easter," said he, as I stopped and looked attentively at a monument on
the southern side of the church, near the altar; "that was put up for a
rector of this church, who lived a long time ago, in Oliver's time, and
was ill-treated and imprisoned by Oliver and his men; you will see all
about it on the monument. There was a grand battle fought nigh this
place, between Oliver's men and the Royal party, and the Royal party had
the worst of it, as I'm told they generally had; and Oliver's men came
into the town, and did a great deal of damage, and ill-treated people. I
can't remember anything about the matter myself, for it happened just one
hundred years before I was born, but my father was acquainted with an old
countryman, who lived not many miles from here, who said he remembered
perfectly well the day of the battle; that he was a boy at the time, and
was working in a field near the place where the battle was fought: and he
heard shouting, and noise of firearms, and also the sound of several
balls, which fell in the field near him. Come this way, measter, and I
will show you some remains of that day's field." Leaving the monument,
on which was inscribed an account of the life and sufferings of the
Royalist Rector of Horncastle, I followed the sexton to the western end
of the church, where, hanging against the wall, were a number of scythes
stuck in the ends of poles. "Those are the weapons, measter," said the
sexton, "which the great people put into the hands of a number of the
country folks, in order that they might use them against Oliver's men;
ugly weapons enough; however, Oliver's men won, and Sir Jacob Ashley and
his party were beat. And a rare time Oliver and his men had of it, till
Oliver died, when the other party got the better, not by fighting, 'tis
said, but through a General Monk, who turned sides. Ah, the old fellow
that my father knew said he well remembered the time when General Monk
went over and proclaimed Charles the Second. Bonfires were lighted
everywhere, oxen roasted, and beer drunk by pailfuls; the country folks
were drunk with joy, and something else; sung scurvy songs about Oliver
to the tune of Barney Banks, and pelted his men, wherever they found
them, with stones and dirt." "The more ungrateful scoundrels they," said
I. "Oliver and his men fought the battle of English independence against
a wretched king and corrupt lords. Had I been living at the time, I
should have been proud to be