for ever. We heard afterwards that the King's troops
found upon the field a body which they mistook for that of Monmouth, on
account of the effeminate grace of the features and the richness of the
attire. No doubt it was that of our undaunted friend, Sir Gervas Jerome,
a name which shall ever be dear to my heart. When, ten years afterwards,
we heard much of the gallantry of the young courtiers of the household
of the French King, and of the sprightly courage with which they fought
against us in the Lowlands at Steinkirk and elsewhere, I have always
thought, from my recollection of Sir Gervas, that I knew what manner of
men they were.

And now it was every man for himself. In no part of the field did
the insurgents continue to resist. The first rays of the sun shining
slantwise across the great dreary plain lit up the long line of the
scarlet battalions, and glittered upon the cruel swords which rose and
fell among the struggling drove of resistless fugitives. The German had
become separated from us in the tumult, and we knew not whether he lived
or was slain, though long afterwards we learned that he made good his
escape, only to be captured with the ill-fated Duke of Monmouth. Grey,
Wade, Ferguson, and others had contrived also to save themselves, while
Stephen Timewell lay in the midst of a stern ring of his hard-faced
burghers, dying as he had lived, a gallant Puritan Englishman. All this
we learned afterwards. At present we rode for our lives across the moor,
followed by a few scattered bodies of horse, who soon abandoned their
pursuit in order to fasten upon some more easy prey.

We were passing a small clump of alder bushes when a loud manly voice
raised in prayer attracted our attention. Pushing aside the branches, we
came upon a man, seated with his back up against a great stone, cutting
at his own arm with a broad-bladed knife, and giving forth the Lord's
prayer the while, without a pause or a quiver in his tone. As he glanced
up from his terrible task we both recognised him as one Hollis, whom I
have mentioned as having been with Cromwell at Dunbar. His arm had
been half severed by a cannon-ball, and he was quietly completing the
separation in order to free himself from the dangling and useless limb.
Even Saxon, used as he was to all the forms and incidents of war, stared
open-eyed and aghast at this strange surgery; but the man, with a short
nod of recognition, went grimly forward with his task, until, even a