Micah Clarke

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  Chapter XIV. Of the Stiff-legged Parson and his Flock

  Our road lay through Castle Carey and Somerton, which are small townslying in the midst of a most beautiful pastoral country, well wooded andwatered by many streams. The valleys along the centre of which the roadlies are rich and luxuriant, sheltered from the winds by long rollinghills, which are themselves highly cultivated. Here and there we passedthe ivy-clad turret of an old castle or the peaked gables of a ramblingcountry house, protruding from amongst the trees and marking the countryseat of some family of repute. More than once, when these mansions werenot far from the road, we were able to perceive the unrepaired dints andfractures on the walls received during the stormy period of the civiltroubles. Fairfax it seems had been down that way, and had left abundanttraces of his visit. I have no doubt that my father would have had muchto say of these signs of Puritan wrath had he been riding at our side.

  The road was crowded with peasants who were travelling in two strongcurrents, the one setting from east to west, and the other from west toeast. The latter consisted principally of aged people and of children,who were being sent out of harm's way to reside in the less disturbedcounties until the troubles should be over. Many of these poor folk werepushing barrows in front of them, in which a few bedclothes and somecracked utensils represented the whole of their worldly goods. Othersmore prosperous had small carts, drawn by the wild shaggy colts whichare bred on the Somerset moors. What with the spirit of the half-tamedbeasts and the feebleness of the drivers, accidents were not uncommon,and we passed several unhappy groups who had been tumbled with theirproperty into a ditch, or who were standing in anxious debate round acracked shaft or a broken axle.

  The countrymen who were making for the West were upon the other handmen in the prime of life, with little or no baggage. Their brown faces,heavy boots, and smockfrocks proclaimed most of them to be mere hinds,though here and there we overtook men who, by their top-boots andcorduroys, may have been small farmers or yeomen. These fellows walkedin gangs, and were armed for the most part with stout oak cudgels,which were carried as an aid to their journey, but which in the hands ofpowerful men might become formidable weapons. From time to time oneof these travellers would strike up a psalm tune, when all the otherswithin earshot would join in, until the melody rippled away down theroad. As we passed some scowled angrily at us, while others whisperedtogether and shook their heads, in evident doubt as to our character andaims. Now and again among the people we marked the tall broad-brimmedhat and Geneva mantle which were the badges of the Puritan clergy.

  'We are in Monmouth's country at last,' said Saxon to me, for ReubenLockarby and Sir Gervas Jerome had ridden on ahead. 'This is the rawmaterial which we shall have to lick into soldiership.'

  'And no bad material either,' I replied, taking note of the sturdyfigures and bold hearty faces of the men. 'Think ye that they are boundfor Monmouth's camp, then?'

  'Aye, are they. See you yon long-limbed parson on the left--him with thepent-house hat. Markest thou not the stiffness wherewith he moves hisleft leg!'

  'Why, yes; he is travel-worn doubtless.'

  'Ho! ho!' laughed my companion. 'I have seen such a stiffness beforenow. The man hath a straight sword within he leg of his breeches. Aregular Parliamentary tuck, I'll warrant. When he is on safe ground hewill produce it, aye, and use it too, but until he is out of all dangerof falling in with the King's horse he is shy of strapping it to hisbelt. He is one of the old breed by his cut, who:

  "Call fire and sword and desolation, A godly thorough reformation."

  Old Samuel hath them to a penstroke! There is another ahead of himthere, with the head of a scythe inside his smock. Can you not see theoutline? I warrant there is not one of the rascals but hath a pike-heador sickle-blade concealed somewhere about him. I begin to feel thebreath of war once more, and to grow younger with it. Hark ye, lad! I amglad that I did not tarry at the inn.'

  'You seemed to be in two minds about it,' said I.

  'Aye, aye. She was a fine woman, and the quarters were comfortable. I donot gainsay it. But marriage, d'ye see, is a citadel that it is plaguyeasy to find one's way into, but once in old Tilly himself could notbring one out again with credit, I have known such a device on theDanube, where at the first onfall the Mamelukes have abandoned thebreach for the very purpose of ensnaring the Imperial troops in thenarrow streets beyond, from which few ever returned. Old birds are notcaught with such wiles. I did succeed in gaining the ear of one of thegossips, and asking him what he could tell me of the good dame and herinn. It seemeth that she is somewhat of a shrew upon occasion, and thather tongue had more to do with her husband's death than the dropsy whichthe leech put it down to. Again, a new inn hath been started in thevillage, which is well-managed, and is like to draw the custom fromher. It is, too, as you have said, a dull sleepy spot. All these reasonsweighed with me, and I decided that it would be best to raise my siegeof the widow, and to retreat whilst I could yet do so with the creditand honours of war.'

  ''Tis best so,' said I; 'you could not have settled down to a life oftoping and ease. But our new comrade, what think you of him?'

  'Faith!' Saxon answered, 'we shall extend into a troop of horse if weadd to our number every gallant who is in want of a job. As to this SirGervas, however, I think, as I said at the inn, that he hath more mettlein him than one would judge at first sight. These young sprigs of thegentry will always fight, but I doubt if he is hardened enough orhath constancy enough for such a campaign as this is like to be. Hisappearance, too, will be against him in the eyes of the saints; andthough Monmouth is a man of easy virtue, the saints are like to have thechief voice in his councils. Now do but look at him as he reins up thatshowy grey stallion and gazes back at us. Mark his riding-hat tiltedover his eye, his open bosom, his whip dangling from his button-hole,his hand on his hip, and as many oaths in his mouth as there are ribbonsto his doublet. Above all, mark the air with which he looks down uponthe peasants beside him. He will have to change his style if he is tofight by the side of the fanatics. But hark! I am much mistaken if theyhave not already got themselves into trouble.'

  Our friends had pulled up their horses to await our coming. They hadscarce halted, however, before the stream of peasants who had beenmoving along abreast of them slackened their pace, and gathered roundthem with a deep ominous murmur and threatening gestures. Otherrustics, seeing that there was something afoot, hurried up to help theircompanions. Saxon and I put spurs to our horses, and pushing through thethrong, which was becoming every instant larger and more menacing, madeour way to the aid of our friends, who were hemmed in on every side bythe rabble. Reuben had laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword, whileSir Gervas was placidly chewing his toothpick and looking down at theangry mob with an air of amused contempt.

  'A flask or two of scent amongst them would not be amiss,' he remarked;'I would I had a casting bottle.'

  'Stand on your guard, but do not draw,' cried Saxon. 'What the henkerhath come over the chaw-bacons? They mean mischief. How now, friends,why this uproar?'

  This question instead of allaying the tumult appeared to make it tenfoldworse. All round us twenty deep were savage faces and angry eyes,with the glint here and there of a weapon half drawn from its place ofconcealment. The uproar, which had been a mere hoarse growl, began totake shape and form. 'Down with the Papists!' was the cry. 'Down withthe Prelatists!' 'Smite the Erastian butchers!' 'Smite the Philistinehorsemen!' 'Down with them!'

  A stone or two had already whistled past our ears, and we had beenforced in self-defence to draw our swords, when the tall minister whomwe had already observed shoved his way through the crowd, and by dint ofhis lofty stature and commanding voice prevailed upon them to be silent.

  'How say ye,' he asked, turning upon us, 'fight ye for Baal or for theLord? He who is not with us is against us.'

  'Which is the side of Baal, most reverend sir, and which of the Lord?'asked Sir Gervas Jerome. 'Methinks if you were to speak plain E
nglishinstead of Hebrew we might come to an understanding sooner.'

  'This is no time for light words,' the minister cried, with a flush ofanger upon his face. 'If ye would keep your skins whole, tell me, are yefor the bloody usurper James Stuart, or are ye for his most ProtestantMajesty King Monmouth?'

  'What! He hath come to the title already!' exclaimed Saxon. 'Know thenthat we are four unworthy vessels upon our way to offer our services tothe Protestant cause.'

  'He lies, good Master Pettigrue, he lies most foully,' shouted a burlyfellow from the edge of the crowd. 'Who ever saw a good Protestant insuch a Punchinello dress as yonder? Is not Amalekite written upon hisraiment? Is he not attired as becometh the bridegroom of the harlot ofRome? Why then should we not smite him?'

  'I thank you, my worthy friend,' said Sir Gervas, whose attire had movedthis champion's wrath. 'If I were nearer I should give you some returnfor the notice which you have taken of me.'

  'What proof have we that ye are not in the pay of the usurper, and onyour way to oppress the faithful?' asked the Puritan divine.

  'I tell you, man,' said Saxon impatiently, 'that we have travelled allthe way from Hampshire to fight against James Stuart. We will ride withye to Monmouth's camp, and what better proof could ye desire than that?'

  'It may be that ye do but seek an opportunity of escaping from ourbondage,' the minister observed, after conferring with one or two of theleading peasants. 'It is our opinion, therefore, that before comingwith us ye must deliver unto us your swords, pistols, and other carnalweapons.'

  'Nay, good sir, that cannot be,' our leader answered. 'A cavalier maynot with honour surrender his blade or his liberty in the manner yedemand. Keep close to my bridle-arm, Clarke, and strike home at anyrogue who lays hands on you.'

  A hum of anger rose from the crowd, and a score of sticks andscythe-blades were raised against us, when the minister again interposedand silenced his noisy following.

  'Did I hear aright?' he asked. 'Is your name Clarke?'

  'It is,' I answered.

  'Your Christian name?'

  'Micah.'

  'Living at?'

  'Havant.'

  The clergyman conferred for a few moments with a grizzly-bearded,harsh-faced man dressed in black buckram who stood at his elbow.

  'If you are really Micah Clarke of Havant,' quoth he, 'you will be ableto tell us the name of an old soldier, skilled in the German wars, whowas to have come with ye to the camp of the faithful.'

  'Why, this is he,' I answered; 'Decimus Saxon is his name.'

  'Aye, aye, Master Pettigrue,' cried the old man. 'The very name given byDicky Rumbold. He said that either the old Roundhead Clarke or his sonwould go with him. But who are these?'

  'This is Master Reuben Lockarby, also of Havant, and Sir Gervas Jeromeof Surrey,' I replied. 'They are both here as volunteers desiring toserve under the Duke of Monmouth.'

  'Right glad I am to see ye, then,' said the stalwart minister heartily.'Friends, I can answer for these gentlemen that they favour the honestfolk and the old cause.'

  At these words the rage of the mob turned in an instant into the mostextravagant adulation and delight. They crowded round us, patting ourriding-boots, pulling at the skirts of our dress, pressing our hands andcalling down blessings upon our heads, until their pastor succeededat last in rescuing us from their attentions and in persuading them toresume their journey. We walked our horses in the midst of them whilstthe clergyman strode along betwixt Saxon and myself. He was, as Reubenremarked, well fitted to be an intermediary between us, for he wastaller though not so broad as I was, and broader though not so tall asthe adventurer. His face was long, thin, and hollow-cheeked, with a pairof great thatched eyebrows and deep sunken melancholy eyes, which lit upupon occasion with a sudden quick flash of fiery enthusiasm.

  'Joshua Pettigrue is my name, gentlemen,' said he; 'I am an unworthyworker in the Lord's vineyard, testifying with voice and with arm to Hisholy covenant. These are my faithful flock, whom I am bringing westwardthat they may be ready for the reaping when it pleases the Almighty togather them in.'

  'And why have you not brought them into some show of order orformation?' asked Saxon. 'They are straggling along the road like a lineof geese upon a common when Michaelmas is nigh. Have you no fears? Isit not written that your calamity cometh suddenly--suddenly shall you bebroken down without remedy?'

  'Aye, friend, but is it not also written, "Trust in the Lord with allthine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding!" Mark ye, if Iwere to draw up my men in military fashion it would invite attention andattack from any of James Stuart's horse who may come our way. It is mydesire to bring my flock to the camp and obtain pieces for them beforeexposing them to so unequal a contest.'

  'Truly, sir, it is a wise resolution,' said Saxon grimly, 'for if atroop of horse came down upon these good people the pastor would findhimself without his flock.'

  'Nay, that could never be!' cried Master Pettigrue with fervour. 'Sayrather that pastor, flock, and all would find their way along the thornytrack of martyrdom to the new Jerusalem. Know, friend, that I have comefrom Monmouth in order to conduct these men to his standard. I receivedfrom him, or rather from Master Ferguson, instructions to be on thelookout for ye and for several others of the faithful we expect to joinus from the East. By what route came ye?'

  'Over Salisbury Plain and so through Bruton.'

  'And saw ye or met ye any of our people upon the way?'

  'None,' Saxon answered. 'We left the Blue Guards at Salisbury, however,and we saw either them or some other horse regiment near this side ofthe Plain at the village of Mere.'

  'Ah, there is a gathering of the eagles,' cried Master Joshua Pettigrue,shaking his head. 'They are men of fine raiment, with war-horses andchariots and trappings, like the Assyrians of old, yet shall the angelof the Lord breathe upon them in the night. Yea, He shall cut them offutterly in His wrath, and they shall be destroyed.'

  'Amen! Amen!' cried as many of the peasants as were within earshot.

  'They have elevated their horn, Master Pettigrue,' said thegrizzly-haired Puritan. 'They have set up their candlestick on high--thecandlestick of a perverse ritual and of an idolatrous service. Shall itnot be dashed down by the hands of the righteous?'

  'Lo, this same candle waxed big and burned sooty, even as an offence tothe nostrils, in the days of our fathers,' cried a burly red-faced man,whose dress proclaimed him to be one of the yeoman class. 'So was itwhen Old Noll did get his snuffing shears to work upon it. It is a wickwhich can only be trimmed by the sword of the faithful.' A grim laughfrom the whole party proclaimed their appreciation of the pious waggeryof their companion.

  'Ah, Brother Sandcroft,' cried the pastor, 'there is much sweetness andmanna hidden in thy conversation. But the way is long and dreary. Shallwe not lighten it by a song of praise? Where is Brother Thistlethwaite,whose voice is as the cymbal, the tabor, and the dulcimer?'

  'Lo, most pious Master Pettigrue,' said Saxon, 'I have myself at timesventured to lift up my voice before the Lord.' Without any furtherapology he broke out in stentorian tones into the following hymn, therefrain of which was caught up by pastor and congregation.

  The Lord He is a morion That guards me from all wound; The Lord He is a coat of mail That circles me all round. Who then fears to draw the sword, And fight the battle of the Lord?

  The Lord He is the buckler true That swings on my left arm; The Lord He is the plate of proof That shieldeth me from harm. Who then fears to draw the sword, And fight the battle of the Lord?

  Who then dreads the violent, Or fears the man of pride? Or shall I flee from two or three If He be by my side? Who then fears to draw the sword, And fight the battle of the Lord!

  My faith is like a citadel Girt round with moat and wall, No mine, or sap, or breach, or gap
Can ere prevail at all. Who then fears to draw the sword, And fight the battle of the Lord?

  Saxon ceased, but the Reverend Joshua Pettigrue waved his long arms andrepeated the refrain, which was taken up again and again by the longcolumn of marching peasants.

  'It is a godly hymn,' said our companion, who had, to my disgust andto the evident astonishment of Reuben and Sir Gervas, resumed thesnuffling, whining voice which he had used in the presence of my father.'It hath availed much on the field of battle.'

  'Truly,' returned the clergyman, 'if your comrades are of as sweeta savour as yourself, ye will be worth a brigade of pikes to thefaithful,' a sentiment which raised a murmur of assent from the Puritansaround. 'Since, sir,' he continued, 'you have had much experience in thewiles of war, I shall be glad to hand over to you the command of thissmall body of the faithful, until such time as we reach the army.'

  'It is time, too, in good faith, that ye had a soldier at your head,'Decimus Saxon answered quietly. 'My eyes deceive me strangely if Ido not see the gleam of sword and cuirass upon the brow of yonderdeclivity. Methinks our pious exercises have brought the enemy upon us.'