ord; a better officer,
too; a better man. Now in the day's confusion, with everything topsy
turvy, the Duke's messenger, "Old Dare," rode into Lyme from Taunton,
where he had galloped the day before to spread the news of our arrival.
This Dare was a quick-tempered, not very clever, popular man with a
great deal of influence in the countryside. On his way back to us from
Taunton, someone lent, or gave, him a very fine horse. It may have been
meant as a gift to the Duke; I do not know. Anyhow Old Dare rode in on
this horse with letters from Taunton, which he handed to Mr. Fletcher to
give to the Duke. Fletcher, our cavalry commander, had as yet no horse;
so seeing the splendid charger on which Old Dare rode, he ordered Old
Dare to give it up to him. He was the real commander of the army, with
a military right, if no real right, to take what horse he liked from
any subordinate officer. But Old Dare, like so many of our men, had no
knowledge of what soldier's discipline meant. He saw, in Fletcher, a
gentleman with whom he had lived as an equal for the last fortnight. He
was not going to give up his horse like that; not he. Fletcher (speaking
sharply) told him to obey without further words, at which Dare in a
sudden flush of temper struck him with his riding switch. Fletcher
was not a patient man. He could not let an act of gross mutiny pass
unpunished, nor would he suffer an insult. He shot Dare dead upon
the spot, in full view of some hundreds of us. It was all done in an
instant. There was Dare lying dead, never to stir again. There was
Fletcher, our only soldier, with a smoking pistol in his hand, thinking
that he had taught the army a lesson in obedience. There was the
army all about him, flocking round in a swarm, not looking at it as a
military punishment but as a savage murder, for which he deserved to be
hanged. Then the Duke hastened up to make things quiet, before the army
avenged their friend. He drew Fletcher aside, though the people murmured
at him for speaking to a murderer. He was unnerved by Fletcher's act. He
had no great vitality. Sudden crises such as this unnerved him, by
using up his forces. A crisis of this kind (a small thing in a great
rebellion) was often enough to keep his brain from considering other,
more important, more burning questions concerning the entire army. The
end of this business was as unhappy as its beginning. Fletcher, our only
soldier, was sent aboard the frigate in which the Duke ha