Sometimes the
news was that the army was pressing in to cut off the Duke from
Taunton; that the dragoons were shooting people on the road; that
they were going to root out the whole population without mercy.
At another time news came that Monmouth was marching in to music,
determined to hold Taunton till the town was a heap of cinders.
Then one, bloody with his spurred horse's gore, cried aloud that
the King was dead, shot in the heart by one of his brother's
servants. Then another came calling all to prayer. All this
uproar caused a hurrying from one crowd to another. Here a man
preached fervently to a crowd of enthusiasts. Here men ran from a
prayer-meeting to crowd about a messenger. Bells jangled from the
churches; the noise of the picks never ceased in the trenches;
the taverns were full; the streets swarmed; the public places
were now thronged, now suddenly empty. Here came the aldermen in
their robes, scared faces among the scarlet, followed by a mob
praying for news, asking in frenzy for something certain, however
terrible. There several in a body clamoured at a citizen's door
in the like fever of doubt. There was enough agony of mind in
Taunton that day to furnish out any company of tragedians. We
English, an emotional people by nature, are best when the blow
has fallen. We bear neither doubt nor rapture wisely. Our
strength is shown in troublous times in which other people give
way to despair.
CHAPTER XXIV. THE END
Among all the confusion, I learned certainly from some deserters
that the Duke was at Bridgewater, waiting till his men had
rested, before trying to break through to the north, to his
friends in Chester.
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