“It was printed no less than three times last year.  Then followed my tractate upon their deposing and executing their lawful king; and other leaves against the arbitrary taxation of what I call ’the Westminster Junto.’  Think you that these things can be forgotten, or that my being sent here with Haine is more than a hollow compliment?  Recollect the word that we exchanged at my lodging in the Strand two years ago, and bear in mind that it is rather in your hands than in mine to temper justice with mercy when my friends shall be overthrown in yonder island.”

So pleaded, and to yet greater length, the verbose but earnest advocate.  But in truth he might have been more concise, less eloquence would have sufficed had not the idle hours of a sea voyage thrown open a wider door for its display.  Lempriere was ready to promise anything on the joy of the long-wished for moment.

    “Quod optanti Divum promittere nemo
     Auderet.”

As he himself expressed the matter with wonted Latinity.  His own nature would have disposed him to adhere to the promise given long ago, and still so urgently demanded of him by Prynne.

On the evening of Monday, the 20th of September, the flotilla was signalled in the north-western part of Jersey, where a vigilant outlook had long been maintained upon the very top of Plemont.  The sea heaved to and fro in smooth fluctuations under the bright weather, which shed mild splendour over the violet surface, studded with orange rocks.  With favouring airs the stately ships slid slowly on in crescent formation.  They cast anchor for the evening in S. Owen’s Bay, sheltered on the north by Grosnez Gape, and on the south by the cliffs that end in the Corbiere—­an extent of nearly five miles.

On shore all was bustle and preparation.  Sir George’s head-quarters were at his cousin’s seat, the manor house of S. Owen.  The sandy plains to seaward were held by companies of the island militia; the lieutenant-governor’s own immediate following consisted of a small squadron of horse, raised and equipped by himself, but mounted on chargers especially presented to them by the king.  Considering the natural difficulties of the coast, and that the equinox was at hand, the numerical disparity was not absolutely desperate.  Jersey is a strong place yet.  In those days of sailing ships and weak artillery it was a gigantic fortress, if only held by a wholehearted and determined garrison.  Had that but been now the case, which, however, it was not.  The population in general had no insurmountable feeling of hostility towards the de facto government of England.  On the other hand, the hearts of the Cavalier party were not high.  A rumour had been spread—­not traceable to any distinct source—­that Charles had been taken after the rout of Worcester.  The public, ever credulous of ill tidings, fastened with morbid eagerness on such reports.  “Sorrow and despair,” writes a Royalist eye-witness with natural exaggeration, “could be seen in every face.  The more dispirited began to cry out that it was in vain to contend any longer against powers that, like a torrent, bore down everything before them.”