le a musket were
thrown forward into the fighting line, and furnished with the arms and
pouches of those who had fallen.

Ever and anon as the light waxed I could note through the rifts in the
smoke and the fog how the fight was progressing in other parts of the
field. On the right the heath was brown with the Taunton and Frome
men, who, like ourselves, were lying down to avoid the fire. Along the
borders of the Bussex Rhine a deep fringe of their musqueteers were
exchanging murderous volleys, almost muzzle to muzzle, with the
left wing of the same regiment with which we were engaged, which was
supported by a second regiment in broad white facings, which I believe
to have belonged to the Wiltshire Militia. On either bank of the black
trench a thick line of dead, brown on the one side, and scarlet on the
other, served as a screen to their companions, who sheltered themselves
behind them and rested their musket-barrels upon their prostrate bodies.
To the left amongst the withies lay five hundred Mendip and Bagworthy
miners, singing lustily, but so ill-armed that they had scarce one gun
among ten wherewith to reply to the fire which was poured into them.
They could not advance, and they would not retreat, so they sheltered
themselves as best they might, and waited patiently until their leaders
might decide what was to be done. Further down for half a mile or more
the long rolling cloud of smoke, with petulant flashes of flame spurting
out through it, showed that every one of our raw regiments was bearing
its part manfully. The cannon on the left had ceased firing. The Dutch
gunners had left the Islanders to settle their own quarrels, and were
scampering back to Bridgewater, leaving their silent pieces to the Royal
Horse.

The battle was in this state when there rose a cry of 'The King, the
King!' and Monmouth rode through our ranks, bare-headed and wild-eyed,
with Buyse, Wade, and a dozen more beside him. They pulled up within a
spear's-length of me, and Saxon, spurring forward to meet them, raised
his sword to the salute. I could not but mark the contrast between
the calm, grave face of the veteran, composed yet alert, and the half
frantic bearing of the man whom we were compelled to look upon as our
leader.

'How think ye, Colonel Saxon?' he cried wildly. 'How goes the fight? Is
all well with ye? What an error, alas! what an error! Shall we draw off,
eh? How say you?'

'We hold our own here, your Majesty,' Saxon ans