presented on that Sunday afternoon a spectacle which for many a long year had not been seen in England since the disbanding of Cromwell’s soldiers. The greater number of the men were Dissenters. The day was passed in religious exercises according to the Puritan fashion. The preachers who had taken up arms against Popery, some of whom had fought in the great Civil War, appeared in red coats and jack boots, with swords by their sides. Stephen Battiscombe heartily joined in the religious exercises, though he avoided the spot where Ferguson was holding forth, and endeavouring to prove that the war in which they were engaged was not rebellion, but a righteous enterprise which merited the support of Heaven. Among the soldiers were their wives and daughters, who had come into the town from the surrounding districts to see them on that Sabbath-day; and when the camp-meeting broke up, and the trumpet summoned the men to their ranks, many parted who were never to meet again. Evening of that summer day drew on, and the time to commence the march arrived. As the Duke, with his body-guard, rode out of the castle, many remarked that his look was sad and full of evil augury. The night was well suited for the contemplated enterprise. Though the moon was at the full, and the northern streamers were shining brilliantly, the marsh fog lay so thickly on Sedgemoor that no object could be discerned fifty paces off. The Duke himself led the infantry, while the cavalry, a thousand strong, had been committed to Lord Grey, notwithstanding the remonstrances of many who mistrusted him after his previous ill-success. Stephen would willingly have had a different leader, for though Lord Grey was faithful to the cause he had espoused and courageous in council, yet he was destitute of that nerve which is the great requisite of an officer. He could have had no confidence in the greater number of his men, who, though brave, were quite undisciplined. Many of them had been embodied but a few days, and had not learned the use of their weapons, while their horses were unaccustomed to stand fire, or to act in concert with each other, so that they could be scarcely kept in their ranks. Even on the march most of the infantry also lacked discipline. At the same time, many had served in the militia, and being all animated with the same zeal, knew that they could trust each other. The scythe-men especially were sturdy fellows, drawn from the neighbouring mines, and were ready to fight to the last. Although the distance to Feversham’s camp was little more than three miles, in order to avoid two deep ditches, called in those parts plungeons or steanings, the Duke, led by a guide, took a circuitous route of nearly six miles in length. There was a third ditch, called the Rhine, which still lay between him and the king’s camp, but of which he knew nothing. There was a ford across this Rhine, by which his troops might have passed over, but which in the darkness was missed. In silence and darkness Monmouth’s devoted troops marched on. Some confusion and delay were caused by the first two ditches, but these having been passed, the Duke, believing no obstruction existed between him and the royal camp, fully expected to succeed in his enterprise. He here halted for the horse, consisting of eight squadrons, to advance. The four iron guns followed the horse, at the head of the foot, which consisted of five great battalions, each having one company of one hundred scythe-men, who did the duty of grenadiers. He had got within a mile of the camp, when the advanced sentries of the Royal Horse Guards were discovered. A party of Lord Grey’s cavalry charged them, when they galloped off to arouse the camp. Just before this a pistol had been heard to go off, which undoubtedly drew the attention of the king’s troops to the advancing force. Monmouth, hearing that the king’s camp was alarmed, ordered Lord Grey to advance rapidly with the horse, and to fall among the tents of the foot, so as to take them in flank, being still ignorant of the great ditch which protected them. Lord Grey accordingly marched on, to execute the orders given him, towards the upper plungeon; but he missed the passage over the ditch, and led his men by the outside till they were opposite Dumbarton’s regiment. Being challenged, some one answered “Albemarle,” and he accordingly, supposing them to be friends, allowed five hundred of them to pass. Lord Grey, then coming to the first battalion of the Guards, Captain Berkley, who commanded the right wing of the musketeers, inquired whom they were for. The answer was, “The king.”

“What king?” he asked.

“Monmouth, and God with us,” was the reply.

Berkley then cried out, “Take this with you,” when his own and several battalions opened a heavy fire, and a considerable number of Grey’s horses and men fell. When unable any longer to stand the fire, they rode off as hard as they could pelt. A smaller body of horse, to which Stephen belonged, under the command of Captain Jones, made several desperate charges, and were also compelled to retreat without having crossed the ditch, when they went off towards Sutton Hill, where they took up a position to see the issue of the fight. The flight of Lord Grey’s horse threw many of the infantry into confusion. Some refused to advance, and others ran away; but a still greater disaster was in store, for on coming to the end of the moor, where forty-two ammunition wagons had been left, the drivers, alarmed at the arrival of the fugitives, and being told that the Duke’s army had been routed, took to flight, and did not stop till they arrived at Ware and Axbridge, twelve miles off. Shortly after the Duke’s horse had dispersed themselves over the moor, his infantry advanced at the double, guided through the gloom by the lighted matches of Dumbarton’s regiment; but on reaching the edge of the Rhine they halted, and contrary to orders, began firing away, their fire being returned by part of the royal infantry on the opposite side of the bank. For three-quarters of an hour the roar of the musketry was incessant. The guns also opened fire, which was likewise returned by the king’s cannon as soon as they could be brought up. For a considerable time the battle raged, the sturdy Somersetshire peasants behaving themselves as though they had been veteran soldiers, though they levelled their pieces too high. Monmouth was seen like a brave man, pike in hand, encouraging his men by voice and example. He by this time saw that all was over; his men had lost the advantage which surprise and darkness had given them. They were deserted by the horse and the ammunition wagons. Lord Churchill had made a new disposition of the royal infantry. The day was about to break. The event of a conflict on an open plain by broad sunlight could not be doubtful; yet, brave as he was, the hope of preserving his life prevailed above all other considerations. In a few minutes the royal cavalry would intercept his retreat. He mounted and rode for his life, till he was joined by Lord Grey and a few other officers; but his brave infantry still made a gallant stand. They were charged right and left by the Life Guards and Blues, but the Somersetshire clowns, with their scythes and butt-ends of their muskets, fought to the last. At length their powder and ball were spent, and cries were heard of “Ammunition; for God’s sake give us ammunition!” But no ammunition was at hand. The king’s artillery began playing on them, and they could no longer maintain their ranks against the king’s cavalry. The infantry came pouring across the ditch, but even then the Mendip miners sold their lives dearly. Three hundred of the royal soldiers had been killed or wounded; of Monmouth’s men more than a thousand lay dead on the moor. Their leader, it was found, had disappeared, the cavalry had been dispersed, and the survivors fled across the moor towards Bridgewater. The king’s cavalry, meantime, were sweeping over the plain, cutting down those who attempted to make a stand, which some of the brave fellows did, while they captured others, till the whole army which marched out of Bridgewater the previous evening had been completely dispersed. Before evening five hundred prisoners had been crowded in the parish church of Weston Zoyland, many of them badly wounded. The church bells sent out a peal which must have had very different effects upon the ears of the victors and of the vanquished. The battle was over, but not the blood-shedding, for Feversham ordered a number of the prisoners for execution. Gibbets were erected in all directions, and the fatal Bussex Tree was long known as the place where numbers were put to death without the form of a trial.