The Patriot (17 page)

110 run off with a large proportion of the funds, with it starting first- these largely supplied by a rich widow named Smith. The Duke had been forced to pawn his valuables; also Lady Wentworth's jewels. Andrew himself, in the end, had had to put his hand deep into his pocket, despite his dislike of Dare, the paymaster, and his grave doubts anent the entire project, which he found himself somehow supporting. It was to be hoped that things would improve once they reached England.

So far there were only about fifty men on board, apart from the Dutch crew, and few of these such as to inspire boundless confidence. None was a man of any notable substance nor repute. Not that this in itself was of great importance, assuming that their fighting qualities were right; but well-known names could much help recruitment once they landed. When it had come to the bit, most of the aristocratic English exiles, for one reason or another, had found it inexpedient to accompany the expedition at this stage, although they promised to come along later - and the Scots, of course, save for Andrew and the man Ferguson, had gone with Argyll. Strangely, also, for reasons which Andrew had not fathomed, the only two real soldiers of Monmouth's entourage, Colonels Rumbold and Ayloffe, had both been sent with the Scottish expedition.

It was late of a blustery afternoon before those on board saw what they looked for- or two-thirds of it- coming northwards up the wind-tossed inland sea from the direction of Amsterdam. These were the two tenders, little more than square-sailed Dutch barges, which were to accompany the frigate, loaded with supplies. There should have been three.

When the tenders came alongside to unload their passengers, Andrew saw that there were only some thirty of these, although many more had been expected; and apart from Monmouth himself and the Lord Grey, there were only Alderman Dare and the Reverend Robert Ferguson, of the leadership group. It transpired that Sheldon, the English envoy at The Hague, on King James's orders, had been endeavouring to have all sailing halted, as an act of hostility; and his son-in-law, William, had reluctantly made a gesture of appeasement by ordering an arrestment of the tenders at Amsterdam - but only after they had been due to leave. Unfortunately they had suffered the usual delays, and they had had to make a last-minute dash for it. And making a dash in heavy Dutch scows was something of a contradiction in terms. One of the tenders had been caught and held - which of course was a major loss. Nevertheless, the survivors seemed to be in fairly high spirits at what they saw as their first victory.

Andrew Fletcher saw it otherwise, and said so. "This is serious. Apart from the loss of men and vital supplies, it means that London knows all about this enterprise. Not only that we are sailing, but
who
sails and our small numbers."

"So long as they do not know where we intend to land, that is of no great moment," Lord Grey asserted.

"I think that it is. Eighty men, wheresoever they land, can represent little more than a fly to be crushed, against the might of England. Our only hope, as I see it, is that this may in fact so lull the authorities there that they do not trouble to take any very urgent steps against us, at first, and so give us time to assemble support on landing."

"Henry the Seventh, sir, landed with fewer men and yet won his kingdom."

"Yes, my lord. But H
enry
Tudor had previously made certain that the nobility were waiting and ready to welcome him. We have not."

"In this venture, Fletcher, we can do without such fainthearted talk!" Heywood Dare growled. "That, certes, is not how thrones are won! If you cannot do better than make moan, by God, you should keep silent!"

"Damn you, Dare!" Andrew's voice quivered and his hand dropped to his sword-hilt. "You,
you
call me faint-heart? You will take back those words or, or . . ."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" the Duke intervened. "Enough-enough, I say. In my presence. Save your ire for our enemies, of a mercy! Let us have no talk of faint-hearts in this company. Now - let us be on our way. Set sail, at last. The Dutch ships may yet seek to detain us. Where is our shipmaster . . . ?"

Andrew and Dare glared at each other, but inclined their heads towards the Duke.

So, with Andrew almost wishing that the Dutch
would
appear, to prevent this unhap
py enterprise from sailing, the
anchor was raised and the sails unfurled. They had been lying in the lee of Texel, one of the string of low, sandy islands which rim the Zuider Zee. They skirted this, now, west-about, in order to proceed into the North Sea opposite the fortified port of Den Helder. No notice seemed to be taken of them there. Emerging into the open sea, with a half-gale sweeping up the Channel from the south-west, they realised that what they had thought was rough water in the comparatively sheltered reaches of the Zuider Zee was a mill-pond contrasted with conditions outside. All that Dutch seaboard is shallow and shelving, conducive to short, steep seas. The vessels bucked and heaved and rolled, as they turned to head downwards towards the mouth of the Channel, having at once to tack directly into wind and seas. Hot tempers, like dispute and argument, quickly sank away, as practically all the passengers went down with sea-sickness.

Andrew was only slightly affected. But even so he did not enjoy that voyage. The unseasonable weather maintained, squally with rain-showers and cold enough for February. The old frigate was far from comfortable, accommodation primitive, food of the poorest. What it would be like in the two tenders was only to be imagined. Day after day the wind blew in their faces, so that continuous tacking, left and right, was the only way of making progress, and a slow progress indeed, made still slower by the necessity of not outsailing the lumbering, barge-like tenders, which much of the time appeared to be lost, save for their sails, under a smother of spray. Three full days out and they were still only off the mouth of the Schelde, not much south of the Hague. Andrew had little difficulty in keeping himself very much to himself, for sickness kept most of the company in their bunks, amidst a dire stench. Indeed, in the main, he saw most of James Stewart himself, who also seemed to be more or less immune to the nausea and to whom Andrew grew ever more attached. He was not a strong character, perhaps, with much of his pleasure-loving father and flighty mother in him; but he was genial, intelligent and unassuming, considering his position. Andrew only wished that he was a better judge of men. They held long talks, and the younger man came
to the conclusion that he would
make a better king than any of his last three predecessors, at least.

Their destination, he learned, was the English West Country, with a landing at Lyme, in Dorset. The argument was that the people of those parts were at once more Protestant and more sturdily-independent of London than any others south of Wales and Yorkshire. Also, Heywood Dare, from Taunton, had allegedly much influence thereabouts and strongly advised such landfall. If these seemed to Andrew inadequate reasons for such an important decision, he recognised that he might be prejudiced where the goldsmith was concerned; and also that he was insufficiently knowledgeable about England to be able to pontificate.

Beyond all calculations, even with the weather slightly improving, it took them eleven days to reach the Dorset coast. At least the adverse conditions seemed to have prevented English shipping from searching for them. They made their landfall at Portland Bill and then turned away westwards across the wide mouth of Lyme Bay. It seemed that they were going to drop Heywood Dare, by small boat, off Seaton, at the far end of the thirty-mile wide bay, after dark, from whence he would make his secret way to his own Taunton, to publish the news there and raise recruits. The vessels would then turn back across the bay for Lyme itself, there apparently being no landing-place for larger ships, and the unloading of supplies, at Seaton. There they would disembark and raise standard.

This they did, and Andrew for one was not at all distressed to see Alderman Dare disappear in his small boat, into the gloom of the June night, on his twenty-mile road to Taunton. But it all took longer than allowed for and it was broad daylight before they won back to Lyme harbour, within the shelter of The Cobb breakwater, at the east end of the bay. Andrew advised that they stand out to sea again until nightfall, to land in darkness, so that their small numbers might not be apparent to all; but everyone was impatient now to be ashore and on with the great venture, and Monmouth gave orders to draw in to the quay, there appearing to be no opposition. There were only two other coasting craft presently in harbour.

What followed was at least suitably dramatic and emotional.

The Duke led the way down the gangplank, to drop on his knees on English soil and kiss the ground, others following joyfully. He uttered a short and rather embarrassed thanksgiving to God for a safe landing and sought divine aid and guidance in their undertaking. Then he drew his sword and held it high, shouting forward, to the cheers of his supporters, watched open-mouthed by sundry seamen and a few fishermen and locals.

They marched for a couple of hundred yards or so behind the unfurled blue standard which Lady Wentworth had stitched for them, erected this silken banner at the roadside, cheered loudly, and finding nothing else to do, turned and wandered back to the ship again, to proceed with the unloading.

That evening, in the George Inn at Lyme, the invaders ate their first good meal for some time, thankful to have a steady floor beneath them, and toasted the success of their champion. The Duke then made known his decisions and dispositions. He himself would exercise overall command in the field. Lord Grey and Mr. Fletcher meantime would be joint Masters of the Horse. Heywood Dare, when he returned, would be Commissary and would lead the foot, until further arrangements were made. The Reverend Ferguson - who had been secretary and chaplain to the former Earl of Shaftesbury - would compose and publish the manifesto which was to draw all men of goodwill to their side. And so on. There was, to be sure, precious little alternative to these appointments. Meanwhile their task was to assemble and train men.

So next morning the Protestant rising was proclaimed at Lyme and in the surrounding small towns and villages of the rich Dorset-Somerset-Devon countryside, the squires and parish ministers were being approached personally. There was a moderately successful reaction amongst the latter, but the former hung back notably. Which was doubly unfortunate, not only for the failure to give a lead to the common folk but because it was from these that the essential horseflesh was looked for to mount their hoped-for cavalry. Lacking funds, they could not
buy
mounts. Andrew, with the others, tried his hand, or rather tongu
e, at this recruiting, but with
only modest success, his Scots voice an obvious handicap.

No evident opposition developed. And, hearteningly, from the small towns such as Axminster and Bridport, and the villages of the Char and Axe valleys, rather than the estates, volunteers began to come in, in fair numbers. Some few brought rusty swords and old pistols, but most arrived armed only with cudgels, billhooks and sickles.

This continued for a second day. With a couple of young curates to be his mouthpieces, Andrew did better, and was gratified to return to Lyme in the evening with a tail of no fewer than ninety-two men, mainly small tradesmen and apprentices from the towns, with a few countrymen, farmers' sons, cattlemen, thatchers and one or two waggoners with the very necessary vehicles and draught-horses for transport.

But straggling through the little town of Colyton on the way back, they heard the local clergymen declaiming from the town-cross a proclamation. Listening, Andrew realised, appalled, that it was Ferguson's manifesto. It was, indeed, no suitable and dignified statement of aims and claims but a tirade, rabble-rousing perhaps in parts, but in the main tedious and off-putting to any intelligent man. And ill-advised and mistaken in much that it declared, if not actually dangerous. It referred to the Duke as King James the Third and Eighth, it proclaimed his uncle as not only an usurper but as responsible for the Popish Plot of 1678, even the Great London fire of 1666, the murder of Essex and Russell and many others, and much else. It even suggested that he had poisoned his brother, Charles to obtain the throne. It declared the present parliament illegal and brought in the Catholic interest - which might have had some truth in it but was not calculated to woo the parliamentarians to Monmouth's side. Altogether the thing was a disaster, appealing only to the extremists and the wildly irresponsible. Andrew hurried on, to urge the Duke to withdraw it at once.

But at Lyme, alternative excitements prevailed, with Lord Grey at the centre. Apparently around mid-day a report had come in that a small band of militia had arrived in the Shave Cross area to the north-east. Grey, with the thirty or so horsemen that had managed so far to mount
, and about one
hundred oddly-armed foot, had been sent to investigate, and if possible effect their first victory. His lordship had returned alone some three hours later, on the best horse, in a dire state. They had been quite overwhelmed, he declared, all but trapped. He had only just managed to escape. A large body of the enemy were advancing. They ought to get back to the frigate and cast off, before it was too late.

Monmouth, it seemed, had been less precipitate, had prepared for swift evacuation but had sent out scouts to report on the situation. And presently these had come back not only with reassuring news but with Grey's little force, which they had come across returning cheerfully to base, intact and actually with a number of new and well-armed recruits, prisoners from the militia company which had; fled before them, and these having decided to throw in their lot with the insurgents.

So the rising had had its first little victory, after all, however modest. But at the sad cost of all faith lost in the Duke's chief lieutenant and joint Master of Horse.