'If you are really Micah Clarke of Havant,' quoth he, 'you will be able
to tell us the name of an old soldier, skilled in the German wars, who
was 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
by Dicky Rumbold. He said that either the old Roundhead Clarke or his
son would go with him. But who are these?'
'This is Master Reuben Lockarby, also of Havant, and Sir Gervas Jerome
of Surrey,' I replied. 'They are both here as volunteers desiring to
serve 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 honest
folk and the old cause.'
At these words the rage of the mob turned in an instant into the most
extravagant adulation and delight. They crowded round us, patting our
riding-boots, pulling at the skirts of our dress, pressing our hands and
calling down blessings upon our heads, until their pastor succeeded at
last in rescuing us from their attentions and in persuading them to
resume their journey. We walked our horses in the midst of them whilst
the clergyman strode along betwixt Saxon and myself.
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