But this grand piece of the military topography of a battlefield where there was no battle must have its picturesque and pathetic episode, and Mr. Macaulay finds one well suited to such a novel.  When Monmouth had made up his mind to attempt to surprise the royal army, Mr. Macaulay is willing (for a purpose which we shall see presently) to persuade himself that the Duke let the whole town into his secret:—­

That an attack was to be made under cover of the night was no secret in Bridgwater.  The town was full of women, who had repaired thither by hundreds from the surrounding region to see their husbands, sons, lovers, and brothers once more.  There were many sad partings that day; and many parted never to meet again.  The report of the intended attack came to the ears of a young girl who was zealous for the king.  Though of modest character, she had the courage to resolve that she would herself bear the intelligence to Feversham.  She stole out of Bridgwater, and made her way to the royal camp.  But that camp was not a place where female innocence could be safe.  Even the officers, despising alike the irregular force to which they were opposed, and the negligent general who commanded them, had indulged largely in wine, and were ready for any excess of licentiousness and cruelty.  One of them seized the unhappy maiden, refused to listen to her errand, and brutally outraged her.  She fled in agonies of rage and shame, leaving the wicked army to its doom.—­i. 606, 7.

—­the doom of the wicked army, be it noted en passant, being a complete victory.  Mr. Macaulay cites Kennett for this story, and adds that he is “forced to believe the story to be true, because Kennett declares that it was communicated to him in the year 1718 by a brave officer who had fought at Sedgemoor, and had himself seen the poor girl depart in an agony of distress,”—­ib.

We shall not dwell on the value of an anonymous story told three-and-thirty years after the Battle of Sedgemoor.  The tale is sufficiently refuted by notorious facts and dates, and indeed by its internal absurdity.  We know from the clear and indisputable evidence of Wade, who commanded Monmouth’s infantry, all the proceedings of that day.  Monmouth no doubt intended to move that night, and made open preparation for it, and the partings so pathetically described may have, therefore, taken place, and the rather because the intended movement was to leave that part of the country altogether—­not to meet the King’s troops, but to endeavour to escape them by a forced march across the Avon and into Gloucestershire.  So far might have been known.  But about three o’clock that afternoon Monmouth received intelligence by a spy that the King’s troops had advanced to Sedgemoor, but had taken their positions so injudiciously, that there seemed a possibility of surprising them in a night attack.  On this Monmouth assembled