stood guard in
a roadside field a few miles out of Lyme. They themselves had seen
nothing, but the news seemed so probable that the Duke acted on it. He
sent me off at once with a message to a clever, handsome gentleman who
was in charge of the cavalry in the street. It was in giving the message
that I saw the old man again. He was them limping up the street on the
Sidmouth road, going fast, in spite of his lameness. I gave my message
to the captain, who commanded his trumpeter to call to arms. The
trumpeter blew nobly; but the sight of the confusion afterwards showed
me how little raw troops can be trusted. There was a hasty scramble for
horses rather than a setting forth. Some men quarreled over weapons;
others wrestled with harness; others ran about wildly, asking what was
happening, was it to be a battle, what did blowing on the trumpet mean?
Some few, thinking the worst, got wisdom in those few moments. They took
horses from the ranks, but instead of forming up with the regiments,
they galloped off home, having had enough of soldiering at the first
order. The foot behaved rather better, knowing, perhaps, that if they
fought they would be behind hedges, in some sort of shelter. Even so,
they seemed a raw lot of clumsy bumpkins as they marched up. Many of
them were in ploughmen's smock-frocks; hardly any of them had any
sense of handling their guns. They had drums with them, which beat up
a quickstep, giving each man of them a high sense of his importance,
especially if he had been drinking. People in the roadway cheered them,
until they heard that there was to be a battle. Those who were coming in
to join us found it a reason for hesitation.

After a lot of confusion, the army drew out of Lyme along the Sidmouth
road, followed by a host of sightseers. Some of the best mounted rode
on ahead at a trot, under the handsome man, Mr. Fletcher, who was their
captain. I followed on with the foot-soldiers, who marched extremely
slowly. They halted at their own discretion; nor did they seem to
understand that orders given were to be obeyed. What they liked, poor
fellows, was to see the women admiring them. The march up the hill
out of Lyme was a long exhibition of vanity, the women waving their
handkerchiefs, the men putting on all sorts of airs, jetting like
gamecocks. When we got up to the top of the hill, I saw the old lame
puppet-man, sitting on the edge of the wild, unenclosed, gorse-covered
common-land which stretches a