Monmouth, James Scott, Duke of, 1649-1685 -- Fiction
After the old man had deserted, I sat down on the high ground above the
camp, in the earthen battery where our four little guns were mounted. I
was oppressed with a sad feeling that we were all marching to death. The
old man's words, “we shall have troops all round us,” rang in my head,
till I could have cried. My mind was full of terrible imaginings. I
saw our army penned up in a little narrow valley where the roads were
quagmires, so that our guns were stuck in the mud, our horses up to
their knees, our men floundering. On the hills all round us I saw
the King's armies, fifty thousand strong, marching to music under the
colours, firing, then wheeling, forming with a glint of pikes, bringing
up guns at a gallop, shooting us down, while we in the mud tried to
form. I knew that the end of it all would be a little clump of men round
the Duke, gathered together on a hillock, holding out to the last. The
men would be dropping as the shot struck them. The wounded would waver,
letting their pike-points drop. Then' there would come a whirling of
cavalry, horses' eyes in the smoke, bright iron horse-shoes gleaming,
swords crashing down on us, an eddy of battle which would end in a hush
as the last of us died. I saw all these pictures in my brain, as clearly
as one sees in a dream. You must not wonder that I looked over the misty
fields towards Newenham Abbey with a sort of longing to be there, well
out of all the war. It was only a mile from me. I could slip away so
easily. I was not bound to stay where I was, to share in the misery
caused by my leader's want of skill. Then I remembered how my father had
believed in the right of the Duke's cause. He would have counselled me
to stay, I thought. It seemed to me, in the dusk of the night, that my
father was by me, urging me to stay. The thought was very blessed; it
cleared away all my troubles as though they had not been. I decided
to look no more towards Newenham; but to go on by the Duke's side to
whatever fortune the wars might bring us. Somehow, the feeling that my
father was by me, made me sure that we were marching to victory. I went
to my quarters comforted, sure of sleeping contentedly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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