Let us show the redcoats that we know how to use it.
"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?"'
Seven score voices broke in, in a hoarse roar, upon the chorus--
'Who then fears to draw the sword, And fight the battle of the Lord?'
I could well believe at that moment that the Spartans had found the lame singer Tyrtaeus the most successful of their generals, for the sound of their own voices increased the confidence of the country folk, while the martial words of the old hymn roused the dogged spirit in their breasts. So high did their courage run that they broke off their song with a loud warlike shout, waving their weapons above their heads, and ready I verily believe to march out from their barricades and make straight for the horsemen. In the midst of this clamour and turmoil the young dragoon officer, a handsome, olive-faced lad, rode fearlessly up to the barrier, and pulling up his beautiful roan steed, held up his hand with an imperious gesture which demanded silence.
'Who is the leader of this conventicle?' he asked.
'Address your message to me, sir,' said our leader from the top of the waggon, 'but understand that your white flag will only protect you whilst you use such language as may come from one courteous adversary to another. Say your say or retire.'
'Courtesy and honour,' said the officer, with a sneer, 'are not extended to rebels who are in arms against their lawful sovereign. If you are the leader of this rabble, I warn you if they are not dispersed within five minutes by this watch'--he pulled out an elegant gold time-piece-- 'we shall ride down upon them and cut them to pieces.'
'The Lord can protect His own,' Saxon answered, amid a fierce hum of approval from the crowd. 'Is this all thy message?'
'It is all, and you will find it enough, you Presbyterian traitor,' cried the dragoon cornet. 'Listen to me, misguided fools,' he continued, standing up upon his stirrups and speaking to the peasants at the other side of the waggon. 'What chance have ye with your whittles and cheese-scrapers? Ye may yet save your skins if ye will but deliver up your leaders, throw down what ye are pleased to call your arms, and trust to the King's mercy.'
'This exceedeth the limitations of your privileges,' said Saxon, drawing a pistol from his belt and cocking it. 'If you say another word to seduce these people from their allegiance, I fire.'
'Hope not to benefit Monmouth,' cried the young officer, disregarding the threat, and still addressing his words to the peasants. 'The whole royal army is drawing round him and--'
'Have a care!' shouted our leader, in a deep harsh voice.
'His head within a month shall roll upon the scaffold.'
'But you shall never live to see it,' said Saxon, and stooping over he fired straight at the cornet's head. At the flash of the pistol the trumpeter wheeled round and galloped for his life, while the roan horse turned and followed with its master still seated firmly in the saddle.
'Verily you have missed the Midianite!' cried Hope-above Williams.
'He is dead,' said our leader, pouring a fresh charge into his pistol. 'It is the law of war, Clarke,' he added, looking round at me. 'He hath chosen to break it, and must pay forfeit.'
As he spoke I saw the young officer lean gradually over in his saddle, until, when about half-way back to his friends, he lost his balance and fell heavily in the roadway, turning over two or three times with the force of his fall, and lying at last still and motionless, a dust-coloured heap. A loud yell of rage broke from the troopers at the sight, which was answered by a shout of defiance from the Puritan peasantry.
'Down on your faces !' cried Saxon; 'they are about to fire.'
The crackle of musketry and a storm of bullets, pinging on the hard ground, or cutting twigs from the hedges on either side of us, lent emphasis to our leader's order.