Monmouth, James Scott, Duke of, 1649-1685 -- Fiction
at him for speaking to a murderer. He was unnerved by Fletcher's act. He
had no great vitality. Sudden crises such as this unnerved him, by
using up his forces. A crisis of this kind (a small thing in a great
rebellion) was often enough to keep his brain from considering other,
more important, more burning questions concerning the entire army. The
end of this business was as unhappy as its beginning. Fletcher, our only
soldier, was sent aboard the frigate in which the Duke had sailed from
Holland. When the tide served, she set sail with him for Corunna in
Spain. With him she carried all our hopes of success, together with a
quantity of stores which would have been of use later in the expedition.
As I left the Cobb, or pier, which makes Lyme harbour, I saw the little
lame puppet-man turning away from the beach with a company of men who
wore our green boughs. For a few steps I hurried towards him, so that I
might overhear what he was saying; I made so sure that he was a spy. Mr.
Blick, to whom I told my fears, bade me not to worry myself. “Why, boy,”
he said, “there are five hundred spies in Lyme; but they can't hurt us.
Before they can get off to tell our enemies all about us there won't
be any enemies left. We shall be marching at once. We shall drive
everything before us.” He spoke with such confidence that I believed
him; yet the old man troubled me, for all that. When you see a face
continually, at a time when you are excited, you connect the face with
your excitement; it troubles your nerves.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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