"Good--good!" he murmured fervently. "But stay--it grows amazing dark! Come near, friend." I put my ear close to his mouth. "That money which you gave me, friend," he whispered faintly, "’tis in my pocket with some more besides. I have a wife and little girl in Bridgewater. Wilt see they get it?" "It shall be done," I answered. Seeking my hand he pressed it closely, saying: "Thanks, good, true friend; now can I die in peace." With that he closed his eyes again, his head sank back upon my shoulder, and I thought his life had sped; but suddenly he looked forth with a wild, unearthly stare, and pointed skywards, saying: "See! see! A mighty army which no man can number! Hark to the tramp of feet! They march, and I must join them! Let me go, friend!" Springing to his feet, he stood there swaying like a drunken man; and, waving a hand above his head, cried: "Monmouth! Liberty! God with----" The choking blood gushed up into his throat, and so he staggered back into my arms--a corpse. I laid him gently down, folded his hands upon his breast, and having said a simple prayer above him, rode swiftly back to other scenes of death. *CHAPTER XXI* *I Leave the Service of King James* When I reached the battle-field, the dawn was breaking and the fight was all but done. Only the gallant men of Somerset still held their ground--a handful of doomed heroes, who scorned to yield to anything save death, which rushed upon them from all sides. ’Twas a moving sight indeed to see these brave, misguided fellows standing there--hemmed in on every side; deserted by their comrades; mowed down by dozens every minute: yet still fighting manfully with pike and scythe and musket for the cause they held so dear. In the midst of them stood a tall, red-coated minister waving a sword in one hand and a Bible in the other, the while he shouted words of exhortation and encouragement; but just as I drew close a musket bullet struck him in the mouth, and down he went to everlasting silence. Almost as he fell their firing slackened, and a wild, beseeching cry broke from them: "Powder! for God’s sake, powder!" Their only answer to this piteous appeal was another furious onfall of the Royalist horse, which swept them clean away--and all was over. The struggle for a kingly crown had once more been decided by the sacrifice of innocent and simple men.