The boats drew nearer, until at length we could make out a thick array of sword-hilts, pistol stocks, and muskets. Then, indeed, the crowd buzzed with excitement, and glancing at the Mayor I saw that he fairly quaked with fear, and that his face was deathly white. He tried to speak to Dassell, but he could not. But there was little time to think of Master Alford, for now the foremost boat had grounded on the shingle, and in a twinkling those aboard were leaping for the shore. Some reached it dry-shod, others jumped short and splashed into the water; but one and all were quickly on the beach. For the most part they were white-wigged, fine-dressed gentlemen, with swords at their sides and pistols in their belts, while many carried muskets also. They took no heed of us, save that one of them, who seemed to be a leader, turned, and holding up his hand, bade us fall back to make more room--the which we straightway did. [Illustration: THE LANDING OF THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH] Meanwhile the other boats had drawn close in, and those aboard were leaping shoreward with a will. Eighty odd in all I counted. In the stern of the last boat a man sat all alone. He was arrayed in purple and a big plumed hat, with a single glittering star upon his breast, and wore a jewel-hilted sword. When all else had landed, and he came forward to the bows to follow, someone ran back into the sea, and, uncovering, made a knee for him, in order that he might not wet his feet, and with a gracious bow of thanks he stepped lightly from it to the shore. And then I knew him; for notwithstanding that five years had left some mark upon it, there could be no mistake about that face of almost girlish beauty: and as he stood there for a moment in the slow of the sunset methought it was small wonder that the common people worshipped him. "Monmouth!" At first the magic word sped through the crowd from mouth to mouth in startled whispers; then, suddenly, as though by one consent, a great shout rent the air: "A Monmouth! A Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!" Again and yet again the ringing cry uprose, until the grey old cliffs behind us seemed mad with echoes; then, as the last shout died away, a voice which sounded like a puling child’s after such tumult broke out upon the outskirts of the throng: "Traitors! Treason!" Looking round that way I saw good Master Gregory Alford speeding for the town as fast as two fat legs could carry him, his coat-tails flying wide upon the wind. Verily the Mayor of Lyme had proved full bitterly that high estate is apt to have its drawbacks; and also that "A Certain Person" had made no bad choice of landing-places. The drums and town guard had already disappeared; so also had friend Dassell. *CHAPTER V* *The Man with the King’s Evil*