f our time, might almost be called a mob.

It was four o'clock: the sun was rising; and the routed army came
pouring into the streets of Bridgewater. The uproar, the blood, the
gashes, the ghastly figures which sank down and never rose again,
spread horror and dismay through the town. The pursuers, too, were close
behind. Those inhabitants who had favoured the insurrection expected
sack and massacre, and implored the protection of their neighbours
who professed the Roman Catholic religion, or had made themselves
conspicuous by Tory politics; and it is acknowledged by the bitterest
of Whig historians that this protection was kindly and generously given.
[416]

During that day the conquerors continued to chase the fugitives. The
neighbouring villagers long remembered with what a clatter of horsehoofs
and what a storm of curses the whirlwind of cavalry swept by. Before
evening five hundred prisoners had been crowded into the parish church
of Weston Zoyland. Eighty of them were wounded; and five expired within
the consecrated walls. Great numbers of labourers were impressed for the
purpose of burying the slain. A few, who were notoriously partial to the
vanquished side, were set apart for the hideous office of quartering the
captives. The tithing men of the neighbouring parishes were busied in
setting up gibbets and providing chains. All this while the bells of
Weston Zoyland and Chedzoy rang joyously; and the soldiers sang
and rioted on the moor amidst the corpses. For the farmers of the
neighbourhood had made haste, as soon as the event of the fight was
known to send hogsheads of their best cider as peace offerings to the
victors. [417]

Feversham passed for a goodnatured man: but he was a foreigner,
ignorant of the laws and careless of the feelings of the English. He was
accustomed to the military license of France, and had learned from
his great kinsman, the conqueror and devastator of the Palatinate, not
indeed how to conquer, but how to devastate. A considerable number of
prisoners were immediately selected for execution. Among them was a
youth famous for his speed. Hopes were held out to him that his life
would be spared If he could run a race with one of the colts of the
marsh. The space through which the man kept up with the horse is still
marked by well known bounds on the moor, and is about three quarters of
a mile. Feversham was not ashamed, after seeing the performance, to
send the wretched performer to the