Monmouth Arrival June 1685

Taken from 'The Black Box' by William Cook - The arrival of James Duke of Monmouth at Lyme Regis - June 1685.


There was an air of expectation as we strolled down to the Cod, the womenfolk were chattering in every doorway, while every man we came across was hurrying seaward. “What is the news? I asked one who had sped from behind us. “News? You mean you don’t know? Three ships, three black ships”. “What of it?” I cried. He kept running away from us and did not look back. We arrived at the Cod which is the windward side of the bay we call the Cobb, there were three strange foreign vessels – one, by the rig of her, a frigate, though she showed no guns, the other two were small merchantmen. Now I knew why there was so much excitement, none of the three ships were flying colours. The crowds by now were heaving with excited townsfolk; children were running everywhere trying to get height advantage. The deputy searcher of customs Master Samuel Dassel, who I knew well, handed me his telescope, “What think you Michael, Dutch or French”? I looked out to sea, “Dutch I feel, why is the Navy not patrolling?”
“Aye, never here when you need them” he replied. Will laughed, “My father is in the fleet” a wry smile followed. “Wait” said Dassel, and he reached for his telescope, which I quickly gave back; five long boats laden with men were seen making their way towards shore. At first they seemed to be making for the Cobb itself, but passing that by they swung round to the west of it and headed straight for the shore. On seeing this the whole throng of people were up on their feet and crunching their way through the shingle. Men, women, children, young and old were there all eyes towards the sea. The local militia began beating their drums, almost in time with the oars of the boats. I could see a tall gentleman standing in the rear of the lead boat, resplendent in a pure silk orange tunic and a large hat complete with a ostrich or some similar large birds plumage also dyed in orange. The crowd began chanting “A Monmouth - A Monmouth Liberty! The Protestant Religion” The shout was echoed all over the town. Will said in my ear ”Join in Michael or they will turn on us”. After the last shout had died away a voice that sounded like a crying child could be heard “Traitors! Treason!” Looking around I saw the Town Mayor one Master Gregory Alford speeding to town as fast as his fat legs would carry him. The drums and the local militia had also sped into Lyme, Monmouth had chosen well. The oarsmen skillfully turned the boat around so that the Duke would be the first to land.

It was plain to see on his handsome face how touched the Duke was by these joyous acclamations. Doffing his hat he bowed both long and graciously; and then he raised his hand for silence, a sudden hush fell on the eager throng before him.
“Dear friends”, said he in a voice that rang out clear and sweet upon the stillness “I thank you more than words can say for this joyous home coming. As you know I have been long exiled from this the Country that I love. Dear People this is not the time or place for speech making, but as for the reason for my coming, to rid the Throne of the backside of the Stuart King James and that has clearly been echoed by you all here. I am Monmouth, your Monmouth, the champion of the Protestant religion, son of your beloved King Charles and now Your King”. A shout went up of “Monmouth our Monmouth our beloved King”. A women, well advanced in years ran through the crowd, across the shingle and kneeling in the lapping tide caught up his hand and kissed it, the Duke lent down and embraced her and kissed her cheek. He climbed from the boat and knelt in the surf, he was joined by two ministers who climbed out from the boat. “Let us pray”.

We bowed our heads and learnt how a great army was to be formed here in Dorset and how the evil ‘so called’ King James II would be de-throned and denounced and how God was on their side. I thought that ironic, as he would be on our side as well.

My eyes were drawn to one of the clergymen. He 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 eyes went to and fro as if on wires. Throughout the prayer he never ceased to rub his bony hands together like one who was washing. I did not know the man but hated him on sight.

The prayers ended and the Duke unsheathed his sword and holding it towards the sky, said, “I draw this weapon in the cause of liberty and true religion and may God bless the work before us”. A loud “Amen” filled the air. One of Monmouth’s followers unfurled their green flag emblazoned with the words ‘Fear Nothing but God’ and marched in double file into the town.

I saw one of Monmouth’s soldiers busily cleaning salt water from his musket, while his friends unloaded the munitions from the boats, I smiled and greeted him. ”Greeting’s friend welcome to Lyme, pray tell me as I intend to sign up this very day and fight the good cause may I ask which of the two officers next to the Duke you would suggest I sign up with?” “And mighty welcome you will be Sir, you see the gentleman on his Majesty’s left? That is Lord Grey of Wark of whom I know little, but Master Fletcher of Saltoun on his right is well schooled in carnal warfare and is a God fearing man too, he’s my choice”. “And pray tell who are the ministers?” –“The round faced one is Master Hooke, the Duke’s private chaplain, now the tall gaunt gentleman”, he hushed “That Sir is Doctor Robert Ferguson, chaplain to Monmouth’s army, and a terror to all workers of iniquity.” “What Ferguson the plotter?” I cried, his face darkened and he raised his musket to his waist, as if getting ready to use it. “Your tongue wags free for one so young, no he is Ferguson the Godley.” He gave me another glowering look and rejoined his comrades.
I found Will, who was mentally counting the number of troops coming ashore “Will” as we were alone ”Is it not a good time to leave?” –“Yes Michael, lets to our horses.” We strolled up to the Ship Inn, which was heaving with trade; I would have to save my plans on seeing Jenny until a later date. We arrived at the stables only to find two men about to lead our horses out. Will drew his sword, a long and slender rapier, I had never seen the like, and he let the tip rest on the first man’s Adam’s apple “Now friend, what are you doing with my mare?” The man was obviously taken aback, “It’s for the cause, we have been ordered to take every horse in the town and for miles around, so stand aside or I’ll call my captain”, Will laughed, “You’ll have a hard job calling with your tongue resting neatly on your chest, watch carefully Arthur, as I enjoy this.” I had guessed the subterfuge so I joined in “Yes Kenneth, but this time I want to see it waggle.” Both men dropped their reins and stepped backwards. I drew one of my pistols and covered them whilst Will relieved them of their weapons, he ordered them to turn round and using one of their pistols rendered both of them unconscious with a single sharp blow to their skulls, we covered them with hay and made good our escape.

“You think quickly Michael, well done, I must remember to call you Lieutenant Fane, but I find myself liking you.” –“Thank you Sir, remind me never to answer you back, I have never seen such boldness, would you have sliced him if he tried anything?” “Of course.”
We rode back to Lord Feversham’s camp and I was called to his lordships tent alone. Upon entering the tent I noted a distinct change in his demeanor, “Lieutenant Fane”, he faltered, “No Michael, I have grave news, your Father has been murdered.”

copyright William Cook