The Rafael Sabatini Megapack. Rafael Sabatini
he accidentally pulled the trigger.
However that may be, there was Dare as dead as the stones on which he lay, and Fletcher with a smoking pistol in his hand.
After that all was confusion. Fletcher was seized by those who had witnessed the deed; there was none thought it an accident; indeed, they were all ready enough to say that Fletcher had received excessive provocation. He was haled to the presence of the Duke with whom were Grey and Wilding at the time; and old Dare’s son—an ensign in Goodenough’s company—came clamouring for vengeance backed by such goodly numbers that the distraught Duke was forced to show at least the outward seeming of it.
Wilding, who knew the value of this Scottish soldier of fortune who had seen so much service, strenuously urged his enlargement. It was not a time to let the fortunes of a cause suffer through such an act as this, deplorable though it might be. The evidence showed that Fletcher had been provoked; he had been struck, a thing that might well justify the anger in the heat of which he had done this thing. Grey was stolid and silent, saying nothing either for or against the man who had divided with him under the Duke the honours of the supreme command.
Monmouth, white and horror-stricken, sat and listened first to Wilding, then to Dare, and lastly to Fletcher himself. But it was young Dare—Dare and his followers, who prevailed. They were too numerous and turbulent, and they must at all costs be conciliated, or there was no telling to what extremes they might not go. And so there was an end to the share of Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun in this undertaking—the end of the only man who was of any capacity to pilot it through the troubled waters that lay before it. Monmouth placed him under arrest and sent him aboard the frigate again, ordering her captain to sail at once. That was the utmost Monmouth could do to save him.
Wilding continued to plead with the Duke after Fletcher’s removal, and to such good purpose that at last Monmouth determined that Fletcher should rejoin them later, when the affair should have blown over, and he sent word accordingly to the Scot. Even in this there were manifestations of antagonism between Mr. Wilding and Lord Grey, and it almost seemed enough that Wilding should suggest a course for Lord Grey instantly to oppose it.
The effects of Fletcher’s removal were not long in following. On the morrow came the Bridport affair, and Grey’s shameful conduct when, had he stood his ground, victory must have been assured the Duke’s forces instead of just that honourable retreat by which Colonel Wade so gallantly saved the situation. Mr. Wilding did not mince his words in putting it that Grey had run away.
In his room at the George Inn, Monmouth, deeply distressed, asked Wilding and Colonel Matthews what action he should take in the matter—how deal with Grey.
“There is no other general in Europe would ask that, Your Grace,” answered Matthews gravely, and Mr. Wilding added without an instant’s hesitation that His Grace’s course was plain.
“It would be an unwise thing to expose the troops to the chance of more such happenings.”
Monmouth dismissed them and sent for Grey, and he seemed resolved to deal with him as he deserved. Yet an hour later, when Wilding, Matthews, Wade, and the others were ordered to attend the Duke in council, there was his lordship seemingly on as good terms as ever with His Grace.
They were assembled to discuss the next step which it might be advisable to take, for the militia was closing in around them, and to remain longer in Lyme would be to be caught there as in a trap. It was Grey who advanced the first suggestion, his assurance no whit abated by the shameful thing that had befallen, by the cowardice which he had betrayed.
“That we must quit Lyme we are all agreed,” said he. “I would propose that Your Grace march north to Gloucester, where our Cheshire friends will assemble to meet us.”
Colonel Matthews reminded the Duke of Andrew Fletcher’s proposal that they should make a raid upon Exeter with a view to seizing arms, of which they stood so sorely in need.
This Mr. Wilding was quick to support. “Not only that, Your Grace,” he said, “but I am confident that with very little inducement the greater portion of the militia will desert to us as soon as we appear.
“What assurance can you give of that?” asked Grey, his heavy lip protruded.
“I take it,” said Mr. Wilding, “that in such matters no man can give an assurance of anything. I speak with knowledge of the country and the folk from which the militia is enlisted. I offer it as my opinion that the militia is favourably disposed to Your Grace. I can do no more.
“If Mr. Wilding says so, Your Grace,” put in Matthews, “I have no doubt he has sound reasons upon which to base his opinion.
“No doubt,” said Monmouth. “Indeed, I had already thought of the step that you suggest, Colonel Matthews, and what Mr. Wilding says causes me to look upon it still more favourably.”
Grey frowned. “Consider, Your Grace,” he said earnestly, “that you are in no case to fight at present.”
“What fighting do you suggest there would be?” asked the Duke.
“There is Albemarle between us and Exeter.”
“But with the militia,” Wilding reminded him; “and if the militia deserts him for Your Grace, in what case will Albemarle find himself?”
“And if the militia does not desert? If you should be proven wrong, sir? What then? What then?” asked Grey.
“Aye—true—what then, Mr. Wilding?” quoth the Duke, already wavering.
Wilding considered a moment, all eyes upon him. “Even then,” said he presently, “I do maintain that in this dash for Exeter lies Your Grace’s greatest chance of success. We can deliver battle if need be. Already we are three thousand strong…”
Grey interrupted him rudely. “Nay,” he insisted. “You must not presume upon that. We are not yet fit to fight. It is His Grace’s business at present to drill and discipline his troops and induce more friends to join him.”
“Already we are turning men away because we have no weapons to put into their hands,” Wilding reminded them, and a murmur of approval ran round, which but served to anger Grey the more, to render more obstinate his opposition.
“But all that come in are not unprovided,” was his lordship’s retort. “There are the Hampshire gentry and their friends. They will come armed, and so will others if we have patience.
“Aye,” said Wilding, “and if you have patience enough there will be troops the Parliament will send against us. They, too, will be armed, I can assure your lordship.”
“In God’s name let us keep from wrangling,” the Duke besought them. “It is difficult enough to determine for the best. If the dash to Exeter were successful…”
“It cannot be,” Grey interrupted again.
The liberties he took with Monmouth and which Monmouth permitted him might well be a source of wonder to all who heard them. Monmouth paused now in his interrupted speech and looked about him a trifle wearily.
“It seems idle to insist,” said Mr. Wilding; “such is the temper of Your Grace’s counsellors, that we get no further than contradictions.” Grey’s bold eyes were upon Wilding as he spoke. “I would remind Your Grace, and I am sure that many present will agree with me, that in a desperate enterprise a sudden unexpected movement will often strike terror.”
“That is true,” said Monmouth, but apparently without enthusiasm, and having approved what was urged on one side, he looked at Grey, as if waiting to hear what might be said on the other. His indecision was pitiful—tragical, indeed, in the leader of so bold an enterprise.
“We should do better, I think,” said Grey, “to deal with the facts as we know them.”
“It is what I am endeavouring to do, Your Grace,” protested Wilding, a note of despair in his voice. “Perhaps some other gentleman will put forward better counsel than mine.”
“Aye!