a well-to-do place, with a thriving coast trade
carried on down the River Parret. After a night in snug quarters we set
off again in even worse weather than before. The country in these parts
is a quagmire in the driest season, but the heavy rains had caused the
fens to overflow, and turned them into broad lakes on either side of the
road. This may have been to some degree in our favour, as shielding us
from the raids of the King's cavalry, but it made our march very
slow. All day it was splashing and swashing through mud and mire, the
rain-drops shining on the gun-barrels and dripping from the heavy-footed
horses. Past the swollen Parret, through Eastover, by the peaceful
village of Bawdrip, and over Polden Hill we made our way, until the
bugles sounded a halt under the groves of Ashcot, and a rude meal was
served out to the men. Then on again, through the pitiless rain, past
the wooded park of Piper's Inn, through Walton, where the floods were
threatening the cottages, past the orchards of Street, and so in the
dusk of the evening into the grey old town of Glastonbury, where the
good folk did their best by the warmth of their welcome to atone for the
bitterness of the weather.

The next morning was wet still and inclement, so the army made a short
march to Wells, which is a good-sized town, well laid out, with a fine
cathedral, which hath a great number of figures carved in stone and
placed in niches on the outer side, like that which we saw at Salisbury.
The townsfolk were strong for the Protestant cause, and the army was so
well received that their victual cost little from the military chest. On
this march we first began to come into touch with the Royal horse. More
than once when the rain mist cleared we saw the gleam of arms upon the
low hills which overlook the road, and our scouts came in with reports
of strong bodies of dragoons on either flank. At one time they massed
heavily upon our rear, as though planning a descent upon the baggage.
Saxon, however, planted a regiment of pikes on either side, so that they
broke up again and glinted off over the hills.

From Wells we marched upon the twenty-fourth to Shepton Mallet, with the
ominous sabres and helmets still twinkling behind and on either side of
us.

That evening we were at Keynsham Bridge, less than two leagues from
Bristol as the crow flies, and some of our horse forded the river and
pushed on almost to the walls.

By morning the rain clouds had at las