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WESTWARD HO!
*“DUX FQIMINA FACTI,â€
Motto of the Armada Medals, 1588,
“Call me jackanapes again, and I break yours, sir.†—Chap. i. p. 10.
WESTWARD HO!
OR
THE VOYAGES AND ADVENTURES OF
Sir Ampas Leigh, Knight,
OF BURROUGH, IN THE COUNTY OF DEVON,
IN THE REIGN OF HER MOST GLORIOUS MAJESTY
QUEEN ELIZABETH
RENDERED INTO MODERN ENGLISH
BY CHARLES KINGSLEY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES E. BROCK
IN TWO VOLS.—VOL. I.
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., Lrp.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
1896
The First Edition of Westward Ho! was published in 1855.
TO
THE RAJAH SIR JAMES BROOKE, K.C.B.
AND
GEORGE AUGUSTUS SELWYN, D.D.
BISHOP OF NEW ZEALAND
This Wook ig Dedicated
BY ONE WHO (UNKNOWN TO THEM) HAS NO OTHER METHOD OF
EXPRESSING HIS ADMIRATION AND REVERENCE FOR THEIR
CHARACTERS.
THAT TYPE OF ENGLISH VIRTUE, AT ONCE MANFUL AND
GODLY, PRACTICAL AND ENTHUSIASTIC, PRUDENT AND SELF-
SACRIFICING, WHICH HE HAS TRIED TO DEPICT IN THESE
PAGES, THEY HAVE EXHIBITED IN A FORM EVEN PURER AND
MORE HEROIC THAN THAT IN WHICH HE HAS DREST IT, AND
THAN THAT IN WHICH IT WAS EXHIBITED BY THE WORTHIES
WHOM ELIZABETH, WITHOUT DISTINCTION OF RANK OR AGE,
GATHERED ROUND HER IN THE EVER GLORIOUS WARS OF HER
GREAT REIGN.
Cc. K.
February 1855,
CONTENTS OF VOL I
CHAP,
I.
II.
IIL.
IV.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
How Mr. OxENHAM SAW THE WHITE BirpD .
How Amyas cAmMe Homi THE First Time
OF two GENTLEMEN OF WALES, AND HOW
THEY HUNTED WITH THE HouNDS, AND YET
RAN WITH THE DEER .
Tur TWo WAYS OF BEING cRrosT IN LovE
CLOVELLY CoURT IN THE OLDEN TIME . :
Tur CoomBes oF THE Far WEST
THE TRUE AND TRAGICAL Hisrory oF Mr.
Joun OXENHAM OF PLYMOUTH
How tHe Noster BrorHerHoop or THE RosE
was FouNDED ‘
How Amyss KEpr His Curisrmas Day.
How tHe Mayor oF BIDEFORD BAITED HIS
Hook WITH HIS OWN FLESH
How Eustace Lricu Mer tHE Porn’s LEGATE
. How BrperorD BripGE DINED AT ANNERY
Houser .
How tHe Gontpren Hinp caAME HoME AGAIN .
How SanvaTion YEO sLEW THE KING OF THE
GUBBINGS . : 2
How Mr. Joun BRIMBLECOMBE UNDERSTOOD
tHE NATURE OF AN OaTH
PAGE
1
29
77
104
141
180
193
256
282
334
851
377
417
431
468
ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOL. I
‘*Call me jackanapes again, and I break yours, sirâ€
Frontispiece
Chapter 1, headpiece 3 : : : :
‘“‘There! Do you see it? The bird!—the bird with
the white breast !â€. : ‘ : :
Chapter 2, headpiece
That slate descended on the bald Coen of ‘Sir Vindex
Brimblecombe
She took the wreath of fragrant fale ore ter own head,
and . . . placed it on the head of Amyas
“Tam King nepiins boldâ€.
Chapter 3, headpiece
“Trying to get aloft on the wrong sideâ€
Knelt down humbly in the wet grass
Chapter 4, headpiece : ‘
‘*Tell me, now here—this none ne we parti
I may love you!â€
“Well, my dear young eee an mie is it I can de
for ye?†: :
Chapter 5, headpiece .
‘Stop! stay!†almost screamed Fr ay seit is ntact im
**You have two Jesuits here, sir! and here is the Queen’s
warrant for apprehending them â€
Chapter 6, headpiece
Out of the stern sheets arose . . . the portly figure of
Lucy Passmore
PAGE
22
29
45
60
71
77
92
96
104
120
128
141
163
176
180
185
x ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOL. I
Chapter 7, headpiece
se oo alive!†cried Amyas, catching ran by the haar
‘and are you he?†:
‘Sang us all to sleep with very sweet music’
Chapter 8, headpiece
Dragging out by the head Mr. J oth Brimbleeonbe
‘Give me a buckler, and have at any of you!â€
Chapter 9, headpiece : : . : :
Up sprang Amyas... and with a single buffet felled
him to the earth ; : .
Down went the hapless hackney on saith tail :
Chapter 10, headpiece :
He had seen... more than one Bideford bee gher,
redolent of onions, profane in that way the velvet
cheek of Rose Salterne
Chapter 11, headpiece
There she sat upon a stone, tearing her black ‘Gishevelled
hair 5 :
Chapter 12, headpiece
““Why pain your gentle ears with dstaile of slaughterâ€
«It is enough gentlemen â€
Chapter 13, headpiece
Chapter 14, headpiece ; 3 :
Yes, here he was, with such a countenance half foolish,
half venomous
Yeo, his back against the cable: ee was holding his
own manfully with sword and buckler ee a
dozen men
“Look there! Two housed ‘Sou sron't Say that chee if
Chapter 15, headpiece : : ;
‘*T hope no offence, Mr. William ; ae when are you and
the rest going after—after her! Bs
PAGE
193
205
235
256
269
277
282
319
331
834
347
851
359
377
389
412
417
431
438
445
464
468
475
meomassitilitltiiyy LA
, ery |
D E
vy}
x
fe
RC
HOW MR. OXENHAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD.
‘The hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.â€
AL who have travelled through the delicious scenery
of North Devon must needs know the little white
town of Bideford, which slopes upwards from its
broad tide-river paved with yellow sands, and many-
arched old bridge where salmon wait for Autumn
floods, toward the pleasant upland on the west.
Above the town the hills close in, cushioned with
deep oak woods, through which juts here and there a
crag of fern-fringed slate ; below they lower, and open
more and more in softly-rounded knolls, and fertile
squares of red and green, till they sink into the wide
expanse of hazy flats, rich salt marshes, and rolling
sand hills, where Torridge joins her sister Taw, and
both together flow quietly toward the broad surges
of the bar, and the everlasting thunder of the long
Atlantic swell. Pleasantly the old town stands there,
beneath its soft Italian sky, fanned day and night by
VOL. I. B we i
2 HOW MR. OXENHAM
the fresh ocean breeze, which forbids alike the keen
winter frosts, and the fierce thunder heats of the
midland ; and pleasantly it has stood there for now,
perhaps, eight hundred years since the first Grenvil,
cousin of the Conqueror, returning from the conquest
of South Wales, drew round him trusty Saxon serfs,
and free Norse rovers with their golden curls, and
dark Silurian Britons from the Swansea shore, and
all the mingled blood which still gives to the seaward
folk of the next county their strength and intellect,
and, even in these levelling days, their peculiar beauty
of face and form.
But at the time whereof I write, Bideford was not
“merely a pleasant country town, whose quay was
haunted by afew coasting craft. It was one of the
chief ports of England; it furnished seven ships to
fight the Armada: even more than a century after-
wards, say the chroniclers, “it sent more vessels to
the northern trade, than any port in England, saving
(strange juxtaposition!) London and Topsham,†and
was the centre of a local civilisation and enterprise,
small perhaps compared with the vast efforts of the
present day: but who dare despise the day of small
things, if it has proved to be the dawn of mighty
ones? And itis to the sealife and labour of Bide-
ford, and Dartmouth, and Topsham, and Plymouth
(then a petty place), and many another little western
town, that England owes the foundation of her naval
and commercial glory. It was the men of Devon,
the Drakes and Hawkins’, Gilberts and Raleighs,
Grenviles and Oxenhams, and a host more of ‘“for-
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 3
gotten worthies,†whom we shall learn one day to
honour as they deserve, to whom she owes her com-
merce, her colonies, her very existence. For had
they not first crippled, by their West Indian raids,
the ill-gotten resources of the Spaniard, and then
crushed his last huge effort in Britain’s Salamis, the
glorious fight of 1588, what had we been by now, but
a Popish appanage of a world-tyranny as cruel as
heathen Rome itself, and far more devilish ?
It is in memory of these men, their voyages and
their battles, their faith and their valour, their heroic
lives and no less heroic deaths, that I write this book;
and if now and then I shall seem to warm into a style
somewhat too stilted and pompous, let me be excused
for my subject’s sake, fit rather to have been sung
than said, and to have proclaimed to all true English
hearts, not as a novel but as an epic (which some man
may yet gird himself to write), the same great message
which the songs of Troy, and the Persian wars, and
the trophies of Marathon and Salamis, spoke to the
hearts of all true Greeks of old.
One bright summer’s afternoon, in the year of
grace 1575, a tall and fair boy came lingering along
Bideford quay, in his scholar’s gown, with satchel and
slate in hand, watching wistfully the shipping and the
sailors, till, just after he had passed the bottom of
the High Street, he came opposite to one of the many
taverns which looked out upon the river. In the.
open bay-window sat merchants and gentlemen, dis-
coursing over their afternoon’s draught of sack ; and
I. B2
4 HOW MR. OXENHAM
outside the door was gathered a group of sailors,
listening earnestly to some one who stood in the
midst. The boy, all alive for any sea-news, must
needs go up to them, and take his place among the
sailor-lads who were peeping and whispering under
the elbows of the men; and so came in for the follow-
ing speech, delivered in a loud bold voice, with a
strong Devonshire accent, and a fair sprinkling of
oaths.
“Tf you don’t believe me, go and see, or stay here
and grow all over blue mould. I tell you, as I am a
gentleman, I saw it with these eyes, and so did Salva-
tion Yeo there, through a window in the lower room ;
and we measured the heap, as I am a Christened man,
seventy foot long, ten foot broad, and twelve foot
high, of silver bars, and each bar between a thirty,
and forty pound weight. And says Captain Drake :
‘There, my lads of Devon, I’ve brought you to the
mouth of the world’s treasure-house, and it’s your
own fault now, if you don’t sweep it out as empty as
a stock-fish.’â€
“Why didn’t you bring some of they home, then,
Mr. Oxenham ?â€
“Why weren’t you there to help to carry them?
We would have brought ’em away, safe enough, and
young Drake and I had broke the door abroad already,
but Captain Drake goes off in a dead faint; and when
we came to look, he had a wound in his leg you might
have laid three fingers in, and his boots were full of
blood, and had been for an hour or more; but the
heart of him was that, that he never knew it till he
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 5
dropped, and then his brother and I got him away to
the boats, he kicking and struggling, and bidding us
let him go on with the fight, though every step he
took in the sand was in a pool of blood; and so we
got off. And tell me, ye sons of shotten herrings,
wasn’t it worth more to save him than the dirty
silver? for silver we can get again, brave boys: there’s
more fish in the sea than ever came out of it, and
more silver in Nombre de Dios than would pave all
the streets in the west country: but of such captains
as Franky Drake, heaven never makes but one at a
time ; and if we lose him, good-bye to England’s luck,
say I, and who don’t agree, let him choose his weapons,
and I’m his man.â€
He who delivered this harangue was a tall and
sturdy personage, with a florid black-bearded face,
and bold restless dark eyes, who leaned, with crossed
legs and arms.akimbo, against the wall of the house ;
and seemed in the eyes of the school-boy a very mag-
nifico, some prince or duke at least. He was dressed
(contrary to all sumptuary laws of the time) in a suit
of crimson velvet, a little the worse, perhaps, for wear ;
by his side were a long Spanish rapier and a brace of
daggers, gaudy enough about the hilts; his fingers
sparkled with rings; he had two or three gold chains
about his neck, and large earrings in his ears, behind
one of which a red rose was stuck jauntily enough
among the glossy black curls ; on his head was a broad
velvet Spanish hat, in which instead of a feather was
fastened with a great gold clasp a whole Quezal bird,
whose gorgeous plumage of fretted golden green shone
I. B38
6 HOW MR. OXENHAM
like one entire precious stone. As he finished his
speech, he took off the said hat, and looking at the
bird in it—
“Took ye, my lads, did you ever see such a fowl
as that before? That’s the bird which the old Indian
kings of Mexico let no one wear but their own selves ;
and therefore I wear it,—I, John Oxenham of South
Tawton, for a sign to all brave lads of Devon, that as
the Spaniards are the masters of the Indians, we’re
the masters of the Spaniards:†and he replaced his
hat.
A murmur of applause followed : but one hinted
that he “doubted the Spaniards were too many for
them.â€
“Too many? How many men did we take Nombre
de Dios with? Seventy-three were we, and no more
when we sailed out of Plymouth Sound; and before
we saw the Spanish main, half were ‘gastados,’ used
up, as the Dons say, with the scurvy; and in Port
Pheasant Captain Rawse of Cowes fell in with us, and
that gave us some thirty hands more; and with that
handful, my lads, only fifty-three in all, we picked the
lock of the new world! And whom did we lose but
our trumpeter, who stood braying like an ass in the
middle of the square, instead of taking care of his
neck like a Christian? I tell you, those Spaniards are
rank cowards, as all bullies are. They pray to a
woman, the idolatrous rascals! and no wonder they
fight like women.â€
“You’m right, Captain,†sang out a tall gaunt
fellow who stood close to him ; “one westcountryman
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 7
can fight two easterlings, and an easterling can beat
three Dons any day. Eh! my lads of Devon ?
“ For O! it’s the herrings and the good brown beef,
And the cider and the cream so white ;
O! they are the making of the jolly Devon lads,
For to play, and eke to fight.â€
“Come,†said Oxenham, “come along! Who
lists ? who lists? who'll make his fortune ?
‘Oh, who will join, jolly mariners all ?
And who will join, says he, O!
To fill his pockets with the good red goold,
By sailing on the sea, O !â€
“Who'll list?†cried the gaunt man again; “now’s
your time! We've got forty men to Plymouth now,
ready to sail the minute we get back, and we want a
dozen out of you Bideford men, and just a boy or two,
and then we’m off and away, and make our fortunes,
or go to heaven.
‘* Our bodies in the sea so deep,
Our souls in heaven to rest !
Where valiant seamen, one and all,
Hereafter shall be blest !â€
“Now,†said Oxenham, “you won’t let the Ply-
mouth men say that the Bideford men daren’t follow
them? North Devon against South, it is. Who'll
join? who'll join? It is but a step of a way, after all,
and sailing as smooth as a duck-pond as soon as you're
past Cape Finisterre. Tl run a Clovelly herring-boat
there and back for a wager of twenty pound, and
never ship a bucketful all the way. Who'll join?
Don’t think you’re buying a pig ina poke. I know
the road, and Salvation Yeo, here, too, who was the
8 HOW MR. OXENHAM
gunner’s mate, as well as I do the narrow seas, and
better. You ask him to show you the chart of it,
now, and see if he don’t tell you over the ruttier as
well as Drake himself.â€
On which the gaunt man pulled from under his
arm a great white buffalo horn covered with rough
etchings of land and sea, and held it up to the admir-
ing ring.
“See here, boys all, and behold the pictur of the
place, dra’ed out so natural as ever was life. I got
mun from a Portingal, down to the Azores; and he’d
pricked mun out, and pricked mun out, wheresoever
he’d sailed, and whatsoever he’d seen. Take mun in
your hands now, Simon Evans, take mun in your
hands; look mun over, and Vl warrant you'll know
the way in five minutes so well as ever a shark in the
seas.â€
And the horn was passed from hand to hand;
while Oxenham, who saw that his hearers were be-
coming moved, called through the open window for a
ereat tankard of sack, and passed that from hand to
hand, after the horn.
The school-boy, who had been devouring with eyes
and ears all which passed, and had contrived by this
time to edge himself into the inner ring, now stood
face to face with the hero of the emerald crest, and
got as many peeps as he could at the wonder. But
when he saw the sailors, one after another, having
turned it over a while, come forward and offer to join
Mr. Oxenham, his soul burned within him for a nearer
view of that wondrous horn, as magical in its effects
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 9
as that of Tristrem, or the enchanter’s in Ariosto :
and when the group had somewhat broken up, and
Oxenham was going into the tavern with his recruits,
he asked boldly for a nearer sight of the marvel, which
was granted at once.
And now to his astonished gaze displayed them-
selves cities and harbours, dragons and elephants,
whales which fought with sharks, plate ships of Spain,
islands with apes and palm-trees, each with its name
over-written, and here and there, “Here is gold ;â€
and again, “Much gold and silver ;†inserted most
probably, as the words were in English, by the hands
of Mr. Oxenham himself. Lingeringly and longingly
the boy turned it round and round, and thought the
owner of it more fortunate than Khan or Kaiser. Oh,
if he could but possess that horn, what needed he on
earth beside to make him blest !
“T say, will you sell this?â€
“Yea, marry, or my own soul, if I can get the
worth of it.â€
“T want the horn,—I don’t want your soul; it’s
somewhat of a stale sole, for aught I know; and there
are plenty of fresh ones in the bay.â€
And therewith, after much fumbling, he pulled out
a tester (the only one he had), and asked if that would
buy it?
“That! no, nor twenty of them.â€
The boy thought over what a good knight-errant
would do in such case, and then answered, “Tell you
what: I'll fight you for it.â€
“'Thank’ee, sir!â€
10 HOW MR. OXENHAM
“Break the jackanape’s head for him, Yeo,†said
Oxenham.
“Call me jackanapes again, and I break yours, sir.â€
And the boy lifted his fist fiercely.
Oxenham looked at him a minute smilingly.
“Tut! tut! my man, hit one of your own size, if
you will, and spare little folk like me!â€
“Tf I have a boy’s age, sir, I have a man’s fist.
I shall be fifteen years old this month, and know how
to answer any one who insults me.â€
“Fifteen, my young cockerel? you look liker
twenty,†said Oxenham, with an admiring glance at
the lad’s broad limbs, keen blue eyes, curling golden
locks, and round honest face. “Fifteen? If I had
half-a-dozen such lads as you, I would make knights of
them before I died. Eh, Yeo?â€
“He'll do,†said Yeo; “he will make a brave
gamecock in a year or two, if he dares ruffle up so
early at a tough old hen-master like the Captain.â€
At which there was a general laugh, in which
Oxenham joined as loudly as any, and then bade the
lad tell him why he was so keen after the horn.
“Because,†said he, looking up boldly, “I want to
go to sea. I want to see the Indies. I want to fight
the Spaniards. Though I am a gentleman’s son, P’d
a deal liever be a cabin-boy on board your ship.â€
And the lad having hurried out his say fiercely enough,
dropped his head again.
“And you shall,†cried Oxenham, with a great
oath; “and take a galleon, and dine off carbonadoed
Dons. Whose son are you, my gallant fellow?â€
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 11
“Mr. Leigh’s, of Burrough Court.â€
“Bless his soul! I know him as well as I do the
Eddystone, and his kitchen too. Who sups with him
to-night ?â€
“Sir Richard Grenvil.â€
“Dick Grenvil? I did not know he was in town.
Go home and tell your father John. Oxenham will
come and keep him company. There, off with you!
Ill make all straight with the good gentleman, and
you shall have your venture with me; and as for the
horn, let him have the horn, Yeo, and I'll give you a
noble for it.â€
“Not a penny, noble Captain. If young master
will take a poor mariner’s gift, there it is, for the sake
of his love to the calling, and Heaven send him luck
therein.†And the good fellow, with the impulsive
generosity of a true sailor, thrust the horn into the
boy’s hands, and walked away to escape thanks.
“ And now,†quoth Oxenham, “my merry men all,
make up your minds what mannered men you be
minded to be before you take your bounties. I want
none of your rascally lurching longshore vermin, who
get five pounds out of this captain, and ten out of. that,
and let him sail without them after all, while they are
stowed away under women’s mufflers, and in tavern
cellars. If any man is of that humour, he had better
to cut himself up, and salt himself down in a barrel
for pork, before he meets me again ; for by this light,
let me catch him, be it seven years hence, and if I do
not cut his throat upon the streets, it’s a pity! But
if any man will be true brother to me, true brother to
12 HOW MR. OXENHAM
him [ll be, come wreck or prize, storm or calm, salt
water or fresh, victuals or none, share and fare alike ;
and here’s my hand upon it, for every man and all;
and so—
«* Westward ho! with a rumbelow,
And hurra for the Spanish main, O !â€
After which oration Mr. Oxenham swaggered into
the tavern, followed by his new men; and the boy
took his way homewards, nursing his precious horn,
trembling between hope and fear, and blushing with
maidenly shame, and a half-sense of wrong-doing at
having revealed suddenly to a stranger the darling
wish which he had hidden from his father and mother
ever since he was ten years old.
Now this young gentleman, Amyas Leigh, though
come of as good blood as any in Devon, and having
lived all his life in what we should even now call the
very best society, and being (on account of the valour,
courtesy, and truly noble qualities which he showed
forth in his most eventful life) chosen by me as the
hero and centre of this story, was not, saving for his
good looks, by any means what would be called now-
a-days an “interesting†youth, still less a “highly
educated†one; for, with the exception of a little
Latin, which had been driven into him by repeated
blows, as if it had been a nail, he knew no books
whatsoever, save his Bible, his Prayer-book, the old
“Mort d’Arthur†of Caxton’s edition, which lay in the
great’ bay window in the hall, and the translation of
“Tas Casas’ History of the West Indies,†which lay
beside it, lately done into English under the title of
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 13
“The Cruelties of the Spaniards.†He devoutly
believed in fairies, whom he called pixies ; and held
that they changed babies, and made the mushroom
rings on the downs to dance in. When he had warts
or burns, he went to the white witch at Northam to
charm them away; he thought that the sun moved
round the earth, and that the moon had some kindred
with a Cheshire cheese. He held that the swallows
slept all the winter at the bottom of the horse-pond ;
talked, like Raleigh, Grenvil, and other low persons,
with a broad Devonshire accent; and was in many
other respects so very ignorant a youth, that any pert
monitor in a national school might have had a hearty
laugh at him. Nevertheless, this ignorant young
savage, “vacant of the glorious gains†of the nine-
teenth century, children’s literature and science made
easy, and, worst of all, of those improved views of
English history now current among our railway essay-
ists, which consist in believing all persons, male and
female, before the year 1688, and nearly all after it,
to have been either hypocrites or fools, had learnt
certain things which he would hardly have been
taught just now in any school in England; for his
training had been that of the old Persians, “to speak
the truth and to draw the bow,†both of which savage
virtues he had acquired to perfection, as well as the
equally savage ones of enduring pain cheerfully, and of
believing it to be the finest thing in the world to be
a gentleman ; by which word he had been taught to
understand the careful habit of causing needless pain
to no human being, poor or rich, and of taking pride
14 HOW MR. OXENHAM
in giving up his own pleasure for the sake of those who
were weaker than himself. Moreover, having been
entrusted for the last year with the breaking of a colt,
and the care of a cast of young hawks which his father
had received from Lundy Isle, he had been profiting
much by the means of those coarse and frivolous
amusements, in perseverance, thoughtfulness, and the
habit of keeping his temper ; and though he had never
had a single “object lesson,†or been taught to “use
his intellectual powers,†he knew the names and ways
of every bird, and fish, and fly, and could read, as
cunningly as the oldest sailor, the meaning of every
drift of cloud which crossed the heavens. Lastly, he
had been for some time past, on account of his extra-
ordinary size and strength, undisputed cock of the
school, and the most terrible fighter among all Bide-
ford boys; in which brutal habit he took much
delight, and contrived, strange as it may seem, to
extract from it good, not only for himself but for
others, doing justice among his school-fellows with a
heavy hand, and succouring the oppressed and afflicted ;
so that he was the terror of all the sailor-lads, and the
_ pride and stay of all the town’s-boys and girls, and
hardly considered that he had done his duty in his
calling if he went home without beating a big lad for
bullying a little one. For the rest, he never thought
about thinking, or felt about feeling; and had no
ambition whatsoever beyond pleasing his father and
mother, getting by honest means the maximum of
“red quarrenders†and mazard cherries, and going to
sea when he was big enough. Neither was he what
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 15
would be now-a-days called by many a pious child;
for though he said his Creed and Lord’s Prayer night
and morning, and went to the service at the church
every forenoon, and read the day’s Psalms with his
mother every evening, and had learnt from her and
from his father (as he proved well in after life), that
it was infinitely noble to do right and infinitely base
to do wrong, yet (the age of children’s religious books
not having yet dawned on the world), he knew nothing
more of theology, or of his own soul, than is contained
in the Church Catechism. It is a question, however,
on the whole, whether, though grossly ignorant (ac-
cording to our modern notions) in science and religion,
he was altogether untrained in manhood, virtue, and
godliness; and whether the barbaric narrowness of
his Information was not somewhat counterbalanced
both in him and in the rest of his generation by the
depth, and breadth, and healthiness of his Education.
So let us watch him up the hill as he goes hugging
his horn, to tell all that has passed to his mother,
from whom he had never hidden anything in his life,
save only that seafever; and that only because he
foreknew that it would give her pain; and because,
moreover, being a prudent and sensible lad, he knew
that he was not yet old enough to go, and that, as he
expressed it to her that afternoon, ‘there was no use
hollaing till he was out of the wood.â€
So he goes up. between the rich lane-banks, heavy
with drooping ferns and honeysuckle ; out upon the
windy down toward the old Court, nestled amid its
ring of wind-clipt oaks; through the grey gateway
16 HOW MR. OXENHAM
into the homeclose ; and then he pauses a moment to
look around ; first at the wide bay to the westward,
with its southern wall of purple cliffs ; then at the dim
Isle of Lundy far away at sea; then at the cliffs and
downs of Morte and Braunton, right in front of him ;
then at the vast yellow sheet of rolling sandhill, and
green alluvial plain dotted with red cattle, at his feet,
through which the silver estuary winds onward toward
the sea. Beneath him, on his right, the Torridge, like
a land-locked lake, sleeps broad and bright between
the old park of Tapeley and the charmed rock of the
Hubbastone, where, seven hundred years ago, the
Norse rovers landed to lay siege to Kenwith Castle, a
mile away on his left hand; and not three fields away,
are the old stones of “The Bloody Corner,†where the
retreating Danes, cut off from their ships, made their
last fruitless stand against the Saxon sheriff and the
valiant men of Devon. Within that charmed rock,
so Torridge boatmen tell, sleeps now the old Norse
Viking in his leaden coffin, with all his fairy treasure
and his crown of gold; and as the boy looks at the
spot, he fancies, and almost hopes, that the day may
come when he shall have to do his duty against the
invader as boldly as the men of Devon did then.
And past him, far below, upon the soft south-eastern
breeze, the stately ships go sliding out to sea. When
shall he sail in them, and see the wonders of the
deep? And as he stands there with beating heart
and kindling eye, the cool breeze whistling through
his long fair curls, he is a symbol, though he knows
it not, of brave young England longing to wing its
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 17
way out of its island prison, to discover and to traffic,
to colonise and to civilise, until no wind can sweep
the earth which does not bear the echoes of an English
voice. Patience, young Amyas! Thou too shalt
forth, and westward ho, beyond thy wildest dreams ;
and see brave sights, and do brave deeds, which no
man has since the foundation of the world. Thou,
too, shalt face invaders stronger and more cruel far
than Dane or Norman, and bear thy part in that great
Titan strife before the renown of which the name of
Salamis shall fade away !
Mr. Oxenham came that evening to supper as he
had. promised: but as people supped in those days
in much the same manner as they do now, we may
drop the thread of the story for a few hours, and take
it up again after supper is over.
“Come now, Dick Grenvil, do thou talk ne good
man round, and T’ll warrant myself to talk round the
good wife.â€
The personage whom Oxenham addressed thus
familiarly, answered by a somewhat sarcastic smile,
and, “Mr. Oxenham gives Dick Grenvil†(with just
enough emphasis on the “Mr.†and the “Dick,†to
hint that a liberty had been taken with him) “over-
much credit with the men. Mr. Oxenham’s credit
with fair ladies, none can doubt. Friend Leigh, is
Heard’s great ship home yet from the Straits ?â€
The speaker, known well in those days as Siz
Richard Grenvile, Granville, Greenvil, Greenfield,
with two or three other variations, was one of those
truly, heroical personages whom Providence, fitting
VOL, I. Cc Wo.
18 HOW MR. OXENHAM
always the men to their age and their work, had sent
upon the earth whereof it takes right good care, not
in England only, but in Spain and Italy, in Germany
and the Netherlands, and wherever, in short, great
men and great deeds were needed to lift the medieval
world into the modern.
And, among all the heroic faces which the painters
of that age have preserved, none, perhaps, hardly
excepting Shakspeare’s or Spenser’s, Alva’s or Parma’s,
is more heroic than that of Richard Grenvil, as it
stands in Prince’s “ Worthies of Devon ;†of a Spanish
type, perhaps (or more truly speaking, a Cornish),
rather than an English, with just enough of the British
element in it, to give delicacy to its massiveness. The
forehead and whole brain are of extraordinary loftiness,
and perfectly upright; the nose long, aquiline, and
delicately pointed; the mouth fringed with a short
silky beard, small and ripe, yet firm as granite, with
just pout enough of the lower lip to give hint of that
capacity of noble indignation which lay hid under its
usual courtly calm and sweetness ; if there be a defect
in the face, it is that the eyes are somewhat small, and
close together, and the eyebrows, though delicately
arched, and, without a trace of peevishness, too closely
pressed down upon them, the complexion is dark, the
figure tall and graceful ; altogether the likeness of a
wise and gallant gentleman, lovely to all good men,
awful to all bad men; in whose presence none dare
say or do a mean ora ribald thing; whom brave men
left, feeling themselves nerved to do their duty better,
while cowards slipped away, as bats and owls before
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 19
the sun. So he lived and moved, whether in the
court of Elizabeth, giving his counsel among the
wisest ; or in the streets of Bideford, capped alike by
squire and merchant, shopkeeper and sailor ; or riding
along the moorland roads between his houses of Stow
and Bideford, while every woman ran out to her door
to look at the great Sir Richard, the pride of North
Devon ; or, sitting there in the low mullioned window
at Burrough, with his cup of malmsey before him, and
the lute to which he had just been singing laid across
his knees, while the red western sun streamed in upon
his high, bland forehead, and soft curling locks ; ever
the same steadfast, God-fearing, chivalrous man, con-
scious (as far as a soul so healthy could be conscious)
of the pride of beauty, and strength, and valour, and
wisdom, and a race and name which claimed direct
descent from the grandfather of the Conqueror, and
was tracked down the centuries by valiant deeds and
noble benefits to his native shire, himself the noblest
of his race. Men said that he was proud: but he
could not look round him without having something
to be proud of; that he was stern and harsh to his
sailors: but it was only when he saw in them any
taint of cowardice or falsehood ; that he was subject,
at moments, to such fearful fits of rage, that he had
been seen to snatch the glasses from the table, grind
them to pieces in his teeth, and swallow them: but
that was only when his indignation had been aroused
by some tale of cruelty or oppression ; and, above all,
by those West Indian devilries of the Spaniards, whom
he regarded (and in those days rightly enough) as the
L C2
20 HOW MR. OXENHAM
enemies of God and man. Of this last fact Oxenham
was well aware, and therefore felt somewhat puzzled
and nettled, when, after having asked Mr. Leigh’s
leave to take young Amyas with him, and set forth in
glowing colours the purpose of his voyage, he found
Sir Richard utterly unwilling to help him with his
suit.
“Heyday, Sir Richard? You are not surely gone
over to the side of those canting fellows (Spanish
Jesuits in disguise every one of them, they are), who
pretend to turn up their noses at Franky Drake as a
pirate, and be hanged to them ?â€
“My friend Oxenham,†answered he, in the senten-
tious and measured style of the day, “I have always
held, as you should know by this, that Mr. Drake’s
booty, as well as my good friend Captain Hawkins’s,
is lawful prize, as being taken from the Spaniard, who
is not only ‘hostis humani generis,’ but has no right
to the same, having robbed it violently, by torture and
extreme iniquity, from the poor Indian, whom God
avenge, as He surely will.â€
“ Amen,†said Mrs. Leigh.
“T say Amen too,†quoth Oxenham, “especially if
it please Him to avenge them by English hands.â€
“ And L also,†went on Sir Richard ; “for the right-
ful owners of the said goods being either miserably
dead, or incapable by reason of their servitude of ever
recovering any share thereof; the treasure, falsely called
Spanish, cannot be better bestowed than in building
up the state of England against them, our natural
enemies ; and thereby, in building up the weal of the
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 21
Reformed Churches throughout the world, and the
liberties of all nations, against a tyranny more foul
and rapacious than that of Nero or Caligula ; which if
it be not the cause of God, I, for one, know not what
God’s cause is!†And as he warmed in his speech,
his eyes flashed very fire.
“ Hark now !†said Oxenham, “who can speak more
boldly than he? and yet he will not help this lad to
so noble an adventure.â€
“You have asked his father and mother; what is
their answer ?â€
“Mine is this,†said Mr. Leigh; “if it be God’s
will that my boy should become hereafter such a
mariner as Sir Richard Grenvil, let him go, and God
be with him; but let him first bide here at home and
be trained, if God give me grace, to become such a
gentleman as Sir Richard Grenvil.â€
Sir Richard bowed low, and Mrs. Leigh catching
up the last word—
“There, Mr. Oxenham, you cannot gainsay that,
unless you will be discourteous to his worship. And
for me—though it be a weak woman’s reason, yet it
is a mother’s: he is my only child. His elder brother
is far away. God only knows whether I shall see him
again ; and what are all reports of his virtues and his
learning to me, compared to that sweet presence which
I daily miss? Ah! Mr. Oxenham, my beautiful
Joseph is gone; and though he be lord of Pharaoh’s
household, yet he is far away in Egypt; and you will
take Benjamin also! Ah! Mr. Oxenham, you have
no child, or you would not ask for mine !â€
q. 53
bo
ko
HOW MR. OXENHAM
“ And how do you know that, my sweet Madam 2â€
said the adventurer, turning first deadly pale, and then
glowing red. Her last words had touched him to the
quick in some unexpected place ; and rising, he court-
eously laid her hand to his lips, and said—“TI say no
more. Farewell, sweet Madam, and God send all men
such wives as you.â€
“ And all wives,†said she, smiling, “such husbands
as mine.â€
“Nay, I will not say that,†answered he, with a
half sneer—and then, “Farewell, friend Leigh, Fare-
well, gallant Dick Grenvil. God send I see thee Lord
High Admiral when I come home. And yet, why
should I come home? Will you pray for poor Jack,
gentles?â€
“Tut, tut, man! good words,†said Leigh; “let us
drink to our merry meeting before you go.†And
rising, and putting the tankard of malmsey to his lips,
he passed it to Sir Richard, who rose, and saying,
“To the fortune of a bold mariner and a gallant gentle-
man,†drank, and put the cup into Oxenham’s hand.
The adventurer’s face was flushed, and his eye wild.
Whether from the liquor he had drunk during the
day, or whether from Mrs. Leigh’s last speech, he had
not been himself for a few minutes. He lifted the
cup, and was in act to pledge them, when he suddenly
dropped it on the table, and pointed, staring and
trembling, up and down, and round the room, as if
following some fluttering object.
“There! Do you see it? The bird!—the bird
with the white breast !â€
“There! Do you see it? The bird !—the bird with the white breast !â€â€”
Chap. i. p. 22.
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 23
Each looked at the other; but Leigh, who was a
quick-witted man, and an old courtier, forced a laugh
instantly, and cried—
“Nonsense, brave Jack Oxenham! Leave white
birds for men who will show the white feather. Mrs.
Leigh waits to pledge you.â€
Oxenham recovered himself in a moment, pledged
them all round, drinking deep and fiercely ; and after
hearty farewells, departed, never hinting again at his
strange exclamation.
After he was gone, and while Leigh was attending
him to the door, Mrs. Leigh and Grenvil kept a few
minutes’ dead silence. At last—
“God help him!†said she.
“Amen,†said Grenvil, “for he never needed it
more. But, indeed, Madam, I put no faith in such
omens.â€
“But, Sir Richard, that bird has been seen for
generations before the death of any of his family. I
know those who were at South Tawton when his
mother died, and his brother also; and they both saw
it. God help him! for, after all, he is a proper man.â€
“So many a lady has thought before now, Mrs.
Leigh, and well for him if they had not. But, indeed,
I make no account of omens. When God is ready for
each man, then he must go; and when can he go
better 1â€
“But,†said Mr. Leigh, who entered, “I have seen,
and especially when I was in Italy, omens and _pro-
phecies before now beget their own fulfilment, by
driving men into recklessness, and making them run
24 HOW MR. OXENHAM
headlong upon that very ruin which, as they fancied,
was running upon them.â€
“ And which,†said Sir Richard, “they might have
avoided, if, instead of trusting in I know not what
dumb and dark destiny, they had trusted in the living
God, by faith in whom men may remove mountains,
and quench the fire, and put to flight the armies of
the alien. I, too, know, and know not how I know,
that I shall never die in my bed.â€
“God forfend !†cried Mrs. Leigh.
“And why, fair Madam, if I die doing my duty to
my God and my queen? The thought never moves
me: nay, to tell the truth, I pray often enough that I
may be spared the miseries of imbecile old age, and
that end which the old Northmen rightly called ‘a
cow’s death’ rather than a man’s. But enough of
this. Mr. Leigh, you have done wisely to-night.
Poor Oxenham does not go on his voyage with a
single eye. I have talked about him with Drake and
Hawkins; and I guess why Mrs. Leigh touched him
so home when she told him that he had no child.â€
“Has he one, then, in the West Indies?†cried the
good lady.
“God knows; and God grant we may not hear of
shame and sorrow fallen wpon an ancient and honour-
able house of Devon. My brother Stukely is woe
enough to North Devon for this generation.â€
“Poor braggadocio!†said Mr. Leigh; “and yet
not altogether that too, for he can fight at least.â€
“So can every mastiff and boar, much more an
Englishman. And now come hither to me, my ad-
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 25
venturous godson, and don’t look in such doleful
dumps. I hear you have broken all the sailor boys’
heads already.â€
“Nearly all,†said young Amyas, with due modesty.
“But am I not to go to sea?â€
“All things in their time, my boy, and God forbid
that either I or your worthy parents should keep you
from that noble calling which is the safeguard of this
England and her queen. But you do not wish to live
and die the master of a trawler?â€
“T should like to be a brave adventurer, like Mr.
Oxenham.â€
“God grant you become a braver man than he!
for as I think, to be bold against the enemy is common
to the brutes ; but the prerogative of a man is to be
bold against himself.â€
“ How, sir?â€
“To conquer our own fancies, Amyas, and our
own lusts, and our ambition, in the sacred name of
duty ; this it is to be truly brave, and truly strong ;
for he who cannot rule himself, how can he rule his
crew or his fortunes? Come, now, I will make you
a promise. If you will bide quietly at home, and
learn from your father and mother all which befits a
gentleman and a Christian, as well as a seaman, the
day shall come when you shall sail with Richard
Grenvil himself, or with better men than he, on a
nobler errand than gold-hunting on the Spanish Main.â€
“O my boy, my boy!†said Mrs. Leigh, “hear
what the good Sir Richard promises you. Many an
earl’s son would be glad to be in your place.â€
26 HOW MR. OXENHAM
“ And many an earl’s son will be glad to be in his
place a score years hence, if he will but learn what I
know you two can teach him. And now, Amyas, my
lad, I will tell you for a warning the history of that Sir
Thomas Stukely of whom I spoke just now, and who
was, as all men know, a gallant and courtly knight,
of an ancient and worshipful family in Ilfracombe,
well practised in the wars, and well beloved at first
by our incomparable queen, the friend of all true
virtue, as I trust she will be of yours some day ; who
wanted but one step to greatness, and that was this,
that, in his hurry to rule all the world, he forgot to
rule himself. And first, he wasted his estate in show
and luxury, always intending to be famous, and de-
stroying his own fame all the while by his vainglory
and haste. Then, to retrieve his losses, he hit upon
the peopling of Florida, which thou and I will see
done some day, by God’s blessing; for I and some
good friends of mine have an errand there as well as
he. But he did not go about it as a loyal man, to
advance the honour of his queen, but his own honour
only, dreaming that he, too, should be a king; and
was not ashamed to tell her majesty, that he had
rather be sovereign of a molehill than the highest
subject of an emperor.â€
“They say,†said Mr. Leigh, “that he told her
plainly he should be a prince before he died, and that
she gave him one of her pretty quips in return.â€
“T don’t know that her majesty had the best of it.
A fool is many times too strong for a wise man, by
virtue of his thick hide. For when she said that she
SAW THE WHITE BIRD. 27
hoped she should hear from him in his new princi-
pality, ‘Yes, sooth,’ says he, graciously enough. ‘And
in what style? asks she. ‘To our dear sister,’ says
Stukely: to which her clemency had nothing to reply,
but turned away, as Mr. Burleigh told me, laughing.â€
“Alas for him!†said gentle Mrs. Leigh. “Such
self-conceit—and Heaven knows we have the root of
it in ourselves _also—is the very daughter of self-will,
and of that loud crying out about I, and me, and mine,
which is the very bird-call for all devils, and the broad
road which leads to death.â€
“Tt will lead him to his,†said Sir Richard ; “God
grant it be not upon Tower-hill! for since that Florida
plot, and after that his hopes of Irish preferment came
to nought, he who could not help himself by fair means
has taken to foul ones, and gone over to Italy to the
Pope, whose infallibility has not been proof against
Stukely’s wit; for he was soon his Holiness’s closet
counsellor, and, they say, his bosom friend ; and made
him give credit to his boasts that, with three thousand
soldiers he would beat the English out of Ireland, and
make the Pope’s son king of it.â€
“ Ay, but,†said Mr. Leigh, “I suppose the Italians
have the same fetch now as they had when I was
there, to explain such ugly cases; namely, that the
Pope is infallible only in doctrine, and quoad Pope;
while quoad hominem, he is even as others, or indeed,
in general, a deal worse, so that the office, and not the
man, may be glorified thereby. But where is Stukely
now ?â€
“At Rome when last I heard of him, ruffling it up
28 HOW MR. OXENHAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD,
and down the Vatican as Baron Ross, Viscount Mur-
rough, Earl Wexford, Marquis Leinster, and a title or
two more, which have cost the Pope little, seeing that
they never were his to give; and plotting, they say,
some hair-brained expedition against Ireland by the
help of the Spanish king, which must end in nothing
but his shame and ruin. And now, my sweet hosts,
I must call for serving-boy and lantern, and home to
my bed in Bideford.â€
And so Amyas Leigh went back to school, and Mr.
Oxenham went his way to Plymouth again, and sailed
for the Spanish Main.
HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE FIRST TIME,
‘Si taceant homines, facient te sidera notum,
Sol nescit comitis immemor esse sui.â€
Old Epigram on Drake.
FIvE years are past and gone. It is nine of the clock
on a still, bright November morning ; but the bells of
Bideford church are still ringing for the daily service
two hours after the usual time ; and instead of going
soberly according to wont, cannot help breaking forth
every five minutes into a jocund peal, and tumbling
head over heels in ecstasies of joy. Bideford streets
are a very flower garden of all the colours, swarming
with seamen and burghers, and burghers’ wives and
daughters, all in their holiday attire. Garlands are
hung across the streets, and tapestries from every
window. The ships in the pool are dressed in all
their flags, and give tumultuous vent to their feelings
by peals of ordnance of every size. Every stable is
crammed with horses ; and Sir Richard Grenvil’s house
is like a very tavern, with eating and drinking, and
unsaddling, and running to and fro of grooms and
serving-men. Along the little churchyard, packed full
with women, streams all the gentle blood of North
Devon,—tall and stately men, and fair ladies, worthy
30 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
of the days when the gentry of England were by due
right the leaders of the people, by personal prowess
and beauty, as well as by intellect and education. And
first, there is my lady Countess of Bath, whom Sir
Richard Grenvil is escorting, cap in hand (for her good
Earl Bourchier is-in London with the queen); and
there are Bassets from beautiful Umberleigh, and
Carys from more beautiful Clovelly, and Fortescues
of Wear, and Fortescues of Buckland, and Fortescues
from all quarters, and Coles from Slade, and Stukelys
from Affton, and St. Legers from Annery, and Coffins
from Portledge, and even Coplestones from Eggesford,
thirty miles away: and last, but not least (for almost
all stop to give them place), Sir John Chichester of
Ralegh, followed in single file, after the good old
patriarchial fashion, by his eight daughters, and three
of his five famous sons (one, to avenge his murdered
brother, is fighting valiantly in Ireland, hereafter to
rule there wisely also, as Lord-Deputy and Baron of
Belfast); and he meets at the gate his cousin of
Arlington, and behind him a train.of four daughters
and nineteen sons, the last of whom has not yet passed
the Town-hall, while the first is at the Lychgate, who,
laughing, make way for the elder though shorter branch
of that most fruitful tree ; and so on into the church,
where all are placed according to their degrees, or at
least as near as may be, not without a few sour looks,
and shovings, and whisperings, from one high-born
matron and another ; till the churchwardens and sides-
men, who never had before so goodly a company to
arrange, have bustled themselves hot and red, and
THE FIRST TIME. 31
frantic, and end by imploring abjectly the help of the
great Sir Richard himself to tell them who everybody
is, and which is the elder branch, and which is the
younger, and who carries eight quarterings in their
arms, and who only four, and so prevent their setting
at deadly feud half the fine ladies of North Devon ;
for the old men are all safe packed away in the cor-
poration pews, and the young ones care only to get a
place whence they may eye the ladies. And at last
there is a silence, and a looking toward the door, and
then distant music, flutes and hautboys, drums and
trumpets, which come braying, and screaming, and
thundering merrily up to the very church doors, and
then cease; and the churchwardens and sidesmen
bustle down to the entrance, rods in hand, and there
is a general whisper and rustle, not without glad tears
and blessings from many a woman, and from some
men also, as the wonder of the day enters, and the
rector begins, not the morning service, but the good
old thanksgiving after a victory at sea.
And what is it which has thus sent old Bideford
wild with that “godly joy and pious mirth,†of which
we now only retain traditions in our translation of
the psalms? Why are all eyes fixed, with greedy
admiration, on those four weather-beaten mariners,
decked out with knots and ribbons by loving hands ;
and yet more on that gigantic figure who walks before
them, a beardless boy, and yet with the frame and
stature of a Hercules, towering, like Saul of old, a
head and shoulders above all the congregation, with
his golden locks flowing down over his shoulders?
32 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
And why, as the five go instinctively up to the altar,
and there fall on their knees before the rails, are all
eyes turned to the pew, where Mrs. Leigh of Burrough
has hid her face between her hands, and her hood
rustles and shakes to her joyful sobs? Because there
was fellow-feeling of old in merry England, in county
and in town; and these are Devon men, and men of
Bideford, whose names are Amyas Leigh of Burrough,
John Staveley, Michael Heard, and Jonas Marshall of
Bideford, and Thomas Braund of Clovelly: and they,
the first of all English mariners, have sailed round
the world with Francis Drake, and are come hither to
give God thanks.
It is a long story. To explain how it happened
we must go back for a page or two, almost to the
point from whence we started in the last Chapter.
For somewhat more than a twelvemonth after Mr.
Oxenham’s departure, young Amyas had gone on
quietly enough, according to promise, with the excep-
tion of certain occasional outbursts of fierceness com-
mon to all young male animals, and especially to
boys of any strength of character. His scholarship,
indeed, progressed no better than before; but his
home education went on healthily enough; and he
was fast becoming, young as he was, a right good
archer, and rider, and swordsman (after the old school
of buckler practice) when, his father, having gone
down on business to the Exeter Assizes, caught (as
was too common in those days) the gaol-fever from
the prisoners ; sickened in the very court; and died
within 9 veek.
THE FIRST TIME. 33
And now Mrs. Leigh was left to God and her own
soul, with this young lion-cub in leash, to tame and
train for this life and the life to come. She had loved
her husband fervently and holily. He had been often
peevish, often melancholy ; for he was a disappointed
man, with an estate impoverished by his father’s folly,
and his own youthful ambition, which had led him
up to Court, and made him waste his heart and his
purse in following a vain shadow. He was one of
those men, moreover, who possess almost every gift
except the gift of the power to use them; and though
a scholar, a courtier, and a soldier, he had found him-
self, when he was past forty, without settled employ-
ment or aim in life, by reason of a certain shyness,
pride, or delicate honour (call it which you will),
which had always kept him from playing a winning
game in that very world after whose prizes he hankered
to the last, and on which he revenged himself by con-
tinual grumbling. At last, by his good luck, he met
with a fair young Miss Foljambe, of Derbyshire, then
about Queen Elizabeth’s court, who was as tired as he
of the sins of the world, though she had seen less of
them ; and the two contrived to please each other so
well, that though the queen grumbled a little, as usual,
at the lady for marrying, and at the gentleman for
adoring any one but her royal self, they got leave to
vanish from the little Babylon at Whitehall, and
settle in peace at Burrough. In her he found a
treasure, and he knew what he had found.
Mis. Leigh was, and had been from her youth, one
of those noble old English churchwomen, without
VOL, I, D Win,
34 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
superstition, and without severity, who are among the
fairest features of that heroic time. There was a
certain melancholy about her, nevertheless; for the
recollections of her childhood carried her back to
times when it was an awful thing to be a Protestant.
She could remember among them, five-and-twenty
years ago, the burning of poor blind Joan Waste, at
Derby, and of Mistress Joyce Lewis, too, like herself,
a lady born; and sometimes even now, in her nightly
dreams, rang in her ears her mother’s bitter cries to
God, either to spare her that fiery torment, or to give
her strength to bear it, as she whom she loved had
borne it before her. For her mother, who was of a
good family in Yorkshire, had been one of Queen
Catherine’s bed-chamber women, and the bosom friend
and disciple of Anne Askew. And she had sat in
Smithfield, with blood curdled by horror, to see the
hapless court beauty, a month before the paragon of
Henry’s court, carried in a chair (so crippled was she
by the rack) to her fiery doom at the stake, beside
her fellow-courtier, Mr. Lascelles, while the very
heavens seemed to the shuddering mob around to
speak their wrath and grief in solemn thunder peals,
and heavy drops which hissed upon the crackling pile.
Therefore a sadness hung upon her all her life, and
deepened in the days of Queen Mary, when, as a
notorious Protestant and heretic she had had to hide
for her life among the hills and caverns of the Peak,
and was only saved by the love which her husband’s
tenants bore her, and by his bold declaration that,
good Catholic as he was, he would run through the
THE FIRST TIME. 35
body any constable, justice, or priest, yea, bishop or
cardinal, who dared to serve the Queen’s warrant upon
his wife.
So she escaped: but, as I said, a sadness hung upon
her all her life; and the skirt of that dark mantle fell
upon the young girl who had been the partner of her
wanderings and hidings among the lonely hills; and
who, after she was married, gave herself utterly up to
God.
And yet in giving herself to God, Mrs. Leigh gave
herself to her husband, her children, and the poor of
Northam town, and was none the less welcome to the
Grenviles, and Fortescues, and Chichesters, and all the
gentle families round, who honoured her husband’s
talents, and enjoyed his wit. She accustomed herself
to austerities, which often called forth the kindly re-
bukes of her husband ; and yet she did so without one
superstitious thought of appeasing the fancied wrath
of God, or of giving him pleasure (base thought) by
any pain of hers; for her spirit had been trained in
the freest and loftiest doctrines of Luther’s school ;
and that little mystic “Alt-Deutsch Theologie†(to
which the great Reformer said that he owed more
than to any book, save the Bible, and St. Augustine)
was her counsellor and comforter by day and night.
And now, at little past forty, she was left a
widow ; lovely still in face and figure ; and still more
lovely from the divine calm which brooded, like the
dove of peace and the Holy Spirit of God (which in-
deed it was), over every look, and word, and gesture ;
a sweetness which had been ripened by storm, as well
36 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
as by sunshine ; which this world had not given, and
could not take away. No wonder that Sir Richard
and Lady Grenvile loved her; no wonder that her
children worshipped her ; no wonder that the young
Amyas, when the first burst of grief was over, and he
knew again where he stood, felt that a new life had
begun for him; that his mother was no more to think
and act for him only, but that he must think and act
for his mother. And so it was, that on the very day
after his father’s funeral, when school-hours were over,
instead of coming straight home, he walked boldly
into Sir Richard Grenvile’s house, and asked to see his
godfather.
“You must be my father now, sir,†said he firmly.
And Sir Richard looked at the boy’s broad strong
face, and swore a great and holy oath, like Glasgerion’s,
“by oak, and ash, and thorn,†that he would be a
father to him, and a brother to his mother, for Christ’s
sake. And Lady Grenvile took the boy by the hand,
and walked home with him to Burrough; and there
the two fair women fell on each other’s necks, and wept
together ; the one for the loss which had been, the
other, as by a prophetic instinct, for the like loss which
was to come to her also. For the sweet St. Leger
knew well that her husband’s fiery spirit would never
leave his body on a peaceful bed; but that death (as
he prayed almost nightly that it might) would find
him sword in hand, upon the field of duty and of
fame. And there those two vowed everlasting sister-
hood, and kept their vow; and after that all things
went on at Burrough as before ; and Amyas rode, and
THE FIRST TIME. eS Oil
shot, and boxed, and wandered on the quay at Sir
Richard’s side ; for Mrs. Leigh was too wise a woman
to alter one tittle of the training which her husband
had thought best for his younger boy. It was enough
that her elder son had of his own accord taken to that
form of life in which she in her secret heart would fain
have moulded both her children. For Frank, God’s
wedding gift to that pure love of hers, had won him-
self honour at home and abroad; first at the school
at Bideford; then at Exeter College, where he had
become a friend of Sir Philip Sidney’s, and many
another young man of rank and promise; and next,
in the summer of 1572, on his way to the University
of Heidelberg, he had gone to Paris, with (luckily for
him) letters of recommendation to Walsingham, at the
English Embassy : by which letters he not only fell in
a second time with Philip Sidney, but saved his own
life (as Sidney did his) in the Massacre of Saint
Bartholomew’s Day. At Heidelberg he had stayed
two years, winning fresh honour from all who knew
him, and resisting all Sidney’s entreaties to follow him
into Italy. For, scorning to be a burden to his parents,
he had become at Heidelberg tutor to two young
German princes, whom, after living with them at their
father’s house for a year or more, he at last, to his
own great delight, took with him down to Padua, “to
perfect them,†as he wrote home, “according to his
insufliciency, in all princely studies.†Sidney was now
returned to England ; but Frank found friends enough
without him, such letters of recommendation and
diplomas did he carry from I. know not how many
38 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
princes, magnificoes, and learned doctors, who had fallen
in love with the learning, modesty, and virtue, of the
fair young Englishman. And ere Frank returned to
Germany, he had satiated his soul with all the wonders
of that wondrous land. He had talked over the art
of sonnetering with Tasso, the art of history with
Sarpi; he had listened between awe and incredulity
to the daring theories of Galileo; he had taken his
pupils to Venice, that their portraits might be painted
by Paulo Veronese; he had seen the palaces of
Palladio, and the Merchant Princes on the Rialto, and
the Argosies of Ragusa, and all the wonders of that
meeting-point of east and west; he had watched Tin-
toretto’s mighty hand “hurling tempestuous glories
o’er the scene ;†and even, by dint of private interces-
sion in high places, had been admitted to that sacred
room, where, with long silver beard and undimmed
eye, amid a pantheon of his own creations, the ancient
Titian, patriarch of art, still lingered upon earth, and
told old tales of the Bellinis, and Raffaelle, and Michael
Angelo, and the building of St. Peter’s, and the fire at
Venice, and the Sack of Rome, and of kings and
warriors, statesmen and poets, long since gone to their
account, and showed the sacred brush which’ Francis
the First had stooped to pick up for him. And
(licence forbidden to Sidney by his friend Languet) he
had been to Rome, and seen (much to the scandal of
good Protestants at home) that “right good fellow,â€
as Sidney calls him, who had not yet eaten himself to
death, the Pope for the time being. And he had
seen the frescoes of the Vatican, and heard Palestrina
.
THE FIRST TIME. 39
preside as chapel-master over the performance of his
own music beneath the dome of St. Peter’s, and fallen
half in love with those luscious strains, till he was
awakened from his dream by the recollection that
beneath that same dome had gone up thanksgivings
to the God of heaven, for those blood-stained streets,
and shrieking women, and heaps of insulted corpses,
which he had beheld in Paris on the night of St.
Bartholomew. At last, a few months before his father
died, he had taken back his pupils to their home in
Germany, from whence he was dismissed, as he wrote,
with rich gifts ; and then Mrs. Leigh’s heart beat high,
at the thought that the wanderer would return: but,
alas! within a month after his father’s death, came a
long letter from Frank, describing the Alps, and the
valleys of the Waldenses (with whose Barbes he had
had much talk about the late horrible persecutions), and
setting forth how at Padua he had made the acquaint-
ance of that illustrious scholar and light of the age,
Stephanus Parmenius (commonly called from his native
place, Budzeus), who had visited Geneva with him, and
heard the disputations of their most learned doctors,
which both he and Budeus disliked for their hard
judgments both of God and man, as much as they
admired them for their subtlety, being themselves, as
became Italian students, Platonists of the school of
Ficinus and Picus Mirandolensis. So wrote Master
Frank,-in a long sententious letter, full of Latin quota-
tions: but the letter never reached the eyes of him for
whose delight it had been penned: and the widow had
to weep over it alone, and to weep more bitterly than
40 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
ever at the conclusion, in which, with many excuses,
Frank said that he had, at the special entreaty of the
said Budeus, set out with him down the Danube
stream to Buda, that he might, before finishing his
travels, make experience of that learning for which
the Hungarians were famous throughout Europe.
And after that, though he wrote again and again to
the father whom he fancied living, no letter in return
reached him from home for nearly two years; till,
_ fearing some mishap, he hurried back to England, to
find his mother a widow, and his brother Amyas gone
to the South Seas with Captain Drake of Plymouth.
And yet, even then, after years of absence, he was
not allowed to remain at home. For Sir Richard, to
whom idleness was a thing horrible and unrighteous,
would have him up and doing again before six months
were over, and sent him off to Court to Lord Hunsdon.
There, being as delicately beautiful as his brother
was huge and strong, he had speedily, by Carew’s
interest and that of Sidney and his Uncle Leicester,
found entrance into some office in the Queen’s house-
hold ; and he was now basking in the full sunshine of
Court favour, and fair ladies’ eyes, and all the chival-
ries and Euphuisms of Gloriana’s fairy land, and the
fast friendship of that bright meteor, Sidney, who
had returned with honour in 1577, from the delicate
mission on behalf of the German and Belgian Pro-
testants, on which he had been sent to the Court of
Vienna, under colour of condoling with the new Em-
peror Rodolph, on his father’s death. Frank found
him when he himself came to Court in 1579, as lovely
THE FIRST TIME. 41
and loving as ever; and at the early age of twenty-
five, acknowledged as one of the most remarkable
men of Europe, the patron of all men of letters, the
counsellor of warriors and statesmen, and the con-
fidant and advocate of William of Orange, Languet,
Plessis du Mornay, and all the Protestant leaders on
the Continent ; and found, moreover, that the son of
the poor Devon squire was as welcome as ever to the
friendship of nature’s and fortune’s most favoured,
yet most unspoilt, minion.
Poor Mrs. Leigh, as one who had long since learned
to have no self, and to live not only for her children,
but in them, submitted without a murmur, and only
said smiling to her stern friend—“ You took away
my mastiff-pup, and now you must needs have my
fair greyhound also.†—
“Would you have your fair greyhound, dear lady,
grow up a tall and true Cotswold dog, that can pull
down a stack of ten, or one of those smooth-skinned
poppets which the Florence ladies lead about with a
ring of bells round its neck, and a flannel farthingale
over its loins?â€
Mrs. Leigh submitted ; and was rewarded after a
few months by a letter sent through Sir Richard,
from none other than Gloriana herself, in which she
thanked her for “the loan of that most’ delicate and
flawless crystal, the soul of her excellent son,†with
more praises of him than I have room to insert, and
finished by exalting the poor mother above the famed
Cornelia; “for those sons, whom she called her
jewels, she only showed, yet kept them to herself:
42 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
but you, madam, having two as precious, I doubt not,
as were ever that Roman dame’s, have, beyond her
courage, lent them both to your country and to your
queen, who therein holds herself indebted to you for
that which, if God give her grace, she will repay as
becomes both her and you.†Which epistle the sweet
mother bedewed with holy tears, and laid by in the
cedar-box which held her household gods, by the side
of Frank’s innumerable diplomas and letters of re-
commendation, the Latin whereof she was always
spelling over (although she understood not a word of
it), in hopes of finding here and there that precious
excellentissimus Noster Franciscus Leighius Anglus, which
was all in all to the mother’s heart.
But why did Amyas go to the South Seas? Amyas
went to the South Seas for two causes, each of which
has before now sent many a lad to far worse places :
first, because of an old schoolmaster; secondly, be-
cause of a young beauty. I will take them in order,
and explain.
Vindex Brimblecombe, whilom servitor of Exeter
College, Oxford (commonly called Sir Vindex, after
the fashion of the times), was, in those days, master
of the grammar-school of Bideford. He was, at root,
a godly and kind-hearted pedant enough: but, like
most schoolmasters in the old flogging days, had his
heart pretty well hardened by long baneful licence to
inflict pain at will on those weaker than himself; a
power healthful enough for the victim (for doubtless
flogging is the best of all punishments, being not only
the shortest, but also a mere bodily and animal and,
THE FIRST TIME. 43
not, like most of our new-fangled “humane†punish-
ments, a spiritual and fiendish torture), but for the
executioner pretty certain to eradicate from all but
the noblest spirits every trace of chivalry and tender-
ness for the weak, as well, often, as all self-control
and command of temper. Be that as it may, old Sir
Vindex had heart enough to feel that it was now his
duty to take especial care of the fatherless boy to
whom he tried to teach his qui, que, quod: but the
only outcome of that new sense of responsibility was
a rapid increase in the number of floggings, which
rose from about two a week, to one per diem, not
without consequences to the pedagogue himself.
For all this while, Amyas had never for a moment
lost sight of his darling desire for a sea life; and
when he could not wander on the quay and stare at
the shipping, or go down to the pebble-ridge at
Northam, and there sit devouring with hungry eyes
the great expanse of ocean, which seemed to woo him
outward into boundless space, he used to console
himself in school hours by drawing ships and imagin-
ary charts upon his slate, instead of minding his
“humanities.â€
Now it befel upon an afternoon, that he was very
busy at a map, or bird’s eye view of an island, whereon
was a great castle, and at the gate thereof a dragon,
terrible to see; while in the foreground came that
which was meant for a gallant ship, with a great flag
aloft, but which, by reason of the forest of lances with
which it was crowded, looked much more like a por-
cupine carrying a sign-post ;.and at the roots of those
44 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
lances many little round o’s, whereby were signified
the heads of Amyas and his schoolfellows, who were
about to slay that dragon, and rescue the beautiful
princess who dwelt in that enchanted tower. To be-
hold which marvel of art, all the other boys at the
same desk must needs club their heads together, and
with the more security, because Sir Vindex, as was
his custom after dinner, was lying back in his chair,
and slept the sleep of the just.
But when Amyas, by special instigation of the evil
spirit who haunts successful artists, proceeded further
to introduce, heedless of perspective, a rock, on which
stood the lively portraiture of Sir Vindex—nose,
spectacles, gown, and all; and in his hand a bran-
dished rod, while out of his mouth a label shrieked
after the runaways, “ You come back !†while a similar
label replied from the gallant bark, “Good-bye, mas-
ter!†the shoving and tittering rose to such a pitch,
that Cerberus awoke, and demanded sternly what
the noise was about. To which, of course, there was
no answer.
“You, of course, Leigh! Come up, sir, and show
me your exercitation.â€
Now of Amyas’s exercitation not a word was
written ; and, moreover, he was in the very article of
putting the last touches to Mr. Brimblecombe’s por-
trait. Whereon, to the astonishment of all hearers,
he made answer—
“ All in good time, sir!†and went on drawing.
“In good time, sir! Insolent, veni et vapula/â€
But Amyas went on drawing.
On
4 . ui
x A
S
NS
NAR WY
SO
ze
That slate descended on the bald coxcomb of Sir Vindex Brimblecombe.—
Chap. ii. p. 45.
THE FIRST TIME. 45
“Come hither, sirrah, or I'll flay you alive !â€
“Wait a bit!†answered Amyas.
The old gentleman jumped up, ferula in hand, and
darted across the school, and saw himself upon the
fatal slate.
“ Proh flagitium / what have we here, villain?†and
clutching at his victim, he raised the cane. Where-
upon, with a serene and cheerful countenance, up rose
the mighty form of Amyas Leigh, a head and shoulders
above his tormentor, and that slate descended on the
bald coxcomb of Sir Vindex Brimblecombe, with so
shrewd a blow, that slate and pate cracked at the
same instant, and the poor pedagogue dropped to the
floor, and lay for dead.
After which Amyas arose, and walked out of the
school, and so quietly home; and having taken counsel
with himself, went to his mother, and said, ‘Please,
mother, ’ve broken schoolmaster’s head.â€
“Broken his head, thou wicked boy!†shrieked the
poor widow ; “what didst do that for?â€
“T can’t tell,†said Amyas, penitently ; “I couldn’t
help it. It looked so smooth, and bald, and round,
and—you know ?â€
“IT know? Oh, wicked boy! thou hast given place
to the devil; and now, perhaps, thou hast killed him.â€
“Killed the devil?†asked Amyas, hopefully, but
doubtfully.
“No, killed the schoolmaster, sirrah! Is he dead?â€
“JT don’t think he’s dead; lis coxcomb sounded
too hard for that. But had not I better go and tell
Sir Richard %â€
46 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
The poor mother could hardly help laughing, in
spite of her terror, at Amyas’s perfect coolness (which
was not in the least meant for insolence), and being
at her wits’ end, sent him as usual to his godfather.
Amyas rehearsed his story again, with pretty nearly
the same exclamations, to which he gave pretty nearly
the same answers; and then—
“What was he going to do to you, then, sirrah ?â€
“Flog me, because I could not write my exercise,
and so drew a picture of him instead.â€
“What! art afraid of being flogged 2â€
“Not a bit; besides, I’m too much accustomed to
it; but I was busy, and he was in such a desperate
hurry ; and, oh, sir, if you had but seen his bald head,
you would have broken it yourself!â€
Now Sir Richard had, twenty years ago, in like
place, and very much in like manner, broken the head
of Vindex Brimblecombe’s father, schoolmaster in his
day; and therefore had a precedent to direct him;
and he answered,
“ Amyas, sirrah ! those who cannot obey, will never
be fit to rule. If thou canst not keep discipline now,
thou wilt never make a company or a crew keep it
when thou art grown. Dost mind that, sirrah ?â€
“Yes,†said Amyas.
“Then go back to school this moment, sir, and be
flogged.â€
“Very well,†said Amyas, considering that he had
got off very cheaply; while Sir Richard, as soon as he
was out of the room, lay back in his chair, and laughed
till he cried again.
THE FIRST TIME. 47
So Amyas went back, and said that he was come
to be flogged; whereon the old schoolmaster, whose
pate had been plastered meanwhile, wept tears of joy
over the returning prodigal, and then gave him such
a switching as he did not forget for eight-and-forty
hours.
But that evening Sir Richard sent for old Vindex,
who entered, trembling, cap in hand; and having
primed him with a cup of sack, said,—
“Well, Mr. Schoolmaster! My godson has been
somewhat too much for you to-day. There are a
couple of nobles to pay the doctor.â€
“O Sir Richard, gratias tibi ef Domino / but the boy
hits shrewdly hard. Nevertheless I have repaid him
in inverse kind, and set him an imposition, to learn
me one of Phedrus his fables, Sir Richard, if you do
not think it too much.â€
“Which then? The one about the man who
brought up a lion’s cub, and was eaten by him in play
at last ?â€
“Ah, Sir Richard! you have always a merry wit.
But, indeed, the boy is a brave boy, and a quick boy,
Sir Richard, but more forgetful than Lethe ; and—
sapienti loquor—it were well if he were away, for I
shall never see him again without my head aching.
Moreover, he put my son Jack upon the fire last
Wednesday, as you would put a football, though he is
a year older, your Worship, because, he said, he looked
so like a roasting pig, Sir Richard.â€
“ Alas, poor Jack !â€
‘And what’s more, your Worship, he is pugnaa,
48 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
bellicosus, gladiator, a fire-eater and swash-buckler, be-
yond all Christian measure ; a very sucking Entellus,
Sir Richard, and will do to death some of her majesty’s
lieges ere long, if he be not wisely curbed. It was
but a month agone that he bemoaned himself, I hear,
as Alexander did, because there were no more worlds
to conquer, saying that it was a pity he was so strong,
for now he had thrashed all the Bideford lads, he had
no sport left; and so, as my Jack tells me, last Tues-
day week he fell upon a young man of Barnstaple, Sir
Richard, a hosier’s man, sir, and plebeius (which I
consider unfit for one of his blood), and, moreover, a
man full grown, and as big as either of us (Vindex
stood five feet four in his high-heeled shoes), and
smote him clean over the quay into the mud, because
he said that there was a prettier maid in Barnstaple
(your Worship will forgive my speaking of such toys,
to which my fidelity compels me) than ever Bideford
could show; and then offered to do the same to any
man who dare say that Mistress Rose Salterne, his
Worship the Mayor’s daughter, was not the fairest
lass in all Devon.â€
“Hh? Say that over again, my good sir,†quoth
Sir Richard, who had thus arrived, as we have seen,
at the second count of the indictment. “I say,
good sir, whence dost thou hear all these pretty
stories ?â€
“My son Jack, Sir Richard, my son Jack, ingen
vultus puer,
“But not, it seems, ingenui pudoris. Tell thee
what, Mr. Schoolmaster, no wonder if thy son gets
THE FIRST TIME. 49
put on the fire, if thou employ him as a, tale-bearer.
But that is the way of all pedagogues and their sons,
by which they train the lads up eaves-droppers and
favour-curriers, and prepare them,—sirrah, do you
hear ?—for a much more lasting and hotter fire than
that which has scorched thy son Jack’s nether-tackle.
Do you mark me, sir?â€
The poor pedagogue, thus cunningly caught in his
own trap, stood trembling before his patron, who, as
hereditary head of the Bridge-trust, which endowed
the school and the rest of the Bideford charities,
could, by a turn of his finger, sweep him forth with
the besom of destruction; and he gasped with terror
as Sir Richard went on—
“Therefore, mind you, Sir Schoolmaster, unless
you shall promise me never to hint word of what has
passed between us two, and that neither you nor yours
shall henceforth carry tales of my godson, or speak
his name within a day’s march of Mistress Salterne’s,
look to it, if I do not——â€
What was to be done in default was not spoken ;
for down went poor old Vindex on his knees :—
“Oh, Sir Richard! Ezcellentissime, immd precel-
sissime Domine et Senator, I promise! O sir, Miles et
Liques of the Garter, Bath, and Golden Fleece, consider
your dignities, and my old age—and my great family
—nine children—oh, Sir Richard, and eight of them
girls !—Do eagles war with mice 2 says the ancient |â€
“Thy large family, ch? How old is that fat-witted
son of thine ?â€
VOL. I. E W. HL
50 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
“Sixteen, Sir Richard; but that is not his fault,
indeed !â€
“Nay, I suppose he would be still sucking his thumb
if he dared—get up, man—get up and seat yourself.â€
“Heaven forbid!†murmured poor Vindex, with
deep humility.
“Why is not the rogue at Oxford, with a murrain
on him, instead of lurching about here carrying tales,
and ogling the maidens ?â€
“JT had hoped, Sir Richard—and therefore I said
it was not his fault—but there was never a servitor-
ship at Exter open.â€
“Go to, man—go to! I will speak to my brethren
of the trust, and to Oxford he shall go this autumn,
or else to Exeter gaol, for a strong rogue, and a
masterless man. Do you hear?â€
“Feart—oh, sir, yes! and return thanks. Jack
shall go, Sir Richard, doubt it not—I were mad else ;
and, Sir Richard, may I go too?â€
And therewith Vindex vanished, and Sir Richard
enjoyed a second mighty laugh, which brought in
Lady Grenvile, who possibly had overheard the
whole ; for the first words she said were—
“T think, my sweet life, we had better go up to
Burrough.â€
So to Burrough they went; and after much talk,
and many tears, matters were so concluded that Amyas
Leigh found himself riding joyfully towards Plymouth,
by the side of Sir Richard, and being handed over to
Captain Drake, vanished for three years from the
good town of Bideford.
THE FIRST TIME. 5l
And now he is returned in triumph, and the
observed of all observers; and looks round and
round, and sees all faces whom he expects, except
one; and that the one which he had rather see
than his mother’s? He is not quite sure. Shame on
himself !
And now the prayers being ended, the Rector
ascends the pulpit, and begins his sermon on the
text :—
“The heaven and the heaven of heavens are the
Lord’s ; the whole earth hath he given to the children
of men ;†deducing therefrom craftily, to the exceeding
pleasure of his hearers, the iniquity of the Spaniards
in dispossessing the Indians, and in arrogating to
themselves the sovereignty of the tropic seas; the
vanity of the Pope of Rome in pretending to bestow
on them the new countries of America; and the
justice, valour, and glory of Mr. Drake and his expedi-
tion, as testified by God’s miraculous protection of him
and his, both in the Straits of Magellan, and in his
battle with the Galleon ; and last, but not least, upon
the rock by Celebes, when the Pelican lay for hours
firmly fixed, and was floated off unhurt, as it were by
miracle, by a sudden shift of wind.
Ay, smile, reader, if you will; and, perhaps, there
was matter for a smile in that honest sermon, inter-
larded, as it was, with scraps of Greek and Hebrew,
which no one understood, but every one expected as
their right (for a preacher was nothing then who
could not prove himself “a good Latinerâ€); and
graced, moreover, by a somewhat pedantic and
52 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
lengthy refutation from Scripture of Dan Horace’s
cockney horror of the sea—
‘‘Tlli robur et es triplex,†ete.
and his infidel and ungodly slander against the
“impias rates,†and their crews.
Smile, if you will: but those were days (and there
were never less superstitious ones) in which English-
men believed in the living God, and were not ashamed
to acknowledge, as a matter of course, His help and
providence, and calling, in the matters of daily life,
which we now in our covert Atheism term “secular
and carnal;†and when, the sermon ended, the
Communion Service had begun, and the bread and
the wine were given to those five mariners, every
gallant gentleman who stood near them (for the press
would not allow of more), knelt and received the
elements with them as a thing of course, and then
rose to join with heart and voice not merely in the
Gloria in Excelsis, but in the Te Deum, which was the
closing act of all. And no sooner had the clerk given
out the first verse of that great hymn, than it was
taken up by five hundred voices within the church,
in bass and tenor, treble and alto (for every one
could sing in those days, and the west country folk,
as now, were fuller than any of music), the chaunt
was caught up by the crowd outside, and rang away
over roof and river, up to the woods of Annery, and
down to the marshes of the Taw, in wave on wave of
harmony. And as it died away, the shipping in the
river made answer with their thunder, and the crowd
streamed out again toward the Bridge Head, whither
THE FIRST TIME. 53
Sir Richard Grenvile, and Sir John Chichester, and
Mr. Salterne, the Mayor, led the five heroes of the
day to await the pageant which had been prepared in
honour of them. And as they went by, there were
few in the crowd who did not press forward to shake
them by the hand, and not only them, but their
parents and kinsfolk who walked behind, till Mrs.
Leigh, her stately joy quite broken down at last, could
only answer between her sobs, “Go along, good people
—God a mercy, go along—and God send you all such
sons !â€
“God give me back mine !†cried an old red-cloaked
dame in the crowd ; and then, struck by some hidden
impulse, she sprang forward, and catching hold of
young Amyas’s sleeve—
“ Kind sir! dear sir! For Christ his sake answer
a poor old widow woman !â€
“What is it, dame?†quoth Amyas, gently enough.
“Did you see my son to the Indies?—my son
Salvation ?â€
“Salvation ?†replied he, with the air of one who
recollected the name.
“Yes, sure, Salvation Yeo, of Clovelly. A tall
man and black, and sweareth awfully in his talk, the
Lord forgive him !â€
Amyas recollected now. It was the name of the
sailor who had given him the wondrous horn five
years ago.
“My good dame,†said he, “the Indies are a very
large place, and your son may be safe and sound
enough there, without my having seen him. I knew
54 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
one Salvation Yeo. But he must have come with ——.
By the by, godfather, has Mr. Oxenham come home ?â€
There was a dead silence for a moment among the
gentlemen round ; and then Sir Richard said solemnly,
and in a low voice, turning away from the old dame,—
“ Amyas, Mr. Oxenham has not come home ; and
from the day he sailed, no word has been heard of
him, and all his crew.â€
“Qh, Sir Richard! and you kept me from sailing
with him! Had I known this before I went into
church, I had had one merey more to thank God for.â€
“Thank Him all the more in thy life, my child!â€
whispered his mother.
“ And no news of him whatsoever ?â€
“None; but that the year after he sailed, a ship
belonging to Andrew Barker, of Bristol, took out of a
Spanish caravel, somewhere off the Honduras, his two
brass guns ; but whence they came the Spaniard knew
not, having bought them at Nombre de Dios.â€
“Yes!†cried the old woman ; “they brought home
the guns and never brought home my boy !â€
“They never saw your boy, mother,†said Sir
Richard.
“But Vve seen him! I saw him in a dream four
years last Whitsuntide, as plain as I see you now,
gentles, a-lying upon a rock, calling for a drop of water
to cool his tongue, like Dives to the torment! Oh!
dear me!†and the old dame wept bitterly.
“There is a rose noble for you!†said Mrs. Leigh.
“And there another!†said Sir Richard. And in
a few minutes four or five gold coins were in her hand.
THE FIRST TIME. 55
But the old dame did but look wonderingly at the
gold a moment, and then—
“Ah! dear gentles, God’s blessing on you, and Mr.
Cary’s mighty good to me already; but gold won’t
buy back childer! O! young gentleman ! young gentle-
man! make me a promise ; if you want God’s blessing
on you this day, bring me back my boy, if you find
him sailing on the seas! Bring him back, and an old
widow’s blessing be on you !â€
Amyas promised—what else could he do ?—and the
group hurried on; but the lad’s heart was heavy in
the midst of joy, with the thought of John Oxenham,
as he walked through the churchyard, and down the
short street which led between the ancient school and
still more ancient town-house, to the head of the long
bridge, across which the pageant, having arranged
“east-the-water,†was to defile, and then turn to the
right along the quay.
However, he was bound in all courtesy to turn his
attention now to the show which had been prepared
in his honour; and which was really well enough
worth seeing and hearing. The English were, in
those days, an altogether dramatic people; ready and
able, as in Bideford that day, to extemporise a pageant,
a masque, or any effort of the Thespian art short of
the regular drama. For they were, in the first place,
even down to the very poorest, a well-fed people, with
fewer luxuries than we, but more abundant necessaries ;
and while beef, ale, and good woollen clothes could be
obtained in plenty, without overworking either body
or soul, men had time to amuse themselves in some-
56 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
thing more intellectual than mere toping in pot-houses.
Moreover, the half century after the Reformation in
England, was one not merely of new intellectual
freedom, but of immense animal good spirits. After
years of dumb confusion and cruel persecution, a
breathing time had come: Mary and the fires of
Smithfield had vanished together like a hideous dream,
and the mighty shout of joy which greeted Elizabeth’s
entry into London, was the key-note of fifty glorious
years; the expression of a new-found strength and
freedom, which vented itself at home in drama and
in song; abroad in mighty conquests, achieved with
the laughing recklessness of boys at play.
So first, preceded by the waits, came along the
bridge toward the town-hall, a device prepared by the
good rector, who, standing by, acted as showman, and
explained anxiously to the bystanders the import of a
certain “allegory†wherein on a great banner was
depicted Queen Elizabeth herself, who, in ample ruff
and farthingale, a Bible in one hand and a sword in
the other, stood triumphant upon the necks of two
sufficiently abject personages, whose triple tiara and
imperial crown proclaimed them the Pope and the
King of Spain ; while a label, issuing from her royal
mouth, informed the world that—
‘« By land and sea a virgin queen I reign,
And spurn to dust. both Antichrist and Spain.â€
Which, having been received with due applause, a well-
bedizened lad, having in his cap as a posy “Loyalty,â€
stepped forward, and delivered himself of the follow-
ing verses :—
Or
~
THE FIRST TIME.
“Oh, great Eliza! oh, world-famous crew !
Which shall I hail more blest, your queen or you?
While without other either falls to wrack,
And light must eyes, or eyes their light must lack.
She without you, a diamond sunk in mine,
Its worth unprized, to self alone must shine ;
You without her, like hands bereft of head,
Like Ajax rage, by blindfold lust misled.
She light, you eyes ; she head, and you the hands,
In fair proportion knit by heavenly bands ;
Servants in queen, and queen in servants blest ;
Your only glory, how to serve her best ;
And hers how best the adventurous might to guide,
Which knows no check of foemen, wind, or tide,
So fair Eliza’s spotless fame may fly
Triumphant round the globe, and shake th’ astounded sky!†_
With which sufficiently bad verses Loyalty passed on,
while my Lady Bath hinted to Sir Richard, not with-
out reason, that the poet, in trying to exalt both
parties, had very sufficiently snubbed both, and inti-
mated, that it was “hardly safe for country wits to
attempt that euphuistic, antithetical, and delicately
conceited vein, whose proper fountain was in White-
hall.†However, on went Loyalty, very well pleased
with himself, and next, amid much cheering, two great
tinsel fish, a salmon, and a trout, symbolical of the
wealth of Torridge, waddled along, by means of two
human legs and a staff apiece, which protruded from
the fishes’ stomachs. They drew (or seemed to draw,
for half the ’prentices in the town were shoving it
behind, and cheering on the panting monarchs of the
flood) a car wherein sate, amid reeds and river-flags,
three or four pretty girls in robes of grey-blue spangled
with gold, their heads wreathed one with a crown of
58 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
the sweet bog-myrtle, another with hops and white
convolvulus, the third with pale heather and golden
fern. They stopped opposite Amyas; and she of the
myrtle-wreath, rising and bowing, to him and the
company, began with a pretty blush to say her say :—
‘“‘ Hither from my moorland home,
Nymph of Torridge, proud I come ;
Leaving fen and furzy brake,
Haunt of eft and spotted snake,
Where to fill mine urns I use,
Daily with Atlantic dews ;
While beside the reedy flood
Wild duck leads her paddling brood.
For this morn, as Phebus gay
Chased through heaven the night mist grey,
Close beside me, prankt in pride,
Sister Tamar rose, and cried,
‘Sluggard, up ! ’Tis holiday,
In the lowlands far away.
Hark ! how jocund Plymouth bells,
Wandering up through mazy dells,
Call me down, with smiles to hail,
My daring Drake’s returning sail.’
Thine alone?’ I answer’d. ‘ Nay ;
Mine as well the joy to-day.
Heroes train’d on Northern wave,
To that Argo new I gave ;
Lent to thee, they roam’d the main ;
Give me, nymph, my sons again.’
Go, they wait Thee,’ Tamar cried,
Southward bounding from my side.
Glad I rose, and at my call,
Came my Naiads, one and all.
Nursling of the mountain sky,
Leaving Dian’s choir on high,
Down her cataracts laughing loud,
Ockment leapt from crag and cloud,
Leading many a nymph, who dwells
Where wild deer drink in ferny dells ;
THE FIRST TIME. 59
While the Oreads as they past
Peep’d from Druid Tors aghast.
By alder copses sliding slow,
Knee-deep in flowers came gentler Yeo,
And paused awhile her locks to twine
With musky hops and white woodbine,
Then joined the silver-footed band,
Which circled down my golden sand,
By dappled park, and harbour shady,
Haunt of love-lorn knight and lady,
My thrice-renowntd sons to greet,
With rustic song and pageant meet.
For joy ! the girdled robe around
Eliza’s name henceforth shall sound,
Whose venturous fleets to conquest start,
Where ended once the seaman’s chart,
While circling Sol his steps shall count
Henceforth from Thule’s western mount,
And lead new rulers round the seas
From furthest Cassiterides.
For found is now the golden tree,
Solv’d th’ Atlantic mystery,
Pluck’d the dragon-guarded fruit ;
While around the charmed root,
Wailing loud, the Hesperids
Watch their warder’s drooping lids.
Low he lies with grisly wound,
While the sorceress triple-crown’d
In her scarlet robe doth shield him,
Till her cunning spells have heal’d him.
Ye, meanwhile, around the earth
Bear the prize of manful worth.
Yet a nobler meed than gold
Waits for Albion’s children bold ;
Great Eliza’s virgin hand
Welcomes you to Fairy-land,
While your native Naiads bring
Native wreaths as offering.
Simple though their show may be,
Britain’s worship'in them see.
60 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
*Tis not price, nor outward fairness,
Gives the victor’s palm its rareness ;
Simplest tokens can impart
Noble throb to noble heart :
Greecia, prize thy parsley crown,
Boast thy laurel, Ceesar’s town ;
Moorland myrtle still shall be
3adge of Devon’s Chivalry !â€
And so ending, she took the wreath of fragrant
gale from her own head, and stooping from the car,
placed it on the head of Amyas Leigh, who made
answer—
“There is no place like home, my fair mistress ;
and no scent to my taste like this old home-scent in
all the spice-islands that I ever sailed by !â€
“Her song was not so bad,†said Sir Richard to
Lady Bath—“but how came she to hear Plymouth
bells at Tamar-head, full fifty miles away? That’s
too much of a poet’s licence, is it not 2â€
“The river nymphs, as daughters of Oceanus, and
thus of immortal parentage, are bound to possess
organs of more than mortal keenness; but, as you
say, the song was not so bad—erudite, as well as
prettily conceived—and, saving for a certain. rustical
simplicity and monosyllabic baldness, smacks rather
of the forests of Castaly than those of Torridge.â€
So spake my Lady Bath ; whom Sir Richard wisely
answered not; for she was a terribly learned member
of the college of critics, and disputed even with
Sidney’s sister the chieftaincy of the Euphuists ; so
Sir Richard answered not, but answer was made for
him.
She took the wreath of fragrant gale from her own head, and . . . placed it
on the head of Amyas.—Chap. ii. p. 60.
THE FIRST TIME. 61
“Since the whole choir of Muses, madam, have
migrated to the Court of Whitehall, no wonder if
some dews of Parnassus should fertilise at times even
eur Devon moors.â€
The speaker was a tall and slim young man, some
five-and-twenty years old, of so rare and delicate a
beauty, that it seemed that some Greek statue, or
rather one of those pensive and pious knights whom
the old German artists took delight to paint, had con-
descended to tread awhile this work-day earth in
living flesh and blood. The forehead was very lofty
and smooth, the eyebrows thin and greatly arched
(the envious gallants whispered that something at
least of their curve was due to art, as was also the
exceeding smoothness of those delicate cheeks). The
face was somewhat long and thin; the nose aquiline ;
and the languid mouth showed, perhaps, too much of
the ivory upper teeth; but the most striking point
of the speaker’s appearance, was the extraordinary
brilliancy of his complexion, which shamed with its
whiteness that of all fair ladies round, save where
open on each cheek a bright red spot gave warning,
as did the long thin neck and the taper hands, of sad
possibilities, perhaps not far off; possibilities which
all saw with an inward sigh, except she whose doting
glances, as well as her resemblance to the fair youth,
proclaimed her at once his mother, Mrs. Leigh herself.
Master Frank, for he it was, was dressed in the
very extravagance of the fashion,—not so much from
vanity, as from that delicate instinct of self-respect
which would keep some men spruce and spotless from
62 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
one year’s end to another upon a desert island ; “for,â€
as Frank used to say in his sententious way, “ Mr.
Frank Leigh at least beholds me, though none else
be by; and why should I be more discourteous to
him than I permit others to be? Be sure that he
who is a Grobian in his own company, will, sooner or
later, become a Grobian in that of his friends.â€
So Mr. Frank was arrayed spotlessly ; but after
the latest fashion of Milan, not in trunk hose and
slashed sleeves, nor in “French standing collar, treble
quadruple deedalian ruff, or stiffnecked rabato, that
had more arches for pride, propped up with wire and
timber, than five London Bridges ;†but in a close-
fitting and perfectly plain suit of dove-colour, which
set off cunningly the delicate proportions of his figure,
and the delicate hue of his complexion, which was
shaded from the sun by a broad dove-coloured Spanish
hat, with feather to match, looped up over the right
ear with a pearl brooch, and therein a crowned E,
supposed by the damsels of Bideford to stand for
Elizabeth, which was whispered to be the gift of
some most illustrious hand. This same looping up
was not without good reason and purpose prepense ;
thereby all the world had full view of a beautiful
little ear, which looked as if it had been cut of cameo,
and made, as my Lady Rich once told him, “to
hearken only to the music of the spheres, or to the
chants of cherubim.†Behind the said ear was stuck
a fresh rose; and the golden hair was all drawn
smoothly back and round to the left temple, whence,
tied with a pink ribbon in a great true lover’s knot,
THE FIRST TIME. 63
a mighty love-lock, “curled as it had been laid in
press,†rolled down low upon his’ bosom. Oh, Frank!
Frank! have you come out on purpose to break the
hearts of all Bideford burghers’ daughters? And if
so, did you expect to further that triumph by dyeing
that pretty little pomted beard (with shame I report
it) of a bright vermilion? But we know you better,
Frank, and so does your mother; and you are but a
masquerading angel after all, in spite of your knots
and your perfumes, and the gold chain round your
neck which a German princess gave you; and the
emerald ring on your right fore-finger which Hatton
gave you; and the pair of perfumed gloves in your
left which Sidney’s sister gave you; and the silver-
hilted Toledo which an Italian marquis gave you, on
a certain occasion of which you never choose to talk,
like a prudent and modest gentleman as you are:
but of which the gossips talk, of course, all the more,
and whisper that you saved his life from bravoes—
a dozen, at the least; and had that sword for your
reward, and might have had his beautiful sister’s hand
beside, and I know not what else: but that you had
so many lady-loves already that you were loth to
burden yourself with afresh one. That, at least, we
know to be a lic, fair Frank; for your heart is as
pure this day as when you knelt in your little crib at
Burrough, and said—
‘* Four corners to my bed ;
Four angels round my head ;
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,
Bless the bed that I lie on.â€
64 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
And who could doubt it (if being pure themselves,
they have instinctive sympathy with what is pure),
who ever looked into those great deep blue eyes of
yours, “the black fringed curtains of whose azure
lids,†usually down-dropt as if in deepest thought, you
raise slowly, almost wonderingly, each time you speak,
as if awakening from some fair dream whose home is
rather in your Platonical “eternal world of supra-
sensible forms,†than on that work-day earth wherein
you nevertheless acquit yourself so well? There—I
must stop describing you, or I shall catch the infection
of your own Euphuism, and talk of you as you would
have talked of Sidney, or of Spenser, or of that Swan
of Avon, whose song had just begun when yours
but I will not anticipate; my Lady Bath is waiting
to give you her rejoinder.
“Ah, my silver-tongued scholar! and are you,
then, the poet? or have you been drawing on the
inexhaustible bank of your friend Raleigh, or my
cousin Sidney? or has our new Cygnet Immerito lent
you a few unpublished leaves from some fresh Shep-
herd’s Calendar ?â€
“fad either, madam, of that cynosural triad been
within call of my most humble importunities, your
ears had been delectate with far nobler melody.â€
“But not our eyes with fairer faces, eh? Well,
you have chosen your nymphs, and had good store
from whence to pick, I doubt not. Few young
Dulcinas round but must have been glad to take ser-
vice under so renowned a captain ?â€
“The only difficulty, gracious Countess, has been
THE FIRST TIME. 65
to know where to fix the wandering choice of my be-
wildered eyes, where all alike are fair, and all alike
facund.â€
“We understand,†said she, smiling ;—
‘Dan Cupid, choosing ’midst his mother’s graces,
Himself more fair, made scorn of fairest faces.â€
The young scholar capped her distich forthwith,
and bowing to her with a meaning look,
““«Then, Goddess, turn,’ he cried, ‘and veil thy light ;
Blinded by thine, what eyes can choose aright ?â€â€
“Go, saucy sir,†said my lady, in high glee; “the
pageant stays your supreme pleasure.â€
And away went Mr. Frank as master of the revels,
to bring up the ’prentices’ pageant ; while, for his sake,
the nymph of Torridge was forgotten for awhile by all
young dames, and most young gentlemen; and his
mother heaved a deep sigh, which Lady Bath over-
hearing— :
“What? in the dumps, good madam, while all are
rejoicing in your joy? Are you afraid that we court-
dames shall turn your young Adonis’ brain for him ?â€
“T do, indeed, fear lest your condescension should
make him forget that he is only a poor squire’s orphan.â€
“T will warrant-him never to forget aught that he
should recollect,†said my Lady Bath.
And she spoke truly. But soon Frank’s silver
voice was heard calling out,
“Room there, good people, for the gallant ’prentice
lads !â€
And on they came, headed by a giant of buckram
and pasteboard armour, forth of whose stomach looked,
VOL, I, F W. HL
66 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
like a clock-face in a steeple, a human visage, to be
greeted, as was the fashion then, by a volley of quips
and puns from high and low.
Young Mr. William Cary, of Clovelly, who was
the wit of those parts, opened the fire by asking him
whether he were Goliath, Gogmagog, or Grantorto in
the romance ; for giants’ names always began with a
G. To which the giant’s stomach answered pretty
surlily,—
“Mine don’t; I begin with an O.â€
“Then thou criest out before thou art hurt, O
cowardly giant!â€
“Let me out, lads,†quoth the irascible visage,
struggling in his buckram prison, “and I soon show
him whether I be a coward.â€
“Nay, if thou gettest out of thyself, thou wouldst
be beside thyself, and so wert but a mad giant.â€
“And that were pity,†said Lady Bath ; “for by the
romances, giants have never over much wit to spare.â€
“Mercy, dear Lady!†said Frank, “and let the
giant begin with an O.â€
6 Cw eee)?
“A false start, giant! you were to begin with an
0.â€
“TH make you end with an O, Mr. William Cary !â€
roared the testy tower of buckram.
“ And so I do, for I end with ‘Fico !’â€
“Be mollified, sweet giant,†said Frank, “and spare
the rash youth of yon foolish Knight. Shall elephants
catch flies, or Hurlo-Thrumbo stain his club with
brains of Dagonet the jester? Be mollified; leave
THE FIRST TIME. 67
thy caverned grumblings, like Etna when its windy
wrath is past, and discourse eloquence from thy central
omphalos, like Pythoness ventriloquising.â€
“Tf you do begin laughing at me too, Mr.
Leigh ’ said the giant’s clock-face, in a piteous
tone.
“T laugh not. Art thou not Ordulf the earl, and
I thy humblest squire? Speak up, my Lord; your
cousin, my Lady Bath, commands you.â€
And at last the giant began :—
‘* A giant I, Earl Ordulf men me call,—
*Gainst Paynim foes Devonia’s champion tall ;
In single fight six thousand Turks I slew ;
Pull’d off a lion’s head, and ate it too:
With one shrewd blow, to let Saint Edward in,
I smote the gates of Exeter in twain ;
Till aged grown, by angels warn’d in dream,
I built an abbey fair by Tavy stream.
But treacherous time hath tripp’d my glories up,
The staunch old hound must yield to stauncher pup ;
Here’s one so tall as I, and twice so bold,
Where I took only cuffs, takes good red gold.
From pole to pole resound his wondrous works,
Who slew more Spaniards than I ere slew Turks ;
I strode across the Tavy stream: but he
Strode round the world and back ; and here ‘a be !â€
“Oh, bathos !†said Lady Bath, while the ’prentices
shouted applause. “Is this hedgebantling to be
fathered on you, Mr. Frank ?â€
“Tt is necessary, by all laws of the drama, Madam,â€
said Frank, with a sly smile, “that the speech and
the speaker shall fit each other. Pass on, Earl Ordulf ;
a more learned worthy waits.â€
Whereon, up came a fresh member of the pro-
rE FQ
68 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
cession ; namely, no less a person than Vindex
Brimblecombe, the ancient schoolmaster, with five-and-
forty boys at his heels, who halting, pulled out his
spectacles, and thus signified his forgiveness of his
whilome broken head :— '
“That the world should have been circumnavigated,
ladies and gentles, were matter enough of jubilation to
the student of Herodotus and Plato, Plinius and-———
ahem: much more when the circumnavigators are
Britons ; more, again, when Damnonians.â€
“Don’t swear, master,†said young Will Cary.
“Gulielme Cary, Gulielme Cary, hast thou for-
gotten thy——â€
“Whippings? Never, old lad! Go on; but let
not the licence of the scholar overtop the modesty of
the Christian.â€
“More again, as I said, when, incolw, inhabitants of
Devon ; but, most of all, men of Bideford School. Oh
renowned school! Oh schoolboys ennobled by fellow-
ship with him! Oh most happy pedagogue, to whom
it has befallen to have chastised a circumnavigator, and,
like another Chiron, trained another Hercules: yet
more than Hercules, for he placed his pillars on the
ocean shore, and then returned; but my scholar’s
voyage——â€
“Hark how the old fox is praising himself all
along on the sly,†said Cary.
“Mr. William, Mr. William, peace ;—silentiwm, my
graceless pupil. Urge the foaming steed, and strike
terror into the rapid stag, but meddle not with
matters too high for thee.â€
THE FIRST TIME. 69
“He has given you the dor now, sir,†said Lady
Bath ; “let the old man say his say.â€
“T bring, therefore, as my small contribution to
this day’s feast ; first a Latin epigram, as thus——â€
“Tatin? Let us hear it forthwith,†cried my Lady.
And the old pedant mouthed out,—
“ Torriguiam Tamaris ne spernat ; Leighius addet
Mox terras terris, inclyte Drake, tuis.â€
“Neat, i faith, la!†Whereon all the rest, as in
duty bound, approved also.
“This for the erudite: for vulgar ears the ver-
nacular is more consonant, sympathetic, instructive ;
as thus :—
‘‘Famed Argo ship, that noble chip, by doughty Jason’s
steering,
Brought back to Greece the golden fleece, from Colchis home
careering ;
But now her fame is put to shame, while new Devonian Argo,
Round earth doth run in wake of sun, and brings a wealthier
cargo.â€
“Runs with a right fa-lal-la,†observed Cary ; “and
would go nobly to a fiddle and a big drum.â€
“Ye Spaniards, quake! our doughty Drake a royal swan is
tested,
On wing and oar, from shore to shore, the raging main who
breasted :—
But never needs to chant his deeds, like swan that lies
a-dying,
So far his name by trump of fame, around the sphere is
flying.â€
“Fillo ho! schoolmaster!†shouted a voice from
behind; “move on, and make way for father Neptune!â€
I. F8
70 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
Whereon a whole storm of raillery fell upon the hap-
less pedagogue.
“We waited for the parson’s alligator, but we-
wain’t for your’n.â€
“ Allegory! my children, allegory!†shrieked the
man of letters.
“What do ye call he an alligator for? He is but
a poor little starved evat !â€
“Out of the road, Old Custis! March on, Don
Palmado !â€
These allusions to the usual instrument of torture
in west country schools made the old gentleman
wince ; especially when they were followed home by—
“Who stole Admiral Grenvile’s brooms, because
birch rods were dear â€
But proudly he shook his bald head, as a bull
shakes off the flies, and returned to the charge once
more.
“* Great Alexander, famed commander, wept and made a pother,
At conquering only half the world, but Drake had conquer’d
tother ;
And Hercules to brink of seas !——â€
“Oh!|——â€
And clapping both hands to the back of his neck,
the schoolmaster began dancing frantically about, while
his boys broke out tittering, ‘‘O! the ochidore ! look
to the blue ochidore! Who've put ochidore to mais-
ter’s poll ?â€
It was too true: neatly inserted, as he stooped
forward, between his neck and his collar, was a large
live shore-crab, holding on tight with both hands.
71.
Chap. ii. p.
â€
Neptune bold.
o
3D
Kin
“Tam
THE FIRST TIME. 71
“Gentles! good Christians! save me! I am mare-
rode! Incubo, vel ab incubo, opprimor/ Satanas has me
by the poll! Help! he tears my jugular ; he wrings
my neck, as he does to Dr. Faustus in the play. Con-
fiteor /—I confess! Satan, I defy thee! Good people,
I confess! Bacavefsuac! The truth will out. Mr.
Francis Leigh wrote the epigram!†And diving
through the crowd, the pedagogue vanished howling,
while Father Neptune, crowned with sea-weeds, a
trident in one hand, and a live dog-fish in the other,
swaggered up the street, surrounded by a tall body-
guard of mariners, and followed by a great banner,
on which was depicted a globe, with Drake’s ship
sailing thereon upside down, and overwritten—
** See every man the Pelican,
Which round the world did go,
While her stern-post was uppermost,
And topmasts down below.
And by the way she lost a day,
Out of her log was stole :
But Neptune kind, with favouring wind,
Hath brought her safe and whole.â€
“Now, lads!†cried Neptune; “hand me my par-
able that’s writ for me, and here goeth!†And at
the top of his bull-voice, he began roaring, —
“Tam King Neptune bold,
The ruler of the seas ;
I don’t understand much singing upon land,
But I hope what I say will please.
“ Here be five Bideford men,
Which have sail’d the world around,
And I wateh’d them well, as they all can tell,
And brought them home safe and sound.
“Tr
Lo
HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
‘¢ For it is the men of Devon.
To see them I take delight,
Both to tack and to hull, and to heave and to pull,
And to prove themselves in fight.
‘¢ Where be those Spaniards proud,
That make their valiant boasts ;
And think for to keep the poor Indians for their sheep,
And to farm my golden coasts ?
«Twas the devil and the Pope gave them
My kingdom for their own :
But my nephew Francis Drake, he caused them to quake,
And he pick’d them to the bone.
‘* For the sea my realm it is,
As good Queen Bess’s is the land ;
So freely come again, all merry Devon men,
And there’s old Neptune’s hand.â€
“Holla, boys! holla! Blow up, Triton, and bring
forward the freedom of the seas.â€
Triton, roaring through a conch, brought forward
a cockle-shell full of salt-water, and delivered it
solemnly to Amyas, who, of course, put a noble into
it, and returned it after Grenvile had done the same.
“Holla, Dick Admiral!†cried Neptune, who was
pretty far gone in liquor; “we knew thou hadst a
right English heart in thee, for all thou standest there
as taut as a Don who has swallowed his rapier.â€
“Grammercy, stop thy bellowing, fellow, and on;
for thou smellest vilely of fish.â€
“Everything smells sweet in its right place. I’m
going home.â€
“T thought thou wert there all along, being already
half-seas over,†said Cary.
“Ay, right Upsee-Dutch; and that’s more than
THE FIRST TIME. 73
thou ever wilt be, thou ‘long-shore stay-at-home.
Why wast making sheep’s eyes at Mistress Salterne
here, while my pretty little chuck of Burrough there
was playing at shove-groat with Spanish doubloons ?â€
“Go to the devil, sirrah!†said Cary. Neptune
had touched on a sore subject ; and more cheeks than
Amyas Leigh’s reddened at the hint.
“Amen, if heaven so please!†and on rolled the
monarch of the seas; and so the pageant ended.
The moment Amyas had an opportunity, he asked
his brother Frank, somewhat peevishly, where Rose
Salterne was.
“What! the mayor’s daughter? With her uncle,
by Kilkhampton, I believe.â€
Now cunning Master Frank, whose daily wish was
to “seek peace and ensue it,†told Amyas this, be-
cause he must needs speak the truth: but he was
purposed at the same time to speak as little truth
as he could, for fear of accidents; and, therefore,
omitted to tell his brother how that he, two days
before, had entreated Rose Salterne herself to appear
as the.nymph of Torridge; which honour she, who
had no objection either to exhibit her pretty face, to
recite pretty poetry, or to be trained thereto by the
cynosure of North Devon, would have assented will-
ingly, but that her father stopped the pretty project
by a peremptory countermove, and packed her off,
in spite of her tears, to the said uncle on the At-
lantic cliffs; after which he went up to Burrough,
and laughed over the whole matter with Mrs. Leigh.
“Tam but a burgher, Mrs. Leigh, and you a lady
74 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME
of blood ; but I am too proud to let any man say that
Simon Salterne threw his daughter at your son’s head;
—no ; not if you were an empress !â€
“And, to speak truth, Mr. Salterne, there are
young gallants enough in the country quarrelling
about her pretty face every day, without making her
a tourney-queen to tilt about.â€
Which was very true; for during the three years
of Amyas’s absence, Rose Salterne had grown into so
beautiful a girl of eighteen, that half North Devon
was mad about the “Rose of Torridge,†as she was
called; and there was not a young gallant for ten
miles round (not to speak of her father’s clerks and
*prentices, who moped about after her like so
many Malvolios, and treasured up the very parings of
her nails) who would not have gone to Jerusalem to
win her. So that all along the vales of Torridge and
of Taw, and even away to Clovelly (for young Mr.
Cary was one of the sick), not a gay bachelor but was
frowning on his fellows, and vieing with them in the
fashion of his clothes, the set of his ruffs, the harness
of his horse, the carriage of his hawks, the pattern of
his sword-hilt ; and those: were golden days for all
tailors and armourers, from Exmoor to Okehampton
town. But of all those foolish young lads not one
would speak to the other, either out hunting, or at
the archery butts, or in the tilt-yard; and my Lady
Bath (who confessed that there was no use in bringing
out her daughters where Rose Salterne was in the
way) prophesied in her classical fashion that Rose’s
wedding bid fair to be a very bridal of Atalanta, and
THE FIRST TIME. hd
feast of the Lapithe ; and poor Mr. Will Cary (who
always blurted out the truth), when Old Salterne once
asked him angrily, in Bideford Market, “What a
plague business had he making sheep’s eyes at his
daughter?†broke out before all bystanders, “And
what a plague business had you, old boy, to throw
such an apple of discord into our merry meetings
hereabouts? If you choose to have such a daughter,
you must take the consequences, and be hanged to
you.†To which Mr. Salterne answered with some
truth, “That she was none of his choosing, nor of Mr.
Cary’s neither.†And so the dor being given, the
belligerents parted laughing, but the war remained in
statu quo; and not a week passed but, by mysterious
hands, some nosegay, or languishing sonnet, was con-
veyed into The Rose’s chamber, all which she stowed
away, with the simplicity of a country girl, finding it
mighty pleasant; and took all compliments quietly
enough, probably because, on the authority of her
mirror, she considered them no more than her due.
And, now, to add to the general confusion, home
was come young Amyas Leigh, more desperately in
love with her than ever. For, as is the way with
sailors (who after all are the truest lovers, as they
are the finest fellows, God bless them, upon earth),
his lonely ship-watches had been spent in imprinting
on his imagination, month after month, year after
year, every feature and gesture and tone of the fair
lass whom. he had left behind him; and that all the
more intensely, because, beside his mother, he had no
one else to think of, and was as pure as the day he -
76 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE FIRST TIME.
was born, having been trained as many a brave young
man was then, to look upon profligacy not as a proof
of manhood, but as what the old Germans, and those
Gortyneans who crowned the offender with wool, knew
it to be, a cowardly and effeminate sin.
OF TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES, AND HOW THEY
HUNTED WITH THE HOUNDS, AND YET RAN WITH
THE DEER.
“TI know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief this seven
year ; he goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember
his name.â€â€”Much Ado about Nothing.
Amyas slept that night a tired and yet a troubled
sleep ; and his mother and Frank, as they bent over
his pillow, could see that his brain was busy with
many dreams.
And no wonder ; for over and above all the excite-
ment of the day, the recollection of John Oxenham
had taken strange possession of his mind; and all
that evening, as he sat in the bay-windowed room
where he had seen him last, Amyas was recalling to
himself every look and gesture of the lost adventurer,
and wondering at himself for so doing, till he retired
to sleep, only to renew the fancy in his dreams. At
last he found himself, he knew not how, sailing west-
ward ever, up the wake of the setting sun, in chase of
a tiny sail, which was John Oxenham’s. Upon him
was a painful sense that, unless he came up with her
in time, something fearful would come to pass: but
the ship would not sail. All around floated the sar-
78 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
gasso beds, clogging her bows with their long snaky
coils of weed ; and still he tried to sail, and tried to
fancy that he was sailing, till the sun went down, and
all was utter dark. And then the moon arose, and in
a moment John Oxenham’s ship was close aboard; her
sails were torn and fluttering ; the pitch was streaming
from her sides; her bulwarks were rotting to decay.
And what was that line of dark objects dangling along
the main-yard ?—A line of hanged men! And, horror
of horrors, from the yard-arm close above him, John
Oxenham’s corpse looked down with grave-light eyes,
and beckoned and pointed, as if to show him his way,
and strove to speak, and could not, and pointed still,
not forward, but back along their course. And when
Amyas looked back, behold, behind him was the snow
range of the Andes glittering in the moon, and he
knew that he was in the South Seas once more, and
that all America was between him and home. And
still the corpse kept pointing back, and back, and
looking at him with yearning eyes of agony, and lips
which longed to tell some awful secret ; till he sprang
up, and woke with a shout of terror, and found himself
lying in the little coved chamber in dear old Burrough,
with the grey autumn morning already stealing in.
Feverish and excited, he tried in vain to sleep
again; and after an hour’s tossing, rose and dressed,
and started for a bathe on his beloved old pebble
ridge. As he passed his mother’s door, he could not
help looking in. The dim light of morning showed
him the bed ; but its pillow had not been pressed that
night. His mother, in her long white night-dress,
OF WALES. 79
was kneeling at the other end of the chamber at her
prie-dieu, absorbed in devotion. Gently he slipped in
without a word, and knelt down at her side, She
turned, smiled, passed her arm around him, and went
on silently with her prayers. Why not? They were
for him, and he knew it, and prayed also; and his
prayers were for her, and for poor lost John Oxenham,
and all his vanished crew.
At last she rose, and standing above him, parted
the yellow locks from off his brow, and looked long
and lovingly into his face. There was nothing to be
spoken, for there was nothing to be concealed between
these two souls as clear as glass. Each knew all which
the other meant; each knew that its own thoughts
were known. At last the mutual gaze was over; she
stooped and kissed him on the brow, and was in the
act to turn away, as a tear dropped on his forehead.
Her little bare feet were peeping out from under her
dress. He bent down and kissed them again and
again ; and then looking up, as if to excuse himself, —
“You have such pretty feet, mother !â€
Instantly, with a woman’s instinct, she had hidden
them. She had been a beauty once, as I said; and
though her hair was grey, and her roses had faded
long ago, she was beautiful still, in all eyes which saw
deeper than the mere outward red and white.
“Your dear father used to say so, thirty years
ago.â€
“And I say so still: you always were beautiful ;
you are beautiful now.â€
“What is that to you, silly boy? Will you play
80 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
the lover with an old mother? Go and take your
walk, and think of younger ladies, if you can find any
worthy of you.â€
And so the son went forth, and the mother returned
to her prayers.
He walked down to the pebble ridge, where the
surges of the bay have defeated their own fury, by
rolling up in the course of ages a rampart of grey
boulder-stones, some two miles long, as cunningly
curved, and smoothed, and fitted, as if the work had
been done by human hands, which protects from the
high tides of spring and autumn a fertile sheet of
smooth, alluvial turf. Sniffing the keen salt air like a
young sea-dog, he stripped and plunged into the
breakers, and dived, and rolled, and tossed about the
foam with stalwart arms, till he heard himself hailed
from off the shore, and looking up, saw standing on
the top of the rampart the tall figure of his cousin
Eustace.
Amyas was half-disappointed at his coming ; for,
love-lorn rascal, he had been dreaming all the way
thither of Rose Salterne, and had no wish for a com-
panion who would prevent his dreaming of her all the
way back. Nevertheless, not having seen Eustace for
three years, it was but civil to scramble out and dress,
while his cousin walked up and down upon the turf
inside.
Eustace Leigh was the son of a younger brother of
Leigh of Burrough, who had more or less cut himself
off from his family, and indeed from his countrymen,
by remaining a Papist. True, though born a Papist,
OF WALES. 81
he had not always been one; for, like many of the
gentry, he had become a Protestant under Edward the
Sixth, and then a Papist again under Mary. But, to
his honour be it said, at that point he had stopped,
having too much honesty to turn Protestant a second
time, as hundreds did, at Elizabeth’s accession. Soa
Papist he remained, living out of the way of the world
in a great, rambling, dark house, still called “Chapel,â€
on the Atlantic cliffs, in Moorwinstow parish, not far
from Sir Richard Grenvile’s house of Stow. The
penal laws never troubled him ; for, in the first place,
they never troubled any one who did not make con-
spiracy and rebellion an integral doctrine of his religi-
ous creed ; and next, they seldom troubled even them,
unless, fired with the glory of martyrdom, they bullied
the long-suffering of Elizabeth and her council into
giving them their deserts, and, like poor Father South-
well in after years, insisted on being hanged, whether
Burleigh liked or not. Moreover, in such a no-man’s-
land and end-of-all-the-earth was that old house at
Moorwinstow, that a dozen conspiracies might have
been hatched there without any one hearing of it ; and
Jesuits and seminary priests skulked in and out all the
year round, unquestioned though unblest ; and found
a sort of piquant pleasure, like naughty boys who
have crept into the store-closet, in living in mysterious
little dens in a lonely turret, and going up through a
trap-door to celebrate mass in a secret chamber in the
roof, where they were allowed by the powers that
were to play as much as they chose at persecuted
saints, and preach about hiding in dens and caves of
VOL, I. G W. i
82 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
the earth. For once, when the zealous parson of
Moorwinstow, having discovered (what everybody
knew already) the existence of “mass priests and their
idolatry†at Chapel house, made formal complaint
thereof to Sir Richard, and called on him, as the
nearest justice of the peace, to put in force the Act of
the fourteenth of Elizabeth, that worthy knight only
rated him soundly for a fantastical puritan, and bade
him mind his own business, if he wished not to make
the place too hot for him ; whereon (for the temporal
authorities, happily for the peace of England, kept in
those days a somewhat tight hand upon the spiritual
ones) the worthy parson subsided,—for, after all, Mr.
Thomas Leigh paid his tithes regularly enough,—and
was content, as he expressed it, to bow his head in tho
house of Rimmon like Naaman of old, by eating Mr.
Leigh’s dinners as often as he was invited, and ignor-
ing the vocation of old Father Francis, who sat
opposite, to him, dressed as a layman, and calling
himself the young gentleman’s pedagogue.
But the said birds of ill omen had a very consider-
able lien on the conscience of poor Mr. Thomas Leigh,
the father of Eustace, in the form of certain lands
once belonging to the Abbey of Hartland. He more
than half believed that he should be lost for holding
those lands; but he did not believe it wholly, and,
therefore, he did not give them up; which was the
case, as poor Mary Tudor found to her sorrow, with
most of her “Catholic†subjects, whose consciences,
while they compelled them to return to the only safe
fold of Mother Church (eatrd: quam nulla salus), by no
OF WALES, 83
means compelled them to disgorge the wealth of which
they had plundered that only hope of their salvation.
Most of them, however, like poor Tom Leigh, felt the
abbey rents burn in their purses; and, as John Bull
generally does in a difficulty, compromised the matter
by a second folly (as if two wrong things made one
right one) and petted foreign priests, and listened, or
pretended not to listen, to their plottings.and their
practisings ; and gave up a son here, and a son there,
as a sort of a sin-offering and scape-goat, to be carried
off to Douay, or Rheims, or Rome, and trained as a
seminary priest; in plain English, to be taught the
science of villany, on the motive of superstition. One
of such hapless scape-goats, and children who had
been cast into the fire to Moloch, was Eustace Leigh,
whom his father had sent, giving the fruit of his body
for the sin of his soul, to be made a liar of at Rheims.
And a very fair liar he had become. Not that the
lad was a bad fellow at heart; but he had been chosen
by the harpies at home, on account of his “peculiar
vocation ;†in plain English, because the wily priests
had seen in him certain capacities of vague hysterical
fear of the unseen (the religious sentiment, we call it
now-a-days), and with them that tendency to be a
rogue, which superstitious men always have. He was
now a tall, handsome, light-complexioned man, with
a huge upright forehead, a very small mouth, and a
dry and set expression of face, which was always
trying to get free, or rather to seem free, and indulge
in smiles and dimples, which were proper; for one
ought to have Christian love, and if one had love one
84 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
ought to be cheerful, and when people were cheerful
they smiled ; and therefore he would smile, and tried
to do so; but his charity prepense looked no more
alluring than malice prepense would have done; and,
had he not been really a handsome fellow, many a
woman who raved about his sweetness would have
. likened his frankness to that of a skeleton dancing in
fetters, and his smiles to the grins thereof.
He had returned to England about a month before,
in obedience to the proclamation which had been set
forth for that purpose (and certainly not before it was
needed), that, “whosoever had children, wards, etc.,
in the parts beyond the seas, should send in their
names to the ordinary, and within four months call
them home again.†So Eustace was now staying
with his father at Chapel, having, nevertheless, his
private matters to transact on behalf of the virtuous
society by whom he had been brought up; one of
which private matters had brought him to Bideford
the night before.
So he sat down beside Amyas on the pebbles, and
looked at him all over out of the corners of his eyes
very gently, as if he did not wish to hurt him, or even
the flies on his back; and Amyas faced right round,
and looked him full in the face, with the heartiest of
smiles, and held out a lion’s paw, which Eustace took
rapturously, and a great shaking of hands ensued ;
Amyas gripping with a great round fist, and a quiet
quiver thereof, as much as to say, “Tam glad to see
you;†and Eustace pinching hard with quite straight
fingers, and sawing the air violently up and down, as
OF WALES. 85
much as to say, “Don’t you see how glad I am to see
you?â€
“Hold hard, old lad,†said Amyas, “before you
break my elbow. And where do you come from 2?â€
“From going to and fro in the earth, and from
walking up and down in it,†said he, with a little
smile and nod of mysterious self-importance.
“Like the devil, eh? Well, every man has his
pattern. How is my uncle 2â€
Now, if there was one man on earth above another,
of whom Eustace Leigh stood in dread, it was his
cousin Amyas. In the first place, he knew Amyas
could have killed him with a blow; and there are
natures, who, instead of rejoicing in the strength
of men of greater prowess than themselves, look at
such with irritation, dread, at last, spite; expecting,
perhaps, that the stronger will do to them what
they feel they might have done in his place. Every
one, perhaps, has the same envious, cowardly devil
haunting about his heart; but the brave men, though
they be very sparrows, kick him out; the cowards
keep him, and foster him; and so did poor Eustace
Leigh.
Next, he could not help feeling that Amyas despised
him. They had not met for three years; but before
Amyas went, Eustace never could argue with him;
simply because Amyas treated him as beneath argu-
ment. No doubt he was often rude and unfair
enough ; but the whole mass of questions concerning
the unseen world, which the priests had stimulated
in his cousin’s mind into an unhealthy fungus crop,
86 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
were to Amyas simply, as he expressed it, “wind
and moonshine ;†and he treated his cousin as a sort
of harmless lunatic, and, as they say in Devon, “half-
baked.†And Eustace knew it; and knew, too, that
his cousin did him an injustice. ‘He used to under-
value me,†said he to himself; “let us see whether he
does not find me a match for him now.†And then
went off into an agony of secret contrition for his self-
seeking and his forgetting that “the glory of God, and
not his own exaltation,†was the object of his existence.
There, dear readers, Bx pede Herculem ; I cannot
tire myself or you (especially in this book) with any
wire-drawn soul-dissections. IJ have tried to, hint to
you two opposite sorts of men. The one trying to
be good with all his might and main, according to
certain approved methods and rules, which he has
got by heart; and like a weak oarsman, feeling and
fingering his spiritual muscles over all day, to see if
they are growing. The other, not even knowing
whether he is good or not, but just doing the right
thing without thinking about it, as simply as a little
child, because the Spirit of God is with him. If you
cannot sce the great gulf fixed between the two, I
trust that you will discover it some day.
But in justice be it said, all this came upon Eustace,
not because he was a Romanist, but because he was
educated by the Jesuits. Had he been saved from
them, he might have lived and died as simple and
honest a gentleman as his brothers, who turned out
like true Englishmen (as did all the Romish laity) to
face the great Armada, and one of whom was fighting
OF WALES. 87
at that very minute under St. Leger in Ireland, and
as brave and loyal a soldier as those Roman Catholics
whose noble blood has stained every Crimean battle-
field; but his fate was appointed otherwise; and the
Upas-shadow which has blighted the whole Romish
Church, blighted him also.
“Ah, my ‘dearest cousin!†said Eustace, “how
disappointed I was this morning at finding I had
arrived just a day too late to witness your triumph !
But I hastened to your home as soon as I could, and
learning from your mother that I should find you
here, hurried down to bid you welcome again to
Devon.â€
“Well, old lad, it does look very natural to see
you. I often used to think of you walking the deck
o nights. Uncle and the girls are all right, then?
But is the old pony dead yet? And how’s Dick the
smith, and Nancy? Grown a fine maid by now, I
warrant. ’Slid, it seems half a life that I’ve been
away.â€
“And you really thought of your poor cousin?
Be sure that he, too, thought of you, and offered up
nightly his weak prayers for your safety (doubtless,
not without avail) to those saints, to whom would
that you -
“Talt there, coz. If they are half as good fellows
as you and I take them for, they’ll help me without
asking.â€
“They have helped you, Amyas.â€
“Maybe; I'd have done as much, I’m sure, for
them, if I’d been in their place.â€
88 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
“And do you not feel, then, that you owe a debt
of gratitude to them; and, above all, to her, whose
intercessions have, I doubt not, availed for your pre-:
servation? Her, the star of the sea, the all-compas-
sionate guide of the mariner ?â€
“Humph!†said Amyas. “Here’s Frank ;. let
him answer.â€
And, as he spoke, up came Frank, and after due
greetings, sat down beside them on the ridge.
“T say, brother, here’s Eustace trying already to
convert me ; and telling me that I owe all my luck to
the Blessed Virgin’s prayers for me.â€
“Tt may be so,†said Frank; “at least you owe it
to the prayers of that most pure and peerless virgin,
by whose commands you sailed ; the sweet incense of
whose orisons have gone up for you daily, and for
whose sake you were preserved from flood and foe,
that you might spread the fame and advance the
power of the spotless championess of truth, and right,
and freedom,—Elizabeth, your queen.â€
Amyas answered this rhapsody, which would have
been then both fashionable and sincere, by a loyal
chuckle. Eustace smiled meekly: but answered
somewhat venomously nevertheless,
“J, at least, am certain that I speak the truth,
when I call my patroness a virgin undefiled.â€
Both the brothers’ brows clouded at once. Amyas,
as he lay on his back on the pebbles, said quietly to
the gulls over his head,
“T wonder what the Frenchman, whose head I
cut off at the Azores, thinks by now about all that.â€
OF WALES. 89
“Cut off a Frenchman’s head?†said Frank.
“Yes, faith; and so fleshed my maiden sword.
Pll tell you. It was in some tavern; I and George
Drake had gone in, and there sat this Frenchman,
with his sword on the table, ready for a quarrel (I
found afterwards he was a noted bully), and begins
with us loudly enough about this and that; but, after
awhile, by the instigation of the devil, what does he
vent but a dozen slanders against her Majesty’s
honour, one a top of the other. I was ashamed to
hear them, and I should be more ashamed to repeat
them.â€
“JT have heard enough of such,†said Frank.
“They come mostly through lewd rascals about the
French ambassador, who have been bred (God help
them) among the filthy vices of that Medicean Court,
in which the Queen of Scots had her schooling ; and
can only perceive in a virtuous freedom, a cloke for
licentiousness like their own. Let the curs bark;
Honi soit qui mal y pense is our motto, and shall be
for ever.â€
“But I didn’t let the cur bark ; for I took him by
the cars, to show him out into the street. Whereon
he got to his sword, and I to mine; and a very near
chance I had of never bathing on the pebble-ridge
more; for the fellow did not fight with edge and
buckler, like a Christian, but had some newfangled
French devil’s device of scryming and foining with
his point, ha’ing and stamping, and tracing at me,
that I expected to be full of eyelet-holes ere I could
close with him.â€
90 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
“Thank God that you are safe, then!†said Frank.
“T know that play well enough, and dangerous enough
it is.â€
“Of course you know it; but I didn’t, more’s the
pity.â€
“Well, I'll teach it thee, lad, as well as Rowland
Yorke himself,
‘ Thy fincture, carricade, and sly passata,
Thy stramazon, and resolute stoccata,
Wiping maudritta, closing embrocata,
And all the cant of the honourable fencing mystery.
“Rowland Yorke? Who’s he, then?â€
“A very roystering rascal, who is making good
profit in London just now by teaching this very art
of fence ; and is as likely to have his mortal thread
clipt in a tavern brawl, as thy Frenchman. But how
did you escape his pinking iron ?â€
“How? Had it through my left arm before I
could look round; and at that I got mad, and leapt
upon him, and caught him by the wrist, and then had
a fair side-blow; and, as fortune would have it, off
tumbled his head on to the table, and there was an
end of his slanders.â€
“So perish all her enemies!†said Frank; and
Eustace, who had been trying not to listen, rose and
said,
2
“T trust that you do not number me among
them ?â€
“As you speak, I do, coz,†said Frank. “But for
your own sake, let me advise you to put faith in the
true report of those who have daily experience of their
OF WALES. 91
mistress’s excellent virtue, as they have of the sun’s
shining, and of the earth’s bringing forth fruit, and
not in the tattle of a few cowardly back-stair rogues,
who wish to curry favour with the Guises. Come,
we will say no more. Walk round with us by Apple-
dore, and then home to breakfast.â€
But Eustace declined, having immediate business,
he said, in Northam town, and then in Bideford; and
so left them to lounge for another half-hour on the
beach, and then walk across the smooth sheet of turf
to the little white fishing village, which stands some
two miles above the bar, at the meeting of the Tor-
ridge and the Taw.
Now it came to pass, that Eustace Leigh, as we
have seen, told his cousins that he was going to
Northam: but he did not tell them that his pot was
really the same as their own, namely, Appledore ;
and, therefore, after having satisfied his conscience by
going as far as the very nearest house in Northam
village, he struck away sharp to the left across the
fields, repeating I know not what to the Blessed Virgin
all the way; whereby he went several miles out of
his road ; and also, as is the wont of crooked spirits,
Jesuits especially (as three centuries sufficiently
testify), only outwitted himself. For his cousins
going merrily, like honest men, along the straight road
across the turf, arrived in Appledore, opposite the
little “Mariner’s Rest†Inn, just in time to see what
Eustace had taken so‘much trouble to hide from them,
namely, four of Mr. Thomas Leigh’s horses standing
at the door, held by his groom, saddles and mail-bags
92 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
on back, and mounting three of them, Eustace Leigh
and two strange gentlemen. .
“‘There’s one lie already this morning,†growled
Amyas; “he told us he was going to Northam.â€
“ And we do not know that he has not been there,â€
blandly suggested Frank.
' «Why, you are as bad a Jesuit as he, to help him
out with such a fetch.â€
“He may have changed his mind.â€
“Bless your pure imagination, my sweet boy,†said
Amyas, laying his great hand on Frank’s head, and
mimicking his mother’s manner. “I say, dear Frank,
let’s step into this shop and buy a pennyworth of
whipcord.â€
“What do you want with whipcord, man 2â€
“To spin my top, to be sure.â€
“Top? how long hast had a top ?â€
“Tll buy one, then, and save my conscience ;
but the upshot of this sport I must see. Why may
not I have an excuse ready made as well as Master
Eustace?â€
So saying, he pulled Frank into the little shop,
unobserved by the party at the inn-door.
“What strange cattle has he been importing now ?
Look at that three-legged fellow, trying to get aloft
on the wrong side. How he claws at his horse’s ribs,
like a cat scratching an elder stem iâ€
The three-legged man was a tall, meck-looking
person, who had bedizened himself with gorgeous
garments, a great feather, and a sword so long and
broad, that it differed little in size from the very thin
“Trying to get aloft on the wrong side.â€â€”Chap. iii. p. 92.
OF WALES.. 93
and stiff shanks, between which it wandered uncom-
fortably.
“Young David in Saul’s weapons,†said Frank.
“He had better not go in them, for he certainly has
not proved them.â€
“Look, if his third leg is not turned into a tail!
Why does not some one in charity haul in half-a-yard
of his belt for him ?â€
It was too true; the sword, after being kicked out
three or four times from its uncomfortable post be-
tween his legs, had returned unconquered; and the
hilt getting a little too far back by reason of the too
great length of the belt, the weapon took up its post
triumphantly behind, standing out point in air, a tail
confest, amid the tittering of the ostlers, and the
cheers of the sailors.
At last the poor man, by dint of a chair, was
mounted safely, while his fellow stranger, a burly,
coarse-looking man, equally gay, and rather more
handy, made so fierce arush at his saddle, that like
“vaulting ambition who o’erleaps his selle,†he “fell
on tother side:†or would have fallen, had he not
been brought up short by the shoulders of the ostler
at his off-stirrup. In which shock off came hat and
feather.
“Pardie, the bulldog-faced one is a fighting man.
Dost see, Frank? he has had his head broken.â€
“That scar came not, my son, but by a pair of
most Catholic and apostolic scissors. My gentle
buzzard, that is a priest’s tonsure.â€
“Hang the dog! O, that the sailors may but see
94 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
it, and put him over the quay head. I’ve a half mind
to go and do it myself.â€
‘My dear Amyas,†said Frank, laying two fingers
on his arm, “these men, whosoever they are, are
the guests of our uncle, and therefore the guests of
our family. Ham gained little by publishing Noah’s
shame ; neither shall we, by publishing our uncle’s.â€
“Murrain on you, old Franky, you never let a man
speak his mind, and shame the devil.â€
“T have lived long enough in courts, old Amyas,
without a murrain on you, to have found out first,
that it is not so easy to shame the devil; and secondly,
that it is better to outwit him; and the only way to
do that, sweet chuck, is very often not to speak your
mind at all. We will go down and visit them at
Chapel in a day or two, and see if we cannot serve
these reynards as the badger did the fox, when he
found him in his hole, and could not get him out by
evil savours.â€
“Flow then 2â€
“Stuck a sweet nosegay in the door, which turned
Reynard’s stomach at once; and so overcame evil with
good.â€
“Well, thou art too good for this world, that’s
certain; so we will go home to breakfast. - Those
rogues are out of sight by now.â€
Nevertheless, Amyas was not proof against the
temptation of going over to the inn-door, and asking
who were the gentlemen who went with Mr. Leigh.
“Gentlemen of Wales,†said the ostler, ‘who
came last night in a pinnace from Milford-haven,
OF WALES. 95
and their names, Mr. Morgan Evans and Mr, Evan
Morgans.â€
“Mr. Judas Iscariot and My. Iscariot Judas,†said
Amyas between his teeth, and then observed aloud,
“that the Welsh gentlemen seemed rather poor horse-
men.â€
“So I said to Mr. Leigh’s groom, your worship.
But he says that those parts be so uncommon rough
and mountainous, that the poor gentlemen, you see,
being enforced to hunt on foot, have no such oppor-
tunities as young gentlemen hereabout, like your
worship ; whom God preserve, and send a virtuous
lady, and one worthy of you.â€
“Thou hast a villanously glib tongue, fellow !†said
Amyas, who was thoroughly out of humour; “and a
sneaking down visage too, when I come to look at you.
I doubt but you are a Papist too, I do!â€
“Well, sir! and what if I am! I trust I don’t
break the Queen’s laws by that. If I don’t attend
Northam church, I pay my month’s shilling for the use
of the poor, as the Act directs; and beyond that,
neither you nor any man dare demand of me.â€
“Dare! Act directs! You rascally lawyer, you!
and whence does'an ostler like you get your shilling
to pay withal? Answer me.†The examinate found
it so difficult to answer the question, that he suddenly
became aftlicted with deafness.
“Do you hear?†roared Amyas, catching at him
with his lion’s paw.
|?
“Ves, missus; anon, anon, missus!†quoth he to
an imaginary landlady inside, and twisting under
96 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
Amyas’s hand like an eel, vanished into the house,
while Frank got the hot-headed youth away.
“What a plague is one to do, then? That fellow
was a Papist spy!â€
“Of course he was!†said Frank.
“Then, what is one to do, if the whole country is
full of them ?â€
“Not to make fools of ourselves about them; and
so leave them to make fools of themselves.â€
“That’s all very fine : but—well, I shall remember
the villain’s face if I see him again.â€
“There is no harm in that,†said Frank.
“Glad you think so.â€
“Don’t quarrel with me, Amyas, the first day.â€
“Quarrel with thee, my darling old fellow! I had
sooner kiss the dust off thy feet, if I were worthy of
it. So now away home ; my inside cries cupboard.â€
Tn the meanwhile Messrs. Evans and Morgans were
riding away, as fast as the rough by-lanes would let
them, along the fresh coast of the bay, steering care-
fully clear of Northam town on the one hand, and on
the other, of Portledge, where dwelt that most Pro-
testant justice of the peace, Mr. Coffin. And it was
well for them that neither Amyas Leigh, or indeed
any other loyal Englishman, was by when they entered,
as they shortly did, the lonely woods which stretch
along the southern wall of the bay. For there Eustace
Leigh pulled up short; and both he and his groom,
leaping from their horses, knelt down humbly in the
wet grass, and implored the blessing of the two valiant
gentlemen of Wales, who, having graciously bestowed
Chap. iii. p. 96.
Knelt down humbly in the wet grass.
OF WALES. 97
it with three fingers apiece, became thenceforth no
longer Morgan Evans and Evan Morgans, Welshmen
and gentlemen; but Father Parsons and Father
Campian, Jesuits, and gentlemen in no sense in which
that word is applied in this book.
After a few minutes, the party were again in
motion, ambling steadily and cautiously along the
high table-land, towards Moorwinstow in the west;
while beneath them on the right, at the mouth of
rich-wooded glens, opened vistas of the bright blue
bay, and beyond it the sandhills of Braunton, and
the ragged rocks of Morte; while far away to the
north and west the lonely isle of Lundy hung like a
soft grey cloud.
But they were not destined to reach their point as
peaceably as they could have wished. For just as
they got opposite Clovelly Dike, the huge old Roman
encampment which stands about mid-way in their
journey, they heard a halloo from the valley below,
answered by a fainter one far ahead. At which, like
a couple of rogues (as indeed they were), Father Cam-
pian and Father Parsons looked at each other, and
then both stared round at the wild, desolate, open
pasture (for the country was then all unenclosed), and
the great dark furze-grown banks above their heads ;
and Campian remarked gently to Parsons, that this
was a very dreary spot, and likely enough for robbers.
“A likelier spot for us, Father,†said Eustace,
punning. “The old Romans knew what they were
about when they put their legions up aloft here to
overlook land and sea for miles away; and we may
VOL. I. H Ww. H.
98 é OF TWO GENTLEMEN
thank them some day for their leavings. The banks
are all sound; there is plenty of good water inside ;
and†(added he in Latin), “in case our Spanish friends
—you understand %â€
“ Pauca verba, my son!†said Campian: but as he
spoke, up from the ditch close beside him, as if rising
out of the earth, burst through the furze-bushes an
armed cavalier.
“Pardon, gentlemen!†shouted he, as the Jesuit
and his horse recoiled against the groom. Stand, for
your lives !â€
“ Mater celorum /†moaned Campian: while Par-
sons, who, as all the world knows, was a blustering
bully enough (at least with his tongue), asked : “ What
a murrain right had he to stop honest folks on the
Queen’s highway ?†confirming the same with a mighty
oath, which he set down as peccatum veniale, on account
of the sudden necessity; nay, indeed fraus pia, as
proper to support the character of that valiant gentle-
man of Wales, Mr. Evan Morgans. But the horseman,
taking no notice of his hint, dashed across the nose of
Eustace Leigh’s horse, with a “Hillo, old lad! where
ridest so early ?†and peering down for a moment into
the ruts of the narrow track-way, struck spurs into his
horse, shouting, “A fresh slot! right away for Hart-
land! Forward, gentlemen all! follow, follow, follow !â€
“Who is this roysterer?†asked Parsons, loftily.
“Will Cary, of Clovelly; an awful heretic: and here
come more behind.â€
And as he spoke, four or five more mounted gallants
plunged in and out of the great dikes, and thundered
OF WALES. 99
on behind the party; whose horses, quite under-
standing what game was up, burst into full gallop,
neighing and squealing; and in another minute the
hapless Jesuits were hurling along over moor and
moss after a “hart of grease.â€
Parsons, who, though a vulgar bully, was no coward,
supported the character of Mr. Evan Morgans well
enough ; and he would have really enjoyed himself,
had he not been in agonies of fear lest those precious
saddle-bags in front of him should break from their
lashings, and rolling to the earth, expose to the hoofs
of heretic horses, perhaps to the gaze of heretic eyes,
such a cargo of bulls, dispensations, secret corre-
spondences, seditious tracts, and so forth, that at the
very thought of their being seen, his head felt loose
upon his shoulders. But the future martyr behind
him, Mr. Morgan Evans, gave himself up at once to
abject despair, and as he bumped and rolled along,
sought vainly for comfort in professional ejaculations
in the Latin tongue.
“ Mater intemerata / Eripe me e—Ugh! I am down!
Adhesit pavimento venter/—No! Iam not! Et dilectum
tuum e potestate canis—Ah’? Audisti me inter cornua
unicornium/—Put this, too, down in—ugh !—thy
account in favour of my poor—oh, sharpness of this
saddle! Oh whither, barbarous islanders !â€
Now riding on his quarter, not in the rough track-
way like a cockney, but through the soft heather like
a sportsman, was a very gallant knight whom we all
know well by this time, Richard Grenvile by name ;
who had made Mr. Cary and the rest his guests the
L 12
100. OF TWO GENTLEMEN
night before, and then ridden out with them at five
o’clock that morning, after the wholesome early ways
of the time, to rouse a well-known stag in the glens
at Buckish, by help of Mr. Coffin’s hounds from Port-
ledge. Who being as good a Latiner as Campian’s
self, and overhearing both the scraps of psalm and
“the barbarous islanders,†pushed his horse alongside
of Mr. Eustace Leigh, and at the first check said, with
two low bows towards the two strangers—
“T hope Mr. Leigh will do me the honour of intro-
ducing me to his guests. I should’ be sorry, and Mr.
Cary also, that any gentle strangers should become
neighbours of ours, even for a day, without our
knowing who they are who honour our western Thule
with a visit; and showing them ourselves all due
requital for the compliment of their presence.â€
After which, the only thing which poor Eustace
could do (especially as it was spoken loud enough for
all bystanders), was to introduce in due form Mr.
Evan Morgans and Mr. Morgan Evans, who, hearing
the name, and what was worse, seeing the terrible
face with its quiet searching eye, felt like a brace of
partridge-poults cowering in the stubble, with a hawk
hanging ten feet over their heads,
“Gentlemen,†said Sir Richard blandly, cap in
hand; “TI fear that your mails must have been some-
what in your way in this unexpected gallop. If you
will permit my groom, who is behind, to disencumber
you of them and carry them to Chapel, you will both
confer an honour on me, and be enabled yourselves to
see the mort more pleasantly.â€
OF WALES. 101
A twinkle of fun, in spite of all his efforts, played
about good Sir Richard’s eye as he gave this searching
hint. The two Welsh gentlemen stammered out
clumsy thanks ; and pleading great haste and fatigue
from a long journey, contrived to fall to the rear, and
vanish with their guides, as soon as the slot had been
recovered.
“Will!†said Sir Richard, pushing alongside of
young Cary.
“Your worship ?â€
“Jesuits, Will!â€
“May the father of lies fly away with them over
the nearest cliff!â€
“He will not do that while this Irish trouble is
about. Those fellows are come to practise here for
Saunders and Desmond.â€
“Perhaps they have a consecrated banner in their
bag, the scoundrels! Shall I and young Coffin on
and stop them? Hard if the honest men may not
rob the thieves once in a way.â€
“No; give the devil rope, and he will hang himself.
Keep thy tongue at home, and thine eyes too, Will.â€
“How then ?â€
“Let Clovelly beach be watched night and day
like any mousehole. No one can land round Harty
point with these south-westers. Stop every fellow
who has the ghost of an Irish brogue, come he in or
go he out, and send him over to me.â€
“Some one should guard Bude haven, sir.â€
“Leave that to me. Now then, forward, gentle-
men all, or the stag will take the sea at the Abbey.â€
102 OF TWO GENTLEMEN
And on they crashed down the Hartland glens,
through the oak-scrub and the great crown-ferns ;
and the baying of the slow-hound and the tantaras of
the horn died away farther and fainter toward the
blue Atlantic, while the conspirators, with lightened
hearts, pricked fast across Bursdon upon their evil
errand. But Eustace Leigh had other thoughts and
other cares than the safety of his father’s two mysteri-
ous guests, important as that was in his eyes; for he
was one of the many who had drunk in sweet poison
(though in his case it could hardly be called sweet)
from the magic glances of the Rose of Torridge. He
had seen her in the town, and for the first time in his
life fallen utterly in love; and now that she had
come down close to his father’s house, he looked on
her as a lamb fallen unawares into the jaws of the
greedy wolf, which he felt himself to be. For Eus-
tace’s love had little or nothing of chivalry, self-sacri-
fice, or purity in it; those were virtues which were.
not taught at Rheims. Careful as the Jesuits were
over the practical morality of their pupils, this severe
restraint had little effect in producing real habits of
self-control. What little Eustace had learnt of
women from them, was as base and vulgar as the rest
of their teaching. What could it be else, if instilled
by men educated in the schools of Italy and France,
in the age which produced the foul novels of Cinthio
and Bandello, and compelled Rabelais, in order to
escape the rack and stake, to hide the light of his
great wisdom, not beneath a bushel, but beneath a
dunghill ; the age in which the Romish Church had
OF WALES. 103
made marriage a legalised tyranny, and the laity, by
a natural and pardonable revulsion, had exalted
adultery into a virtue and a science? That all love
was lust; that all women had their price; that pro-
fligacy, though an ecclesiastical sin, was so pardonable,
if not necessary, as to be hardly a moral sin, were
notions which Eustace must needs have gathered
from the hints of his preceptors; for their written
works bear to this day fullest and foulest testimony
that such was their opinion ; and that their conception
of the relation of the sexes was really not a whit
higher than that of the profligate laity who confessed
to them. He longed to marry Rose Salterne, with a
wild selfish fury ; but only that he might be able to
claim her as his own property, and keep all others
from her. Of her as a co-equal and ennobling help-
mate; as one in whose honour, glory, growth of
heart and soul, his own were inextricably wrapt up,
he had never dreamed. Marriage would prevent God
from being angry with that, with which otherwise He
might be angry; and therefore the sanction of the
Church was the more “probable and safe†course.
But as yet his suit was in very embryo. He could
not even tell whether Rose knew of his love; and he
wasted miserable hours in maddening thoughts, and
tost all night upon his sleepless bed, and rose next
morning fierce and pale, to invent fresh excuses for
going over to her uncle’s house, and lingering about
the fruit which he dared not snatch.
THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE.
‘*T could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.†—LovELACE.
AND what all this while has become of the fair breaker
of so many hearts, to whom I have not yet even in-
troduced my readers ?
She was sitting in the little farm-house beside the
mill, buried in the green depths of the Valley of
Combe, half-way between Stow and Chapel, sulking
as much as her sweet nature would let her, at being
thus shut out from all the grand doings at Bideford,
and forced to keep a Martinmas Lent in that far
western glen. So lonely was she, in fact, that though
she regarded Eustace Leigh with somewhat of aversion,
and (being a good Protestant) with a great deal of
suspicion, she could not find it in her heart to avoid
a chat with him whenever he came down to the farm
and to its mill, which he contrived to do, on I know
not what would-be errand, almost every day. Her
uncle and aunt at first looked stiff enough at these visits,
and the latter took care always to make a third in
every conversation ; but still Mr. Leigh was a gentle-
man’s son, and it would not do to be rude to a neigh-
bouring squire and a good customer; and Rose was
THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE. 105
the rich man’s daughter, and they poor cousins, so it
would not do either to quarrel with her; and besides,
the pretty maid, half by wilfulness, and half by her
sweet winning tricks, generally contrived to get her
own way wheresoever she went; and she herself had
been wise enough to beg her aunt never to leave them
alone,—for she “could not a-bear the sight of Mr.
Eustace, only she must have some one to talk with
down here.†On which her aunt considered, that she
herself was but a simple country-woman; and that
townsfolks’ ways of course must be very different from
hers; and that people knew their own business best ;
and so forth, and let things go on their own way.
Eustace, in the meanwhile, who knew well that the
difference in creed between him and Rose was likely
to be the very hardest obstacle in the way of his
love, took care to keep his private opinions well in the
background ; and instead of trying to convert the
folk at the mill, daily bought milk or flour from them,
and gave it away to the old women in Moorwinstow
(who agreed that after all, for a Papist, he was a
godly young man enough) ; and at last, having taken
counsel with Campian and Parsons on certain political
plots then on foot, came with them to the conclusion
that they would all three go to Church the next
Sunday. Where Messrs. Evan Morgans and Morgan
Evans, having crammed up the rubrics beforehand,
behaved themselves in a most orthodox and unexcep-
tionable manner ; as did also poor Eustace, to the great
wonder of all good folks, and then went home flatter-
ing himself that he had taken in parson, clerk, and
106 THE TWO WAYS OF
people ; not knowing in his simple unsimplicity, and
cunning foolishness, that each good wife in the parish
was saying to the other, “He turned Protestant? The
devil turned monk! He’s only after Mistress Salterne,
the young hypocrite.â€
But if the two Jesuits found it expedient, for the
holy cause in which they were embarked, to reconcile
themselves outwardly to the powers that were, they
were none the less busy in private in plotting their
overthrow.
Ever since April last they had been playing at hide-
and-seek through the length and breadth of England,
and now they were only lying quiet till expected news .
from Ireland should give them their cue, and a great
“rising of the west†should sweep from her throne,
that stiffnecked, persecuting, excommunicate, repro-
bate, illegitimate, and profligate usurper, who falsely
called herself the Queen of England.
For they had as stoutly, persuaded themselves in
those days, as they have in these (with a real Baconian
contempt of the results of sensible experience), that
the heart of England was really with them, and that
the British nation was on the point of returning to
the bosom of the Catholic Church, and giving up
Elizabeth to be led in chains to the feet of the rightful
Lord of Creation, the Old Man of the Seven Hills.
And this fair hope which has been skipping just in
front of them for centuries, always a step farther off,
like the place where the rainbow touches the ground,
they used to announce at times, in language which
terrified old Mr. Leigh. One day, indeed, as Eustace
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 107
entered his father’s private room, after his usual visit
to the mill, he could hear voices high in dispute ;
Parsons as usual, blustering; Mr. Leigh peevishly
deprecating, and Campian, who was really the
sweetest-natured of men, trying to pour oil on the
troubled waters. Whereat Eustace (for the good of
the cause, of course) stopped outside and listened.
“My excellent sir,†said Mr. Leigh, “does not
your very presence here show how I am affected
toward the holy cause of the Catholic faith? But I
cannot in the meanwhile forget that I am an English-
man.â€
_ “And what is England %†said Parsons: “A heretic
and schismatic Babylon, whereof it is written, ‘Come
out of her, my people, lest you be partaker of her
plagues.’ Yea, what is a country? An arbitrary
division of territory by the princes of this world, who
are nought, and come to nought. They are created
by the people’s will; their existence depends on the
sanction of him to whom all power is given in heaven
and earth—our holy father the Pope. Take away the
latter, and what is a king ?~the people who have made
him may unmake him.â€
“My dear sir, recollect that I have sworn allegi-
ance to Queen Elizabeth !â€
“Yes, sir, you have, sir; and, as I have shown at
large in my writings, you were absolved from that
allegiance from the moment that the bull of Pius the
Fifth declared her a heretic and excommunicate, and
thereby to have forfeited all dominion whatsover. I
tell you, sir, what I thought you should have known
108 THE TWO WAYS OF
already, that since the year 1569, England has had
no Queen, no magistrates, no laws, no lawful authority
whatsoever ; and that to own allegiance to any English
magistrate, sir, or to plead in an English court of law,
is to disobey the apostolic precept, ‘How dare you go
to law before the unbelievers? I tell you, sir, re-
bellion is now not merely permitted, it is a duty.â€
“Take care, sir; for God’s sake, take care!†said
Mr. Leigh, “Right or wrong, I cannot have such
language used in my house. For the sake of my wife
and children, I cannot!â€
‘My dear brother Parsons, deal more gently with
the flock,†interposed Campian. “Your opinion,
though probable, as I well know, in the eyes of most
of our order, is hardly safe enough here; the opposite
is at least so safe that Mr. Leigh may well excuse his
conscience for accepting it. After all, are we not sent
hither to proclaim this very thing, and to relieve the
souls of good Catholics from a burden which has
seemed to them too heavy ?â€
“Yes,†said Parsons, half sulkily, “to allow all
Balaams who will to sacrifice to Baal, while they call
themselves by the name of the Lord.â€
‘My dear brother, have I not often reminded you
that Naaman was allowed to bow himself in the house
of Rimmon? And can we therefore complain of the
office to which the Holy Father has appointed us, to
declare to such as Mr. Leigh his especial grace, by
which the bull of Pius the Fifth (on whose soul God
have mercy!) shall henceforth bind the Queen and
the heretics only ; but in no ways the Catholics, at
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 109
least as long as the present tyranny prevents the pious
purposes of the bull 2â€
“Be it so, sir; be it so. Only observe this, Mr.
Leigh, that our brother Campain confesses this to be
a tyranny. Observe, sir, that the bull does still bind
the so-called Queen, and that she and her magistrates
are still none the less usurpers, nonentities, and
shadows of ashade. And observe this, sir, that when
that which is lawful is excused to the weak, it remains
no less lawful to the strong. The seven thousand
who had not bowed the knee to Baal did not slay his
priests ; but Elijah did, and won to himself a good
reward. And if the rest of the children of Israel
sinned not in not slaying Eglon, yet Ehud’s deed was
none the less justified by all laws human and divine.â€
“For heaven’s sake, do not talk so, sir! or I must
leave the room. What have I to do with Ehud and
Eglon, and slaughters, and tyrannies? Our Queen is
a very good Queen, if Heaven would but grant her
repentance, and turn her to the true faith. I have
never been troubled about religion, nor any one else
that I know of in the west country.â€
“You forget Mr. Trudgeon of Launceston, father,
and poor Father Mayne,†interposed Eustace, who had
by this time slipped in; and Campian added softly—
“Yes, your West of England also has been honoured
by its martyrs, as well as my London by the precious
blood of Story.â€
“What, young malapert ?†cried poor Leigh, facing
round upon his son, glad to find any one on whom he
might vent his ill-humour ; “are you, too, against me,
110 THE TWO WAYS OF
with a murrain on you? And pray, what the devil
brought Cuthbert Mayne to the gallows, and turned
Mr. Trudgeon (he was always a foolish hot-head) out
of house and home, but just such treasonable talk as
Mr. Parsons must needs hold in my house, to make a
beggar of me and my children, as he will before he
has done.â€
“The blessed Virgin forbid!†said Campian.
“The blessed Virgin forbid? But you must help
her to forbid it, Mr. Campian. We should never have
had the law of 1571, against bulls, and Agnus Deis,
and blessed grains, if the Pope’s bull of 1569 had not
made them matter of treason, by preventing a poor
creature’s saving his soul in the true Church without
putting his neck into a halter by denying the Queen’s
authority.â€
“What, sir?†almost roared Parsons, “do you
dare to speak evil of the edicts of the Vicar of Christ?â€
“JT? No. I didn’t. Who says I did? All I
meant was, J am sure—Mr. Campian, you are a
reasonable man, speak for me.â€
“Mr. Leigh only meant, I am sure, that the Holy
Father’s prudent intentions have been so far defeated
by the perverseness and invincible misunderstanding
of the heretics, that that which was in itself meant
for the good of the oppressed English Catholics has
been perverted to their harm.â€
“And thus, reverend sir,†said Eustace, glad to
get into his father’s good graces again, “my father
attaches blame, not to the Pope—Heaven forbid !—
but to the pravity of his enemies.â€
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 111
“And it is for this very reason,†said Campian,
“that we have brought with us the present merciful
explanation of the bull.â€
“TI tell you what, gentlemen,†said Mr. Leigh,
who, like other weak men, grew in valour as his
opponent seemed inclined to make peace, “I don’t
think the declaration was needed. After the new
law of 1571 was made, it was never put in force till
Mayne and Trudgeon made fools of themselves, and
that was full six years. There were a few offenders,
they say, who were brought up and admonished, and
let go; but even that did not happen down here, and
need not happen now, unless you put my son here
(for you shall never put me, I warrant you) upon some
deed which had better be left alone, and so bring us
all to shame.â€
“Your son, sir, if not openly vowed to God, has,
I hope; a due sense of that inward vocation which we
have seen in him, and reverences his spiritual fathers
too well to listen to the temptations of his earthly
father.â€
“What, sir, will you teach my son to disobey
me ?â€
“Your son is ours also, sir. This is strange
language in one who owes a debt to the Church,
which it was charitably fancied he meant to pay in
the person of his child.â€
These last words touched poor Mr. Leigh in a sore
point, and breaking all bounds, he swore roundly at
Parsons, who stood foaming with rage.
“A plague upon you, sir, and a black assizes for
112 THE TWO WAYS OF
you, for you will come to the gallows yet! Do you
mean to taunt me in my own house with that Hartland
land? You had better go back and ask those who
sent you, where the dispensation to hold the land is,
which they promised to get me years ago, and have
gone on putting me off, till they have got my money,
and my son, and my conscience, and I vow before all
the saints, seem now to want my head over and above.
God help me!â€â€”and the poor man’s eyes fairly filled
with tears.
Now was Eustace’s turn to be roused; for, after
all, he was an Englishman and a gentleman; and he
said kindly enough, but firmly—
“Courage, my dearest father. Remember that I
am. still your son, and not a Jesuit yet; and whether
I ever become one, I promise you, will depend mainly
on the treatment which you meet with at the hands
of these reverend gentlemen, for whom JI, as having
brought them hither, must consider myself as surety
to you.â€
If a powder-barrel had exploded in the Jesuits’
faces, they could not have been more amazed.
Campian looked blank at Parsons, and Parsons at
Campian ; till the stouter-hearted of the two, recover-
ing his breath at last—
“Sir! do you know, sir, the curse pronounced on
those who, after putting their hand to the plough,
look back %â€
Eustace was one of those impulsive men, with a
lack of moral courage, who dare raise the devil, but
never dare fight him after he has been raised; and
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 113
he now tried to pass off his speech by winking and
making signs in the direction of his father, as much
as to say that he was only trying to quiet the old
man’s fears. But Campian was too frightened,
Parsons too angry, to take his hints: and he had
to carry his part through.
“All I read is, Father Parsons, that such are not
fit for the kingdom of God; of which high honour I
have for some time past felt myself unworthy. I have
much doubt just now as to my vocation ; and in the
meanwhile have not forgotten that I am a citizen of
a free country.†And so saying, he took his father’s
arm, and walked out.
His last words had hit the Jesuits hard. They
had put the poor cobweb-spinners in mind of the
humiliating fact, which they have had thrust on them
daily from that time till now, and yet have never learnt
the lesson, that all their scholastic cunning, plotting,
intriguing, bulls, pardons, indulgences, and the rest
of it, are, on this side the Channel, a mere enchanter’s
cloud-castle and Fata Morgana, which vanishes into
empty air by one touch of that magic wand, the
constable’s staff. “A citizen of a free country !â€â€”
there was the rub; and they looked at each other in
more utter perplexity than ever. At last Parsons
spoke.
“There’s 2 woman in the wind. T’ll lay my life
on it. Isaw him blush up crimson yesterday, when
his mother asked him whether some Rose Salterne or
other was still in the neighbourhood.â€
“A woman? Well, the spirit may be willing,
VOL. I. J; W. H.
114 THE TWO WAYS OF
though the flesh be weak. We will enquire into this.
The youth may do us good service as a layman; and
if anything should happen to his elder brother (whom
the saints protect !) he is heir to some wealth. In the
meanwhile, our dear brother Parsons will perhaps see
the expediency of altering our tactics somewhat while
we are here.â€
And thereupon a long conversation began between
the two, who had been sent together, after the wise
method of their order, in obedience to the precept,
“Two are better than one,†in order that Campian
might restrain Parsons’s vehemence, and Parsons spur
on Campian’s gentleness, and so each act as the
supplement of the other, and each also, it must be
confessed, gave advice pretty nearly contradictory to
his fellow’s if occasion should require, “without the
danger,†as their writers have it, “of seeming change-
able and inconsistent.â€
The upshot of this conversation was, that in a day
or two (during which time Mr. Leigh and Eustace also
had made the amende honorable, and matters went
smoothly enough) Father Campian asked Father
Francis the household chaplain to allow hin, as an
especial favour, to hear Eustace’s usual confession on
the ensuing Friday.
Poor Father Francis dared not refuse so great a
man; and assented with an inward groan, knowing
well that the intent was to worm out some family
secrets, whereby his power would be diminished, and
the Jesuits’ increased. For the regular priesthood
and the Jesuits throughout England were toward
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 115
each other in a state of armed neutrality, which
wanted but little at any moment to become open
war, as it did in James the First’s time, when those
meek missionaries, by their gentle moral tortures,
literally hunted to death the poor Popish bishop of
Hippopotamus (that is to say, London) for the time
being.
However, Campian heard Eustace’s confession ; and
by putting to him such questions as may be easily
conceived by those who know anything about the con-
fessional, discovered satisfactorily enough, that he
was what Campian would have called “in love:â€
though I should question much the propriety of the
term as applied to any facts which poor prurient
Campian discovered, or indeed knew how to discover,
seeing that a swine has no eye for pearls. But he had
found out enough: he smiled, and set to work next
vigorously to discover who the lady might be.
If he had frankly said to Eustace, “I feel for you;
and if your desires are reasonable, or lawful, or pos-
sible, I will help you with all my heart and soul,†he
might have had the young man’s secret heart, and
saved himself an hour’s trouble; but, of course, he
took instinctively the crooked and suspicious method,
expected to find the case the worst possible,—as a
man was bound to do who had been trained to take
the lowest possible view of human nature, and to con-
sider the basest motives as the mainspring of all
human action,—and began his moral torture accord-
ingly by a series of delicate questions, which poor
Eustace dodged in every possible way, though he knew
116 THE TWO WAYS OF
that the good father was too cunning for him, and
that he must give in at last. Nevertheless, like a
rabbit who runs squealing round and round before
the weasel, into whose jaws it knows that it must
jump at last by force of fascination, he parried and
parried, and pretended to be stupid, and surprised,
and honourably scrupulous, and even angry; while
every question as to her being married or single,
Catholic or heretic, English or foreign, brought his
tormentor a step nearer the goal. At last, when Cam-
pian, finding the business not such a very bad one,
had asked something about her worldly wealth, Eustace
saw a door of escape and sprang at it.
“Hiven if she be a heretic, she is heiress to one of
the wealthiest merchants in Devon.â€
“Ah!†said Campian, thoughtfully. “And she is
but eighteen, you say ?â€
“Only eighteen.â€
“Ah! well, my son, there is time. She may be
reconciled to the Church: or you may change.â€
“T shall die first.â€
“Ah, poor lad! Well; she may be reconciled,
and her wealth may be of use to the cause of heaven.â€
“ And it shall be of use. Only absolve me, and let
me be at peace. Let me have but her,†he cried
piteously. “Ido not want her wealth,—not I! Let
me have but her, and that but for one year, one month,
one day!—and all the rest,—money, fame, talents,
yea, my life itself, hers if it be needed,—are at the
service of Holy Church. Ay, I shall glory in showing
my devotion by some special sacrifice,—some desperate
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 117
deed. Prove me now, and see what there is I will
not do!â€
And so Eustace was absolved ; after which Campian
added,—
“This is indeed well, my son; for there is a thing
to be done now, but it may be at the risk of life.â€
“Prove me!†cried Eustace impatiently.
“Here is a letter which was brought me last night ;
no matter from whence ; you can understand it better
than I, and I longed to have shown it you, but that I
feared my son had become u
“You feared wrongly, then, my dear Father Cam-
pian.â€
So Campian translated to him the cipher of the
letter.
“This to Evan Morgans, gentleman, at Mr. Leigh’s
house in Moorwinstow, Devonshire. News may be
had by one who will go to the shore of Clovelly, any
evening after the 25th of November, at dead low-tide,
and there watch for a boat, rowed by one with a red
beard, and a Portugal by his speech. If he be asked,
‘How many? he will answer, ‘Eight hundred and one.’
Take his lettersand readthem. If the shore be watched,
let him who comes show a light three times in a safe
place under the cliff above the town ; below is danger-
ous landing. Farewell, and expect great things !â€
“T will go,†said Eustace ; “to-morrow is the 25th,
and I know a sure and easy place. Your friend seems
to know these shores well.â€
“Ah! what is it we do not know?†said Campian,
with a mysterious smile. “And now?â€
118 THE TWO WAYS OF
“And now, to prove to you how I trust to you, you
shall come with me, and see this—the lady of whom
I spoke, and judge for yourself whether my fault is
not a venial one.â€
“Ah, my son, have I not absolved you already?
What have I to do with fair faces? Nevertheless, I
will come, both to show you that I trust you, and it
may be to help towards reclaiming a heretic, and sav-
ing a lost soul: who knows ?â€
So the two set out together; and, as it was ap-
pointed, they had just got to the top of the hill between
Chapel and Stow mill, when up the lane came none
other than Mistress Rose Salterne herself, in all the
glories of a new scarlet hood, from under which her
large dark languid eyes gleamed soft lightnings through
poor: Eustace’s heart and marrow. Up to them she
tripped on delicate ankles and tiny feet, tall, lithe,
and graceful, a true West-country lass; and as she
passed them with a pretty blush and courtesy, even
Campian looked back at the fair innocent creature,
whose long dark curls, after the then country fashion,
rolled down from beneath the hood below her waist,
entangling the soul of Eustace Leigh within their
glossy nets.
“There !†whispered he, trembling from head to
foot. “Can you excuse me now 2â€
“T had excused you long ago,†said the kind-hearted
father. “ Alas, that so much fair red and white should
have been created only as a feast for worms!â€
“A feast for gods you mean!†cried Eustace, on
whose common sense the naive absurdity of the last
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 119
speech struck keenly; and then, as if to escape the
scolding which he deserved for his heathenry,—
“Will you let me return for a moment? I will
follow you: let me go!â€
Campian saw that it was of no use to say no, and
nodded. Eustace darted from his side, and running
across a field, met Rose full at the next turn of the
road.
She started, and gave a pretty little shriek.
“Mr Leigh! I thought you had gone forward.â€
“T came back to speak to you, Rose —Mistress
Salterne, I mean.â€
“To me?â€
“To you I must speak, tell you all, or die!†And
he pressed up close to her. She shrank back some-
what frightened.
“Do not stir; do not go, I implore you! Rose,
only hear me!†And fiercely and passionately seizing
her by the hand, he poured out the whole story of his
love, heaping her with every fantastic epithet of
admiration which he could devise.
There was little, perhaps, of all his words which
Rose had not heard many a time before; but there
was a quiver in his voice, and a fire in his eye, from
which she shrank by instinct.
“Tet me go!†she said; “you are too rough, sir!â€
“Ay!†he said, seizing now both her hands,
“rougher, perhaps, than the gay gallants of Bideford,
who serenade you, and write sonnets to you, and send
you posies. Rougher, but more loving, Rose! Do
not turn away! JI shall die if you take your eyes off
120 THE TWO WAYS OF
me! Tell me,—tell me, now here—this moment—
before we part—if I may love you!â€
“Go away!†she answered, struggling, and burst-
ing into tears. “This is too rude. If I am but a
merchant’s daughter, I am God’s child. Remember
that Iam alone. Leave me; go! or I will call for
help !â€
Eustace had heard or read somewhere, that such
expressions in a woman’s mouth were mere fagons de
parler, and on the whole signs that she had no objec-
tion to be alone, and did not intend to call for help;
and. he only grasped her hands the more fiercely, and
looked into her face with keen and hungry eyes; but
she was in earnest nevertheless, and a loud shriek
made him aware that, if he wished to save his own
good name, he must go: but there was one question,
for an answer to which he would risk his very life.
“Yes, proud woman! I thought so! Some one of
those gay gallants has been beforehand withme. Tell
me who 4
But she broke from him, and passed him, and fled
down the lane.
“Mark it!†cried he, after her. “You shall rue
the day when you despised Eustace Leigh! Mark it,
proud beauty!†And he turned back to join Campian,
who stood in some trepidation.
“You have not hurt the maiden, my son? I thought
I heard a scream.â€
“Hurt her! No. Would God that she were dead,
nevertheless, and I by her! Say no more to me,
father. We willhome.†Even Campian knew enough
“Tell me, now here—this moment—before we part—if I may love you ! â€â€”
Chap. iv. p. 120.
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 121
of the world to guess what had happened, and they
both hurried home in silence,
And so Eustace Leigh played his move, and lost it.
Poor little Rose, having run nearly to Chapel,
stopped for very shame, and walked quietly by the
cottages which stood opposite the gate, and then
turned up the lane towards Moorwinstow village,
whither she was bound. But on second thoughts, she
felt herself so “red and flustered,†that she was afraid
of going into the village, for fear (as she said to her-
self) of making people talk, and so, turning into a
by-path, struck away toward the cliffs, to cool her
blushes in the sea-breeze. And there finding a quiet
grassy nook beneath the crest of the rocks, she sat
down on the turf, and fell into a great meditation.
Rose Salterne was a thorough specimen of a West-
coast maiden, full of passionate impulsive affections,
and wild dreamy imaginations, a fit subject, as the
North-Devon women are still, for all romantic and
gentle superstitions. Left early without a mother’s
care, she had fed her fancy upon the legends and
ballads of her native land, till she believed—what did
she not believe /—of mermaids and pixies, charms and
witches, dreams and omens, and all that world of
magic in which most of the countrywomen, and country-
men too, believed firmly enough but twenty years ago.
Then her father’s house was seldom without some
merchant, or sea-captain from foreign parts, who, like
Othello, had his tales of—
**Antres vast, and deserts idle,
Of rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads reach heaven.â€
122 THE TWO WAYS OF
And,—
‘* And of the cannibals that each other eat,
The anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders.â€
All which tales, she, like Desdemona, devoured with
greedy ears, whenever she could “the house affairs
with haste despatch.†And when these failed, there
was still boundless store of wonders open to her in
old romances which were then to be found in every
English house of the better class. The Legend of
King Arthur, Florice and Blancheflour, Sir Ysum-
bras, Sir Guy of Warwick, Palamon and Arcite, and
the Romaunt of the Rose, were with her text-books
and canonical authorities. And lucky it was, perhaps,
for her, that Sidney’s Arcadia was still in petto, or
Mr. Frank (who had already seen the first book or two
in manuscript, and extolled it above all books past,
present, or to come) would have surely brought a copy
down for Rose, and thereby have turned her poor
little flighty brains upside down for ever. And with
her head full of these, it was no wonder if she had
likened herself of late more than once to some of
those peerless princesses of old, for whose fair hand
paladins and kaisers thundered against each other in
tilted field; and perhaps she would not have been
sorry (provided, of course, no one was killed) if duels
and passages of arms in honour of her, as her father
reasonably dreaded, had actually taken place.
For Rose was not only well aware that she was
wooed, but found the said wooing (and little shame to
her) a very pleasant process. Not that shoe had any
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 123
wish to break hearts: she did not break her heart for
any of her admirers, and why should they break theirs
for her? They were all very charming, each in his
way (the gentlemen, at least; for she had long since
learnt to turn up her nose at merchants and burghers) ;
but one of them was not so very much better than the
other.
Of course, Mr. Frank Leigh was the most charm-
ing; but then, as a courtier and squire of dames, he
had never given her a sign of real love, nothing but
sonnets and compliments, and there was no trusting
such things from a gallant, who was said (though, by
the by, most scandalously) to have a lady love at
Milan, and another at Vienna, and half-a-dozen in the
Court, and half-a-dozen more in the city.
And very charming was Mr. William Cary, with
his quips and his jests, and his galliards and lavoltas ;
over and above his rich inheritance ; but then, charm-
ing also Mr. Coffin of Portledge, though he were a
little proud and stately ; but which of the two should
she choose? It would be very pleasant to be mistress
of Clovelly Court; but just as pleasant to find herself
lady of Portledge, where the Coffins had lived ever
since Noah’s flood (if, indeed, they had not merely re-
turned thither after that temporary displacement), and
to bring her wealth into’a family which was as proud
of its antiquity as any nobleman in Devon, and might
have made a fourth to that famous trio of Devonshire
Cs, of which it is written, —
‘* Crocker, Cruwys, and Copplestone,
When the Conqueror came were all at home.â€
124 THE TWO WAYS OF
And Mr. Hugh Fortescue, too—people said that
he was certain to become a great soldier—perhaps as
great as his brother Arthur—and that would be
pleasant enough, too, though he was but the younger
son of an innumerable family : but then, so was Amyas
Leigh. Ah, poor Amyas! Her girl’s fancy for him
had vanished, or rather, perhaps, it was very much
what it always had been, only that four or five more
girl’s fancies beside it had entered in, and kept it in
due subjection. But still, she could not help thinking
a good deal about him, and his voyage, and the reports
of his great strength, and beauty, and valour, which
had already reached her in that out-of-the-way corner ;
and though she was not in the least in love with him,
she could not help hoping that he had at least (to put
her pretty little thought in the mildest shape) not
altogether forgotten her; and was hungering, too,
with all her fancy, to give him no peace till he had
told her all the wonderful things which he had seen
and done in this ever-memorable voyage. So that
altogether, it was no wonder, if in her last night’s
dream the figure of Amyas had been even more
forward and troublesome than that of Frank or the
rest.
But, moreover, another figure had been forward
and troublesome enough in last night’s sleep-world ;
and forward and troublesome enough, too, now in to-
day’s waking-world, namely, Eustace, the rejected.
How strange that she should have dreamt of him the
night before! and dreamt, too, of his fighting with
Mr. Frank and Mr. Amyas! It must be a warning—
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 125
see, she had met him the very next day in this strange
way ; so the first half of her dream had come true ;
and after what had past, she only had to breathe a
whisper, and the second part of the dream would
come true also. If she wished for a passage of arms
in her own honour, she could easily enough compass
one: not that she would do it for worlds! And after
all, though Mr. Eustace had been very rude and
naughty, yet still it was not his own fault; he could
not help being in love with her. And—and, in short,
the poor little maid felt herself one of the most im-
portant personages on earth, with all the cares (or
hearts) of the country in her keeping, and as much
perplexed with matters of weight as ever was any
Cleophila, or Dianeme, Fiordispina or Flourdeluce, in
verse run tame, or prose run mad.
Poor little Rose! Had she but had a mother!
But she was to learn her lesson, such as it was, in
another school. She was too shy (too proud perhaps)
to tell her aunt her mighty troubles ; but a counsellor
she must have ; and after sitting with her head in her
hands, for half-an-hour or more, she arose suddenly,
and started off along the cliffs towards Marsland. She
would go and see Lucy Passmore, the white witch ;
Lucy knew everything ; Lucy would tell her what to
do; perhaps even whom to marry.
Lucy was a fat, jolly woman of fifty, with little
pig-eyes, which twinkled like sparks of fire, and eye-
brows which sloped upwards and outwards, like those
of a satyr, as if she had been (as indeed she had) all
her life looking out of the corners of her eyes. Her
126 : THE TWO WAYS OF
qualifications as white witch were boundless cunning,
equally boundless good nature, considerable knowledge
of human weaknesses, some mesmeric power, some
skill in “yarbs,†as she called her simples, a firm faith
in the virtue of her own incantations, and the faculty
of holding her tongue. By dint of these she contrived
to gain a fair share of money, and also (which she
liked even better) of power, among the simple folk
for many miles round. If a child was scalded, a tooth
ached, a piece of silver was stolen, a heifer shrew-
struck, a pig bewitched, a young damsel crost in love,
Lucy was called in, and Lucy found a remedy, especi-
ally for the latter complaint. Now and then she
found herself on ticklish ground, for the kind-hearted-
ness which compelled her to help all distressed damsels
out of a scrape, sometimes compelled her also to help
them into one ; whereon, enraged fathers called Lucy
ugly names, and threatened to send her into Exeter
gaol for a witch, and she smiled quietly, and hinted
that if she were “like some that were ready to return
evil for evil, such talk as that would bring no blessing
on them that spoke it ;†which being translated into
plain English, meant, “If you trouble me, I will over-
look (i.¢. fascinate) you, and then your pigs will die, your
horses stray, your cream turn sour, your barns be fired,
your son have St. Vitus’s dance, your daughter fits,
and so on, woe on woe, till you are very probably
starved to death in a ditch, by virtue of this terrible
little eye of mine, at which, in spite of all your swear-
ing and bullying, you know you are now shaking in
your shoes for fear. So you had much better hold
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 127
your tongue, give me a drink of cider, and leave ill
alone, lest you make it worse.â€
Not that Lucy ever proceeded to any such fearful
extremities. On the contrary, her boast, and her
belief too, was, that she was sent into the world to
make poor souls as happy as she could, by lawful
means, of course, if possible, but if not—why unlaw-
ful ones were better than none; for she ‘“couldn’t
abear to see the poor creatures taking on; she was
too, too tender-hearted.†And so she was, to every
one but her husband, a tall, simple-hearted rabbit-
faced man, a good deal older than herself. Fully
agreeing with Sir Richard Grenvile’s great axiom,
that he who cannot obey cannot rule, Lucy had been
for the last five-and-twenty years training him pretty
smartly to obey her, with the intention, it is to be
charitably hoped, of letting him rule her in turn when
his lesson was perfected. He bore his honours, how-
ever, meekly enough, having a boundless respect for
his wife’s wisdom, and a firm belief in her supernatural
powers, and let her go her own way and earn her
own money, while he got a little more in a truly pas-
toral method (not extinct yet along those lonely cliffs),
by feeding a herd of some dozen donkeys and twenty
goats. The donkeys fetched, at each low-tide, white
shell-sand which was to be sold for manure to the
neighbouring farmers; the goats furnished milk and
“kiddy-pies ;†and when there was neither milking
nor sand-carrying to be done, old Will Passmore just
sat under a sunny rock and watched the buck-goats
rattle their horns together, thinking about nothing at
128 . THE TWO WAYS OF
all, and taking very good care all the while neither to
inquire nor to see who came in and out of his little
cottage in the glen.
The Prophetess, when Rose approached her oracular
cave, was seated on a tripod in front of the fire, dis-
tilling strong waters out of penny royal. But no
sooner did her distinguished visitor appear at the
hatch, than the still was left to take care of itself,
and aclean apron and mutch having been slipt on,
Lucy welcomed Rose with endless courtesies, and—
“Bless my dear soul alive, who ever would have
thought to see the Rose of Torridge to my poor little
place !â€
Rose sat down: and then? How to begin was
more than she knew, and she stayed silent a full five
minutes, looking earnestly at the point of her shoe,
till Lucy, who was an adept in such cases, thought it
best to proceed to business at once, and save Rose
the delicate operation of opening the ball herself;
and so, in her own way, half fawning, half familiar—
“Well, my dear young lady, and what is it I can
do for ye? For I guess you want a bit of old Lucy’s
help, eh? Though I’m most mazed to see ye here,
surely. Ishould have supposed that pretty face could
manage they sort of matters for itself. Eh ?â€
Rose, thus bluntly charged, confessed at once,
and with many blushes and hesitations, made her
soon understand that what she wanted was “To have
her fortune told.â€
“Eh? Oh! Isee. The pretty face has managed
it a bit too well already, eh? Tu many o’mun, pure
“Well, my dear young lady, and what is it I can do for ye ?â€â€™-
Chap. iv. p. 128.
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 129
fellows? Well, tain’t every mayden has her pick and
choose, like some I know of, as be blest in love by
stars above. So you h’aint made up your mind, then?â€
Rose shook her head.
“ Ah—well,†she went on, in a half bantering tone.
“Not so asy, is it, then? One’s gude for one thing,
and one for another, eh? One has the blood, and
another the money.â€
_And so the “cunning woman†(as she truly was),
talking half to herself, ran over all the names which
she thought likely, peering at Rose all the while out
of the’ corners of her foxy bright eyes, while Rose
stirred the peat ashes steadfastly with the point of
her little shoe, half angry, half ashamed, half
frightened, to find that “the cunning woman†had
guessed so well both her suitors and her thoughts about
them, and tried to look unconcerned at each name as
it came out.
“Well, well,†said Lucy, who took nothing by her
move, simply because there was nothing to take ;
“think over it—think over it, my dear life; and if
you did set your mind on any one—why, then—
then maybe I might help you to a sight of him.â€
“A sight of him ?â€
“His sperrit, dear life, his sperrit only, I mane.
I ’udn’t have no keeping company in my house, no,
not for gowld untowld, I ’udn’t; but the sperrit of
mun—to see whether mun would be true or not, you'd
like to know that, now, ’udn’t you, my darling?â€
Rose sighed, and stirred the ashes about vehe-
mently.
VoL, I. K w. H,
130 THE TWO WAYS OF
“T must first know who it is to be. If you could
show me that—now—â€
“Oh, I can show ye that, tu, I can. Ben there’s a
way to ’t, a sure way; but ’tis mortal cold for the
time o’ year, you zee.â€
“But what is it, then?†said Rose, who had in her
heart been longing for something of that very kind,
and had half made up her mind to ask for a charm.
“Why, you'm not afraid to goo into the say by
night for a minute, are you? And to-morrow night
would serve, too; ’twill be just low tide to midnight.â€
“Tf you would come with me, perhaps te
“Tl come, Tl come, and stand within call, to be
sure. Only do ye mind this, dear soul alive, not to goo
telling a crumb about mun, noo, not for the world, or
ywll see nought at all, indeed, now. And beside,
there’s a noxious business grow’d up against me up
to Chapel there; and I hear tell how Mr. Leigh saith
J shall to Exeter gaol for a witch—did ye ever hear
the likes (because his groom Jan saith I overlooked
mun—the Papist dog! And now never he nor th’
ould Father Francis goo by me without a spetting, and
saying of their Aves and Malificas—I do know what
their Rooman Latin do mane, zo well as ever they, I
du!—and a making o’ their charms and incantations
to their saints and idols! They be mortal feared of
witches, they Papists, and mortal hard on ’em, even
on a pure body like me, that doth a bit in the white
way; ‘case why you see, dear life,†said she, with one
of her humorous twinkles, “tu to a trade do never
agree. Do ye try my bit of a charm, now; do ye!â€
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 131
- Rose could not resist the temptation ; and between
them both the charm was agreed on, and the next
night was fixed for its trial, on the payment of certain
current coins of the realm (for Lucy, of course, must
live by her trade); and slipping a tester into the
dame’s hand as earnest, Rose went away home, and
got there in safety.
But in the meanwhile, at the very hour that Eustace
had been prosecuting his suit in the lane at Moorwin-
stow, a very different scene was being enacted in Mrs.
Leigh’s room at Burrough.
For the night before, Amyas, as he was going to
bed, heard his brother Frank in the next room tune
his lute, and then begin to sing. And both their
windows being open, and only a thin partition between
the chambers, Amyas’s admiring ears came in for every
word of the following canzonet, sung in that delicate
and mellow tenor voice for which Frank was famed.
among all fair ladies :—
“ Ah tyrant love, Megzra’s serpents bearing,
Why thus requite my sighs with venom’d smart ?
Ah, ruthless dove, the vulture’s talons wearing,
Why flesh them, traitress, in this faithful heart ?
Is this my meed? Must dragons’ teeth alone
In Venus’ lawns by lovers’ hands be sown ?
“ Nay, gentlest Cupid ; ’twas my pride undid me ;
Nay, guiltless dove ; by mine own wound I fell.
To worship, not to wed, Celestials bid me:
I dreamt to mate in heaven, and wake in hell ;
For ever doom’d, Ixion-like, to reel
On mine own passions’ ever-burning wheel.â€
At which the simple sailor sighed, and longed that
I K2
132 THE TWO WAYS OF
he could write such neat verses, and sing them so
sweetly. How he would besiege the ear of Rose
Salterne with amorous ditties! But still, he could
not be everything ; and if he had the bone and muscle
of the family, it was but fair that Frank should have
the brains and voice; and, after all, he was bone of
his bone and flesh of his-flesh, and it was just the same
as if he himself could do all the fine things which Frank
could do; for as long as one of the family won honour,
what matter which of them it was? Whereon he
shouted through the wall, “Good night, old song-
thrush ; I suppose I need not pay the musicians.â€
“What, awake?†answered Frank. ‘Come in’
here, and lull me to sleep with a sea-song.â€
So Amyas went in, and found Frank laid on the
outside of his bed not yet undrest.
“Tam a bad sleeper,†said he; “I spend more
time, I fear, in burning the midnight oil than prudent
men should. Come and be my jongleur, my minne-
singer, and tell me about Andes, and cannibals, and
the ice-regions, and the fire-regions, and the paradises
of the West.â€
So Amyas sat down, and told: but somehow, every
story which he tried to tell came round, by crooked
paths, yet sure, to none other point than Rose Salterne,
and how he thought of her here, and thought of her
there, and how he wondered what she would say if she
had seen him in this adventure, and how he longed to
have had her with him to show her that glorious sight,
till Frank let him have his own way, and then out
came the whole story of the simple fellow’s daily and
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 133
hourly devotion to her, through those three long years
of world-wide wanderings.
“ And oh, Frank, I could hardly think of anything
but her in the church the other day, God forgive
me! and it did seem so hard for her to be the only
face which I did not see—and have not seen her yet,
either.â€
“So I thought, dear lad,†said Frank, with one of’
his sweetest smiles; “and tried to get her father to
let her impersonate the nymph of Torridge.â€
“Did you, you dear kind fellow? That would
have been too delicious.â€
“Just so, too delicious; wherefore, I suppose, it
was ordained not to be, that which was being delicious
enough.â€
“And is she as pretty as ever 2â€
“Ten times as pretty, dear lad, as half the young
fellows round have discovered. If you mean to win
her and wear her (and God grant you may fare no
worse !) you will have rivals enough to get rid of.â€
“Humph !†said Amyas, “I hope I shall not have
to make short work with some of them.â€
“T hope not,†said Frank, laughing. “Now go
to bed, and to-morrow morning give your sword to
mother to keep, lest you should be tempted to draw
it on any of her Majesty’s lieges.â€
“No fear of that, Frank; I am no swash-buckler,
thank God; but if any one gets in my way, I'll serve
him as the mastiff did the terrier, and just drop him
over the quay into the river, to cool himself, or my
name’s not Amyas.â€
1, K8
134 THE TWO WAYS OF
And the giant swung himself laughing out of the
room, and slept all night like a seal, not without
dreams, of course, of Rose Salterne.
The next morning, according to his wont, he went
into his mother’s room, whom he was sure to find up,
and at her prayers; for he liked to say his prayers,
too, by her side, as he used to do when he was a little
‘boy. It seemed so homelike, he said, after three
years’ knocking up and down in no-man’s land. But
coming gently to the door, for fear of disturbing her,
and entering unperceived, beheld a sight which stopped
him short.
Mrs. Leigh was sitting in her chair, with her face
bowed fondly down upon the head of his brother
Frank, who knelt before her, his face buried in her
lap. Amyas could see that his whole form was quiver-
ing with stifled emotion. Their mother was just
finishing the last words of a well-known text—
—‘“for my sake, and the Gospel’s, shall receive a
hundredfold in this present life, fathers, and mothers,
and brothers, and sisters.â€
“But not a wife!†interrupted Frank, with a voice
stifled with sobs; “that was too precious a gift for
even Him to promise to those who gave up a first love
for His sake !â€
“And yet,†said he, after a moment’s silence, “has
He not heaped me with blessings enough already, that
I must repine and rage at His refusing me one more,
even though that one be—No, mother! I am your
son, and God’s; and you shall know it, even though
Amyas never does!†And he looked up with his
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 135
clear blue eyes and white forehead ; and his face was
as the face of an angel.
Both of them saw that Amyas was present, and
started and blushed. His mother motioned him
away with her eyes, and he went quietly out, as one
stunned. Why had his name been mentioned ?
Love, cunning love, told him all at once. This
was the meaning of last night’s canzonet! This was
why its words had seemed to fit his own heart so
well! His brother was his rival. And he had been
telling him all his love last night. What a stupid
brute he was! How it must have made poor Frank
wince! And then Frank had listened so kindly; .
even bid him God speed in his suit. What a gentle-
man old Frank was, to be sure! No wonder the
Queen was so fond of him, and all the court ladies!
——Why, if it came to that, what wonder if Rose
Salterne should be fond of him too? MHey-day!
“That would be a pretty fish to find in my net when
I come to haul it!†quoth Amyas to himself, as he
paced the garden; and clutching desperately hold of
his locks with both hands, as if to hold his poor con-
fused head on its shoulders, he strode and tramped up
and down the shell-paved garden walks for a full half
hour, till Frank’s voice (as cheerful as ever, though
he more than suspected all) called him.
“Come in to breakfast, lad; and stop grinding
and creaking upon those miserable limpets, before
thou hast set every tooth in my head on edge !â€
Amyas, whether by dint of holding his head
straight, or by higher means, had got the thoughts of
136 : THE TWO WAYS OF
the said head straight enough by this time; and in
he came, and fell to upon the broiled fish and strong
ale, with a sort of fury, as determined to do his duty
to the utmost in all matters that day; and therefore,
of course, in that most important matter of bodily
sustenance ; while his mother and Frank looked at
him, not without anxiety and even terror, doubting
what turn his fancy might have taken in so new a
case ; at last—
“My dear Amyas, you will really heat your blood
with all that strong ale! Remember, those who
drink beer, think beer.â€
“Then they think right good thoughts, mother.
And in the meanwhile, those who drink water, think
water. Eh, old Frank? and here’s your health.â€
“And clouds are water,†said his mother, some-
what reassured by his genuine good humour; “and
so are rainbows; and clouds are angels’ thrones, and
rainbows the sign of God’s peace on earth.â€
Amyas understood the hint, and laughed. “Then
Tl pledge Frank out of the next ditch, if it please
you and him. But first—I say—he must hearken to
a parable; a manner mystery, miracle play, I have
got in my head, like what they have at Easter, to the
town-hall.. Now then, hearken, madam, and I and
Frank will act.†And up rose Amyas, and shoved
back his chair, and put on a solemn face.
Mrs. Leigh looked up, trembling; and Frank, he
scarce knew why, rose.
“No; you pitch again. You are King David, and
sit still upon your throne. David was a great singer,
BEING CROST IN LOVE. 137
you know, and a player on the viols; and ruddy, too,
and of a fair countenance; so that will fit. Now,
then, mother, don’t look so frightened. I am not
going to play Goliath, for all my cubits; I am to pre-
sent Nathan the prophet. Now, David, hearken, for I
have a message unto thee, O King!
“There were two men in one. city, one rich, and:
the other poor: and the rich man had many flocks
and herds, and all the fine ladies in Whitehall to court ;
if he liked ; and the poor man had nothing but——â€
And in spite of his broad honest smile, Amyas’s
deep voice began to tremble and choke.
Frank sprang up, and burst into tears :—“Oh!
Amyas, my brother, my brother! stop! I cannot
endure this. Oh, God! was it not enough to have
entangled myself in this fatal fancy, but over and
above, I must meet the shame of my brother’s dis-
covering it ?â€
“What shame, then, I’d like to know?†said Amyas,
recovering himself. ‘Look here, brother Frank! I’ve
thought it all over in the garden; and J was an ass
and a braggart for talking to you as I did last night.
Of course you love her! Everybody must; and I was
a fool for not recollecting that; and if you love her,
your taste and mine agree, and what can be better?
I think you are a sensible fellow for loving her, and
you think me one. And as for who has her, why,
you're the eldest; and first come first served is the
rule, and best to keep to it. Besides, brother Frank,
though I’m no scholar, yet I’m not so blind but that
I tell the difference between you and me; and of
138 THE TWO WAYS OF
course your chance against mine, for a hundred to
one; and I am not going to be fool enough to row
against wind and tide too. I’m good enough for her,
I hope; but if I am, you are better, and the good dog
may run, but it’s the best that takes the hare; and so
I have nothing more to do with the matter at all; and
if you marry her, why, it will set the old house on its
legs again, and that’s the first thing to be thought of,
"and you may just as well do it as I, and better too.
Not but that it’s a plague, a horrible plague!†went
on Amyas, with a ludicrously doleful visage ; “but so
are other things too, by the dozen ; it’s all in the day’s
work, as the huntsman said when the lion ate him.
One would never get through the furze-croft if one
stopped to pull out the prickles. The pig didn’t
scramble out of the ditch by squeaking; and the less
said the sooner mended; nobody was sent into the
world only to suck honey-pots. What must be must,
man is but dust ; if you can’t get crumb, you must fain
eat crust. So I'll go and join the army in Ireland,
and get it out of my head, for cannon balls fright
away love as well as poverty does; and that’s all I’ve
got to say.†Wherewith Amyas sat down, and re-
turned to the beer; while Mrs. Leigh wept tears of
joy.
“Amyas! Amyas!†said Frank; “you must not
throw away the hopes of years, and for me, too! Oh,
how just was your parable! Ah! mother mine! to
what use is all my scholarship and my philosophy,
when this dear simple sailor-lad outdoes me at the
first trial of courtesy !â€
BEING CROST IN LOVE, 139
“My children, my children, which of you shall I
love best? Which of you is the more noble? I
thanked God this morning for having given me one
such son ; but to have found that I possess two!†And
Mrs. Leigh laid her head on the table, and buried her
face in her hands, while the generous battle went on.
“But, dearest Amyas ! 4
“But, Frank! if you don’t hold your tongue, I
must go forth. It was quite trouble enough to make
up one’s mind, without having you afterwards trying
to unmake it again.â€
“Amyas! if you give her up to me, God do so to
me, and more also, if I do not hereby give her up to
1??
you
“He had done it already—this morning!†said
Mrs. Leigh, looking up through her tears. “He re-
nounced her for ever on his knees before me! only he
is too noble to tell you so.â€
“The more reason I should copy him,†said Amyas,
setting his lips, and trying to look desperately deter-
mined, and then suddenly jumping up, he leaped upon
Frank, and throwing his arms round his neck, sobbed
out, “There, there, now! For God’s sake, let us for-
get all, and think about our mother, and the old house,
and how we may win her honour before we die! and
that will be enough to keep our hands full, without
fretting about this woman and that.—What an ass I
have beenfor years! instead of learning my calling,
dreaming about her, and don’t know at this minute,
whether she cares more for me than she does for her
father’s ’prentices !â€
140 THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE.
“Oh, Amyas! every word of yours puts me to fresh
shame! Will you-believe that I know as little of her
likings as you do ?â€
“Don’t tell me that, and play the devil’s game by
putting fresh hopes into me, when I am trying to kick
them out. I-won’t believe it. If she is not a fool,
she must love you; and if she don’t, why, behanged
if she is worth loving !â€
“My dearest Amyas! I must ask you too to make
no more such speeches to me. All those thoughts I
have forsworn.â€
“Only this morning; so there is time to catch
them again before they are gone too far.â€
“Only this morning,†said Frank, with a quiet
smile: “but centuries have passed since then.â€
“Centuries? I don’t see many erey hairs yet.â€
“JT should not have been surprised if you had,
though,†answered Frank, in so sad and meaning a
tone that Amyas could only answer,
“Well, you are an angel !â€
“You, at least, are something even more to the
- purpose, for you are a man!â€
And both spoke truth, and so the battle ended ;
and Frank went to his books, while Amyas, who
must needs be doing, if he was not to dream, started
off to the dock-yard to potter about a new ship of
Sir Richard’s, and forget his woes, in the capacity of
Sir Oracle among the sailors. And so he had played
his move for Rose, even as Eustace had, and lost her:
but not as Eustace had.
CLOVELLY COURT IN THE OLDEN TIME,
“* Tt was among the ways of good Queen Bess,
Who ruled as well as ever mortal can, sir,
When she was stogg’d, and the country in a mess,
She was wont to send for a Devon man, sir.â€
West Country Song.
THE next morning Amyas Leigh was not to be found.
Not that he had gone out to drown himself in despair,
or even to bemoan himself “down by the Torridge
side.†He had simply ridden off, Frank found, to
Sir Richard Grenvile at Stow: his mother at once
divined the truth, that he was gone to try for a post
in the Irish army, and sent off Frank after him to
bring him home again, and make him at least recon-
sider himself.
So Frank took horse and rode thereon ten miles
or more: and then, as there were no inns on the road
in those days, or indeed in these, and he had some ten
miles more of hilly road before him, he turned down
the hill towards Clovelly Court, to obtain, after the
hospitable. humane fashion of those days, good enter-
tainment for man and horse from Mr. Cary the squire.
And when he walked self invited, like the loud-
shouting Menelaus, in the long dark wainscotted hall
of the Court, the first object he beheld was the mighty
142 CLOVELLY COURT
form of Amyas, who, seated at the long table, was
alternately burying his face in a pasty, and the pasty
in his face, his sorrows having, as it seemed, only
sharpened his appetite, while young Will Cary,
kneeling on the opposite bench, with his elbows on
the table, was in that graceful attitude laying down
the law fiercely to him in a low voice.
“Fillo! lad,†cried Amyas; “come hither and
deliver me out of the hands of this fire-eater, who I
verily believe will kill me, if I do not let him kill
some one else.â€
““Ah! Mr. Frank,†said Will Cary, who, like all
other young gentlemen of these parts, held Frank in
high honour, and considered him a very oracle and
cynosure of fashion and chivalry, “welcome here:
I was just longing for you, too; I wanted your advice
on half-a-dozen matters. Sit down, and eat. There
is the ale.â€
“None so early, thank you.â€
“Ah no!†said Amyas, burying his head in the
tankard, and then mimicking Frank, “avoid strong
ale o’ mornings. It heats the blood, thickens the
animal spirits, and obfuscates the cerebrum with
frenetical and lymphatic idols, which cloud the quint-
essential light of the pure reason. Eh? young Plato,
young Daniel, come hither to judgment! And yet,
though I cannot see through the bottom of the tankard
already, I can see plain enough still to see this, that
Will shall not fight.â€
“Shall I not, eh? who says that? Mr. Frank, I
appeal to you, now; only hear.â€
IN. THE OLDEN TIME, 143
“We are in the judgment-seat,†said Frank,
settling to the pasty. . “ Proceed, appellant.â€
“Well, I was telling Amyas, that Tom Coffin, of
Portledge ; I will stand him no longer.â€
“Let him be, then,†said Amyas; “he could stand
very well by himself, when I saw him last,â€
“Plague on you, hold your tongue. Has he any
right to look at me as he does, whenever I pass him?â€
“That depends on how he looks; a cat may look
at a king, provided she don’t take him for a mouse.â€
“Oh, I know how he looks, and what he means
too, and he shall stop, or I will stop him. And the
other day, when I spoke of Rose Salterne.â€â€”* Ah !â€
groaned Frank, “ Até’s apple again !â€â€”* (never mind
what I said) he burst out laughing in my face; and
is not that a fair quarrel? And what is more, I know
that he wrote a sonnet, and sent it her to Stow by
amarket woman. What right has he to write sonnets
when I can’t? It’s not fair play, Mr. Frank, or I am
a Jew, and a Spaniard, and a papist; it’s not!†And
Will smote the table till the plates danced again.
“My dear knight of the burning pestle, I have a
plan, a device, a disentanglement, according to most
approved rules of chivalry. Let us fix a day, and
summon by tuck of drum all young gentlemen under
the age of thirty, dwelling within fifteen miles of the
habitation of that peerless Oriana.â€
“And all ’prentice-boys too,†cried Amyas out of
the pasty.
“And all ’prentice-boys. The bold lads shall fight
first, with good quarterstaves, in Bideford Market,
144 . CLOVELLY COURT
till all heads are broken ; and the head which is not
broken, let the back belonging to it pay the penalty of
the noble member’s cowardice. After which grand
tournament, to which that of Tottenham shall be but
a flea-bite and a batrachomyomachy—â€
“Confound you, and your long words, sir,†said
poor Will, “I know you are flouting me.â€
“ Pazienza, Signor Cavaliere ; that which is to come
is no flouting, but bloody and warlike earnest. For
afterwards all the young gentlemen shall adjourn into
a convenient field, sand, or bog—which last will be
better, as no man will be able to run away, if he be
up to his knees in soft peat: and there stripping to
our shirts, with rapiers of equal length and keenest
temper, each shall slay his man, catch who catch can,
and the conquerors fight again, like a most valiant
main of gamecocks as we are, till all be dead, and out
of their woes; after which the survivor, bewailing
before heaven and earth the cruelty of our Fair Oriana,
and the slaughter which her basiliscine eyes have
caused, shall fall gracefully upon his sword, and so end
the woes of this our lovelorn generation. Placetne
Domini? as they used to ask in the Senate at Oxford.â€
“Really,†said Cary, “this is too bad.â€
“So is, pardon me, your fighting Mr. Coffin with
anything longer than a bodkin.â€
“Bodkins are too short for such fierce Bobadils,â€
said Amyas; “they would close in so near, that we
should have them falling to fisticuffs after the first
bout.â€
“Then let them fight with squirts across the
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 145
market-place ; for by heaven and the Queen’s laws,
they shall fight with nothing else.â€
“My dear Mr. Cary,†went on Frank, suddenly
changing his bantering tone to one of the most winning
sweetness ; “do not fancy that I cannot feel for you;
or that I, as well as you, have not known the stings
of love, and the bitterer stings of jealousy. But oh,
Mr. Cary, does it not seem to you an awful thing to
waste selfishly upon your own quarrel that divine
wrath which, as Plato says, is the very root of all
' virtues, and which has been given you, like all else
which you have, that you may spend it in the service
of her whom all bad souls fear, and all virtuous souls
adore,—our peerless Queen? Who dares, while she
rules England, call his sword or his courage his own,
or any one’s but hers? Are there no Spaniards to
conquer, no wild Irish to deliver from their oppressors,
that two gentlemen of Devon can find no better place
to flesh their blades than in each other’s valiant and
honourable hearts ?â€
“By heaven !†cried Amyas, “Frank speaks like a
book; and for me, I do think that Christian gentle-
men may leave love quarrels to bulls and rams.â€
“ And that the heir of Clovelly,†said Frank, smiling,
“may find more noble examples to copy than the
stags In his own deer-park.â€
“Well,†said Will penitently, “you are a great
scholar, Mr. Frank, and you speak like one; but
gentlemen must fight sometimes, or where would be
their honour.
“T speak,†said Frank a little proudly, “not merely
VOL. I. L W. H,
146 CLOVELLY COURT
as a scholar, but as a gentleman, and one who has
fought ere now, and to whom it has happened, Mr.
-Cary, to kill his man (on whose soul may God have
mercy); but it is my pride to remember that I have
never yet fought in my own quarrel, and my trust in
God that I never shall. For as there is nothing more
noble and blessed than to fight in behalf of those whom
we love, so to fight in our own private behalf is a
thing not to be allowed to a Christian man, unless
refusal imports utter loss of life or honour; and even
then, it may be (though I would not lay a burden on
any man’s conscience), it is better not to resist evil,
but to overcome it with good.â€
“ And I can tell you, Will,†said Amyas, “I am not
troubled with fear of ghosts; but when I cut off the
Frenchman’s head, I said to myself, ‘If that braggart
had been slandering me instead of her gracious Majesty,
I should expect to see that head lying on my pillow
every time I went to bed at night.â€
“God forbid!†said Will with a shudder. “But
what shall I do? for to the market to-morrow I will
go, if it were choke-full of Coffins, and a ghost in each
coffin of the lot.â€
“Leave the matter to me,†said Amyas. “I have
my device, as well as scholar Frank here ; and if there
be, as I suppose there must be, a quarrel in the market
to-morrow, see if I do not-———â€
“Well, you are two good fellows,†said Will.
“Tet us have another tankard in.â€
“And drink the health of Mr. Coffin, and all gal-
lant lads of the north,†said Frank ; “and now to my
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 147
business, I have to take this runaway youth here
home to his mother ; and if he will not go quietly, I
have orders to carry him across my saddle.â€
“T hope your nag has a strong back, then,†said
Amyas ; “but I must go on and see Sir Richard, Frank.
It is all very well to jest as we have been doing, but
my mind is made up.â€
“Stop,†said Cary. “ You must stay here to-night ;
first, for good fellowship’s sake; and next, because I
want the advice of our Phoenix here, our oracle, our
paragon. There, Mr. Frank, can you construe that
forme? Speak low, though, gentlemen both; there
comes my father; you had better give me the letter
again. Well, father, whence this morning ?â€
“Eh, company here? Young men, you are always
welcome, and such as you. Would there were more
of your sort in these dirty times. How is your good
mother, Frank, eh? Where have I been, Will?
Round the house-farm, to look at the beeves. That
sheeted heifer of Prowse’s is all wrong ; her coat stares
like a hedgepig’s. Tell Jewell to go up and bring her
in before night. And then up the forty acres ; sprang
two coveys, and picked a leash out of them. The
Irish hawk flies as wild as any haggard still, and will
never make a bird. I had to hand her to Tom, and
take the little peregrine. Give me a Clovelly hawk
against the world, after all ; and—heigh ho, I am very
hungry! Half-past twelve, and dinner not served?
What, Master Amyas, spoiling your appetite with
strong ale? Better have tried sack, lad; have some
now with me.â€
148 CLOVELLY COURT
And the worthy old gentleman, having finished his
oration, settled himself on a great bench inside the
chimney, and put his hawk on a perch over his head,
while his cockers coiled themselves up close to the
warm peat-ashes, and his son set to work to pull off
his father’s boots, amid sundry warnings to take care
of his corns.
“Come, Master Amyas, a pint of white wine and
sugar, and a bit of a shoeing-horn to it ere we dine.
Some pickled prawns, now, or a rasher off the coals,
to whet you?â€
“Thank you,†quoth Amyas; “but I have drunk
a mort of outlandish liquors, better and worse, in the
last three years, and yet never found aught to come
up to good ale, which needs neither shoeing-horn
before nor after, but takes care of itself, and of all
honest stomachs too, I think.â€
“You speak like a book, boy,†said old Cary;
“and after all, what a plague comes of these new-
fangled hot wines, and aqua vitees, which have come
in since the wars, but maddening of the brains, and
fever of the blood ?â€
“T fear we have not seen the end of that yet,†said
Frank. “My friends write me from the Netherlands
that our men are falling into a swinish trick of swill-
ing like the Hollanders. Heaven grant that they
may not bring home the fashion with them.â€
«A man must drink, they say, or die of the ague,
in those vile swamps,†said Amyas. “When they
get home here, they will not need it.â€
“Heaven grant it,†said Frank; “I should be
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 149
sorry to see Devonshire a drunken county ; and there
are many of our men out there with Mr. Champer-
noun.â€
“Ah,†said Cary, “there, as in Ireland, we are
proving her Majesty’s saying true, that Devonshire is
her right hand, and the young children thereof like
the arrows in the hand of the giant.â€
“They may well be,†said his son, “when some of
them are giants themselves, like my tall schoolfellow
opposite.â€
“He will be up and doing again presently, Tl
warrant him,†said old Cary.
“And that I shall,†quoth Amyas, “TI have been
devising brave deeds; and see in the distance en-
chanters to be bound, dragons choked, empires con-
quered, though not in Holland.â€
“You do?†asked Will, a little sharply; for he
had had a half suspicion that more was meant than â€
met the ear.
“Yes,†said Amyas, turning off his jest again, “I
go to what Raleigh calls the Land of the Nymphs.
Another month, I hope, will see me abroad, in Ireland.â€
“Abroad? Call it rather at home,†said old Cary ;
“for it is full of Devon men from end to end, and you
will be among friends all day long. George Bourchier
from Tawstock has the army now in Munster, and
Warham St. Leger is Marshal; George Carew is with
Lord Grey of Wilton (Poor Peter Carew was killed at
Glendalough) ; and after the defeat last year, when
that villain Desmond cut off Herbert and Price, the
companies were made up with six hundred Devon
150 CLOVELLY COURT
men, and Arthur Fortescue at their head ; so that the
old county holds her head as proudly in the Land of
Tre as she does in the Low Countries and the Spanish
main.â€
“And where,†asked Amyas, “is Davils of Mars-
land, who used to teach me how to catch trout, when
I was staying down at Stow? He is in Ireland, too,
is he not?â€
“ Ah, my lad,†said Mr. Cary, “that is a sad story.
I thought all England had known it.â€
“You forget, sir, I am a stranger. Surely he is
not dead ?â€
“Murdered foully, lad! Murdered like a dog, and
by the man whom he had treated as his son, and who
pretended, the false knave! to call him father.â€
“His blood is avenged?†said Amyas fiercely.
“No, by heaven, not yet! Stay, don’t cry out
again. I am getting old—I must tell my story my
own way. It was last July,—was it not, Will 1—_Over
comes to Ireland Saunders, one of those Jesuit foxes,
as the Pope’s legate, with money and bulls, and a
banner hallowed by the Pope, and the devil knows
what beside; and with him James Fitzmaurice, the
game fellow who had sworn on his knees to Perrott,
in the church at Kilmallock, to be a true liegeman to
Queen Elizabeth, and confirmed it by all his saints,
and such a world of his Irish howling, that Perrott
told me he was fain to stop his own ears. Well, he
had been practising with the King of France, but got
nothing but laughter for his pains, and so went over
to the Most Catholic King, and promises him to join
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 151
Ireland to Spain, and set up popery again, and what
not. And he, I suppose, thinking it better that Irc-
land should belong to him than to the Pope’s bastard,
fits him out, and sends him off on such another errand
as Stukely’s,—though I will say, for the honour of
Devon, if Stukely lived like a fool, he died like an
honest man.â€
“Sir Thomas Stukely dead too?†said Amyas,
“Wait a while, lad, and you shall have that tragedy
afterwards. Well, where was I? Oh, Fitzmaurice
and the Jesuits land at Smerwick, with three ships,
choose a place for a fort, bless it with their holy water,
and their moppings and their scourings, and the rest
of it, to purify it from the stain of heretic dominion ;
but in the meanwhile one of the Courtenays,
Courtenay of Haccombe, was it?—or a Courtenay of
Boconnock? Silence, Will, I shall have it in a minute
—yes, a Courtenay of Haccombe it was, lying at
anchor near by, in a ship of war of his, cuts out the
three ships, and cuts off the Dons from the sea. John
and James Desmond, with some small rabble, go over
to the Spaniards. Earl Desmond will not join them,
but will not fight them, and stands by to take the
winning side; and then in comes poor Davils, sent
down by the Lord Deputy to charge Desmond and
his brothers, in the Queen’s name, to assault the
Spaniards. Folks say it was rash of his Lordship:
but I say, what could be better done? Every one
knows that there never was a stouter or shrewder
soldier than Davils ; and the young Desmonds, I have
heard him say many a time, used to look on him as
a
152 CLOVELLY COURT
their father. But he found out what it was to trust
Englishmen turned Irish. Well, the Desmonds found
out on a sudden that the Dons were such desperate
Paladins, that it was madness to meddle, though they
were five to one; and poor Davils, seeing that there
was no fight in them, goes back for help, and sleeps
that night at some place called Tralee. Arthur Carter
of Bideford, St. Leger’s lieutenant, as stout an old
soldier as Davils himself, sleeps in the same bed with
him; the lacquey-boy, who is now with Sir Richard
at Stow, on the floor at their feet. But in the dead
of night, who should come in but James Desmond,
‘sword in hand, with a dozen of his ruffians at his heels,
each with his glib over his ugly face, and his skene in
his hand. Davils springs up in bed, and asks but this,
‘What is the matter, my son?’ whereon the treacher-
ous villain, without giving him time to say a prayer,
strikes at him, naked as he was, crying, ‘Thou shalt
be my father no longer, nor I thy son! Thou shalt
die!’ and at that all the rest fall on him. The poor
little lad (so he says) leaps up to cover his master
with his naked body, gets three or four stabs of skenes,
and so falls for dead; with his master and Captain
Carter, who were dead indeed—God reward them!
After that the ruffians ransacked the house, till they
had murdered every Englishman in it, the lacquey-boy
only excepted, who crawled out, wounded as he was,
through a window; while Desmond, if you will be-
lieve it, went back, up to his elbows in blood, and
vaunted his deeds to the Spaniards, and asked them—
‘There! Will you take that as a pledge that I am
IN TITE OLDEN TIME. 153
faithful to you?’ And that, my lad, was the end of
Henry Davils, and will be of all who trust to the faith
of wild savages.â€
“J would go a hundred miles to see that Desmond
hanged !†said Amyas, while great tears ran down his
face. “Poor Mr. Davils! And now, what is the
story of Sir Thomas ?â€
“Your brother must tell you that, lad; I am some-
what out of breath.â€
“And I have a right to tell it,†said Frank, with a
smile. ‘Do you know that I was very near being
Earl of the bog of Allen, and one of the peers of the
realm to King Buoncompagna, son and heir to his
Holiness Pope Gregory the Thirteenth 2â€
“No, surely !â€
“As I ama gentleman. When I was at Rome I
saw poor Stukely often ; and this and more he offered
me on the part (as he said) of the Pope, if I would
just oblige him in the two little matters of being recon-
ciled to the Catholic Church, and joining the invasion
of Ireland.â€
“Poor deluded heretic,†said Will Cary, “to have
lost an earldom for your family by such silly scruples
of loyalty !â€
“It is not a matter for jesting, after all,†said
Frank ; “but I saw Sir Thomas often, and I cannot
believe he was in his senses, so frantic was his vanity
and his ambition ; and all the while, in private matters
as honourable a gentleman as ever. However, he
sailed at last for Ireland, with his eight hundred
Spaniards and Italians; and what is more, I know
154 CLOVELLY COURT
that the King of Spain paid their charges. Marquis
Vinola—James Buoncompagna, that is—stayed quietly
at Rome, preferring that Stukely should conquer his
paternal heritage of Ireland for him while he took
care of the bona robas at home. I went down to
Civita Vecchia to see him off; and though his younger
by many years, I could not but take the liberty of
entreating him, as a gentleman and a man of Devon,
to consider his faith to his Queen and the honour of
his country. There were high words between us;
God forgive me if I spoke too fiercely, for I never saw -
him again.â€
“Too fiercely to an open traitor, Frank? ee
not have run him through ?â€
“Nay, I had no clean life for Sundays, Amyas ; so
I could not throw away my week-day one; and as for
the weal of England, I knew that it was little he
would damage it, and told him so. And at that he
waxed utterly mad, for it touched his pride, and swore
that if the wind had not been fair for sailing, he would
have fought me there and then ; to which I could only
answer, that I was ready to meet him when he would ;
and he parted from me, saying, ‘It is a pity, sir, I
cannot fight you now; when next we meet, it will be
beneath my dignity to measure swords with you.’
“T suppose he expected to come back a prince at
least—Heaven knows; I owe him no ill-will, nor I
hope does any man. He has paid all debts now in
full, and got his receipt for them.â€
“How did he die, then, after all ?â€
“On his voyage he touched in Portugal. King
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 155
Sebastian was just sailing for Africa with his new ally,
‘Mohammed the Prince of Fez, to help King Abdallah,
and conquer what he could. He persuaded Stukely
to go with him. There were those who thought that
he as well as the Spaniards, had no stomach for seeing
the Pope’s son King of Ireland. Others used to say
that he thought an island too small for his ambition,
and must needs conquer a continent—I know not why
it was, but he went. They had heavy weather in the
passage ; and when they landed, many of their soldiers
were sea-sick. Stukely, reasonably enough, counselled
that they should wait two or three days and recruit ;
but Don Sebastian was so mad for the assault, that he
must needs have his veni, vidi, vici; and so ended
with a veni, vidi, perii ; for he, Abdallah, and his son
Mohammed, all perished in the first battle at Alcasar ;
and Stukely, surrounded and overpowered, fought till
he could fight no more, and then died like a hero with
all his wounds in front; and may God have mercy on
his soul !â€
“Ah!†said Amyas, “we heard of that battle off
Lima, but nothing about poor Stukely.â€
“That last was a Popish prayer, Master Frank,â€
said old Mr. Cary.
“Most worshipful sir, you surely would not wish
God not to have mercy on his soul ?â€
“No—eh? Of course not: but that’s all settled
by now, for he is dead, poor fellow.â€
“Certainly, my dear sir. And you cannot help
being a little fond of him still.â€
“Th? why, I should be a brute if I were not. He
156 CLOVELLY COURT
and I were schoolfellows, though he was somewhat
the younger; and many a good thrashing have I
given him, and one cannot help having a tenderness
fora man after that. Beside, we used to hunt together
in Exmoor, and have royal nights afterward into Ilfra-
combe, when we were a couple of mad young blades.
Fond of him? Why, I would have sooner given my
forefinger than that he should have gone to the dogs
thus.†;
“Then, my dear sir, if you feel for him still, in
spite of all his faults, how do you know that God may
not feel for him still, in spite of all his faults? For
my part,†quoth Frank in his fanciful way, “without
believing in that Popish Purgatory, I cannot help
holding with Plato, that such heroical souls, who have
wanted but little of true greatness, are hereafter by
some strait discipline brought to, a better mind;
perhaps, as many ancients have held with the Indian
Gymunosophists, by transmigration into the bodies of
those animals whom they have resembled in their
passions; and indeed, if Sir Thomas Stukely’s soul
should now animate the body of a lion, all I can say
is that he would be a very valiant and royal lion ; and
also doubtless become in due time heartily ashamed
and penitent for having been nothing better than a
lion.â€
“What now, Master Frank? I don’t trouble my
head with such matters—I say Stukely was a right
good-hearted fellow at bottom; and if you plague my
head with any of your dialectics, and propositions, and
college quips and quiddities, you shan’t have any more
IN THE OLDEN TIME, 157
sack, sir! But here come the knaves, and I hear
the cook knock to dinner.â€
After a madrigal or two, and an Italian song of
Master Frank’s, all which went sweetly enough, the
ladies rose, and went. Whereon Will Cary, drawing
his chair close to Frank’s, put quietly into his hand
a dirty letter.
“This was the letter left for me,†whispered he,
“by a country fellow this morning. Look at it, and
tell me what I am to do.â€
Whereon Frank opened, and read—
“* Mister Cary, be you wary,
By deer park end to-night.
Yf Irish ffoxe com out of rocks
Grip and hold hym tight.â€
“T would have showed it my father,†said Will,
“but——â€
“T verily believe it to be a blind. See now, this
is the handwriting of a man who has been trying to
write vilely, and yet cannot. Look at that B, and
that G; their forme formative never were begotten in
a hedge-school. And what is more, this is no Devon
man’s handiwork. We say ‘to’ and not ‘by,’ Will,
eh? in the West country ?â€
“ Of course.â€
“ And ‘man,’ instead of ‘him’ 2â€
“True, O Daniel! But am I to do nothing there-
fore ?â€
“On that matter Tam no judge. Let us ask much-
enduring Ulysses here ; perhaps he has not sailed round
the world without bringing home a device or two.â€
158 CLOVELLY COURT
Whereon Amyas was called to counsel, as soon as
Mr. Cary could be stopped.in a long cross-examina-
tion of him as to Mr. Doughty’s famous trial and
execution.
Amyas pondered awhile, thrusting his hands into
his long curls ; and then—
“Will, my lad, have you been watching at the
Deer Park End of late?â€
“ Never.â€
“Where, then ?â€
“ At the town-beach.â€
“Where else 2?â€
“ At the town-head.â€
“Where else %â€
“Why, the fellow is turned lawyer! Above Fresh-
water.â€
“Where is Freshwater ?â€
“Why, where the waterfall comes over the cliff,
half-a-mile from the town. There is a path there up
into the forest.â€
“T know. I'll watch there to-night. Do you keep
all your old haunts safe, of course, and send a couple
of stout knaves to the mill, to watch the beach at the
Deer Park End, on the chance ; for your poet may be
a true man, after all. But my heart’s faith is, that
this comes just to draw you off from some old beat of
yours, upon a wild goose chase. If they shoot the
miller by mistake, I suppose it don’t much matter?â€
“Marry, no.
‘¢¢ When a miller’s knock’d on the head,
The less of flour makes the more of bread,’ â€
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 159
“Or, again,†chimed in old Mr. Cary, “as they
say in the North—
‘¢ «Find a miller that will not steal,
Or a webster that is leal,
Or a priest that is not greedy,
And lay them three a dead corpse by ;
And by the virtue of them three,
The said dead corpse shall quicken’d be.’ â€
“But why are you so ready to watch Freshwater
to-night, Master Amyas ?â€
“Because, sir, those who come, if they come, will
never land at Mouthmill ; if they are strangers, they
dare not; and if they are bay’s-men, they are too
wise, as long as the westerly swell sets in. As for
landing at the town, that would be too great a risk ;
but Freshwater is as lonely as the Bermudas; and
they can beach a boat up under the cliff at all tides,
and in all weathers, except north and nor-west. I
have done it many a time, when I was a boy.â€
“And give us the fruit of your experience now in
your old age, eh? Well, you have a grey head on
green shoulders, my lad ; and I verily believe you are
right. Who will you take with you to watch ?â€
“Sir,†said Frank, “I will go with my brother ;
and that will be enough.â€
“Knough? He is big enough, and you brave
enough, for ten; but still, the more the merrier.â€
“But the fewer, the better fare. If I might ask a
first and last favour, worshipful sir,†said Frank, very
earnestly, “you would grant me two things: that you
would let none go to Freshwater but me and my
160 CLOVELLY COURT
brother; and that whatsoever we shall bring you
back shall be kept as secret as the commonweal and
your loyalty shall permit. I trust that we are not so
unknown to you, or to others, that you can doubt for
a moment but that whatsoever we may do will satisfy
at once your honour and our own.â€
“My dear young gentleman, there is no need of
so many courtier’s words. Iam your father’s friend,
and yours. And God forbid that a Cary—for I guess
your drift—should ever wish to make a head or a
heart ache ; that is, more than——â€
“Those of whom it is written, ‘Though thou bray
a fool in a mortar, yet will not his folly depart from
him,’†interposed Frank, in so sad a tone that no one
at’ the table replied ; and few more words were
exchanged, till the two brothers were safe outside
the house; and then—
“ Amyas,†said Frank, “that was a Devon man’s
handiwork, nevertheless; it was Eustace’s hand-
writing.â€
“Tmpossible !â€
“No, lad. Ihave been secretary to a prince, and
learnt to interpret cipher, and to watch every pen-
stroke ; and, young as I am, I think that I am not
easily deceived. Would God I were! Come on, lad;
and strike no man hastily, lest thou cut off thine own
flesh.â€
So forth the two went, along the park to the east-
ward, and past the head of the little wood-embosomed
fishing-town, a steep stair of houses clinging to the
cliff far below them, the bright slate roofs and white
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 161
walls, glittering in the moonlight; and on some half-
mile farther, along the steep hill-side, fenced with oak
wood down to the water’s edge, by a narrow forest
path, to a point where two glens meet and pour their
streamlets over a cascade some hundred feet in height
into the sea below. By the side of this waterfall a
narrow path climbs upward from the beach ; and here
it was that the two brothers expected to meet the
messenger.
Frank insisted on taking his station below Amyas.
He said that he was certain that Eustace himself
would make his appearance, and that he was more fit
than Amyas to bring him to reason by parley; that if
Amyas would keep watch some twenty yards above,
the escape of the messenger would be impossible.
Moreover, he was the elder brother, and the post of
honour was his right. So Amyas obeyed hin, after
making him promise that if more than one man came
up the path, he would let them pass him before he
challenged, so that both might bring them to bay at
the same time.
So Amyas took his station under a high marl bank,
and, bedded in luxuriant crown-ferns, kept his eye
steadily on Frank, who sat down on a little knoll of
rock (where is now a garden on the cliff-edge) which
parts the path and the dark chasm down which the
stream rushes to its final leap over the cliff.
There Amyas sat a full half-hour, and glanced at
whiles from Frank to look upon the scene around.
Outside the south-west wind blew fresh and strong,
and the moonlight danced upon a thousand crests
VOL. I. M W. H.
162 CLOVELLY COURT
of foam; but within the black jagged point which
sheltered the town, the sea did but heave, in long
oily swells of rolling silver, onward into the black
shadow of the hills, within which the town and pier
lay invisible, save where a twinkling light gave token
of some lonely fisher’s wife, watching the weary night
through for the boat which would return with dawn.
Here and there upon the sea, a black speck marked a
herring-boat, drifting with its line of nets; and right
off the mouth of the glen, Amyas saw, with a beating
heart, a large two-masted vessel lying-to—that must
be the “Portugal!†Eagerly he looked up the glen,
and listened ; but he heard nothing but the sweeping
of the wind across the downs five hundred feet above,
and the sough of the waterfall upon the rocks below ;
he saw nothing but the vast black sheets of oak-wood
sloping up to the narrow blue sky above, and the
broad bright hunter’s moon, and the woodcocks,
which, chuckling to each other, hawked to and fro,
like swallows, between the tree-tops and the sky.
At last he heard a rustle of the fallen leaves; he
shrank closer and closer into the darkness of the bank.
Then swift light steps—not down the path, from above,
but upward, from below; his heart beat quick and
loud. And in another half-minute a man came in
sight, within three yards of Frank’s hiding-place.
Frank sprang out instantly. Amyas saw his bright
blade glance in the clear October moonlight.
“Stand, in the Queen’s name !â€
The man drew a pistol from under his cloak, and
fired full in his face. Had it happened in these days
SN
TERN
SSS
it is Eustace !â€â€â€”Chap. v. p. 163.
“ce
nd
almost screamed Fran]
! stay!â€
Stop
‘
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 163
of detonators, Frank’s chance had been small; but to
get a ponderous wheel-lock under weigh was a longer
business, and before the fizzing of the flint had ceased,
Frank had struck up the pistol with his rapier, and it
exploded harmlessly over his head. The man instantly
dashed the weapon in his face, and closed.
The blow, luckily, did not take effect on that deli-
cate forehead, but struck him in the shoulder: never-
theless, Frank, who with all his grace and agility was
as fragile as a lily, and a very bubble of the earth,
staggered, and lost his guard, and before he could
recover himself, Amyas saw a dagger gleam, and one,
two, three blows fiercely repeated.
Mad with fury, he was with them in an instant.
They were scuffling together so closely in the shade
that he was afraid to use his sword point; but with
the hilt he dealt a single blow full on the ruffian’s
cheek. It was enough; with a hideous shrick, the
fellow rolled over at his feet, and Amyas set his foot
on him, in act to run him through.
“Stop! stay!†almost screamed Frank; “it is
Eustace! our cousin Eustace!†and he leant against a
tree,
Amyas sprang towards him: but Frank waved him
off.
“Tt is nothing—a scratch. He has papers: I am
sure of it. Take them; and for God’s sake let him
go!â€
“Villain! give me your papers!†cried Amyas,
setting his foot once more on the writhing Eustace,
whose jaw was broken across,
164 CLOVELLY COURT
“You struck me foully from behind,†moaned he,
his vanity and envy even then coming out, in that
faint and foolish attempt to prove Amyas not so very
much better a man.
“Hound, do you think that I dare not strike you
in front? Give me your papers, letters, whatever
Popish devilry you carry ; or as I live, I will cut off
your head, and take them myself, even if it cost me
the shame of stripping your corpse. Give them up!
Traitor, murderer! give them, I say!†And setting
his foot on him afresh, he raised his sword.
Eustace was usually no craven: but he was cowed.
Between agony and shame, he had no heart to resist.
Martyrdom, which looked so splendid when consum-
mated selon les regles on Tower Hill or Tyburn, before
pitying, or (still better) scoffing multitudes, looked a
confused, dirty, ugly business there in the dark forest ;
and as he lay, a stream of moonlight bathed his mighty
cousin’s broad clear forehead, and his long golden locks,
and his white terrible blade, till he seemed, to Eustace’s
superstitious eye, like one of those fair young St.
Michaels trampling on the fiend, which he had scen
abroad in old German pictures. He shuddered ; pulled
a packet from his bosom, and threw it from him,
murmuring, “I have not given it.â€
“Swear to me that these are all the papers which
you have, in cipher or out of cipher. Swear on your
soul, or you die !â€
Eustace swore,
‘Tell me, who are your accomplices 4â€
“Never!†said Eustace. “Cruel! have you not
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 165
degraded me enough already?†and the wretched
young man burst into tears, and hid his bleeding face
in his hands.
One hint of honour made Amyas as gentle as a
lamb. He lifted Eustace up, and bade him run for
his life.
“T am to owe my life, then, to you?â€
“Not in the least; only to your being a Leigh.
Go, or it will be worse for you!†And Eustace went ;
while Amyas, catching up the precious packet, hurried
to Frank. He had fainted already, and his brother
had to carry him as far as the park, before he could
find any of the other watchers. The blind, as far as
they were concerned, was complete. They had heard
and seen nothing. Whosoever had brought the packet
had landed they knew not where ; and so all returned
to the Court, carrying Frank, who recovered gradually,
having rather bruises than wounds; for his foe had
struck wildly, and with a trembling hand.
Half-an-hour after, Amyas, Mr. Cary, and his son
Will were in deep consultation over the following
epistle, the only paper in the packet which was not in
cipher :—
“.. Dear Broturr N.S. in Ch’ ef Ecclesia.
“This is to inform you, and the friends of the
cause, that 8. Josephus has landed in Smerwick, with
eight hundred valiant Crusaders, burning with holy
zeal to imitate last year’s martyrs of Carrigfolium,
and ‘to expiate their offences (which I fear may have
been many) by the propagation of our most holy faith.
166 - CLOVELLY COURT
I have purified the fort (which they are strenuously
rebuilding) with prayer and holy water, from the stain
of heretical footsteps, and consecrated it afresh to the
service of Heaven, as the first-fruits of the isle of
saints ; and having displayed the consecrated banner
to the adoration of the faithful, have returned to Earl
Desmond, that I may establish his faith, weak as yet,
by reason of the allurements of this world: though
since, by the valour of his brother James, he that
hindered was taken out of the way (I mean Davils the
heretic, sacrifice well-pleasing in the eyes of Heaven !)
the young man has lent a more obedient ear to my
counsels. If you can do anything, do it quickly, for
a great door and effectual is opened, and there are
many adversaries. But be swift, for so do the poor
lambs of the Church tremble at the fury of the heretics,
that a hundred will flee before one Englishmen. And
indeed, were it not for that divine charity toward the
Church (which covers the multitude of sins) with
which they are resplendent, neither they nor their
country would be, by the carnal judgment, counted
worthy of so great labour in their behalf. For they
themselves are given much to lying, theft, and drunken-
ness, vain babbling, and profane dancing and singing ;
and are still, as S. Gildas reports of them, ‘more care-
ful to shroud their villanous faces in bushy hair, than
decently to cover their bodies ;’ while their land (by
reason of the tyranny of their chieftains, and the con-
tinual wars and plunderings among their tribes, which
leave them weak and divided, an easy prey to the
myrmidons of the excommunicate and usurping
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 167
Englishwoman) lies utterly waste with fire, and de-
faced with corpses of the starved and slain. But what
are these things, while the holy virtue of Catholic
obedience still flourishes in their hearts? The Church
cares not for the conservation of body and goods, but
of immortal souls.
“Tf any devout lady shall so will, you may obtain
from her liberality a shirt for this worthless tabernacle,
and also a pair of hose ; for I am unsavoury to myself
and to others, and of such luxuries none here has
superfluity ; for all live in holy poverty, except the
fleas, who have that consolation in this world for
which this unhappy nation, and those who labour
among them, must wait till the world to come.!
“Your loving brother,
NSS
“Sir Richard must know of this before daybreak,â€
cried old Cary. ‘Eight hundred men landed! We
must call out the Posse Comitatus, and sail with them
bodily. I will go myself, old asI am. Spaniards in
Ireland? not a dog of them must go home again.â€
“ Not a dog of them,†answered Will; “but where
is Mr. Winter and his squadron ?â€
“Safe in Milford Haven; a messenger must be
sent to him too.â€
“Tl go,†said Amyas: “but Mr. Cary is right.
Sir Richard must know all first.â€
“And we must have those Jesuits.â€
“What? Mr. Evans and Mr. Morgans? God help
1 See note at end of chapter.
-168 CLOVELLY COURT
us—they are at my uncle’s! Consider the honour of
our family !â€
“Judge for yourself, my dear boy,†said old Mr.
Cary, gently: “would it not be rank treason to let
these foxes escape, while we have this damning proof
against them ?â€
“T will go myself then.â€
“Why not? You may keep all straight, and Will
shall go with you. Call a groom, Will, and get your
horse saddled, and my Yorkshire grey ; he will make
better play with this big fellow on his back, than the
little pony astride of which Mr. Leigh came walking
in (as I hear) this morning. As for Frank, the ladies
will see to him well enough, and glad enough, too, to
have so fine a bird in their cage for a week or two.â€
“ And my mother 2â€
“We'll send to her to-morrow by daybreak. Come,
a stirrup cup to start with, hot and hot. N ow, boots,
cloaks, swords, a deep pull and a warm one, and away!â€
“And the jolly old man bustled them out of the
house and into their saddles, under the broad bright
winter’s moon.
“You must make your pace, lads, or the moon will
be down before you are over the moors.†And so
away they went.
Neither of them spoke for many a mile. Amyas,
because his mind was fixed firmly on the one object of
saving the honour of his house ; and Will, because he
was hesitating between Ireland and the wars, and Rose
Salterne and love-making. At last he spoke suddenly.
“Tl go, Amyas.â€
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 169
“ Whither ?â€
“To Ireland with you, old man. I have dragged
my anchor at last.â€
‘ “What anchor, my lad of parables ?â€
“See, here am I, a tall and gallant ship.â€
“Modest even if not true.â€
“Tnelination, like an anchor, holds me tight.â€
“To the mud.â€
“Nay, to a bed of roses—not without their thorns.â€
“Hillo? I have seen oysters grow on fruit-trees
before now, but never an anchor in a rose-garden.â€
“Silence or my allegory will go to noggin-staves.â€
“ Against the rocks of my flinty discernment.â€
“Pooh—well. Up comes duty like a jolly breeze,
blowing dead from the north-east and as bitter and
cross as a north-easter too, and tugs me away toward
Ireland. I hold on by the rose-bed—any ground in a
storm—till every strand is parted, and off I go, west-
ward ho! to get my throat cut in a bog-hole with
Amyas Leigh.â€
“Harnest, Will ?â€
“As I am a sinful man.â€
“Well done, young hawk of the White Cliff!â€
“T had rather have called it Gallantry Bower still,
though,†said Will, punning on the double name of
the noble precipice which forms the highest point of
the deer park.
“ Well, as long as you are on land, you know it is
Gallantry Bower still: but we always call it White
Cliff when you see it from the sea-board, as you and
I shall do, I hope, to-morrow evening.â€
170 CLOVELLY COURT
“What, so soon?â€
“Dare we lose a day 1â€
“T suppose not: heigh-ho!â€
And they rode on again in silence, Amyas in the
meanwhile being not a little content (in spite of his
late self-renunciation) to find that one of his rivals at
least was going to raise the siege of the Rose garden
for afew months, and withdraw his forces to the coast
cf Kerry.
As they went over Bursdon, Amyas pulled up
suddenly.
“Did you not hear a horse’s step on our left 2â€
“On our left—coming up from Welsford moor?
Impossible at this time of night. It must have been
a stag, or a sownder of wild swine: or may be only
an old cow.â€
“Tt was the ring of iron, friend. Let us stand
and watch.†'
Bursdon and Welsford were then, as now, a rolling
range of dreary moors, unbroken by tor or tree, or
anything save few and far between a world-old furze-
bank which marked the common rights of some
distant cattle farm, and crossed then, not as now, by
a decent road, but by a rough confused trackway, the
remnant of an old Roman road from Clovelly dikes
to Launceston. To the left it trended down towards
a lower range of moors, which form the water-shed
of the heads of Torridge ; and thither the two young
men peered down over the expanse of bog and furze,
which glittered for miles beneath the moon, one sheet
of frosted silver, in the heavy autumn dew.
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 171
“Tf any of Eustace’s party are trying to get home
from Freshwater, they might save a couple of miles
by coming across Welsford, instead of going by the
main track, as we have done.†- So said Amyas, who
though (luckily for him) no “genius,†was cunning as
a fox in all matters of tactic and practic, and would
have in these days proved his right to be considered
an intellectual person by being a thorough man of
business.
“Tf any of his party are mad, they’ll try it, and
be stogged till the day of judgment. There are bogs
in the bottom twenty feet deep. Plague on the fellow
whoever he is, he has dodged us! Look there!â€
It was too true. The unknown horseman had
evidently dismounted below, and led his horse up on
the other side of a long furze-dike ; till coming to the
point where it turned away again from his intended
course, he appeared against the sky, in the act of
leading his nag over a gap.
“Ride like the wind!†and both youths galloped
across furze and heather at him; but ere they were
within a hundred yards of him, he had leapt again on
his horse, and was away far ahead.
“There is the dor to us, with a vengeance,†cried
Cary, putting in the spurs.
“Tt is but a lad; we shall never catch him.â€
“Tl try, though ; and do you lumber after as you
can, old heavysides ;†and Cary pushed forward.
Amyas lost sight of him for ten minutes, and then
came up with him dismounted, and feeling discon-
solately at his horse’s knees,
172 CLOVELLY COURT
“Look for my head. It lies somewhere about
among the furze there; and oh! I am as full of
needles as ever was a pin-cushion.â€
“Are his knees broken 2â€
“T daren’t look. No, I believe not. Come along,
and make the best of a bad matter. The fellow is a
mile ahead, and to the right, too.â€
“He is going for Moorwinstow, then; but where
is my cousin 2â€
“Behind us, Idare say. We shall nab him at least.â€
“Cary, promise me that if we do, you will keep
out of sight, and let me manage him.â€
“My boy, I only want Evan Morgans and Morgan
Evans. He is but the cat’s-paw, and we are after the
cats themselves.â€
And so they went on another dreary six miles, till
the land trended downwards, showing dark glens and
masses of woodland far below.
“Now, then, straight to Chapel, and stop the foxes’
earth? Or through the King’s park to Stow, and get
out Sir Richard’s hounds, hue and cry, and Queen’s
warrant in proper form 2â€
“Let us see Sir Richard first; and whatsoever he
decides about my uncle, I will endure as a loyal
subject must.â€
So they rode through the King’s park, while Sir
Richard’s colts came whinnying and staring round the
intruders, and down through a rich woodland lane five
hundred feet into the valley, till they could hear the
brawling of the little trout-stream, and beyond, the
everlasting thunder of the ocean surf.
IN THE OLDEN TIME. 173
Down through warm woods, all fragrant with
dying autumn flowers, leaving far above the keen
Atlantic breeze, into one of those delicious western
Combes, and so past the mill, and the little knot of
flower-clad cottages. In the window of one of them
a light was still burning. The two young men knew
well whose window that was; and both hearts beat
fast; for Rose Salterne slept, or rather seemed to
wake, in that chamber.
“Folks are late in Combe to-night,†said Amyas,
as carelessly as he could.
Cary looked earnestly at the window, and then
sharply enough at Amyas; but Amyas was busy
settling his stirrup; and Cary rode on, unconscious
that every fibre in his companion’s huge frame was
trembling like his own.
“Mugey and close down here,†said Amyas, who, in
reality, was quite faint with his own inward struggles.
“We shall be at Stow gate in five minutes,†said
Cary, looking back and down longingly as his horse
climbed the opposite hill; but a turn of the zigzag
road hid the cottage, and the next thought was, how
to effect an entrance into Stow at three in the morning
without being eaten by the ban-dogs, who were already
howling and growling at the sound of the horse-hoofs.
However, they got safely in, after much knocking
and calling, through the postern-gate in the high west
wall, into a mansion, the description whereof I must
defer to the next chapter, seeing that the moon has
already sunk into the Atlantic, and there is darkness
over land and sea.
174 . CLOVELLY COURT
Sir Richard, in his long gown, was soon downstairs
in the hall; the letter read, and the story told; but
ere it was half finished—
“Anthony, call up a groom, and let him bring me
a horse round. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me five
minutes, I shall be at your service.â€
“You will not go alone, Richard?†asked Lady
Grenvile, putting her beautiful face in its nightcoif
out of an adjoining door.
“Surely, sweet chuck, we three are enough to take
two poor polecats of Jesuits. Go in, and help me to
boot and gird.â€
In half an hour they were down and up across the
valley again, under the few low ashes clipt flat by
the sea-breeze which stood round the lonely gate of
Chapel.
“Mr. Cary, there is a back path across the downs
to Marsland; go and guard that.†Cary rode off;
and Sir Richard, as he knocked loudly at the gate—
“Mr. Leigh, you see that I have consulted your
honour, and that of your poor uncle, by adventuring
thus alone. What will you have me do now, which
may not be unfit for me and you?â€
“Oh, sir!†said Amyas, with tears in his honest
eyes, “you have shown yourself once more what you
always have been—my dear and beloved master on
earth, not second even to my admiral Sir Francis
Drake.â€
“Or the Queen, I hope,†said Grenvile, smiling,
“but pocas palabras. What will you do?â€
“My wretched cousin, sir, may not have returned
IN THE OLDEN TIME, 175
—and if I might watch for him on the main road—
unless you want me with you.â€
“Richard Grenvile can walk alone, lad. But what
will you do with your cousin %â€
“Send him out of the country, never to return; or
if he refuses, run him through on the spot.â€
“Go, lad.†And as he spoke, a sleepy voice asked
inside the gate, “ Who was there?â€
“Sir Richard Grenvile. Open, in the Queen’s
name ?â€
“Sir Richard? He is in bed, and be hanged to
you. No honest folk come at this hour of night.â€
“ Amyas !†shouted Sir Richard. Amyas rode back.
“Burst that gate for me, while I hold your horse.â€
Amyas leaped down, took up a rock from the road-
side, such as Homer’s heroes used to send at each
other’s heads, and in an instant the door was flat on
the ground, and the serving-man on his back inside,
while Sir Richard quietly entering over it, like Una
into the hut, told the fellow to get up and hold his
horse for him (which the clod, who knew well enough
that terrible voice, did without further murmurs), and
then strode straight to the front door. It was.already
opened. The household had been up and about all
along, or the noise at the entry had aroused them.
Sir Richard knocked, however, at the open door ;
and, to his astonishment, his knock was answered by
Mr. Leigh himself, fully dressed, and candle in hand.
“Sir Richard Grenvile! What, sir! is this neigh-
bourly, not to say gentle, to break into my house in
the dead of night?â€
176 CLOVELLY COURT
“T broke your outer door, sir, because I was refused
entrance when I asked in the Queen’s name. I knocked
at your inner one, as I should have knocked at the
poorest cottager’s in the parish, because I found it open.
You have two Jesuits here, sir! and here is the Queen’s
warrant for apprehending them. I have signed it with
my own hand, and, moreover, serve it now, with my
own hand, in order to save you scandal—and it may
be, worse. I must have these men, Mr. Leigh.â€
“My dear Sir Richard !——â€
“T must have them, or I must search the house ;
and you would not put either yourself or me to so
shameful a necessity ?â€
“My dear Sir Richard !——â€
“Must J, then, ask you to stand back from your
own doorway, my dear sir?†said Grenvile. And
then changing his voice to that fearful lion’s roar, for
which he was famous, and which it seemed impossible
that lips so delicate could utter, he thundered,
“Knaves behind there! Back !â€
This was spoken to half-a-dozen grooms and serving-
men, who, well armed, were clustered in the passage.
“What? swords out, you sons of cliff rabbits?â€
And in a moment, Sir Richard’s long blade flashed
out also, and putting Mr. Leigh gently aside, as if he
had been a child, he walked up to the party, who
vanished right and left ; having expected a cur dog,
in the shape of a parish constable, and come upon a
lion instead. They were stout fellows enough, no
doubt, in a fair fight: but they had no stomach to be
hanged in a row at Launceston Castle, after a pre-
““You have two Jesuits here, sir! and here is the Queen’s warrant
‘9
for apprehending them.’’—Chap. v. p. 176.
IN THE OLDEN TIME, Salar
liminary running through the body by that redoubted
admiral and most unpeaceful justice of the peace.
“ And now, my dear Mr. Leigh,†said Sir Richard,
as blandly as ever, “where are my men? The night
is cold; and you, as well as I, need to be in our beds.â€
“The men, Sir Richard—the Jesuits—they are not
here, indeed.â€
“Not here, sir?â€
“On the word of a gentleman, they left my house
an hour ago. Believe me, sir, they did. I will swear
to you, if you need.â€
“JT believe Mr. Leigh of Chapel’s word without
oaths, Whither are they gone?â€
“Nay, sir—how can I tell? they are—they are, as
I may say, fled, sir; escaped.â€
“With your connivance ; at least with your son’s.
Where are they gone 2â€
“ As I live, I do not know.â€
“Mr. Leigh—is this possible? Can you add
untruth to that treason from the punishment of
which I am trying to shield you?â€
Poor Mr. Leigh burst into tears.
“Oh! my God! my God! is it come to this?
Over and above having the fear and anxiety of keep-
ing these black rascals in my house, and having to
stop their villanous mouths every minute, for fear
they should hang me and themselves, I am to be
called a traitor and a liar in my old age, and that,
too, by Richard Grenville! Would God I had never
been born! Would God I had no soul to be saved,
and I'd just go and drown care in drink, and let the
VOL. I. N W. H,
178 CLOVELLY COURT
Queen and the Pope fight it out their own way!â€
And the poor old man sank into a chair, and covered
his face with his hands, and then leaped up again.
“Bless my heart! Excuse me, Sir Richard—to
sit down and leave you standing. ’Slife, sir, sorrow
is making a hawbuck of me. Sit down, my dear sir!
my worshipful sir! or rather, come with me into my
room, and hear a poor wretched man’s story, for I
swear before God the men are fled ; and my poor boy
Eustace is not home either, and the groom tells me that
his devil of a cousin has broken his jaw for him ; and
his mother is all but mad this hour past. Good lack!
good lack !â€
“He nearly murdered his angel of a cousin, sir!â€
said Sir Richard severely.
“What, sir? They never told me.â€
“He had stabbed his cousin Frank three times,
sir, before Amyas, who is as noble a lad as walks
God’s earth, struck him down. And in defence of
what, forsooth, did he play the ruffian and the swash-
buckler, but to bring home to your house this letter,
sir, which you shall hear at your leisure, the moment
Thave taken order about your priests.†And walk-
ing out of the house, he went round and called to
Cary to come to him.â€
“The birds are flown, Will,†whispered he.
“There is but one chance for us, and that is Mars-
land Mouth. If they are trying to take boat there,
you may be yet in time. If they are gone inland
we can do nothing till we raise the hue and cry to-
morrow,â€
IN THE OLDEN TIME, 179
And Will galloped off over the downs toward
Marsland, while Sir Richard ceremoniously walked in
again, and professed himself ready and happy to have
the honour of an audience in Mr. Leigh’s private
chamber. And as we know pretty well already what
was to be discussed therein, we had better go over to
Marsland Mouth, and, if possible, arrive there before
Will Cary: seeing that he arrived hot and swearing,
half an hour too late.
Note.—I have shrunk somewhat from giving these and other
sketches (true and accurate as I believe them to be) of Ireland
during Elizabeth’s reign, when the tyranny and lawlessness of
the feudal chiefs had reduced the island to such a state of weak-
ness and barbarism, that it was absolutely necessary for England
either to crush the Norman-Irish nobility, and organise some
sort of law and order, or to leave Ireland an easy prey to the
Spaniards, or any other nation which should go to war with us.
The work was done—clumsily rather than cruelly ; but wrongs
were inflicted, and avenged by fresh wrongs, and those by fresh
again. May the memory of them perish for ever! It has been
reserved for this age, and for the liberal policy of this age, to
see the last ebullitions of Celtic excitability die out harmless
and ashamed of itself, and to find that the Irishman, when he
is brought as a soldier under the regenerative influence of law,
discipline, self-respect, and loyalty, can prove himself a worthy
rival of the more stern Norse-Saxon warrior. God grant that
the military brotherhood between Irish and English, which is
the especial glory of the present war, may be the germ of a
brotherhood industrial, political, and hereafter, perhaps, re-
ligious also ; and that not merely the corpses of heroes, but the
feuds and wrongs which have parted them for centuries, may
lie buried, once and for ever, in the noble graves of Alma and
Inkerman.
THE COOMBES OF THE FAR WEST.
«Far, far, from hence
The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay
Among the green Illyrian hills, and there
The sunshine in the happy glens is fair,
And by the sea, and in the brakes
The grass is cool, the sea-side air
Buoyant and fresh, the mountain flowers
More virginal and sweet than ours.â€
MatrHEw ARNOLD.
Anp even such are those delightful glens, which cut
the high table-land of the confines of Devon and Corn-
wall, and opening each through its gorge of down and
rock, towards the boundless Western Ocean. ach is
like the other, and each is like no other English scenery.
Each has its upright walls, inland of rich oak-wood,
nearer the sea of dark green furze, then of smooth
turf, then of weird black cliffs which range out right
and left far into the deep sea, in castles, spires, and
wings of jagged iron-stone. Hach has its narrow strip
of fertile meadow, its crystal trout stream winding
across and across from one hill-foot to the other ; its
grey stone mill, with the water sparkling and humming
round the dripping wheel ; its dark rock pools above
the tide mark, where the salmon-trout gather in from
THE COOMBES OF THE FAR WEST. ~ 181
their Atlantic wanderings, after each autumn flood ;
its ridge of blown sand, bright with golden trefoil and
crimson lady’s finger ; its grey bank of polished pebbles,
down which the stream rattles toward the sea below.
Each has its black field of jagged shark’s-tooth rock
which paves the cove from side to side, streaked with
here and there a pink line of shell sand, and laced
with white foam from the eternal surge, stretching in
parallel lines out to the westward, in strata set upright
on edge, or tilted towards each other at strange angles
by primeval earthquakes ;—such is the “Mouthâ€â€”as
those coves are called; and such the jaw of teeth
which they display, one rasp of which would grind
abroad the timbers of the stoutest ship. To landward,
all richness, softness, and peace; to seaward, a waste
and howling wilderness of rock and roller, barren to the
fisherman, and hopeless to the shipwrecked mariner.
In only one of these “Mouths†is a landing for
boats, made possible by a long sea-wall of rock, which
protects it from the rollers of the Atlantic; and that
Mouth is Marsland, the abode of the White Witch,
Lucy Passmore; whither, as Sir Richard Grenvile
rightly judged, the Jesuits were gone. But before
the Jesuits came, two other persons were standing on
that lonely beach, under the bright October moon,
namely, Rose Salterne and the White Witch herself ;
for Rose, fevered with curiosity and superstition, and
allured by the very wildness and possible danger of
the spell, had kept her appointment; and, a few
minutes before midnight, stood on the grey shingle
beach with her counsellor.
1 N83
SOM: THE COOMBES OF
“You be safe enough here to-night, Miss. My old
man is snoring sound abed, and there’s no other soul
ever sets foot here o’nights, except it be the mermaids
now and then. Goodness Father, where’s our boat ?
It ought to be up here on the pebbles.â€
Rose pointed to a strip of sand some forty yards
nearer the sea, where the boat lay.
“Oh, the lazy old villain! he’s been round the
rocks after pollock this evening, and never taken the
trouble to hale the boat up. Tl trounce him for it
when I get home. I only hope he’s made her fast
where she is, that’s all! He’s more plague to me than
ever my money will be. O deary me!â€
And the goodwife bustled down toward the boat,
with Rose behind her.
“Tgs, ’tis fast, sure enough: and the oars aboard
too! Well, I never! Oh, the lazy thief, to leave
they here to be stole! Tl just sit in the boat, dear,
and watch mun, while you go down to the say; for
you must be all alone to yourself you know, or you'll
see nothing. There’s the looking-glass ; now go, and
dip your head three times, and mind you don’t look
to land or sea before you've said the words, and
looked upon the glass. Now, be quick, it’s just upon
midnight.â€
And she coiled herself wp in the boat, while Rose
went faltering down the strip of sand, some twenty
yards farther, and there slipping off her clothes, stood
shivering and trembling for a moment before she
entered the sea,
She was between two walls of rock: that on her
THE FAR WEST. 183
left hand, some twenty feet high, hid her in deepest
shade ; that on her right, though much lower, took the
whole blaze of the midnight moon. Great festoons of
live and purple sea-weed hung from it, shading dark
cracks and crevices, fit haunts for all the goblins of the
sea. On her left hand, the peaks of the rock frowned
down ghastly black ; on her right hand, far aloft, the
downs slept bright and cold.
The breeze had died away ; not even aroller broke
the perfect stillness of the cove. The gulls were all
asleep upon the ledges. Over all was a true autumn
silence ; a silence which may be heard. She stood
awed, and listened in hope of a sound which might
tell her that any living thing beside herself existed.
There was a faint bleat, as of a new-born lamb,
high above her head; she started and looked up.
Then a wail from the cliffs, as of a child in pain,
answered by another from the opposite rocks, They
were but the passing snipe, and the otter calling to
her brood; but to her they were mysterious, super-
natural goblins, come to answer to her call. Never-
theless, they only quickened her expectation ; and the
witch had told her not to fear them. If she performed
the rite duly, nothing would harm her: but she could
" hear the beating of her own heart, as she stepped,
mirror in hand, into the cold water, waded hastily, as
far as she dare, and then stopped aghast.
A ring of flame was round her waist; every limb
was bathed in lambent light ; all the acne
life of the autumn sea, stirred by her approach, had
flashed suddenly into glory ;
184 THE COOMBES OF
‘¢ And around her the lamps of the sea nymphs,
Myriad fiery globes, swam heaving and panting, and rainbows,
Crimson and azure and emerald, were broken in star-showers,
lighting
Far through the wine-dark depths of the crystal, the gardens
of Nereus,
Coral and sea-fan and tangle, the blooms and the palms of
the ocean.â€
She could see every shell which crawled on the white
sand at her feet, every rock-fish which played in and
out of the crannies, and stared at her with its broad
bright eyes ; while the great palmate oarweeds which
waved along the chasm, half-seen in the glimmering
water, seemed to beckon her down with long brown
hands to a grave amid their chilly bowers. She
turned to flee: but she had gone too far now to
retreat ; hastily dipping her head three times, she
hurried out to the sea-marge, and looking through
her dripping locks at the magic mirror, pronounced
the incantation—
“A maiden pure, here I stand,
Neither on sea nor yet on land ;
Angels watch me on either hand.
If you be landsman, come down the strand ;
If you be sailor, come up the sand ;
If you be angel, come from the sky,
Look in my glass, and pass me by.
Look in my glass, and go from the shore ;
Leave me, but love me for evermore.â€
The incantation was hardly finished; her eyes
were straining into the mirror, where, as may be
supposed, nothing appeared but thé sparkle of the
drops from her own tresses, when she heard rattling
down the pebbles the hasty feet of men and horses.
re of Lucy Passmore.
guy
e portly fi
th
ap. xi. p. 18
arose ..
ets
e stern she
Out of th
5.
Ch:
THE FAR WEST, 185
She darted into a cavern of the high rock, and
hastily dressed herself: the steps held on right to
the boat. Peeping out, half-dead with terror, she
saw there four men, two of whom had just leaped
from their horses, and turning them adrift, began to
help the other two in running the boat down.
_ Whereon, out of the stern sheets, arose, like an
angry ghost, the portly figure of Lucy Passmore, and
shrieked in shrillest treble—
“Eh! ye villains, ye roogs, what do ye want
staling poor folks’ boats by night like this?â€
The whole party recoiled in terror, and one turned
to run up the beach, shouting at the top of his voice,
‘Tis a marmaiden—a marmaiden asleep in Willy
Passmore’s boat!â€
“I wish it were any sich good luck,†she could
hear Will say; “’tis my wife, oh dear!†and he
cowered down, expecting the hearty cuff which he
received duly, as the White Witch, leaping out of the
boat, dared any man to touch it, and thundered to
her husband to go home to bed.
The wily dame, as Rose well guessed, was keeping
up this delay chiefly to gain time for her pupil: but
she had also more solid reasons for making the fight
as hard as possible; for she, as well as Rose, had
already discerned in the ungainly figure of one of the
party the same suspicious Welsh gentleman, on whose
callmg she had divined long ago; and she was so
loyal a subject as to hold in extreme horror her
husband’s meddling with such “ Popish skulkers †(as
she called the whole party roundly to their face)—
186 THE COOMBES OF
unless on consideration of a very handsome sum of
money. In vain Parsons thundered, Campian en-
treated, Mr. Leigh’s groom swore, and her husband
danced round in an agony of mingled fear and
covetousness.
“No,†she cried, “as I am an honest woman and
loyal! This is why you left the boat down to the
shoore, you old traitor, you, is it? To help off sich
noxious trade as this out of the hands of her Majesty’s
quorum and rotuloram? Eh? Stand back, cowards!
Will you strike a woman ?â€
This last speech (as usual) was merely indicative
‘of her intention to strike the men; for, getting out
one of the oars, she swung it round and round fiercely,
and at last caught Father Parsons such a crack across
the shins, that he retreated with a howl.
“Lucy, Lucy!†shrieked her husband, in shrillest
Devon falsetto, “be you mazed? Be you mazed, lass?
They promised me two gold nobles before Pd lend
them the boot !â€
“Tu 1†shrieked the matron, with a tone of
ineffable scorn. ‘And do yu call yourself a man ?â€
“Tu nobles! tu nobles!†shrieked he again,
“hopping about at oar’s length.
“Tu? And would you sell your soul under ten ?â€
“Oh, if that is it,†cried poor Campian, “give her
ten, give her ten, brother Pars—Morgans, I mean ;
and take care of your shins, ‘Offa Cerbero,’ you know
—Oh, virago! ‘Furens quid foemina possit ;’ Cer-
tainly she is some Lamia, some Gorgon, some e
“Take that, for your Lamys and Gorgons to an
B
THE FAR WEST. 187
!†and in a moment poor Campian’s
honest woman
thin legs were cut from under him, while the virago,
“mounting on his trunk astride,†like that more
famous one on Hudibras, cried, “Ten nobles, or I'll
kep ye here till morning!†And the ten nobles were
paid into her hand.
And now the boat, its dragon guardian being paci-
fied, was run down to the sea, and close past the nook
where poor little Rose was squeezing herself into the
farthest and darkest corner, among wet sea-weed
and rough barnacles, holding her breath as they ap-
proached.
They passed her, and the boat’s keel was already
in the water; Lucy had followed them close, for
reasons of her own, and perceiving close to the water’s
edge a dark cavern, cunningly surmised that it con-
tained Rose, and planted her ample person right across
its mouth, while she grumbled at her husband, the
strangers, and above all at Mr. Leigh’s groom, to whom
she prophesied pretty plainly Launceston gaol and the
gallows ; while the wretched serving-man, who would
as soon have dared to leap off Welcombe Cliff, as to
return railing for railing to the White Witch, in vain
entreated her mercy, and tried, by all possible dodging,
to keep one of the party between himself and her, lest
her redoubted eye should “ overlook†him once more
to his ruin.
But the night’s adventures were not ended yet ; for
just as the boat was launched, a faint halloo was heard
upon the beach, and a minute after, a horseman plunged
down the pebbles, and along the sand, and pulling his
188 THE COOMBES OF
horse up on its haunches close to the terrified group,
dropped, rather than leaped, from the saddle.
The serving-man, though he dared not tackle a
witch, knew well enough how to deal with a swords-
man ; and drawing, sprang upon the new comer: and
then recoiled—
“God forgive me, it’s Mr. Eustace! Oh, dear sir,
I took you for one of Sir Richard’s men! Oh, sir,
you're hurt !â€
“A scratch, a scratch!†almost moaned Eustace.
“Help me into the boat, Jack. Gentlemen, I must
with you.â€
“Not with us, surely, my dear son, vagabonds upon
the face of the earth ?†said kind-hearted Campian.
“With you, for ever. Allis over here. Whither
God and the cause leadâ€â€”and he staggered toward
the boat.
As he passed Rose, she saw his ghastly bleeding
face, half bound up with a handkerchief, which could
not conceal the convulsions of rage, shame, and despair,
which twisted it from all its usual beauty. His eyes
glared wildly roumd—and once, right into the cavern.
They met hers, so full, and keen, and dreadful, that
forgetting she was utterly invisible, the terrified girl
was on the point of shrieking aloud.
‘‘He has overlooked me!†said she, shuddering to
herself, as she recollected his threat of yesterday.
“Who has wounded you?†asked Campian.
“My cousin--Amyas—and taken the letter!â€
“The devil take him, then!†cried Parsons, stamp-
ing up and down upon the sand in fury.
THE FAR WEST. 189
“Ay, curse him—you may! I dare not! He saved
me—sent me here !â€â€”and, with a groan, he made an
effort to enter the boat.
“Oh, my dear young gentleman,†cried Lucy Pass-
more, her woman’s heart bursting out at the sight of
pain, “you must not goo forth with a grane wound
like to that. Do ye let me just bind mun up—do ye
now !†and she advanced.
Eustace thrust her back.
“No! better bear it. I deserve it—devils! I de-
serve it! On board, or we shall all be lost—William
Cary is close behind me!â€
And at that news the boat was thrust into the sea,
faster than ever it went before, and only in time; for
it was but just round the rocks, and out of sight,
when the rattle of Cary’s horsehoofs was heard above.
“That rascal of Mr. Leigh’s will catch it now, the
Popish villain!†said Lucy Passmore aloud. “You
lie still there, dear life, and settle your sperrits ; you’m
so safe as ever was rabbit to burrow. I'l see what
happens, if I die for it!†And so saying, she squeezed
herself up through a cleft to a higher ledge, from
whence she could see what passed in the valley.
“There mun is! in the meadow, trying to catch the
horses! There comes Mr. Cary! Goodness Father,
how arid’th! he’s over wall already ! Ron, Jack! ron
then! A’ll get to the river! No, a waint! Goodness
Father! There’s Mr. Cary cotched mun! A’s down,
a’s down !â€
“Ts he dead?†asked Rose, shuddering.
“Iss, fegs, dead as nits! and Mr. Cary off his horse,
2
190 THE COOMBES OF
standing overthwart mun! No, a baint! A’s up now.
Suspose he was hit wi’ the flat. Whatever is Mr.
Cary tu? Telling wi’ mun, a bit. O dear, dear,
dear !â€
“Has he killed him?†cried poor Rose.
“No, fegs, no! kecking mun, kecking mun, so hard
as ever was futeball! Goodness,Father, who did ever ?
If a haven’t kecked mun right into river, and got on
mun’s horse and rod away !â€
And so saying, down she came again.
“And now then, my dear life, us be better to goo
hoom and get you sommat warm. You’m mortal cold,
Trackon, by now. I was cruel fear’d for ye: but I
kept mun off clever, didn’t I, now?â€
“YT wish—I wish I had not seen Mr. Leigh’s face !â€
“Iss, dreadful, weren’t it, poor young soul; a sad
night for his poor mother |!â€
“Lucy, I can’t get his face out of my mind. I’m
sure he overlooked me.â€
“O then! who ever heard the like o’ that? When
young gentlemen do overlook young ladies, tain’t
thikketheor aways, I knoo. Never you think on it.â€
“But I can’t help thinking of it;†said Rose.
“Stop. Shall we go home yet? Where's that ser-
vant %â€
“Never mind, he waint see us, here under the hill.
I'd much sooner to know where my old man was:
I’ve a sort of a forecasting in my inwards, like, as I
always has when aught’s gwain to happen, as though
I shuldn’t zee mun again, like, I have, Miss. Well—
he was a bedient old soul, after all, he was. Goodness,
THE FAR WEST. 191
Father! and all this while us have forgot the very
thing us come about! Who did you see?â€
“Only that face!†said Rose, shuddering.
“Not in the glass, maid? Say then, not in the
glass 2â€
“Would to heaven it had been! Lucy, what if he
were the man I was fated to is
“He? Why, he’s a praste, a Popish praste, that
can’t marry if he would, poor wratch.â€
“He is none; and I have cause enough to know
it!†And, for want of a better confidant, Rose poured
into the willing ears of her companion the whole story
of yesterday’s meeting.
“He’s a pretty wooer!†said Lucy at last, con-
temptuously. . “Be a brave maid, then, be a brave
maid, and never terrify yourself with his unlucky face.
It’s because there was none here worthy of ye, that
ye seed none in glass. Maybe he’s to be a foreigner,
from over seas, and that’s why his sperit was so long
a coming. A duke, or a prince to the least, I'll war-
rant, he’ll be, that carries off the Rose of Bideford.â€
But in spite of all the good dame’s flattery, Rose
could not wipe that fierce face away from her eyeballs.
She reached home safely, and- crept to bed undis-
covered: and when the next morning, as was to be
expected, found her laid up with something very like
a fever, from excitement, terror, and cold, the phantom
grew stronger and stronger before her, and it required
all her woman’s tact and self-restraint to avoid be-
traying by her exclamations what had happened on
192 THE COOMBES OF THE FAR WEST.
4
that fantastic night. After a fortnight’s weakness,
however, she recovered and went back to Bideford:
but ere she arrived there, Amyas-was far across the
seas on his way to Milford Haven, as shall be told in
the ensuing chapters.
THE TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MR. JOHN
OXENHAM OF PLYMOUTH.
‘* The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew;
The furrow follow’d free ;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.â€
Tur ANCIENT MARINER.
Iv was too late and too dark last night to see the old
house at Stow. We will look round us, then, this
bright October day, while Sir Richard and Amyas,
about eleven o’clock in the forenoon, are pacing up
and down the terraced garden to the south. Amyas
has slept till luncheon, i. till an hour ago: but Sir
Richard, in spite of the bustle of last night, was up
and in the valley by six o’clock, recreating the valiant
souls of himself and two terrier dogs by the chase of
sundry badgers.
Old Stow House stands, or rather stood, some four
miles beyond the Cornish border, on the northern
slope of the largest and loveliest of those coombes of
which I spoke in the last chapter. Eighty years after
Sir Richard’s time, there arose there a huge Palladian
pile, bedizened with every monstrosity of bad taste,
which was built, so the story runs, by Charles the
VOL. I. O W. H.
194 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
Second, for Sir Richard’s great grandson, the heir of
that famous Sir Bevil who defeated the Parliamentary
troops at Stratton, and died soon after, fighting vali-
antly at Lansdowne over Bath. But, like most other
things which owed their existence to the Stuarts, it
rose only to fall again. An old man who had seen, as
a boy, the foundation of the new house laid, lived to
see it pulled down again, and the very bricks and
timber sold upon the spot; and since then the stables
have become a farm-house, the tennis-court a sheep-
cote, the great quadrangle a rick-yard ; and civilisation,
spreading wave on wave so fast elsewhere, has surged
back from that lonely corner of the land—let us hope,
only for a while.
But I am not writing of that great new Stow
House, of the past glories whereof quaint pictures still
hang in the neighbouring houses; nor of that famed
Sir Bevil, most beautiful and gallant of his generation,
on whom, with his grandfather Sir Richard, old Prince
has his pompous epigram—
‘* Where next shall famous Grenvil’s ashes stand ?
Thy grandsire fills the sea, and thou the land.â€
I have to deal with a simpler age, and a sterner
generation ; and with the old house, which had stood
there, in part at least, from grey and mythic ages,
when the first Sir Richard, son of Hamon Dentatus,
Lord of Carboyle, the grandson of Duke Robert, son
of Rou, settled at Bideford, after slaying the Prince
of South-Galis, and the Lord of Glamorgan, and gave
to the Cistercian monks of Neath all his conquests in
South Wales. It was a huge rambling building, half
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 195
castle, half dwelling-house, such as may be seen still
(almost an unique specimen) in Compton Castle near _
Torquay, the dwelling-place of Humphrey Gilbert,
Walter Raleigh’s half-brother, and Richard Grenvile’s
bosom friend, of whom more hereafter. On three
sides, to the north, west, and south, the lofty walls of
the old ballium still stood, with their machicolated
turrets, loopholes, and dark downward crannies for
dropping stones and fire on the besiegers, the relics of
amore unsettled age: but the southern court of the
ballium had become a flower-garden, with quaint ter-
races, statues, knots of flowers, clipped yews and
hollies, and all the pedantries of the topiarian art.
And toward the east, where the vista of the valley
opened, the old walls were gone, and the frowning
Norman keep, ruined in the wars of the Roses, had
been replaced by the rich and stately architecture of
the Tudors. Altogether, the house, like the time,
was in a transitionary state, and represented faithfully
enough the passage of the old middle age into the
new life which had just burst into blossom throughout
Europe, never, let us pray, to see its autumn or its
winter.
From the house on three sides, the hill sloped
steeply down, and the garden where Sir Richard and
Amyas were walking gave a truly English prospect.
At one turn they could catch, over the western walls,
a glimpse of the blue ocean flecked with passing sails ;
and at the next, spread far below them, range on
range of fertile park, stately avenue, yellow autumn
woodland, and purple heather moors, lapping over
Ts 02
196 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
and over each other up the valley to the old British
earthwork, which stood black and furze-grown on its
conical peak ; and standing out against the sky on the
highest bank of hill which closed the valley to the
east, the lofty tower of Kilkhampton church, rich
with the monuments and offerings of five centuries of
Grenviles. A yellow eastern haze hung soft over
park, and wood, and moor; the red cattle lowed to
each other-as they stood brushing away the flies in
the rivulet far below; the colts in the horse-park
close on their right whinnied as they played together,
and their sires from the Queen’s park, on the opposite
hill, answered them in fuller though fainter voices.
A rutting stag made the still woodland rattle with
his hoarse thunder, and a rival far up the valley gave
back a trumpet note of defiance, and was himself
defied from heathery brows which quivered far away
above, half seen through the veil of eastern mist.
And close at home, upon the terrace before the house,
amid romping spaniels and golden-haired children,
sat Lady Grenvile herself, the beautiful St. Leger of
Annery, the central jewel of all that glorious place,
and looked down at her noble children, and then up
at her more noble husband, and round at that broad
paradise of the west, till life seemed too full of happi-
ness, and heaven of light.
And all the while up and down paced Amyas and
Sir Richard, talking long, earnestly, and slow; for
they both. knew that the turning point of the boy’s
life was come.
“Ves,†said Sir Richard, after Amyas, in his blunt
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 197
simple way, had told him the whole story about Rose
Salterne and his brother,—“ yes, sweet lad, thou hast
chosen the better part, thou and thy brother also, and
it shall not be taken from you. Only be strong, lad,
and trust in God that He will make a man of you.â€
“T do trust,†said Amyas.
“Thank God,†said Sir Richard, “that you have
yourself taken from my heart that which was my
great anxiety for you, from the day that your good
father, who sleeps in peace, committed you to my
hands. For all best things, Amyas, become, when
misused, the very worst; and the love of woman,
because it is able to lift man’s soul to the heavens, is
also able to drag him down to hell. But you have
learnt better, Amyas ; and know, with our old German
forefathers, that as Tacitus saith, ‘Sera juvenum
Venus, ideoque inexhausta pubertas.’ And not only
that Amyas; but trust me, that silly fashion of the
French and Italians, to be hanging ever at some
woman’s apron string, so that no boy shall count
himself a man unless he can ‘vagghezziare le donne,’
whether maids or wives, alas! matters little; that
fashion, I say, is little less hurtful to the soul than
open sin ; for by it are bred vanity and expense, envy
and heartburning, yea, hatred and murder often ; and
even if that be escaped, yet the rich treasure of a
manly worship, which should be kept for one alone,
is squandered and parted upon many, and the bride
at last comes in for nothing but the very last leavings
and caput mortwum of her bridegroom’s heart, and
becomes a mere ornament for his table, and a means
i 03
198 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
whereby he may obtain a progeny. May God, who
has saved me from that death in life, save you also !â€
And as he spoke, he looked down toward his wite
upon the terrace below; and she, as if guessing
instinctively that he was talking of her, looked up
with so sweet a smile, that Sir Richard’s stern face
melted into a very glory of spiritual sunshine.
Amyas looked at them both and sighed ; and then
turning the conversation suddenly—
“ And I may go to Ireland to-morrow %â€
“You shall sail in the ‘Mary’ for Milford Haven,
with these letters to Winter. If the wind serves, you
may bid the master drop down the river to-night, and
be off; for we must lose no time.â€
“ Winter?†said Amyas. “He is no friend of mine,
since he left Drake and us so cowardly at the Straits
of Magellan.â€
“Duty must not wait for private quarrels, even
though they be just ones, lad: but he will not be
your general. When you come to the Marshal, or the
Lord Deputy, give either of them this letter, and they
will set you work,—and hard work too, I warrant.â€
“T want nothing better.â€
“Right, lad; the best reward for having wrought
well already, is to have more to do; and he that has
been faithful over a few things, must find his account
in being made ruler over many things. That is the
true and heroical rest, which only is worthy of gentle-
men and sons of God. As for those who, either in
this world or the world to come, look for idleness,
and hope that God shall feed them with pleasant
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM, 199
things, as it were with a spoon, Amyas, I count them
cowards and base, even though they call themselves
saints and elect.â€
“I wish you could persuade my poor cousin of
that.â€
“He has yet to learn what losing his life to save
it means, Amyas. Bad men have taught him (and I
fear these Anabaptists and Puritans at home teach little
else), that it is the one great business of every one to
save his own soul after he dies, every one for himself ;
and that that, and not divine self-sacrifice, is the one
thing needful, and the better part which Mary chose.â€
“J think men are inclined enough already to be
selfish, without being taught that.â€
“Right, lad. For me, if I could hang up such a
teacher on high as an enemy of mankind, and a cor-
rupter of youth, I would do it gladly. Is there not
cowardice and self-seeking enough about the hearts of
us fallen sons of Adam, that these false prophets, with
their baits of heaven, and their terrors of hell, must
exalt our dirtiest vices into heavenly virtues and the
means of bliss? Farewell to chivalry and to desperate
valour, farewell to patriotism and loyalty, farewell to
England and to the manhood of England, if once it
shall become the fashion of our preachers to bid every
man, as the Jesuits do, take care first of what they
call the safety of his soul. Every man will be afraid
to die at his post, because he will be afraid that he is
not fit to die Amyas, do thou do thy duty like a
man, to thy country, thy queen, and thy God; and
count thy life a worthless thing, as did the holy men
200 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
of old. Do thy work, lad; and leave thy soul to the
care of Him who is just and merciful in this, that He
rewards every man according to his work. Is there
respect of persons with God? Now come in, and take
the letters, and to horse. And if I hear of thee dead
there at Smerwick fort, with all thy wounds in front,
I shall weep for thy mother, lad: but I shall have
never a sigh for thee.â€
If any one shall be startled at hearing a fine gentle-
man and a warrior like Sir Richard quote Scripture,
and think Scripture also, they must be referred to the
writings of the time; which they may read not with-
out profit to themselves, if they discover therefrom
how it was possible then for men of the world to be
thoroughly ingrained with the Gospel, and yet to be
free from any taint of superstitious fear, or false
devoutness. The religion of those days was such as
no soldier need have been ashamed of confessing. At
least, Sir Richard died as he lived, without a shudder,
and without a whine; and these were his last words,
fifteen years after that, as he lay shot through and
through, a captive among popish Spaniards, priests,
crucifixes, confession, extreme unction, and all other
means and appliances for delivering men out of the
hands of a God of love :—-
“Here die I, Richard Grenvile, with a joyful and
quiet mind ; for that I have ended my life as a true
soldier ought, fighting for his country, queen, religion,
and honour: my soul willingly departing from this body,
leaving behind the lasting fame of having behaved as
every valiant soldier is in his duty bound to do.â€
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 201
Those were the last words of Richard Grenvile,
The pulpits of those days had taught them to him.
But to return. That day’s events were not over.
yet. For, when they went down into the house, the
first person whom they met was the old steward, in
search of his master.
“There is a manner of roog, Sir Richard, a master-
less man, at the door; a very forward fellow, and
must needs speak with you.â€
“A masterless man? He had better not to speak
to me, unless he is in love with gaol and gallows.â€
“Well, your worship,†said the steward, “I expect
that is what he does want, for he swears he will not
leave the gate till he has seen you.â€
“Seen me? Halidame! he shall see me, here and
at Launceston too, if he likes. Bring him in.â€
“Pegs, Sir Richard, we are half afeard, with your
good leave a
“ Hillo, Tony,†cried Amyas, “who was ever afeard
yet with Sir Richard’s good leave %â€
“What, has the fellow a tail or horns?â€
“Massy no: but I be afeard of treason for your
honour ; for the fellow is pinked all over in heathen
patterns, and as brown as a filbert; and a tall roog, a
very strong roog, sir, and a foreigner too, and a
mighty staff with him. I expect him to be a manner
of Jesuit, or wild Irish, sir; and indeed the grooms
have no stomach to handle him, nor the dogs neither,
or he had been under the pump before now, for they
that saw him coming up the hill swear that he had
fire coming out of his mouth.â€
202 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
“Fire out of his mouth?†said Sir Richard. “The
men are drunk.â€
“Pinked all over? He must be a sailor,†said
Amyas; “let me out and see the fellow, and if he
needs putting forth——â€
“Why, I dare say he is not so big but what he will
go into thy pocket. So go, lad, while I finish my
writing.â€
Amyas went out, and at the back door, leaning on
his staff, stood a tall, raw-boned, ragged man, “ pinked
all over,†as the steward had said.
“Fillo, lad!†quoth Amyas. ‘Before we come to
talk, thou wilt please to lay down that Plymouth cloak
of thine.†And he pointed to the cudgel, which among
west-country mariners usually bore that name.
“Tl warrant,†said the old steward, “that where
he found his cloak he found a purse not far off.â€
“But not hose or doublet ; so the magical virtue of
his staff has not helped him much. But put down thy
staff, man, and speak like a Christian, if thou be one.â€
“JT am a Christian, though I look like a heathen ;
and no rogue, though a masterless man, alas! But I
want nothing, deserving nothing, and only ask to speak
with Sir Richard, before I go on my way.â€
There was something stately and yet humble about
the man’s tone and manner which attracted Amyas,
and he asked more gently where he was going and
whence he came.
“From Padstow Port, sir, to Clovelly town, to see
my old mother, if indeed she be yet alive, which God
knoweth.â€
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 203
“Clovally man! why didn’t thee say thee was
Clovally man?†asked all the grooms at once, to whom
a west countryman was of course a brother. The old
steward asked,—
“ What’s thy mother’s name, then ?â€
“Susan Yeo.â€
“What, that lived under the archway?†asked a
groom.
“Tiived ?†said the man.
“Tss, sure; her died three days since, so we heard,
poor soul.â€
The man stood quite silent and unmoved for a
minute or two; and then said quietly to himself, in
Spanish, “That which is, is best.â€
“You speak Spanish?†asked Amyas more and
more interested.
“T had need to do so, young sir; I have been five
years in the Spanish Main, and only set foot on shore
two days ago; and if you will let me have speech of
Sir Richard, I will tell him that at which both the ears
of him that heareth it shall tingle; and if not, I can
but go on to Mr. Cary of Clovelly, if he be yet alive,
and there disburthen my soul; but I would sooner
have spoken with one that is a mariner like to myself.â€
“And you shall,†said Amyas. “Steward, we will
have this man in; for all his rags, he is a man of wit.â€
And he led him in.
“JT only hope he ben’t one of those popish mur-
derers,†said the old steward, keeping at a safe distance
from him, as they entered the hall.
“Popish, old master? There’s little fear of my
204 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
being that. Look here!†And drawing back his rags,
he showed a ghastly scar, which encircled his wrist and
wound round and up his fore-arm.
“T got that on the rack,†said he quietly, “in the
Inquisition at Lima.â€
“O Father! Father! why didn’t you tell us that
you were a poor Christian?†asked the penitent steward.
“Because I have had nought but my deserts;
and but a taste of them either, as the Lord knoweth
who delivered me; and I wasn’t going to make myself
a beggar and a show on their account.â€
“By heaven, you are a brave fellow!†said Amyas.
“Come along straight to Sir Richard’s room.â€
So in they went, where Sir Richard sat in his
library among books, despatches, state-papers, and
warrants ; for though he was not yet, as in after times
(after the fashion of those days), admiral, general,
member of parliament, privy councillor, justice of the
peace, and so forth, all at once, yet there were few
great men with whom he did not correspond, or great
matters with which he was not cognisant.
“Hillo, Amyas, have you bound the wild man
already, and brought him in to swear allegiance ?â€
But before Amyas could answer, the man looked
earnestly on him—“Amyas%†said he; “is that your
name, sir?â€
“Amyas Leigh is my name, at your service, good
fellow.â€
“Of Burrough by Bideford 2â€
“Why then? What do you know of me?â€
“Oh sir, sir! young brains and happy ones have
etal ih
i
vs SS ~S RF
oi
Soul alive!†cried Amyas, catching him by the hand ; “and are
you he?â€â€™-——Chap. vii. p. 205.
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 205
short memories ; but old and sad brains too too long
ones, often! Do you mind one that was with Mr.
Oxenham, sir? a swearing reprobate he was, God for-
give him, and hath forgiven him too, for his dear Son’s
sake—one, sir, that gave you a horn, a toy with a
chart on it 4â€
“Soul alive!†cried Amyas, catching him by the
hand ; “and are you he? The horn? why, I have it
still, and will keep it to my dying day too. But where
is Mr. Oxenham 2â€
“Yes, my good fellow, where is Mr. Oxenham 2â€
asked Sir Richard, rising. “You are somewhat over-
hasty in welcoming your old acquaintance, Amyas,
before we have heard from him whether he can give
honest account of himself and of his Captain. For
there is more than one way by which sailors may
come home without their captains, as poor Mr. Barker
of Bristol found to his cost. God grant that there
may have been no such traitorous dealing here.â€
“Sir Richard Grenvile, if I had been a guilty man
to my noble captain, as I have to God, I had not
come here this day to you, from whom villany has
never found favour, nor ever will; for I know your
conditions well, sir; and trust in the Lord, that if you
will be pleased to hear me, you shall know mine.â€
“Thou art a well-spoken knave. We shall see.â€
“My dear sir,†said Amyas in a whisper, “I will
warrant this man guiltless.â€
“T verily believe him to be; but this is too serious
a matter to be left on guess. If he will be sworn ?
_ Whereon the man, humbly enough, said, that if it
206 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
would please Sir Richard, he would rather not be
sworn.
“But it does not please me, rascal! Did I not
warn thee, Amyas?â€
“Sir,†said the man proudly, “God forbid that my
word should not be as good as my oath: but it is
against my conscience to be sworn.â€
“What have we here? some fantastical Anabaptist,
who is wiser than his teachers ?â€
“My conscience, sir i
“The devil take it and thee! I never heard a man
yet begin to prate of his conscience, but I knew that
he was about to do something more than ordinarily
cruel or false.†:
“Sir,†said the man, coolly enough, “do -you sit
here to judge me according to law, and yet contrary
to the law swear profane oaths, for which a fine is
provided 2â€
Amyas expected an explosion: but Sir Richard
pulled a shilling out and put it on the table. ‘There
—iy fine is paid, sirrah, to the poor of Kilkhampton :
but hearken thou all the same. If thou wilt not speak
on oath, thou shalt speak on compulsion; for to
Launceston gaol thou goest, there to answer for Mr.
Oxenham’s death, on suspicion whereof, and of mutiny
causing it, I will attach thee and every soul of his
crew that comes home. We have lost too many
gallant captains of late by treachery of their crews,
and he that will not clear himself on cath, must be
held for guilty, and self-condemned.â€
“My good fellow,†said Amyas, who could not give
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 207
up his belief in the man’s honesty; “why, for such
fantastical scruples, peril not only your life, but your
honour, and Mr. Oxenham’s also? For if you be ex-
amined by question, you may be forced by torment to
say that which is not true.â€
“Tittle fear of that, young sir!†answered he with
a grim smile; “I have had too much of the rack
already, and the strappado too, to care much what
man can dounto me. I would heartily that I thought
it lawful to be sworn: but not so thinking, I can but
submit to the cruelty of man; though I did expect
more merciful things, as a most miserable and wrecked
mariner, at the hands of one who hath himself seen
God’s ways in the sea, and his wonders in the great
deep. Sir Richard Grenvile, if you will hear my story,
may God avenge on my head all my sins from my
youth up until now, and cut me off from the blood of
Christ, and, if it were possible, from the number of his
elect, if I tell you one whit more or less than truth ;
and if not, I commend myself into the hands of God.â€
Sir Richard smiled. ‘Well, thou art a brave ass,
and valiant, though an ass manifest. Dost thou not
see, fellow, how thou hast sworn a ten-times bigger
oath than ever I should have asked of thee? But this
is the way with your Anabaptists, who by their very
hatred of forms and ceremonies, show of how much
account they think them, and then bind themselves
out of their own fantastical self-will with far heavier
burdens than ever the lawful authorities have laid on
them for the sake of the commonweal. But what do
they care for the commonweal, as long as they can
208 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
save, as they fancy, each man his own dirty soul for
himself? However, thou art sworn now with a
vengeance ; go on with thy tale: and first, who art
thou, and whence ?â€
* «Well, sir,†said the man, quite unmoved by this
last explosion; “my name is Salvation Yeo, born in
Clovelly Street, in the year 1526, where my father
exercised the mystery of a barber surgeon, and a
preacher of the people since called Anabaptists, for
which I return humble thanks to God.â€
Sir Richard.—Fie! thou naughty knave; return
thanks that thy father was an ass ?
Yeo.—Nay, but because he was a barber surgeon ;
for I myself learnt a touch of that trade, and thereby
saved my life, as I will tell presently. And Ido think
that a good mariner ought to have all knowledge of
carnal and worldly cunning, even to tailoring and
shoemaking, that he may be able to turn his hand to
whatsoever may hap.
Sir Richard.—Well spoken, fellow : but let us have
thy text without thy comments. Forwards!
Yeo.—Well, sir. I was bred to the sea from my
youth, and was with Captain Hawkins in his three
voyages, which he made to Guinea for negro slaves,
and thence to the West Indies.
Sir Richard.—Then thrice thou wentest to a bad
end, though Captain Hawkins be my good friend ; and
the last time to a bad end thou camest.
Yeo.—No denying that last, your worship: but as
for the former, I doubt :—about the unlawfulness 1
mean ; being the negroes are of the children of Ham,
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 209
who are cursed and reprobate, as Scripture declares,
and their blackness testifies, being Satan’s own livery ;
among whom therefore there can be none of the elect,
wherefore the elect are not required to treat them as
brethren.
Sir Richard.—What a plague of a pragmatical sea-
lawyer have we here? And I doubt not, thou hypo-
crite, that though thou wilt call the negroes’ black
skin Satan’s livery, when it serves thy turn to steal
them, thou wilt find out sables to be Heaven’s livery
every Sunday, and up with a godly howl unless a
parson shall preach in a black gown Geneva fashion.
Out upon thee! Go on with thy tale, lest thou finish
thy sermon at Launceston after all.
Yeo.—The Lord’s people were always a reviled
people and a persecuted people: but I will go forward,
sir; for Heaven forbid but that I should declare what
God has done for me. For till lately, from my youth
up, I was given over to all wretchlessness and unclean
living, and was by nature a child of the devil, and to
every good work reprobate, even as others.
Sir Richard.—Hark to his “even as others!†Thou
new-whelped Pharisee, canst not confess thine own
villanies without making out others as bad as thyself,
and so thyself no worse than others? I only hope
that thou hast shown none of thy devil’s doings to
Mr. Oxenham.
Yeo.—On the word of a Christian man, sir, as I
said before, I kept true faith with him, and would
have been a better friend to him, sir, what is more,
than ever he was to himself.
VOL. I. iP W. H
210 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
Sir Richard.—Alas! that might easily be.
Yeo.—I think, sir, and will make good against any
man, that Mr. Oxenham was a noble and valiant
gentleman; true of his word, stout of his- sword,
skilful by sea and land, and worthy to have been
Lord High Admiral of England (saving your worship’s
presence), but that through two great sins, wrath and
avarice, he was cast away miserably or ever his soul
was brought to the knowledge of the truth. Ah, sir,
he was a Captain worth sailing under! And Yeo
heaved a deep sigh.
Sir Richard.—Steady, steady, good fellow! If thou
wouldst quit preaching, thou art no fool after all.
But tell us the story without more bush-beating.
So at last Yeo settled himself to his tale :—
“Well, sirs, I went, as Mr. Leigh knows, to
Nombre de Dios, with Mr. Drake and Mr. Oxenham,
in 1572, where what we saw and did, your worship,
I suppose, knows as well as I; and there was, as
youve heard may be, a covenant between Mr.
Oxenham and Mr. Drake to sail the South Seas
together, which they made, your worship, in my
hearing, under the tree over Panama. For when
Mr. Drake came down from the tree, after seeing
the sea afar off, Mr. Oxenham and I went up and
saw it too; and when we came down, Drake says,
‘John, I have made a vow to God that I will sail
that water, if I live and God gives me grace ;’ which
he had done, sir, upon his bended knees, like a godly
man as he always was, and would I had taken after
him! and Mr. O. says, ‘I am with you, Drake, to
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 211
live or die, and I think I know some one there already,
so we shall not be quite among strangers ;’ and laughed
withal. Well, sirs, that voyage, as you know, never
came off, because Captain Drake was fighting in
Ireland ; so Mr. Oxenham, who must be up and doing,
sailed for himself, and I who loved him, God knows,
like a brother (saving the difference in our ranks),
helped him to get the crew together, and went as his
gunner. That was in 1575; as you know, he had a
140-ton ship, sir, and seventy men out of Plymouth
and Fowey and Dartmouth, and many of them old
hands of Drake’s, beside a dozen or so from Bideford
that I picked up when I saw young Master here.â€
“Thank God that you did not pick me up too.â€
“Amen, amen!†said Yeo, clasping his hands on
his breast. “Those seventy men, sir,—seventy gallant
men, sir, with every one of them an immortal soul
within him,—where are they now? Gone, like the
spray!†And he swept his hands abroad with a wild and
solemn gesture. “And their blood is upon my head !â€
Both Sir Richard and Amyas began to suspect that
the man’s brain was not altogether sound.
“God forbid, my man,†said the Knight, kindly.
“Thirteen men I persuaded to join in Bideford
town, beside William Penberthy of Marazion, my
good comrade. And what if it be said to me at the
day of judgment, ‘Salvation Yeo, where are those
fourteen whom thou didst tempt to their deaths by
covetousness and lust of gold?’ Not that I was alone
in my sin, if the truth must be told. For all the way
out Mr. Oxenham was making loud speech, after his
212 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
pleasant way, that he would make all their fortunes,
and take them to such a Paradise, that they should
have no lust to come home again. And I—God
knows why—for every one boast of his would make
two, even to lying and empty fables, and anything
to keep up the men’s hearts. For I had really per-
suaded myself that we should all find treasures beyond
Solomon his temple, and Mr. Oxenham would surely
show us how to conquer some golden city, or discover
some island all made of precious stones. And one
day, as the Captain and I were talking after our
fashion, I said, ‘And you shall be our king, Captain.’
To which he, ‘If I be, I shall not be long without a
queen, and that no Indian one either.’ And after
that he often jested about the Spanish ladies, saying
that none could show us the way to their hearts better
than he. Which speeches I took no count of then,
sirs: but after I minded them, whether I would or
not. Well, sirs, we came to the shore of New Spain,
near to the old place—that’s Nombre de Dios; and
there Mr. Oxenham went ashore into the woods with
a boat’s crew, to find the negroes who helped us three
years before. Those are the Cimaroons, gentles, negro
slaves who have fled from those devils incarnate, their
Spanish masters, and live wild, like the beasts that
perish ; men of great stature, sirs, and fierce as wolves
in the onslaught, but poor jabbering mazed fellows if
they be but a bit dismayed; and have many Indian
women with them, who take to these negroes a deal
better than to their own kin, which breeds war enough,
as you may guess,
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 213
“Well, sirs, after three days the Captain comes
back, looking heavy enough, and says, ‘We played
our trick once too often, when we played it once.
There is no chance of stopping another rego (that is, a
mule-train, sirs) now. The Cimaroons say that since
our last visit they never move without plenty of
soldiers, two hundred shot at least. Therefore,’ he
said, ‘my gallants, we must either return empty-
handed from this, the very market and treasury of
the whole Indies, or do such a deed as men never did
before, which I shall like all the better for that very
reason.’ And we, asking his meaning, ‘Why,’ he said,
if Drake will not sail the South Seas, we will ;’ add-
ing profanely that Drake was like Moses, who beheld
the promised land afar; but he was Joshua, who
would enter into it, and smite the inhabitants thereof.
And, for our confirmation, showed me and the rest
the superscription of a letter: and said, ‘How I came
by this is none of your business: but I have had it in
my bosom ever since I left Plymouth; and I tell you
now, what I forebore to tell you at first, that the
South Seas have been my mark all along! such news
have I herein of plate-ships, and gold-ships, and what
not, which will come up from Quito and Lima this
very month, all which, with the pearls of the Gulf of
Panama, and other wealth unspeakable, will be ours,
if we have but true English hearts within us.’
“At which, gentles, we were like madmen for lust
of that gold, and cheerfully undertook a toil incredible ;
for first we run our ship aground in a great wood which
grew in the very sea itself, and then took out her
214 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
masts, and covered her in boughs, with her four cast
pieces of great ordnance (of which more hereafter),
and leaving no man in her, started for the South Seas
across the neck of Panama, with two small pieces of
ordnance and our culverins, and good store of victuals,
and with us six of those negroes for a guide, and so
twelve leagues to a river which runs into the South
Sea.
“And there, having cut wood, we made a pinnace
(and work enough we had at it), of five-and-forty foot
in the keel; and in her down the stream, and to the
Isle of Pearls in the Gulf of Panama.â€
“Into the South Sea? Impossible!†said Sir
Richard. “Have a care what you say, my man ; for
there is that about you which would make me sorry
to find you out a liar.â€
“Tmpossible or not, liar or none, we went there, sir.â€
“Question him, Amyas, lest he turn out to have
been beforehand with you.â€
The man looked inquiringly at Amyas, who said,—
“Well, my man, of the Gulf of Panama I cannot
ask you, for I never was inside it, but what other
parts of the coast do you know?â€
“Every inch, sir, from Cabo San Francisco to
Lima; more is my sorrow, for I was a galley-slave
there for two years and more.â€
“You know Lima?â€
“T was there three times, worshipful gentlemen,
and the last was February come two years ; and there
I helped lade a great plate-ship, the ‘Cacafuogo,’ they
called her.â€
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 215
Amyas started. Sir Richard nodded to him gently
to be silent, and then—
“And what became of her, my lad ?â€
‘God knows, who knows all, and the devil who
freighted her. I broke prison six weeks afterwards,
and never heard but that she got safe into Panama.â€
“You never heard, then, that she was taken ?â€
“Taken, your worships? Who should take her 2â€
“Why should not a good English ship take her as
well as another?†said Amyas.
“Lord love you, sir; yes faith, if they had but
been there. Many’s the time that I thought to myself,
as we went alongside, ‘Oh, if Captain Drake was but
here, well to windward, and our old crew of the
Dragon!’ Ask your pardon, gentles: but how is
Captain Drake, if I may make so bold 2â€
Neither could hold out longer.
“Fellow, fellow!†cried Sir Richard, springing up,
“either thou art the cunningest liar that ever earned
a halter, or thou hast done a deed the like of which
never man adventured. Dost thou not know that
Captain Drake took that ‘Cacafuogo’ and all her
freight, in February come two years ?â€
“Captain Drake! God forgive me, sir; but—
Captain Drake in the South Seas? He saw them,
sir, from the tree-top over Panama, when I was with
him, and I too; but sailed them, sir?—sailed them 9â€
“Yes, and round the world too,†said Amyas, “and
I with him ; and took that very ‘Cacafuogo’ off Cape
San Francisco, as she came up to Panama.â€
One glance at the man’s face was enough to prove
216 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
his sincerity. The great stern Anabaptist, who had not
winced at the news of his mother’s death, dropt right
on his knees on the floor, and burst into violent
sobs.
“Glory to God! Glory toGod! O Lord, I thank
thee! Captain Drake in the South Seas! The blood
of thy innocents avenged, O Lord! The spoiler spoiled,
and the proud robbed ; and all they whose hands were
mighty have found nothing. Glory, Glory! Ob, tell
me, sir, did she fight ?â€
“We gave her three pieces of ordnance only, and
struck down her mizen mast, and then boarded sword
in hand, but never had need to strike a blow; and
before we left her, one of her own boys had changed
her name, and rechristened her the ‘Cacaplata.’â€
“Glory, glory! Cowards they are, as I told them.
I told them they never could stand the Devon mastiffs,
and well they flogged me for saying it ; but they could
not stop my mouth. O siz, tell me, did you get the
ship that came up after her?â€
“What was that?â€
“A long race-ship, sir, from Guayaquil, with an
old gentleman on board,—Don Francisco de Xararte
was his name, and by token, he had a gold falcon
hanging to a chain round his neck, and a green stone
in the breast of it. I saw it as we rowed him aboard.
O tell me, sir, tell me for the love of God, did you
take that ship ?â€
“We did take that ship, and the jewel too, and her
Majesty has it at this very hour.â€
“Then tell me, sir,†said he slowly, as if he dreaded
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 217
an answer ; “tell me, sir, and oh, try and mind
there a little maid aboard with the old gentleman ?â€
“A little maid? Let me think. No; I saw none.â€
The man settled his features again sadly.
“T thought not. I never saw her come aboard.
Still I hoped, like; I hoped. Alackaday! God help
me, Salvation Yeo!â€
“What have you to do with this little maid, then,
good fellow?†asked Grenvile.
“Ah, sir, before I tell you that, I must go back
and finish the story of Mr. Oxenham, if you will
believe me enough to hear it.â€
“T do believe thee, good fellow, and honour thee
too.â€
“Then, sir, I can speak with a free tongue.
Where was 1?â€
“Where was he, Amyas.â€
“ At the Isle of Pearls.â€
“And yet, O gentles, tell me first, how Captain
Drake came into the South Seas :—over the neck, as
we did?â€
“Through the Straits, good fellow, like any
Spaniard: but go on with thy story, and thou shalt
have Mr. Leigh’s after.â€
“Through the Straits! O glory! But Tl tell my
tale. Well, sirs both—To the Island of Pearls we
came, we and some of the negroes. We found many
huts, and Indians fishing for pearls, and also a fair
house, with porches; but no Spaniard therein, save
one man; at which Mr. Oxenham was like a man
transported, and fell on that Spaniard, crying, ‘Perro,
was
218 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
where is your mistress? Where is the bark from
Lima?’ To which he boldly enough, ‘ What was his
mistress to the Englishman?’ But Mr. O. threatened
to twine a cord round his head till his eyes burst out;
and the Spaniard, being terrified, said that the ship
from Lima was expected in a fortnight’s time. So
for ten days we lay quiet, letting neither negro nor
Spaniard leave the island, and took good store of
pearls, feeding sumptuously on wild cattle and hogs
until the tenth day, when there came by a small bark;
her we took, and found her from Quito, and on board
60,000 pezos of gold and other store. With which if
we had been content, gentlemen, all had gone well.
And some were willing to go back at once, having
both treasure and pearls in plenty; but Mr. O., he
waxed right mad, and swore to slay any one who
made that motion again, assuring us that the Lima
ship of which he had news was far greater and richer,
and would make princes of us all; which bark came
in sight on the sixteenth day, and was taken without
shot or slaughter. The taking of which bark, I verily
believe, was the ruin of every mother’s son of us.â€
And being asked why, he answered, “First,
because of the discontent which was bred thereby ;
for on board was found no gold, but only 100,000
pezos of silver.â€
Sir Richard Grenvile—Thou greedy fellow; and
was not that enough to stay your stomachs ?
Yeo answered, that he would to God it had been ;
but that, moreover, the weight of that silver was
afterwards a hindrance to them, and a fresh cause of
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 219
discontent, as he would afterwards declare. ‘So that
it had been well for us, sirs, if we had left it behind,
as Mr. Drake left his three years before, and carried
away the gold only. In which I do see the evident
hand of God, and his just punishment for our greedi-
ness of gain; who caused Mr. Oxenham, by whom we
had hoped to attain great wealth, to be a snare to us,
and a cause of utter ruin.â€
“Do you think, then,†said Sir Richard, “that Mr.
Oxenham deceived you wilfully %â€
“J will never believe that, sir: Mr. Oxenham had
his private reasons for waiting for that ship, for the
sake of one on board, whose face would that he had
never seen, though he saw it then, as I fear, not for
the first time by many a one.†And so was silent.
“Come,†said both his hearers, “you have brought
us thus far, and you must go on.â€
“Gentlemen, I have concealed this matter from all
men, both on my voyage home and since; and I hope
you will be secret in the matter, for the honour of
my noble Captain, and the comfort of his friends who
are alive. For I think it shame to publish harm of a
gallant gentleman, and of an ancient and worshipful
family, and to me a true and kind Captain, when
what is done cannot be undone, and least said soonest
mended. Neither now would I have spoken of it,
but that I was inwardly moved to it for the sake of
that young gentleman there (looking at Amyas), that
he might be warned in time of God’s wrath against
the crying sin of adultery, and flee youthful lusts,
which war against the soul.â€
220 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
“Thou hast done wisely enough, then,†said Sir
Richard; “and look to it if I do not reward thee:
but the young gentleman here, thank God, needs no
such warnings, having got them already both by pre-
cept and example, where thou and poor Oxenham
might have had them also.â€
“You mean Captain Drake, your worship ?â€
“T do, sirrah, If all men were as clean livers as
he, the world would be spared one half the tears that
are shed in it.â€
“Amen, sir. At least there would have been
many a tear spared to us and ours. For—as all must
out—in that bark of Lima he took a young lady, as
fair as the sunshine, sir, and seemingly about two or
three-and-twenty years of age, having with her a tall
young lad of sixteen, and a little girl, a marvellously
pretty child, of about a six or seven. And the lady
herself was of an excellent beauty, like a whale’s tooth
for whiteness, so that all the crew wondered at her,
and could not be satisfied with looking upon her.
And, gentlemen, this was strange, that the lady
seemed in no wise afraid or mournful, and bid her
little girl fear nought, as did also Mr. Oxenham : but
the lad kept a very sour countenance, and the more
when he saw the lady and Mr. Oxenham speaking
together apart.
“Well, sir, after this good luck we were minded
to have gone straight back to the river whence we
came, and so home to England with all speed. But
Mr. Oxenham persuaded us to return to the island,
and get a few more pearls. To which foolishness
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 221.
(which after caused the mishap) I verily believe he
was moved by the instigation of the devil and of that
lady. For as we were about to go ashore, I, going
down into the cabin of the prize, saw Mr. Oxenham
and that lady making great cheer of each other with,
‘My life,’ and ‘My king,’ and ‘Light of my eyes,’ and
such toys ; and being bidden by Mr, Oxenham to fetch
out the lady’s mails, and take them ashore, heard how
the two laughed together about the old ape of Panama
(which ape, or devil rather, I saw afterwards to my
cost), and also how she said, that she had been dead
for five years, and now that Mr. Oxenham was come,
she was alive again, and so forth.
“Mr. Oxenham bade take the little maid ashore,
kissing her and playing with her, and saying to the
lady, ‘What is yours is mine, and what is mine is
yours.’ And she asking whether the lad should come
ashore, he answered, ‘He. is neither yours nor mine ;
Ict the spawn of Beelzebub stay on shore.’ After
which I, coming on deck again, stumbled over that
very lad, upon the hatchway ladder, who bore so black
and despiteful a face, that I verily believe he had
overheard their speech, and so thrust him upon deck ;
and going below. again, told Mr. Oxenham what I
thought, and said that it were better to put a dagger
into him at once, professing to be ready so to do.
For which grievous sin, seeing that it was committed
in my unregenerate days, I hope I have obtained the
grace of forgiveness, as I have that of hearty repent-
ance. But the lady cried out, ‘Though he be none
of mine, I have sin enough already on my soul;’ and
229 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
go laid her hand on Mr. Oxenham’s mouth, entreating
pitifully. And Mr, Oxenham answered laughing,
when she would let him, ‘What care we? let the
young monkey go and howl to the old one ;’
went ashore with the lady to that house, whence for
three days he never came forth, and would have
remained longer, but that the men, finding but few
pearls, and being wearied with the watching and
warding so many Spaniards, and negroes came clam-
ouring to him, and swore that they would return or
leave him there with the lady. So all went on board
the pinnace again, every one in ill humour with the
Captain, and he with them.
“Well, sirs, we came back to the mouth of the
river, and there began our troubles; for the negroes,
as soon as we were on shore, called on Mr. Oxenham
to fulfil the bargain he had made with them. And
now it came out (what few of us knew till then) that
he had agreed with the Cimaroons that they should
have all the prisoners which were taken, save the
gold. And he, though loth, was about to give up the
Spaniards to them, near forty in all, supposing that
they intended to use them as slaves: but as we all
stood talking, one of the Spaniards, understanding
what was forward, threw himself on his knees before
Mr. Oxenham, and shrieking like a madman, entreated
not to be given up into the hands of ‘ those devils,’
said he, ‘who never take a Spanish prisoner, but they
roast him alive, and then eat his heart among them.’
We asked the negroes if this was possible? To which
some answered, What was that to us? But others
and so
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 223
said boldly, that it was true enough, and that revenge
made the best sauce, and nothing was so sweet as
Spanish blood; and one, pointing to the lady, said
such foul and devilish things as I should be ashamed
either for me to speak, or you to hear. At this we
were like men amazed for very horror; and Mr. Oxen-
ham said, ‘ You incarnate fiends, if you had taken these
fellows for slaves, it had been fair enough; for you
were once slaves to them, and I doubt not cruelly used
enough: but as for this abomination,’ says he, ‘God
do so to me, and more also, if I let one of them come
into your murderous hands.’ So there was a great
quarrel; but Mr. Oxenham stoutly bade put the
prisoners on board the ships again, and so let the
prizes go, taking with him only the treasure, and the
lady and the little maid. And so the lad went on to
Panama, God’s wrath having gone out against us.
“Well, sirs, the Cimaroons after that went away
from us, swearing revenge (for which we cared little
enough), and we rowed up the river to a place where
three streams met, and then up the least of the three,
some four days’ journey, till it grew all shoal and swift;
and there we hauled the pinnace upon the sands, and
Mr. Oxenham asked the men whether they were
willing to carry the gold and silver over the mountains
to the North Sea. Some of them at first were loth to
do it, and I and others advised that we should leave
the plate behind, and take the gold only, for it would
have cost us three or four journeys at the least. But
Mr. Oxenham promised every man 100 pezos of silver
over and above his wages, which made them content
224 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
enough, and we were all to start the morrow morning.
But, sirs, that night, as God had ordained, came a
mishap by some rash speeches of Mr. Oxenham’s,
which threw all abroad again; for when we had
carried the treasure about half a league inland, and
hidden it away in a house which we made of boughs,
Mr. O. being always full of that his fair lady, spoke
to me and William Penberthy of Marazion, my good
comrade, and a few more, saying, ‘That we had no
need to return to England, seeing that we were already
in the very garden of Eden, and wanted for nothing,
‘but could live without labour or toil; and that it
was better, when we got over to the North Sea, to go
and seek out some fair island, and there dwell in joy
and pleasure till our lives’ end. And we two,’ he
said, ‘will be king and queen, and you, whom I can
trust, my officers; and for servants we will have the
Indians, who, I warrant, will be more fain to serve
honest and merry masters like us than those Spanish
devils,’ and much more of the like; which words I
liked well,—my mind, alas! being given altogether to
carnal pleasure and vanity,—as did William Penberthy,
my good comrade, on whom I trust God has had mercy.
But the rest, sirs, took the matter all across, and
began murmuring against the Captain, saying that
poor honest mariners like them had always the labour
and the pain, while he took his delight with his lady ;
and that they would have at least one merry night
before they were slain by the Cimaroons, or eaten by
panthers and lagartos; and so got out of the pinnace
two great skins of Canary wine, which were taken in
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 225
the Lima prize, and sat themselves down to drink.
Moreover, there were in the pinnace a great sight of
hens, which came from the same prize, by which Mr.
O. set great store, keeping them for the lady and the
little maid ; and falling upon these, the men began to
blaspheme, saying, ‘What a plague had the Captain
to fill the boat with dirty live lumber for that giglet’s
sake? They had a better right to a good supper than
ever she had, and might fast awhile to cool her hot
blood ;’? and so cooked and ate those hens, plucking
them on board the pinnace, and letting the feathers
fall into the stream. But when William Penberthy,
my good comrade, saw the feathers floating away
down, he asked them if they were mad, to lay a trail
by which the Spaniards would surely track them out,
if they came after them, as without doubt they would.
But they laughed him to scorn, and said that no
Spanish cur dared follow on the heels of true English
mastiffs as they were, and other boastful speeches ;
and at last, being heated with wine, began afresh to
murmur at the Captain. And one speaking of his
counsel about the island, the rest altogether took it
amiss and out of the way ; and some sprang up crying
treason, and others that he meant to defraud them of
the plate which he had promised, and others that he
meant to desert them in a strange land, and so forth,
till Mr. O., hearing the hubbub, came out to them from
the house, when they reviled him foully, swearing that
he meant to cheat them; and one Edward Stiles, a
Wapping man, mad with drink, dared to say that he
was a fool for not giving up the prisoners to the
VOLE Q Ww. i.
226 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
negroes, and what was it to him if the lady roasted ?
the negroes should have her yet; and drawing his
sword, ran upon the Captain; for which I was about
to strike him through the body; but the Cap-
tain, not caring to waste steel on such a ribald,
with his fist caught him such a buffet behind the
ear, that he fell down stark dead, and all the rest
stood amazed. Then Mr. Oxenham called out,
‘All honest men who know me, and can trust me,
stand by your lawful Captain against these ruffians,’
Whereon, sirs, I, and Penberthy my good comrade,
and four Plymouth men, who had sailed with Mr. O.
in Mr. Drake’s ship, and knew his trusty and valiant
conditions, came over to him, and swore before God to
stand by him and the lady. Then said Mr. O. to the
rest, ‘ Will you carry this treasure, knaves, or will you
not? Give me an answer here.’ And they refused,
unless he would, before they started, give cach man
his share. So Mr. O. waxed very mad, and swore that
he would never be served by men who did not trust
him, and so went in again; and that night was spent
in great disquiet, I and those five others keeping watch
about the house of boughs till the rest fell asleep, in
their drink. And next morning, when the wine was
gone out of them, Mr. O. asked them whether they
would go to the hills with him, and find those negroes,
and persuade them after all to carry the treasure.
To which they agreed after awhile, thinking that so
they should save themselves labour ; and went off with
Mr. Oxenham, leaving us six who had stood by him to
watch the lady and the treasure, after he had taken
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 227
an oath of us that we would deal justly and obediently
by him and by her, which God knows, gentlemen, we
did. So he parted with much weeping and wailing of
the lady, and was gone seven days; and all that time
we kept that lady faithfully and honestly, bringing her
the best we could find, and serving her upon our
bended knees, both for her admirable beauty, and for
her excellent conditions, for she was certainly of some
noble kin, and courteous, and without fear, as if she
had been a very princess. But she kept always within
the house, which the little maid (God bless her !) did
not, but soon learned to play with us and we with her,
so that we made great cheer of her, gentlemen, sailor
fashion—for you know we must always have our
minions aboard to pet and amuse uws—maybe a monkey,
or a little dog, or a singing bird, ay, or mice and spiders,
if we have nothing better to play withal. And she
was wonderful sharp, sirs, was the little maid, and
picked up her English from us fast, calling us jolly
mariners, which I doubt but she has forgotten by now,
but I hope in God it be not so;†and therewith the
good fellow began wiping his eyes.
“Well, sir, on the seventh day we six were down
by the pinnace clearing her out, and the little maid
with us gathering of flowers, and William Penberthy
fishing on the bank, about a hundred yards below,
when on a sudden he leaps up and runs toward us,
crying, ‘Here come our hens’ feathers back again with
a vengeance !’ and so bade catch up the little maid,
and run for the house, for the Spaniards were upon us.
“Which was too true; for before we could win the
228 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
house, there were full eighty shot at our heels, but
could not overtake us; nevertheless, some of them
stopping, fixed their calivers and let fly, killing one of
the Plymouth men. The rest of us escaped to the
house, and catching up the lady, fled forth, not know-
ing whither we went, while the Spaniards, finding the
house and treasure, pursued us no farther.
“For all that day and the next we wandered in
great misery, the lady weeping continually, and calling
’ for Mr. Oxenham most piteously, and the little maid
likewise, till with much ado we found the track of our
comrades, and went up that as best we might: but at
nightfall, by good hap, we met the whole crew coming
back, and with them 200 negroes or more, with bows
and arrows. At which sight was great joy and em-
bracing, and it was a strange thing, sirs, to see the
lady ; for before that she was altogether desperate :
and yet she was now a very lioness, as soon as she had
got her love again; and prayed him earnestly not to
care for that gold, but to go forward to the North Sea,
vowing to him in my hearing that she cared no more
for poverty than she had cared for her good name, and
then—they being a little apart from the rest—pointed
round to the green forest, and said in Spanish—which
I suppose they knew not that I understood,—‘See, all
round usis Paradise. Were it not enough for you and
me to stay here for ever, and let them take the gold
or leave it as they will?
“To which Mr Oxenham—‘Those who lived in
Paradise had not sinned as we have, and would never
have grown old or sick, as we shall.’
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. ‘229
“And she—‘ If we do that, there are poisons enough
in these woods, by which we may die in each other’s
arms, as would to Heaven we had died seven years
agone !’
“But he—‘No, no, my life. It stands upon my
honour both to fulfil my bond with these men, whom
I have brought hither, and to take home to England
at least something of my prize as a proof of my own
valour.’
“Then she smiling—‘ Am I not prize enough, and
proof enough? But he would not be so tempted, and
turning to us offered us the half of that treasure, if
we would go back with him, and rescue it from the
Spaniard. At which the lady wept and wailed much ;
but I took upon myself to comfort her, though I was
but a simple mariner, telling her that it stood upon
Mr. Oxenham’s honour ; and that in England nothing
was esteemed so foul as cowardice, or breaking word
and troth betwixt man and man; and that better
was it for him to die seven times by the Spaniards,
than to face at home the scorn of all who sailed the
seas. So, after much ado, back they went again;
I and Penberthy, and the three Plymouth men
which escaped from the pinnace, keeping the lady as
before.
“Well, sirs, we waited five days, having made
houses of boughs as before, without hearing aught ;
and on the sixth we saw coming afar off Mr. Oxenham,
and with him fifteeen or twenty men, who seemed
very weary and wounded ; and when we looked for
the rest to be behind them, behold there were no more;
230 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
at which, sirs, as you may well think, our hearts sank
within us.
“And Mr, O., coming nearer, cried out afar off,
‘ All is lost!’ and so walked into the camp without a
word, and sat himself down at the foot of a great tree
‘with his head between his hands, speaking neither to
the lady or to any one, till she very pitifully kneeling
before him, cursing herself for the cause of all his mis-
chief, and praying him to avenge himself upon that
her tender body, won him hardly to look once upon
her, after which (as is the way of vain and unstable
man) all between them was as before.
“But-the men were full of curses against the negroes,
for their cowardice and treachery; yea, and against
high Heaven itself, which had put the most part of
their ammunition into the Spaniards’ hands ; and told
me, and I believe truly, how they forced the enemy
awaiting them in a little copse of great trees, well
fortified with barricades of boughs, and having with
them our two falcons, which they had taken out of the
pinnace. And how Mr. Oxenham divided both the
English and the negroes into two bands, that one
might attack the enemy in front, and the other in the
rear, and so set upon them with great fury, and would
have utterly driven them out, but that the negroes,
who had come on with much howling, like very wild
beasts, being suddenly scared with the shot and noise
of the ordnance, turned and fled, leaving the English-
men alone; in which evil strait Mr. O. fought like a
very Guy of Warwick, and I verily believe every man
of them likewise ; for there was none of them who had.
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 231
not his shrewd scratch to show. And indeed, Mr.
Oxenham’s party had once gotten within the barricades
but the Spaniards being sheltered by the tree trunks
(and especially by one mighty tree, which stood as I
remembered it, and remember it now, borne up two
fathoms high upon its own roots, as it were upon
arches and pillars), shot at them with such advantage,
that they had several slain, and seven more taken alive,
only among the roots of that tree. So seeing that
they could prevail nothing, having little but their pikes
and swords, they were fain to give back; though Mr.
Oxenham swore he would not stir a foot, and making
at the Spanish Captain was borne down with pikes,
and hardly pulled away by some, who at last reminding
him of his lady, persuaded him to come away with the
rest. Whereon the other party fled also; but what
had become of them they knew not, for they took
another way. And so they miserably drew off, having
lost in men eleven killed and seven taken alive, besides
five of the rascal negroes who were killed before they
had time to run; and there was an end of the matter.
1 Tn the documents from which I have drawn this veracious
history, a note is appended to this point of Yeo’s story, which
seems to me to smack sufficiently of the old Elizabethan seaman,
to be inserted at length.
‘All so far, and most after, agreeth with Lopez Vaz his tale,
taken from his pocket by my Lord Cumberland’s mariners at
the river Plate, in the year 1586. But note here his vainglory
and falschood, or else fear of the Spaniard.
‘Tirst, lest it should be seen how great an advantage the
Spaniards had, he maketh no mention of the English calivers,
nor those two pieces of ordnance which were in the pinnace.
‘Second, he saith nothing of the flight of the Cimaroons :
i
&
}
232 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
“But the next day, gentlemen, in came some five-
and-twenty more, being the wreck of the other party,
and with them a few negroes; and these last proved
though it was evidently to be gathered from that which he him-
self saith, that of less than seventy English were slain eleven,
and of the negroes but five. And while of the English seven
were taken alive, yet of the negroes none. And why, but because
the rascals ran ?
“Thirdly, it is a thing incredible, and out of experience,
that eleven English should be slain and seven taken, with loss
only of two Spaniards killed.
“Search now, and see (for I will not speak of mine own
small doings), in all those memorable voyages, which the worthy
and learned Mr. Hakluyt hath so painfully collected, and which
are to my old age next only to my Bible, whether in all the
fights which we have endured with the Spaniards, their loss,
even in victory, hath not far exceeded ours. For we are both
bigger of body and fiercer of spirit, being even to the poorest of
us (thanks to the care of our illustrious princes) the best fed
men of Europe, the most trained to feats of strength and use of
weapons, and put our trust also not in any Virgin or saints,
dead rags and bones, painted idols which have no breath in
their mouths, or St. Bartholomew medals and such devil’s
remembrancers: but in the only true God and our Lord Jesus
Christ, in whom whosoever trusteth, one of them shall chase a
thousand. So I hold, having had good experience ; and say, if
they have done it once, let them do it again, and kill their
eleven to our two, with any weapon they will, save paper bullets
blown out of Fame’s lying trumpet. Yet I have no quarrel with
the poor Portugal ; for I doubt not but friend Lopez Vaz had
looking over his shoulder as he wrote some mighty black velvet
Don, with a name as long as that Don Bernaldino Delgadillo de
Avellaneda who set forth lately his vainglorious libel of lies con-
cerning the last and fatal voyage of my dear friends Sir F. Drake
and Sir John Hawkins, who rest in peace, having finished their
labours, as would God I rested. ‘To whose shameless and
unspeakable lying my good friend Mr. Henry Savile of this
county did most pithily and wittily reply, stripping the ass
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM, 233
themselves no honester men than they were brave, for
there being great misery among us English, and every
one of us straggling where he could to get food, every
day one or more who went out never came back, and
that caused a suspicion that the negroes had betrayed
them to the Spaniards, or may be, slain and eaten them.
So these fellows being upbraided with that altogether
left us, telling us boldly, that if they had eaten our
fellows, we owed them a debt instead of the Spanish
prisoners ; and we, in great terror and hunger, went
forward and over the mountains till we came to a little
river which ran northward, which seemed to lead into
the Northern Sea; and there Mr. O.—who, sirs, I
will say, after his first rage was over, behaved himself
all through like a valiant and skilful commander—
bade us cut down trees and make canoes, to go down
to the sea; which we began to do with great labour
and little profit, hewing down trees with our swords,
and burning them out with fire, which, after much
labour, we kindled ; but as we were a-burning out of
the first tree, and cutting down of another, a great
party of negroes came upon us, and with much friendly
show bade us fice for our lives, for the Spaniards were
upon us in great force. And so we were up and away
again, hardly able to drag our legs after us for hunger
out of his lion’s skin ; and Sir Thomas Baskerville, general of
the fleet, by my advice, send him a cartel of defiance, offering
to meet him with choice of weapons, in any indifferent kingdom
of equal distance from this realm; which challenge he hath
prudently put in his pipe, or rather rolled it up for one of his
Spanish cigarros, and smoked it, and I doubt not, found it foul
in the mouth.â€
234 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
and weariness, and the broiling heat. And some were
taken (God help them !) and some fled with the negroes,
of whom what became God alone knoweth ; but eight
or ten held on with the Captain, among whom was I,
and fled downward toward the sea for one day; but
afterwards finding, by the noise in the woods, that the
Spaniards were on the track of us, we turned up again
toward the inland, and coming to a cliff, climbed up
over it, drawing up the lady and the little maid with
cords of liana (which hang from those trees as honey-
suckle does here, but exceeding stout and long, even
to fifty fathoms) ; and so breaking the track, hoped
to be out of the way of the enemy,
“By which, nevertheless, we only increased our
misery. or two fell from that cliff, as men asleep for
very weariness, and miserably broke their bones; and
others, whether by the great toil, or sunstrokes, or
eating of strange berries, fell sick of fluxes and fevers ;
where was no drop of water, but rock of pumice stone
as bare as the back of my hand, and full, moreover,
of great cracks, black and without bottom, over which
we had not strength to lift the sick, but were fain to
leave them there aloft, in the sunshine, like Dives in
his torments, crying aloud for a drop of water to cool
their tongues ; and every man a great stinking vulture
or two sitting by him, like an ugly black fiend out of
the pit, waiting till the poor soul should depart out of
the corpse: but nothing could avail, and for the dear
life we must down again and into the woods, or be
burned up alive upon those rocks.
‘‘So getting down, the slope on the farther side, we
Chap. vii. p. 235.
Sang us all to sleep with very sweet music.â€
‘“
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 235
came into the woods once more, and there wandered
for many days, I know not how many ; our shoes being
gone, and our clothes all rent off us with brakes and
briars. And yet how the lady endured all was a
marvel to see; for she went barefoot many days, and
for clothes was fain to wrap herself in Mr. Oxenham’s
cloak ,; while the little maid went all but naked: but
ever she looked still on Mr. Oxenham, and seemed to
take no care as long as he was by, comforting and
cheering us all with pleasant words; yea, and once
sitting down under a great fig-tree, sang us all to sleep
with very sweet music; yet, waking about midnight,
I saw her sitting still upright, weeping very bitterly ;
on whom, sirs, God have mercy; for she was a fair
and a brave jewel.
“And so, to make few words of a sad matter, at
last there were none left but Mr. Oxenham and the
lady and the little maid, together with me and William
Penberthy of Marazion, my good comrade. And Mr.
Oxenham always led the lady, and Penberthy and I
carried the little maid. And for food we had fruits,
such as we could find, and water we got from the
leaves of certain lilies which grew on the bark of trees,
which I found by seeing the monkeys drink at them ;
and the little maid called them monkey-cups, and
asked for them continually, making me climb for
them. And so we wandered on, and upward into
very high mountains, always fearing lest the Spaniards
should track us with dogs, which made the lady leap
up often in her sleep, crying that the bloodhounds
were upon her. And it befell upon a day, that we
236 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
came into a great wood of ferns (which grew not on
the ground like ours, but on stems as big as a pinnace’s
mast, and the bark of them was like a fine meshed
net, very strange to see), where was very pleasant
shade, cool and green; and there, gentlemen, we sat
down on a bank of moss, like folk desperate and fore-
done, and every one looked the other in the face for
a long while. After which I took off the bark of
those ferns, for I must needs be doing something to
drive away thought, and began to plait slippers for
the little maid.
“And as I was plaiting, Mr. Oxenham said, ‘ What
hinders us from dying like men, every man falling on
his own sword?’ To which I answered that I dare
not; for a wise woman had prophesied of me, sirs,
that I should die at sea, and yet neither by water or
battle, wherefore I did not think right to meddle with
the Lord’s purposes. And William Penberthy said,
‘That he would sell his life, and that dear, but never
give it away.’ But the lady said, ‘Ah, how gladly
would I die! but then la paouvre garse,’ which is:in
French ‘the poor maid,’ meaning the little one. Then
Mr. Oxenham fell into a very great weeping, a weak-
ness I never saw him in before or since; and with
many tears besought me never to desert that little
maid, whatever might befall ; which I promised, swear-
ing to it like a heathen, but would, if I had been able,
have kept it like a Christian. But on a sudden there
was a great cry in the wood, and coming through the
trees on all sides Spanish arquebusiers, a hundred
strong at least, and negroes with them, who bade us
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 237
stand or they would shoot. William Penberthy leapt
up, crying, ‘Treason!’ and running upon the nearest
negro ran him through, and then another, and then
falling on the Spaniards, fought manfully till he was
borne down with pikes, and so died. But I, seeing
nothing better to do, sate still and finished my plait-
ing. And so we were all taken, and I and Mr.
Oxenham bound with cords; but the soldiers made a
litter for the lady and child, by commandment of
Sefior Diego de Trees, their commander, a very cour-
teous gentleman.
“Well, sirs, we were brought down to the place
where the house of boughs had been by the river-side ;
there we went over in boats, and found waiting for
us certain Spanish gentlemen, and among others one
old and ill-favoured man, grey-bearded and bent, in a
suit of black velvet, who seemed to be a great man
among them. And if you will believe me, Mr. Leigh,
that was none other than the old man with the gold
falcon at his breast, Don Francisco Xararte by name,
whom you found aboard of the Lima ship. And had
you known as much of him as I do, or as Mr. Oxenham
did either, you had cut him up for shark’s bait, or
ever you let the cur ashore again.
“Well, sirs, as soon as the lady came to shore, that
old man ran upon her sword in hand, ond would have
slain her, but some there held him back. On which
he turned to, and reviled with every foul and spiteful
word which he could think of, so that some there bade
him be silent for shame ; and Mr. Oxenham said, ‘It
is worthy of you, Don Francisco, thus to trumpet
238 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
abroad your own disgrace. Did I not tell you years
ago that you were a cur; and are you not proving my
words for me?
“He answered, ‘English dog, would to Heaven I
had never seen you!’
“And Mr. Oxenham, ‘Spanish ape, would to
Heaven that I had sent my dagger through your her-
ring-ribs when you passed me behind St. Hdegonde’s
church, eight years last Easter-eve.’ At which the
old man turned pale, and then began again to upbraid
the lady, vowing that he would have her burnt alive,
and other devilish words, to which she answered at
last—
“«Would that you had burnt me alive on my wed-
ding morning, and spared me eight years of misery !’
And he—
“¢Misery? Hear the witch, Sefiors! Oh, have I
not pampered her, heaped with jewels, clothes, coaches,
what not? The saints alone know what I have spent
on her. What more would she have of me?’
“To which she answered only but this one word,
‘Fool!’ but in so terrible a voice, though low, that
they who were about to laugh at the old pantaloon,
were more minded to weep for her.
“Bool! she said again, after a while, ‘I will
waste no words upon you. I would have driven a
dagger to your heart months ago, but that I was loth
to set you free so soon from your gout and your
rheumatism. Selfish and stupid, know when you
bought my body from my parents, you did not buy
my soul! Farewell, my love, my life! and farewell,
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 239
Sefiors! May you be more merciful to your daughters
than my parents were to me!’ And s0, catching a
dagger from the girdle of one of the soldiers, smote
herself to the heart, and fell dead before them all.
“At which Mr. Oxenham smiled, and said, ‘That
was worthy of us both. If you will unbind my hands,
Sefiors, I shall be most happy to copy so fair a school-
mistress.’
“But Don Diego shook his head, and said,
“Tt were well for you, valiant Sefior, were I at
liberty to do so; but on questioning those of your
sailors, whom I have already taken, I cannot hear
that you have any letters of licence, either from the
Queen of England, or any other potentate. I am
compelled, therefore, to ask you, whether this is so ;
for it is a matter of life and death.’
“To which Mr. Oxenham answered merrily, ‘That
so it was: but that he was not aware that any poten-
tate’s licence was required to permit a gentleman’s
meeting his lady love ; and that as for the gold which
they had taken, if they had never allowed that fresh
and fair young May to be forced into marrying that
old January, he should never have meddled with
their gold; so that was rather their fault than his’
And added, that if he was to be hanged, as he sup-
posed, the only favour which he asked for was a long
drop and no priests. And all the while, gentlemen,
he still kept his eyes fixed on the lady’s corpse, till he
was led away with me, while all that stood by, God
reward them for it, lamented openly the tragical end
of those two sinful lovers.
240 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
“And now, sis, what befell me after that matters
little ; for I never saw Captain Oxenham again, nor
ever shall in this life.â€
“Te was hanged, then ?â€
“So I heard for certain the next year, and with
him the gunner and sundry more: but some were
given away for slaves to the Spaniards, and may be
alive now, unless, like me, they have fallen into the
eruel clutches of the Inquisition. For the Inquisition
now, gentlemen, claims the bodies and souls of all
heretics all over the world (as the devils told me with
their own lips, when I pleaded that I was no Spanish
subject) ; and none that it catches, whether peaceable
merchants, or shipwrecked mariners, but must turn
or burn.â€
“But how did you get into the Inquisition ?â€
“Why, sir, after we were taken, we set forth to
go down the river again; and the old Don took the
little maid with him in one boat (and bitterly she
screeched at parting from us, and from the poor dead
corpse), and Mr. Oxenham with Don Diego de Trees
in another, and lina third. And from the Spaniards
I learnt that we were to be taken down to Lima, to
the Viceroy: but that the old man lived hard by
Panama, and was going straight back to Panama
forthwith with the little maid. But they said, ‘It
will be well for her if she ever gets there, for the old
man swears she is none of his, and would have left
her behind him in the woods, now, if Don Diego had
not shamed him out of it.’ And when I heard that,
seeing that there was nothing but death before me, I
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 241
made up my mind to escape ; and the very first night,
sirs, by God’s help, I did it, and went southward
away into the forest, avoiding the tracks of the
Cimaroons, till I came to an Indian town. And
there, gentlemen, I got more mercy from heathens
than ever I had from Christians; for when they found
that I was no Spaniard, they fed me and gave mea
house, and a wife (and a good wife she was to me),
and painted me all over in patterns, as you see; and
because I had some knowledge of surgery and blood-
letting, and my fleams in my pocket, which were
worth to me a fortune, I rose to great honour among
them, though they taught me more of simples than
ever I taught them of surgery. So I lived with them
merrily enough, being a very heathen like them, or
indeed worse, for they worshipped their Xemes, but I
nothing. And in time my wife bare me a child; in
looking at whose sweet face, gentlemen, I forgot Mr.
Oxenham and his little maid, and my oath, ay, and
my native land also. Wherefore it was taken from
me, else had I lived and died as the beasts which
perish ; for one night, after we were all lain down,
came a noise outside the town, and I starting up saw
armed men and calivers shining in the moonlight, and
heard one read in Spanish, with a loud voice, some
fool’s sermon, after their custom when they hunt the
poor Indians, how God had given to St. Peter the
dominion of the whole earth, and St. Peter again the
Indies to the Catholic king ; wherefore, if they would
all be baptized and serve the Spaniard, they should
have some monkey’s allowance or other of more kicks
VOL, I. R W. 1.
242 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
than pence; and if not, then have at them with fire
and sword; but I dare say your worships know that
devilish trick of theirs better than I.â€
“T know it, man. Go on.â€
“Well—no sooner were the words spoken, than,
without waiting to hear what the poor innocents
within would answer (though that mattered little,
for they understood not one word of it), what do the
villains but let fly right into the town with their
calivers, and then rush in, sword in hand, killing pell-
mell all they met, one of which shots, gentlemen,
passing through the doorway, and close by me, struck
my poor wife to the heart, that she never spoke word
more. I, catching up the babe from her breast, tried
to run: but when I saw the town full of them, and
their dogs with them in leashes, which was yet worse,
I knew all was lost, and sat down again by the corpse
with the babe on my knees, waiting the end, like one
stunned and in a dream ; for now I thought God from
whom I had fled had surely found me out, as he did
Jonah, and the punishment of all my sins was come.
Well, gentlemen, they dragged me out, and all the
young men and women, and chained us together by
the neck; and one, catching the pretty babe out of
my arms, calls for water and a priest (for they had
their shavelings with them), and no sooner was it
christened, than, catching the babe by the heels, he
dashed out its brains,—oh! gentlemen, gentlemen !—
against the ground, as if it had been a kitten; and so
did they to several more innocents that night, after
they had christened them; saying it was best for
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 243
them to go to heaven while they were still sure
thereof ; and so marched us all for slaves, leaving the
old folk and the wounded to die at leisure. But
when morning came, and they knew by my skin that
LT was no Indian, and by my speech that I was no
Spaniard, they began threatening me with torments,
till I confessed that I was an Englishman, and one of
Oxenham’s crew. At that says the leader, ‘Then
you shall to Lima, to hang by the side of your
Captain the pirate; by which I first knew that my
poor Captain was certainly gone ; but alas for me! the
priest steps in and claims me for his booty, calling me
Lutheran, heretic, and enemy of God; and s0, to
make short a sad story, to the Inquisition at Cartha-
gena I went, where what I suffered, gentlemen, were
as disgustful for you to hear, as unmanly for me to
complain. of ; but so it was, that being twice racked,
and having endured the water-torment as best I could,
Iwas put to the scarpines, whereof I am, as you see,
somewhat lame of one leg to this day. At which I
could abide no more, and so, wretch that I am!
denied my God, in hope to save my life; which indeed
I did, but little it profited me; for though I had
turned to their superstition, I must have two hundred
stripes in the public place, and then go to the galleys
for seven years. And there, gentlemen, ofttimes I
thought that it had been better for me to have been
burned at once and for all: but you know as well as
I what a floating hell of heat and cold, hunger and
thirst, stripes and toil, is every one of those accursed
craft. In which hell, nevertheless, gentlemen, I found
I R2
244 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
the road to heaven,—I had almost said heaven itself.
For it fell out, by God’s mercy, that my next comrade
was an Englishman like myself, a young man of Bristol,
who, as he told me, had been some manner of factor
on board poor Captain Barker’s ship, and had been a
preacher among the Anabaptists here in England.
And, oh! Sir Richard Grenvile, if that man had done
for you what he did for me, you would never say a
word against those who serve the same Lord, because
they don’t altogether hold with you. For from time
to time, sir, seeing me altogether despairing and
furious, like a wild beast in a pit, he set before me in
secret earnestly the sweet promises of God in Christ,
—who says, ‘Come to me, all ye that are heavy laden,
and I will refresh you; and though your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be as white as snow,’—1ill all that
past sinful life of mine looked like a dream when one
awaketh, and I forgot all my bodily miseries in the
misery of my soul, so did I loathe and hate myself for
my rebellion against that loving God who had chosen
me before the foundation of the world, and come to
seek and save me when I was lost; and falling into
very despair at the burden of my heinous sins, knew
no peace until I gained sweet assurance that my Lord
had hanged my burden upon His cross, and washed
my sinful soul in His most sinless blood, Amen !â€
And Sir Richard Grenvile said Amen also.
“But, gentlemen, if that sweet youth won a soul
to Christ, he paid as dearly for it as ever did gaint of
God. For after a three or four months, when I had
been all that while in sweet converse with him, and I
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 245
may say in heaven in the midst of hell, there came
one night to the barranco at Lima, where we were
kept when on shore, three black devils of the Holy
Office, and carried him off without a word, only saying
to me, ‘Look that your turn come not next, for we
hear that you have had much talk with the villain.’
And at these words I was so struck cold with terror
that I swooned right away, and verily, if they had
taken me there and then, I should have denied my
God again, for my faith was but young and weak:
but instead, they left me aboard the galley for a few
months more (that was a whole voyage to Panama
and back), in daily dread lest I should find myself in
their cruel claws again—and then nothing for me, but
to burn as a relapsed heretic. But when we came
back to Lima, the officers came on board again, and
said to me, ‘That heretic has confessed nought against
you, so we will leave you for this time: but because
you have been seen talking with him so much, and
the Holy Office suspects your conversion to be but a
rotten one, you are adjudged to the galleys for the
rest of your life in perpetual servitude.’â€
“But what became of him?†asked Amyas.
“He was burned, sir, a day or two before we got
to Lima, and five others with him at the same stake,
of whom two were Englishmen ; old comrades of mine,
as I guess.â€
“Ah!†said Amyas, “we heard of that when we
were off Lima; and they said too, that there were six
more lying still in prison, to be burnt in a few days.
If we had had our fleet with us (as we should have
1 R3
246 {TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
had if it had not been for John Winter) we would
have gone in and rescued them all, poor wretches, and
sacked the town to boot: but what could we do with
one ship 2â€
“Would to God you had, sir; for the story was
true enough; and among them, I heard, were two
young ladies of quality and their confessor, who came
to their ends for reproving out of Scripture the filthy
and loathsome living of those parts, which, as I saw
well enough and too well, is liker to Sodom than to
a Christian town; but God will avenge His saints,
and their sins. Amen.â€
“Amen,†said Sir Richard: “but on with thy tale,
for it is as strange as ever man heard.â€
“Well, gentlemen, when I heard that I must end
my days in that galley, I was for awhile like a mad-
man: but ina day or two there came over me, I know
not how, a full assurance of salvation, both for this
life and the life to come, such as I had never had
before ; and it was revealed to me (I speak the truth
gentlemen, before Heaven) that now I had been tried
to the uttermost, and that my deliverance was at
hand.
“And all the way up to Panama (that was after
we had laden the ‘Cacafuogo’) I cast in my mind how
to escape, and found no way: but just as I was
beginning to lose heart again, a door was opened by
the Lord’s own hand; for (I know not why) we were
marched across from Panama to Nombre, which had
never happened before, and there put all together
into a great barranco close by the quay-side, shackled
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 247
as is the fashion, to one long bar that ran the whole
length of the house. And. the very first night that
we were there, I, looking out of the window, spied,
lying close aboard of the quay, a good-sized caravel
well armed and just loading for sea; and the land
breeze blew off very strong, so that the sailors were
laying out a fresh warp to hold her to the shore.
And it came into my mind, that if we were aboard of
her, we should be at sea in five minutes; and looking
at the quay, I saw all the soldiers who had guarded
us scattered about drinking and gambling, and some
going into taverns to refresh themselves after their
journey. That was just at sundown; and half an
_ hour after, in comes the gaoler to take a last look at
us for the night, and his keys at his girdle. Whereon,
sirs (whether by madness, or whether by the spirit
which gave Samson strength to rend the lion), I rose
against him as he passed me, without forethought or
treachery of any kind, chained though I was, caught
him by the head, and threw him there and then
against the wall, that he never spoke word after; and
then with his keys freed myself and every soul in that
room, and bid them follow me, vowing to kill any
man who disobeyed my commands. They followed,
as men astounded and leaping out of night into day,
and death into life, and so aboard that caravel and
out of the harbour (the Lord only knows how, who
blinded the eyes of the idolaters), with no more hurt
than a few chance-shot from the soldiers on the
quay. But my tale has been over-long already,
gentlemen——â€
248 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
“Go on till midnight, my good fellow, if you will.â€
“Well, sirs, they chose me for Captain, and a
certain Genoese for lieutenant, and away to go. I
would fain have gone ashore after all, and back to
Panama to hear news of the little maid: but that
would have been but a fool’s errand. Some wanted
to turn pirates: but I, and the Genoese too, who was
a prudent man, though an evil one, persuaded them
to run for England and get employment in the
Netherland wars, assuring them that there would be
no safety in the Spanish main, when once our escape
got wind. And the more part being of one mind, for
England we sailed, watering at the Barbadoes because
it was desolate ; and so eastward toward the Canaries.
In which voyage what we endured (being taken by
long calms), by scurvy, calentures, hunger, and thirst,
no tongue can tell. Many a time were we glad to
lay out sheets at night to catch the dew, and suck
them in the morning; and he that had a noggin of
rain-water out of the scuppers was as much sought to
as if he had been Adelantado of all the Indies ; till of
a hundred and forty poor wretches a hundred and ten
were dead, blaspheming God and man, and above all,
me and the Genoese for taking the Europe voyage, as
if I had not sins enough of my own already. And
last of all, when we thought ourselves safe, we were
wrecked by south-westers on the coast of Brittany,
near to Cape Race, from which but nine souls of us
came ashore with their lives; and so to Brest, where
I found a Flushinger who carried me to Falmouth ;
and so ends my tale, in which if I have said cne word
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 249
more or less than truth, I can wish myself no worse,
than to have it all to undergo a second time.â€
And his voice, as he finished, sank from very weari-
ness of soul; while Sir Richard sat opposite him in
silence, his elbows on the table, his cheeks on his
doubled fists, looking him through and through with
kindling eyes. No one spoke for several minutes ;
and then—
“ Amyas, you have heard this story? You believe
it?â€
“Every word, sir, or I should not have the heart
of a Christian man.â€
“So do I. Anthony!â€
The butler entered.
“Take this man to the buttery; clothe him com-
fortably, and feed him with the best; and bid the
knaves treat him as if he were their own father.â€
But Yeo lingered.
“Tf I might be so bold as to ask your worship a
favour ? us
“ Anything in reason, my brave fellow.â€
“Tf your worship could put me in the way of
another adventure to the Indies ?â€
“ Another! Hast not had enough of the Spaniards
already ?â€
“Never enough, sir, while one of the idolatrous
tyrants is left unhanged,†said he, with a right bitter
smile. ‘But it’s not for that only, sir: but my little
maid—Oh, sir! my little maid, that I swore to Mr.
Oxenham to look to, and never saw her from that
day to this! I must find her, sir, or T shall go mad,
250 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
I believe. Not a night but she comes and calls to
me in my dreams, the poor darling; and not a
morning but when I wake there is my oath lying on
my soul, like a great black cloud, and I no nearer
the keeping of it. I told that poor young minister of
it when we were in the galleys together ; and he said
oaths were oaths, and keep it I must; and keep it I
will, sir, if yowll but help me.
“Have patience, man. God will take as good care
of thy little maid as ever thou wilt.â€
“T know it, sir. I know it: but faith’s weak, sir!
and oh! if she were bred up a Papist and an idolater ;
wouldn’t her blood be on my head then, sir? Sooner
than that, sooner than that, I’d be in the Inquisition
again to-morrow, I would !â€
“My good fellow, there are no adventures to the
Indies forward now: but if you want to fight Spaniards,
here is a gentleman will show you the way. Amyas,
take him with you to Ireland. If he has learnt half
the lessons God has set him to learn, he ought to
stand you in good stead.â€
Yeo looked eagerly at the young giant.
“Will you have me, sir? There’s few matters I
can’t turn my hand to: and maybe you'll be going to
the Indies again, some day, eh? and take me with
you? I’d serve your turn well, though I say it, either
for gunner or for pilot. I know every stone and tree
from Nombre to Panama, and all the ports of both
the seas. Yow'll never be content, I'll warrant, till
you've had another turn along the gold coasts, will
you now ?â€
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 251
Amyas laughed, and nodded; and the bargain
was concluded.
So out went Yeo to eat, and Amyas having
received his despatches, got ready for his journey
home.
“Go the short way over the moors, lad; and send
back Cary’s grey when you can. You must not lose
an hour, but be ready to sail the moment the wind
goes about.â€
So they started: but as Amyas was getting into
the saddle, he saw that there was some stir among the
servants, who seemed to keep carefully out of Yeo’s
way, whispering and nodding mysteriously ; and just
as his foot was in the stirrup, Anthony, the old butler,
plucked him back.
“Dear father alive, Mr. Amyas,!†whispered he:
“and you ben’t going by the moor road all alone with
that chap ?â€
“Why not, then? I’m too big for him to eat, I
reckon.†‘
“Oh, Mr. Amyas! he’s not right, I tell you; not
company for a Christian—to go forth with creatures
as has flames of fire in their inwards; ’tis temptation
of Providence, indeed, then, it is.â€
“Tale of a tub.â€
“Tale of a Christian, sir. There was two boys
pig-minding, seed him at it down the hill, beside a
maiden that was taken mazed (and no wonder, poor
soul!) and lying in screeching asterisks now down
to the mill—you ask as you go by—and saw the
flames come out of the mouth of mun, and the smoke
1â€
252 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
out of mun’s nose like a vire-drake, and the roaring
of mun like the roaring of ten thousand bulls. Oh,
sir! and to go with he after dark over moor! "Tis
the devil’s devices, sir, against you, because you’m
going against his sarvants the Pope of Room and the
Spaniard; and youll be Pixy-led, sure as life, and
locked into a bog, you will, and see mun vanish away
to fire and brimstone, like a jack-o’-lantern. Oh, have
a care, then, have a care !â€
And the old man wrung his hands, while Amyas,
bursting with laughter, rode off down the park, with
the unconscious Yeo at his stirrup, chatting away about
the Indies, and delighting Amyas more and more by
his shrewdness, high spirit, and rough eloquence.
They had gone ten miles or more; the day began
to draw in, and the western wind to sweep more cold
and cheerless every moment, when Amyas, knowing
that there was not an inn hard by around for many a
mile ahead, took a pull at a certain bottle which Lady
Grenvile had put into his holster, and then offered
Yeo a pull also.
He declined; he had meat and drink too about
him, Heaven be praised !
“Meat and drink? fall to then, man, and don’t
stand on manners.â€
Whereon Yeo, seeing an old decayed willow by a
brook, went to it, and took therefrom some touchwood,
to which he set a light with his knife and a stone, while
Amyas watched, a little puzzled and startled, as Yeo’s
fiery reputation came into his mind. Was he really
a Salamander-Sprite, and going to warm his inside by
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 253
a meal of burning tinder? But now Yeo, in his solemn
methodical way, pulled out of his bosom a brown leaf,
and began rolling a piece of it up neatly to the size of
his little finger ; and then, putting the one end into
his mouth and the other on the tinder, sucked at it
tll it was alight; and drinking down the smoke,
began puffing it out again at his nostrils with a grunt
of deepest satisfaction, and resumed his dog-trot by
Amyas’s side, as if he had been a walking chimney.
On which Amyas burst into a loud laugh, and cried,
“Why, no wonder they said you breathed fire?
Is not that the Indians’ tobacco 2â€
“Yea, verily, Heaven be praised! but did you
never see it before ?â€
“Never, though we heard talk of it along the coast;
but we took it for one more Spanish lie Humph—
well, live and learn !â€
“Ah, sir, no lie, but a blessed truth, as I can tell,
who have ere now gone in the strength of this weed
three days and nights without eating; and therefore,
sir, the Indians always carry it with them on their
war-parties : and no wonder ; for when all things were
made none was made better than this; to be a lone
man’s companion, a bachelor’s friend, a hungry man’s
food, a sad man’s cordial, a wakeful man’s sleep, and
a chilly man’s fire, sir ; while for stanching of wounds,
purging of rheum, and settling of the stomach, there’s
no herb like unto it under the canopy of heaven.â€
The truth of which eulogium Amyas tested in after
years, as shall be fully set forth in due place and time.
But “ Mark in the meanwhile,†says one of the vera-
254 TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY
cious chroniclers from whom I draw these facts, writing
seemingly in the palmy days of good Queen Anne,
and “not having†(as he says) “before his eyes the
fear of that misocapnic Solomon James I. or of any
other lying Stuart,†“that not to South Devon, but
to North; not to Sir Walter Raleigh, but to Sir
Amyas Leigh; not to the banks of Dart, but to the
banks of Torridge, does Europe owe the day-spring of
the latter age, that age of smoke which shall endure
and thrive, when the age of brass shall have vanished
like those of iron and of gold; for whereas Mr. Lane
is said to have brought home that divine weed (as
Spenser well names it) from Virginia in the year
1584, it is hereby indisputable that full four years
earlier, by the bridge of Putford in the Torridge
moors (which all true smokers shall hereafter visit as
a hallowed spot and point of pilgrimage) first twinkled
that fiery beacon and beneficent lodestar of Bidefordian
commerce, to spread hereafter from port to port and
peak to peak, like the watch-fires which proclaimed
the coming of the Armada or the fall of Troy, even
to the shores of the Bosphorus, the peaks of the
Caucasus, and’ the farthest isles of the Malayan sea ;
while Bideford, metropolis of tobacco, saw her Pool
choked with Virginian traders, and the pavement of
her Bridgeland Street groaning beneath the savoury
bales of roll Trinadado, leaf, and pudding; and her
grave burghers, bolstered and blocked out of their
own houses by the scarce less savoury stock-fish casks
which filled cellar, parlour, and attic, were fain to sit
outside the door, a silver pipe in every strong right
OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM. 255
hand, and each left hand chinking cheerfully the
doubloons deep lodged in the auriferous caverns of
their trunkhose ; while in those fairy-rings of fragrant
mist, which circled round their contemplative brows,
flitted most pleasant visions of Wiltshire farmers
jogging into Sherborne fair, their heaviest shillings in
their pockets, to buy (unless old Aubrey lies) the
lotus-leaf of Torridge for its weight in silver, and
draw from thence, after the example of the Caciques
of Dariena, supplies of inspiration much needed, then
‘as now, in those Gothamite regions. And yet did
these improve, as Englishmen, upon the method of —
those heathen savages; for the latter (so Salvation
Yeo reported as a truth, and Dampier’s surgeon Mr.
Wafer after him), when they will deliberate of war or
policy, sit round in the hut of the chief; where being
placed, enter to them a small boy with a cigarro of
the bigness of a rolling-pin, and puffs the smoke
thereof into the face of each warrior, from the eldest
to the youngest ; while they, putting their hand
funnel-wise round their mouths, draw into the sinuo-
sities of the brain that more than Delphic vapour of
prophecy ; which boy presently falls down in a swoon,
and being dragged out by the heels and laid by to
sober, enter another to puff at the sacred cigarro, till
he is dragged out likewise ; and so on till the tobacco
is finished, and the seed of wisdom has sprouted in
every soul into the tree of meditation, bearing the
flowers of eloquence, and in due time the fruit of
valiant action.†With which quaint fact (for fact it
is, in spite of the bombast) I end the present chapter.
HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSE
WAS FOUNDED.
‘It is virtue, yea virtue, gentlemen, that maketh gentlemen ;
that maketh the poor rich, the base-born noble, the subject
a sovereign, the deformed beautiful, the sick whole, the weak
strong, the most miserable most happy. There are two
principal and peculiar gifts in the nature of man, knowledge
and reason; the one commandeth, and the other obeyeth :
these things neither the whirling wheel of fortune can change,
neither the deceitful cavillings of worldlings separate, neither
sickness abate, neither age abolish.†—Liniy’s Huphwes, 1586.
Ir now falls to my lot to write of the foundation of
that most chivalrous brotherhood of the Rose, which
after a few years made itself not only famous in its
native county of Devon, but formidable, as will be
related hereafter, both in Ireland and in the Nether-
lands, in the Spanish Main and the heart of South
America. And if this chapter shall seem to any
Quixotic and fantastical, let them recollect that the
generation who spoke and acted thus in matters of
love and honour were, nevertheless, practised and
valiant soldiers, and prudent and crafty politicians ;
that he who wrote the Arcadia was at the same time,
in spite of his youth, one of the subtlest diplomatists
of Europe; that the poet of the Faéry Queene was
THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSE. 257
also the author of The State of Ireland; and if they
shall quote against me with a sneer Lilly’s Euphues
itself, I shall only answer by asking—Have they ever
read it? For if they have done so, I pity them if
they have not found it, in spite of occasional tedious-
ness and -pedantry, as brave, righteous, and pious a
book as man need look into; and wish for no better
proof of the nobleness and virtue of the Elizabethan
age, than the fact that “Euphues†and the “Arcadiaâ€
were the two popular romances of the day. It may
have suited the purposes of Sir Walter Scott, in his
cleverly drawn Sir Piercie Shafton, to ridicule the
Euphuists, and that affectatam .comitatem of the tra-
velled English of which Languet complains ; but over
and above the anachronism of the whole character
(for, to give but one instance, the Euphuist knight
talks of Sidney’s quarrel with Lord Oxford at least
ten years before it happened), we do deny that Lilly’s
book could, if read by any man of common sense,
produce such a coxcomb, whose spiritual ancestors
would rather have been Gabriel Harvey and Lord
Oxford,—if indeed the former has not maligned the
latter, and ill-tempered Tom Nash maligned the
maligner in his turn.
But, indeed, there is a double anachronism in Sir
Piercie ; for he does not even belong to the days of
sidnens but to those worse times which began in the
latter years of Elizabeth, and after breaking her
mighty heart, had full licence to bear their crop of
fools’ heads in the profligate days of James. Of them,
perhaps, hereafter. And in the meanwhile, let those
VOL. I. 8 Ww. iH
258 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
who have not read “Euphues,†believe that, if they
could train a son after the fashion of his Ephcebus,
to the great saving of their own money and his virtue,
all fathers, even in these money-making days, would
rise up and call them blessed. Let us rather open our
eyes, and see in these old Elizabeth gallants our own
ancestors, showing forth with the luxuriant wildness
of youth, all the virtues which still go to the making
of a true Englishman. Let us not only see in their
commercial and military daring, in their political
astuteness, in their deep reverence for law, and in
their solemn sense of the great calling of the English
nation, the antitypes or rather the examples of our
own: but let us confess that their chivalry is only
another garb of that beautiful tenderness and mercy
which is now, as it was then, the twin sister of
English valour; and even in their extravagant fond-
ness for Continental manners and literature, let us
recognise that old Anglo-Norman teachableness and
wide-heartedness, which has enabled us to profit by
the wisdom and civilisation of all ages and of all
lands, without prejudice to our own distinctive
national character.
And so I go to my story, which, if any one dis-
likes, he has but to turn the leaf till he finds pasturage
which suits him better.
Amyas could not sail the next day, or the day
after ; for the south-wester freshened, and blew three
parts of a gale dead into the bay. So having got the
Mary Grenvile down the river into Appledore pool,
ready to start with the first shift of wind, he went
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 259
quietly home; and when his mother started on a
pillion behind the old serving-man to ride to Clovelly,
where Frank lay wounded, he went in with her as far
as Bideford, and there met, coming down the High
Street, a procession of horsemen headed by Will Cary,
who, clad cap-a-pié in shining armour, sword on thigh,
and helmet at saddle-bow, looked as gallant a young
gentleman as ever Bideford dames peeped at from
door and window. Behind him, upon country ponies,
came four or five stout serving-men, carrying his lances
and baggage, and their own long-bows, swords, and
bucklers; and behind all, in a horse-litter, to Mrs.
Leigh’s great joy, Master Frank himself. He deposed
that his wounds were only flesh-wounds, the dagger
having turned against his ribs; that he must see the
last of his brother; and that with her good leave he
would not come home to Burrough, but take up his
abode with Cary in the Ship Tavern, close to the
Bridge-foot. This he did forthwith, and settling
himself on a couch, held his levee there in state,
mobbed by all the gossips of the town, not without
white fibs as to who had brought him into that sorry
plight.
But in the meanwhile, he and Amyas concocted a
scheme, which was put into effect the next day (being
market-day).; first by the innkeeper, who began under
Amyas’s orders a bustle of roasting, boiling, and fry-
ing, unparalleled in the annals of the Ship Tavern ;
and next by Amyas himself, who, going out into the
market, invited as many of his old schoolfellows, one
by one apart, as Frank had pointed out to him, to a
260 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
merry supper and a “rowse†thereon consequent ;
by which crafty scheme, in came each of Rose Salt-
erne’s gentle admirers, and found himself, to his con-
siderable disgust, seated at the same table with six
rivals, to none of whom had he spoken for the last
six months. However, all were too well bred to let
the Leighs discern as much; and they (though, of
course, they knew all) settled their guests, Frank on
his couch lying at the head of the table, and Amyas
taking the bottom: and contrived, by filling all
mouths with good things, to save them the pain of
speaking to each other till the wine should have
loosened their tongues and warmed their hearts. In
the meanwhile both Amyas and Frank, ignoring the
silence of their guests with the most provoking good-
humour, chatted, and joked, and told stories, and
made themselves such good company, that Will Cary,
who always found merriment infectious, melted into
a jest, and then into another, and finding good
humour far more pleasant than bad, tried to make
Mr. Coffin laugh, and only made him bow, and to
make Mr. Fortescue laugh, and only made him frown;
and unabashed nevertheless, began playing his light
artillery upon the waiters, till he drove them out of
the room bursting with laughter.
So far so good. And when the cloth- was drawn,
and sack and sugar became the order of the day, and
“Queen and Bible†had been duly drunk with all the
honours, Frank tried a fresh move, and—
“I have a toast, gentlemen—here it is. ‘The
gentlemen of the Irish wars; and may Ireland never
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 261
be without a St. Leger to stand by a Fortescue, a
Fortescue to stand by a St. Leger, and a Chichester
to stand by both.’â€
Which toast of course involved the drinking the
healths of the three representatives of those families,
and their returning thanks, and paying a compliment
each to the other’s house: and so the ice cracked
a little further; and young Fortescue proposed the
health of “Amyas Leigh, and all bold mariners ;†to
which Amyas replied by a few blunt kindly words,
“that he wished to know no better fortune than to
sail round the world again with the present company
as fellow-adventurers, and so give the Spaniards an-
other taste of the men of Devon.â€
And by this time, the wine going down sweetly,
caused the lips of them that were asleep to speak ;
till the ice broke up altogether, and every man began
talking like a rational Englishman to the man who
sat next him.
“ And now, gentlemen,†said Frank, who saw that
it was the fit moment for the grand assault which he
had planned all along; “let me give you a health
which none of you, I dare say, will refuse to drink
with heart and soul as well as with lips ;—the health
of one whom beauty and virtue have so ennobled, that
in their light the shadow of lowly birth is unseen ;—
the health of one whom I would proclaim as pecrless
in loveliness, were it not that every gentleman here
has sisters, who might well challenge from her the
girdle of Venus: and yet what else dare I say, while
those same lovely ladies who, if they but use their
262 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
own mirrors, must needs be far better judges of beauty
than I can be, have in my own hearing again and
again assigned the palm to her? Surely, if the god-
desses decide among themselves the question of the
golden apple, Paris himself must vacate the judgment-
seat. Gentlemen, your hearts, I doubt not, have
already bid you, as my unworthy iips do now, to
drink ‘The Rose of Torridge.’â€
If the Rose of Torridge herself had walked into
the room, she could hardly have caused more blank
‘astonishment than Frank’s bold speech. Every guest
turned red, and pale, and red again, and looked at
the other, as much as to say, “ What right has any
one but I to drink her? Lift your glass, and I will
dash it out of your hand:†but Frank, with sweet
effrontery, drank, “The health of the Rose of
Torridge, and a double health to that worthy gentle-
man, whosoever he may be, whom she is fated to
honour with her love !â€
“Well done, cunning Frank Leigh!†cried blunt
Will Cary; “none of us dare quarrel with you now,’
however much we may sulk at each other. For there’s
none of us, I'll warrant, but thinks that she likes him
the best of all; and so we are bound to believe that
you have drunk our healths all round.â€
“And so I have: and what better thing can you
do, gentlemen, than to drink each other’s healths all
round likewise: and so show yourselves true gentle-
men, true Christians, ay, and true lovers? For what
is love (let me speak freely to you, gentlemen and
guests), what is love, but the very inspiration of that
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 263
Deity whose name is Love? Be sure that not without
reason did the ancients feign Eros to be the eldest of
the gods, by whom the jarring elements of chaos were
attuned into harmony and order. How then shall
lovers make him the father of strife? Shall Psyche
wed with Cupid, to bring forth a cockatrice’s egg? or
the soul be filled with love, the likeness of the im-
mortals, to burn with envy and jealousy, division and
distrust? True, the rose has its thorn: but it leaves
poison and stings to the nettle. Cupid has his arrow:
but he hurls no scorpions. Venus is awful when de-
spised, as the daughters of Proetus found: but her
handmaids are the Graces, not the Furies. Surely he
who loves aright will not only find love lovely, but
become himself lovely also. I speak not to reprehend
you, gentlemen; for to you (as your piercing wits
have already perceived, to judge by your honourable
blushes) my discourse tends ; but to point you, if you
will but permit me, to that rock which I myself have,
I know not by what Divine good hap, attained ; if,
indeed, I have attained it, and am not about to be
washed off again by the next tide.â€
Frank’s rapid and fantastic oratory, utterly unex-
pected as it was, had as yet left their wits no time to
set their tempers on fire; but when, weak from his
wounds, he paused for breath, there was a haughty
murmur from more than one young gentleman, who
took his speech as an impertinent interference with
each man’s right to make a fool of himself; and Mr
Coffin, who had sat quietly bolt upright, and looking
at the opposite wall, now rose as quietly, and with a
264 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
face which tried to look utterly unconcerned, was
walking out of the room: another minute, and Lady
Bath’s prophecy about the feast of the Lapithe might
have come true.
But Frank’s heart and head never failed him.
“Mr. Coffin!†said he, in a tone which compelled that
gentleman to turn round, and so brought him under
the power of a face which none could have beheld
for five minutes and borne malice, so imploring, tender,
earnest was it. “My dear Mr. Coffin! If my earnest-
ness has made me forget even for a moment the bounds
of courtesy, let me entreat you to forgive me. Do
not add to my heavy griefs, heavy enough already,
the grief of losing a friend. Only hear me patiently
to the end (generously, I know, you will hear me) ;
and then, if you are still incensed, I can but again
entreat your forgiveness a second time.â€
Mr. Coffin, to tell the truth, had at that time never
been to Court; and he was, therefore, somewhat
jealous of Frank, and his Court talk, and his Court
clothes, and his Court company ; and moreover, being
the eldest of the guests, and only two years younger
than Frank himself, he was a little nettled at being
classed in the same category with some who were
scarce eighteen. And if Frank had given the least
hint which seemed to assume his own superiority, all
had been lost: but when, instead thereof, he sued im
forma pauperis, and threw himself upon Coffin’s mercy,
the latter, who was a true-hearted man enough, and
after all had known Frank ever since either of them
could walk, had nothing to do but to sit down again
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 265
-and submit, while Frank went on more earnestly
than ever.
“Believe me; believe me, Mr. Coffin, and gentle-
men all, I no more arrogate to myself a superiority
over you, than does the sailor hurled on shore by the
surge fancy himself better than his comrade who is
still battling with the foam. For I too, gentlemen,—
let me confess it, that by confiding in you I may, per-
haps, win you to confide in me,—have loved, ay and
do love, where you love also. Do not start. Isita
matter of wonder that the sun which has dazzled you
has dazzled me; that the lodestone which has drawn
you has drawn me? Do not frown, either, gentle-
men. I have learnt to love you for loving what I
love, and to admire you for admiring that which I
admire. Will you not try the same lesson; so easy,
and, when learnt, so blissful? What breeds more
close communion between subjects, than allegiance to
the same Queen? between brothers, than duty to the
same father? between the devout, than adoration for
the same Deity? And shall not worship for the same
beauty be likewise a bond of love between the wor-
shippers? and each lover see in his rival not an enemy,
but a fellow-sufferer? You smile and say in your
hearts, that though all may worship, but one can
enjoy; and that one man’s meat must’ be the poison
of the rest. Be it so, though I deny it. Shall we
anticipate our own doom, and slay ourselves for fear
of dying? Shall we make ourselves unworthy of her
from our very eagerness to win her, and show our-
selves her faithful knights, by cherishing envy,—most
266 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
unknightly of all sins? Shall we dream with the-
Italian or the Spaniard that we can become more
amiable in a lady’s eyes, by becoming hateful in the
eyes of God and of each other? Will she love us the
better, if we come to her with hands stained in the
blood of him whom she loves better than us? Let us
recollect ourselves rather, gentlemen; and be sure
that our only chance of winning her, if she be worth
winning, is to will what she wills, honour whom she
honours, love whom she loves. If there is to be
rivalry among us, let it be a rivalry in nobleness, an
emulation in virtue. Let each try to outstrip the
other in loyalty to his Queen, in valour against her
foes, in deeds of courtesy and mercy to the afflicted
and oppressed ; and thus our love will indeed prove
its own divine origin, by raising us nearer to those
gods whose gift it is. But yet I show you a more
excellent way, and that is charity. Why should we
not make this common love to her, whom I am un-
worthy to name, the sacrament of a common love to
each other? Why should we not follow the heroical
examples of those ancient knights, who having but
one grief, one desire, one goddess, held that one heart
was enough to contain that grief, to nourish that
desire, to worship that divinity ; and so uniting them-
selves in friendship till they became but one soul in
two bodies, lived only for each other in living only for
her, vowing, as faithful worshippers, to abide by her
decision, to find their own bliss in hers, and whomso-
ever she esteemed most worthy of her love, to esteem
most worthy also, and count themselves, by that her
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 267
choice, the bounden servants of him whom their mis-
tress had condescended to advance to the dignity of
her master 1—as I (not without hope that I shall be
outdone in generous strife) do here promise to be the
faithful friend, and, to my ability, the hearty servant,
of him who shall be honoured with the love of the
Rose of Torridge.â€
He ceased, and there was a pause.
At last young Fortescue spoke.
“I may be paying you a left-handed compliment,
sir: but it seems to me that you are so likely, in that
case, to become your own faithful friend and hearty
servant (even if you have not borne off the bell already
while we have been asleep), that the bargain is hardly
fair between such a gay Italianist and us country
swains.â€
“You undervalue yourself and your country, my
dear sir. But set your mind at rest. I know no
more of that lady’s mind than you do: nor shall I
know. For the sake of my own peace, I have made
a vow neither to see her, nor to hear, if possible,
tidings of her, till three full years are past. Dixi?â€
Mr. Coffin rose.
“Gentlemen, I may submit to be outdone by Mr.
Leigh in eloquence, but not in generosity ; if he leaves
these parts for three years, I do so also.â€
“And go in charity with all mankind,†said Cary.
“Give us your hand, old fellow. If you are a Coffin,
you were sawn out of no wishy-washy elm-board, but
right heart-of-oak. I am going, too, as Amyas here
can tell, to Ireland away, to cool my hot liver in a bog,
268 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
like a Jack-hare in March. Come, give us thy neif,
and let us part in peace. I was minded to have fought
thee this day H
“T should have been most happy, siz,†said Coffin.
—“But now I am all love and charity to mankind.
Can I have the pleasure of begging pardon of the
world in general, and thee in particular? Does any
one wish to pull my nose; send me an errand; make
me lend him five pounds; ay, make me buy a horse
of him, which will be as good as giving him ten?
Come along! Join hands all round, and swear eternal
friendship, as brothers of the sacred order of the—
of what? Frank Leigh? Open thy mouth, Daniel, and
christen us !â€
“The Rose!†said Frank, quietly, seeing that his
new love-philtre was working well, and determined to
strike while the iron was hot, and carry the matter too
far to carry it back again.
“The Rose!†cried Cary, catching hold of Coffin’s
hand with his right, and Fortescue’s with his left.
“Come, Mr. Coffin! Bend, sturdy oak? ‘Woe to the
stiffnecked and stout-hearted !’ says Scripture.â€
And somehow or other, whether it was Frank’s
chivalrous speech, or Cary’s fun, or Amyas’s good
wine, or the nobleness which lies in every young lad’s
heart, if their elders will take the trouble to call it
out, the whole party came in to terms one by one,
shook hands all round, and vowed on the hilt of
Amyas’s sword, to make fools of themselves no more,
at least by jealousy: but to stand by each other and
by their lady-love, and neither grudge nor grumble,
Hh B Hill TTA SN # Jill (il
Soe
Ts
= —
: a
= CE Trey 1596
Dragging out hy the head Mr. John Brimblecombe.—Chap. viii. p 269.
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 269
let her dance with, flirt with, or marry with, whom
she would ; and in order that the honour of their
peerless dame, and the brotherhood which was named
after her, might be spread through all lands, and .
equal that of Angelica or Isonde of Brittany, they
would ‘each go home, and ask their fathers’ leave
(easy enough to obtain in those brave times) to go
abroad wheresoever there were “good wars,†to
emulate there the courage and the courtesy of Walter
‘Manny and Gonzalo Fernandes, Bayard and Gaston
de Foix. Why not? Sidney was the hero of Europe
at five-and-twenty ; and why not they?
Ana Frank watched and listened with one of his
quiet smiles (his eyes, as some folks do, smiled even
when his lips were still) and only said: “Gentlemen,
be sure that you will never repent this day.â€
“Repent?†said Cary. “I feel already as angelical
as thou lookest, Saint Silvertongue. What was it
that sneezed {—the cat 2â€
“The lion, rather, by the roar of it,†said Amyas,
making a dash at the arras behind him. “Why, here
is a doorway here! and i
And rushing under the arras, through an open door
behind, he returned, dragging out by the head Mr.
John Brimblecombe.
Who was Mr. John Brimblecombe ?
If you have forgotten him, you have done pretty
nearly what every one else in the room had done.
But you recollect a certain fat lad, son of the school-
master, whom Sir Richard punished for talebearing
three years before, by sending him, not to Coventry,
270 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
but to Oxford. That was the man. He was now
one-and-twenty, and a bachelor of Oxford, where he
had learnt such things as were taught in those days,
with more or less success; and he was now hanging
about Bideford once more, intending to return after
Christmas and read divinity, that he might become a
parson, and a shepherd of souls in his native land.
Jack was in person exceedingly like a pig: but
not like every pig: not in the least like the Devon
pigs of those days, which, I am sorry to say, were no
more shapely than the true Irish greyhound who pays
Pat’s “rint†for him; or than the lanky monsters
who wallow in German rivulets, while the village
swineherd, beneath a shady lime, forgets his fleas in
the melody of a Jew’s-harp— strange mud-coloured
creatures, four feet high and four inches thick, which
look as if they had passed their lives, as a collar of
Oxford brawn is said to do, between two tight
boards. Such were then the pigs of Devon: not to
be compared with the true wild descendant of Noah’s
stock, high-withered, furry, grizzled, game-flavoured
little rooklers, whereof many a sownder still grunted
about Swinley down and Braunton woods, Clovelly
glens and Bursdon moor. Not like these, nor like
the tame abomination of those barbarous times, was
Jack: but prophetic in face, figure, and complexion,
of Fisher Hobbs and the triumphs of science. A
Fisher Hobbs’ pig of twelve stone, on his hind-legs—
that was what he was, and nothing else; and if you
do not know, reader, what a Fisher Hobbs is, you
know nothing about pigs, and deserve no bacon for
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 271
breakfast. But such was Jack. The same plump
mulberry complexion, garnished with a few scattered
black bristles; the same sleek skin, looking always
as if it was upon the point of bursting; the same little
toddling legs; the same dapper bend in the small of
the back; the same cracked squeak; the same low
upright forehead, and tiny eyes; the same round self-
satisfied jowl; the same charming sensitive little
cocked nose, always on the look-out for a savoury
smell,—and yet while watching for the best, contented
with the worst ; a pig of self-helpful and serene spirit,
as Jack was, and therefore, like him, fatting fast while
other pigs’ ribs are staring through their skins.
Such was Jack; and lucky it was for him that such
he was; for it was little that he got to fat him at
Oxford, in days when a servitor meant really a ser-
vant-student ; and wistfully that day did his eyes, led
by his nose, survey at the end of the Ship Inn passage
the preparations for Amyas’s supper. The innkeeper
was a friend of his; for, in the first place, they had
lived within three doors of each other all their lives ;
and next, Jack was quite pleasant company enough,
beside being a learned man and an Oxford scholar, to
be asked in now and then to the innkeeper’s private
parlour, when there were-no gentlemen there, to crack
his little joke and tell his little story, sip the leavings
of the guests’ sack, and sometimes help the host to
eat the leavings of their supper. And it was, perhaps,
with some such hope that Jack trotted off round the
corner to the Ship that very afternoon ; for that faith-
ful little nose of his, as it sniffed out of a back window
272 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
of the school, had given him warning of Sabean gales,
and scents of Paradise, from the inn kitchen below ;
so he went round, and asked for his pot of small ale
(his only luxury), and stood at the bar to drink it;
and looked inward with his little twinkling right eye
and sniffed inward with his little curling right nostril,
and beheld, in the kitchen beyond, salad in stacks and
faggots; salad of lettuce, salad of cress and endive,
salad of boiled coleworts, salad of pickled coleworts,
salad of angelica, salad of scurvy-wort, and seven
salads more ; for potatoes were not as yet, and salads
were during eight months of the year the only vege-
table. And on the dresser, and before the fire, whole
hecatombs of fragrant victims, which needed neither
frankincense nor myrrh; Clovelly herrings and Tor-
ridge salmon, Exmoor mutton and Stow venison,
stubble geese and woodcocks, curlew and snipe, hams
of Hampshire, chitterlings of Taunton, and botargos of
Cadiz, such as Pantagrue himself might have devoured.
And Jack eyed them, as a ragged boy eyes the cakes
in a pastrycook’s window; and thought of the scraps
from the commoner’s dinner, which were his wages
for cleaning out the hall; and meditated deeply on
the unequal distribution of human bliss.
“ Ah, Mr. Brimblecombe!†said the host, bustling
out with knife and apron to cool himself in the passage.
“Here are doings! Nine gentlemen to supper !â€
“Nine! Are they going to eat all that?â€
“Well, I can’t say—that Mr. Amyas is as good as
three to his trencher: but still there’s crumbs, Mr.
Brimblecombe, crumbs; and Waste not want not is
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 273
my doctrine ; so you and I may have a somewhat to
stay our stomachs, about an eight o’clock.â€
“Hight?†said Jack, looking wistfully at the clock.
“Tt’s but four now. Well, it’s kind of you, and per-
haps I'll look in.â€
“Just you step in now, and look to this venison.
There’s a breast! you may lay your two fingers into
the say there, and not get to the bottom of the fat.
That’s Sir Richard’s sending. He’s all for them
Leighs, and no wonder, they’m brave lads, surely ;
and there’s a saddle-o’-mutton! I rode twenty miles
for mun yesterday, I did, over beyond Barnstaple ;
and five year old, Mr. John, it is, if ever five years
was; and not a tooth to mun’s head, for I looked to
that ; and smelt all the way home like any apple;
and if it don’t ate so soft as ever was scald cream,
never you call me Thomas Burman.â€
“Humph!†said Jack. “And that’s their dinner.
Well, some are born with a silver spoon in their
mouth.â€
“Some be born with roast beef in their mouths, and
plum-pudding in their pocket to take away the taste
o’ mun ; and that’s better than empty spunes, eh?â€
“For them that get it,†said Jack. “But for them
that dont——†And with a sigh he returned to his
small ale, and then lingered in and out of the inn,
watching the dinner as it went into the best room,
where the guests were assembled.
And as he lounged there, Amyas went in, and saw
him, and held out his hand, and said,—
“Fillo, Jack! how goes the world? How you've
VOL. I. rc Ww.
274 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
1?
grown!†and passed on ;—what had Jack Brimble-
combe to do with Rose Salterne ?
So Jack lingered on, hovering around the fragrant
smell like a fly round a honey-pot, till he found him-
self invisibly attracted, and as it were led by the nose
out of the passage into the adjoining room, and to
that side of the room where there was a door; and
once there he could not help hearing what passed
inside ; till Rose Salterne’s name fell on his ear. So,
as it was ordained, he was taken in the fact. And
now behold him brought in red-hand to judgment,
not without a kick or two from the wrathful foot of
Amyas Leigh. Whereat there fell on him a storm of
abuse, which, for the honour of that gallant company,
I shall not give in detail; but which abuse, strange to
say, seemed to have no affect on the impenitent and
unabashed Jack, who, as soon as he could get his
breath, made answer fiercely, amid much puffing and
blowing.
“What business have I here? As much as any of
you. If you had asked me in, I would have come:
but as you didn’t, I came without asking.â€
“You shameless rascal!†said Cary. “Come if
you were asked, where there was good wine? I'l
warrant you for that!â€
“Why,†said Amyas, “no lad ever had a cake at
school, but he would dog him up one street and down
another all day for the crumbs, the trencher-scraping
spaniel!â€
“Patience, masters!†said Frank. “That Jack’s .
is somewhat of a gnathonic and parasitic soul, or
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 275
stomach, all Bideford apple-;women know: but I sus-
pect more than Deus Venter has brought him hither.â€
“Deus eaves-dropping, then. We shall have the
whole story over the town by to-morrow,†said
another ; beginning at that thought to feel somewhat
ashamed of his late enthusiasm.
“Ah, Mr. Frank! You were always the only one
that would stand up forme! Deus Venter, quotha?
"Twas Deus Cupid, it was!â€
A roar of laughter followed this announcement.
“What?†asked Frank ; “was it Cupid, then, who
sneezed approval to our love, Jack, as he did to that
of Dido and Aineas 2â€
- But Jack went on desperately.
“T was in the next room, drinking of my beer. I
couldn’t help that, could I? And then I heard her
name ; and I couldn’t help listening then. Flesh and
blood couldn’t.â€
“Nor fat either!â€
“No, nor fat, Mr. Cary. Do you suppose fat men
haven’t souls to be saved, as well as thin ones, and
hearts to burst, too, as well as stomachs? Fat! Fat
can feel, I reckon, as well as lean. Do you suppose
there’s notight inside here but beer ?â€
And he laid his hand, as Drayton might have said,
on that stout bastion, hornwork, ravelin, or demilune,
which formed the outworks to the citadel of his purple
isle of man. .
“Nought but beer ?—Cheese, I suppose 2â€
“Bread 2â€
“Beef 2â€
276 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
“Love!†cried Jack. ‘Yes, Love!—Ay, you
laugh ; but my eyes are not so grown up with fat but
what I can see what's fair as well as you.â€
“Oh, Jack, naughty Jack, dost thou heap sin on
sin, and luxury on gluttony ?â€
“Sin? If I sin, you sin: I tell you, and I don’t
care who knows it, I’ve loved her these three years as
well as e’er a one of you, Ihave. I’ve thought 0’ nothing
else, prayed for nothing else, God forgive me! And
then you laugh at me, because I’m a poor parson’s
son, and you fine gentlemen: God made us both, I
reckon. Yout—you make a deal of giving her up
to-day. Why, it’s what I’ve done for three miserable
years as ever poor sinner spent ; ay, from the first day
I said to myself, ‘Jack, if you can’t have that pearl,
you'll have none; and that you can’t have, for it’s
meat for your masters; so conquer or die.’ And I
couldn’t conquer. I can’t help loving her, worshipping
her, no more than you; and I will die: but you
needn’t laugh meanwhile at me that have done as
much as you, and will do again.â€
“Tt is the old tale,†said Frank to himself; “whom
will not love transform into a hero ?â€
And so it was. Jack’s squeaking voice was firm
and manly, his pig’s eyes flashed very fire, his gestures
were so free and earnest, that the ungainliness of his
figure was forgotten; and when he finished with a
violent burst of tears, Frank, forgetting his wounds,
sprang up and caught him by the hand.
“John Brimblecombe, forgive me! Gentlemen, if
we are gentlemen, we ought to ask his pardon. Has
ky
SY
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i
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}
AN
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Xs XN g
\ or NS
“Give me a buckler, and have at any of you !â€â€â€”Chap. viii. p. 277
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 277
he not shown alreidy more chivalry, more self-denial,
and therefore more true love, than any of us? My
friends, let the fierceness of affection, which we have
used as an excuse for many a sin of our own, excuse
his listening to a conversation in which he well de-
served to bear a part.â€
“Ah,†said Jack, “you make me one of your
brotherhood ; and see if I do not dare to suffer as
much as any of you! You laugh? Do you fancy
none can use a sword unless he has a baker’s dozen
of quarterings in his arms, or that Oxford scholars
know only how to handle a pen 2â€
“Let us try his metal,†said St. Leger. ‘“Here’s
my sword, Jack; draw, Coffin! and have at him.â€
“Nonsense!†said Coffin, looking somewhat dis-
gusted at the notion of fighting a man of Jack’s rank;
but Jack caught at the weapon offered to him.
“Give me a buckler, and have at any of you!â€
“Here’s a chair bottom,†cried Cary; and Jack,
seizing it in his left, flourished his sword so fiercely,
and called so loudly to Coffin to come on, that all
present found it necessary, unless they wished blood
to be spilt, to turn the matter off with a laugh: but
Jack would not hear of it.
“Nay: if you will let me be of your brotherhood,
well and good: but if not, one or other I will fight :
and that’s flat.â€
“You see, gentlemen,†said Amyas, “we must ad-
mit him, or die the death ; so we needs must go when
Sir Urian drives. Come up, Jack, and take the oaths.
You admit him, gentlemen ?â€
Ts T2
“
278 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD ~
“Let me but be your chaplain,†said Jack, “and
pray for your luck when you're at the wars. If Ido
stay at home in a country curacy, ’tis not much that
you need be jealous of me with her, I reckon,†said
Jack, with a pathetical glance at his own stomach.
“Sia!†said Cary: “but if he be admitted, it must
be done according to the solemn forms and ceremonies
in such cases provided. Take him into the next room,
Amyas, and prepare him for his initiation.â€
“What’s that?†asked Amyas, puzzled by the
word. But judging from the corner of Will’s eye
that initiation was Latin for a practical joke, he led
forth his victim behind the arras again, and waited
five minutes while the room was being darkened,
till Frank’s voice called to him to bring in the neo-
phyte.
“John Brimblecombe,†said Frank, in a sepulchral
tone, “you cannot be ignorant, as a scholar and
bachelor of Oxford, of that dread Sacrament by
which Cataline bound the soul of his fellow-conspira-
tors, in order that both by the daring of the deed he
might have proof of their sincerity, and by the horror
thereof astringe their souls by adamantine fetters, and
Novem-Stygian oaths, to that wherefrom hereafter the
weakness of the flesh might shrink. Wherefore, O
Jack! we too have determined, following that ancient
and classical example, to fill, as he did, a bowl with
the life-blood of our most heroic selves, and to pledge
each other therein, with vows whereat the stars shall
tremble in their spheres, and Luna, blushing, veil her
silver cheeks. Your blood alone is wanted to fill up
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 279
the goblet. Sit down, John Brimblecombe, and bare
your arm !â€
“ But, Mr. Frank !——†said Jack ; who was as super-
stitious as any old wife, and, what with the darkness
and the discourse, already in a cold perspiration.
‘But me no buts! or depart as recreant, not by the
door like a man, but up the chimney like a flittermouse.â€
“But, Mr. Frank !â€
“Thy vital juice, or the chimney! Choose!â€
roared Cary in his ear.
“Well, if I must,†said Jack ; “but it’s desperate
hard that because you can’t keep faith without these
barbarous oaths, I must take them too, that have kept
faith these three years without any.â€
At this pathetic appeal, Frank nearly melted: but
Amyas and Cary had thrust the victim into a chair
and all was prepared for the sacrifice.
“Bind his eyes, according to the classic fashion,â€
said Will.
“Oh no, dear Mr. Cary; I'll shut them tight
enough, I warrant: but not with your dagger, dear
Mr. William—sure, not with your dagger? I can’t
afford to lose blood, though I do look lusty—I can’t
indeed ; sure, a pin would do—I’ve got one here, to
my sleeve, somewhere—Oh !â€
“See the fount of generous juice! Flow on, fair
stream. How he bleeds !—pints, quarts! Ah, this
proves him to be in earnest !â€
“A true lover’s blood is always at his fingers’ ends.â€
“He does not grudge it; of course not. Eh, Jack?
What matters an odd gallon for her sake?â€
ir T3
280 HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD
“Wor her sake? Nothing, nothing! Take my life,
if you will: but—Oh, gentlemen, a surgeon, if you love
me! I’m going off—I’m fainting !â€
“Drink, then, quick; drink and swear! Pat his
back, Cary. Courage, man! it will be over im a
minute. Now, Frank !——â€
And Frank spoke—
‘If plighted troth I fail, or secret speech reveal,
May Cocytean ghosts around my pillow squeal ;
While Ate’s brazen claws distringe my spleen in sunder,
And drag me deep to Pluto’s keep, ‘mid brimstone, smoke,
and thunder !â€
“Placetne, domine ?â€
“Placet !†squeaked Jack, who thought himself at
the last gasp, and gulped down full three-quarters of
the goblet which Cary held to his lips.
“Ugh—Ah—Puh! Mercy on us! It tastes
mighty like wine !â€
“A proof, my virtuous brother,†said Frank, “first,
of thy abstemiousness, which has thus forgotten what
wine tastes like ; and next, of thy pure and heroical
affection, by which thy carnal senses being exalted to
a higher and supra-lunar sphere, like those Platonical
dzmonizomenoi and enthusiazomenoi (of whom Jam-
blichus says that they were insensible to wounds and
flame, and much more, therefore, to evil savours), doth
make even the most nauseous draught redolent of that
celestial fragrance, which proceeding, O Jack! from
thine own inward virtue, assimilates by sympathy even
outward accidents unto its own harmony and melody;
for fragrance is, as has been said well, the song of
OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED. 281
flowers, and sweetness, the music of apples—Ahem !
Go in peace, thou hast conquered !â€
“Put him out of the door, Will,†said Amyas, “or
he will swoon on our hands.â€
“Give him some sack,†said Frank.
“Not a blessed drop of yours, sir,†said Jack. “I
like good wine as well as any man on earth, and see
as little of it; but not a drop of yours, sirs, after your
frumps and flouts about hanging-on and trencher-scrap-
ing. When I first began to love her, I bid good-bye
to all dirty tricks ; for I had some one then for whom
to keep myself clean.â€
And so Jack was sent home, with a pint of good -
red Alicant wine in him (more, poor fellow, than he
had tasted at once in his life before) ; while the rest,
in high glee with themselves and the rest of the world,
relighted the candles, had a right merry evening, and
parted like good friends and sensible gentlemen of
Devon, thinking (all except Frank) Jack Brimble-
combe and his vow the merriest jest they had heard
for many a day. After which they all departed:
Amyas and Cary to Winter’s squadron; Frank (as
soon as he could travel) to the Court again ; and with
him young Basset, whose father Sir Arthur, being in
London, procured for him a page’s place in Leicester’s
household. Fortescue and Chichester went to their
brothers in Dublin ; St. Leger to his uncle the Marshal
of Munster; Coffin joined Champernoun and Norris
in the Netherlands; and so the Brotherhood of the
Rose was scattered far and wide, and Mistress Salterne
was left alone with her looking-glass.
HOW AMYAS KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS DAY,
“Take aim, you noble musqueteers,
And shoot you round about ;
Stand to it, valiant pikemen,
And we shall keep them out.
There’s not a man of all of us
A foot will backward flee ;
Tl be the foremost man in fight,
Says brave Lord Willoughby !â€
Elizabethan Ballad.
Ir was the blessed Christmas afternoon. The light
was fading down; the even-song was done; and the
good folks of Bideford were trooping home in merry
groups, the father with his children, the lover with his
sweetheart, to cakes and ale, and flapdragons and
mummer’s plays, and all the happy sports of Christmas
night. One lady only, wrapped close in her black
muffler and followed by her maid, walked swiftly, yet
sadly, toward the long causeway and bridge which led
to Northam town. Sir Richard Grenvile and his wife
caught her up and stopped her courteously.
“You will come home with us, Mrs. Leigh,†said
Lady Grenvile, “and spend a pleasant Christmas
night %â€
Mrs. Leigh smiled sweetly, and laying one hand on
HOW AMYAS KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 283
Lady Grenvile’s arm, pointed with the other to the
westward, and said—
“JT cannot well spend a merry Christmas night,
while that sound is in my ears.â€
The whole party around looked in the direction in
which she pointed. Above their heads the soft blue
sky was fading into grey, and here and there a misty
star peeped out: but to the westward, where the
downs and woods of Raleigh closed in with those of
Abbotsham, the blue was webbed and turfed with
delicate white flakes; iridescent spots, marking the
path by which the sun had sunk, showed all the
colours of the dying dolphin ; and low on the horizon
lay a long band of grassy green. But what was the
sound which troubled Mrs. Leigh? None of them,
with their merry hearts, and ears dulled with the din
and bustle of the town, had heard it till that moment:
and yet now—listen! It was dead calm. There was
not a breath to stir a blade of grass. And yet the air
was full of sound, a low deep roar which hovered
over down and wood, salt-marsh and river, like the
roll of a thousand wheels, the tramp of endless armies,
or—what it was—the thunder of a mighty surge upon
the boulders of the pebble ridge.
“The ridge is noisy to-night,†said Sir Richard.
“There has been wind somewhere.â€
“There is wind now, where my boy is, God help
him!†said Mrs. Leigh: and all knew that she spoke
truly. The spirit of the Atlantic storm had sent
forward the token of his coming, in the smooth
eround-swell which was heard inland, two miles away.
284 HOW AMYAS KEPT
To-morrow the pebbles, which were now rattling
down with each retreating wave, might be leaping
to the ridge top, and hurled like round-shot far
ashore upon the marsh by the force of the advancing
wave, fleeing before the wrath of the western hur-
ricane.
“God help my boy!†said Mrs. Leigh again.
“God is as near him by sea as by land,†said good
Sir Richard.
- ©Tyue: but I am a lone mother ; and one that has
no heart just now but to go home and pray.â€
And so Mrs. Leigh went onward up the lane, and
spent all that night in listening between her prayers
to the thunder of the surge, till it was drowned, long
ere the sun rose, in the thunder of the storm.
And where is Amyas on this same Christmas
afternoon ?
Amyas is sitting bare-headed in a boat’s stern in
Smerwick bay, with the spray whistling through his
curls, as he shouts cheerfully,—
“Pull, and with a will, my merry men all, and
never mind shipping a sea. Cannon balls are a cargo
that don’t spoil by taking salt-water.†:
His mother’s presage has been true enough.
Christmas-eve has been the last of the still, dark,
steaming nights of the early winter; and the western
gale has been roaring for the last twelve hours upon
the Irish coast.
The short light of the winter day is fading fast.
Behind him is a leaping line of billows lashed into
mist by the tempest. Beside him green foam-fringed
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 285
columns are rushing up the black rocks, and falling
again in a thousand cataracts of snow. Before him is
the deep and sheltered bay: but it is not far up the
bay that he and his can see; for some four miles out
at sea begins a sloping roof of thick grey cloud, which
stretches over their heads, and up and far away inland,
cutting the cliffs off at mid-height, hiding all the Kerry
mountains, and darkening the hollows of the distant
firths into the blackness of night. And underneath
that awful roof of whirling mist the storm is howling
inland ever, sweeping before it the great foam-sponges,
and the grey salt spray, till all the land is hazy, dim,
and dun. Let it howl on! for there is more mist
than ever salt spray made, flying before that gale;
more thunder than ever sea-surge wakened echoing
among the cliffs of Smerwick bay; along those sand-
hills flash in the evening gloom red sparks which
never came from heaven; for that fort, now christened
by the invaders the Fort Del Oro, where flaunts the
hated golden flag of Spain, holds San Josepho and
eight hundred of the foe; and but three nights ago,
Amyas and Yeo, and the rest of Winter’s shrewdest
hands, slung four culverins out of the Admiral’s main
deck, and floated them ashore, and dragged them up
to the battery among the sand-hills ; and now it shall
be seen whether Spanish and Italian condottieri can
hold their own on British ground against the men of
Devon.
Small blame to Amyas if he was thinking, not of
his lonely mother at Burrough Court, but of those
quick bright flashes on sand-hill and on fort, where
286 HOW AMYAS KEPT
Salvation Yeo was hurling the eighteen-pound shot
with deadly aim, and watching with a cool and bitter
smile of triumph, the flying of the sand, and the
crashing of the gabions. Amyas and his party had
been on board, at the risk of their lives, for a fresh
supply of shot ; for Winter’s battery was out of ball,
and had been firing stones for the last four hours, in
default of better missiles. They ran the boat on shore
through the surf, where a cove in the shore made
landing possible, and almost careless whether she stove
or not, scrambled over the sand-hills with each man
his brace of shot slung across his shoulder: and
Amyas, leaping into the trenches, shouted cheerfully
to Salvation Yeo,
“More food for the bull-dogs, Gunner, and plums
for the Spaniards’ Christmas pudding !â€
“Don’t speak to a man at his business, Master
Amyas. Five mortal times have I missed; but I
will have that accursed Popish rag down, as I’m a
sinner.â€
“Down with it then; nobody wants you to shoot
crooked. ‘Take good iron to it, and not footy paving-
stones.â€
“J believe, sir, that the foul fiend is there, a turn-
ing of my shot aside, I do. I thought I saw him
once: but, thank heaven, here’s ball again. Ah, sir,
if one could but cast a silver one! Now, stand by,
men |â€
And once again Yeo’s eighteen-pounder roared, and
away. And, oh glory! the great yellow flag of Spain,
which streamed in the gale, lifted clean into the air,
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 287
flagstaff and all, and then pitched wildly down head-
foremost, far to leeward.
A hurrah from the sailors, answered by the soldiers
of the opposite camp, shook the very cloud above
them: but ere its echoes had died away, a tall officer
leapt upon the parapet of the fort, with the fallen flag
in his hand, and rearing it as well as he could upon
his lance point, held it firmly against the gale, while
the fallen flagstaff was raised again within.
In a moment a dozen long bows were bent at the
daring foeman: but Amyas behind shouted,—
“Shame, lads! Stop, and let ae gallant gentleman
have due courtesy !â€
So they stopped, while Amyas, springing on the
rampart of the battery, took off his hat, and bowed to
the flag-holder, who, as soon as relieved of his charge,
returned the bow courteously, and descended.
It was by this time all but dark, and the firing
began to slacken on all sides; Salvation and his
brother gunners, having covered up their slaughtering
tackle with tarpaulings, retired for the night, leaving
Amyas, who had volunteered to take the watch till
midnight ; and the rest of the force having got their
scanty supper of biscuit (for provisions were running
very short) lay down under arms among the sand-hills,
and grumbled themselves to sleep.
He had paced up and down in the gusty darkness
for some hour or more, exchanging a passing word now
and then with the sentinel, when two men entered the
battery, chatting busily together One was in com-
plete armour ; the other wrapt in the plain short cloak
288 HOW AMYAS KEPT
of a man of pens and peace: but the talk of both was
neither of sieges nor of sallies, catapult, bombard, nor
culverin, but simply of English hexameters.
And fancy not, gentle reader, that the two were
therein fiddling while Rome was burning; for the
commonweal of poetry and letters, in that same critical
year 1580, was in far greater danger from those same
hexameters, than the common woe of Ireland (as
Raleigh called it) was from the Spaniards.
Imitating the classic metres, “versifying,†as it was
called in contradistinction to rhyming, was becoming
fast the fashion among the more learned. Stonyhurst
and others had tried their hands at hexameter transla-
tions from the Latin and Greek epics, which seem to
have been doggerel enough ; and, ever and anon, some
youthful wit broke out in iambics, sapphics, elegiacs,
and what not, to the great detriment of the Queen’s
English and her subjects’ ears.
I know not whether Mr. William Webbe, had yet
given to the world any fragments of his precious hints
for the “Reformation of English poetry,†to the tune
of his own “Tityrus, happily thou liest tumbling
under a beech-tree:†but the Cambridge Malvolio,
Gabriel Harvey, had succeeded in arguing Spenser,
Dyer, Sidney, and probably Sidney’s sister, and the
whole clique of beaux-esprits round them, into follow-
ing his model of
‘* What might I call this tree? A laurel? O bonny laurel!
Needes to thy bowes will I bowe this knee, and vail my
bonetto ;â€
after snubbing the first book of “that Elvish Queene,â€
WIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 289
which was then in manuscript, as a base declension
from the classical to the romantic school.
And now Spenser (perhaps in mere melancholy
wilfulness and want of purpose, for he had just been
jilted by a fair maid of Kent) was wasting his mighty
genius upon doggerel which he fancied antique ; and
some piratical publisher (Bitter Tom Nash swears, and
with likelihood, that Harvey did it himself) had just
given to the world,“ Three proper wittie and familiar
Letters, lately past between two University men,
touching the Karthquake in April last, and our English
reformed Versifying,†which had set all town wits a-
buzzing like a swarm of flies, being none other than a
correspondence between Spenser and Harvey, which
was to prove to the world for ever the correctness and
melody of such lines as,
‘* For like magnificoes, not-a beck but glorious in show,
In deede most frivolous, not a looke but Tuscanish always.â€
Let them pass—Alma Mater has seen as bad hexa-
meters since. But then the matter was serious. There
is a story (I know not how true), that Spenser was
half bullied into re-writing the “Fairy Queen†in
hexameters, had not Raleigh, a true romanticist,
‘whose vein for ditty or amorous ode was most lofty,
insolent, and passionate,†persuaded him to follow his
better genius. The great dramatists had not yet
arisen, to form completely that truly English school,
of which Spenser, unconscious of his own vast powers,
was laying the foundation. And, indeed, it was not
till Daniel, twenty years after, in his admirable apology
for rhyme, had smashed Mr. Campion and his “eight
VOL. I. U W. i.
290 HOW AMYAS KEPT
several kinds of classical numbers,†that the matter
was finally settled, and the English tongue left to go
the road on which heaven had started it. So that we
may excuse Raleigh’s answering somewhat waspish to
some quotation of Spenser’s from the. three letters of
“Tmmerito and G. HL.â€
“Tut, tut, Colin Clout, much learning has made
thee mad. A good old fishwives’ ballad jingle is worth
all your sapphics and trimeters, and ‘riff-raff thurlery
bouncing.’ Hey? have I you there, old lad? Do you
mind that precious verse ?â€
“But, dear Wat, Homer and Virgil 2
“But, dear Ned, Petrarch and Ovid——â€
“But, Wat, what have we that we do not owe to
the ancients ?â€
“Ancients, quotha? Why, the legend of King
Arthur, and Chevy Chase too, of which even your
fellow-sinner Sidney cannot deny that every time he
hears it even from a blind fiddler it stirs his heart like
a trumpet-blast. Speak well of the bridge that carries
you over, man! Did you find your Redcross Knight
in Virgil, or such a dame as Una in old Ovid? No
more than you did your Pater and Credo, you renegado
baptized heathen, you !â€
“Yet, surely, our younger and more barbarous
taste must bow before divine antiquity, and imitate
afar. z
“ Ag dottrels do fowlers. If Homer was blind, lad,
why dost not poke out thine eye? Ay, this hexameter
is of an ancient house, truly, Ned Spenser, and so is
many a rogue: but he cannot make way on our rough
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 291
English roads. He goes hopping and twitching in
our language like a three-legged terrier over a pebble-
bank, tumble and up again, rattle and crash.â€
“Nay, hear, now—
‘* See ye the blindfolded pretty god that feathered archer,
Of lovers’ miseries which maketh his bloody game ?4
True, the accent gapes in places, as I have often con-
fessed to Harvey, but——â€
“Harvey be hanged for a pedant, and the whole
crew of versifiers, from Lord Dorset (but he, poor
man, has been past hanging some time since) to your-
self! Why delude you into playing Procrustes as he
does with the Queen’s English, racking one word till
its jomts be pulled asunder, and squeezing the next
all a-heap as the Inquisitors do heretics in their banca
cava? Out upon him and you, and Sidney, and the
whole kin. You have not made a verse among you,
and never will, which is not as lame a gosling as
Harvey’s own—
‘Oh thou weathercocke, that stands on the top of Allhallows,
Come thy ways down, if thou dar’st for thy crown, and take
the wall on us.’
“Hark, now! There is our young giant comforting
his soul with a ballad. You will hear rhyme and
reason together here, now. He will not miscall
‘blind-folded,’ ‘ blind-fold-ed,’ I warrant ; or make an
‘of? and a ‘which’ and a ‘his’ carry a whole verse
on their wretched little backs.â€
And as he spoke, Amyas, who had been grumbling
1 Strange as it may scem, this distich is Spenser’s own ; and
the other hexameters are all authentic.
292 “HOW AMYAS KEPT
to himself some Christmas carol, broke out full-
mouthed :—
“© As Joseph was a-walking
He heard an angel sing—
‘ This night shall be the birth night
Of Christ, our heavenly King.
His birthbed shall be neither
In housen nor in hall,
Nor in the place of paradise,
But in the oxen’s stall.
He neither shall be rocked
In silver nor in gold,
But in the wooden manger
That lieth on the mould.
He neither shall be washen
With white wine nor with red,
But with the fair spring water
That on you shall be shed
He neither shall be clothed
In purple nor in pall,
But in the fair white linen
That usen babies all.’
As Joseph was a-walking
Thus did the angel sing,
And Mary’s Son at midnight
‘Was born to be our King.
Then be you glad, good people,
At this time of the year ;
And light you up your candles,
For His star it shineth clear.â€
“There, Edmunde Classicaster,†said Raleigh,
“does not that simple strain go nearer to the heart
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 293
of him who wrote “The Shepherd’s Calendar,†than all
artificial and outlandish
‘ Wote ye why his mother with a veil hath covered his face ??
Why dost not answer, man 2â€
But Spenser was silent awhile, and then,—
“Because I was thinking rather of the rhymer than
the rhyme. Good heaven! how that brave lad shames
me, singing here the hymns which his mother taught
him, before the very muzzles of Spanish guns; instead
of bewailing unmanly, as I have done, the love which
he held, I doubt not, as dear as I did even my Rosa-
lind. This is his welcome to the winter's storm ;
while I, who dream, forsooth, of heavenly inspiration,
can but see therein an image of mine own cowardly
despair.
‘Thou barren ground, whom Winter’s wrath has wasted,
Art made a mirror to behold my plight.’?
Pah! away with frosts, icicles, and tears, and sighs ——â€
“And with hexameters and trimeters too, I hope,â€
interrupted Raleigh: “and all the trickeries of self-
pleasing sorrow.â€
“—_J will set my heart to higher work, than
barking at the hand which chastens me.â€
“Wilt put the lad into the ‘Fairy Queen,’ then,
by my side? He deserves as good a place there,
believe me, as ever a Guyon, or even as Lord Grey
your Arthegall. Let us hail him. Hallo! young
chanticleer of Devon! Art not afraid of a chance
shot, that thou crowest so lustily upon thine own
mixen 2â€
1 «The Shepherd’s Calendar.â€
294 HOW AMYAS KEPT
“Cocks crow all night long at Christmas, Captain
Raleigh, and so do I,†said Amyas’s cheerful voice ;
“but who’s there with you?â€
“A penitent pupil of yours—Mr. Secretary Spenser.â€
“Pupil of mine?†said Amyas. “I wish he’d teach
me a little of his art; I could fill up my time here
with making verses.â€
“And who would be your theme, fair sir?†said
Spenser.
_ “No ‘who’ at all. Idon’t want to make sonnets
to blue eyes, nor black either: but if I could put
down some of the things I sawin the Spice Islands a
“ Ah,†said Raleigh, “he would beat you out of
Parnassus, Mr. Secretary. Remember, you may write
about Fairyland, but he has seen it.â€
“And so have others,†said Spenser; “it is not so far
off from any one of us. Wherever is love and loyalty,
great purposes, and lofty souls, even though in a hovel
or a mine, there is Fairyland.â€
“Then Fairyland should be here, friend; for you
represent love, and Leigh loyalty ; while, as for great
purposes and lofty souls, who so fit to stand for them,
as I, being (unless my enemies and my conscience are
liars both) as ambitious and as proud as Lucifer’s own
self?â€
“ Ah, Walter, Walter, why wilt always slander thy-
self thus ?â€
“Slander? Tut.—I do but give the world a fair
challenge, and tell it, ‘There—you know the worst of
me: come on and try a fall, for either you or I must
down.’ Slander? Ask Leigh here, who has but known
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 295
me a fortnight, whether I am not as vain as a peacock,
as selfish as a fox, as imperious as a bona roba, and
ready to make a cat’s paw of him or any man; if there
be a chestnut in the fire: and yet the poor fool cannot
help loving me, and running of my errands, and tak-
ing all my schemes and my dreams for gospel; and
verily believes now, I think, that I shall be the man
in the moon some day, and he my big dog.â€
“Well,†said Amyas, half apologetically, “if you
are the cleverest man in the world what harm in my
thinking so 2â€
“Hearken to him, Edmund! He will know better
when he has outgrown this same callow trick of
honesty, and learnt of the great goddess Detraction
how to show himself wiser than the wise, by pointing
out to the world the fool’s motley which peeps through
the rents in the philosopher’s cloak. Go to, lad!
slander thy equals, envy thy betters, pray for an eye
which sees spots in every sun, and for a vulture’s nose
to scent carrion in every rose-bed. If thy friend win
a battle, show that he has needlessly thrown away his
men ; if he lose one, hint that he sold it; if he rise to
a place, argue favour ; if he fall from one, argue divine
justice. Believe nothing, hope nothing, but endure
all things, even to kicking, if aught may be got
thereby ; so shalt thou be clothed in purple and fine
linen, and sit in king’s palaces, and fare sumptuously
every day.â€
“And wake, with Dives in the torment,†said
Amyas. “Thank you for nothing, Captain.â€
““Go to, Misanthropos,†said Spenser. “ Thou hast
296 HOW AMYAS KEPT
not yet tasted the sweets of this world’s comfits, and
thou railest at them ?â€
“The grapes are sour, lad.â€
“And will be to the end,†said Amyas, “if they
come off such a devil’s tree as that. I really think you
are out of your mind, Captain Raleigh, at times.â€
“T wish I were; for it is a troublesome, hungry,
windy mind as man ever was cursed withal. But come
in, lad. We were sent from the Lord Deputy to bid
thee to supper. There is a dainty lump of dead horse
waiting for thee.â€
“Send me some out, then,†said matter-of-fact
Amyas. “And tell his Lordship that, with his good
leave, I don’t stir from here till morning, if I can keep
awake. ‘There is a stir in the fort, and I expect them
out on us.â€
“Tut, man! their hearts are broken. We know it
by their deserters.â€
“Seeing’s believing. I never trust runaway rogues.
If they are false to their masters they’ll be false to us.â€
“Well, go thy ways, old honesty; and Mr. Secre-
tary shall give you a book to yourself in the ‘Fairy
Queen ’—‘ Sir Monoculus, or the Legend of Common
Sense,’ eh, Edmund ?â€
“ Monoculus 2â€
“ Ay, Single-eye, my prince of word-coiners—won’t
that fit And give him the Cyclop’s head for a device.
Heigho! They may laugh that. win. I am sick of
this Irish work ; were it not for the chance of advance-
ment I’d sooner be driving a team of red Devons on
Dartside ; and now I am angry with the dear lad be-
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 297
cause he is not sick of it too. What a plague business
has he to be paddling up and down, contentedly doing
his duty, like any city watchman? It is an insult to
the mighty aspirations of our nobler hearts,—ch, my
would-be Ariosto 2?â€
“Ah, Raleigh! you can afford to confess yourself
less than some, for you are greater than all. Go on
and conquer, noble heart! But as for me, I sow the
wind, and I suppose I shall reap the whirlwind.â€
“Your harvest seems come already ; what a blast
that was! Hold on by me, Colin Clout, and I'll hold
on by thee. So! Don’t tread on that pikeman’s
stomach, lest he take thee for a marauding Don, and
with sudden dagger slit Colin’s pipe, and Colin’s
weasand too.â€
And the two stumbled away into the darkness,
leaving Amyas to stride up and down as before,
puzzling his brains over Raleigh’s wild words and
Spenser’s melancholy, till he came to the conclusion
that there was some mysterious connection between
cleverness and unhappiness, and thanking his stars
that he was neither scholar, courtier, nor poet, said
grace over his lump of horseflesh when it arrived,
devoured it as if it had been venison, and then re-
turned to his pacing up and down; but this time in
silence, for the night was drawing on, and there was
no need to tell the Spaniards that any one was awake
and watching.
So he began to think about his mother, and how
she might be spending her Christmas ; and then about
Frank, and wondered at what grand Court festival he
298 HOW AMYAS KEPT
was assisting, amid bright lights and sweet music and
gay ladies, and how he was dressed, and whether he
thought of his brother there far away on the dark
Atlantic shore; and then he said his prayers and his
creed; and then he tried not to think of Rose Salterne,
and of course thought about her all the more. So on
passed the dull hours, till it might be past eleven
o’clock, and all lights were out in the battery and the
shipping, and there was no sound of living thing but
the monotonous tramp of the two sentinels beside
him, and now and then a grunt from the party who
slept under arms some twenty yards to the rear.
So he paced to and fro, looking carefully out now
and then over the strip of sand-hill which lay between
him and the fort; but all was blank and black, and
moreover it began to rain furiously.
Suddenly he seemed to hear a rustle among the
harsh sand-grass) True, the wind was whistling
through it loudly enough: but that sound was not
altogether like the wind. Then a soft sliding noise ;
something had slipped down a bank, and brought the
sand down after it. Amyas stopped, crouched down
beside a gun, and laid his ear to the rampart, whereby
he heard clearly, as he thought, the noise of approach-
ing feet ; whether rabbits or Christians, he knew not :
but he shrewdly guessed the latter.
Now Amyas was of a sober and business-like turn,
at least when he was not in a passion; and thinking
within himself that if he made any noise, the enemy
(whether four or two-legged) would retire, and all the
sport be lost, he did not call to the two sentries, who
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 299
were at the opposite ends of the battery; neither did
he think it worth while to rouse the sleeping company,
lest his ears should have deceived him, and the whole
camp turn out to repulse the attack of a buck rabbit.
So he crouched lower and lower beside the culverin,
and was rewarded in a minute or two by hearing some-
thing gently deposited against the mouth of the embra-
sure, which, by the noise, should be a piece of timber.
; “So far, so good,†said he to himself; “when the
scaling ladder is up, the soldier follows, I suppose. I
can only humbly thank them for giving my embrasure
the preference. There he comes! I hear his feet
scuffling.â€
He could hear plainly enough some one working
himself into the mouth of the embrasure: but the
plague was, that it was so dark that he could not see
his hand between him and the sky, much less his foe
at two- yards off. However, he made a pretty fair
guess as to the whereabouts, and, rising softly, dis-
charged such a blow downwards as would have split
a yule log. A volley of sparks flew up from the hap-
less Spaniard’s armour, and a grunt issued from within
it, which proved that, whether he was killed or not,
the blow had not improved his respiration.
Amyas felt for his head, seized it, dragged him in
over the gun, sprang into the embrasure on his knees,
felt for the top of the ladder, found it, hove it clean
off and out, with four or five men on it, and then of
course tumbled after it ten-feet into the sand, roaring
like a town bull to her Majesty’s liege subjects in
general.
300 HOW AMYAS KEPT
Sailor-fashion, he had no armour on but a light
morion and a cuirass, so he was not too much encum-
bered to prevent his springing to his legs instantly,
and setting to work, cutting and foining right and left
at every sound, for sight there was none.
Battles (as soldiers know, and newspaper editors
do not) are usually fought, not as they ought to be
fought, but as they can be fought; and while the
literary man is laying down the law at his desk as to
how many troops should be moved here, and what
rivers should be crossed there, and where the cavalry
should have been brought up, and when the flank
should have been turned, the wretched man who has
to do the work finds the matter settled for him by
pestilence, want of shoes, empty stomachs, bad roads,
heavy rains, hot suns, and a thousand other stern
warriors who never show on paper.
So with this skirmish ; “according to Cocker,†it
ought to have been a very pretty one; for Hercules
of Pisa, who planned the sortie, had arranged it all
(being a very sans-appel in all military science) upon
the best Italian precedents, and had brought against
this very hapless battery a column of a hundred to
attack directly in front, a company of fifty to turn the
right flank, and a company of fifty to turn the left
flank, with regulations, orders, passwords, countersigns,
and what not; so that if every man had had his rights
(as seldom happens), Don Guzman Maria Magdalena
de Soto, who commanded the sortie, ought to have
taken the work out of hand, and annihilated all there-
in. But alas! here stern fate interfered. They had
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 301
chosen a dark night, as was politic; they had waited
till the moon was up, lest it should be too dark, as
was politic likewise: but, just as they had started, on
came a heavy squall of rain, through which seven
moons would have given no light, and which washed
out the plans of Hercules of Pisa as if they had been
written on a schoolboy’s slate. The company who
were to turn the left flank walked manfully down into
the sea, and never found out where they were going
till they were knee-deep in water. The company who
were to turn the right flank, bewildered by the utter
darkness, turned their own-flank so often, that tired
of falling into rabbit-burrows and filling their mouths
with sand, they halted and prayed to all the saints for
a compass and lantern; while the centre body, who
held straight on by a trackway to within fifty yards
of the battery, so miscalculated that short distance,
that while they thought the ditch two pikes’ length
off, they fell into it one over the other, and of six
scaling ladders, the only one which could be found
was the very one which Amyas threw down again.
After which the clouds broke, the wind shifted, and
the moon shone out merrily. And so was the deep
policy of Hercules of Pisa, on which hung the fate of
Ireland and the Papacy, decided by a ten minutes’
squall,
But where is Amyas ?
In the ditch, aware that the enemy is tumbling into
it, but unable to find them ; while the company above,
finding it much too dark to attempt a counter sortie,
have opened a smart fire of musketry and arrows on
302 HOW AMYAS KEPT
things in general, whereat the Spaniards are swearing
like Spaniards (I need say no more), and the Italians
spitting like venomous cats; while Amyas, not wish-
ing to be riddled by friendly balls, has got his back
against the foot of the rampart, and waits on Pro-
vidence.
Suddenly the moon clears; and with one more fierce
volley, the English sailors, seeing the confusion, leap
down from the embrasures, and to it pell-mell.
Whether this also was “according to Cocker,†I know
not: but the sailor, then as now, is not susceptible of
highly-finished drill.
Amyas is now in his element, and so are the brave
fellows at his heels; and there are ten breathless,
furious minutes among the sand-hills; and then the
trumpets blow a recal, and the sailors drop back again
by twos and threes, and are helped up into the em-
brasures over many a dead and dying foe; while the
guns of Fort del Oro open on them, and blaze away
for half-an-hour without reply; and chen all is still
once more. And in the meanwhile, the sortie against
the Deputy’s camp has fared no better, and the victory
of the night remains with the English.
Twenty minutes after, Winter and the captains who
were on shore were drying themselves round a peat-
fire on the beach, and talking over the skirmish, when
Will Cary asked—
“Where is Leigh? who has seen him? I am sadly
afraid he has gone too far, and been slain.â€
“Slain? Never less, gentlemen!†replied the voice
of the very person in question, as he stalked out of
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 303
the darkness into the glare of the fire, and shot down
from his shoulders into the midst of the ring, as he
might a sack of corn, a huge dark body, which was
gradually seen to be a man in rich armour ; who being
so shot down, lay quietly where he was dropped, with
his feet (luckily for him mailed) in the fire.
“T say,†quoth Amyas, “some of you had better
take him up, if he is to be of any use. Unlace his
helm, Will Cary.â€
“Pull his feet out of the embers; I dare say he
would have been glad enough to put us to the scarpines ;
but that’s no reason we should put him to them.â€
As has been hinted, there was no love lost
between Admiral Winter and Amyas; and Amyas
might certainly have reported himself in a more cere-
monious manner. So Winter, whom Amyas either
had not seen, or had not chosen to see, asked him
pretty sharply, “What the plague he had to do with
bringing dead men into camp ?â€
“Tf he’s dead, it’s not my fault. He was alive
enough when I started with him, and I kept him right
end uppermost all the way ; and what would you have
more, sir?â€
“Mr. Leigh!†said Winter, “it behoves you to
speak with somewhat more courtesy, if not respect, to
captains who are your elders and commanders.â€
“Ask your pardon, sir,†said the giant, as he stood
in front of the fire with the rain steaming and smoking
off his armour; “but I was bred in a school where
getting good service done was more esteemed than
making fine speeches.â€
304 HOW AMYAS KEPT
“Whatgoever school you were trained in, sir,†said
Winter, nettled at the hint about Drake ; “it does
not seem to have been one in which you learned to
obey orders. Why did you not come in when the
recal was sounded %â€
“Because,†said Amyas, very coolly, “in the first
place, I did not hear it ; and in the next, in my school
I was taught when I had once started not to come
home empty-handed.â€
This was too pointed ; and Winter sprang up with
an oath—“ Do you mean to insult me, sir?â€
“T am sorry, sir, that you should take a compli-
ment to Sir Francis Drake as an insult to yourself.
I brought in this gentleman because I thought he
might give you good information; if he dies mean-
while, the loss will be yours, or rather the Queen’s.â€
“Help me, then,†said Cary, glad to create a
diversion in Amyas’s favour, “and we will bring him
round ;†while Raleigh rose, and catching Winter's
arm, drew him aside, and began talking earnestly.
“What a murrain have you, Leigh, to quarrel with
Winter?†asked two or three.
“T say, my reverend fathers and dear children, do
get the Don’s talking tackle free again, and leave me
and the Admiral to settle it our own way.â€
"There was more than one captain sitting in the
ring: but discipline, and the degrees of rank, were
not so severely defined as now; and Amyas, as a
“gentleman adventurer,†was, on land, in a position
very difficult to be settled, though at sea he was as
liable to be hanged as any other person on board ;
e
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 305
and on the whole it was found expedient to patch
the matter up. So Captain Raleigh returning, said
that though Admiral Winter had doubtless taken
umbrage at certain words of Mr. Leigh’s, yet that he
had no doubt that Mr. Leigh meant nothing thereby
but what was consistent with the profession of a
soldier and a gentleman, and worthy both of himself
and of the Admiral.
From which proposition Amyas found it impossible
to dissent ; whereon Raleigh went back, and informed
Winter that Leigh had freely retracted his words, and
fully wiped off any imputation which Mr. Winter
might conceive to have been put upon him, and so
forth. So Winter returned, and Amyas said frankly
enough,—
“ Admiral Winter, I hope, as a loyal soldier, that
you will understand thus far; that naught which has
passed to-night shall in any way prevent you finding
me a forward and obedient servant to all your com-
mands, be they what they may, and a supporter of
your authority among the men, and honour against the
foe, even with my life. For I should be ashamed if
private differences should ever prejudice by a grain the
public weal.â€
This was a great effort of oratory for Amyas; and
he therefore, in order to be safe by following precedent,
tried to talk as much as he could like Sir Richard
Grenvile. Of course Winter could answer nothing to
it, in spite of the plain hint of private differences, but
that he should not fail to show himself a captain
worthy of so valiant and trusty a gentleman ; whereon
VOL. I. x W. 4,
306 HOW AMYAS KEPT
the whole party turned their attention to the captive,
who, thanks to Will Cary, was by this time sitting up,
standing much in need of a handkerchief, and looking
about him, having been unhelmed, in a confused and
doleful manner.
“Take the gentleman to my tent,†said Winter,
“and let the surgeon see to him. Mr. Leigh, who is
he /—__â€
“An enemy, but whether Spaniard or Italian I
know not; but he seemed somebody among them, I
thought the captain of a company. He and I cut at
each other twice or thrice at first, and then lost each
other ; and after that I came on him among the sand-
hills, trying to rally his men, and swearing like the
mouth of the pit, whereby I guess him a Spaniard.
But his men ran; so I brought him in.â€
“And how?†asked Raleigh. ‘Thou art giving
us all the play but the murders and the marriages.â€
“Why, I bid him yield, and he would not. Then
I bid him run, and he would not. And it was too
pitch-dark for fighting ; so I took him by the ears, and
shook the wind out of him, and so brought him in.â€
“Shook the wind out of him?†cried Cary, amid
the roar of laughter which followed. “Dost know
thou hast nearly wrung his neck in two? His vizor
was full of blood.â€
“He should have run or yielded, then,†said Amyas ;
and getting up, slipped off to find some ale, and then to
sleep comfortably in a dry burrow which he scratched
out of a sandbank.
The next morning, as Amyas was discussing a
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 307
scanty breakfast of biscuit (for provisions were running
very short in camp) Raleigh came up to him.
“What, eating? That’s more than I have done
to-day.â€
“Sit down, and share then.â€
“Nay, lad, I did not come a-begging. I have set
some of my rogues to dig rabbits ; but as I live, young
Colbrand, you may thank your stars that you are alive
to-day to eat. Poor young Cheek,—Sir John Cheek,
the grammarian’s son,—got his quittance last night
by a Spanish pike, rushing headlong on, just as you
did. But have you seen your prisoner ?â€
“No; nor shall, while he is in Winter’s tent.â€
“Why not then? What quarrel have you against
the Admiral, friend Bobadil? Cannot you let Francis
Drake fight his own battles, without thrusting your
head in between them 2?â€
“Well, that is good! As if the quarrel was not
just as much mine, and every man’s in the ship. Why,
when he left Drake, he left us all, did he not 2â€
“And what if he did? Let bygones be bygones, is
the rule of a Christian, and of a wise man too, Amyas.
Here the man is, at least, safe home, in favour and in
power ; and a prudent youth will just hold his tongue,
mumchance, and swim with the stream.â€
“But that’s just what makes me mad; to see this
fellow, after deserting us there in unknown seas, win
credit and rank at home here for being the first man
who ever sailed back through the Straits. What had
he to do with sailing back at all? As well make the
fox a knight for being the first that ever jumped down
308 HOW AMYAS KEPT
a jakes to escape the hounds. The fiercer the flight
the fouler the fear, say I.â€
“Amyas! Amyas! thou art a hard hitter, but a
soft politician.â€
“T am no politician, Captain Raleigh, nor ever
wish to be. An honest man’s my friend, and a rogue’s
my foe ; and I'll tell both as much as long as I breathe.â€
“And die a poor saint,†said Raleigh, laughing.
“But if Winter invites you to his tent himself, you
won't refuse to come ?â€
“Why, no, considering his years and rank; but he
knows too well to do that.â€
“He knows too well not to do it,†said Raleigh,
laughing as he walked away. And verily in half-an-
hour came an invitation extracted, of course, from the
Admiral by Raleigh’s silver tongue, which Amyas
could not but obey.
“We all owe you thanks for last night’s service,
sir,†said Winter, who had for some good reasons
changed his tone. “Your prisoner is found to be a
gentleman of birth and experience, and the leader of
the assault last night. He has already told us more
than we had hoped, for which also we are beholden to
you; and, indeed, my Lord Grey has been asking for
you already.â€
“T have, young sir,†said a quiet and lofty voice ;
and Amyas saw limping from the inner tent the proud
and stately figure of the stern Deputy, Lord Grey of
Wilton, a brave and wise man, but with a naturally
harsh temper, which had been soured still more by the
wound which had crippled him, while yet a boy, at
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 309
the battle of Leith, He owed that limp to Mary
Queen of Scots ; and he did not forget the debt.
“T have been asking for you; having heard from
many, both of your last night’s prowess, and of your
conduct and courage beyond the promise of your
years, displayed in that ever-memorable voyage,
which may well be ranked with the deeds of the
ancient Argonauts.â€
Amyas bowed low; and the Lord Deputy went
on, “ You will needs wish to see your prisoner. You
will find him such a one as you need not be ashamed
to have taken, and as need not be ashamed to have
been taken by you: but here he is, and will, I doubt
not, answer as much for himself. Know each other
better, gentlemen both: last night was an ill one for
making acquaintances. Don Guzman Maria Magdalena
Sotomayor de Soto, know the hidalgo Amyas Leigh!â€
As he spoke, the Spaniard came forward, still in
his armour, all save his head, which was bound up in
a handkerchief.
He was an exceedingly tall and graceful personage, -
of that sangre azul which marked high Visi-gothic
descent ; golden-haired and fair-skinned, with hands
as small and white as a woman’s; his lips were
delicate, but thin, and compressed closely at the
corners of the mouth; and his pale blue eye had a
glassy dulness. In spite of his beauty and his carriage,
Amyas shrank from him instinctively; and yet he
could not help holding out his hand in return, as the
Spaniard holding out his, said languidly, in most
sweet and sonorous Spanish,—
310 HOW AMYAS KEPT
“T kiss his hands and feet. The Sefior speaks, I
am told, my native tongue ?â€
“T have that honour.â€
“Then accept in it (for I can better express myself
therein than in English, though I am not altogether
ignorant of that witty and learned language) the
expression of my pleasure at having fallen into the
hands of one so renowned in war and travel; and of
one also,†he added, glancing at Amyas’s giant bulk,
“the vastness of whose strength, beyond that of
common mortality, makes it no more shame for me to
have been overpowered and carried away by him than
if my captor had been a paladin of Charlemagne’s.â€
Honest Amyas bowed and stammered, a, little
thrown off his balance by the unexpected assurance
and cool flattery of his prisoner ; but he said,—
“Tf you are satisfied, illustrious Sefior, I am bound
to be so. I only trust, that in my hurry and the dark-
ness, I have not hurt you unnecessarily.â€
The Don laughed a pretty little hollow laugh:
“No, kind Sefior, my head, I trust, will after a few
days have become united to my shoulders; and, for
the present, your company will make me forget any
slight discomfort.â€
“Pardon me, Sefior; but by this daylight I should
have seen that armour before.â€
“T doubt it not, Sefior, as having been yourself
also in the forefront of the battle,†said the Spaniard,
with a proud smile.
“Tf Tam right, Sefior, you are he who yesterday
held up the standard after it was shot down.â€
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 31l
“T do not deny that undeserved honour; and I
have to thank the courtesy of you and your country-
men for having permitted me to do so with im-
punity.â€
“Ah, I heard of that brave feat,†said the Lord
Deputy. “You should consider yourself, Mr. Leigh,
honoured by being enabled to show courtesy to such
a warrior.â€
How long this interchange of solemn compliments,
of which Amyas was getting somewhat weary, would
have gone on, I know not: but at that momnient
Raleigh entered hastily,—
“My Lord, they have hung out a white flag, and
are calling for a parley !â€
The Spaniard turned pale, and felt for his sword,
which was gone; and then, with a bitter laugh, mur-
mured to himself,—‘“ As I expected.â€
“JT am very sorry to hear it. Would to Heaven
they had simply fought it out!†said Lord Grey, half
to himself; and then, “Go, Captain Raleigh, and
answer them that (saving this gentleman’s presence)
the laws of war forbid a parley with any who are
leagued with rebels against their lawful sovereign.â€
“But what if they wish to treat for this gentle-
man’s ransom ?â€
“For their own, more likely :†said the Spaniard ;
“but tell them, on my part, Sefior, that Don Guzman
refuses to be ransomed ; and will return to no camp
where the commanding officer, unable to infect his
captains with his own cowardice, dishonours them
against their will.â€
?
312 HOW AMYAS KEPT
“You speak sharply, Sefior,†said Winter, after
Raleigh had gone out.
“T have reason, Sefior Admiral, as you will find,
I fear, ere long.â€
“We shall have the honour of leaving you here,
for the present, sir, as Admiral Winter’s guest,†said
the Lord Deputy.
“But not my sword, it seems.â€
“Pardon me, Sefior ; but no one has deprived you
of your sword,†said Winter.
_“T don’t wish to pain you, sir,†said Amyas, “but
I fear that we were both careless enough to leave it
behind last night.â€
A flash passed over the Spaniard’s face, which dis-
closed terrible depths of fury and hatred beneath that
quiet mask, as the summer lightning displays the
black abysses of the thunderstorm ; but like the sum-
mer lightning it passed, almost unseen; and blandly
as ever, he answered,—
“T can forgive you for such a neglect, most valiant
sir, more easily than I can forgive myself. Farewell,
sir! One who has lost his sword is no fit company
for you.†And as Amyas and the rest departed he
plunged into the inner tent, stamping and writhing,
gnawing his hands with rage and shame.
As Amyas came out on the battery, Yeo hailed
him,—
“Master Amyas! Hillo, sir! For the love of
Heaven tell me !â€
“What then ?â€
“Ts his Lordship staunch? ‘Will he do the Lord’s
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 313
work faithfully, root and branch: or will he spare the
Amalekites ?â€
“The latter, I think, old hip-and-thigh,†said
Amyas, hurrying forward to hear the news from
Raleigh, who appeared in sight once more.
“They ask to depart with bag and baggage,†said
he, when he came up.
“God do so to me, and more also, if they carry
away a straw!†said Lord Grey. “Make short work
of it, sir!â€
“T do not know how that will be, my Lord; as I
came up a captain shouted to me off the walls that there
were mutineers; and, denying that he surrendered,
would have pulled down the flag of truce, but the
soldiers beat him off.â€
“A house divided against itself will not stand long,
gentlemen. Tell them that I give no conditions. Let
them lay down their arms, and trust in the Bishop of
Rome who sent them hither, and may come to save
them if he wants them. Gunners, if you see the white
flag go down, open your fire instantly. Captain
Raleigh, we need your counsel here. Mr. Cary, will
you be my herald this time ?â€
“A better Protestant never went on a pleasanter
errand, my Lord.â€
So Cary went, and then ensued an argument, as
to what should be done with the prisoners in case of
a surrender.
I cannot tell whether my Lord Grey meant, by
offering conditions which the Spaniards would not
accept, to force them into fighting the quarrel out, and
314 HOW AMYAS KEPT
so save himself the responsibility of deciding on their
fate ; or whether his mere natural stubbornness, as well
as his just indignation, drove him on too far to retract :
but the council of war which followed was both a sad
and a stormy one, and one which he had reason to
regret to his dying day. What was to be done with
the enemy? They already outnumbered the English ;
and some fifteen hundred of Desmond’s wild Irish
hovered in the forests round, ready to side with the
winning party, or even to attack the English at the
least sign of vacillation or fear. They could not carry
the Spaniards away with them, for they had neither
shipping nor food, not even handcuffs enough for
them; and as Mackworth told Winter when he pro-
posed it, the only plan was for him to make San
Josepho a present of his ships, and swim home him-
self as he could. To turn loose in Ireland, as Captain
Touch urged, on the other hand, seven hundred such
monsters of lawlessness, cruelty, and lust, as Spanish
and Italian condottieri were in those days, was as fatal
to their own safety as cruel to the wretched Irish.
All the captains, without exception, followed on the
same side. “What was to be done, then?†asked
Lord Grey, impatiently. “Would they have him
murder them all in cold blood ?â€
And for a while every man, knowing that it must
come to that, and yet not daring to say it; till Sir
Warham St. Leger, the Marshal of Munster, spoke out
stoutly—* Foreigners had been scoffing them too long
and too truly with waging these Irish wars as if they
meant to keep them alive, rather than end them.
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 315
Mercy and faith to every Irishman who would show
mercy and faith, was his motto; but to invaders, no
mercy. Ireland was England’s vulnerable point; it
might be some day her ruin; a terrible example must
be made of those who dare to touch the sore. Rather
pardon the Spaniards for landing in the Thames than
in Ireland !â€â€”till Lord Grey became much excited,
and turning as a last hope to Raleigh, asked his
opinion: but Raleigh’s silver tongue was that day not
on the side of indulgence. He skilfully recapitulated
the arguments of his fellow-captains, improving them
as he went on, till each worthy soldier was surprised
to find himself so much wiser a man than he had
thought ; and finished by one of his rapid and pas-
sionate perorations upon his favourite theme—the
West Indian cruelties of the Spaniards, “.... by
which great tracts and fair countries are now utterly
stripped of inhabitants by heavy bondage and torments
unspeakable. Oh, witless Islanders!†said he, apos-
trophising the Irish ; “would to heaven that you were
here to listen to me! What other fate awaits you, if
this viper, which you are so ready to take into your
bosom, should be warmed to life, but to groan like the
Indians, slaves to the Spaniard ; but to perish like the
Indians, by heavy burdens, cruel chains, plunder and
ravishment ; scourged, racked, roasted, stabbed, sawn
in sunder, cast to feed the dogs, as simple and more
righteous peoples have perished ere now by millions?
And what else, I say, had been the fate of Ireland,
had this invasion prospered, which God has now, by
our weak hands, confounded and brought to nought?
316 HOW AMYAS KEPT
Shall we then answer it, my Lord, either to our con-
science, our God, or our Queen, if we shall set loose
men (not one of whom, I warrant, but is stained with
murder on murder). to go and fill up the cup of their
iniquity among these silly sheep? Have not their
native wolves, their barbarous chieftains, shorn, peeled,
and slaughtered them enough already, but we must
add this pack of foreign wolves to the number of their
tormentors, and fit the Desmond with a bodyguard of
seven, yea, seven hundred devils worse than himself ?
Nay, rather let us do violence to our own human
nature, and show ourselves in appearance rigorous, that
we may be kind indeed; lest while we presume to be
over-merciful to the guilty, we prove ourselves to be
over-cruel to the innocent.â€
“Captain Raleigh, Captain Raleigh,†said Lord
Grey, “the blood of these men be on your head !â€
“Tt ill befits your Lordship,†answered Raleigh,
“to throw on your subordinates the blame of that
which your reason approves as necessary.â€
“T should have thought, sir, that one so noted for
ambition as Captain Raleigh would have been more
careful of the favour of that Queen for whose smiles
he is said to be so longing a competitor. If you have
not yet been of her counsels, sir, I can tell you you
are not likely to be. She will be furious when she
hears of this cruelty.â€
Lord Grey had lost his temper but Raleigh kept
his, and answered quietly—-
“Her Majesty shall at least not find me among the
number of those who prefer her favour to her safety,
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 317
and abuse to their own profit that over-tenderness and
mercifulness of heart which is the only blemish (and
yet rather, like a mole on a fair cheek, but a new
beauty) in her manifold perfections.â€
At this juncture Cary returned.
“My Lord,†said he, in some confusion, “I have
proposed your terms; but the captains still entreat
for some mitigation ; and, to tell you truth, one of
them has insisted on accompanying me hither to plead
his cause himself.â€
“T will not see him, sir. Who is he?†:
“His name is Sebastian of Modena, my Lord.â€
“Sebastian of Modena? What think you, gentle-
men? May we make an exception in favour of so
famous a soldier?â€
“So villanous a cut-throat,†said Zouch to Raleigh,
under his breath.
All, however, were for speaking with so famous a
man ; and in came, in full armour, a short, bull-necked
Italian, evidently of immense strength, of the true
Cesar Borgia stamp.
“Will you please to be seated, sir, †said Lord Grey,
coldly.
“JT kiss your hands, most illustrious: but I do not
sit in an enemy’s camp. Ha, my friend Zouch!
How has your Signoria fared since we fought side by
side at Lepanto? So you, too, are here, sitting in
council on the hanging of me.â€
“What is your errand, sir? Time is short,†said
the Lord Deputy.
“Corpo di Bacco! It has been long enough all
318 HOW AMYAS KEPT
the morning, for my rascals have kept me and my
friend the Colonel Hercules (whom you know, doubt-
less) prisoners in our tents at the pike’s point. My
Lord Deputy, I have but a few words. I shall thank
you to take every soldier in the fort,—Italian, Spaniard,
and Irish,—and hang them up as high as Haman, for
a set of mutinous cowards, with the arch-traitor San
Josepho at their head.â€
“T am obliged to you for your offer, sir, and shall
deliberate presently as to whether I shall not accept
it.â€
“But as for us captains, really your Excellency
must consider that we are gentlemen born, and give
us either buena querra, as the Spaniards say, or a fair
chance for life ; and so to my business.â€
“Stay, sir. Answer this first. Have you or yours
any commission to show either from the King of Spain
or any other potentate ?â€
“Never a one but the cause of Heaven and our
own swords. And with them, my Lord, we are ready
to meet any gentlemen of your camp, man to man,
with our swords only, half-way between your leaguer
and ours; and I doubt not that your Lordship will
see fair play. Will any gentleman accept so civil an
offer? There sits a tall youth in that corner who
would suit me very well. Will any fit my gallant
comrades with half-an-hour’s punto and stoccado ?â€
There was a silence, all looking at the Lord
Deputy, whose eyes were kindling in a very ugly way.
“No answer? Then I must proceed to exhorta-
tion. So! Will that be sufficient?â€
Up sprang Amyas...
and with a single buffet felled him to the earth. -—
Chap. ix. p. 319.
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 319
And walking composedly across the tent, the fear-
less ruffian quietly stooped down, and smote Amyas
Leigh full in the face.
Up sprang Amyas, heedless of all the august
assembly, and with a single buffet felled him to the
earth.
“Fixcellent !†said he, rising unabashed. “I can
always trust my instinct. I knew the moment I saw
him that he was a cavalier worth letting blood. Now,
sir, your sword and harness, and I am at your service
outside !â€
The solemn and sententious Englishmen were alto-
gether taken aback by the Italian’s impudence ; but
Zouch settled the matter.
“Most noble Captain, will you be pleased to re-
collect a certain little occurrence at Messina, in the
year 1575% For if you do not, I do; and beg to
inform this gentleman that you are unworthy of his
sword, and had you, unluckily for you, been an
Englishman, would have found the fashions of our
country so different from your own that you would
have been then hanged, sir, and probably may be so
still.â€
The Italian’s sword flashed out in a moment: but
Lord Grey interfered.
“No fighting here, gentlemen. That may wait ;
and, what is more, shall wait till—Strike their swords
down; Raleigh, Mackworth! Strike their swords
down! Colonel Sebastian, you will be pleased to
return as you came, in safety, having lost nothing, as
(I frankly tell you) you have gained nothing, by your
320 HOW AMYAS KEPT
wild bearing here. We shall proceed to deliberate on
your fate,â€
“T trust, my Lord,†said Amyas, “that you will
spare this braggart’s life, at least for a day or two.
For in spite of Captain Zouch’s warning, I must have
to do with him yet, or my cheek will rise up in judg-
ment against me at the last day.â€
“Well spoken, lad,†said the Colonel as he swung
out. “So! worth a reprieve, by this sword, to have
one more rapier-rattle before the gallows! Then I
take back no further answer, my Lord Deputy? Not
even our swords, our virgin blades, Signor, the soldier’s
cherished bride? Shall we go forth weeping widowers,
and leave to strange embrace the lovely steel ?â€
“None, sir, by heaven!†said he, waxing wroth.
“Do you come hither, pirates as you are, to dictate
terms upon a foreign soil? Is it not enough to have
set up here the Spanish flag, and claimed the land of
Treland as the Pope’s gift to the Spaniard ; violated
the laws of nations, and the solemn treaties of princes,
under colour of a mad superstition ?â€
“Superstition, my Lord? Nothing less. Believe
a philosopher who has not said a pater or an ave for
seven years past at least. Quod tango credo, is my
motto; and though I am bound to say, under pain of
the Inquisition, that the most holy Father the Pope
has given this land of Ireland to his most Catholic
Majesty the King of Spain, Queen Elizabeth having
forfeited her title to it by heresy,—why, my Lord, I
believe it as little as you do. I believe that Ireland
would have been mine, if I had won it; I believe re-
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 821
ligiously that it is not mine, now I have lost it.
What is, is, and a fig for priests; to-day to thee,
to-morrow tome. Addio,â€â€”and out he swung.
“There goes a most gallant rascal,†said the Lord
Deputy.
“And a most rascally gallant,†said Zouch. “The
murder of his own page, of which I gave him a re-
membrancer, is among the least of his sins.â€
“And now, Captain Raleigh,†said Lord Grey, “as
you have been so earnest in preaching this butchery,
I have aright to ask none but you to practise it.â€
Raleigh bit his lip, and replied by the “quip cour-
teous,â€â€”
“T am at least a man, my Lord, who thinks it
shame to allow others to do that which I dare not do
myself.â€
Lord Grey might probably have returned “the
countercheck quarrelsome,†had not Mackworth
risen ;—
“And I, my Lord, being, in that matter at least,
one of Captain Raleigh’s kidney, will just go with him
to see that he takes no harm by being bold enough to
carry out an ugly business, and serving these rascals
as their countrymen served Mr. Oxenham.â€
“T bid you good morning, then, gentlemen, though
I cannot bid you God speed,†said Lord Grey; and
sitting down again, covered his face with his hands,
and, to the astonishment of all bystanders, burst, say
the chroniclers, into tears.
Amyas followed Raleigh out. The latter was pale,
but determined, and very wroth against the Deputy.
VoL. L Y. W oH.
322 HOW AMYAS KEPT
“Does the man take me for a hangman, †said he,
“that he speaks to me thus? But such is the way of
the great. If you neglect your duty, they haul you
over the coals; if you do it, you must do it on your
own responsibility. Farewell, Amyas; you will not
shrink from me as a butcher when I return ?â€
“God forbid! But how will you do it?â€
“March one company in, and drive them forth, and
let the other cut them down as they come out.—Pah !â€
It was done. Right or wrong, it was done. The
shrieks and curses had died away, and the Fort del
Oro was a red shambles, which the soldiers were trying
to cover from the sight of heaven and earth, by drag:
ging the bodies into the ditch, and covering them with
the ruins of the rampart; while the Irish, who had
beheld from the woods that awful warning, fled
trembling into the deepest recesses of the forest. It
was done; and it never needed to be done again.
The hint was severe, but it was sufficient. Many
years passed before a Spaniard set foot again in
Treland.
The Spanish and Italian officers were spared, and
Amyas had Don Guzman Maria Magdalena Sotomayor
de Soto duly adjudged to him, as his prize by right of
war. He was, of course, ready enough to fight Sebas-
tian of Modena: but Lord Grey forbade the duel:
blood enough had been shed already, The next ques-
tion was, where to bestow Don Guzman till his ransom
should arrive; and as Amyas could not well deliver
the gallant Don into the safe custody of Mrs. Leigh at
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 323
Burrough, and still less into that of Frank at Court,
he was fain to write to Sir Richard Grenvile, and ask
his advice, and in the meanwhile keep the Spaniard
with him upon parole, which he frankly gave,—saying
that as for running away, he had nowhere to run to;.
and as for joining the Irish he had no mind to turn
pig; and Amyas found him, as shall be hereafter told,
pleasant company enough. But one morning Raleigh
entered, —
“T have done you a good turn, Leigh, if you think
it one. I have talked St. Leger into making you my
lieutenant, and giving you the custody of a right
pleasant hermitage—some castle Shackatory or other
in the midst of a big bog, where time will run swift
and smooth with you, between hunting wild Irish,
snaring snipes, and drinking yourself drunk with
usquebaugh over a turf fire.â€
“Tl go,†quoth Amyas ; “anything for work.†So
he went and took possession of his lieutenancy and his
black robber tower, and there passed the rest of the
winter, fighting or hunting all day, and chatting and
reading all the evening with Sefior Don Guzman, who,
like a good soldier of fortune, made himself thoroughly
at home, and a general favourite with the soldiers.
At first, indeed, his Spanish pride and stateliness,
and Amyas’s English taciturnity, kept the two apart
somewhat ; but they soon began, if not to trust at least
to like each other; and Don Guzman told Amyas, bit
by bit, who he was, of what an ancient house, and of
what a poor one; and laughed over the very small
chance of his ransom being raised, and the certainty
E Y2
324 HOW AMYAS KEPT
that, at least, it could not come for a couple of years,
seeing that the only De Soto who had a penny to
spare was a fat old dean at St. Yago de Leon, in the
Caraccas, at which place Don Guzman had been born.
This of course led to much talk about the West Indies,
and the Don was as much interested to find that
Amyas had been one of Drake’s world-famous crew, as
Amyas was to find that his captive was the grandson
of none other than that most terrible of man-hunters,
Don Ferdinando de Soto, the conqueror of Florida,
of whom Amyas had read many a time in Las Casas,
“as the captain of tyrants, the notoriousest and most
experimented amongst them that have done the most
hurts, mischiefs, and destructions in many realms.â€
And often enough his blood boiled, and he had much
ado to recollect that the speaker was his guest, as Don
Guzman chatted away about his grandfather’s hunts
of innocent women and children, murders of caciques,
and burnings alive of guides, “pour encowrager les
autres,†without, seemingly, the least feeling that the
victims were human beings or subjects for human
pity ; anything, in short, but heathen dogs, enemies
of God, servants of the devil, to be used by the Chris-
tian when he needed, and when not needed killed
down as cumberers of the ground. But Don Guzman
was a most finished gentleman nevertheless ; and told
many a good story of the Indies, and told it well; and
over and above his stories, he had among his baggage
two books,—the one Antonio Galvano’s “ Discoveries
of the World,†a mine of winter evening amusement
to Amyas; and the other, a manuscript book, which,
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 325
perhaps, it had been well for Amyas had he never
seen. For it was none other than a sort of rough
journal which Don Guzman had kept as a lad, when
he went down with the Adelantado Gonzales Ximenes
de Casada, from Peru to the River of Amazons, to
look for the golden country of El Dorado, and the
city of Manoa, which stands in the midst of the White
Lake, and equals or surpasses in glory even the palace
of the Inca Huaynacapac; “all the vessels of whose
house and kitchen are of gold and silver, and in his
wardrobe statues of gold which seemed giants, and
figures in proportion and bigness of all the beasts,
birds, trees, and herbs of the earth, and the fishes of
the water ; and ropes, budgets, chests, and troughs of
gold; yea, and a garden of pleasure in an Island near
Puna, where they went to recreate themselves when
they would take the air of the sea, which had all kind
of garden herbs, flowers, and trees of gold and silver
of an invention and magnificence till then never seen.â€
Now the greater part of this treasure (and be it
remembered that these wonders were hardly exagger-
ated, and that there were many men alive then who
had beheld them, as they had worse things, “with
their corporal and mortal eyesâ€) was hidden by the
Indians when Pizarro conquered Peru and slew
Atahuallpa, son of Huaynacapac; at whose death, it
was said, one of the Inca’s younger brothers fled out
of Peru, and taking with him a great army, vanquished
all that tract which lieth between the great Rivers of
Amazons and Baraquan, otherwise called Maranon
and Orenoque.
I, Y3
326 HOW AMYAS KEPT
There he sits to this day, beside the golden lake,
in the golden city which is in breadth a three days’
journey, covered, he and his court, with gold dust
from head to foot, waiting for the fulfilment of the
ancient prophecy which was written in the temple of
Caxamarca, where his ancestors worshipped of old ;
that heroes shall come out of the West, and lead him
back across the forests to the kingdom of Peru, and
restore him to the glory of his forefathers.
Golden phantom! so possible, so probable, to im-
aginations which were yet reeling before the actual
and veritable prodigies of Peru, Mexico, and the East
Indies. Golden phantom! which has cost already
the lives of thousands, and shall yet cost more ; from
Diego de Ordas, and Juan Corteso, and many another,
who went forth on the quest by the Andes, and by
the Orinoco, and by the Amazons; Antonio Sedenno,
with his ghastly caravan of manacled Indians, “on
whose dead carcasses the tigers being fleshed, assaulted
the Spaniards ;†Augustine Delgado, who “came to a
cacique, who entertained him with all kindness, and
gave him beside much gold and slaves, three nymphs
very beautiful, which bare the names of three pro-
vinces, Guanba, Gotoguane, and Maiarare. To requite
which manifold courtesies, he carried off, not only all
the gold, but all the Indians he could seize, and took
them in irons to Cubagua, and sold them for slaves ;
after which, Delgado was shot in the eye by an
Indian, of which hurt he died ;†Pedro d’Orsua, who
found the cinnamon forests of Loxas, “whom his men
murdered, and afterwards beheaded Lady Anes his
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 327
wife, who forsook not her lord in all his travels unto
death ,†and many another, who has vanished with
valiant comrades at his back into the green gulfs of
the primeval forests, never to emerge again. Golden
phantom ! man-devouring, whose maw is never satiate
with souls of heroes; fatal to Spain , more fatal still
to England upon that shameful day, when the last of
Elizabeth’s heroes shall lay down his head upon the
block, nominally for having believed what all around
him believed likewise till they found it expedient to
deny it in order to curry favour with the crowned cur
who betrayed him, really because he alone dared to
make one last protest in behalf of liberty and Protest-
antism against the incoming night of tyranny and
superstition. Little thought Amyas, as he devoured
the pages of that manuscript, that he was laying a
snare for the life of the man whom, next to Drake
and Grenvile, he most admired on earth.
‘But Don Guzman, on the other hand, seemed to
have an instinct that that book might be a fatal gift
to his captor; for one day, ere Amyas had looked
into it, he began questioning the Don about El
Dorado. Whereon Don Guzman replied with one of
those smiles of his, which (as Amyas said afterwards)
was so abominably like a sneer. that he had often
hard work to keep his hands off the man—
“Ah! You have been eating of the fruit of the
tree of knowledge, Sefior? Well; if you have any
ambition to follow many another brave captain to the
pit, I know no shorter or easier path than is contained
in that little book.â€
328 HOW AMYAS KEPT
“T have never opened your book,†said Amyas ;
“your private manuscripts are no concern of mine:
but my man who recovered your baggage read part of
it, knowing no better; and now you are at liberty to
tell me as little as you like.â€
The “man,†it should be said, was none other than
Salvation Yeo, who had attached himself by this time
inseparably to Amyas, in quality of body-guard ; and,
as was common enough in those days, had turned
soldier for the nonce, and taken under his patronage
two or three rusty bases (swivels) and falconets (four-
pounders), which grinned harmlessly enough from the
tower top across the cheerful expanse of bog.
Amyas once asked him, how he reconciled this
Irish sojourn with his vow to find his little maid?
Yeo shook his head.
“T can’t tell, sir ; but there’s something that makes
me always to think of you when I think of her; and
that’s often enough, the Lord knows. Whether it is
that I ben’t to find the dear without your help; or
whether it is your pleasant face puts me in mind of
hers; or what, I can’t tell; but don’t you part me
from you, sir, for I’m like Ruth, and where you
lodge I lodge; and where you go I go; and where
you die—though I shall die many a year first—there
[ll die, I hope and trust; for I can’t abear you out of
my sight; and that’s the truth thereof.â€
So Yeo remained with Amyas, while Cary went
elsewhere with Sir Warham St. Leger, and the two
friends met seldom for many months; so that Amyas’s
only companion was Don Guzman, who, as he grew
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 329
more familiar, and more careless about what he said
and did in his captor’s presence, often puzzled and
scandalised him by his waywardness. Fits of deep
melancholy alternated with bursts of Spanish boast-
fulness, utterly astonishing to the modest and sober-
minded Englishman, who would often have fancied
him inspired by usquebaugh, had he not had ocular
proof of his extreme abstemiousness.
“Miserable?†said he, one night in one of these
fits. “And have I not a right to be miserable 1—Why
should I not curse the virgin and all the saints, and
die? Ihave not a friend, not a ducat on carth 3 not
even a sword—hell and the furies! It was my all:
the only bequest I ever had from my father, and I lived
by it and earned by it. Two years ago I had as pretty
a sum of gold as cavalier could wish—and now !â€â€”
‘“What is become of it, then? I cannot hear that
our men plundered you of any.â€
“Your men? No, Sefior! What fifty men dared
not have done, one woman did! a painted, patched,
fucused, periwigged, bolstered, Charybdis, cannibal,
Megera, Lamia! Why did I ever go near that cursed
Naples, the common sewer of Europe? whose women,
I believe, would be swallowed up by Vesuvius to-
morrow, if it were not that Belphegor is afraid of
their making the pit itself too hot to hold him. Well,
sir, she had all of mine and more; and when all was
gone in wine and dice, woodcocks’ brains and ortolans’
tongues, I met the witch walking with another man.
I had a sword and a dagger; I gave him the first
(though the dog fought well enough, to give him his
330 HOW AMYAS KEPT
due), and her the second ; left them lying across each
other, and fled for my life:—and here I am! after
twenty years of fighting, from the Levant to the
Orellana—for I began ere I had a hair on my chin—
and this is the end !—No, it is not! Il have that El
Dorado yet! the Adelantado made Berreo, when he
gave him his daughter, swear that he would hunt for
it, through life and death.—We’ll see who finds it
first, he or I. He's a bungler; Orsua was a bungler—
Pooh! Cortes and Pizarro? we'll see whether there
are not as good Castilians as they left still. I can do
it, Sefior. I know a track, a plan; over the Llanos is
the road; and I’ll be Emperor of Manoa yet—possess
the jewels of all the Incas; and gold, gold! Pizarro
was a beggar to what I will be!â€
“Conceive, sir,†he broke forth during another of
these peacock fits, as Amyas and he were riding along
the hill-side ; “ conceive! with forty chosen cavaliers
(what need of more?) I present myself before the
golden king, trembling amid his myriad guards at the
new miracle of the mailed centaurs of the West; and
without dismounting, I approach his throne, lift the
crucifix which hangs around my neck, and pressing it
_ to my lips, present it for the adoration of the idolater,
and give him his alternative; that which Gayferos
and the Cid, my ancestors, offered the Soldan and the
Moor—baptism or death! He hesitates; perhaps
smiles scornfully upon my little band ; I answer him
by deeds, as Don Ferdinando, my illustrious grand-
father, answered Atahuallpa at Peru, in sight of all.
his court and camp.â€
Down went the hapless hackney on his tail.—Chap. ix. p. 331.
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 331
“With your lance-point, as Gayferos did the
Soldan?†asked Amyas, amused.
“No, sir; persuasion first, for the salvation of a
soul is at stake. Not with the lance-point, but the
spur, sir, thus !â€â€”
And striking his heels into his horse’s flanks, he
darted off at full speed.
“The Spanish traitor!†shouted Yeo. ‘“He’s go-
ing to escape! Shall we shoot, sir? Shall we shoot?â€
“For heaven’s sake, no!†said Amyas, looking
somewhat blank, nevertheless, for he much doubted
' whether the whole was not a ruse on the part of the
Spaniard, and he knew how impossible it was for his
fifteen stone of flesh to give chase to the Spaniard’s
twelve. But he was soon reassured; the Spaniard
wheeled round towards him, and began to put the
rough hackney through all the paces of the manége
with a grace and skill which won applause from the
beholders.
“Thus!†he shouted waving his hand to Amyas,
between his curvets and caracoles, “did my illustrious —
grandfather exhibit to the Paynim emperor the
prowess of a Castilian cavalier! Thus !—and thus!
—and thus, at last,he dashed up to his very feet, as I
to yours, and bespattering that unbaptized visage
with his Christian bridlefoam, pulled up his charger
on his haunches, thus ! â€â€”
And (as was to be expected from a blown Irish
garron on a peaty Irish hill-side): down went the hap-
less hackney on his tail, away went his heels a yard
in front of him, and ere Don Guzman could “avoid
332 HOW AMYAS KEPT
his selle,†horse and man rolled over into a neigh-
bouring bog-hole.
“ After pride comes a fall,†quoth Yeo with un-
moved visage as he lugged him out.
“And what would you do with the Emperor at
last ?†asked Amyas when the Don had been scrubbed
somewhat clean with a bunch of rushes. “Kill him,
as your grandfather did Atahuallpa?â€
“My grandfather,†answered the Spaniard indig-
nantly, “was one of those, who to their eternal honour,
protested to the last against that most cruel and un-
knightly massacre. He could be terrible to the
heathen; but he kept his plighted word, sir, and
taught me to keep mine, as you have seen to-day.â€
“J have, Sefior,†said Amyas. “You might have
given us the slip easily enough just now, and did not.
Pardon me if I have offended you.â€
The Spaniard (who, after all, was cross principally
with himself and the “unlucky mare’s son,†as the
old romances have it, which had played him so scurvy
a trick) was all smiles again forthwith; and Amyas,
as they chatted on, could not help asking him next—
“T wonder why you are so frank about your own
intentions to an enemy like me, who will surely fore-
stal you if he can.â€
“Sir, a Spaniard needs no concealment, and fears
no rivalry. He is the soldier of the cross, and in it
he conquers, like Constantine of old. Not that you
English are not very heroes: but you have not, sir,
and you cannot have, who have forsworn our Lady
and the choir of saints, the same divine protection,
HIS CHRISTMAS DAY. 833
the same celestial mission, which enables the Catholic
cavalier single-handed to chase a thousand Paynims.â€
And Don Guzman crossed himself devoutly, and
muttered half-a-dozen Ave Marias in succession, while
Amyas rode silently by his side, utterly puzzled at
this strange compound of shrewdness with fanaticism,
of perfect high-breeding with a boastfulness which in
an Englishman would have been the sure mark of
vulgarity.
At last came a letter from Sir Richard Grenvile,
complimenting Amyas on his success and promotion,
bearing a long and courtly message to Don Guzman
(whom Grenville had known when he was in the
Mediterranean, at the battle of Lepanto), and offering
to receive him as his own guest at Bideford, till his
ransom should arrive ; a proposition which the Spaniard
(who of course was getting sufficiently tired of the
Irish bogs) could not but gladly accept; and one of
Winter's ships, returning to England in the spring of
1581, delivered duly at the quay of Bideford the body
of Don Guzman Maria Magdalena. Raleigh, after
forming for that summer one of the triumvirate by
which Munster was governed after Ormond’s departure,
at last got his wish, and departed for England and
the court ; and Amyas was left alone with the snipes
and yellow mantles for two more weary years.
HOW THE MAYOR OF BIDEFORD BAITED HIS HOOK
WITH HIS OWN FLESH.
“ And therewith he blent, and cried ha!
As though he had been stricken to the harte.â€
; Palamon and Arcite.
So it befell to Chaucer’s knight in prison; and so it
befell also to Don Guzman ; and it befell on this wise.
He settled down quietly enough at Bideford on his
parole, in better quarters than he had occupied for
many a day, and took things as they came, like a true
soldier of fortune ; till, after he had been with Grenvile
hardly a month, old Salterne the Mayor came to supper.
Now Don Guzman, however much he might be
puzzled at first at our strange English ways of asking
burghers and such low-bred folk to eat and drink
above the salt, in the company of noble persons, was
quite gentleman enough to know that Richard Grenvile
was gentleman enough to do only what was correct,
and according to the customs and proprieties. So
after shrugging the shoulders of his spirit, he submitted
to eat and drink at the same board with a tradesman
who sat at a desk, and made up ledgers, and took
apprentices; and hearing him talk with Grenvile
HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK. 335
neither unwisely nor in a vulgar fashion, actually
before the evening was out condescended to exchange
words with him himself. Whereon he found him a
very prudent and courteous person, quite aware of the
Spaniard’s superior rank, and making him feel in
every sentence, that he was aware thereof; and yet
holding his own opinion, and asserting his own rights
as a wise elder, in a fashion which the Spaniard had
only seen before among the merchant princes of Genoa
and Venice.
At the end of supper, Salterne asked Grenvile to
do his humble roof the honour, etc. etc., of supping
with him the next evening ; and then turning to the
Don, said quite frankly, that he knew how great a
condescension it would be on the part of a nobleman
of Spain to sit at the board of a simple merchant:
but that if the Spaniard deigned to do him such a
favour, he would find that the cheer was fit enough
for any rank, whatsoever the company might be;
which invitation Don Guzman, being on the whole
glad enough of anything to amuse him, graciously
condescended to accept, and gained thereby an excel-
lent supper, and, if he had chosen to drink it, much
good wine.
Now Mr. Salterne was, of course, as a wise merchant,
as ready as any man for an adventure to foreign parts,
as was afterwards proved by his great exertions in
the settlement of Virginia; and he was, therefore,
equally ready to rack the brains of any guest whom
he suspected of knowing anything concerning strange
lands; and so he thought no shame, first to try to
336 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK
loose his guest’s tongue by much good sack, and next
to ask him prudent and well-concocted questions con-
cerning the Spanish Main, Peru, the Moluccas, China,
the Indies, and all parts.
The first of which schemes failed ; for the Spaniard
was as abstemious as any monk, and drank little but
water; the second succeeded not over well, for the
Spaniard was as cunning as any fox, and answered
little but wind.
In the midst of which tongue-fence in came the
Rose of Torridge, looking as beautiful as usual; and
hearing what they were upon, added, artlessly enough,
her questions to her father’s: to her Don Guzman
could not but answer; and without revealing any
very important commercial secrets, gave his host and
his host’s daughter a very amusing evening.
Now little Eros, though spirits like Frank Leigh’s
may choose to call him (as, perhaps, he really is to
them) the eldest of the gods, and the son of Jove
and Venus, yet is reported by other equally good
authorities, as Burton has set forth in his “ Anatomy
of Melancholy,†to be after all only the child of idle-
ness and fulness of bread. To which scandalous
calumny the thoughts of Don Guzman’s heart gave at
least a certain colour; for he being idle (as captives
needs must be), and also full of bread (for Sir Richard
kept a very good table), had already looked round for
mere amusement’s sake after some one with whom to
fall in love. Lady Grenvile, as nearest, was, I blush to
say, thought of first: but the Spaniard was a man of
honour, and Sir Richard his host; so he put away
WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 337
from his mind (with a self-denial on which he plumed
himself much) the pleasure of a chase equally exciting
to his pride and his love of danger. As for the sin-
fulness of the said chase, he of course thought no
more of that than other southern Europeans did then,
or than (I blush again to have to say it) the English
did afterwards in the days of the Stuarts. Neverthe-
less, he had put Lady Grenvile out of his mind; and
so left room to take Rose Salterne into it, not with
any distinct purpose of wronging her: but, as I said
before, half to amuse himself, and half, too, because he
could not help it. For there was an innocent fresh-
ness about the Rose of Torridge, fond as she was of
being admired, which was new to him and most at-
tractive. ‘The train of the peacock,†as he said to
himself, “and yet the heart of the dove,†made so
charming a combination, that if he could have per-
suaded her to love no one but him, perhaps he might
become fool enough to love no one but her. And at
that thought he was seized with a very panic of prud-
ence, and resolved to keep out of her way; and yet
the days ran slowly, and Lady Grenvile when at home
’ was stupid enough to talk and think about nothing
but her husband; and when she went to Stow, and
left the Don alone in one corner of the great house at
Bideford, what could he do but lounge down to the
butt-gardens to show off his fine black cloak and fine
black feather, see the shooting, have a game or two
of rackets with the youngsters, a game or two of bowls
with the elders, and get himself invited home to
supper by Mr. Salterne ?
VOL. I. Z Ww. H.
338 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK
And there, of course, he had it all his own way,
and ruled the roast (which he was fond enough of
doing) right royally, not only on account of his rank,
but because he had something to say worth hearing,
as a travelled man. For those times were the day-
dawn of English commerce; and not a merchant in
Bideford, or in all England, but had his imagination
all on fire with projects of discoveries, companies,
privileges, patents, and settlements; with gallant
rivalry of the brave adventures of Sir Edward Osborne
and his new London Company of Turkey Merchants ;
with the privileges just granted by the Sultan Murad
Khan to the English ; with the worthy Levant voyages
of Roger Bodenham in the great bark Aucher, and of
John Fox, and Lawrence Aldersey, and John Rule ;
and with hopes from the vast door for Mediterranean
trade, which the crushing of the Venetian power at
Famagusta in Cyprus, and the alliance made between
Elizabeth and the Grand Turk, had just thrown open.
So not a word could fall from the Spaniard about the
Mediterranean but took root at once in right fertile
soil. Besides, Master Edmund Hogan had been on a
successful embassy to the Emperor of Morocco; John
Hawkins and George Fenner had been to Guinea
(and with the latter Mr. Walter Wren, a Bideford
man), and had traded there for musk and civet, gold
and grain; and African news was becoming almost as
valuable as West Indian. Moreover, but two months _
before had gone from London Captain Hare in the
bark Minion, for Brazil, and a company of adventurers
with him, with Sheffield hardware, and “ Devonshire
WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 339
and northern kersies,†hollands and “Manchester
cottons,†for there was a great opening for English
goods by the help of one John Whithall, who had
married a Spanish heiress, and had an ingenio and
slaves in Santos. (Don’t smile, reader, or despise the
day of small things, and those who sowed the seed
whereof you reap the mighty harvest.) In the mean-
while, Drake had proved not merely the possibility of
plundering the American coasts, but of establishing an
East Indian trade ; Frobisher and Davis, worthy fore-
fathers of our Parrys and Franklins, had begun to
bore their way upward through the northern ice, in
search of a passage to China which should avoid the
dangers of the Spanish seas ; and Anthony Jenkinson,
not the least of English travellers, had, in six-and-
twenty years of travel in behalf of the Muscovite
Company, penetrated into not merely Russia and the
Levant, but Persia and Armenia, Bokhara, Tartary,
_ Siberia, and those waste Arctic shores where, thirty
years before, the brave Sir Hugh Willoughby,
, “In Arzina caught,
Perished with all his crew.â€
Everywhere English commerce, under the genial sun-
shine of Elizabeth’s wise rule, was spreading and
taking root; and as Don Guzman talked with his new
friends, he soon saw (for he was shrewd enough) that
they belonged to a race which must be exterminated
if Spain intended to become (as she did intend) the
mistress of the world; and that it was not enough
for Spain to have seized in the Pope’s name the whole
new world, and claimed the exclusive right to sail
I. Z2
340 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK
the seas of America ; not enough to have crushed the
Hollanders ; not enough to have degraded the Vene-
tians into her bankers, and the Genoese into her
mercenaries; not enough to have incorporated into
herself, with the kingdom of Portugal, the whole East
Indian trade of Portugal, while these fierce islanders
remained to assert, with cunning policy and texts of
Scripture, and, if they failed, with sharp shot and
cold steel, free seas and free trade for all the nations
upon earth. He saw it, and his countrymen saw it
too: and therefore the Spanish Armada came: but
of that hereafter. And Don Guzman knew also, by
hard experience, that these same islanders, who sat in
Salterne’s parlour talking broad Devon through their
noses, were no mere counters of money and hucksters
of goods: but men who, though they thoroughly
hated fighting, and loved making money instead,
could fight, upon occasion, after a very dogged and
terrible fashion, as well as the bluest blood in Spain ;
and who sent out their merchant ships armed up to
the teeth, and filled with men who had been trained
from childhood to use those arms, and had orders to
use them without mercy if either Spaniard, Portugal,
or other created being dared to stop their money-
making. And one evening he waxed quite mad,
when, after having civilly enough hinted that if
Englishmen came where they had no right to come,
they might find themselves sent back again, he was
answered by a volley of—
“We'll see that, sir.â€
“Depends on who says ‘No right.’â€
WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 341
“You found might right,†said another, “when
you claimed the Indian seas; we may find right might
when we try them.â€
“Try them, then, gentlemen, by all means, if it
shall so please your worships; and find the sacred
flag of Spain as invincible as ever was the Roman
eagle.â€
“We have, sir. Did you ever hear of Francis
Drake 2â€
“Or of George Fenner and the Portugals at the
Azores, one against seven ?â€
“Or of John Hawkins, at St. Juan d’Ulloa 2â€
“You are insolent burghers,†said Don Guzman,
and rose to go.
“Sir,†said old Salterne, “as you say, we are
burghers and plain men, and some of us have for-
gotten ourselves a little, perhaps; we must beg you
to forgive our want of manners, and to put it down
to the strength of my wine; for insolent we never
meant to be, especially to a noble gentleman and a
foreigner.â€
But the Don would not be pacified; and walked
out, calling himself an ass and a blinkard for having
demeaned himself to such a company, forgetting that
he had brought it on himself.
Salterne (prompted by the great devil Mammon)
came up to him next day, and begged pardon again ;
promising, moreover, that none of those who had
been so rude should be henceforth asked to meet
him, if he would deign to honour his house once
more. And the Don actually was appeased, and
1, 28
342 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK
went there the very next evening, sneering at himself
the whole time for going.
“Fool that I am! that girl has bewitched me, I
believe. Go I must, and eat my share of dirt, for
her sake.â€
So he went; and, cunningly enough, hinted to old
Salterne that he had taken such a fancy to him, and
felt so bound by his courtesy and hospitality, that he
might not object to tell him things which he would
not mention to every one; for that the Spaniards
were not jealous of single traders, but of any general
attempt to deprive them of their hard-earned wealth :
that, however, in the meanwhile, there were plenty
of opportunities for one man here and there to enrich
himself, ete.
Old Salterne, shrewd as he was, had his weak
point, and the Spaniard had touched it; and delighted
at this opportunity of learning the mysteries of the
Spanish monopoly, he often actually set Rose on to
draw out the Don, without a fear (so blind does
money make men) lest she might be herself drawn in.
For, first, he held it as impossible that she would
think of marrying a Popish Spaniard as of marrying
the man in the moon; and, next, as impossible that
he would think of marrying a burgher’s daughter as
of marrying a negress; and trusted that the religion
of the one, and the family pride of the other, would
keep them as separate as beings of two different
species. And as for love without marriage, if such a
possibility ever crossed him, the thought was rendered
absurd; on Rose’s part by her virtue, on which the
WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 343
old man (and rightly) would have staked every far-
thing he had on earth; and on the Don’s part, by a
certain human fondness for the continuity of the caro-
tid artery and the parts adjoining, for which (and that
not altogether justly, seeing that Don Guzman cared
as little for his own life as he did for his neighbour's)
Mr. Salterne gave him credit. And so it came to pass,
that for weeks and months, the merchant’s house was
the Don’s favourite haunt, and he saw the Rose of
Torridge daily, and the Rose of Torridge heard him.
And as for her, poor child, she had never seen such
aman. He had, or seemed to have, all the high-bred
grace of Frank, and yet he was cast in a manlier
mould ; he had just enough of his nation’s proud self-
assertion to make a woman bow before him as before
a superior, and yet tact enough to let it very seldom
degenerate into that boastfulness of which the Spaniards
were then so often and so justly accused. He had.
marvels to tell by flood and field as many and more
than Amyas; and he told them with a grace and an
eloquence of which modest, simple, old Amyas pos-
sessed nothing. Besides, he was on the spot, and the
Leighs were not, nor indeed were any of her old
lovers; and what could she do but amuse herself
with the only person who came to hand 4
So thought, in time, more ladies than she; for the
country, the north of it at least, was all but bare just
then of young gallants, what with the Netherland
wars and the Irish wars; and the Spaniard became
soon welcome at every house for many a mile round,
and made use of his welcome so freely, and received
344 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK
so much unwonted attention from fair young dames,
that his head might have been a little turned, and
Rose Salterne have thereby escaped, had not Sir
Richard delicately given him to understand that in
spite of the free and easy manners of English ladies,
brothers were just as jealous, and ladies’ honours at
least as inexpugnable, as in the land of demureness
and Duennas. Don Guzman took the hint well
enough, and kept on good terms with the country
gentlemen as with their daughters; and to tell the
truth, the cunning soldier of fortune found his account
in being intimate with all the ladies he could, in order
to prevent old Salterne from fancying that he had any
peculiar predilection for Mistress Rose.
Nevertheless, Mr. Salterne’s parlour being nearest
to him, still remained his most common haunt ; where,
while he discoursed for hours about
“* Antres vast and deserts idle,
And of the cannibals that each other eat,
Of Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders,â€
to the boundless satisfaction of poor Rose’s fancy, he
took care to season his discourse with scraps of mer-
cantile information, which kept the old merchant
always expectant and hankering for more, and made
it worth his while to ask the Spaniard in again and
again.
And his stories, certainly, were worth hearing. He
seemed to have been everywhere, and to have seen
everything: born in Peru, and sent home to Spain at
ten years old; brought up in Italy; a soldier in the
WITH HIS OWN FLESH, 845
Levant; an adventurer to the East Indies; again in
America, first in the islands, and then in Mexico.
Then back again to Spain, and thence to Rome, and
thence to Ireland. Shipwrecked; captive among
savages; looking down the craters of volcanoes ;
hanging about all the courts of Europe; fighting
Turks, Indians, lions, elephants, alligators, and what
not? at five-and-thirty he had seen enough for three
lives, and knew how to make the best of what he had
seen.
He had shared, as a lad, in the horrors of the
memorable siege of Famagusta, and had escaped, he
hardly knew himself how, from the hands of the
victorious Turks, and from the certainty (if he
escaped being flayed alive or impaled, as most of the
captive officers were) of ending his life as a Janissary
at the Sultan’s court. He had been at the Battle of
the Three Kings; had seen Stukely borne down by a
hundred lances, unconquered even in death; and had
held upon his knee the head of the dying king of
Portugal.
And now, as he said to Rose one evening, what had
he left on earth, but a heart trampled as hard as the
pavement? Whom had he to love? Who loved him?
He had nothing for which to live but fame : and even
that was denied to him, a prisoner in a foreign land.
“Had he no kindred, then?†asked pitying Rose.
“My two sisters are in a convent;—they had
neither money nor beauty; so they are dead to me.
My brother is a Jesuit, so he is dead to me. My
father fell by the hands of Indians in Mexico; my
3846 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK
mother, a penniless widow, is companion, duenna—
whatsoever they may choose to call it—carrying fans
and lap-dogs for some princess or other there in
Seville, of no better blood than herself; and I—devil !
I have lost even my sword—and go anon the’ house of
De Soto.â€
Don Guzman, of course, intended to be pitied, and
pitied he was accordingly. And then he would turn
the conversation, and begin telling Italian stories, after
the Italian fashion, according to his auditory; the
pathetic ones when Rose was present, the racy ones
when she was absent ; so that Rose had wept over the
sorrows of Juliet and Desdemona, and over many
another moving tale, long before they were ever
enacted on an English stage, and the ribs of the Bide-
ford worthies had shaken to many a jest which Cinthio
and Bandello’s ghosts must come and make for them-
selves over again if they wish them to be remembered,
for I shall lend them no shove toward immortality.
And so on, and soon. What need of more words?
Before a year was out, Rose Salterne was far more in
love with Don Guzman than he with her; and both
suspected each other’s mind, though neither hinted
at the truth; she from fear, and he, to tell the truth,
from sheer Spanish pride of blood. For he soon
began to find out that he must compromise that blood
by marrying the heretic burgher’s daughter, or all his
labour would be thrown away.
He had seen with much astonishment, and then
practised with much pleasure, that graceful old English
fashion of saluting every lady on the check. at meet-
He had seen . . . more than one Bideford burgher, redolent of onions, profane
in that way the velvet cheek of Rose Salterne.—Chap. x. p. 347.
WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 347
ing, which (like the old Dutch fashion of asking young
ladies out to feasts without their mothers) used to
give such cause of brutal calumny and scandal to the
coarse minds of Romish visitors from the Continent ;
and he had seen, too, fuming with jealous rage, more
than one Bideford burgher, redolent of onions, pro-
fane in that way the velvet cheek of Rose Salterne.
So, one day, he offered his salute in like wise; but
he did it when she was alone ; for something within
(perhaps a guilty conscience) whispered that it might
be hardly politic to make the proffer in her father’s
presence: however, to his astonishment, he received
a prompt though quiet rebuff.
“No, sir; you should know that my cheek is not
for you.â€
“Why,†said he, stifling his anger, “it seems free
enough to every counter-jumper in the town !â€
Was it love, or simple innocence, which made her
answer apologetically 2
“True, Don Guzman ; but they are my equals.â€
“And I?â€
“You are a nobleman, sir; and should recollect
that you are one.â€
“Well,†said he, forcing a sneer, “it is a strange
taste to prefer the shopkeeper !â€
“Prefer?†said she, forcing a laugh in her turn ;
“it is a mere form among us. They are nothing to
me, I can tell you.â€
“ And I, then, less than nothing ?â€
Rose turned very red; but she had nerve to
answer—
348 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK
“And why should you be anything tome? You
have condescended too much, sir, already to us, in
giving us many a—many a pleasant evening. You
must condescend no further. You wrong yourself,
sir, and me too. No, sir: not a step nearer !—I will
not!
between you and me—I vow, sir, if you do not leave
me this moment, I will complain to my father.â€
“Do so, madam! I care as little for your father’s
anger, as you for my misery.†;
“Cruel!†cried Rose, trembling from head to foot.
“T love you, madam!†cried he, throwing himself
at her feet. “I adore you! Never mention differ-
ences of rank to me more ; for I have forgotten them ;
forgotten all but love, all but you, madam! My light,
my lodestar, my princess, my goddess! You see
where my pride is gone ; remember I plead as a sup-
pliant, a beggar—though one who may be one day a
prince, a king! ay, and a prince now, a very Lucifer
of pride to all except to you; to you a wretch who
grovels at your feet, and cries, ‘Have mercy on me,
on my loneliness, my homelessness, my friendlessness.’
Ah, Rose (madam I should have said, forgive the
madness of my passion), you know not the heart which
you break. Cold Northerns, you little dream how a
Spaniard can love. Love? Worship, rather; as I
worship you, madam; as I bless the captivity which
brought me the sight of you, and the ruin which first
made me rich. Is it possible, Saints and Virgin! do
my own tears deceive my eyes, or are there tears, too,
in those radiant orbs 2â€
WITH HIS OWN FLESH. 349
“Go, sir!†cried poor Rose, recovering herself sud-
denly ; “and let me never see you more.†And, as a
last chance for life, she darted out of the room.
“Your slave obeys you, madam, and kisses your
hands and feet for ever and a day,†said the cunning
Spaniard, and drawing himself up, walked serenely
out of the house; while she, poor fool, peeped after
him out of her window up-stairs, and her heart sank
within her as she watched his jaunty and careless air.
How much of that rhapsody of his was honest,
how much premeditated, I cannot tell: though she,
poor child, began to fancy that it was all a set speech,
when she found that he had really taken her at her
word, and set foot no more within her father’s house,
So she reproached herself for the cruclest of women ;
settled, that if he died, she should be his murderess ;
watched for him to pass at the window, in hopes that
he might look up, and then hid herself in terror the
moment he appeared round the corner ; and so forth,
and so forth :—one love-making is very like another,
and has been so, I suppose, since that first blessed
marriage in Paradise, when Adam and Eve made no
love at all, but found it ready-made for them from
heaven ; and really it is fiddling while Rome is burn-
ing, to spend more pages over the sorrows of poor
little Rose Salterne, while the destinies of Europe are
hanging on the marriage between Elizabeth and
Anjou: and Sir Humphrey Gilbert is stirring heaven
and earth, and Devonshire, of course, as the most
important portion of the said earth, to carry out his
dormant patent, which will give to England in due
350 HOW MR. SALTERNE BAITED HIS HOOK.
time (we are not jesting now) Newfoundland, Nova
Scotia, and Canada, and the Northern States; and to
Humphrey Gilbert himself something better than a
new world, namely another world, and a crown of
glory therein which never fades away.
%) | (CRAPPER SI}S
HOW EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE'S LEGATE.
“ Misguided, rash, intruding fool, farewell !
Thou see’st to be too busy is some danger.â€
Hamlet.
It is the spring of 1582-3. The grey March skies are
curdling hard and high above black mountain peaks,
The keen March wind is sweeping harsh and dry
across a dreary sheet of bog, still red and yellow with
the stains of winter frost. One brown knoll alone
breaks the waste, and on it a few leafless wind-clipt
oaks stretch their moss-grown arms, like giant hairy
spiders, above a desolate pool which crisps and shivers
in the biting breeze, while from beside its brink rises
a mournful cry, and sweeps down, faint and fitful,
amid the howling of the wind.
Along the brink of the bog, picking their road
among crumbling rocks and green spongy springs, a
company of Knglish soldiers are pushing fast, clad
cap-d-pié in helmet and quilted jerkin, with arquebus
on shoulder, and pikes trailing behind them; stern
steadfast men, who, two years since, were working
the guns at Smerwick fort, and have since then seen
many a bloody fray, and shall see more before they
352 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
die. Two captains ride before them on shagey ponies,
the taller in armour, stained and rusted with many a
storm’ and fray, the other in brilliant inlaid cuirass
and helmet, gaudy sash and plume, and sword hilt
glittering with gold, a quaint contrast enough to the
meagre garron which carries him and his finery.
Beside them, secured by a cord which a pikeman has
fastened to his own wrist, trots a bare-legged Irish
kerne, whose only clothing is his ragged yellow mantle,
and the unkempt “glib†of hair, through which his
eyes peer out, right and left, in mingled fear and
sullenness. He is the guide of the company, in their
hunt after the rebel Baltinglas; and woe to him if
he play them false.
“A pleasant country, truly, Captain Raleigh,â€
says the dingy officer to the gay one. “I wonder
how, having once escaped from it to Whitehall, you
have the courage to come back and spoil that gay |
suit with bog-water and mud.â€
“A very pleasant country, my friend Amyas;
what you say in jest, I say in earnest.â€
“Fillo! Our tastes have changed places. I am
sick of it already, as you foretold. Would Heaven
that I could hear of some adventure westward ho!
and find these big bones swinging in a hammock
once more. Pray what has made you so suddenly in
love with bog and rock, that you come back to tramp
them with us? I thought you had spied out the
nakedness of the land long ago.â€
“Bog and rock? Nakedness of the land? What
is needed here but prudence and skill, justice and
MET THE POPE’S LEGATE. 353
law? This soil, see, is fat enough, if men were here
to till it. These rocks—who knows what minerals
they may hold? I hear of gold and jewels found
already in divers parts; and Daniel, my brother
Humphrey’s German assayer, assures me that these
rocks are of the very same kind as those which
yield the silver in Peru. Tut, man! if her gracious
Majesty would but bestow on me some few square
miles of this same wilderness, in seven years’ time
I would make it blossom like the rose, by God’s good
help.â€
“‘Humph! I should be more inclined to stay here
then.â€
“So you shall, and be my agent, if you will, to get
in my mine-rents, and my corn-rents, and my fishery-
rents, eh? Could you keep accounts, old knight of
the bear’s-paw ?â€
“Well enough for such short reckonings as yours
would be, on the profit side at least. No, no—I’d
sooner carry lime all my days from Cauldy to Bide-
ford, than pass another twelvemonth in the land of
Ire, among the children of wrath. There is a curse
upon the face of the earth, I believe.â€
“There is no curse upon it, save the old one of
man’s sin—‘Thorns and thistles it shall bring forth
to thee.’ But if you root up the thorns and thistles,
Amyas, I know no fiend who can prevent your grow-
ing wheat instead ; and if you till the ground like a
man, you plough and harrow away nature’s curse, and
other fables of the schoolmen beside,†added he, in
that daring fashion which afterwards obtained for
VOL. I. QA W. HL
354 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
him (and never did good Christian less deserve it)
the imputation of Atheism.
“It is sword and bullet, I think, that are needed
here, before plough and harrow, to clear away some
of the curse. Until afew more of these Irish lords
are gone where the Desmonds are, there is no peace
for Ireland.â€
“Humph! not so far wrong, I fear. And yet—
Irish lords? These very traitors are better English
blood than we who hunt them down. When Yeo
here slew the Desmond the other day, he no more let
out a drop of Irish blood, than if he had slain the
Lord Deputy himself.â€
“His blood be on his own head,†said Yeo. “He
looked as wild a savage as the worst of them, more
shame to him; and the Ancient here had nigh cut off
his arm before he told us who he was: and then, your
worship, having a price upon his head, and like to
bleed to death too
“Enough, enough, good fellow,†said Raleigh.
“Thou hast done what was given thee to do. Strange,
Amyas, is it not? Noble Normans sunk into savages
—Hibernis ipsis hiberniores! Is there some uncivil-
ising venom in the air?â€
“Some venom, at least, which makes Englishmen
traitors. But the Irish themselves are well enough,
if their tyrants would let them be. See now, what
more faithful liegeman has her Majesty than the
Inchiquin, who, they say, is Prince of Themond, and
should be king of all Ireland, if every man had his
right ?â€
MET THE POPE’S LEGATE. 355,
“Don’t talk of rights in the land of wrongs, man.
But the Inchiquin knows well that the true Irish Esau
has no worse enemy than his supplanter, the Norman
Jacob. And yet, Amyas, are even these men worse
than we might be, if we had been bred up masters
over the bodies and souls of men, in some remote
land where law and order had never come? Look at
this Desmond, brought up a savage among savages, a
Papist among Papists, a despot among slaves; a
thousand easy maidens deeming it honour to serve
his pleasure, a thousand wild ruffians deeming it piety
to fulfil his revenge: and let him that is without sin
among us cast the first stone.â€
“Ay,†went on Raleigh to himself, as the conver-
sation dropped. ‘What hadst thou been, Raleigh,
hadst thou been that Desmond whose lands thou now
desirest ? What wilt thou be when thou hast them ?
Will thy children sink downwards, as these noble
barons sank? Will the genius of tyranny and false-
hood find soil within thy heart to grow and ripen
fruit? What guarantee hast thou for doing better
here than those who went before thee? And yet:
cannot I do justice, and love mercy? Can I not
establish plantations, build and sow, and make the
desert valleys laugh with corn? Shall I not have
my Spenser with me, to fill me with all noble thoughts,
and raise my soul to his heroic pitch? Is not this
true knight-errantry, to redeem to peace and use, and
to the glory of that glorious Queen whom God has
given to me, a generous soil and a more generous
race? ‘Trustful and tender-hearted they are—none
356 TOW EUSTACE LEIGH
more; and if they be fickle and passionate, will not
that very softness of temper, which makes them so
easily led to evil, make them as easy to be led towards
good? Yes—here, away from courts, among a people
who should bless me as their benefactor and deliverer
—what golden days might be mine! And yet—is
this but another angel’s mask from that same cunning
fiend Ambition’s stage? And will my house be in-
deed the house of God, the foundations of which are
loyalty, and its bulwarks righteousness, and not the
house of Fame, whose walls are of the soap-bubble,
and its floor a sea of glass mingled with fire? I would
be good and great—When will the day come when I
shall be content to be good, and yet not great, like
this same simple Leigh, toiling on by my side to do
his duty, with no more thought for the morrow than
the birds of God? Greatness? I have tasted that
cup within the last twelve months; do I not know
that it is sweet in the mouth, but bitter in the belly?
Greatness? And was not Essex great, and John of
Austria great, and Desmond great, whose race, but
three short years ago, had stood for ages higher than
I shall ever hope to climb—castles, and lands, and
slaves by thousands, and five hundred gentlemen of
his name, who had vowed to forswear God. before
they forswore him; and well have they kept their
vow! And now, dead in a turf-hovel, like a coney in
a burrow! Leigh, what noise was that?â€
“ An Irish howl, I fancied: but it came from off
the bog; it may be only a plover’s cry.â€
“Something not quite right, Sir Captain, to my
MET THE POPE’S LEGATE. 357
â€
mind,†said the Ancient. “They have ugly stories
here of pucks and banshees, and what not of ghosts,
There it was again, wailing just like a woman. They
say the banshee cried all night before Desmond was
slain.â€
“Perhaps, then, this one may be crying for Balt-
inglas ; for his turn is likely to come next—not that
I believe in such old wives’ tales.â€
“Shamus, my man,†said Amyas to the guide, “do
you hear that cry in the bogâ€
The guide put on the most stolid of faces, and
answered in broken English :
“Shamus hear nought. Perhaps—what you call
him !—fishing in ta pool.â€
“An otter, he means, and I believe he is right,
Stay, no! Did you not hear it then, Shamus? It
was & woman’s voice.â€
“Shamus is shick in his ears ever since Christmas.†-
“Shamus will go after Desmond if he lies,†said
Amyas. “Ancient, we had better send a few men to
see what it is; there may be a poor soul taken by
robbers, or perhaps starving to death, as I have seen
many a one.â€
“And I too, poor wretches; and by no fault of
their own or ours either: but if their lords will fall
to quarrelling, and then drive each other’s cattle, and
-waste each other’s lands, sir, you know———â€
“T know,†said Amyas, impatiently ; “why dost
not take the men, and go?â€
“Cry you mercy, noble Captain: but—I fear
nothing born of woman.â€
358 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
“Well, what of that?†said Amyas, with a smile.
“But these pucks, sir. The wild Irish do say that
they haunt the pools; and they do no manner of
harm, sir, when you are coming up to them; but
when you are past, sir, they jump on your back like
to apes, sir,—and who can tackle that manner of
fiend ?â€
“Why, then, by thine own showing, Ancient,â€
said Raleigh, “thou may’st go and see all safely
enough, and then if the puck jumps on thee as thou
comest back, just run in with him here, and Pll buy
him of thee for a noble; or thou may’st keep him in
a cage, and make money in London by showing him
for a monster.â€
“Good heavens forefend, Captain Raleigh! but you
talk rashly! But if I must, Captain Leigh :—
‘ Where duty calls
To brazen walls,
How base the slave who flinches.’
Lads, who'll follow me?â€
“Thou askest for volunteers, as if thou wert to lead
a forlorn hope. Pull away at the usquebaugh, man,
and swallow Dutch courage, since thine English is
oozed away. Stay; Pll go myself.â€
“ And I with you,†said Raleigh. “As the Queen’s
true knight-errant, I am bound to be behindhand in no
adventure. Who knows but we may find a wicked
magician, just going to cut off the head of some safiron-
mantled princess?†and he dismounted.
“‘Oh, sirs, sirs, to endanger your precious
“Pooh,†said Raleigh. ‘‘I wear an amulet, and
â€
There she sat upon a stone, tearing her black dishevelled hair.—
Chap. xi. p. 359.
MET THE POPE’S LEGATE, 359
have a spell of art-magic at my tongue’s end, whereby,
Sir Ancient, neither can a ghost see me, nor I see
them. Come with us, Yeo, the Desmond-slayer, and
we will shame the devil, or be shamed by him.â€
“He may shame me, sir, but he will never frighten
me:†quoth Yeo; “but the bog, Captains ?â€
‘Tut! Devonshire men, and heath-trotters born,
and not know our way over a peat-moor !â€
And the three strode away.
They splashed and scrambled for some quarter of
a mile to the knoll, while the cry became louder and
louder as they neared.
“That’s neither ghost nor otter, sirs, but a true
Trish howl, as Captain Leigh said; and I'll warrant
Master Shamus knew as much long ago,†said Yeo.
And in fact, they could now hear plainly the
‘‘Ochone, Ochonorie,†of some wild woman; and
scrambling over the boulders of the knoll, in another
minute came full upon her.
She was a young girl, sluttish and unkempt, of
course, but fair enough ; her only covering, as usual,
was the ample yellow mantle. There she sat upon a
stone, tearing her black dishevelled hair, and every
now and then throwing up her head, and bursting
into a long mournful cry, “for all the world,†as Yeo
said, “like a dumb four-footed hound, and not a
Christian soul.â€
On her knees lay the head of a man of middle age,
in the long soutane of a Romish priest. One look at
the attitude of his limbs told them that he was dead.
The two paused in awe; and Raleigh’s spirit, sus-
i
;
|
4
5
fi
360 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
ceptible of all poetical images, felt keenly that strange
scene,—the bleak and bitter sky, the shapeless bog,
the stunted trees, the savage girl alone with the corpse
in that utter desolation, And as she bent her head
over the still face, and called wildly to him who heard
her not, and then, utterly unmindful of the intruders,
sent up again that dreary wail into the dreary air,
they felt a sacred horror, which almost made them
turn away, and leave her unquestioned: but Yeo,
whose nerves were of tougher fibre, asked quietly,—
“Shall I go and search the fellow, Captain ?â€
“Better, I think,†said Amyas.
Raleigh went gently to the girl, and spoke to her
in English. She looked up at him, his armour and
his plume, with wide and wondering eyes, and then
shook her head, and returned to her lamentation.
Raleigh gently laid his hand on her arm, and lifted
her up, while Yeo and Amyas bent over the corpse.
It was the body of a large and coarse-featured
man: but wasted and shrunk as if by famine toa
very skeleton. The hands and legs were cramped
up, and the trunk bowed together, as if the man had
died of cold or famine. Yeo drew back the clothes
from the thin bosom, while the girl screamed and
wept, but made no effort to stop him.
“Ask her who it is? Yeo, you know a little Irish,â€
said Amyas.
He asked, but the girl made no answer. “The
stubborn jade won’t tell of course, sir. If she were
but a man, ’'d make her soon enough.â€
“ Ask her who killed him 2â€
MET THE POPE’S LEGATE. 361
“No one, she says ; and I believe she says true, for
I can find no wound. The man has been starved, sirs,
as Tam a sinful man. God help him, though he is a
priest: and yet he seems full enough down below.
What's here? A big pouch, sirs, stuffed full of some-
what.â€
“Hand it hither.â€
The two opened the pouch ; papers, papers, but no
scrap of food. Then a parchment. They unrolled it.
“Latin,†said Amyas; “you must construe, Don
Scholar.â€
“Is it possible?†said Raleigh, after reading a
moment. “This is indeed a prize! This is Saunders
himself !â€
Yeo sprang up from the body as if he had touched
an adder. “Nick Saunders, the Legacy, sir?â€
“Nicholas Saunders, the Legate.â€
“The villain! why did not he wait for me to have
the comfort of killing him? Dog!†and he kicked the
corpse with his foot.
“Quiet! quiet! Remember the poor girl,†said
Amyas, as she shrieked at the profanation, while
Raleigh went on, half to himself. “Yes, this is
Saunders. Misguided fool, and this is the end! To
this thou hast come with thy plotting and thy conspir-
ing, thy lying and thy boasting, consecrated banners
and Pope’s bulls, Agnus Deis and holy waters, the
blessing of all saints and angels, and thy Lady of the
Immaculate Conception! Thou hast called on the
Heavens to judge between thee and us, and here is
their answer! What is that in his hand, Amyas?
362 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
Give itme. A pastoral epistle to the Earl of Ormond,
and all nobles of the realm of Ireland; ‘To. all who
groan beneath the loathsome tyranny of an illegitimate
adulteress, etc., Nicholas Saunders, by the grace of God,
Legate, etc.’ Bah! and this forsooth was thy last
meditation! Incorrigible pedant! Victrix causa Diis
placuit, sed victa Catoni !â€
He ran his eye through various other documents,
written in the usual strain: full of huge promises
from the Pope and the King of Spain; frantic and
filthy slanders against Elizabeth, Burghley, Leicester,
Essex (the elder), Sidney, and every great and good
man (never mind of which party) who then upheld the
commonweal; bombastic attempts to terrify weak
consciences, by denouncing endless fire against those
who opposed the true faith; fulsome ascriptions of
martyrdom and sanctity to every rebel and traitor who
had been hanged for the last twenty years ; wearisome
arguments about the bull In Coena Domini, Elizabeth’s
excommunication, the nullity of English law, the
sacred duty of rebellion, the right to kill a prince
impenitently heretical, and the like insanities and
villanies, which may be read at large in Camden, the
Phoenix Britannicus, Fox’s Martyrs, or, surest of all,
in the writings of the worthies themselves.
With a gesture of disgust, Raleigh crammed the
foul stuff back again into the pouch. Taking it with
them, they walked back to the company, and then re-
mounting, marched away once more towards the lands
of the Desmonds ; and the girl was left alone with the
dead.
MET THE POPE'S LEGATE, 363
An hour had passed, when another Englishman was
standing by the wailing girl, and round him a dozen
shockheaded kernes, skene on thigh and javelin in
hand, were tossing about their tawny rags, and adding
their lamentations to those of the lonely watcher.
The Englishman was Eustace Leigh ; a layman still,
but still at his old work. By two years of intrigue
and labour from one end of Ireland to the other, he
had been trying to satisfy his conscience for rejecting
“the higher calling†of the celibate ; for mad hopes
still lurked within that fiery heart. His brow was
wrinkled now ; his features harshened ; the scar upon
his face, and the slight distortion which accompanied
it, was hidden by a bushy beard from all but himself ;
and he never forgot it for a day, nor forgot who had
given it to him.
He had been with Desmond, wandering in moor and
moss for many a month in danger of his life ; and now
he was on his way to James Fitz-Eustace, Lord
Baltinglas, to bring him the news of Desmond’s death ;
and with him a remnant of the clan, who were either
too stouthearted, or too desperately stained with crime,
to seek peace from the English, and, as os fellows
did, find it at once and freely.
There Eustace stood, looking down on all that was
left of the most sacred personage of Ireland ; the man
who, as he once had hoped, was to regenerate his
native land, and bring the proud island of the west
once more beneath that gentle yoke, in which united
Christendom laboured for the commonweal of the
universal church. There he was, and with him all
364 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
Eustace’s dreams, in the very heart of that country
which he had vowed, and believed as he vowed, was
ready to rise in arms as one man, even to the baby at
the breast (so he had said), in vengeance against the
Saxon heretic, and sweep the hated name of English-
man into the deepest abysses of the surge which walled
her coasts ; with Spain and the Pope to back him, and
the wealth of the Jesuits at his command; in the
midst of faithful Catholics, valiant soldiers, noblemen
who had pledged themselves to die for the cause, serfs
who worshipped him as a demigod—starved to death
in a bog! It was a pretty plain verdict on the reason-
ableness of his expectations ; but not to Eustace Leigh.
It was a failure, of course ; but it was an accident ;
indeed, to have been expected, in a wicked world
whose prince and master, as all knew, was the devil
himself; indeed, proof of the righteousness of the
cause—for when had the true faith been other than
persecuted and trampled under foot? If one came to
think of it with eyes purified from the tears of carnal
impatience, what was it but a glorious martyrdom ?
“Blest Saunders !†murmured Eustace Leigh ; “let
me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end
be like this! Ora pro me, most excellent martyr,
while I dig thy grave upon this lonely moor, to wait
there for thy translation to one of those stately shrines,
which, cemented by the blood of such as thee, shall
hereafter rise restored toward heaven, to make this
land once more ‘The Isle of Saints.’â€
The corpse was buried ; a few prayers said hastily ;
and Eustace Leigh was away again, not now to find
MET THE POPE’S LEGATE. 365
Baltinglas ; for it was more than his life was worth.
The girl had told him of the English soldiers who had
passed, and he knew that they would reach the earl
probably before he did. The game was up; all was
lost. So he retraced his steps, as a desperate resource,
to the last place where he would be looked for: and
after a month of disguising, hiding, and other ex-
pedients, found himself again in his native county of
Devon, while Fitz-Eustace Viscount Baltinglas had
taken ship for Spain, having got little by his famous
argument to Ormond in behalf of his joining the
Church of Rome, “Had not thine ancestor, blessed
Thomas of Canterbury, died for the Church of Rome,
thou hadst never been Earl of Ormond.†The premises
were certainly sounder than those of his party were
wont to be; for it was to expiate the murder of that
turbulent hero that the Ormond lands had been
granted by Henry II.: but as for the conclusion there-
from, it was much on a par with the rest.
And now let us return to Raleigh and Amyas, as
they jog along their weary road. They have many
things to talk of; for it is but three days since they
met.
Amyas, as you see, is coming fast into Raleigh’s
old opinion of Ireland. Raleigh, under the inspira-
tion of a possible grant of Desmond’s lands, looks on
bogs and rocks transfigured by his own hopes and
fancy, as if by the glory of a rainbow. He looked at
all things so, noble fellow, even thirty years after,
when old, worn out, and ruined; well for him had it
been otherwise, and his heart had grown old with his
366 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
head! Amyas, who knows nothing about Desmond’s
lands, is puzzled at the change. .
“Why, what is this, Raleigh? You are like
children sitting in the market-place, and nothing
pleases you. You wanted to get to court, and you
have got there; and are lord and master, I hear, or
something very like it, already—and as soon as
Fortune stuffs your mouth full of sweetmeats, do you
turn informer on her ?â€
Raleigh laughed insignificantly : but was silent.
“And how is your friend, Mr. Secretary Spenser,
who was with us at Smerwick ?â€
“Spenser? He has thriven even as I have; and
he has found, as I have, that in making one friend at
court you make ten foes; but ‘Oderint Dum metuant’
is no more my motto than his, Leigh. I want to be
great—ereat I am already, they say, if princes’ favour
can swell the frog into an ox: but I want to be liked,
loved—I want to see people smile when I enter.â€
“So they do, I'll warrant,†said Amyas,
“So do hyenas,†said Raleigh ; “grin because they
are hungry, and I may throw them a bone; I’ll throw
you one now, old lad, or rather a good sirloin of beef,
for the sake of your smile. That’s honest, at least,
[ll warrant, whosoever’s else is not. Have you heard
of my brother Humphrey’s new project ?â€
“How should I hear anything in this waste howl-
ing wilderness 2â€
“Kiss hands to the wilderness then, and come
with me to Newfoundland !â€
“You to Newfoundland ?â€
MET TUE POPE'S LEGATE. 367
“Yes, I to Newfoundland, unless my little matter
here is settled at once. Gloriana don’t know it, and
shan’t till I’m off. She’d send me to the Tower, I
think, if she caught me playing truant. I could
hardly get leave to come hither; but I must out,
and try my fortune. I am over ears in debt already,
and sick of courts and courtiers. Humphrey must
go next spring and take possession of his kingdom
beyond seas, or his patent expires; and with him I
go, and you too, my circumnavigating giant.
And then Raleigh expounded to Amyas the details
of the great Newfoundland scheme, which whoso will
may read in the pages of Hakluyt.
Sir Humphrey Gilbert, Raleigh’s half-brother, held
a patent for “planting†the lands of Newfoundland
and “Meta Incognita†(Labrador). He had attempted
a voyage thither with Raleigh in 1578, whereof I
never could find any news, save that he came back
again, after a heavy brush with some Spanish ships
(in which his best captain, Mr. Morgan, was killed),
having done nothing, and much impaired his own
estate: but now he had collected a large sum; Sir
Gilbert Peckham of London, Mr. Hayes of South
Devon, and various other gentlemen, of whom more
hereafter, had adventured their money; and a con-
siderable colony was to be sent out the next year,
with miners, assayers, and, what was more, Parmenius
Budeeus, Frank’s old friend, who had come to England
full of thirst to see the wonders of the New World;
and over and above this, as. Raleigh told Amyas in
strictest secrecy, Adrian Gilbert, Humphrey’s brother,
368 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
was turning every stone at court for a patent of dis-
covery in the north-west; and this Newfoundland
colony, though it was to produce gold, silver, merchan-
dise and what not, was but a basis of operations, a
half-way house from whence to work out the north-
west passage to the Indies—that golden dream, as
fatal to English valour as the Guiana one to Spanish
and yet hardly, hardly, to be regretted, when we
remember the seamanship, the science, the chivalry,
the heroism, unequalled in the history of the English
nation, which it has called forth among those our
later Arctic voyagers, who have combined the knight-
errantry of the middle age with the practical prudence
of the modern, and dared for duty more than Cortez
or Pizarro dared for gold.
Amyas, simple fellow, took all in greedily; he
knew enough of the dangers of the Magellan passage
to appreciate the boundless value of a road to the
East Indies which would (as all supposed then) save
half the distance, and be as it were a private posses-
sion of the English, safe from Spanish interference ;
and he listened reverently to Sir Humphrey’s quaint
proofs, half true, half fantastic, of such a passage,
which Raleigh detailed to him—of the Primum
Mobile, and its. diurnal motion from east to west, in
obedience to which the sea-current flowed westward
ever round the Cape of Good Hope, and being unable
to pass through the narrow strait between South
America and the Antarctic continent, rushed up the
American shore, as the Gulf Stream, and poured
north-westward between Greenland and Labrador
MET THE POPE’S LEGATE. 369
towards Cathay and India; of that most crafty argu-
ment of Sir Humphrey’s—how Aristotle in his book
De Mundo, and Simon Gryneus in his annotations
thereon, declare that the world (the Old World) is an
island, compassed by that which Homer calls the river
Oceanus ; ergo, the New World is an island also, and
there is a north-west passage ; of the three brothers
(names unknown) who had actually made the voyage,
and named what was afterwards called Davis’s Strait
after themselves ; of the Indians who were cast ashore
in Germany in the reign of Frederic Barbarossa, who,
as Sir Humphrey had learnedly proved per modum
tollendi, could have come only by the north-west ;
and above all, of Salvaterra, the Spaniard, who in
1568 had told Sir Henry Sidney (Philip’s father),
there in Ireland, how he had spoken with a Mexican
friar named Urdaneta, who had himself come from
Mar del Zur (the Pacific) into Germany by that very
north-west passage ; at which last Amyas shook his
head, and said that friars were liars, and seeing
believing ; “but if you must needs have an adventure,
you insatiable soul you, why not try for the golden
city of Manoa?†|
“Manoa?†asked Raleigh, who had heard, as most
had, dim rumours of the place. “What do you know
of it?â€
Whereon Amyas told him all that he had gathered
from the Spaniard ; and Raleigh, in his turn, believed
every word.
“Humph !†said he after a long silence. ‘To find
that golden Emperor ; offer him help and friendship
VOL. I, 2B Ww. u,
370 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
from the Queen of England; defend him against the
Spaniards ; if we became strong enough, conquer back
all Peru from the Popish tyrants, and reinstate him
on the throne of the Incas, with ourselves for his
body-guard, as the Norman Varangians were to the
effeminate Emperors of Byzant—Hey, Amyas? You
would make a gallant chieftain of Varangs. We'll do
it, lad !â€
“We'll try,†said Amyas; “but we must be quick,
for there’s one Berreo sworn to carry out the quest to
the death ; and if the Spaniards once get thither, their
plan of works will be much more like Pizarro’s than
like yours; and by the time we come, there will be
neither gold nor city left.â€
“ Nor Indians either, I'll warrant the butchers ; but
lad, I am promised to Humphrey; I have a bark
fitting out already, and all I have, and more, adven-
tured in her; so Manoa must wait.â€
“Tt will wait well enough, if the Spaniards prosper
no better on the Amazon than they have done; but
must I come with you? To tell the truth, Jam quite
shore-sick, and to sea I must go. What will my
mother say 2?â€
“Tl manage thy mother,†said Raleigh; and so
he did ; for, to cut a long story short, he went back
the month after, and he not only took home letters
from Amyas to his mother, but so impressed on that
good lady the enormous profits and honours to be
derived from Meta Incognita, and (which was most
true) the advantage to any young man of sailing with
such a general as Humphrey Gilbert, most pious and
MET THE POPE'S LEGATE. 371
most learned of seamen and of cavaliers, beloved and
honoured above all his compeers by Queen Elizabeth,
that she consented to Amyas’s adventuring in the
voyage some two hundred pounds which had come to
him as his share of prize-money, after the ever memor-
able circumnavigation. For Mrs. Leigh, be it under-
stood, was no longer at Burrough Court. By Frank’s
persuasion, she had let the old place, moved up to
London with her eldest son, and taken for herself a
lodging somewhere by Palace Stairs, which looked out
upon the silver Thames (for Thames was silver then),
with its busy ferries and gliding boats, across to the
pleasant fields of Lambeth, and the Archbishop’s
Palace, and the wooded Surrey hills; and there she
spent her peaceful days, close to her Frank and to the
Court. Elizabeth would have had her re-enter it,
offering her a small place in the household: but she
declined, saying that she was too old and heart-weary
for aught but prayer. So by prayer she lived, under
the sheltering shadow of the tall minster, where she
went morn and even to worship, and to entreat for
the two in whom her heart was bound up; and Frank
slipped in every day, if but for five minutes, and
brought with him Spenser, or Raleigh, or Dyer, or
Budeus, or sometimes Sidney’s self: and there was
talk of high and holy things, of which none could
speak better than could she; and each guest went
from that hallowed room a humbler and yet a loftier
man. So slipped on the peaceful months; and few
and far between came Irish letters, for Ireland was
then farther from Westminster than is the Black Sea
IL 2B2
372 TOW EUSTACE LEIGH
now ; but those were days in which wives and mothers
had learned (as they have learned once more, sweet
souls !) to walk by faith and not by sight for those
they love: and Mrs. Leigh was content (though when
was she not content?) to hear that Amyas was win-
ning a good report asa brave and prudent officer,
sober, just and faithful, beloved and obeyed alike by
English soldiers and Irish kernes.
Those two years, and the one which followed, were
the happiest which she had known since her husband’s
death. But the claud was fast coming up the horizon,
though she saw it not. A little longer, and the sun
would be hid for many a wintry day.
Amyas went to Plymouth (with Yeo, of course, at
his heels), and there beheld, for the first time, the
majestic countenance of the philosopher of Compton
Castle. He lodged with Drake, and found him not
over sanguine as to the success of the voyage.
“For learning and manners, Amyas, there’s not his
equal; and the Queen may well love him, and Devon be
proud of him: but book-learning is not business ; book-
learning didn’t get me round the world ; book-learning
didn’t make Captain Hawkins, nor his father neither,
the best shipbuilders from Hull to Cadiz; and book-
learning, I very much fear, won’t plant Newfoundland.â€
However, the die was cast, and the little fleet of
five sail assembled in Cawsand Bay. Amyas was to
go asa gentleman adventurer on board of Raleigh’s
bark ; Raleigh himself, however, at the eleventh hour,
had been forbidden by the Queen to leave England,
Ere they left, Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s picture was
MET THE POPE’S LEGATE, 373
painted by some Plymouth artist, to be sent up to
Elizabeth in answer to a letter and a gift sent by
Raleigh, which, as a specimen of the men and of the
time, I here transcribe :—
1 “BroTHER,—I have sent you a token from her
Majesty, an anchor guided by a lady, as you see.
And further, her Highness willed me to send you
word, that she wisheth you as great good hap and
safety to your ship as if she were there in person,
desiring you to have care of yourself as of that which
she tendereth ; and, therefore, for her sake, you must
provide for it accordingly. Furthermore, she com-
mandeth that you leave your picture with her. For
the rest I leave till our meeting, or to the report of
the bearer, who would needs be the messenger of this
good news. So I commit you to the will and protec-
tion of God, who send us such life and death as he
shall please, or hath appointed.
“Richmond, this Friday morning,
“Your true Brother,
“W. RALEIGH.â€
“Who would not die, sir, for such a woman?†said
Sir Humphrey (and he said truly), as he showed that
letter to Amyas.
“Who would not? But she bids you rather live
for her.â€
“T ghall do both, young man; and for God too, I
1 This letter was a few years since in the possession of Mr.
Pomeroy Gilbert, fort-major at Dartmouth, a descendant of the
Admiral’s.
374 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH
trust. We are going in God’s cause; we go for the
honour of God’s Gospel, for the deliverance of poor
infidels led captive by the devil; for the relief of my
distressed countrymen unemployed within this narrow
isle; and to God we commit our cause. We fight
against the devil himself; and stronger is He that is
within us than he that is against us.â€
Some say that Raleigh himself came down to Ply-
mouth, accompanied the fleet a day’s sail to sea, and
would have given her Majesty the slip, and gone with
them Westward-ho, but for Sir Humphrey’s advice.
It is likely enough: but I cannot find evidence for it.
At all events, on the 11th June the fleet sailed out,
having, says Mr. Hayes, “in number about 260 men,
among whom we had of every faculty good choice,
as shipwrights, masons, carpenters, smiths, and such
like, requisite for such an action; also mineral men
and refiners. Beside, for solace of our people and
allurement of the savages, we were provided of musique
in good variety ; not omitting the least toys, as morris-
dancers, hobby-horses, and May-like conceits, to delight
the savage people, whom we intended to win by all
fair means possible.†An armament complete enough,
even to that tenderness towards the Indians, which is
so striking a feature of the Elizabethan seamen (called
out in them, perhaps, by horror at the Spanish cruel-
ties, as well as by their more liberal creed), and to
the daily service of God on board of every ship,
according to the simple old instructions of Captain
John Hawkins to one of his little squadrons, “Keep
good company ; beware of fire; serve God daily; and
MET THE POPE’S LEGATE. 375
love one another â€â€”an armament, in short, complete
in all but men. The sailors had been picked up
hastily and anywhere, and soon proved themselves a
mutinous, and, in the case of the bark Swallow, a
piratical set. The mechanics were little better. The
gentlemen-adventurers, puffed up with vain hopes of
finding a new Mexico, became soon disappointed and
surly at the hard practical reality ; while over all was
the head of a sage and an enthusiast, a man too noble
to suspect others, and too pure to make allowances for
poor dirty human weaknesses. He had got his scheme
perfect upon paper ; well for him, and for his company,
if he had asked Francis Drake to translate it for him
into fact! As early as the second day, the seeds of
failure began to sprout above ground. The men of
Raleigh’s bark, the Vice-Admiral, suddenly found
themselves seized, or supposed themselves seized, with
a contagious sickness, and at midnight forsook the
fleet, and went back to Plymouth ; whereto Mr. Hayes
can only say, “The reason I never could understand.
Sure Iam that Mr, Raleigh spared no cost in setting
them forth. And so I leave it unto God!â€
But Amyas said more. He told Butler the Captain
plainly that, if the bark went back, he would not;
that he had seen enough of ships deserting their
consorts ; that it should never be said of him that he
had followed Winter’s example, and that, too, on a
fair easterly wind; and finally that he had seen
Doughty hanged for trying to play such a trick, and
that he might see others hanged too before he died.
Whereon Captain Butler offered to draw and fight, to
I 2B8 ‘
376 HOW EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE’S LEGATE.
which Amyas showed no repugnance; whereon the
captain, having taken a second look at Amyas’s thews
and sinews, reconsidered the matter, and offered to
put Amyas on board of Sir Humphrey’s Delight, if he
could find a crew to row him.
Amyas looked round.
“Are there any of Sir Francis Drake’smen on board?â€
“Three, sir,†said Yeo. ‘Robert Drew, and two
others.â€
“Pelicans !†roared Amyas, “you have been round
the world, and will you turn back from Westward-ho 2â€
There was a moment’s silence, and then Drew came
forward.
“Lower us a boat, captain, and lend us a caliver to
make signals with, while I get my kit on deck; I'll
after Captain Leigh, if I row him aboard all alone to
my own hands.â€
“Tf I ever command a ship, I will not forget you,â€
said Amyas.
“Nor us either, sir, we hope; for we haven’t for-
gotten you and your honest conditions,†said both the
other Pelicans; and so away over the side went all
the five, and pulled away after the admiral’s lantern,
firing shots at intervals as signals. Luckily for the
five desperadoes, the night was all but calm. They
got on board before the morning, and so away into
the boundless West.?
1 The Raleigh, the largest ship of the squadron, was of only
200 tons burden ; The Golden Hind, Hayes’ ship, which returned
safe, of 40; and The Squirrel (whereof more hereafter), of 10
tons! In such cockboats did these old heroes brave the un-
known seas,
HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE.
‘« Three lords sat drinking late yestreen,
And ere they paid the lawing,
They set a combat them between,
To fight it in the dawing.â€â€™â€”Scotch Ballad.
EvERY one who knows Bideford cannot but know
Bideford Bridge ; for it is the very omphalos, cynosure,
and goul, around which the town, as a body, has
organised itself; and as Edinburgh is Edinburgh by
virtue of its Castle, Rome Rome by virtue of its
Capitol, and Egypt Egypt by virtue of its Pyramids,
so is Bideford Bideford by virtue of its Bridge. But
all do not know the occult powers which have
advanced and animated the said wondrous bridge for
now five hundred years, and made it the chief wonder,
according to Prince and Fuller, of this fair land of
Devon: being first an inspired bridge ; a soul-saving
bridge ; an alms-giving bridge ; an educational bridge ;
a sentient bridge; and last, but not least, a dinner-
giving bridge. All do not know how, when it began
to be built some half mile higher up, hands invisible
carried the stones down-stream each night to the
present site ; until Sir Richard Gurney, parson of the
parish, going to bed one night in sore perplexity and
378 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
fear of the evil spirit who seemed so busy in his
sheepfold, beheld a vision of an angel, who bade build
the bridge where he himself had so kindly transported
the materials; for there alone was sure foundation
amid the broad sheet of shifting sand. All do not
know how Bishop Grandison of Exeter proclaimed
throughout his diocese indulgences, benedictions, and
“participation in all spiritual blessings for ever,†to
all who would promote the bridging of that dangerous
ford; and so, consulting alike the interests of their souls
and of their bodies, ‘“‘make the best of both worlds.â€
All do not know, nor do I, that “though the foun-
dation of the bridge is laid upon wool, yet it shakes
at the slightest step of a horse ;†or that, “though it
has twenty-three arches, yet one Wm. Alford (another
Milo) carried on his back for a wager four bushels
salt-water measure, all the length thereof ;†or that
the bridge is a veritable esquire, bearing arms of its
own (a ship and bridge proper on a plain field), and
owning lands and tenements in many parishes, with
which the said miraculous bridge has, from time to
time, founded charities, built schools, waged suits at
law, and finally (for this concerns us most) given
yearly dinners, and kept for that purpose (luxurious
and liquorish bridge that it was) the best stocked
cellar of wines in all Devon.
To one of these dinners, as it happened, were in-
vited in the year 1583, all the notabilities of Bideford,
and beside them Mr St. Leger of Annery close by,
brother of the Marshal of Munster, and of Lady
Grenvile ; a most worthy and hospitable gentleman,
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE, 379
' who, finding riches a snare, parted with them so freely
to all his neighbours as long as he lived, that he
effectually prevented his children after him from fall-
ing into the temptations thereunto incident.
Between him and one of the bridge trustees arose
an argument, whether a salmon caught below the
bridge was better or worse than one caught above;
and as that weighty question could only be decided by
practical experiment, Mr. St. Leger vowed, that as the
bridge had given him a good dinner, he would give
the bridge one; offered a bet of five pounds that he
would find them, out of the pool below Annery, as firm
and flaky a salmon as the Appledore one which they had
just eaten; and then, in the fulness of his heart, invited
the whole company present to dine with him at Annery
three days after, and bring with them each a wife or
daughter; and Don Guzman being at table, he was
invited too.
So there was a mighty feast in the great hall at
Annery, such as had seldom been since Judge Hank-
ford feasted Edward the Fourth there; and while
every one was eating their best and drinking their
worst, Rose Salterne and Don Guzman were pretend-
ing not to see each other, and watching each other all
the more. But Rose, at least, had to be very careful
of her glances; for not only was her father at the
table, but just opposite her sat none other than
Messrs. William Cary and Arthur St. Leger, Lieu-
tenants in her Majesty’s Irish army, who had returned
on furlough a few days before.
Rose Salterne and the Spaniard had not exchanged
380 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
a word in the last six months, though they had met
many times. The Spaniard by no means avoided her
company, except in her father’s house ; he only took
care to obey her carefully, by seeming always uncon-
scious of her presence, beyond the stateliest of salutes
at entering and departing. But he took care, at the
game time, to lay himself out to the very best advan-
tage whenever he was in her presence; to be more
witty, more eloquent, more romantic, more full of
wonderful tales than he ever yet had been. The cun-
ning Don had found himself foiled in his first tactic ;
and he was now trying another, and a far more for-
midable one. In the first place, Rose deserved a very
severe punishment, for having dared to refuse the love
of a Spanish nobleman ; and what greater punishment
could he inflict than withdrawing the honour of his
attentions, and the sunshine of his smiles? There
was conceit enough in that notion, but there was
cunning too; for none knew better than the Spaniard,
that women, like the world, are pretty sure to value
a man (especially if there be any real worth in him)
at his own price; and that the more he demands for
himself, the more they will give for him.
And now he would put a high price on himself,
and pique her pride, as she was too much accustomed
to worship, to be won by flattering it. He might have
done that by paying attention to some one else: but
he was too wise to employ so coarse a method, which
might raise indignation, or disgust, or despair in Rose’s
heart, but would have never brought her to his feet—
as it will never bring any woman worth bringing. So
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 381
he quietly and unobtrusively showed her that he could
do without her; and she, poor fool, as she was meant
to do, began forthwith to ask herselfi—why? What
was the hidden treasure, what was the reserve force,
which made him independent of her, while she could
not say that she was independent of him? Had he a
secret? how pleasant to know it! Some huge ambi-
tion? how pleasant to share in it! Some mysterious
knowledge? how pleasant to learn it! Some capacity
of love beyond the common? how delicious to have it
all for her own! He must be greater, wiser, richer-
hearted than she was, as well as better-born. Ah, if his
wealth would but supply her poverty! And go, step
by step, she was being led to sue in forma pauperis to
the very man whom she had spurned when he sued in
like form to her. That temptation of having some
mysterious private treasure, of being the priestess of
some hidden sanctuary, and being able to thank
heaven that she was not as other women are, was
becoming fast too much for Rose, as it is too much for
most. For none knew better than the Spaniard how
much more fond women are, by the very law of their
sex, of worshipping than of being worshipped, and of
obeying than of being obeyed ; how their coyness,
often their scorn, is but a mask to hide their conscious-
ness of weakness; anda mask, too, of which they
themselves will often be the first to tire.
And Rose was utterly tired of that same mask as
she sat at table at Annery that day ; and Don Guzman
saw it in her uneasy and downcast looks, and think-
ing (conceited coxcomb) that she must be by now suf-
382 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
' ficiently punished, stole a glance at her now and then,
and was not abashed when he saw that she dropped her
eyes when they met his, because he saw her silence
and abstraction increase, and something like a blush
steal into her cheeks. So he pretended to be as much
downcast and abstracted as she was, and went on with
his glances, till he once found her, poor thing, looking
at him to see if he was looking at her; and then he
knew his prey was safe, and asked her, with his eyes,
“Do you forgive me?†and saw her stop dead in her
talk to her next neighbour, and falter, and drop her
eyes, and raise them again after a minute in search of
his, that he might repeat the pleasant question. And
then what could she do but answer with all her face,
and every bend of her pretty neck, “ And do os for-
give me in turn 2â€
Whereon Don Guzman Week out jubilant, like
nightingale on bough, with story, and jest, and
repartee ; and became forthwith the soul of the whole
company, and the most charming of all cavaliers. And
poor Rose knew that she was the cause of his sudden
change of mood, and blamed herself for what she had
done, and shuddered and blushed at her own delight,
and longed that the feast was over, that she might hurry
home and hide herself alone with sweet fancies about
a love the reality of which she felt she dared not face.
It was a beautiful sight, the great terrace at Annery
that afternoon ; with the smart dames in their gaudy
dresses parading up and down in twos and threes
before the stately house; or looking down upon the
park, with the old oaks, and the deer, and the broad
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 383
land-locked river spread out like a lake beneath, all
bright in the glare of the midsummer sun ; or listen-
ing obsequiously to the two great ladies who did the
honours, Mrs. St. Leger the hostess, and her sister-in-
law, fair Lady Grenvile. All chatted, and laughed,
and eyed each other’s dresses, and gossiped about each
other’s husbands and servants: only Rose Salterne
kept apart, and longed to get into a corner and laugh
or cry, she knew not which.
“Our pretty Rose seems sad,†said Lady Grenvile,
coming up to her. “Cheer up, child! we want you to
come and sing to us.â€
Rose answered she knew not what, and obeyed
mechanically.
She took the lute, and sat down on a bench beneath
the house, while the rest grouped themselves round her.
“What shall I sing %â€
“Let us have your old song, ‘Earl Haldan’s
Daughter.’â€
Rose shrank from it. It was aloud and dashing
ballad, which chimed in but little with her thoughts ;
and Frank had praised it too, in happier days long
since gone by. She thought of him, and of others, and
of her pride and carelessness; and the song seemed
ominous to her: and yet for that very reason she dared
not refuse to sing it, for fear of suspicion where no one
suspected ; and so she began per force—
iy
‘* T4 was Earl Haldan’s daughter,
She look’d across the sea ;
She look’d across the water,
And long and loud laugh’d she ;
384
HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
‘The locks of six princesses
Must be my marriage-fee,
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Who comes a wooing me ?’
2.
“It was Earl Haldan’s daughter,
She walk’d along the sand ;
When she was aware of a knight so fair,
Come sailing to the land.
His sails were all of velvet,
His mast of beaten gold,
And ‘hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat,
Who saileth here so bold 2’
3.
“ «The locks of five princesses
I won beyond the sea ;
I shore their golden tresses,
To fringe a cloak for thee,
One handful yet is wanting,
But one of all the tale ;
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Furl up thy velvet sail !?
4
‘ He leapt into the water,
That rover young and bold ;
He gript Earl Haldan’s daughter,
He shore her locks of gold ;
‘Go weep, go weep, proud maiden,
The tale is full to-day.
Now hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Sail Westward ho, and away !’â€
As she ceased, a measured voice, with a foreign
accent, thrilled through her.
“Tn the East, they say the nightingale sings to the
rose ; Devon, more happy, has nightingale and rose
in one.â€
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 385
“We have no nightingales in Devon, Don Guzman,â€
said Lady Grenvile; “but our little forest thrushes sing,
as you hear, sweetly enough to content any ear. But
what brings you away from the gentlemen so early ?â€
“These letters,†said he, “which have just been put
into my hand; and as they call me home to Spain, I
was loth to lose a moment of that delightful company
from which I must part:so soon.â€
“To Spain?†asked half-a-dozen voices: for the
Don was a general favourite.
“Ves, and thence to the Indies. My ransom has
arrived, and with it the promise of an office. I am to
be Governor of La Guayra in Caraccas. Congratulate
me on my promotion.â€
A mist was over Rose’s eyes. The Spaniard’s voice
was hard and flippant. Did he care for her after all?
And if he did, was it nevertheless hopeless? How
her cheeks glowed! Everybody must see it! Any-
thing to turn away their attention from her, and in
that nervous haste which makes people speak, and
speak foolishly too, just because they ought to be
silent, she asked,—
“ And where is La Guayra?â€
“Half round the world, on the coast of the Spanish
main. The loveliest place on earth, and the loveliest
governor’s house, in a forest of palms at the foot of a
mountain eight thousand feet high: I shall only want
a wife there to be in paradise.â€
“T don’t doubt that you may persuade some fair
lady of Seville to accompany you thither,†said Lady
Grenvile,
VOL. I. 26 Ww.
386 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
“Thanks, gracious Madam: but the truth is, that
since I have had the bliss of knowing English ladies,
I have begun to pin that they are the only ones on
earth worth wooing.â€
“A thousand thanks for the compliment ; but I
fear none of our free English maidens would like to
submit to the guardianship of a duenna. Eh, Rose?
how should you like to be kept under lock and key all
day by an ugly old woman with a horn on her fore-
head 9â€
Poor Rose turned so scarlet that Lady Grenvile
knew her secret on the spot, and would have tried to
turn the conversation: but before she could speak,
some burgher’s wife blundered out a commonplace
about the jealousy of Spanish husbands ; and another,
to make matters better, giggled out something more
true then delicate about West Indian masters and fair
slaves.
“Ladies,†said Don Guzman, reddening, “believe
me that these are but the calumnies of ignorance. If
we be more jealous than other nations, it is because
we love more passionately. If some of us abroad are
profligate, it is because they, poor men, have no help-
mate, which, like the amethyst, keeps its wearer pure.
I could tell you stories, ladies, of the constancy and
devotion of Spanish husbands, even in the Indies, as
strange as ever romancer invented.â€
“Can you? Then we challenge you to give us one
at least.â€
“T fear it would be too long, Madam.â€
“The longer the more pleasant, Sefior. How can
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 387
we spend an hour better this-afternoon, while the
gentlemen within are finishing their wine 2â€
Story-telling, in those old times, when books (and
authors also, lucky for the public) were rarer than
now, was a2 common amusement; and as the Spaniard’s
accomplishments in that line were well known, all
the ladies crowded. round him; the servants brought
chairs and benches; and Don Guzman, taking his
seat in the midst, with a proud humility, at Lady
Grenvile’s feet, began.
“Your perfections, fair and illustrious ladies, must
doubtless have heard, ere now, how Sebastian Cabota,
some forty-five years ago, sailed forth with a commis-
sion from my late master, the Emperor Charles the
Fifth, to discover the golden lands of Tarshish, Ophir,
and Cipango; but being in want of provisions, stopped
short at the mouth of that mighty South American
river to which he gave the name of Rio de la Plata,
and sailing up it, discovered the fair land of Paraguay.
But you may not have heard how, on the bank of
that river, at the mouth of the Rio Terceiro, he built
a fort which men still call Cabot’s Tower; nor have
you, perhaps, heard of the strange tale which will
ever make the tower a sacred spot to all true lovers.
“For when he returned to Spain the year after,
he left in his tower a garrison of a hundred and
twenty men, under the command of Nuiio de Lara,
Ruiz Moschera, and Sebastian da Hurtado, old friends
and fellow-soldiers of my invincible grandfather Don
Ferdinando da Soto; and with them a jewel, than
which Spain never possessed one more precious,
388 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
Lucia Miranda, the wife of Hurtado, who, famed in’
the Court of the Emperor no less for her wisdom and
modesty than for her unrivalled beauty, had thrown
up all the pomp and ambition of a palace, to marry a
poor adventurer, and to encounter with him the hard-
ships of a voyage round the world. Mangora, the
Cacique of the neighbouring Timbuez Indians (with
whom Lara had contrived to establish a friendship),
cast his eyes on this fair creature, and no sooner saw
than he coveted ; no sooner coveted than he plotted,
with the devilish subtilty of a savage, to seize by
force what he knew he could never gain by right.
She soon found out his passion (she was wise enough
—what every woman is not—to.know when she is
loved), and telling her husband, kept as much as she
could out of her new lover’s sight ; while the savage
pressed Hurtado to come and visit him, and to bring
his lady with him. Hurtado, suspecting the snare,
and yet fearing to offend the Cacique, excused him-
self courteously on the score of - his soldier’s duty ;
and the savage, mad with desire and disappointment,
began plotting against Hurtado’s life. _
“So went on several weeks, till food grew scarce,
and Don Hurtado and Don Ruiz Moschera, with fifty
soldiers, were sent up the river on a foraging party.
Mangora saw his opportunity, and leapt at it forth-
with.
“The tower, ladies, as I have heard from those who
have seen it, stands on a knoll at the meeting of the
two rivers, while on the land side stretches a dreary
marsh, covered with tall grass and bushes; a fit place
“Why pain your gentle ears with details of slaughter.†—Chap. xii. p. 389.
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 389
for the ambuscade of four thousand Indians, which
Mangora, with devilish cunning, placed around the
tower, while he himself went boldly up to it, followed
by thirty men, laden with grain, fruit, game, and all
the delicacies which his forests could afford.
“There, with a smiling face, he told the unsus-
pecting Lara his sorrow for the Spaniard’s want of
food ; besought him to accept the provision he had
brought, and was, as he had expected, invited by
Lara to come in and taste the wines of Spain.
“In went he and his thirty fellow-bandits, and the
feast continued, with songs and libations, far into the
night, while Mangora often looked round, and at last
boldly asked for the fair Miranda: but she had shut
herself into her lodging, pleading illness.
“A plea, fair ladies, which little availed that hap-
less dame: for no sooner had the Spaniards retired
to rest, leaving (by I know not what madness) Man-
gora and his Indians within, than they were awakened
by the cry of fire, the explosion of their magazine,
and the inward rush of the four thousand from the
marsh outside.
“Why pain your gentle ears with details of
slaughter? A few fearful minutes sufficed to exter-
minate my bewildered and unarmed countrymen, to
bind the only survivors, Miranda (innocent cause of
the whole tragedy) and four other women with their
infants, and to lead them away in triumph across the
forest towards the Indian town.
“Stunned by the suddenness of the evils which
had passed, and still more by the thought of those
j
390 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
worse which were to come (as she too well foresaw),
Miranda travelled all night through the forest, and
was brought in triumph at day-dawn before the Indian
king to receive her doom. Judge of her astonish-
ment, when, on looking up, she saw that he was not
Mangora.
“A ray of hope flashed across her, and she asked
where he was.
“<« Te was slain last night,’ said the king; ‘and JI,
his brother Siripa, am now Cacique of the Timbuez.’
“It was true; Lara, maddened with drink, rage,
and wounds, had caught up his sword, rushed into
the thick of the fight, singled out the traitor, and
slain him on the spot; and then, forgetting safety in
revenge, had continued to plunge his sword into the
corpse, heedless of the blows of the savages, till he
fell pierced with a hundred wounds.
“A ray of hope, as I said, flashed across the
wretched Miranda for a moment; but the next she
found that she had been freed from one bandit only
to be delivered to another.
“<«Yes,’ said the new king in broken Spanish ;
‘my brother played a bold stake, and lost it; but it
was well worth the risk, and he showed his wisdom
thereby. You cannot be his queen now: you must
content yourself with being mine.’
“Miranda, desperate, answered him with every
fierce taunt which she could invent against his trea-
chery and his crime ; and asked him, how he came to
dream that the wife of a Christian Spaniard would
condescend to become the mistress of a heathen
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 391
savage; hoping, unhappy lady, to exasperate him
into killing her on the spot. But in vain; she only
prolonged thereby her own misery. For, whether it
was, ladies, that the novel sight of divine virtue and
beauty awed (as it may have awed me ere now), where
it had just before maddened ; or whether some dream
crossed the savage (as it may have crossed me ere
now), that he could make the wisdom of a mortal
angel help his ambition, as well as her beauty his
happiness ; or whether (which I will never believe of
one of those dark children of the devil, though I can
boldly assert it of myself) some spark of boldness
within him made him too proud to take by force
what he could not win by persuasion, certain it is, as
the Indians themselves confessed afterwards, that the
savage only answered her by smiles; and bidding his
men unbind her, told her that she was no slave of his,
and that it only lay with her to become the sovereign
of him and all his vassals; assigned her a hut to her-
self, loaded her with savage ornaments, and for several
weeks treated her with no less courtesy (so miraculous
is the power of love) than if he had been a cavalier of
Castile.
“Three months and more, ladies, as I have heard,
passed in this misery, and every day Miranda grew
more desperate of all deliverance, and saw staring her
in the face, nearer and nearer, some hideous and
shameful end; when one day going down with the
wives of the Cacique to draw water in the river, she
saw on the opposite bank a white man in a tattered
Spanish dress, with a drawn sword in his hand ; who
392 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
had no sooner espied her, than shrieking her name, he
plunged into the stream, swam across, landed at her
feet, and clasped her in his arms. It was no other,
ladies, incredible as it may seem, than Don Sebastian
himself, who had returned with Ruiz Moschera to the
tower, and found it only a charred and bloodstained
heap of ruins.
“He guessed, as by inspiration, what had passed,
and whither his lady was gone; and without a thought
of danger, like a true Spanish gentleman, and a true
Spanish lover, darted off alone into the forest, and
guided only by the inspiration of his own loyal heart,
found again his treasure, and found it still unstained
and his own.
‘Who can describe the joy, and who again the
terror, of their meeting? The Indian women had
fled in fear, and for the short ten minutes that the
lovers were left together, life, to be sure, was one long
kiss. But what to do they knew not. To go inland
was to rush into the enemy’s arms. He would have
swum with her across the river, and attempted it;
but his strength, worn out with hunger and travel,
failed him; he drew her with difficulty on shore
again, and sat down by her to await their doom with
prayer, the first and last resource of virtuous ladies,
as weapons are of cavaliers.
“Alas for them! May no true lovers ever have
to weep over joys so soon lost, after having been so
hardly found! For, ere a quarter of an hour was
passed, the Indian women, who had fled at his ap-
proach, returned with all the warriors of the tribe,
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 393
Don Sebastian, desperate, would fain have slain his
wife and himself on the spot; but his hand sank
again—and whose would not but an Indian’s !—as he
raised it against that fair and faithful breast; in a
few minutes he was surrounded, seized from behind,
disarmed, and carried in triumph into the village. And
if you cannot feel for him in that misery, fair ladies,
who have known no sorrow, yet I, a prisoner, can.â€
Don Guzman paused a moment, as if overcome by
emotion ; and I will not say that, as he paused, he
did not look to see if Rose Salterne’s eyes were on
him, as indeed they were.
“Yes, I can feel with him; I can estimate, better
than you, ladies, the greatness of that love which
could submit to captivity; to the loss of his sword ;
to the loss of that honour, which, next to God and
his mother, is the true Spaniard’s deity. There are
those who have suffered that shame at the hands of
valiant gentlemen†(and again Don Guzman looked
up at Rose), “and yet would have sooner died a thou-
sand deaths; but he dared to endure it from the
hands of villains, savages, heathens; for he was a
true Spaniard, and therefore a true lover: but I will
go on with my tale.
“This wretched pair, then, as I have been told
by Ruiz Moschera himself, stood together before the
Cacique. He, like a true child of the devil, compre-
hending in a moment who Don Sebastian was, laughed
with delight at seeing his rival in his power, and
bade bind him at once to a tree, and shoot him to
death with arrows.
394 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
“But the poor Miranda sprang forward, and threw
herself at his feet, and with piteous entreaties besought
for mercy from him who knew no mercy.
“And yet love, and the sight of her beauty, and
the terrible eloquence of her words, while she invoked
on his head the just vengeance of Heaven, wrought
even on his heart : nevertheless the pleasure of seeing
her, who had so long scorned him, a suppliant at his
feet, was too delicate to be speedily foregone; and
not till she was all but blind with tears, and dumb
with agony of pleading, did he make answer, that if
she would consent to become his wife, her husband’s
life should be spared. She, in her haste and madness,
sobbed out desperately I know not what consent.
Don Sebastian, who understood, if not the language,
still the meaning (so had love quickened his under-
standing), shrieked to her not to lose her precious
soul for the sake of his worthless body; that death
was nothing compared to the horror of that shame ;
and such other words as became a noble and valiant
gentleman. She, shuddering now at her own frailty,
would have recalled her promise ; but Siripa kept her
to it, vowing, if she disappointed him again, such a
death to her husband as made her blood run cold to
hear of ; and the wretched woman could only escape
for the present by some story, that it was not the
custom of her race to celebrate nuptials till a month
after the betrothment; that the anger of Heaven
would be on her, unless she first performed in solitude
certain religious rites ; and lastly, that if he dared to
lay hands on her husband, she would die so resolutely,
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 395
that every drop of water should be deep enough to
drown her, every thorn sharp enough to stab her to
the heart ; till fearing lest by demanding too much
he should lose all, and awed too, as he had been at
first, by a voice and looks which seemed to be, in
comparison with his own, divine, Siripa bade her go
back to her hut, promising her husband life ; but pro-
mising too, that if he ever found the two speaking
together, even for a moment, he would pour out on
them both all the cruelty of those tortures in which
the devil, their father, has so perfectly instructed the
Indians.
“So Don Sebastian, being stripped of his garments,
and painted after the Indian fashion, was set to all
mean and toilsome work, amid the buffetings and
insults of the whole village. And this, ladies, he
endured without a murmur, ay, took delight in en-
during it, as he would have endured things worse a
thousand times, only for the sake, like a true lover as
he was, of being near the goddess whom he worshipped,
and of seeing her now and then afar off, happy enough
to be repaid even by that for all indignities.
“And yet, you who have loved may well guess, as
I can, that ere a week had passed, Don Sebastian and
the Lady Miranda had found means, in spite of all
spiteful eyes, to speak to each other once and again ;
and to assure each other of their love ; even to talk of
escape, before the month’s grace should be expired.
And Miranda, whose heart was full of courage as long
as she felt her husband near her, went so far as to plan
a means of escape which seemed possible and hopeful.
396 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
“For the youngest wife of the Cacique, who, till
Miranda's coming, had been his favourite, often talked
with the captive, insulting and tormenting her in her
spite and jealousy, and receiving in return only gentle
and conciliatory words. And one day, when the
woman had been threatening to kill her, Miranda
took courage to say, ‘Do you fancy that I shall not be
as glad to be rid of your husband, as you to be rid of
me? Why kill me needlessly, when all that you
require is to get me forth of the place? Out of sight
out of mind. When I am gone, your husband will
soon forget me, and you will be his favourite as be-
fore.’ Soon, seeing that the girl was inclined to
listen, she went on to tell her of her love to Don
Sebastian, entreating and abjuring her, by the love
which she bore the Cacique, to pity and help her;
and so won upon the girl, that she consented to be
privy to Miranda’s escape, and even offered to give
her an opportunity of speaking to her husband about
it; and at last was so won over by Miranda, that she
consented to keep all intruders out of the way, while
Don Sebastian that very night visited Miranda in her
hut.
“The hapless husband, thirsting for his love, was
in that hut, be sure, the moment that kind darkness
covered his steps ;—and what cheer these two made
of each other, when they once found themselves to-
gether, lovers must fancy for themselves: but so it
was, that after many a leave-taking, there was no de-
parture ; and when the night was well-nigh past,
Sebastian and Miranda were still talking together, as
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 397
if they had never met before, and would never meet
again.
“But it befell, ladies (would that I was not speak-
ing truth, but inventing, that I might have invented
something merrier for your ears), it befell that very
night, that the young wife of the Cacique, whose
heart was lifted up with the thought that her rival
was now at last disposed of, tried all her wiles to win
back her faithless husband; but in vain. He only
answered her caresses by indifference, then by con-
tempt, then insults, then blows (for with the Indians,
woman is always a slave, or rather a beast of burden),
and went on to draw such cruel comparisons between
her dark skin and the glorious fairness of the Spanish
lady, that the wretched girl, beside herself with rage,
burst out at last with her own secret. ‘Fool that
you are to madden yourself about a stranger who
prizes one hair of her Spanish husband’s head more
than your whole body! Much does your new bride
care for you! She is at this moment in her husband’s
arms !’
“The Cacique screamed furiously to know what
she meant; and she, her jealousy and hate of the
guiltless lady boiling over once for all, bade him, if he
doubted her, go see for himself.
“What use of many words? They were taken.
Love, or rather lust, repelled, turned in a moment
into devilish hate; and the Cacique, summoning his
Indians, bade them bind the wretched Don Sebastian
to a tree, and there inflicted on him the lingering
death to which he had at first been doomed. For
398 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
Miranda he had more exquisite cruelty in store. And
shall I tell it? Yes, ladies, for the honour of love
and of Spain, and for a justification of those cruelties
against the Indians which are so falsely imputed to
our most Christian nation, it shall be told: he delivered
the wretched lady over to the tender mercies of his
wives ; and what they were, is neither fit for me to
tell, nor you to hear.
“The two wretched lovers cast themselves upon
each other’s necks; drank each other's salt tears with
the last kisses; accused themselves as the cause of
each other’s death; and then, rising above fear and
grief, broke out into triumph at thus dying for and
with each other; and proclaiming themselves the
martyrs of love, commended their souls to God, and
then stepped joyfully and proudly to their doom.â€
“And what was that?†asked half-a-dozen trem-
bling voices.
“Don Sebastian, as I have said, was shot to death
with arrows; but as for the lady Miranda, the
wretches themselves confessed afterwards, when they
received due vengeance for their crimes (as they did
receive it), that after all shameful and horrible indig-
nities, she was bound to a tree, and there burned
slowly in her husband’s sight, stifling her shrieks lest
they should wring his heart by one additional pang,
and never taking her eyes, to the last, off that beloved
face. And so died (but not unavenged) Sebastian de
Hurtado and Lucia Miranda,—a Spanish husband and
a Spanish wife.â€
The Don paused, and the ladies were silent awhile ;
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 399
for, indeed, there was many a gentle tear to be dried ;
but at last Mrs. St. Leger spoke, half, it seemed, to
turn off the too painful impression of the over-true
tale, the outlines whereof may be still read in old
Charlevoix.
“You have told a sad and a noble tale, sir, and
told it well; but, though your story was to set forth
a perfect husband, it has ended rather by setting forth
a perfect wife.â€
“And if I have forgotten, Madam, in praising her
to praise him also, have I not done that which would
have best pleased his heroical and chivalrous spirit?
He, be sure, would have forgotten his own virtue in
the light of hers; and he would have wished me, I
doubt not, to do the same also. And beside, Madam,
where ladies are the theme, who has time or heart to
cast one thought upon their slaves?†And the Don
made one of his deliberate and highly-finished bows.
“Don Guzman is courtier enough, as far as compli-
ments go,†said one of the young ladies; “but it was
hardly courtierlike of him to find us so sad an enter-
tainment, upon a merry evening.â€
“Yes,†said another; “we must ask him for no
more stories.â€
“Or songs either,†said a third. “I fear he knows
none but about forsaken maidens and despairing
lovers.â€
“T know nothing at all about forsaken ladies,
Madam ; because ladies are never forsaken in Spain.â€
“Nor about lovers despairing there, I suppose ?â€
“That good opinion of ourselves, Madam, with
400 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
which you English are pleased to twit us now and:
then, always prevents so sad a state of mind. For
myself, I have had little to do with love; but I have
had still less to do with despair, and intend, by help
of Heaven, to have less.â€
“You are valiant, sir.â€
“You would not have me a coward, Madam?†and
so forth.
Now all this time Don Guzman had been talking at
Rose Salterne, and giving her the very slightest hint,
every now and then, that he was talking at her; till
the poor girl’s face was almost crimson with pleasure,
and she gave herself up to the spell. He loved her
still; perhaps he knew that she loved him: he must
know some day. She felt now that there was no
escape ; she was almost glad to think that there was
none.
The dark, handsome, stately face; the melodious
voice, with its rich Spanish accent ; the quiet grace of
the gestures ; the wild pathos of the story; even the
measured and inflated style, as of one speaking of
another and a loftier world; the chivalrous respect
and admiration for woman, and for faithfulness to
woman—what aman he was! If he had been plea-
sant heretofore, he was now enchanting. All the
ladies round felt that, she could see, as much as she
herself did; no, not quite as much, she hoped. She
surely understood him, and felt for his loneliness more
than any of them. Had she not been feeling for it
through long and sad months? But it was she whom
he was thinking of, she whom he was speaking to, all
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 401
along. Oh, why had the tale ended so soon? She
would gladly have sat and wept her eyes out till mid-
night over one melodious misery after another ; but
she was quite wise enough to keep her secret to her-
self; and sat behind the rest, with greedy eyes and
demure lips, full of strange and new happiness—or
misery ; she knew not which to call it
In the meanwhile, as it was ordained, Cary could
see and hear through the window of the hall a good
deal of what was going on.
“How that Spanish crocodile ogles the Rose!â€
whispered he to young St. Leger.
“What wonder? He is not the first by many a
one.â€
“‘Ay—but—By heaven, she is making side-shots at
him with those languishing eyes of hers, the little
baggage !â€
‘“What wonder? He is not the first, say I, and
won't be the last. Pass the wine, man.â€
“T have had enough; between sack and singing,
my head is as mazed as a dizzy sheep. Let me slip
out.â€
“Not yet, man; remember you are bound for one
song more.â€
So Cary, against his will, sat and sang another
song; and in the meanwhile the party had broken up,
and wandered away by twos and threes, among trim
gardens and pleasaunces, and clipped yew-walks—
‘* Where west-winds with musky wing
About the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and cassia’s balmy smells——’
VOL. I. 2D Ww. H
402 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
admiring the beauty of that stately place, long since
passed into other hands, and fallen to decay ; but then
(if old Prince speaks true) one of the noblest mansions
of the west.
At last Cary got away and out; sober, but just
enough flushed with wine to be ready for any quarrel ;
and luckily for him, had not gone twenty yards along
the great terrace before he met Lady Grenvile.
“Flas your Ladyship seen Don Guzman 2â€
“Yes—why, where is he? He was with me not
ten minutes ago. You know he is going back to
Spain.â€
“Going! Has his ransom come 2â€
“Yes, and with it a governorship in the Indies.â€
“Governorship? Much good may it do the
governed.â€
“Why not, then? He is surely a most gallant
gentleman.â€
“Gallant enough—yes,†said Cary, carelessly. “I
must find him, and congratulate him on his honours.â€
“J will help you to find him,†said Lady Grenvile,
whose woman’s eye and ear had already suspected
something. “Escort me, sir.â€
“Tt is but too great an honour to squire the Queen
of Bideford,†said Cary, offering his hand.
“Tf Tam your queen, sir, I must be obeyed,†an-
swered she in a meaning tone. Cary took the hint,
and went on chattering cheerfully enough.
But Don Guzman was not to be found in garden
or in pleasaunce.
“Perhaps,†at last said a burgher’s wife, with a
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 403
toss of her head, “your Ladyship may meet with him
at Hankford’s oak.â€
“At Hankford’s oak? what should take him there?â€
“Pleasant company, I reckon†(with another toss).
“T heard him and Mistress Salterne talking about the
oak just now.â€
Cary turned pale and drew in his breath.
“Very likely,†said Lady Grenvile, quietly. ‘Will
you walk with me so far, Mr. Cary?â€
“To the world’s end, if your Ladyship oullestonds
so far.†And off they went, Lady Grenvile wishing
that they were going anywhere else, but afraid to let
Cary go alone; and suspecting, too, that some one or
other ought to go.
So they went down past the herds of deer, by a
trim-kept path into the lonely dell where stood the
fatal oak; and, as they went, Lady Grenvile, to avoid
more unpleasant talk, poured into Cary’s unheeding
ears the story (which he probably. had heard fifty
times before) how old Chief-justice Hankford (whom
some contradictory myths make the man who com-
mitted Prince Henry to prison for striking him on the
bench), weary of life and sickened at the horrors and
desolations of the wars of the Roses, went down to his
house at Annery there, and bade his keeper shoot any
man who, passing through the deer-park at night,
should refuse to stand when challenged; and then
going down into that glen himself, and hiding himself
beneath that oak, met willingly by his keeper’s hand
the death which his own dared not inflict: but ere
the story was half done, Cary grasped Lady Gren-
404 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
vile’s hand so tightly that she gave a little shriek of
pain.
“There they are!†whispered he, heedless of her ;
and pointed to the oak, where, half hidden by the tall
fern, stood Rose and the Spaniard.
Her head was on his bosom. She seemed sobbing,
trembling ; he talking earnestly and passionately ; but
Lady Grenvile’s little shriek made them both look up.
To turn and try to escape was to confess all; and the
two, collecting themselves instantly, walked towards
her, Rose wishing herself fathoms deep beneath the
earth.
“Mind, sir,†whispered Lady Grenvile as they
came up; “you have seen nothing.â€
“Madam 2â€
“Tf you are not on my ground, you are on my
brother’s. Obey me!â€
Cary bit his lip, and bowed courteously to the Don.
“T have to congratulate you, I hear, Sefior, on
your approaching departure.â€
“J kiss your hands, Sefior, in return: but I ques-
tion whether it be a matter of congratulation, con-
sidering all that I leave behind.â€
“So do I,†answered Cary, bluntly enough, and
the four walked back to the house, Lady Grenvile
taking everything for granted with the most charming
good humour, and chatting to her three silent com-
panions till they gained the terrace once more, and
found four or five of the gentlemen, with Sir Richard
at their head, proceeding to the bowling-green.
Lady Grenvile, in an agony of fear about the
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 405
quarrel which she knew must come, would have gladly
whispered five words to her husband: but she dared
not do it before the Spaniard, and dreaded too a faint
or a scream from the Rose, whose father was of the
party. So she walked on with her fair prisoner,
commanding Cary to escort them in, and the Spaniard
to go to the bowling-green.
Cary obeyed : but he gave her the slip the moment
she was inside the door, and then darted off to the
gentlemen. ;
His heart was on fire: all his old passion for the
Rose had flashed up again at the sight of her with a
lover ;—and that lover a Spaniard! He would cut
his throat for him, if steel could do it! Only he
recollected that Salterne was there, and shrank from
exposing Rose; and shrank too, as every gentleman
should, from making a public quarrel in another man’s
house. Never mind. Where there was a will there
was a way. He could get him into a corner, and
quarrel with him privately about the cut of his beard,
or the colour of his ribbon. So in he went; and, luckily
or unluckily, found standing together apart from the
rest, Sir Richard, the Don, and young St. Leger.
“Well, Don Guzman, you have given us wine-
bibbers the slip this afternoon. I hope you have
been well employed in the meanwhile ?â€
“Delightfully to myself, Sefior,†said the Don,
who, enraged at being interrupted, if not discovered,
was as ready to fight as Cary, but disliked of course
an explosion as much as he did; “and to others, I
doubt not.â€
406 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
“So the ladies say,†quoth St. Leger. “He has
been making them all cry with one of his stories, and
robbing us meanwhile of the pleasure we had hoped
for from some of his Spanish songs.â€
“The devil take Spanish songs!†said Cary, in a
low voice, but loud enough for the Spaniard. Don
Guzman clapt his hand on his sword-hilt instantly.
“Lieutenant Cary,†said Sir Richard in a stern
voice; “the wine has surely made you forget your-
self !â€
“As sober as yourself, most worshipful knight ;
but if you want a Spanish song, here’s one; and a
very scurvy one it is, like its subject—
_“ Don Desperado
Walked on the Prado,
And there he met his enemy.
He pulled out a knife, a,
And let out his life, a,
And fled for his own across the gea.â€
And he bowed low to the Spaniard.
The insult was too gross to require any spluttering.
“Sefior Cary, we meet ?â€
“TI thank your quick apprehension, Don Guzman
Maria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto. When, where,
and with what weapons ?â€
“For God’s sake, gentlemen! Nephew Arthur,
Cary is your guest; do you know the meaning of
this ?â€
St. Leger was silent. Cary answered for him.
“An old Irish quarrel, I assure you, sir. A matter
of years’ standing. In unlacing the Sefior’s helmet,
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 407
the evening that he was taken prisoner, I was unlucky
enough to twitch his mustachios. You recollect the
fact, of course, Sefior 2â€
“Perfectly,†said the Spaniard; and then, half-
amused and half-pleased, in spite of his bitter wrath,
at Cary’s quickness and delicacy in shielding Rose; he
bowed, and——
“And it gives me much pleasure to find that he
whom I trust to have the pleasure of killing to-morrow
morning, is a gentleman whose nice sense of honour
renders him thoroughly worthy of the sword of a De
Soto.â€
Cary bowed in return, while Sir Richard, who saw
plainly enough that the excuse was feigned, shrugged
his shoulders.
“What weapons, Sefior?†asked Will again.
“T should have preferred a horse and pistols,†said
Don Guzman after a moment, half to himself, and in
Spanish; “they make surer work of it than bodkins;â€
but (with a sigh and one of his smiles) “beggars must
not be choosers.â€
“The best horse in my stable is at your service,
Sefior,†said Sir Richard Grenvile instantly.
“And in mine also, Sefior,†said Cary; “and I
shall be happy to allow you a week to train him, if
he does not answer at first to a Spanish hand.â€
“You forget in your courtesy, gentle sir, that the
insult being with me, the time lies with me also.
We wipe it off to-morrow morning with simple rapiers
and daggers. Who is your second 2â€
“Mr. Arthur St. Leger here, Sefior: who is yours?â€
408 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
The Spaniard felt himself alone in the world for
one moment; and then answered with another of his
smiles,
“Your nation possesses the soul of honour. He
who fights an Englishman needs no second.â€
“And he who fights among Englishmen will
always find one,†said Sir Richard. “I am the
fittest second for my guest.â€
“You only add one more obligation, illustrious
cavalier, to a two-years’ prodigality of favours, which
I shall never be able to repay.â€
“But, Nephew Arthur,†said Grenvile, “you can-
not surely be second against your father’s guest, and
your own uncle.â€
“T cannot help it, sir; I am bound by an oath, as
Will can tell you. I suppose you won’t think it
necessary to let me blood 2â€
“You half deserve it, sirrah!†said Sir Richard,
who was very angry: but the Don interposed quickly.
“Heaven forbid, Sefiors! We are no French
duellists, who are mad enough to make four or six
lives answer for the sins of two. This gentleman and
I have quarrel enough between us, I suspect, to make
a right bloody encounter.â€
“The dependence is good enough, sir,†said Cary,
licking his sinful lips at the thought. “Very well.
Rapiers and shirts at three to-morrow morning —Is
that the bill of fare? Ask Sir Richard where, Atty ?
It is against punctilio now for me to speak to him till
after I am killed.â€
“On the sands opposite. The tide will be out at
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 409
three. And now, gallant gentlemen, let us join the
bowlers.â€
And so they went back and spent a merry evening,
all except poor Rose, who, ere she went back, had
poured all her sorrows into Lady Grenvile’s ear. For
the kind woman, knowing that she was motherless
and guileless, carried her off into Mrs. St. Leger’s
chamber, and there entreated her to tell the truth,
and heaped her with pity, but with no comfort. For,
indeed, what comfort was there to give ?
Three o’clock, upon a still pure bright Midsummer
morning. A broad and yellow sheet of ribbed tide-
sands, through which the shallow river wanders from
one hill-foot to the other, whispering round dark
knolls of rock, and under low tree-fringed cliffs, and
banks of golden broom.
bridge and the white walled town, all sleeping pearly
in the soft haze, beneath a cloudless vault of blue.
The white glare of dawn, which last night hung high
in the north-west, has travelled now to the north-east,
and above the wooded wall of the hills the sky is
flushing with rose and amber.
A long line of gulls goes wailing up inland; the
rooks from Annery come cawing and sporting round
the corner at Land-cross, while high above them four
or five herons flap solemnly along to find their break-
fast on the shallows. The pheasants and partridges
are clucking merrily in the long wet grass; every
copse and hedgerow rings with the voice of birds: but
the lark, who has been singing since midnight in the
410 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
“blank height of the dark,†suddenly hushes his carol
and drops headlong among the corn, as a broad-winged
buzzard swings from some wooded peak into the abyss
of the valley, and hangs high-poised above the heaven-
ward .songster. The air is full of perfume; sweet
clover, new mown hay, the fragrant breath of kine,
the dainty scent of sea-weed wreaths and fresh wet
sand. Glorious day, glorious place, “bridal of earth
and sky,†decked well with bridal garlands, bridal
perfumes, bridal songs,—What do those four cloaked
figures there by the river brink, a dark spot on the
fair face of the summer morn ?
Yet one is as cheerful as if he too, like all nature
round him, were going to a wedding; and that is Will
Cary. He has been bathing down below, to cool his
brain and steady his hand; and he intends to stop
Don Guzman Maria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto’s
wooing for ever andaday. The Spaniard isin a very
different mood; fierce and haggard, he is pacing up
and down the sand. He intends to kill Will Cary ;
but then? Will he be the nearer to Rose by doing
so? Canhe stay in Bideford? Will she go with him ?
Shall he stoop to stain his family by marrying a
burgher’s daughter? It is a confused, all but desperate
business; and Don Guzman is certain but of one
thing, that he is madly in love with this fair witch, and
that if she refuse him, then, rather than see her accept
another man, he would kill her with his own hands.
Sir Richard Grenvile too is in no very pleasant
humour, as St. Leger soon discovers, when the two
seconds begin whispering over their arrangements.
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE, 411
“We cannot have either of them killed, Arthur,â€
“Mr. Cary swears he will kill the Spaniard, sir.â€
“He shan’t. The Spaniard is my guest. I am
answerable for him to Leigh, and for his ransom
too. And how can Leigh accept the ransom if the
man is not given up safe and sound? They won't
pay for a dead carcass, boy! The man’s life is worth
two hundred pounds.â€
“A very bad bargain, sir, for those who pay the
said two hundred for the rascal; but what if he kills
Cary 1â€
“Worse still. Cary must not be killed. I am
very angry with him, but he is too good a lad to be
lost; and his father would never forgive us. We
must strike up their swords at the first scratch.â€
“Tt will make them very mad, sir.â€
‘Hang them! let them fight us then, if they don’t
like our counsel. It must be, Arthur.â€
“Be sure, sir,†said Arthur, “that whatsoever you
shall command, I shall perform. It is only too great
an honour to a young man as I am, to find myself in
the same duel with your worship, and to have the ad-
vantage of your wisdom and experience.â€
Sir Richard smiles, and says—“Now, gentlemen !
are you ready ?â€
The Spaniard pulls out a little crucifix, and kisses
it devoutly, smiting on his breast ; crosses himself two
or three times, and says—“ Most willingly, Seiior.â€
Cary kisses no crucifix, but says a prayer neverthe-
less.
Cloaks and doublets are tossed off, the men placed,
412 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
the rapiers measured hilt and point; Sir Richard and
St. Leger place themselves right and left of the com-
batants, facing each other, the points of their drawn
swords on the sand. Cary and the Spaniard stand
for a moment quite upright, their sword-arms stretched
straight before them, holding the long rapier horizon-
tally, the left hand clutching the dagger close to their
breasts. So they stand eye to eye, with clenched
teeth and pale crushed lips, while men might count a
score; St. Leger can hear the beating of his own
heart; Sir Richard is praying inwardly that no life
may be lost. Suddenly there is a quick turn of Cary’s
wrist, and a leap forward. The Spaniard’s dagger
flashes, and the rapier is turned aside ; Cary springs
six feet back as the Spaniard rushes on him in turn.
Parry, thrust, parry—the steel rattles, the sparks fly,
the men breathe fierce and loud; the devil’s game is
begun in earnest,
Five minutes have the two had instant death a short
six inches off from those wild sinful hearts of theirs,
and nota scratch has been given. Yes! the Spaniard’s
rapier passes under Cary’s left arm ;-he bleeds.
“A hit! ahit! Strike up, Atty!†and the swords
are struck up instantly.
Cary, nettled by the smart, tries to close with his
foe, but the seconds cross their swords before him.
“Tt is enough, gentlemen. Don Guzman’s honour
is satisfied !â€
“But not my revenge, Sefior,†says the Spaniard,
with a frown. “This duel is & Poutrance, on my part ;
and, 1 believe, on Mr. Cary’s also.â€
“Tt is enough, gentlemen.â€â€”Chap. xii. p. 412.
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 413
“By heaven it is!†says Will, trying to push past.
“Let me go, Arthur St. Leger, ; one of us must down.
Let me go, I say !â€
“Tf you stir, Mr. Cary, you have to do with
Richard Grenvile!†thunders the lion voice. I am
angry enough with you for having brought on this duel
atall. Don’t provoke me stillfurther, young hot-head!â€
Cary stops sulkily.
“You do not ae el Sir Richard, or you would
not speak in this way.â€
“T do, sir, all: and I shall have the honour of
talking it over with Don Guzman myself.â€
“Hey?†said the Spaniard. “You came here as
my second, Sir Richard, as I understood: but not as
my counsellor.â€
“ Arthur, take your man away! Cary! obey me
as you would your father, sir! Can you not trust
Richard Grenvile ?â€
“Come away, for God’s sake!†says poor Arthur,
dragging Cary’s sword from him; “Sir Richard must
know best !â€
So Cary is led off sulking, and Sir Richard turns
to the Spaniard,
“ And now, Don Guzman, allow me, though much
against my will, to speak to you as a friend to a friend.
You will pardon me if I say that I cannot but have
seen last night’s devotion to——â€
“You will be pleased, Seftor, not to mention the
name of any lady to whom I may have shown devotion.
IT am not accustomed to have my little affairs talked
over by any unbidden counsellors.â€
414 WOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE
“Well, Sefior, if you take offence, you take that
which is not given. ,Only I warn you, with all
apologies for any seeming forwardness, that the quest
on which you seem to be, is one on which you will
not be allowed to proceed.â€
“And who will stop me?†asked the Spaniard,
with a fierce oath.
“You are not aware, illustrious Sefior,†said Sir
Richard, parrying the question, “that our English
laity look upon mixed marriages with full as much
dislike as your own ecclesiastics.â€
“Marriage, sir? Who gave you leave to mention
that word to me?â€
Sir Richard’s brow darkened ; the Spaniard, in his
insane pride, had forced upon the good knight a sus-
picion which was not really just.
“Ts it possible, then, Sefior Don Guzman, that I
am to have the shame of mentioning a baser word ?â€
“Mention what you will, sir. All words are the
same to me; for, just or unjust, I shall answer them
alike only by my sword.â€
“You will do no such thing, sir. You forget that
T am your host.â€
“And do you suppose that you have therefore a
right to insult me? Stand on your guard, sir!â€
Grenvile answered by slapping his own rapier
home into the sheath with a quiet smile.
“Sefior Don Guzman must be well enough aware
of who Richard Grenvile is, to know that he may
claim the right of refusing duel to any man, if he
shall so think fit.â€
?
DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE. 415
“Sir!†cried the Spaniard with an oath, “this is
too much! Do you dare to hint that I am unworthy
of your sword? Know, insolent Englishman, I am
not merely a De Soto,—though that, by St. James,
were enough for you or anyman. I ama Sotomayor,
a Mendoza, a Bovadilla, a Losada, a sir! I have
blood royal in my veins, and you dare to refuse my
challenge ?â€
“Richard Grenvile can show quarterings, probably,
against even Don Guzman MariaMagdalena Sotomayor
de Soto, or against (with no offence to the unquestioned
nobility of your pedigree) the bluest blood of Spain.
But he can show, moreover, thank God, a reputation
which raises him as much above the imputation of
cowardice, as it does above that of discourtesy. If
you think fit, Sefior, to forget what you have just, in
very excusable anger, vented, and to return with me,
you will find me still, as ever, your most faithful ser-
vant and host. If otherwise, you have only to name
whither you wish your mails to be sent, and I shall,
with unfeigned sorrow, obey your commands con-
cerning them.â€
The Spaniard bowed stiffly, answered, “To the
nearest tavern, Sefior,†and then strode away. His
baggage was sent thither. He took a boat down to
Appledore that very afternoon, and vanished, none
knew whither. A very courteous note to Lady Gren-
vile, enclosing the jewel which he had been used to
wear round his neck, was the only memorial he left
behind him: except, indeed, the scar on Cary’s arm,
and poor Rose’s broken heart.
416 HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE.
Now county towns are scandalous places at best ;
and though all parties tried to. keep the duel secret,
yet, of course, before noon all Bideford knew what
had happened, and a great deal more; and what was
even worse, Rose, in an agony of terror, had seen Sir
Richard Grenvile enter her father’s private room,
and sit there closeted with him for an hour and more ;
and when he went, upstairs came old Salterne, with
his stick in his hand, and after rating her soundly for
far worse than a flirt, gave her (I am sorry to have to
say it, but such was the mild fashion of paternal rule
in those times, even over such daughters as Lady
Jane Grey, if Roger Ascham is to be believed) such a
beating that her poor sides were black and blue for
many a day ; and then putting her ona pillion behind
him, carried her off twenty miles to her old prison at
Stow Mill, commanding her aunt to tame down her
saucy blood with bread of affliction and water of afflic-
tion. Which commands were willingly enough fulfilled
by the old dame, who had always borne a grudge
against Rose for being rich while she was poor, and
pretty while her daughter was plain ; so that between
flouts, and sneers, and watchings, and pretty open
hints that she was a disgrace to her family, and no
better than she should be, the poor innocent child
watered her couch with her tears for a fortnight or
more, stretching out her hands to the wide Atlantic,
and calling wildly to Don Guzman to return and take
her where he would, and she would live for him and
die for him ; and perhaps she did not call in vain.
HOW THE GOLDEN HIND CAME HOME AGAIN.
‘‘ The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave ;
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave.â€
CaMPBELt.
“So you see, my dear Mrs. Hawkins, having the
silver, as your own eyes show you, beside the ores of
lead, manganese, and copper, and above all this gossan
(as the Cornish call it), which I suspect to be not
merely the matrix of the ore, but also the very crude
form and materia prima of all metals—you mark me ?
—If my recipes, which I had from Doctor Dee, succeed
only half so well as I expect, then I refine out the
Luna, the silver, lay it by, and transmute the remain-
ing ores into Sol, gold. Whereupon Peru and Mexico
become superfluities, and England the mistress of the
globe. Strange, no doubt; distant, no doubt: but
possible, my dear madam, possible !â€
“And what good to you if it be, Mr. Gilbert? If
you could find a philosopher’s stone to turn sinners
into saints, now :—but nought save God’s grace can
do that: and that last seems ofttimes over long in
coming.†And Mrs. Hawkins sighed.
VOL. 1. 25 Ww. H.
418 HOW THE GOLDEN HIND
“But indeed, my dear madam, conceive now.—
The Comb Martin mine thus becomes a gold mine,
perhaps inexhaustible ; yields me wherewithal to carry
out my north-west patent; meanwhile my brother
Humphrey holds Newfoundland, and builds me fresh
ships year by year (for the forests of pine are bound-
less) for my China voyage.â€
“Sir Humphrey has better thoughts in his dear
heart than gold, Mr. Adrian ; a very close and gracious
walker he has been this seven year. I wish my Cap-
tain John were so too.â€
“And how do you know I have nought better in
my mind’s eye than gold? Or, indeed, what better
could Ihave? Is not gold the Spaniard’s strength—
the very mainspring of Antichrist? By gold only,
therefore, can we out-wrestle him. You shake your
head: but say, dear Madam (for gold England must
have), which is better, to make gold bloodlessly at
home, or take it bloodily abroad 2â€
“Oh, Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Gilbert! is it not written,
that those who make haste to be rich, pierce them-
selves through with many sorrows? Oh, Mr. Gilbert!
God’s blessing is not on it all.â€
“Not on you, madam? Be sure that brave Captain
John Hawkins’s star told me a different tale, when I
cast his nativity for him.—Born under stormy planets,
truly : but under right royal and fortunate ones,â€
“Ah, Mr. Adrian! I am a simple body, and you a
great philosopher: but I hold there is no star for the
seaman like the star of Bethlehem; and that goes
with ‘peace on earth and good will to men,’ and not
CAME HOME AGAIN. ~ 419
with such arms as that, Mr. Adrian. I can’t abide
to look upon them.â€
And she pointed wp to one of the bosses of the
ribbed oak-roof, on which was emblazoned the fatal
crest which Clarencieux Hervey had granted years
before to her husband, the “Demi-Moor proper,
bound.â€
“Ah, Mr. Gilbert! since first he went to Guinea
after those poor negroes, little lightness has my heart
known ; and the very day that that crest was put up
in our grand new house, as the parson read the first
lesson, there was this text in it, Mr. Gilbert, ‘Woe to
him that buildeth his house by iniquity, and his
chambers by wrong. Shalt thou live because thou
closest thyself in cedar?’ And it went into my ears
like fire, Mr. Gilbert, and into my heart like lead:
and when the parson went on, ‘ Did not thy father eat
and drink, and do judgment and justice? Then it
was well with him,’ I thought of good old Captain
Will; and—I tell you, Mr. Gilbert, those negroes are
on my soul from morning until night! We are all
mighty grand now, and money comes in fast: but the
Lord will require the blood of them at our hands yet,
He will !â€
“My dearest madam, who can prosper more than
you? If your husband copied the Dons too closely
once or twice in the matter of those negroes (which I
do not deny), was he not punished at once when he
lost ships, men, all but life, at St. Juan d’Ulloa ?â€
“Ay, yes,†she said; “and that did give me a bit
of comfort, especially when the Queen, God save her
L 282
420 HOW THE GOLDEN HIND
tender heart! was so sharp with him for pity of the
poor wretches: but it has not mended him. He is
growing fast like the rest now, Mr. Gilbert, greedy to
win, and niggardly to spend (God forgive him!) and
always fretting and plotting for some new gain, and
envying and grudging at Drake, and all who are
deeper in the snare of prosperity than he is. Gold,
gold, nothing but gold in every mouth—there it is!
Ah! I mind when Plymouth was a quiet little God-
fearing place as God could smile upon: but ever since
my John, and Sir Francis, and poor Mr. Oxenham
found out the way to the Indies, it’s been a sad place.
Not a sailor’s wife, but is crying ‘Give, give,’ like the
daughters of the horse-leech ; and every woman must
drive her husband out across seas to bring her home
money to squander on hoods and farthingales, and go
mincing with outstretched necks, and wanton eyes;
and they will soon learn to do worse than that, for
the sake of gain. But the Lord’s hand will be against
their tires and crisping-pins, their mufflers and far-
thingales, as it was against the Jews of old. Ah, dear
me!â€
The two interlocutors in this dialogue were sitting
in a low oak-panelled room in Plymouth town, hand-
somely enough furnished, adorned with carving and
gilding and coats of arms, and noteworthy for many
strange knicknacks, Spanish gold and silver vessels on
the sideboard ; strange birds and skins, and charts and
rough drawings of coast which hung about the room ;
while over the fireplace, above the portrait of old
Captain Will Hawkins, pet of Henry the Eighth, hung
CAME HOME AGAIN. 421
the Spanish ensign which Captain John had taken in
fair fight at Rio de la Hacha fifteen years before,
when, with two hundred men, he seized the town in
despite of ten hundred Spanish soldiers, and watered
his ship triumphantly at the enemy’s wells.
The gentleman was a tall fair man, with a broad
and lofty forehead, wrinkled with study, and eyes
weakened by long poring over the crucible and the
furnace.
The lady had once been comely enough: but she
was aged and worn, as sailors’ wives are apt to be, by
many sorrows. Many a sad day had she had already ;
for although John Hawkins, port-admiral of Plymouth,
and Patriarch of British shipbuilders, was a faithful
husband enough, and as ready to forgive as he was to
quarrel, yet he was obstinate and ruthless, and in
spite of his religiosity (for all men were religious then)
was by no means a “consistent walker.â€
And sadder days were in store for her, poor soul.
Nine years hence she would be asked to name her
son’s brave new ship, and would christen it The
Repentance, giving no reason, in her quiet steadfast
way (so says her son Sir Richard) but that “ Repent-
ance was the best ship in which we could sail to the
harbour of heaven ;†and she would hear that Queen
Elizabeth, complaining of the name for an unlucky
one, had re-christened her The Dainty, not without
some by-quip, perhaps, at the character of her most
dainty captain, Richard Hawkins, the complete seaman
and Euphuist afloat, of whom, perhaps, more hereaft
