the morning of the 16th broke bright and fresh from the thin september mists. the sunbeams shot across the rosy sky, and sparkled in the clear dewdrops, the late roses raised their glowing heads to meet the light, and the birds in the woods chorused joyously their autumn serenade. but in the city of taunton the morning light revealed the grey and careworn faces of many who, hoping little from the morrow, had watched throughout the night in an anguish of doubt and suspense, and a passion of hopeless prayer. be the morning sunbeams never so bright, they could not dispel the darkness of that day for taunton.
the sun climbed over the roofs, and peered into the high windows of the prisons, where the captives roused themselves and prepared to stand their trial.
the newly wedded bride lay sleeping in the arms of her husband, who for many hours had watched in silence, till the pale grey dawn had stolen into the wool-shed, to light the face he loved. she had fallen asleep in the happiness of the present, but when she awoke and looked into his face she knew that the dream had passed, and stern reality was before them. she sat up with a start, gazed despairingly around her, then turned again to meet the hopeless glance of the eyes that yesterday had looked but love. with a deep sob of bitterness she flung her arms around him, and buried her face on his shoulder; for now it seemed that the angel of doom stood at the gate of their eden to drive them forth into the outer darkness, where each must wander alone. and he had no comfort for her pain.
barbara was ever strangely susceptible to the influence of sunshine. the depression of the previous night had moderated and her spirits danced lightly as the flickering sunbeams. the freshness of the morning was in her glance and she looked as much out of place in those gloomy surroundings as a delicate wild rose dropped in the mire of a city street. her cheerful spirits were infectious, the men warmed at sight of her bright glances, and for a moment a sense of happiness gleamed faintly in their hearts.
but not for long. the shadow of the king of terrors lay too heavy to be effaced. the gleam of light grew fainter and more distant, until it vanished in the dark mists of grim reality.
the sitting of the court was postponed till noon, owing to the indisposition of the chief justice, but when the trial at length opened, the work went busily forward. these first days of the assize were devoted to the trial of the more notable prisoners, the bulk of the peasants taken at, or soon after sedgemoor fight, being reserved for trial in batches of from fifty to a hundred, later in the week.
one of the first to be called was mistress mary dale, the poor young bride. the lovers parted in silence, all eternity in their glance. when she was summoned from the prison he took up his station by the door, to await her return. he waited in vain. in her case—the one instance perhaps in which it was unsolicited—mercy was shown. her fine was paid and she was free, free to go whither she would, save only back to the prison where she had left her heart. free, when freedom was banishment, alive when life had nothing to offer save utter loneliness.
throughout the day the dreary exodus of the prisoners continued. for some there was no return, punishment following close upon conviction, others returned calm and quiet in the certain expectation of death on the morrow, or of that yet more terrible death in life which lay in the sentence of banishment to the plantations.
the pathos of the scene struck barbara deeply, and the sense of her helplessness in sight of injustice and wrong awoke in her a state of subdued fury.
but she had her work to do. the morning had brought new terror to the heart of the delicate child, katherine keene, and strive as barbara would, by all means in her power, to soothe and cheer the terrified girl, her panic but increased as the day drew on, and when at last she and her sister were summoned before the court, she clung passionately to her protectress, sobbing in a very frenzy of terror, imploring her not to allow them to take her away.
even barbara's firmness gave way under the strain, she wept out of pure pity for a terror which as yet she could not comprehend.
"brutes!" she muttered between her clenched teeth, when at last the terrified children were marched away. "brutes! devils! can they not see the child is half demented. ah, were i but king for one day, i would teach them a lesson they should not forget."
but later in the day, when a compassionate gaoler brought her news of the children's fate, her indignation rose to fury. for judge jeffreys, recognising in the panic-stricken girls a fit object for an exhibition of his fiercest passion, had so bullied and tormented them, so raged, so sworn, so threatened them, that the delicate katherine could endure no more. scarcely had she reached the door of the court house, after her trial, when she fell fainting to the ground, and an hour later died from sheer excess of terror. her younger sister was freed indeed, after payment of a heavy fine, but she never recovered from the shock and fear of that day. thus suffered these innocents whose sole offence had been in the embroidering of a banner for the duke of monmouth, under the direction of their school-mistress.
barbara having no longer an object on which to lavish her protecting tenderness, there remained nothing for her to do save to sit in idleness, watching that silent procession of prisoners passing ever through the prison door, while the heart within her breast burned and raged with impotent fury.
the day passed slowly on, and at length, towards six o'clock in the evening, the summons came for mistress barbara winslow to attend court. she was the last prisoner for trial that day.
barbara rose to her feet with alacrity on hearing her name, and throwing on her cloak, made haste to follow her guards. here at length was something to be done, some change from impotent watching and waiting. now, at length, she was to meet face to face with these tyrant judges, to whom she might at least speak her thoughts. all concern for her own case, her own danger, had fled, prudence had no place in her thoughts, her mind was filled with a wild hatred of the perpetrators of this barbarous cruelty, with a mad desire to fling defiance at their threats, and to cry aloud to their faces what she, barbara winslow, thought of their sentences.
escorted by a file of soldiers she was marched rapidly across the market-square and into the court house. there was no great concourse of people in the streets. the majority of the townsfolk sympathised with the prisoners, but dared not openly show their sympathy lest they, too, be accounted rebels; they deemed it more prudent, therefore, to remain quietly within doors, while such as sought merely to derive sensational amusement from the trial had found places within the crowded court.
while barbara waited in the hall outside the chamber where the court was sitting, a prisoner passed her, hurried along between his guards. he was a young man scarcely twenty years of age, slenderly built, with delicate handsome features, but the look on his face made the girl start back with an exclamation of horror.
"in heaven's name, what hath befallen him? who is he?" she gasped.
"'tis young master tutchin," answered one of her guards carelessly. "a hard sentence, for sure, 'tis scarce likely he will live to see the end o't."
"what is it?" questioned barbara in horror.
"to be imprisoned seven years, and once a year to be flogged through every market town of dorset, which by calculation should be a flogging twice a month. aye, aye, 'tis a hard sentence," he continued, meeting her glance; "but what would you? he is a proved rebel."
"oh! that such devils of judges should go unpunished," was barbara's fierce rejoinder. it was with a heart burning with rage that she entered the court.
and yet, so strange and uncontrollable are the feelings of women that her first thought, when she found herself face to face with the dreaded chief justice, was one of astonishment and pity.
she had expected, like cicely on the previous evening, to behold a coarse, brutal ruffian, ferocity and hatred stamped on every feature. when, in place of such a creature, she beheld the handsome face and noble bearing of her judge, she gave a gasp of surprise. pity also filled her heart, for his eyes were half closed, and there were traces of suffering on his face, as he lay back in his chair with an air of extreme exhaustion. the terrible malady to which he was a victim tortured him, and the long day in court had tried him severely; but no amount of physical suffering could overcome the iron will, or prevent him even for a day from pursuing that strange course of relentless cruelty which he had elected to follow.
when barbara took her place in the dock he roused himself with an effort, and looked at her with a sharp piercing glance.
"what!" he exclaimed. "yet another of these women rebels. are we never to have an end of them? can they not find mischief enow to do in their own homes, but they must needs interfere in affairs of state? what is the prisoner's name?"
"mistress barbara winslow, my lord."
"winslow! winslow!"
"aye, my lord," answered one of the crown lawyers. "her brother followed the rebel duke, but through her connivance, so it is submitted, he hath escaped the country."
"ah, ha! so she comes of a fine rebel stock, eh?"
the several counts in the indictment were furnished by barbara's participation in the escape of sir peter dare, her interference with the whipping of the boy at durford, and other incidents of a trifling character in themselves, but of which the prosecuting counsel did not fail to take full advantage. the first witness called corporal crutch, who took no pains to conceal his malignant satisfaction in prejudicing the chances of the prisoner by every means in his power. barbara's pride, and her contempt for the man forbade her to question the corporal's evidence, even though she was urged to do so by sir william montague, the chief baron of the court; and after corroboration of the corporal's story by other troopers the case for the crown being closed, barbara was asked whether she had anything to say in her defence before the jury considered their verdict and the court pronounced sentence.
"so please you, my lords," answered barbara, ignoring jeffreys pointedly, and addressing herself to the three judges who sat with him, "that i am a traitor i deny utterly. as for the stories these men tell of me, why, they are true enough i must admit. but what then? i did but give food and assistance to those in dire distress and misery, i did no more than we are e'en commanded in the gospels."
"the gospels! the gospels!" interrupted jeffreys scornfully.
"aye, my lord," answered barbara, turning on him sharply. "the gospels. in which books methinks your lordship hath made but scant study."
judge jeffreys started forward, and stared at her in astonishment, then his face grew purple and distorted with fury, and his eyes gleamed horribly as he broke into a fierce tirade.
"what! what! i am to be browbeaten, contradicted in my own court, am i? what! you shall learn that the majesty of the law, the representative of our gracious sovereign is not to be thus lightly answered. gospels, forsooth! 'tis ever the same excuse, the same prating of gospels and conscience and i know not what. is this yet another of these pestilent dissenters? do these wretched creatures deem they may rebel with impunity against his gracious majesty, can plot and scheme against such a loving, such a merciful, king, and then shelter themselves behind such a babble of gospels and conscience. faugh! 'tis monstrous. 'tis beyond endurance! the prisoner pleads guilty to the charges brought against her but appeals to the gospels for evidence in her favour, eh? 'tis but little evidence she will find there in justification of rebellion."
barbara's anger had risen during the foregoing scene, and was now beyond her control. twice she had endeavoured to interrupt the judge's comments, and now when at length he paused, she burst forth in almost as great a frenzy as the judge himself.
"and i must needs say this much more—not indeed in mine own cause, for that i care nothing, but rather in the cause of the many poor wretches whom ye have to-day tortured and slain, of the ignorant and helpless peasants whom ye have condemned without fair hearing, of the delicate women whom ye have threatened, of the innocent children whom ye have terrified even to death. nay, i will not be silent, i must speak. ye who are judges, what judgments are these wherein is neither truth nor mercy? ye prate of the law, what law is this that knows no justice? ye speak of his majesty. oh! an ye be in truth the representatives of his majesty, the workers of his will, then do i say he is no true king, and 'twould be a good day indeed for england were such a king overthrown."
she ceased speaking. she had said her say, she had poured forth all the pent-up fury of her thoughts, she had defied the judge to his face, and in the dead silence that followed her words, the first grip of terror at what she had said clutched at her heart.
the court gasped in horrified amazement, but the face of judge jeffreys was terrible to behold. always strangely, morbidly sensitive to opposition, or to rebuke from whatever source, the judge lost all control over himself. his eyes seemed starting from his head and glared horribly; his face grew purple and swollen, his lips were drawn back in a fierce snarl. he ground his teeth, and rolled from side to side in his chair, partly in rage and partly in the agony which such rage caused him. his unrestrained fury was horrible to witness. it was as though some fit were upon him, and barbara shrank involuntarily at the sight of such appalling ferocity. at length he regained some measure of his self-control.
"what! heaven help us," he exclaimed. "why, this is the very incarnation of rebellion, a very headspring and source of treason. oh! that such a woman, so young, should be so far gone in iniquity. beware, madame, beware! i see death standing beside thee——"
"then, my lord, i doubt not 'tis an infinitely preferable vision to that which mine eyes behold," she answered, staring full at him, and goaded into recklessness by an awakening sense of her own danger.
for an instant it seemed as if the judge would give way to another paroxysm of rage, but he restrained himself with a supreme effort, and with a calmness that boded even worse for the prisoner than his former fury he turned to the jury and continued:
"what say you, sirs? methinks you can find but one answer as to the prisoner's guilt."
but barbara's youth, beauty and courage had not been without effect upon the minds of the jury. slavish time-servers though they were, they could not without protest see condemnation passed upon a young girl whose only real offence lay in a too-unrestrained tongue. this feeling was readily apparent to the practised eye of the judge and lest it should serve to balk his purpose he added: "the prisoner is young it is true, but what of that? rebellion must be crushed in the bud, must be slain in the shell or 'twill grow to a most pernicious monster. come, what is the verdict? do you find the prisoner guilty or no? beware, gentlemen, how ye condone guilt; lend no cloak to protect treason."
the jury, thus admonished, held out no longer. they found the prisoner guilty, but salved their consciences by commending her to mercy.
but ere the chief justice pronounced sentence, a protest came from an unexpected quarter on barbara's behalf. sir william montague, leaning forward in his seat, addressed the judge in low earnest tones which could not fail to arrest his attention.
"my lord, i anticipate what sentence you purpose to pronounce upon the prisoner, even such an one as was passed upon the late lady lisle. but bethink you, my lord, the cases are very different. for lady alice lisle was the widow of a noted rebel, she was advanced in years; both her age and her experience should have warned her of the full significance of the offence she committed. moreover, my lord, there are those who consider that even in her case, the sentence erred in severity. but this is but a girl, too young indeed to realise the criminality of her actions. she hath pleaded guilty it is true, but thereby has thrown herself upon the mercy of the court. that she hath incurred the penalty of the law by sheltering rebels, 'twere idle to deny, but she did so from motives of humanity, and in no way from a desire to further the cause of rebellion. for the rest, my lord, you cannot condemn the prisoner because she hath, as indeed what woman hath not, an over-free tongue, and hath on this occasion, it must be confessed, used it most ill-advisedly. further, i would remind your lordship," he added in a meaning tone, "that there be occasions when to show mercy is not only a divine action, but also an expedient one."
lord jeffreys sat for some moments in silence, gazing sullenly at the prisoner. the words of the chief baron had not been without their effect. he knew well what universal indignation his condemnation of lady lisle had aroused, and he judged that in face of the interest the affair had excited in high quarters, to pass another such severe sentence upon a woman were not politic. for however much the orders of the king might demand seventy, jeffreys knew well that his master was not one to screen his servants from the general opprobrium attendant upon the committal of an unpopular act, even were that act the outcome of his express commands.
meanwhile a deep hush of expectation had fallen upon the court while the judges had conferred together, broken at length by the harsh tones of the chief justice.
"mistress barbara winslow, you have been found guilty of the crime of harbouring rebels, and of interference with the lawful actions of the agents of his majesty, the king. yet as the tender heart of his majesty, our most gracious sovereign, doth ever incline to pity and leniency, you shall, in consideration of your youth, meet with a mercy you have in no wise deserved." here he paused and scowled vindictively upon barbara.
"the sentence of the court is that you shall be imprisoned for the space of two years in the common gaol of this city. furthermore, ye shall to-morrow, and once every month in the two years of your imprisonment, be scourged publicly by the common hangman, in the open market-place. by this discipline it may be that the hardness of your heart shall be melted, and you shall recognise the power of that justice which you have dared to condemn."
a shudder of horror went round the court at the pronouncement of this brutal sentence; but barbara controlled herself; indeed, she did not yet fully realise what had befallen her.
she raised her head defiantly and returned the judge's glance of triumph with a calm smile.
"farewell, my lord jeffreys," she cried, "and may god prosper you as you deserve."
she walked proudly from the chamber and still scarce realising the horror of her sentence, she passed from the court house, surrounded by her guards, and emerged into the street.
in the centre of the market-place stood a crowd of loafers, rough fellows, and troopers of kirke's horse, to whom, however, she gave but little heed. but as she was being escorted by the outskirts of the crowd, a sudden sharp cry rent the air, followed by horrible shrieks of pain. the crowd parted for an instant, and she beheld a woman, one of the peasant-women who had shared her sleeping-room the previous night, bound to the whipping-post, her back bare, and streaming with blood, her face distorted with suffering. then the shrieks were smothered in a shout of coarse laughter from the troopers, the crowd closed round the scene, and her guards hurried her forward.
it was but the glimpse of an instant, but in that instant barbara realised her own doom; it was as though she had beheld a vision of her own fate, and at length she understood.
she reached the shed, still to be her temporary prison, giddy with horror, the shrieks of the woman still resounding in her ears, and worse than these, that sickening shout of brutal laughter which made her blush and tingle with shame as she pictured the coarse jest that had doubtless given rise to the merriment.
with clenched teeth and drawn face, she hurried into the shed, struggling to master this fear which clutched her heart. she knew that she must not think of it. she must talk, work, do anything, anything; but think of it she dared not. but, alas! what else remained for her. the company in the shed was reduced to a few stolid peasants, who could not have comprehended her fears, and some half-dozen rough soldiers, mercenaries in monmouth's army, who sought to while away the hours and drown their cares with dice and drink procured, no doubt, by the corruption of an indulgent sentry.
all her friends of the previous day had been removed. the only other female occupant of the shed was the strange old woman, the fanatic, who, when the girl timidly approached her, gazed upon her with unseeing eyes and continued to mutter and gabble her tests.
nowhere was there comfort for barbara; she was utterly alone. in vain she strode about the shed, tried to fix her mind upon the past, upon the traditions of her family, upon the boasted courage of the winslows. in vain she repeated verses, recalled stories, anything to distract her mind, she could not control her thoughts, could not drive the face of the tortured woman from before her eyes, nor banish from her ears the terror of her cries.
it was now dark and her nerves were overstrung, worn out completely with the excitement of what she had passed through. the thing had come upon her so unexpectedly she had no resistance to offer, and now in the silence and loneliness of the night the full horror of the future gradually dawned upon her mind. she pictured with all the vividness of a strong imagination every detail of the life before her; death itself seemed easier to face than this nightmare of shame and torture. she sobbed with terror. fear took possession of her soul, and she suffered as only those of strong will and high courage can suffer in their moments of weakness.
