On either side of Monmouth knelt two men, who, by the look of them, might also well have let go a prayer, for both were dressed as ministers. He on the right was short and stout, with a rounded, happy face. His eyes and mouth were tightly closed; his hands were clasped before him. The man upon the left was tall and bony, with a face that ill accorded with his garb, being sharp and crafty, and, as I found out when he turned it suddenly towards the glowing sky, blotched scarlet with king’s evil. A tousled wig hung down upon his forehead, and beneath it two small villainous black eyes went to and fro as though they were on wires. Throughout the prayer he never ceased to rub his bony hands together like one who washed; while, ever and anon, he jerked forth hallelujahs through his nose. I knew him not from Adam then (I was to know him all too well thereafter!), but, verily, I hated him upon the spot. Prayer being ended, the Duke unsheathed his sword, and holding it high above his head, cried: "I draw this weapon in the cause of liberty and true religion, and may God bless the work that lies before us!" A loud "Amen!" broke from the crowd, and Monmouth said: "Forward, and let those who are well disposed towards us follow!" Then Monmouth’s men formed up in double file, a blue flag was unfurled, in front of which the Duke took up his place, with a fine-dressed gentleman on either side of him; then those of our townsmen who had the courage of their voices (some hundred odd) fell in behind, and so they all went marching to the market-place. Here beneath the flag, which bore the motto, _Pro religione et libertate_, a proclamation was read aloud by the lanky, black-eyed minister, whose evil looks had struck me so upon the shore; and as he read he fell at times into the broadest Scotch, which it is quite beyond me to describe. Moreover, what he read was far too long to set down here. Suffice it to say that ’twas one long indictment of the King (or, as they put it, James, Duke of York), charging him, among other crimes, with having poisoned his brother, the late King Charles, and ending with these words: "Now let us play the men for our people, and for the cities of our God; and the Lord do that which seemeth good unto Him." While the reading of this long tirade was going forward I sought some information. "Who are those two fine-dressed men who stand on either side the Duke?" I asked of a sour-faced fellow at my elbow. "Those are Monmouth’s generals," he answered with a snivel. "He on the right is Lord Grey of Wark, of whom I cannot say much; but he on the left is Master Fletcher of Saltoun, a man well skilled in carnal warfare, a godly man to boot." "Ah, and that round-faced minister who tries to look so solemn and yet cannot. Who is he?" "’Tis Master Hooke, the Duke’s private chaplain, a worthy man, I trow, though somewhat Popish of appearance."