London, and flying the broad pennant of Admiral Batten,
cruised between Jersey and Guernsey, never far from sight, although
giving for the most part a wide berth to both the island castles, whose
gunners watched them night and day.

Such was the position of affairs on a Sunday towards the end of
September, a few days later than the events related in the Prologue. The
morning had been wet and windy, and the sacredness of the day had joined
to keep the men of those simple times from all activity save that
connected with the services of religion. But, in spite of the weather,
it had been judged wise and proper that Charles should show himself at
Church on this, the first Sunday of his kingship in Jersey: and he
accordingly attended worship at the Town Church of S. Helier's. The tide
was low, and the royal cortege, muffled in their cloaks, rode or walked
slowly along the causeway, and up the _glacis_ that led to the entrance.
The Rector was absent, his opinions being displeasing to the autocratic
Carteret; but the Rev. Mr. La Cloche, Rector of S. Owen (the Carteret
parish) was in charge; he was the Lieutenant-Governor's private
Chaplain; and under strict orders had made splendid preparation for the
illustrious congregation. The old temple had been swept and garnished.
Laurel boughs and the beautiful flowers and fruits of the season hung
from every arch and decorated every pillar. The aisles were covered with
a thick natural carpet of fragrant rushes; before the pulpit were
chairs for the King and his brother the Duke of York, and the space
they stood on was tapestried with glowing colours. Cushioned tables
supported the gilded bibles and prayer-books for the royal worshippers,
who arrived precisely at eleven followed by their numerous train.
Throwing off his wringing roquelaure Charles entered, plumed hat in
hand, a young man of middle stature, erect and well-knit for his
years--which were but nineteen--and with a countenance which, though
even then wanting in flesh and bloom, was not unpleasing: framed in
natural curls, and showing (to sympathetic observers) a noble and
pleasing dignity often, it must be avowed, contrasting strongly with the
mingled frivolity and cynicism that marked his words. Being in mourning
for the event of January he was clothed in purple velvet without lace or
embroidery. Over his doublet hung a short cloak with a star on the left
breast, under which was a silk scarf, cloak and scarf being all of
p