PICTURES 
 
 THE OLDEN TIME, 
 
 AS SHOWN IN THE FORTUNES OF A 
 
 FAMILY OF THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 EDMUND H. SEAES. 
 /J^^^^^^K 
 
 TTinTEJRSITY 
 
 " "We may behold -with ancestral eyes not only the various actions of ages past, 
 and the odd accidents that attend time, but also discern the different humors of 
 men, and feel the pulse of former tunes." HOWELL. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 CROSBY, NICHOLS, AND COMPANY. 
 
 CINCINNATI: GEORGE s. BLANCHARD. 
 
 LONDON : SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND CO. 
 
 1857. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
 
 CROSBY, NICHOLS, & CO., 
 in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 , "-/^ 
 
 CAM BRIDGE: 
 
 ELECTROTTPED AND PRINTED BY METCALP AND COMPANY. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE EXILE . 
 THE ADVENTURER 
 THE PILGKIM 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 135 
 
 267 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 IT would be difficult to say to what class of liter 
 ature the following work properly belongs. It is 
 neither romance nor pure history. Nor can the 
 tales be said to be " founded on fact," since fact 
 is not only the basis, but the framework and sub 
 stance, of the whole. 
 
 Some time since, the writer became possessed 
 with the very common propensity for antiquarian 
 and genealogical researches, and rather unexpected 
 ly gathered a mass of materials tending to illustrate 
 family history and genealogy through a period of 
 three hundred years. It was deemed by others 
 of some importance that these materials should be 
 arranged and preserved in a permanent form. But 
 a book of mere genealogies seemed to rne the most 
 unedifying of all performances. The question soon 
 occurred, Why not put flesh upon these bones? 
 Why not make these skeletons live ? These names, 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 in a genealogical table, would stand for nobody; 
 and yet the men who bore them acted and suffered 
 through the most interesting periods of history, and 
 there are abundant facts to show what sort of 
 connection they had with their contemporaries. I 
 have attempted, therefore, to connect the current of 
 family with that of public history, and to show how 
 events affected not only public men, but the homes 
 and firesides of the people ; and I have used the 
 links of a genealogy simply as a continuous chain 
 on which to hang pictures of the times through 
 which it extends. Thus I have attempted to show 
 the course of human life as it went on its perilous 
 way behind the scenes of courts, parliaments, and 
 battles, and to bring our ancestors before us, not 
 in their shrouds and coffins, but as they lived and 
 talked with their neighbors and servants, then- 
 wives and children. In order to do this more 
 effectually, I have in the first two of the following 
 sketches allowed myself a small margin of fancy, 
 in which family and public history might be woven 
 into each other so as to present a consistent and 
 perfect whole. But I have always done this in 
 strict subserviency to historical truth, and the facts, 
 I believe, are always presented in better perspec 
 tive, and more, therefore, according to the verity of 
 things, by reason of the threads of fancy by which 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 they are woven together. In Part Third, I found I 
 did not need any aid from imagination, and I have 
 therefore followed the course of simple and straight 
 forward narrative, giving a view of domestic life in 
 the Old Colony in the days of the Pilgrims. 
 
 In all the trials and sacrifices of our ancestors one 
 thing appears prominent, the beauty and glory 
 of suffering, when endured for conscience sake. 
 This is not less conspicuous because the sufferers 
 differed in faith, some being Catholic and some 
 Protestant ; for in both cases alike, obedience to 
 the supreme law gave a heavenly lustre to their 
 example and a sweet fragrance to their memories. 
 
 Whoever will attempt the study of history ac 
 cording to the method indicated in this work, tak 
 ing some family tree, it matters not much whose 
 it is, and making its branches yield the fruits 
 and lessons of past experience, will find that the 
 study has a fresh and absorbing interest, and that 
 the track over which it leads him will be covered 
 with a light in which minute objects appear with a 
 most attractive brightness. 
 
 In the collection of facts, I have been aided by 
 the researches of several individuals whose names 
 it may not be proper to mention here ; but literary 
 honesty seems to require a distinct acknowledg 
 ment of the kindness of the Hon. David Sears of 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Boston, to whom I have been indebted for many 
 exceedingly curious and interesting documents. 
 
 Part Second, or the sketch entitled " The Adven 
 turer," narrates events and transactions in the Neth 
 erlands, with which the reading public have lately 
 become familiar through Prescott s Philip II. and 
 Motley s Dutch Republic. It lay in my way to 
 show the bearing of those wonderful events on 
 family fortunes, but I had finished that part before 
 either of the above-named admirable histories was 
 published. 
 
 The writer of these sketches had no intention, 
 when he commenced them, of producing them 
 for any other purpose than private reading. In 
 intervals of more severe mental labor they were 
 studies in history after a new method, that of 
 incarnating and galvanizing old skeletons. The 
 skeletons, however, leaped up with so much life, 
 that a part of them have been dismissed to a 
 more unrestricted circulation. 
 
PART I. 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day 
 That called them from their native walks away, 
 "When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 
 Hung round the bowers and fondly looked their last, 
 And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
 For seats like these beyond the rolling main, 
 And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
 Keturned and wept, and still returned to weep." 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MARTYRDOM. 
 
 THE Tower is one of the first objects which the 
 eye searches after, as the traveller approaches the 
 city of London. A huge, square edifice, with tur 
 rets at each corner, rises above a pile of lower build 
 ings and smaller towers that surround it. Around 
 the whole pile there is a moat, and a fortified 
 wall, at whose base on the southern side flows the 
 Thames, near enough, with a westering sun, to 
 reflect the turrets in its gentle waves. Outside of 
 the fortified wall, and not a great way from its 
 northwestern angle, the ground swells into a small 
 eminence, which bears the name of Tower Hill, the 
 last tragic scene of many a drama in the history of 
 England. 
 
 As soon as the eye rests on that immense pile of 
 buildings, once the royal residence and the state- 
 prison, the imagination goes back through the long 
 sweep of centuries, and represents to itself the woes 
 that have found utterance within those gloomy re 
 cesses without falling upon a human ear. What 
 griefs, what unavailing sighs, have those walls shut 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 in, and what a history would they give of hopes 
 and agonies, could all the sounds be re-echoed that 
 have fallen upon the impassive stone ! 
 
 There are two principal entrances, one at the 
 water s edge, on the southern side, called " Traitor s 
 Gate," through whose frowning archway many a 
 person of gentle blood has read his doom before 
 hand, as the jaws of the great structure closed upon 
 him and swallowed him from the hopeful day. 
 There is another on the west, called " Entrance 
 Gate," which opens in sight of Tower Hill. Around 
 this latter gate a crowd might be seen gathering 
 early on the 22d of June, 1535. The sun rose that 
 morning in clouds and dark vapors, a thing not by 
 any means strange in the city of London ; but it 
 had its influence on the imaginations of men, who 
 thought the sun had now his own reasons for hid 
 ing his face. As the hours advanced, the crowd 
 came pouring in thickening streams over London 
 Bridge, and down the streets and lanes of the city, 
 emptying themselves mainly into Tower Street and 
 Thames Street, which lead to an open view of 
 Tower Hill, until the two latter streets were choked 
 entirely full. 
 
 The hour of nine had come, and all eyes were 
 bent towards Entrance Gate. Still it opened not. 
 There stood the platform on Tower Hill, covered 
 with black, but the victim did not appear. The 
 man most concerned in all this solemn preparation 
 was fast asleep within, and the officials were wait 
 ing for him to wake up. The Lieutenant of the 
 Tower, who by the way was Sir William Kingston, 
 
THE MARTYRDOM. D 
 
 a man of humane feelings, had waited upon his 
 prisoner early in the morning, and warned him to 
 prepare for execution. He asked permission to 
 sleep awhile first; and now the hour had come, 
 and the crowd were waiting breathless, and the 
 prisoner w^as in placid repose. It seemed hard to 
 Kingston to wake him from such peaceful sleep, 
 but he stepped in and touched him, and brought him 
 to a consciousness of the waiting scene. He arose 
 and dressed himself for the last time. There was 
 a belief in those days, that, when in doubt or trou 
 ble, one might open the Bible at venture and alight 
 on the spot suited to his condition. If he was for 
 saken of God, some awful passage would come up 
 to his eye and tell him of his doom. If not, some 
 words of sweet promise would present themselves 
 on the blessed page. The " sortition by the Book," 
 as they called it, was a fearful rite to them, for their 
 hopes and fears trembled upon it. The prisoner, 
 now weak with long confinement and privation, 
 leaned against the wall with his Bible in his hand, 
 raised an imploring look to heaven, and opened. 
 These words came up to his eye : " This is life 
 eternal, that they might know thee, the only true 
 God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent. I 
 have glorified thee upon the earth ; I have finished 
 the work which thou gavest me to do." He shut 
 the book, saying, " Here is learning enough for me," 
 and gave himself into the officers hands. While 
 this was going on in what was called the " Bell 
 Tower," a low circular building that could be seen 
 peering above the wall, the crowd had continued to 
 
D THE EXILE. 
 
 gather till it choked nearly every avenue leading to 
 Tower Hill. 
 
 Entrance Gate at length opened on its slow 
 hinges, and gave the prisoner to the eyes of the 
 multitude. He is an old man of nearly eighty 
 years, so bent down with infirmity and hardship 
 that he has to be borne in a chair between two con 
 stables, his head meekly drooping, and his scanty 
 white locks streaming down his shoulders. It re 
 quired a good deal in those days to touch the heart 
 of a London mob, but now a shade of softness ran 
 over that sea of faces ; and instead of the tumult 
 and the coarse jeering that usually attended on 
 public executions, there was an unbroken and fune 
 real silence. The ghastly procession of halberds 
 and pole-axes moved on to Tower Hill, pausing at 
 the foot of the platform. The old man seemed to 
 have new strength, as he looked nearer into the face 
 of death ; for he now stood erect, refused the aid of 
 the constables, and walked with a firm step up the 
 stairs. Just at that moment the sun broke from 
 the clouds in clearest splendor, and, shining athwart 
 his face and over his silvery hairs, made him seem 
 to the multitude as if already transfigured with the 
 resurrection glories. The omen arrested his atten 
 tion too, for he lifted his hands, with kindling fea 
 tures, and said to himself, " Turn to Him and 
 be enlightened, and your faces shall not be con 
 founded." 
 
 It was soon over, and the multitude broke into 
 squads and slowly melted away. But let us classi 
 fy them a little as they retire, and we shall read in 
 
THE MARTYRDOM. 7 
 
 their faces the events of coming history. Doubtless 
 the dregs of London had emptied themselves into 
 the streets, as they always do on like occasions, 
 with the same feelings that swayed a Roman pop 
 ulace when they entered the amphitheatre. But 
 the man who had now suffered was a shining mark 
 of tyranny. He was the most learned prelate in 
 England, the most distinguished among the bench 
 of bishops in the House of Peers, the most hon 
 ored friend of the cause of learning, and withal 
 the ablest defender of the Catholic Church. He 
 had done more than all others to shut out from 
 England the tide of Lutheranism that was sweep 
 ing over the Continent. The reply to Luther put 
 forth by Henry the Eighth, which obtained for 
 the King the title of " Defender of the Faith," 
 was supposed to be written, not by Henry, but by 
 the man he had now sent to the block. Though 
 not free from the intolerant principles and prac 
 tices of his Church, he was a man of benevolence 
 and piety, of gentle manners, joined to an un 
 bending moral uprightness. The King had broken 
 with the Pope because the latter would not grant 
 his divorce from Queen Katharine, and he assumed 
 to be the Supreme Head of the Church of England. 
 It was for denying that supremacy that Bishop 
 Fisher had now suffered on Tower Hill. In that re 
 tiring crowd were large numbers of Catholics who 
 denied in heart what the Bishop had denied both 
 with the heart and lips, and whose meditations on 
 the present aspect of things were mingled with a 
 bitter sense of bereavement in the loss of their ven- 
 
8 THE EXILE. 
 
 erated prelate. There were men too in that crowd 
 who had swerved from Popery, but who, in the 
 present hubbub and ferment of opinions, had not 
 come clearly into anything else, and who would 
 therefore swear allegiance to any new pope rather 
 than encounter the dangers of martyrdom. Prot 
 estantism had not yet come fairly into conscious 
 life among what would be called the upper ranks 
 in England. 
 
 But there was another class of men who mingled 
 in that crowd, whom a mere casual observer would 
 have considered the most insignificant of all, but 
 who proved far otherwise in the progress of events. 
 They were the men who wore fagots on their 
 sleeves. Here and there, sprinkled through that 
 crowd, were persons, found chiefly among the me 
 chanics and laborers who had come in from the 
 surrounding country or emerged from the lower 
 strata of London life, who wore badges which had 
 a significance that tyrants could not understand. 
 In the right sleeve, wrought in red colors, was the 
 image of a burning fagot, that those who wore it 
 might have the fear of temporal and eternal flames 
 ever before their eyes. These were the " Lollard s," 
 who had been once convicted and pardoned; and 
 they had this hideous symbol bound upon them, 
 that all observers might take note of them as living 
 fuel for the Smithfield fires whenever they should 
 relapse into heresy. They were thus marked out 
 to be despised and watched by all men, and then- 
 words were weighed in the nicest theological scales. 
 It may well be conceived that their words were 
 very few, while their thoughts were very many. 
 
THE MARTYRDOM. 9 
 
 The men who wore fagots were pretty well repre 
 sented at the scene of Fisher s execution; they 
 looked on without speaking, hard-handed and 
 hard-featured men who had a "lean and hungry 
 look," who did not always "sleep o nights," and 
 who kept up a thinking which fagots, whether of 
 red worsted or of blazing twigs, could not entirely 
 subdue. Fisher was the first martyr of note on the 
 Catholic side in what was called the English Ref 
 ormation, and hence the strange interest which had 
 drawn people of all classes and opinions to the 
 scene. The Lollards were considered the most 
 despicable element in the crowd ; and yet out of the 
 thinking going on silently within them, Puritanism, 
 clad in steel, was by and by to come forth and 
 upheave the throne of England. 
 
 But there was another element in that crowd 
 which we have more distinctly to trace. There 
 were men who were saved from Fisher s doom as 
 yet only because he was the most conspicuous mark 
 for the stroke of tyranny; who held his opinions, 
 and who came to see how a man supported by 
 them could die. They saw in the dim future, that 
 the hour was coming on when they must weigh a 
 good conscience against the dross of earth, and de 
 termine which was worth the more ; and it must 
 have been with a silent . thrill of admiration that 
 they saw their good prelate, faithful to his opinions, 
 turning the pall of the scaffold into a scene of vic 
 tory. But there was one man in the crowd who 
 had a strange personal interest in the transactions of 
 that morning, and whose history we have specially 
 in hand. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MEN OF KENT. 
 
 THE County of Kent is, and ever has been, one of 
 the best and most thriving districts of Old England. 
 Its northern border is washed by the Thames and 
 its estuaries ; its southern and southwestern by the 
 Straits of Dover, where it advances so boldly to 
 wards the Continent that " the men of Kent " can 
 look over into their neighbors country and see the 
 shore of sunny France lying like a soft blue cinc 
 ture on the distant waves. Two parallel ridges of 
 hills traverse the district from east to west, sepa 
 rated from each other by a breadth of about eight 
 miles. From the northern range the country slopes 
 towards the Thames and its estuaries; from the 
 southern range it slopes southward towards France, 
 and more than once has bristled defiance towards 
 its neighbor over the Channel. If you stand on 
 the summit of this southern range, which they call 
 "The Rag-stone," and look southward, your eye 
 commands a prospect of surpassing loveliness and 
 beauty. This southern slope was once an im 
 mense forest of oak. Of course the forest has 
 
THE MEN OF KENT. 
 
 11 
 
 been cleared away; but it is still a region of oak 
 groves interspersed with fields covered with all the 
 richness of art and nature. The houses, seats, vil 
 lages, gardens, and farms of smooth-shaven green, 
 appear among large and towering oaks, and they 
 gleam out from the foliage like gems of white 
 ness and verdure set irregularly in a framework of 
 fringing leaves. Kent is the only county in all 
 England whose lands are held, as the lawyers say, 
 "by the tenure of gavelkind" that is, where there 
 is no right of primogeniture unless specially estab 
 lished by law, and where the father s estate is di 
 vided in equal portions among his sons. Owing to 
 this, and to the native goodness of the soil, Kent is 
 one of the best farming districts in England ; its 
 estates are small in extent, but under the highest 
 cultivation, and " the men of Kent " have been 
 known as men not of artificial, but native nobility, 
 and of indomitable vigor and hardihood.* 
 
 * "Wordsworth s Sonnet, written in view of a threatened invasion 
 from France, may occur to the reader in this connection. 
 
 TO THE MEN OF KENT. 
 
 Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent, 
 
 Ye children of a soil that doth advance 
 
 Her haughty brow against the coast of France, 
 
 Now is the time to prove your hardiment ! 
 
 To France be words of invitation sent ! 
 
 They from their fields can sec the countenance 
 
 Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance, 
 
 And hear you shouting forth your brave intent. 
 
 Left single, in bold parley, ye of yore 
 
 Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath ; 
 
12 THE EXILE. 
 
 If you stand on the northern range, called " The 
 Chalk Ridge," and look towards the Thames, a 
 different prospect, but not less pleasing and finely 
 diversified, lies under your eye. Away on the ex 
 treme left you see the city of London, provided the 
 smoke and the fog do not fold it in a veil too thick 
 to be broken through. Down this northern slope 
 are lands of fertile loam, on which broad acres of 
 pease, beans, barley, and the finest wheat, are luxu 
 riantly waving. Through the middle of this slope 
 runs the river Medway, draining it by its tributary 
 rills, curving round to the right, and finally losing 
 itself in one of the estuaries of the Thames. Down 
 to the shore of the Thames are scattered villages 
 and farm-houses, surrounded with cherry and plum 
 orchards, and various other fruit-trees, to supply the 
 London market. 
 
 Near the mouth of the Medway, and on its right 
 bank, stands the ancient city of Rochester, and 
 stretching along the shore of the estuary, and form 
 ing a settlement continuous with Rochester, lies the 
 city of Chatham. In the former place are an old 
 cathedral, an ancient castle, now nearly in ruins, 
 both invested with rich historic associations, and 
 various schools, some of them founded ages ago, 
 and celebrated from the earliest times. 
 
 Adam Sayer was one of "the men of Kent" as 
 early as the year 1300 or soon after. He died pos- 
 
 Confirmed the charters that were yours before ; 
 No parleying now ! In Britain is one hreath ; 
 We all are with you now from shore to shore : 
 Ye men of Kent ! t is Victory or Death ! 
 
THE MEN OF KENT. 13 
 
 sessed of an estate in Chatham in the year 1346, and 
 his descendents in collateral branches spread over 
 the district in various directions, and sometimes be 
 yond its limits. One of them became the warden 
 of Rochester castle. One crossed over the Thames 
 into Essex, and he and his descendants became pro 
 prietors of large estates in Colchester and its neigh 
 boring towns. It must have been about the year 
 1520 that the boy Richard Sayer came over from 
 Colchester, drawn towards his kinsfolk in Kent for 
 the benefit of the Rochester schools. Then more 
 than now the benefits of learning accumulated in 
 favored places. The see of Rochester was the charge 
 of the learned and venerable prelate whose life we 
 have just seen brought to its tragic close on Tower 
 Hill. He was promoted to this bishopric in the year 
 1504, and now for sixteen years he had been the 
 liberal patron of learning in this spot to which his 
 affections had drawn him. Various other honors had 
 been heaped upon him ; he had been appointed 
 Professor of Divinity at Cambridge and Chancellor 
 of the University, but here in the pastoral walks of 
 his diocese he passed his most pleasurable hours. 
 They offered him afterwards a more valuable bish 
 opric, but he declined it. " My church," said he, " is 
 my wife, and I will never exchange her for one that 
 is richer " ; and so up to the time that the Traitor s 
 Gate closed upon him he continued to lavish his 
 affections on this quiet spot hid in the blooming 
 vales of the Kentish hills. 
 
 We know nothing very definite of the on-goings 
 of the boy Richard in the schools of Rochester. 
 
14 THE EXILE. 
 
 We judge from the family traits and pictures that 
 he was a sturdy-looking boy, with sandy locks, a 
 florid face, and a sanguine temperament, and we 
 should not wonder if the Rochester schoolmasters 
 had to keep an open eye upon him. We are pretty 
 certain in saying that he rambled on the banks of the 
 Medway and forded its waters, that he climbed the 
 Chalk Ridge and took in unfading impressions of 
 the scenery beneath, that he sometimes trampled the 
 wheat-fields and roused the maledictions of the 
 Kentish farmers. What religious impressions he 
 got in the old cathedral, events perhaps will show. 
 He was among the boys who followed the good 
 Bishop and " plucked his gown " in order to " share 
 his smile." The face of the benevolent prelate got 
 brightly imaged upon his memory. We are not 
 surprised at this. We are looking into that face 
 now as Holbein has copied it, and, spite of the 
 slanders of Burnet, we must pronounce it an honest 
 face and a kindly one, and, though slightly austere, 
 yet one which little children might be glad to look 
 into and copy into their hearts. 
 
 Richard Sayer returned home to his father s house 
 in Colchester, where he grew up, the elder of two 
 brothers, the legal heir to a large estate, of which, 
 in the ordinary course of events, he would come in 
 possession at his father s death. We pass over the 
 intervening years, till we find him in the throng 
 that gathered in sight of Tower Hill on the morn 
 ing of June 22d, 1535. What brought him up to 
 London ? Something more than the tender recol 
 lections of childhood, and the benignant and treas- 
 
THE MEN OF KENT. 15 
 
 ured image of the Bishop of Rochester, though 
 doubtless these abode with him now that fifteen 
 years had passed away. He is now twenty-five 
 years old, and the most eventful period of Eng 
 land s history is opening its fearful drama. Great 
 calamities are said to fling their shadows on before 
 them, and this man felt the gloom of corning 
 events growing deeper and deeper upon his spirit. 
 He thought by coming up to London he should 
 find out something more sure and reliable touching 
 the prognostics of the coming storm. He was 
 strongly attached to the old religion, into which he 
 had been baptized and confirmed. To understand 
 his position, let it be observed that in the month of 
 March, 1534, the English Parliament, as the tools 
 of Henry, authorized a new oath of allegiance, de 
 claring the King s first marriage null and void, Mary, 
 the issue of it, to be excluded from the succession, 
 and the children of Ann Boleyn the legal heirs 
 of the throne. The same servile Parliament had 
 declared the King the Supreme Head of the Church, 
 and made the denial of that supremacy high trea 
 son. The new oath of spiritual allegiance was en 
 joined on ah 1 English subjects. Hence the peril to 
 true Catholics. Perjury lay on one hand, and the 
 scaffold or Tyburn on the other. And Richard 
 Sayer was brought to the metropolis in the vague 
 expectation that some way of relief would be 
 opened to him; and hence he is drawn into that 
 vortex of life that is whirling through the streets 
 of London. 
 
 It may well be conceived, that what he has just 
 
16 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 witnessed does not soothe his apprehensions. The 
 multitude have broken up into little knots, and, as 
 they melt away one by one, the name of " the her 
 etic Nan," with many a vile and degrading epithet, 
 is found half suppressed on the lips of the popu 
 lace ; for to the pretty face and the corrupting arts of 
 the new Queen they ascribed the present troubles 
 and the lowering storm. The "new Herodias" 
 was another of the flattering titles which were ban 
 died about in undertones. Somebody had com 
 mended her graceful dancing at Whitehall. " I 
 tell you," replied another, " that in her dances her feet 
 will spurn off* our heads like footballs." But the 
 crowd have all melted away, and night, more still 
 and awful than ever, has come down and hushed 
 the street murmurs and noises, and there is little 
 that is audible but the ripples of the Thames. The 
 King and the new Queen have finished their last 
 game at tables, and sleep in the palace at Green 
 wich, and Fisher sleeps in eternal peace, though 
 tumbled without shroud or coffin into his cold and 
 bloody grave. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 LEGAL ADVICE. 
 
 IN the times of which we write, London and 
 Westminster could hardly be called a single city. 
 Westminster was originally a town lying farther 
 up the Thames and three miles west of the city. 
 Between the two lay " The Strand," a low,, marshy 
 ground, through which three sluggish streams wound 
 their sedgy \vay into the Thames. But the city 
 and the town gradually spread out to meet each 
 other, and now the Strand was partly filled up. 
 It had already become a continuous street, a great 
 thoroughfare between the city and the West End. 
 rOn the south side of it splendid edifices had arisen, 
 in the rear of which were parks and gardens, terraced 
 down to the water s edge ; and on the north side 
 were shops, churches, and residences. Among other 
 buildings is " St. Clement s Inn," the resort of law 
 yers and clients, to be immortalized by Shake 
 speare as the home of Master Shallow in his tem 
 plar days. The entrance to it is through a noble 
 archway with lofty columns, and in the rear of it 
 is not the bowling-alley, where the hangers-on 
 
18 THE EXILE. 
 
 of modern inns go to kill off the lazy hours, but 
 the bear-garden; the place whose hideous spectacles 
 were among the amusements in the times of Henry, 
 and which served both to minister to popular taste 
 and infuse into it a spirit of brutality and cruelty. 
 Justice Shallow had not yet taken up his abode at 
 St. Clement s Inn, but a man was there a good deal 
 more shrewd and subtle than he. He was well 
 known to the Colchester Sayers, for he had been 
 their agent in drawing up wills and title-deeds and 
 managing suits in chancery, and whatever legal 
 instrument he made out was pretty sure to be free 
 from flaws. He was a high-toned Papist, had 
 threaded all the sinuosities both of the canon and 
 the civil law, had large property at stake, and was 
 therefore averse to change, and we presume would 
 have rejoiced in his secret heart to have had the 
 last shred of Lutheranism turned into a blaze in 
 Smithfield Square. He was the very man for Rich 
 ard to consult in the troubles that weighed upon 
 him, especially as he supposed him to stand in the 
 same slippery place as himself. After the scene of 
 the 22d, as soon as he could sufficiently recover his 
 spirits, his resort was to St. Clement s Inn. He was 
 yet a young man, and in the simplicity of his heart 
 expected to find Lawyer Leach somewhat troubled 
 at least in respect to his temporal interests. 
 
 He was mightily mistaken. Lawyer Leach was 
 in as comfortable a frame of mind as could well be 
 imagined. It was very evident he had not been 
 broken of his rest. His face was round, rubicund, 
 and beaming ; though the top of his head was bald, 
 
LEGAL ADVICE. 19 
 
 and shone like polished ivory, and withal was rather 
 flat, his hair laterally lay back sleek and smooth, 
 his person was full arid rotund, and evidently had no 
 idea of renouncing those two creature comforts of 
 
 O 
 
 all true Englishmen, roast beef and London beer. 
 Though rather portly, he had such a look of refresh 
 ing coolness that it would be a privilege to contem 
 plate him in a hot summer s day. It was doubly 
 refreshing now to Richard, for it inspired him with 
 confidence, and he had not a doubt that Lawyer 
 Leach had the secret of safety. A nature so 
 smooth, elastic, and oily could certainly glide be 
 tween two impinging religions without being ground 
 to powder between them. He laid before him his 
 whole case. 
 
 Lawyer Leach looked towards the ceiling and 
 squinted with his left eye, his usual expression 
 whenever with his other eye he was taking exact 
 aim at some legal nebulosity, which under his keen 
 gray twinkle was sure to be resolved in less time 
 than were the nebulae of Orion by the new tele 
 scope. 
 
 " They can t make it treason," said he ; " treason 
 by the new statute is a denial of the King s su 
 premacy." 
 
 " And is not refusing to take the oath a denial of 
 the King s supremacy." 
 
 " No, sir, not in the sense of the statute. To 
 make out treason, they must prove some overt acf. 
 Holding your tongue is not treason, doing noth 
 ing is not treason, keeping still is not treason." 
 
 " But suppose I refuse to subscribe the oath, what 
 will they make of it ? " 
 
20 THE EXILE. 
 
 " That is only misprision of treason." 
 
 " And what is the punishment ? " 
 
 " Imprisonment and confiscation of goods." 
 
 " Then how could they send Fisher to the block ? " 
 
 " He did n t keep his tongue in his head. He 
 did n t understand men as well as he might. The 
 Pope sent him a cardinal s hat, and the King swore 
 he should n t have a head to put it on. They 
 baited him with flatteries, and set these purring and 
 velvet-pawed fellows about him, till they wormed 
 the treason out of him and caught it. Keep your 
 tongue still, especially when these soft-eyed mo users 
 are smelling about you." 
 
 " Then I am only in danger of imprisonment and 
 loss of goods. Do you see any way to escape that 
 danger ? " 
 
 " Certainly there is a way." 
 
 " And how is that ? " said the client, clutching 
 eagerly at his sinking hopes and bringing them up. 
 
 " Subscribe." 
 
 " What ! commit perjury to save my property ? 
 Incur the penalties of eternal damnation to escape 
 the penalties of the law ? " 
 
 A bland smile ruffled the florid smoothness of 
 the casuist s face, and his left eye squinted again. 
 " You do not distinguish between the res in animo 
 and the res acta. You may withhold your entire 
 inward consent to what you are compelled to do 
 under duress, and so the act has no validity what 
 ever in the court of conscience. Thus, though you 
 subscribe with the hand, you keep your whole in 
 ward mind and conscience from the deed. Thus it 
 
LEGAL ADVICE. 21 
 
 is the mere act of the outward man, not of the me-ns 
 casta penitus, which is preserved entire, and has 
 nothing to do with the outward transaction. This 
 distinction is vastly important, especially in these 
 times of sudden changes." 
 
 " I do not think I fully understand you," said the 
 client, who had not been initiated into the deeper 
 mysteries of Popery, and never read the works of 
 the Schoolmen. " If I subscribe that oath, it is flat 
 perjury, and I shall have its load to weigh down my 
 conscience as long as I live." 
 
 " Why, sir, don t you believe in the supremacy 
 of the Catholic Church ? " said the casuist, leading 
 off upon another track. 
 
 " Certainly, and therefore I can t subscribe the 
 oath." 
 
 " But what is meant by the supremacy of the 
 Catholic Church, but that she has the sovereign keep 
 ing of the consciences of men, and the sovereign 
 power in their salvation ? I would n t belong to a 
 church in whose bosom I could n t rest in perfect 
 peace, feeling she had the high prerogative of for 
 giveness, who could n t shrive me from my sins, 
 whether great or small. That is the advantage of 
 the Catholic Church over this upstart Lutheranism, 
 which has no power to save its children either from 
 temporal or eternal fire. Must I be roasted like a 
 Lollard, when my Church has the supreme power 
 to shrive and to save me ? I shall subscribe, not 
 doubting she will save me from damnation." 
 
 " Do you think, then, that the Pope s adherents 
 will generally subscribe ? " 
 
22 THE EXILE. 
 
 " Not the least doubt of it. They will come in 
 by thousands." 
 
 "But I will wait and see. I will keep my lips 
 sealed, and my life will be safe at any rate." 
 
 " Don t be too confident," said the lawyer, lower 
 ing his tone, and looking cautiously towards the 
 door; "that hound, Audley, is on the bench, and 
 he 11 do anything his master sets him on to do. 
 But wait and see how things will turn. More s 
 trial will be on the 1st of July, and men are wait 
 ing the issue of that. There may be some hope in 
 a jury, and if anybody can inspire them with cour 
 age it is More. His defence will be gallant and 
 splendid ; the crown lawyers are afraid of him, and 
 people are holding their breath till the trial comes. 
 The sum is, you haf e just four chances of safety," 
 and Lawyer Leach touched each of his four left 
 fingers as he counted them off. " First, you may 
 not be called upon to subscribe ; mayhap it will 
 only be the upper rank in church and state, in which 
 case you save your head by ducking it down among 
 the people. Or, secondly, you may be called upon, 
 and you can subscribe. That, let me tell you, is 
 what most people will do. Or, thirdly r , you can 
 leave the country till the storm blows over. Your 
 estate is safe. Your father is yet living, and you 
 may be assured that he will subscribe, and so the 
 estate will not be confiscated while in his hands. 
 Perhaps you may return and inherit it under a 
 Catholic succession. No one knows what the wheel 
 will turn up at last. Or, fourthly, there may be 
 some spirit among the people, and perhaps the 
 
LEGAL ADVICE. 23 
 
 juries will not all slump in. We shall see Monday. 
 If there is any stand possible against these meas 
 ures, we shall see it at More s trial. If all these 
 chances fail you, and you are at the mercy of the 
 crown lawyers, why you can die for abstractions 
 and quiddities like a Lollard, if you like." 
 
 It is something gained to a patient when his 
 physician has told him the exact nature of his dis 
 ease; and whether it be medicable or mortal, the 
 patient s pulse is sure to beat more calmly. It is 
 something gained when a possible calamity takes 
 shape and outline, and the portentous shadow can 
 be scanned and measured. So thought and felt the 
 client of Lawyer Leach. Still the trial at West 
 minster Hall on Monday was waited with an inter 
 est too agonizing to be long endurable. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PRODIGY. 
 
 FOR days and nights the anxious client had time 
 to digest the counsel of the Papist lawyer, and 
 weigh the argument in such metaphysical scales as 
 he was able to hold. He wanted to resolve on 
 some line of conduct in a possible, and every day a 
 more probable emergency, so that when the trial 
 hour should come he might act with manly decis 
 ion and coolness. His nature was of a robust and 
 sturdy make, and leaned strongly towards the prac 
 tical. And though he did not comprehend the Jes 
 uit lawyer s distinction between the res in animo 
 and the res gesta, nor understand how one could 
 take decided damage without the other, yet the 
 new application of the doctrine of church suprem 
 acy and prerogative appeared to him in an exceed 
 ingly interesting light. If he admitted the postu 
 late, which he must as a good Catholic, he could 
 not understand why the conclusion was not a 
 sound one. But in all earnest natures there is 
 something to be satisfied beside the intellect ; and 
 when the intellect is about leading astray with its 
 
THE PRODIGY. 25 
 
 chaffering logic, the moral nature will rise in its 
 noble supremacy, and brush clean away the bewil 
 dering web-work that would obscure its vision. 
 
 Richard had revolved these things till his brain 
 was fevered and throbbing, and he determined to 
 shake off for a while his distracting thoughts, and 
 drive away the grirn fancies of the future. Wait 
 and see. The issue of More s trial would inspire 
 men s minds with confidence or with terror, and 
 meanwhile let us hope in God. 
 
 There was enough in London to divert a stran 
 ger s mind from himself, if anything external could 
 do it. Just fancy Richard Sayer walking through 
 the Strand into Fleet Street, through the sights 
 and noises that must have met his eye and ear. 
 Not yet had stage-coaches come into use, and so 
 his ear was not dinned with the shaking thunder 
 and the roar of wheels. Not yet had the morn 
 ing papers been issued, and so all the advertising 
 was done by street-criers in the great thoroughfares, 
 and especially the Strand. Fishwives, orange-wom 
 en, mackerel-women, costard-mongers, broom-men, 
 chimney-sweeps, pie-men, and fruit-men screamed 
 and roared inharmonious into the ears of passers- 
 by; while booths in which silks, cloths, and cut 
 lery were exhibited, and behind which men were 
 bawling, " What lack ye ? " gave an agreeable va 
 riety to the din. Through such a scene as this 
 Richard walked along the Strand ; and the cherry- 
 women, who cried, " Cherries in the rise," that is, on 
 the twigs, and more especially, " Ripe cherries from 
 Kent," would perhaps touch a chord of strange and 
 
26 THE EXILE. 
 
 thronging memories, yea, not unlike those which 
 Old Herrick embodied afterwards in his luscious 
 lines : 
 
 " Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe ! I cry ; 
 Full and fair ones ; come and buy. 
 If so be you ask me where 
 They do grow, I answer, There 
 Where my Julia s lips do smile, 
 There s the land of cherry isle ; 
 Whose plantations fully show 
 All the year where cherries grow." 
 
 But not this, nor all the sights and sounds of Lon 
 don, have drawn him quite away from his sombre 
 meditations. He has passed out of the Strand, 
 with its jostle and hubbub ; he has crossed Temple 
 Bar into Fleet Street, where he is roused perforce 
 from his reflections by a stir quite unusual even in 
 this London hive. A crowd is rushing alo ng with 
 hurrying feet, and before he can look about him 
 they have involved him in the current, and swept 
 him against the sides of the buildings. They do 
 not stop to pick him up, but are still on the run, 
 pouring over Ludgate Hill and by St. Paul s, and 
 he sees by their wonder-stricken faces that they are 
 bent towards a common object. He has scarcely 
 gathered up his scattered limbs when another squad 
 comes hurrying on " to see the miracle." He falls 
 into the wake of the stream, indeed, he could not 
 very well get out of it, and he is glad of any 
 sight to relieve him of the agony of his reflections. 
 Down it sweeps, turning to the right through a 
 cross lane into Thames Street, to London Bridge, 
 pouring over it, till men and women and boys and 
 horses and carts are there jammed in together. 
 
THE PRODIGY. 27 
 
 The old London Bridge proper was at this time 
 the only one that spanned the Thames. It was not 
 only a bridge, but a street. A continuous row of 
 buildings stood on each side, upheld by the piers, 
 over which the houses sometimes projected, looking 
 as if about to reel and tumble into the water. The 
 street between these houses was sometimes quite 
 narrow, for it varied in breadth from ten to fifteen 
 feet. Great beams or cross-bars extended overhead 
 from one side of the street to the other, especially 
 where two houses opposite showed a decided incli- 
 natiof? to pitch contrariwise into the river, and 
 needed to be fastened together to help each other 
 keep their balance. On these cross-beams great, 
 ponderous signs were hanging and swinging, signs 
 of taverns, booksellers, tailors, grocers, barbers, and 
 haberdashers, each with its symbol painted red, 
 green, black, or yellow, three times as large as life 
 and a great many times more grim. There was the 
 sign of the Sugar-loaf, the sign of the Angel with 
 his wings and trumpet well battered, the sign of the 
 Lion, the sign of the Bear, the sign of the Bible, 
 the sign of the Blackboy, and the sign of the 
 Breeches; and whenever a gust of wind swept 
 over the bridge, sugar-loaves, angels, lions, bears, 
 bibles, blackboys, and breeches, swung and creaked 
 and growled and groaned in strange concert over 
 the din of street noises below. Such was the scene 
 into which Richard now found himself plunged, he 
 knew not for what purpose, except to be rolled 
 onward and see the miracle with the rest. If he 
 looked at his right, soon after coming upon the 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 bridge, he must have seen another sign, on which 
 was the name of Hans Holbein, the world-renowned 
 painter, for he lived there ; perhaps Mrs. Holbein s 
 great red Dutch face was at the window, wondering 
 at the excitement 011 the bridge, and perhaps the 
 face of the painter himself was looking out from 
 his studio in the breezy attic, and catching all the 
 strange hues of passion and manners as he saw 
 them in the rolling and turbid stream of London 
 life beneath. But Richard cannot stop for this, but 
 is borne on to see the new wonder, meeting on the 
 way the ebb-tide of those who had already seen it 
 and were retiring with big eyes. 
 
 A little past the middle of the bridge, towards 
 Southwark, rose " The Traitor s Tower," which 
 peered above the houses on either side, and com 
 manded a fine view of the river for some distance 
 up and down the stream. On the top of this tow 
 er, all round the balustrade, were stuck long poles 
 sharpened at the upper end, and on the sharp ends 
 of the poles were stuck the heads of traitors ! 
 This was one of the institutions of royalty de 
 signed to exert its salutary influence on the pop 
 ulace, and with the red fagot symbols, and the 
 real fagots themselves, regulate both the thinking 
 and the conduct of the masses. At this time the 
 poles stood pretty thick around the balustrades, 
 each with its horrible sight to exhibit. There were 
 rows of faces, turned up and down the river, black 
 ening and consuming in the hot sun ; skulls that 
 had nothing left but bone and socket ; visages 
 whose features were yet traceable, and which glared 
 
THE PRODIGY. 
 
 and grinned as the shrinking muscles col 
 away ; Carthusian monks staring and looking 
 cadaverous; and heads of greater note, that still 
 preserved some semblance of a human countenance. 
 In the midst of all this ghastly array was the head 
 of Fisher, the face turned towards the Kentish hills. 
 Many days had elapsed since it was placed there, 
 but it looked down more fresh and life-like than 
 ever. Yea, while all around it consumed and black 
 ened in the hot air, that saintly face put on every 
 day a more soft and beautiful bloom ; and the 
 cheeks that were wrinkled with age assumed a 
 more youthful freshness. Day after day a mid 
 summer sun had been scalding down upon it, only 
 to bring out its natural expressiveness and benig 
 nity. The breezes from the Thames touched his 
 white hairs with gentle fingers, and they still hung 
 undishevelled ; and the eye and countenance were 
 turned down on the gaping multitudes, as if giving 
 them still a patriarchal benediction. We will not 
 stop to subject the fact to a chemical analysis, 
 we give it as it impressed itself on the minds and 
 imaginations of the people that thronged to see it, 
 and to whom it was a sign from heaven ; as if the 
 very bodies of God s servants were immortal against 
 the touch of tyrants. Here the hurrying crowd had 
 brought up, and were choked in along the Traitor s 
 Tower, gazing up in silent wonder into that saintly 
 countenance When their curiosity and their love 
 of marvel were satisfied, they began slowly to re 
 cede, and a voice broke from the crowd which said, 
 " To-morrow it will speak ! " 
 
 3* 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 SUNDAY IN LONDON. 
 
 " HAIL, Sabbath ! day of mercy, peace, and rest ! " 
 coming down upon the earth like an angel of silence 
 to give a truce to all its conflicting interests and pas 
 sions, coming down upon great cities with thy 
 "Peace, be still!" when the noise stops in the 
 streets, and the demons in men s minds, though not 
 exorcised, are calmed and remain dumb to wait the 
 morrow s time. But a Sabbath-day in London in 
 1535 was not the Sabbath which comes three cen 
 turies later, that meek quiet may spread over it her 
 " wings invisible " ; and we shall acknowledge, in 
 the comparison, that society has not been going 
 backward. We will make out as well as we can 
 from the too brief diary of Richard, the last Sun 
 day in June which he passed in that tumultuous 
 city in these tumultuous times. 
 
 The Strand was not then, as now, entirely filled 
 up with buildings. Splendid mansions had arisen 
 there, along the margin of the Thames, but there 
 were wide openings, both towards the river on the 
 south side of the street, and towards the country 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON. 31 
 
 on the north. In one of these openings, towards 
 the Thames, there was a large clump of old trees, 
 on a site that commanded a most soothing pros 
 pect, with city, river, town, and country interblend- 
 ing. Hither our stranger in London had walked 
 over from St. Clement s Inn, ere yet the city was 
 astir. It was one of the clearest and sweetest 
 mornings of June, and even a London fog could 
 not hide the sun s face, for he looked through it. 
 On the opposite side of the river lay the village 
 of Lambeth, in which its episcopal palace rose 
 conspicuous, the residence now of Cranmer, and 
 the seat ever of ecclesiastical power. Beyond 
 Lambeth rose the hills of Surrey, clothed in then- 
 greenest summer glories, fading off in the distance 
 to where the fleecy clouds seemed to have slept all 
 night upon their summits, and were just beginning 
 to dress themselves in purple and soar away, 
 no bad image to represent the souls that rise out 
 of earth s dark night into the pure heavens above. 
 Close by, Father Thames was rolling his noiseless 
 flood, from whose face the mists were creeping off. 
 London Bridge, with its horrible Traitor s Tower, 
 could be distinctly seen, and nearer still a long line 
 of gold and silver sheen, which the sun was making 
 upon the waters, with sometimes the white swans 
 of the Thames gliding through it and tipping their 
 feathers with gold. Out of the city of London rose 
 a forest of church-steeples, and high over them all 
 the dome of St. Paul s, surmounted by its huge ball, 
 now burnished and dazzling like a mock-sun, and 
 the cross that cut its clear outline on the cerulean 
 
32 THE EXILE. 
 
 ground above. Such was the spectacle on which 
 Richard gazed on that Sabbath morning of the 30th 
 of June, where he sought the soothing influences 
 from nature which he could not find in human 
 society ; and we dp not wonder at the bitter words 
 which he records : " O, why should it be that man 
 is the only foul blot which God has made on the 
 face of his works ! " And we do not wonder that 
 an historian, after describing the principal events in 
 the reign of Henry the Eighth, raises the question 
 whether in those days the sun did really shine in 
 London and the skies look blue. 
 
 But the morning hours are passing, and the Sab 
 bath bells are ringing, and London is once more 
 emptying its pent-up life into the streets, which is 
 threading its way hither and thither. St. Clement s 
 Church and St. Mary s both stood close by in the 
 Strand, and little companies of worshippers were 
 bending their way into them. But the place of all 
 others to attract a stranger in London was St. 
 Paul s ; especially if he was intent on watching the 
 current of events, and the prognostics of coming 
 history, and to St. Paul s we must follow, for a 
 few moments, the hero of our story. 
 
 Let not the reader imagine, however, that we are 
 now to be introduced to a gorgeous service in St. 
 Paul s Cathedral, with the organ peals sending 
 through the arches their throbbings of melody and 
 the saints of bygone centuries looking down from 
 every niche of the sculptured marble. The service 
 is not in the church, but the churchyard. 
 
 On the north side of the cathedral there was a 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON. 33 
 
 large vacant space, which from earliest times had 
 been the burial spot of the city. It was finally en 
 closed, and towards the eastern extremity there was 
 raised a large wooden cross, and under the cross a 
 pulpit. A tree was standing near enough to fling 
 its shade over the pulpit, and protect it in part from 
 the sun s rays. This was the famous " St. Paul s 
 Cross," which had long been a stand from which to 
 make appeals to the popular mind, and in times of 
 excitement and change, London would empty itself 
 into the churchyard to hear the latest proclamation 
 of the ruling power and interest. It served the 
 same purpose that an administration organ does 
 at Washington now. There politics and religion 
 were both preached, and sometimes in a strange 
 jumble. There Popery had been preached up and 
 preached down, according as the tide ebbed or 
 flowed. Henry had seized upon this position, and 
 the obsequious priests and bishops here piped such 
 music as the Privy Council at Whitehall thought 
 best to have played in the people s ears. 
 
 The reader then will please represent to himself, 
 that on the clear Sunday morning of June 30th, 
 1535, St. Paul s Churchyard is crowded full, and 
 the event which has just taken place, and the events 
 which loom up in the gloomy future, have brought 
 them hither with ears wide open to hear. All classes 
 are there. The bishops, earls, and knights occupy 
 conspicuous places on the right and left of the 
 speaker; a lower stratum of humanity forms the 
 central mass ; the dregs of London populace float 
 around the circumference, trampling over the graves, 
 
34 THE EXILE. 
 
 or leaning against the walls of the churchyard. 
 Richard, quite as much interested as anybody in 
 the sort of music which is to be piped from Paul s 
 Cross, has wedged himself in between a fat man 
 and a tombstone, and is likely to hear the sermon 
 without going to sleep under it. 
 
 There is a low platform at the base of the pulpit, 
 raised two or three feet from the ground, and on 
 this are placed some curious specimens, which serve 
 the preacher with ample illustrations. They are 
 nothing else than three live Lollards, who have 
 been caught in Kent, and lodged several days and 
 nights in Lollard s Tower, a prison kept for such 
 purposes in the episcopal palace at Lambeth; and 
 hither they have been marched all the way this 
 morning, corning through Westminster and along 
 the Strand, each barefooted and bareheaded, and 
 carrying fagots on their backs, all the while the 
 sun shining, and the blue sky bending above. The 
 fagots now are real ones, veritable bundles of dry 
 twigs ; and the heretics are arranged, each with his 
 fagot, right under the speaker s nose, where he can 
 conveniently swing his fist over their heads, and 
 about their ears, and exhibit them to the audience, 
 somewhat as a geological lecturer might exhibit 
 the monsters of the secondary formations. The 
 specimens, in this case, were a man and his wife, 
 and their only child, a boy say of ten or twelve 
 years. The man was a plain mechanic, who had 
 been thinking out a theology of his own over his 
 lapstone. The woman s face, bent downward to 
 escape the stare of the multitude, was an intelligent 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON. 
 
 35 
 
 and thoughtful one, meek and placid, but pale as 
 marble, showing all the veins that threaded it, 
 showing traces too of a thousand waves of anguish 
 that had gone over her soul. The boy was a sturdy 
 little fellow, and looked decidedly sullen, and evi 
 dently, while doing his penance, was cursing the 
 whole race of bishops, and treasuring up hoarded 
 anger enough to make a full-grown Puritan in the 
 end. 
 
 The preacher rose up and harangued his hearers 
 in a voice that was a compromise between a scream 
 and a howl. He drew his text from the narrative 
 which describes Samson grinding in the mill of 
 the Philistines. He said the mill of the Philistines 
 represented the devil s mill, and the wheat was the 
 Church of Christ, in danger of being bruised and 
 powdered between the upper and the nether mill 
 stone. The Pope and his bishops and cardinals 
 were the upper millstone. He then went on and 
 denounced the Pope, and the doctrine of the Pope s 
 supremacy, and told how their power was to be 
 shivered in pieces throughout the kingdom. He 
 altuded to the late execution, and, pointing towards 
 London Bridge, exclaimed, " So all Popish traitors 
 shall perish, and their heads be stuck up yonder 
 for ravens to pick at." He alluded to the trial 
 which was to take place to-morrow, when treason 
 again was to be crushed and given to destruction. 
 Then he launched forth on the King s supremacy, 
 made an apotheosis to the King himself, who was 
 like the sun shining in his strength, eulogized the 
 new Queen, and came at length to the other mill- 
 
 
36 THE EXILE. 
 
 stone, the nether one, on which the devil was 
 seeking to crush the Church of God. This was 
 none other than Lollardism, which denied the doc 
 trine of tran substantiation, and brought in other 
 damnable heresies. And here he turned to the live 
 specimens before him, and vociferated abundance 
 of pious exhortation, telling them that the fagot- 
 fires, from which their present confession and pen 
 ance had saved them, would be lighted up with a 
 hotter blaze if they should relapse, and were only 
 the faintest prefiguration of the fires of hell. His 
 face grew red, and his eyes grew big with his ex 
 hortation ; which being over, the Lollards were con 
 ducted back through the Strand, and thence to 
 Lambeth, a rabble of boys and fishmongers follow 
 ing with hootings and jeerings. 
 
 What impression Richard got from the morning 
 service we need not stop to describe. We presume 
 it did not alter the impression already recorded, that 
 man was the chief blot which God had made on the 
 face of his works. But he had not yet enjoyed to 
 the full the privileges of a Sabbath in London. 
 He sought again in the afternoon the spot where 
 the day had dawned upon him, amid the sweet in 
 fluences from skies and waters. The old trees on 
 the Strand again welcomed him into their embow 
 ering shade, as if opening to him a sympathizing 
 refuge from human heartlessness and cruelty. The 
 outlook towards the Thames presented the same 
 range of objects, though not bathed in the rory 
 freshness of the morning. The clouds had all gone 
 up from the Surrey hills, and the glare of the sun 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON. 37 
 
 lay upon them ; the bosom of the Thames was 
 covered with boats and barges, crossing to and fro 
 between the city and the Southwark side, and the 
 breeze came up tired from the water s edge, and 
 languidly made ripples through the leaves. But 
 his eye need not wander a great way to distinguish 
 still a new feature of the London Sabbath. 
 
 In the wide open space back of St. Clement s Inn, 
 then partly filled up with sedges and bushes, was 
 one of those enclosures called a bear-garden. And 
 farther eastward, and in sight of the spot " where 
 the tall May-pole once o erlooked the Strand," was 
 another spot dedicated to theatrical exhibitions, 
 ere yet Shakespeare had raised them up and trans 
 figured them by -the touch of genius. But nearer 
 than these, and now right under the eye of our 
 stranger in London, was the celebrated bear-house, 
 with its enclosure, which lay on the other side of 
 the Strand and down among the terraced gardens 
 that descended to the Thames. Here it was that 
 Queen Elizabeth took Mary, her sister, that she 
 might be edified by the sports of bear-baiting, some 
 years later than those of which we write. The 
 rule was, not that the bear-gardens should be 
 opened all days in the week, Sundays excepted, 
 but that they should not be open any day in the 
 week except Sundays; though the rule came at 
 length to be violated, when the sports were thought 
 to be too good for the Sundays to monopolize.* 
 
 * Old Cartwright, in one of his tracts, adduces an original and 
 quite curious argument against the use of a liturgy. The public form 
 of prayer, he says, will never do ; for the minister is tempted to hurry 
 4 * 
 
38 THE EXILE. 
 
 It is now past one o clock, and the flags from the 
 theatres and bear-gardens are all displayed, in sign 
 that the sport is commencing. As the subject of 
 our story is looking on, the flag from the bear- 
 house by the Thames, under his eye, is flouted by 
 the same breeze that comes up to stir the green 
 leaves over his head, and t[ie shout and the tumult 
 come up very distinctly to his ear. 
 
 The exercises in a bear-garden were something 
 after this fashion. The bear is hoodwinked and 
 placed in the centre of the enclosure ; a dense ring is 
 formed around him, armed with whips and cudgels ; 
 with these the animal is beaten and lacerated, till, 
 stung and maddened with the pain, he rushes 
 blindly among his tormentors, gnashing upon them 
 with his teeth, sometimes seizing their weapons, 
 and splintering them between his jaws ; the tor 
 mentors meanwhile dexterously eluding him, and 
 sending shouts and peals of laughter to the welkin 
 at every skilful turning and doubling, until the ani 
 mal is either worried out or worried to death, and 
 ends the sport. If a bear is not to be had, a harm 
 less ape is made to supply his place, or some 
 times a brace of cocks, when " cocking," instead of 
 baiting, closes the exercises of holy time. These 
 amusements served pretty well to feed the tastes 
 
 over it, that the Divine service may give place to the games that stic- 
 cced it, which it seems had greater attraction both to priest and peo 
 ple than the service itself. It would be difficult to show how an ex 
 temporaneous service would secure its prolongation. The games 
 formed the common finale to a London Sabbath, down to a period 
 much later than 1535. 
 
SUNDAY IN LONDON. 39 
 
 and form the manners of the people, and prepare 
 them to enjoy the spectacle of cutting off men s 
 heads on Tower Hill, or roasting Lollards in Smith- 
 field Square ; or, in the imagery of our morning ser 
 mon, breaking in pieces the upper and nether stones 
 of the devil s grist-mill. 
 
 Richard had not mere than half digested the 
 morning sermon, musing on the probable event of 
 the morrow, his thoughts making quick journeys to 
 Colchester and back again, and anon looking heav 
 enward for guidance through the gloomy future, 
 when the roar of voices came up from the bear 
 garden, mingling with the breezy murmur of the 
 Thames. He heard it for some time, growing 
 louder and more tumultuous ; saw the red flag 
 streaming from the bear-house, the sun still shining, 
 and the sky overhead looking softly blue, and the 
 hills of Surrey in the mellowing distance looking 
 softly green. Sick at heart, he sprang to his feet, 
 perhaps with the expression on his lips that he put 
 into his diary, " O God ! why hast thou made man 
 the sole blot on thy beautiful works ? " and walked 
 with a rapid pace down the Strand. 
 
 An old face had risen before him again ; the face 
 of the Bishop of Rochester, melting through the 
 mists and clouds of past memories fresh and be 
 nignant as when it watched over his boyhood in 
 the Kentish vales ; and his feet went of their own 
 w T ill towards London Bridge and Traitor s Tower. 
 " Perhaps it will speak," he might have said to him 
 self, "when the lips of the living speak flatteries 
 and lies." Streams of foot-passengers were still 
 
40 THE EXILE. 
 
 pouring over the bridge, stopping at Traitor s Tower 
 and gazing upward. And there it was again ! that 
 saintly face, growing more fresh every day, and com 
 ing back to its manly beauty, while the horrible vis 
 ages around it were growing blacker and blacker. 
 There it was again, looking a benediction on the 
 people below, turned still towards the beloved hills 
 of Kent to give the last blessing to its ancient 
 charge, and demanding for this very purpose im 
 munity from the claiming grave. And it spake! 
 Several people heard it speak. Richard Sayer de 
 clared he heard it, and could tell what it said, for 
 the valley of the Medway swam, visible before him, 
 the walls of the old Rochester cathedral, with its 
 groined roof, were around and above him ; the tones 
 of the old organ came pealing loud and quivering 
 down all the aisles; and then a heavenly counte 
 nance was leaning over the chancel, and holy 
 hands were laid upon his head, and these words 
 came clear and articulate: "Whosoever shall be 
 ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous 
 and sinful generation, of him shall the Son of Man 
 be ashamed when he cometh in the glory of his 
 Father with the holy angels." 
 
 And then the vision passed away, all but that 
 saintly face, still looking fresh and meek as ever 
 from among the blackening visages, and he was 
 gazing into it. Those words must have dropped 
 down from Traitor s Tower. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE TKIAL. 
 
 AFFAIRS were hastening to their crisis. The man 
 on whose fate the nation seemed for a moment to 
 hang breathless had been lying fourteen months in 
 the Tower. He had held the highest judicial office 
 in the realm, but he saw that Henry meant to use 
 him and his office to pander to his lusts ; he would 
 not be so used, and resigned. For a little while he 
 was suffered to remain in quiet at his home in Chel 
 sea, just above London, where, amid the charms of 
 domestic society and the songs of his robins, he 
 gave himself up to elegant and delightful studies. 
 The oath was at length tendered him by Cranmer ; 
 he would not sign it , and was cast into the Tower. 
 Through these fourteen months he had had abun 
 dant leisure to count the cost of incorruptible integ 
 rity, and weigh a good conscience against the dross 
 of earth. From his prison window he could look 
 down into the green yard around the White Tower, 
 and see the spot where Richard sent out Hastings 
 to execution, and where the blood of innocence and 
 beauty was to be poured out profusely, till the grass 
 
 4* 
 
42 THE EXILE. 
 
 refused to grow. More had been plied with threats 
 and blandishments, and though he never wavered, 
 his language at the terrible crisis shows the strug 
 gle in his breast. His wife came to see him. She 
 could not understand the sublime elevation on which 
 he stood. " What the goodyear, Mr. More ! I mar 
 vel that you, who have hitherto been taken for a 
 wise man, will now so play the fool as to lie here in 
 this close, filthy prison, shut up with mice and rats. 
 Do as the bishops and best learned of the realm 
 have done, and come home to your wife and chil 
 dren." This did not disturb his equable and di 
 vine patience. But when his favorite daughter, his 
 "dear Meg," wrote him, and urged him to sub 
 scribe, it cut him to the heart. He sent for her, and 
 she came to his prison. There he tried to make her 
 understand how contemptible were disgrace, suffer 
 ing, and death, when set off against the glory of in 
 corruptible integrity, the sweet peace of conscience, 
 and the smile of God. Just then some monks were 
 carried by to execution for the same crime as that 
 of which he stood accused. He took her by the 
 hand and led her to the window. " See there, Meg ! 
 See how gayly as a bridegroom those men are going 
 to their death." He succeeded in infusing his own 
 spirit into the mind of his daughter, and making 
 her to share his lofty magnanimity. 
 
 The 1st of July has at length come. A special 
 commission is appointed for the trial at Westmin 
 ster Hall. They lead him out, and parade him 
 through the streets of the city on his way to trial, 
 intending thereby to strike terror into the public 
 
THE TRIAL. 43 
 
 mind. They have clothed him in a coarse sack, as 
 a mark of disgrace. They have starved him so 
 long in prison that he walks with difficulty. They 
 dread his learning and eloquence, and they mean 
 so to crush him beforehand that he cannot use his 
 masterly powers. The vast space of Westminster 
 Hall is crowded with spectators, and presents a sea 
 of anxious faces. " Will he make out a defence 
 that will stand with one of Audley s juries? " is a 
 question on which dread alternatives are poised and 
 trembling. The river has been alive all the morn 
 ing with the barges of noblemen rowing towards 
 Westminster, and crowds of poor people, to whom 
 More when Chancellor had dispensed justice tem 
 pered with mercy, have packed the galleries, and are 
 looking down with agonized features. Within the 
 bar sits Lawyer Leach, with his glistering head and 
 his cucumber coolness, and not far off stands his 
 client, watching the prisoner with as deep emotion 
 as if his own life were hanging on the issue, as in 
 deed he thinks it is. On the bench that same 
 bench where More had administered justice so im 
 partially sits the base, the Venal, the cringing 
 Audley, a man who has grown fat on confiscations 
 of which he was the tool, and who is ready, like a 
 hound, either to follow the scent of blood, or to fawn 
 upon and lick the hand of his master. But his 
 person and appearance are commanding, and we 
 see nothing at first to indicate his baseness except 
 the cat-like softness of his manners. Close by his 
 side sits the Chief Justice of the King s Bench, Sir 
 John Fitzjames, early distinguished for his buffoon- 
 
44 THE EXILE. 
 
 ery and his ignorance of law, and promoted for his 
 pliancy in the dirty work which tyrants have to be 
 done. There stands at the bar Sir Christopher Hale, 
 the Attorney- General, who has some dignity of char 
 acter, and maintains a show of candor. Associated 
 with him is Mr. Solicitor, the low-browed Rich, with 
 his large, animal mouth, and his eye bloodshot with 
 4 dagger-ale," the schoolboy companion of More, 
 who early separated from him because baseness 
 and virtue are repellent forces. There sit the jury, 
 packed and overawed, giving small hope that they 
 are the stuff that a bulwark can be made of to stop 
 the sanguinary flood that is already on the flow. 
 
 The case opens, and the indictment is read. It is 
 long, but the gist of it is that More has, first, refused 
 to acknowledge the King s supremacy, and, second 
 ly, that he has denied it. 
 
 After the indictment is read, Audley bends to 
 wards the prisoner with a feline courtesy. " You see 
 how grievously you have offended his Majesty. Yet 
 he is so merciful, that, if you will lay away your 
 obstinacy, and change your opinion, we hope you 
 may obtain pardon." 
 
 " Most noble Lord," replies the prisoner, " I be 
 seech Almighty God that I may continue in the 
 mind I am in through his grace unto death." 
 
 The case proceeds, the witnesses are brought on ; 
 the lawyers and judges together think the case is 
 made out, and Audley with a smirking grace asks 
 his prisoner if he has anything to say. 
 
 More now stands up, and leans upon his staff; 
 his features are pale and prison-worn, but there is 
 
THE TRIAL. 45 
 
 still the twinkling drollery in the curves about his 
 eye, as if he were looking through and laughing to 
 scorn the web-work of sophistry which the lawyers 
 have put together. As he rises, all murmurs cease 
 in the crowd, and Westminster Hall in its remotest 
 corner is silent as death. As soon as he opens his 
 lips, his learning and genius blaze forth in their mild 
 and beautiful splendor. Seeing how weak and pale 
 he is, they offer him a chair, and permit him to sit 
 while making his defence. And there he sits, and 
 quietly riddles in pieces their fabric of accusation 
 and testimony, sometimes with a sparkle of wit, but 
 in a light so broad and luminous that the judges 
 themselves are ashamed of the case. He quietly 
 reminds them that no evidence has been introduced 
 to show a denial of the King s supremacy. 
 
 Here Rich interrupts him with a coarse violence 
 in his manner. " We have your silence, which is 
 an evident sign of a malicious mind." 
 
 "Qui tacet consentire videtur" says More, quot 
 ing a maxim of law. " He that holdeth his tongue 
 is taken to consent." 
 
 A laugh runs round the inside of the bar, and 
 Lawyer Leach squints his left eye, and looks to 
 wards his client, whose courage is rising high as he 
 hears the illustrious prisoner bringing out the point 
 that Leach had before made, and bringing it out 
 with a clearness that tells evidently on the court 
 and the jury. 
 
 More has closed his defence, and the judges look 
 aghast at each other. The absurdity of convicting 
 a man of high treason because he has said nothing 
 
46 THE EXILE. 
 
 is so monstrous that they dare not do it, even in the 
 eye of the rawest student of the New Inn who may 
 be looking on in Westminster Hall. More has 
 been wiser than Fisher was. When the mousers 
 purred around him to tempt the treason out of him, 
 he saw through them and guarded his lips, and now 
 all that they can prove is silence. His defence is 
 complete, and he has carried the whole audience, 
 the servile court, packed jury, and all. 
 
 There is a buzz all over the house, every man 
 looking into his neighbor s face and breathing easy, 
 Lawyer Leach and his client looking wise at each 
 other. The court and the crown lawyers fall to a 
 consultation ; Audley s head is bent close up to the 
 empty head of Fitzjames. Hale is in as close a 
 conference with Rich as he well can be without 
 taking too much the fumes of the last debauch. 
 
 But the buzz stops. Rich has taken the witness 
 stand. Blood must be had at some rate, and Mr. 
 Solicitor volunteers to perjure himself. He swears 
 that he actually heard the prisoner deny the King s 
 spiritual supremacy when on a visit to him in the 
 Tower. 
 
 More turns upon the miscreant his pale, honest 
 face, and bends upon him the clear gaze of his eye, 
 and administers to him a rebuke which must have 
 rung through his conscience if he had one, and 
 which at any rate has set him up in the pillory of 
 infamy for all time. The prisoner s form and fea 
 tures dilated into a moral dignity that looked down 
 upon the cringing court, and made everybody forget 
 his squalid apparel in the outbeaming majesty of 
 the man. 
 
THE TRIAL. 47 
 
 " If I were a man, my Lords, that did not regard 
 an oath, I needed not at this time and in this place, 
 as is well known to every one, to stand an accused 
 person. And if this oath, Mr Rich, which you 
 have taken be true, then I pray that I never see 
 God in the face, which I would not say were it 
 otherwise to gain the whole world." 
 
 The prisoner goes on and narrates the conversa 
 tion that did take place in the Tower, and then, turn 
 ing round to the false swearer, who dares not meet 
 his eye, " In good faith, Mr. Rich, I am sorry for 
 your perjury more than for mine own peril. We 
 know, Sir, that neither I nor any man else ever took 
 you to be a man of such credit as to communicate 
 to you any matter of importance. You well know 
 that I have been acquainted with your manner of 
 life and conversation a long space, even from my 
 youth up ; for we dwelt long in one parish, where, 
 as you can tell yourself, you were esteemed a dicer 
 and a gamester and light of tongue. And your 
 fame is not very commendable in the Temple or 
 the Inn where you belonged." 
 
 Then turning to the court, " Does it seem 
 likely to your honorable Lordships that I would 
 trust to this man, reputed of so little truth and hon 
 esty, the secrets of my conscience ? I refer it to 
 your judgments, my Lords, whether the thing is 
 credible." 
 
 The address produces a profound impression on 
 the by-standers and on the packed jury. Rich 
 quails, fidgets, examines new witnesses, but can 
 get no one to confirm his lie. Audley hurries on 
 
48 THE EXILE. 
 
 the case, as if ashamed of his business, charges the 
 jury to convict the prisoner, and sends them out. 
 They obey. In about a quarter of an hour they 
 come in with " GUILTY," and a half-smothered groan 
 goes round the galleries of Westminster Hall. All 
 is lost. The barrier of " twelve good men and true " 
 is as unsubstantial as last night s dream, and the 
 tide of blood must roll on and roll over us. 
 
 Audley hastens to pronounce sentence. 
 
 " Wait, my Lords," says the prisoner. " When 
 I was toward the law, the prisoner was asked be 
 fore sentence what he had to say." 
 
 " O true," said Audley, stammering, and blush 
 ing crimson. " What have you to say why sen 
 tence of death should not be pronounced ? " 
 
 More now goes on and arraigns the statute, and 
 denies the power of Parliament to pass it. The 
 thing is monstrous in itself, and it is an anomaly in 
 the whole constitutional history of the realm. The 
 Parliament have no more power to make the King 
 head of the Church than they have to vote God out 
 of the universe ; and having no constitutional power 
 to make this statute, all indictments under it are 
 worthless as a straw. 
 
 Audley is nonplussed again, for he knows all this 
 to be true. But he has a resource. The blockhead 
 judge who sits beside him does not know it. Legal 
 asses are mighty convenient things on which to 
 saddle a false decision. 
 
 " What say you, my Lord Chief Justice ? " says 
 Audley, bending towards Fitzjames and purring. 
 
 Fitzjames, C. J. " By St. Gillian, my Lords, the 
 indictment in my conscience is sufficient." 
 
THE TRIAL. 49 
 
 Audley. " Lo ! my Lords, lo ! you hear what my 
 Lord Chief Justice saith. Reus est mortis." 
 
 He then pronounces the terrible sentence upon 
 the prisoner, concluding with ordering his four quar 
 ters to be set over four gates of the city and his 
 head upon London Bridge. 
 
 " Have you anything more to say ? " says the 
 velvet-faced Audley, bending forward. 
 
 " This further only have I to say, my Lords : that 
 like as the blessed Apostle Paul was present and 
 consenting to the death of the protomartyr Stephen, 
 keeping their clothes that stoned him to death, and 
 yet they be now twain holy saints in heaven, so I 
 heartily pray, that, though your Honors have been on 
 earth my judges to condemnation, we may hereafter 
 meet merrily in heaven together. God preserve 
 you all, especially my Sovereign Lord the King, 
 and send him faithful counsellors," 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FAITHFUL MEG. 
 
 THEY were to go back by water to the Tower, 
 and the barge was waiting at the wherry. They 
 led the prisoner out through the crowd, the heads 
 man s axe being borne before him with the edge 
 turned towards him, on which Fisher s blood was 
 yet fresh. As he walked out of the hall, he was 
 heard to say, " Thank God, I have got the victory ! " 
 They did not know what he meant. But he meant 
 the victory of his virtue and innocence over temp 
 tation ; he felt now that they were safe, and it was 
 this thought which at that awful moment turned his 
 pure breast into a fountain of joy. What a scene was 
 that! More walking in triumph before that fatal axe, 
 himself the only happy man in the ghastly proces 
 sion ! The barge receives them, and bears them along 
 the silent highway, just as the evening sun is play 
 ing on the turrets of the Tower. There is a crowd 
 around Traitor s Gate ; people have gathered here to 
 look a farewell into the most honest face in all 
 England. He has walked up the stairs, the bloody 
 axe moving close before him. A woman springs 
 
FAITHFUL MEG. 51 
 
 from the crowd, breaks through the guard, spite of 
 their rods and halberds, and locks her arms around 
 the prisoner s neck, and shrieks, " My father ! O my 
 father ! " It is faithful Meg, and she buries her 
 face in the prisoner s bosom and sobs aloud. He 
 soothes her grief, and gently pours consolation into 
 her breaking heart, the officials standing still, and 
 not daring to disturb the holy scene. She breaks 
 away and retreats ; looks back, and runs again and 
 hangs on the devoted neck, when the prisoner for 
 the first time is overcome, and weeps like a little 
 child. Even those rough men have to let go their 
 halberds, and wipe from their iron features the trick 
 ling tears. 
 
 But Traitor s Gate is open; the jaws of the great 
 structure have closed upon the prisoner, and we. 
 cannot follow him any farther. Along with faithful 
 Meg, we take a farewell look of a man who, amid 
 general servility, saw clearly the supreme and all- 
 beautiful law, and obeyed it, a man whose virtue 
 no interest could bribe, and whose purpose no thun 
 ders could shake ; who had an angel s strength and 
 a child s simplicity ; whose affections were gentle 
 as the evening, and whose breast was purer than 
 snow. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF THE NEW POPE. 
 
 LAWYER LEACH was right. Every class sub 
 scribed, from Whitehall down to Billingsgate, from 
 my Lord Chancellor to the fishmongers, from my 
 Lord Bishop to the begging friars. " You see," 
 says Leach, " that the chances narrow down. You 
 have only two left, to subscribe or to flee. What 
 course will you take ? " 
 
 " The shortest course possible out of this accursed 
 city." 
 
 " Yes, that will be wise. But Cromwell s hounds 
 are scouring through Essex. They wilf be in Col 
 chester before long, and your family will be among 
 the first that will be summoned to take the oath. 
 I am certain of that." 
 
 " I have never denied the supremacy, I believe." 
 
 " Doubtless," said the lawyer, stroking down 
 the top of his head, which the flies were walking 
 over, and taking sure hold of for fear of slipping; 
 " but you see how these matters are decided. They 
 will probably want somebody s head to stick up in 
 Colchester Market. They would n t make any very 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE NEW POPE. 
 
 53 
 
 nice distinctions, if they thought yours would an 
 swer the purpose." 
 
 " Are you sure they will come to Colchester ? " 
 
 " Yes, a justice is to come down before long to 
 administer the oath. Perhaps you will find when 
 you get into Essex that the net has gathered you 
 in already." 
 
 Richard looked up his groom, and ordered him to 
 have the horses ready in the morning. He retired 
 to sleep ; but whenever he closed his eyes, the faces 
 in Westminster Hall were before him. Once and 
 again he drove them away into the darkness ; but 
 slowly they would take shape and come up, up, 
 up, and glow with a phosphorescent light, as dis 
 tinct and bright as ever. But he kept dashing them 
 off, till finally they all vanished but two. One was 
 a pale face, with a mild, clear eye, arched round 
 with curves that twinkled and beamed with benevo 
 lence and humor ; but the curves came and went in 
 wavy lines, till they fixed themselves into a look of 
 meek but indescribable anguish. The other was a 
 great red face, with bull s eyes and a large mouth ; 
 and the eyes sometimes rolled with a demoniac 
 mirthfulness, and the mouth grinned into a sardonic 
 laugh. These two faces would not down except to 
 come back again, and the first half of the night 
 was spent dashing them off into chaos, and seeing 
 them slowly rise out of it, and come up, up, up, as 
 near and as bright as ever. 
 
 But sleep of a certain kind came at last, and 
 might have continued for a long time. But some 
 body has walked into his chamber, somebody s hand 
 
 5* 
 
54 THE EXILE. 
 
 is on his shoulder, shaking him up ; he opens his 
 eyes, and the broad sunlight is in the room, and a 
 large face of real flesh and blood, but full of human 
 sunshine, is bent over him. It is Job, of whom the 
 reader will know more. 
 
 " Master Richard, it is late, and the horses are 
 ready." 
 
 " Never mind, Job. We won t hurry, and I shall 
 go over to the Bridge before we start." 
 
 To the Bridge he goes, drawn by the strange fas 
 cination of the face 011 Traitor s Tower, into which 
 he looks for the last time. There it stands again, 
 benignant as ever, coming back every day to the 
 manly bloom and comeliness of which age had be 
 reft it ; sending down its benediction on the passers- 
 by, who still throng thither to receive it.* But while 
 he is looking up, the " King s Barge" is announced 
 as in sight ; and there it is ! coming up the river 
 
 * The following is the curious account of this prodigy, as given by 
 Hall, the biographer of Fisher : 
 
 " The head, being parboiled, was prickt upon a pole, and set on high 
 upon London Bridge, among the rest of the holy Carthusians heads 
 that suffered death lately before him ; and here I cannot omit to de 
 clare to you the miraculous sight of this head, which, after it had stood 
 up the space of fourteen days upon the bridge, could not be perceived 
 to waste or consume, neither for the weather which was then very hot, 
 neither for the parboiling in hot water, but grew daily fresher and 
 fresher, so that in his life he never looked so well ; for his cheeks be 
 ing beautiful with a comely red, the face looked as though it had be 
 holden the people in passing by, and would have spoken to them. 
 "Wherefore the people coming daily to see this strange sight, the pas 
 sage over the bridge was so stopped with the going and coming, that 
 almost neither cart nor horse could pass ; and therefore at the end of 
 fourteen days the executioner was ordered to throw down the head in 
 the night-time into the Thames." 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE NEW POPE. 55 
 
 from Greenwich, silken banners and streamers float 
 ing over it as it rows up the " silent highway." 
 
 In these times the Thames was the principal 
 means of communication between the different 
 parts of London, and between London and the sub 
 urbs up and down the river. The finest streets in 
 the city were those which ran along the water s side, 
 where a long row of splendid mansions and palaces 
 had arisen, and where, instead of his stables, his 
 horses and carriages, every nobleman had his barge 
 and bargemen, his wharf and wherry. The sight 
 of the Thames of a summer s day was therefore 
 wonderfully lively and picturesque, bearing my 
 lords and ladies from house to house, to the after 
 noon s dance or masquerade, the bargemen perhaps 
 keeping time with their oars to music and song. 
 This too was the royal road from Greenwich to 
 Whitehall, and the royal barge was known at sight 
 by its streamers and decorations. Traitor s Tower 
 stood on one of the piers that supported the draw 
 bridge, so that passengers up and down the river 
 might have all the benefit of the spectacle, and sail 
 right under the blackening visages above. 
 
 The royal barge is nearing the bridge, and the 
 crowd of gazers who are choking the street at 
 Traitor s Tower have their attention drawn away, 
 and the sea of heads is instantly uncovered. And 
 here for the first time the hero of our narrative gets 
 sight of the " Supreme Head of the Church," to 
 whose features Holbein himself found it pretty hard 
 to give a flattering touch. The " Head of the 
 Church " sits looking out upon the water, receiving 
 
56 THE EXILE. 
 
 with slight notice the homage from the boats that 
 glide by. Passing through the draw, he looks up at 
 the seven days wonder which has kept the whole 
 city astir for a week or more, and on account of 
 which the Privy Council have once been summoned 
 together. His dull, red, rheumy eye, his cheeks bloat 
 ed and hanging, and blotched with scrofula, reveal 
 nothing of superstitious wonder, but enough of lust, 
 beastliness, and gluttony to make one marvel how 
 there could be so much room for the demon where 
 there was so much of the brute. The " new He- 
 rodias " was there also, invested with all the inter 
 est of recent maternity. 
 
 She who had urged on the execution of Fisher, 
 and to whom his head was sent that she might feast 
 her eyes upon it before it was set up on the bridge, 
 she who was still plying all her woman s arts for the 
 destruction of More, and keeping the devil from 
 sleeping in the mind of the glutton King, she is 
 there too, stretching her " little neck " out of the 
 silk awning and the tapestry of starred blue and 
 purple, so blended as to represent the sky at dawn ; 
 and she is looking up with a woman s curiosity to 
 see the new London sight on the bridge. 
 
 She looks, laughs, curves her little neck round, 
 and ogles with her maids, in whose arms dangles the 
 lion-hearted Queen Bess that is to be ; she plies the 
 King with jokes and pleasantries, among which was 
 this, that Fisher had kept watch up there so long 
 that his old eyes were getting dim, and that More 
 had better come and take his place. The King 
 looks complacently upon his queen, laughs wanton 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE NEW POPE. 57 
 
 out of his rheumy eyes, and shakes merrily his 
 " huge parcel of dropsies," and so the barge pass 
 es on. Poor Anne ! you have a heart of marble un 
 der a pretty face, and older and wiser people than 
 you are slow to learn that those who evoke the 
 demon in others may be devoured by the demon ! 
 Sayer looks long after the royal barge, the swans 
 swimming in flocks before it, till the sound of the 
 oars and the music to which they keep time have 
 died away, and only a red-gleaming speck is seen 
 nearing the wherry-stairs of Whitehall. " And this 
 is the new Pope!" he said to himself, and hastened 
 back to St. Clement s Inn. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TO COLCHESTER. 
 
 JOB was waiting with the horses. They mount 
 and pass Temple Bar into Fleet Street, thence 
 down the Old Bailey, cross over Smithfield Square, 
 turn and look at the spot in the centre burnt black 
 with roasted Lollards, shudder and cross over into 
 Bishopgate Street, and the city is soon behind 
 them, with its death s-heads, and, what is wprse, 
 its visages of unmerciful men. Its distracting noises 
 have all died in the distance ; it is folded into its 
 own fog and smoke, its blood and sin, and the 
 broad, open fields of Essex are before them, fanned 
 with buxom air. 
 
 It is time the reader knew something of Job. 
 Retiring s he is in his habits, we shall not get on 
 any longer without his company, which will be 
 found of considerable importance to at least three 
 individuals. Job was an heirloom in the Sayer 
 family, and now filled the offices of porter and chief 
 butler, besides being superintendent of things in 
 general. Where there was any matter that required 
 great carefulness and perfect trust, Job was always 
 
TO COLCHESTER. 59 
 
 in request. If anybody was sick, Job was the chief 
 nurse ; and he had closed the dying eyes of at least 
 four members of the family. He was verging now 
 towards his seventieth year, but he was hale as ever ; 
 his hair of iron-gray stood up stiff on the top of his 
 head, which gave him an independent and sturdy 
 look, and, though age had abstracted something 
 from his once florid countenance, yet the ruddy 
 clover had retreated to the centre of his cheek, 
 where it blossomed out fresh as ever, from amid the 
 encroaching snows of threescore and ten. His 
 rather bluff and granitic exterior might conceal from 
 a stranger the rills of tenderness that were always 
 trickling down his heart, unless indeed they brimmed 
 over in his eyes and adown the clover of his cheeks, 
 which they were rather apt to do. Within his jo 
 vial and sunny nature there was a vein of plaintive 
 tunefulness, which, in the long leisure hours of the 
 porter s lodge, found scope and exercise in hum 
 ming snatches of old song. Along with this he had 
 a keen sense of the- ludicrous, and a broad and 
 never-failing good-humor, and if he looked upon 
 other people s faults and blunders with other feel 
 ings than commiseration, it was only that he 
 might distil . out of them a little amusement for 
 himself. 
 
 Job for a great many years had belonged to the 
 tenantry of the Sayer estates ; but the cloud came 
 over his household from which the bolt of death 
 had dropped four times into his family, and his 
 wife and three out of his four children had slept for 
 years together in a humble corner of the village 
 
- 
 
 60 THE EXILE. 
 
 churchyard. But fortune had left him that untold 
 and priceless treasure, whether of the poor man s 
 cot or the rich man s hall, an only daughter. His 
 dear Charlotte had not quite left him so long as he 
 had her miniature in little Lottie. Lottie had now 
 largely developed into the woman ; but to her 
 father she was always a child, for she still sat upon 
 his knee, smoothed his brow, and kept the wrinkles 
 from gathering there ; laid her warm, dimpled cheek 
 upon his to keep the clover-blossom fresh ; listened 
 to his songs, and sung them after him with a 
 twinkling humor and drollery in the eye which she 
 must have caught from him ; printed every evening 
 her fervent kiss upon his forehead, and gave him her 
 loving " Good night " ; became to him all his other 
 children in one, while he was to her father and 
 mother and sister and brother; so that Job s af 
 fections were preserved young and healthful, and 
 bloomed under the snows of age like an everlasting 
 rose. 
 
 Job and Lottie had been domesticated in the 
 family of Richard ever since his marriage ; she was 
 the favorite maid of her mistress, and had become 
 indispensable to her comfort. If the glooms ever 
 gathered about the kitchen, they were sure to get 
 dissipated, either by Job s songs, or by the laughter 
 in the dimpling cheeks of Lottie, or the broad beam 
 ings of her mirthful nature. And if there is sun 
 shine in the kitchen, then, so far as our experience 
 goes, it is apt to pervade the whole house, from 
 cellar to attic. So much, for the present, of Job and 
 Lottie, of whom perhaps we shall hear again when 
 we get to Colchester. 
 
TO COLCHESTER. 61 
 
 Pleasant enough it was to look over the broad, 
 level fields of Essex, where the sturdy yeomen were 
 busy with their summer labors, and sweet was the 
 breeze that came from the hay-fields to fan the faces 
 of the travellers. But our two travellers, though 
 jogging along side by side, have not precisely the 
 same reflections. 
 
 We are apt to suppose that martyrs are composed 
 of different stuff from other people ; that God has 
 them on hand ready made, and that it costs them 
 no great effort to suffer and die. Alas! the long, 
 deep, and silent agony, more terrible than death, 
 the desperate grapplings and wrestlings that precede 
 victory, we do not know ; and the reason why death 
 at last is met so serenely is, that the martyr comes 
 to it out of a more dreadful anguish. The scene 
 of Gethsemane comes first, and O the agony till its 
 victory is accomplished! The struggle had been 
 growing more and more desperate in the mind of 
 Richard, and now it is upon him in its desperate 
 energy. 
 
 " After all," he says to himself, " the lawyer is 
 right. Who am I, to stand up alone against the 
 opinions of all mankind ? I begin to see clearly the 
 distinction between the res in animo and the res 
 gesta. We must conform outwardly to such times 
 as these, and let God s great truth retreat far into 
 the silent recesses of our thoughts, and there be kept 
 safe and bide its time. Am I the man to stand out 
 when all the bishops and lords have given in? 
 Those that comply with the powers that be, and 
 the necessities of to-day, are blest and smiled upon, 
 
 6 
 
62 THE EXILE. 
 
 and come to honor and length of days. Does God 
 ask his faithful ones to burn with Lollards and her 
 etics, when a single thunderbolt of his could give 
 them the victory ? " 
 
 And then there was a lower deep. 
 
 "After all, what are virtue and integrity but a 
 name? Other people act according to their self- 
 interest, and why should not I ? This servility, that 
 has come over the nation like a flood, bears all with 
 it, except a few crazy people like the Maid of Kent 
 and John Lambert. Christianity has been preached 
 in this island now five hundred years, in all the 
 churches and convents, and yet it is a thing which 
 the King can turn and fashion into whatever he 
 pleases. The King? No, not the King, but Nan 
 Boleyn, or any vile woman he happens to lust for. 
 Protestantism! Catholicism! one or the other, 
 through all this realm, from bishops down to chim 
 ney-sweeps, according to the notions of the King s 
 mistress! And that is religion, and that is con 
 science, a name and a sound ! " 
 
 And there was a lower deep still. 
 
 " It is all, then, a cheat and a mockery ! There 
 is nothing real and substantial but beef and mut 
 ton and ale ! The providence that rules in human 
 affairs is the royal concubine, and the God we 
 trusted in can be voted out of the state by the Par 
 liament of a glutton king ! It is a mere matter of 
 forms and conveniences, and the name of God is 
 nothing but a bugbear for kings or popes, as the 
 case may be, to scare human animals and keep 
 them in the right enclosures." 
 
TO COLCHESTER. 63 
 
 And then the sky above shut over him like a cov 
 er, and all was empty beyond. Beneath it the owls 
 of Atheism hooted in mockery of human hopes. 
 
 " What we can see and touch and taste is, and 
 that is all ; and let us hasten to conform to it. 
 We die to-morrow, and then we rot! Over all 
 graves alike the obscene birds scream and stretch 
 their black wings, but there is no cheerful sound that 
 comes from above them! No virtue, no religion, 
 no God in this world, and we only animals, driven 
 to the crib or to the shambles at the convenience of 
 kings and popes ! O, why was I born, or why did 
 I not die, ere I found out that religion was a trick ; 
 that this whole word is a jail, and kings and priests 
 are the jailers ; that overhead there is nothing but a 
 copper sky, and under foot nothing but graves!" 
 
 There is something awful in the grief of manhood. 
 Things are very much out of course when strong 
 men weep. He tried to beckon off the giant shad 
 ows, but they came thicker and colder ; he strug 
 gled against the might that was urging him down 
 the abyss, but in vain ; and his stout frame was 
 convulsed with the conflict, and the big tears found 
 their way, at last, down his quivering features. 
 
 Job had not spoken a word. He saw the conflict 
 coming on, he guessed something of its nature, and 
 that it was too terrible for his philosophy. With 
 characteristic delicacy he retired from the scene of 
 it. He reined in his horse and fell in the rear, rid 
 ing on in silence and awe. 
 
 So they journeyed through the farms of Essex, 
 jogging on at first in funereal mood. Green fields 
 
64 THE EXILE. 
 
 and large farm-yards passed them, great barns open 
 to receive their summer treasures, and neat houses 
 looking through the cooling umbrage, as cheerfully 
 as if they knew nothing of the sulphurous cloud 
 resting on higher places, from which the thunders 
 were growling. Job began to prick up and sympa 
 thize with the scene he was passing through, and 
 with the sounds of hale and cheerful industry that 
 broke from the fields and from every side, uncon 
 scious of the reign of terror. He ventured, at length, 
 into a hum-drum tune, though on a lower and more 
 reverent key, as if afraid to disturb the awful strug 
 gle that was going on. Richard had not noticed 
 the tuning of Job ; but at length, in a short truce 
 between his conflicts, the hum-drum emerged into 
 clear, articulate song : 
 
 " The cot is surer than the hall, 
 
 In proof we daily see, 
 For highest things doe soonest fall 
 From their felicitie. 
 
 " When God drops down his thundering bolts 
 
 Our vices to redresse, 
 They batter down the highest holtes, 
 But touch not once the lesse. 
 
 " you may hear the pine to crack 
 
 That bears his head so hie, 
 And loftie lugs go then to wrack, 
 Which sccme to touch the skie. 
 
 " When wrastling windcs hum hum hum " 
 
 They had travelled all day, and the sun was wheel 
 ing down the horizon through a haze of bloody red, 
 when the plaintive sound of a chapel-bell came 
 
TO COLCHESTER. 65 
 
 throbbing through the air. They reach the top of 
 the hill and the monastery is in sight. On one side 
 of the building was a grove, in which were walks that 
 led through green arcades to an oratory on the sum 
 mit of the hill ; on the other side there was a large, 
 open field, on which a herd of kine lay ruminating, 
 grateful enough for the cool of the day. On one 
 side of an open court was the refectory of the mon 
 astery, on the opposite side the chapel, and across 
 the green that interspaced them the monks in their 
 cowls were walking two and two, and entering the 
 chapel at the sound of vespers. Richard woke sud 
 denly to a consciousness of where he was. The fields 
 of Colchester were around him, for he had arrived 
 at St. John s Abbey ; he was in no mood to see his 
 family, and he alighted, and giving the reins to Job, 
 u Take home the horses. Tell the folks they will 
 see me soon, and that I am well ; but don t blab of 
 my whereabouts." Job left his " Good night," and 
 rode off droning to himself, 
 
 " Every white will have its black, 
 And every sweet its sour." 
 
 And Richard waited upon the chapel-green till ves 
 pers were over, and then threw himself into the 
 arms of Father Bache. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 GHOSTLY COUNSEL. 
 
 HENRY had already suppressed a portion of the 
 monasteries, and doomed the rest. When uncov 
 ered to the light, they revealed frightful masses of 
 corruption, that had passed into the stage of putres 
 cence; sensuality, laziness, and hypocrisy had got 
 quiet lodgement within them. But this was not all. 
 In times of public violence, persecution, and venali 
 ty, they had nourished the best virtue and the most 
 heavenly piety that could be found in the land. 
 What pure mind has not sighed for such a retreat 
 when sick of human selfishness, when society 
 itself is falsely arranged and lies with a crushing 
 weight on individual virtue, when vice is hon 
 ored and rewarded, and honesty is in disgrace and 
 starves ? Then away from the scene of cringing 
 venality or outrageous oppression, to retire and 
 contemplate the serene Almighty Justice and be 
 caught up and rapt in its beautiful splendors ! So 
 at least many had done, and we are not sure even 
 now that the monasteries had not their full share 
 of the goodness that saved the world from becom 
 ing an abandoned Sodom of scoundrels. 
 
GHOSTLY COUNSEL. 67 
 
 The monasteries in those days did the office of 
 country inns, and were always open to the weary 
 traveller. But Richard had other reasons for stop 
 ping now. Father Bache was a noted character all 
 the country round, noted for his wisdom and fore 
 cast as well as his sympathizing benevolence. He 
 had a seat in Parliament, moreover, and he knew 
 pretty well the shape of the coming storm.* This 
 was not the first time that Richard had thrown 
 himself upon his counsels. 
 
 Slowly and demurely the monks are filing back 
 after their evening orisons, when Richard watches 
 for the benignant old man, and throws himself 
 upon his bosom. He begins to state his troubles. 
 
 " Say nothing, my son," said Father Bache. 
 " Stone walls have ears in these times ; and besides 
 I know your whole case. Go in and refresh your 
 self, and then we will counsel together. Your heart 
 and your flesh I see are both weary. After night 
 fall I will talk with you." 
 
 Richard had eaten such fare as was placed be 
 fore him, and sat in the refectory looking out upon 
 the green, till twilight had flung its last fading rose- 
 colors over the earth and sky. Then Father Bache 
 appeared before him, and beckoned him to follow. 
 They walked out through a back door of the mon 
 astery, and were soon in a. path that led through 
 the grove on the brow of the hill. The moon had 
 
 * The number of abbots who were " parliamentary barons " 
 varied, but was finally fixed at twenty-six, who represented the 
 principal monasteries. St. John s, Colchester, was entitled to one. 
 Fuller, Vol. II. p. 182. 
 
68 THE EXILE. 
 
 arisen, and on the clear silver sheen which it spread 
 over the earth, the trees seemed " writing out 
 words " as they waved, and their leaves fluttered 
 gently in the evening wind. They reached the 
 oratory, which stood in an open space, when the old 
 abbot laid his hand upon the shoulder of his guest 
 and looked round. 
 
 " Sit down, we are only heard here by God 
 and good angels, and only watched by the holy 
 stars." 
 
 " Have you heard, Father, that More was con 
 victed and sentenced ? " 
 
 " I have not heard, but I knew he was to die." 
 
 " And did you know that all the Catholics were 
 subscribing the oath, and that Gardiner and all the 
 bishops have temporized and given in ? " 
 
 " I knew that the evil day had come, and that 
 God was about to purge his floor. What I want 
 to say to you is, that a commissioner is coming 
 shortly to Colchester, and that all your kinsfolk will 
 subscribe the oath. You will be specially called 
 upon, for you are suspected of contumacy, and Rich 
 has you in his eye." 
 
 " Well, I can t pretend to be better than the whole 
 world, bishops and all the rest. To tell the truth, 
 good Father, this universal servility oppresses me 
 with terrible doubts, and spite of myself all confi 
 dence in God and man is gliding out of me. If 
 we only knew of the blessed inheritance, we could 
 die for it cheerfully. But this world seems to me 
 nothing but a chaos, and human virtue nothing but 
 
GHOSTLY COUNSEL. 69 
 
 " My son," said the old man, his features kind 
 ling with prophetic fire, " you are young and I am 
 old. I have passed through many a crisis like 
 yours, and many a time have I wrestled like Jacob 
 with the Lord, and prevailed. You stand now right 
 at the point where the road parts into two ways, 
 and I will tell you just where each will lead you. 
 Subscribe, as all your kinsfolk will, and you will 
 have your reward. You will have large estates, 
 friends, honors ; the sense of perjury will not trouble 
 you a great while ; you will wax fat and gross, and 
 live long, and the world will envy your success. 
 You can refuse to subscribe ; and that way lie 
 loss of friends, a father s curse, prisons, exile, pri 
 vations, death, death on the block it may be, or 
 what is worse, death in small doses, the cup drained 
 drop by drop to the bitter dregs. But that way 
 too there is a vision of the opening and enclos 
 ing heavens, and a growing consciousness of the 
 Great Presence which comes like another sun. 
 These make the body and all its pains and pleas 
 ures contemptible, while immortality this side Jor 
 dan is almost possessed and realized." 
 
 "If I only had that." 
 
 " Ah ! but you must pay the price of it. It is the 
 great reward of self-sacrifice. It comes after the 
 sacrifice, not before." 
 
 " And has it come to you at last, good Fa 
 ther?" 
 
 " Do you think I have given up forty years to a 
 contemplation of the Divine glories, without know 
 ing something of what lies within and beyond the 
 
70 THE EXILE. 
 
 senses? Not three days ago I was praying here 
 under the midnight stars, and it seemed to me that 
 my inmost spirit lay open and naked under celes 
 tial things. The heavenly world was imaged so 
 brightly on my spirit, that I thought I could see the 
 future in the present, and I know that my days 
 are numbered, and that my enemies will quarter 
 this body and give it to the fowls of the air. Bat I 
 have lived so much out of the body, that I can 
 look down upon it as if I had already left it, and 
 were within the enfolding heavens." 
 
 The moon shone over the rapt features of the 
 old abbot, tinging his locks with a more brilliant 
 silver, and he seemed almost free of the body and 
 full of immortality, a living and tangible evidence 
 of the realities of another world. As they walked 
 slowly towards the monastery, he leaned on the arm 
 of his guest, and discoursed to him of the aspect of 
 affairs, seeming to look down through the future as 
 one not of this world, but already out of it and 
 above it, and surveying its fore and after scenes as 
 one traces from some mountain height the windings 
 of a river below. There was a prophet tone in his 
 speech, and Richard listened with awe. Arriving 
 at the monastery, they passed through the " locu- 
 torium," where the abbot gave his guest his good 
 night and his blessing, as the latter went into his 
 room in the dormitory. The " locutory " was so 
 called, as the place where the monks assembled at 
 stated times for conversation. On the walls hung 
 two pictures of Raphael, one was Christ bearing his 
 cross, the other 
 
GHOSTLY COUNSEL. 71 
 
 " the Virgin Mother blest 
 To whom, caressing and caressed, 
 Clings the Eternal Child." 
 
 Richard left the door ajar as he retired, and, lying 
 upon his pillow, gazed upon the first-named picture, 
 as the pale moonlight rested upon it and retouched 
 the features that seemed aglow with the beamings 
 of a divine and majestic patience. And when he 
 closed his eyes at last, the face seen on Traitor s 
 Tower was before him, and beyond that long files 
 of other faces, of those who had come out of great 
 tribulation, but who now wore crowns and held 
 palms in their hands, files that grew brighter as 
 they ascended far away to where they ended with 
 a brow bleeding and crowned with thorns ; but the 
 thorns changed into radiating sunbeams, whose 
 pencillings darted down over all the rest ; and then 
 the words that dropped from the Traitor s Tower 
 were audible again. Gradually the faces grew dim, 
 and more dim ; the radiating thorns have melted 
 away, and the tempted man is in profound sleep at 
 
 last. 
 
 ##### 
 
 There is music somewhere. He comes back 
 gradually to his outward senses. The morning 
 light is resting on the picture of Christ in the 
 locutory. The monks are at their matins. 
 
 Richard rises and dresses himself in haste, and 
 passes though the court into the chapel. The 
 monks are assembled. The old abbot is on the 
 right side of the " choir " with his moiety of monks, 
 and the prior is on the left with his moiety, and 
 
72 THE EXILE. 
 
 they are chanting their responsals. It is a place 
 calculated to inspire devotion. Beneath the mosaic 
 floor, with its mural monuments, the sainted dead 
 are in their last holy repose. Back of the high 
 altar is a picture of Christ in his last agony. In 
 one of the transepts is a shrine of the patron saint 
 enriched with various offerings, and in a niche 
 above it is an exquisite sculpture of St. John done 
 by Italian masters, whose mouth and lips have an 
 infantile sweetness and almost womanly tenderness, 
 and whose higher features seem radiant with visions 
 of eternal things. The prayers and responsals be 
 ing over, the monks, led by the abbot and prior, 
 walk two and two, kneel in turn at the shrine of 
 St. John, and pass into the court, followed by our 
 wayfaring traveller. There he greets warmly the 
 old abbot, and embraces him as if taking his leave. 
 
 ic Nay." said the abbot, " you are not going this 
 morning. You are to stay here for a few days, and 
 let the storm reach Colchester before you. It will 
 be there soon, for a commissioner will go down 
 to-morrow. Wait the order of events a little, and 
 shape your course by them You are running right 
 into the lion s jaws if you go now." 
 
 Richard tarried a few days at the monastery, drink 
 ing in the old abbot s counsels, walking with him 
 through the long avenues of oak and chestnut, and 
 discoursing on the highest themes under their sooth 
 ing shades, seeming to himself to have come to an 
 islet of peace that reposed in an angry sea, but 
 where the noise of the billows is only heard as far 
 off and dreamy murmurs. 
 
GHOSTLY COUNSEL. 73 
 
 One sweet and quiet morning, when it seemed 
 as if there could be no more storms in the whole 
 beautiful world, he knelt and prayed for the last 
 time before the Divine Sufferer on the canvas of 
 Raphael, and took his leave of the kind-hearted old 
 man. 
 
 " Farewell for ever!" said the good father. 
 
 Richard noticed a plaintive foreboding in his 
 tone. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 PORTRAITS. 
 
 IF the reader will pause with us here a moment, 
 we shall learn at one glance the precise state of 
 things at what is usually regarded the dawn of the 
 " English Reformation." And in order to this there 
 are three or four faces which will come up, and 
 which we must take a look at as they pass by us. 
 
 Writers of history generally give us the impres 
 sion, that at this era there were only two parties 
 struggling for supremacy, the Catholic and the 
 Protestant. That certainly is a mistake. There 
 was a third party, and a very important one, which 
 at this time figures largely in the history of Eng 
 land. They were those who held Roman Catholic 
 opinions entire, the mass, auricular confession, 
 consubstantiation, clerical celibacy, purgatory, saint- 
 worship, masses for the dead, but who had re 
 nounced the Pope and taken Henry for their head. 
 These men an elegant female writer terms Henri- 
 cans, for want of a better name. They were men 
 who adhered to the reigning power through thick 
 and thin, and did all its behests, partly from that 
 
PORTRAITS. 75 
 
 brute conservatism that dreads the spontaneous 
 movements of the human mind as tending to an 
 archy, and partly because place and patronage lay 
 in the path of conformity. From these three ten 
 dencies of opinion, Protestant, Roman, and Henri- 
 can, thus early and distinctly marked, the three 
 divisions were ultimately developed of Dissenters, 
 Catholics, and Church-of-England-men. 
 
 First and chief among the Henricans stood STE 
 PHEN GARDINER, a man of rare talents and energies, 
 an able financier, and of large and statesmanlike 
 abilities. He was a member of the King s Privy 
 Council. He held implicitly all the doctrines of the 
 Papacy, while he rejected the Pope s authority, and 
 wrote against it. He was zealous in carrying out 
 all the measures of the Henrican Church, and estab 
 lishing and consolidating its authority. He joined 
 hands with Cranmer in divorcing the King from his 
 first and excellent queen ; and when his last queen, 
 the gentle Katharine Parr, who united in her person 
 the rare accomplishments of the scholar, the sweet 
 est graces of the woman, and the adorning virtues 
 of the Christian, was suspected of holding Lutheran 
 opinions, Gardiner exhausted all his infernal though 
 baffled ingenuity to alienate the King from her, and 
 bring her down from the throne to a dishonored and 
 bloody grave. His faoe by Holbein is before us. 
 It has a bulldog s eye and a wolfish visage and a 
 sinister expression, that warrant the remark com 
 mon with his contemporaries, that, " like Hebrew, 
 he was to be read backward." It was said that he 
 was not originally a bad man, nor void of natural 
 
76 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 humanity. But it is the sure result with those who 
 attempt to execute or defend polluted law, that they 
 become themselves polluted, and that the spirit of 
 the law, with all its devils of cruelty, enters into 
 them. Gardiner became a Catholic again in the 
 reign of Mary, and her prime minister, renounced 
 the doctrines of his book, De Vera et Falsa Obe- 
 dientia," and gratified to the full his bulldog pro 
 pensities by hunting down Protestant bishops and 
 burning them in slow fires. 
 
 There was a man by the name of THOMAS WRI- 
 OTHESLEY, another minister of Henry and member 
 of his Privy Council, a Henrican of the genuine 
 stamp, and co-worker with Gardiner " par nobile 
 fratrum" in snuffing a trail for human victims. 
 He was a dry business man, hard and repulsive in 
 his manners. Lord Campbell, in his Lives of the 
 Chancellors, calls him "conscientious," which 
 means, we suppose, that he was ever faithful to the 
 head of his Church, and enforced all the measures 
 of Henry and the laws of his Parliament with scru 
 pulous exactness. That was the creed which he 
 never questioned ; and the living hearts and shrink 
 ing nerves which he crushed and wrung in enfor 
 cing it upon others, were things with which he had 
 nothing to do ; or rather they gave zest to the work 
 of hunting down men and women, just as the flutter- 
 ings of the bird give zest to the sport of the fowler. 
 Katharine Howard, the King s fifth queen, was 
 but just out of her girlhood when she was called to 
 share the tyrant s throne. Some indiscretions which 
 she had fallen into when an unprotected orphan 
 
PORTRAITS. 77 
 
 girl, but which afterwards she had had the womanly 
 virtue to forsake entirely, were dug up and brought 
 to the hungry ears of Wriotnesley and Cranmer. 
 Straightway they pursued the gentle and amiable 
 woman with wily but determined cruelty, and were 
 at last gratified when her head rolled upon the 
 scaffold, and her mangled body rested with other 
 victims under the floors of St. Peter s Chapel with 
 in the Tower. 
 
 There was a noble lady by the name of Ann 
 Ascew, who had been driven from her house by her 
 Papist husband. Her beauty was the least of her 
 adornments, for she had the graces of learning and 
 piety. She was one of the maids of honor to 
 Katharine Parr, but she did not believe the most 
 essential article in the Church which King Henry 
 was setting up, the presence of Christ s body in 
 the Eucharist. 
 
 " Do you believe that the priest has power to 
 change the bread into the body of the Lord?" 
 
 " Verily," said she, " I have read that God made 
 man, but I never have read that man can make 
 God." 
 
 She was sent to the Tower, and Wriothesley and 
 Rich thought they could wring something from her 
 which could be turned into evidence against her mis 
 tress, the Queen. They ordered Sir Anthony Kny- 
 vet, the keeper, to put her to the rack. He obeyed, 
 the miscreants standing and looking on. But the 
 gentle martyr would disclose nothing, when they 
 ordered Knyvet to give the rack another turn. He 
 
 refused. Rich and Wriothesley threw off their 
 
 7* 
 
78 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 cloaks and seized hold of the infernal machine, 
 which they turned till the tender frame that was 
 stretched upon it was dislocated and nearly plucked 
 asunder. Knyvet fled appalled and indignant from 
 the spectacle, to complain of it to the King; and 
 even the royal butcher was shocked at the recital. 
 This Wriothesley subsequently became Lord Chan 
 cellor. He was said to be constitutionally a kindly 
 and humane man; and he furnishes yet another 
 illustration of the fact, that cruel laws always de- 
 monize the men who execute them. Holbein has 
 not left us the picture of this man, but a contem 
 porary poet has done it : 
 
 " From vile estate of base and low degree, 
 By false deceit, by craft arid subtle ways, 
 Of mischief mould and key of cruelty, 
 Was crept full high, borne up by various stays, 
 With ireful eye and glcaring like a cat, 
 Killing by spite whom he thought fit to hit." * 
 
 Another of these Henricans and women-hunters 
 was THOMAS CROMWELL, too well known in history 
 to need any limning from us. He was Henry s pli 
 ant tool in all things, and though his private ten 
 dencies were towards Protestantism, yet he held his 
 opinions as entirely ductile to the church and state 
 policy of Henry. His case furnishes as terrible an 
 instance of recoiling and retributive justice as can 
 be found either in history or poetry. He compassed 
 the death of Ann Boleyn, because his family was 
 connected with Jane Seymour, who was to succeed 
 her. He compassed the death of Queen Katharine 
 
 * Cavendish. 
 
PORTRAITS. 79 
 
 Howard, because she was a Catholic ; and he got the 
 King married to Ann of Cleves, because she was a 
 Protestant. Ann did not suit the royal Blue-Beard, 
 and he swore vengeance upon the minister who had 
 imposed her upon him. But before he had done 
 with him, he made him drive through the Parliament 
 a law authorizing the attainder and execution of 
 persons charged with treason, without trial. This 
 was done for the purpose of reaching the venerable 
 and innocent Countess of Salisbury. But it so hap 
 pened that Cromwell was the first victim to the law 
 which he had been the base instrument in bringing 
 in, not a solitary instance of those who are 
 plagued by their own " bloody instructions." He 
 got the axe ready which was first to cut off his own 
 head. At the time of which we write, Cromwell 
 was the Vicar- General of England. 
 
 RICHARD RICH, the crown lawyer and solicitor, the 
 reader has already had a glimpse of, with his red 
 face and drunken leer. He was a Henrican in the 
 full sense of the word, his religion being always that 
 of the government. We follow him afterwards into 
 the reign of Edward, when avarice has become his 
 ruling passion. Grown rich on confiscated estates 
 and the price of blood, he becomes fearful of losing 
 his own head between opposing factions, resigns 
 office and retires to private life with a vision of the 
 axe before his eyes, but finally dies a natural death 
 with the blood of More unpurged from his soul. 
 
 Whoever walks through the great hall of Lam 
 beth Palace, hung round with the portraits of the 
 Archbishops of Canterbury, will pause with a melan- 
 
80 THE EXILE. 
 
 choly interest when he comes to THOMAS CRANMER. 
 Two qualities which, alas! will sometimes get blend 
 ed in the same character, speak out from the mild 
 eye and from ah 1 the features, Christian meekness 
 and cringing cowardice. Cranmer has been praised 
 by Protestants as their sainted martyr, and honored 
 as the father of the English Reformation. But 
 those unerring witnesses, the " state papers," are 
 likely to pluck away his honors. It is only by an 
 abuse of language that we can call him a Reformer, 
 or even a Protestant. True, he held in his secret 
 heart some of the principles of the Reformation, 
 which were denied in his life and on his tongue 
 whenever he thought his personal safety required it. 
 He lent himself soul and body to the mongrel church 
 which Henry was trying to build up. By him the 
 noble and spotless Katharine of Aragon was driven, 
 blighted and broken-hearted, to her grave. By him 
 the giddy-headed Ann Boleyn was installed in her 
 place. By him Ann was in turn deposed and her 
 child bastardized, and though she had been his kind 
 benefactor, she went to the block with not so much 
 as a remonstrance from him when he knew she was 
 innocent. By him Daniel Lambert was confronted 
 and argued down on his trial for heresy, and finally 
 sent to the flames for avowing opinions which Cran 
 mer in his heart believed. By him Katharine How 
 ard, a woman to whom history has never yet been 
 just, was inveigled into a confession under promise 
 of the King s pardon, and then sent to the block, a 
 friendless girl, innocent of the crime charged against 
 her, when there was not a man in the Council to 
 
PORTRAITS. 81 
 
 bespeak for her a decent trial. When installed 
 into the office of Archbishop, Cranmer swore to the 
 Pope s supremacy in public, and made record in 
 private that he meant to break his oath. After he 
 had been condemned to death, he recanted his opin 
 ions under the promise of pardon ; and so used had 
 he been to paltering in a double sense, that they 
 made him draw up six confessions before they could 
 get one out of him which was not capable of con 
 tradictory interpretations. When he found at last, 
 that he must burn at any rate, he recanted his re 
 cantation, and went to the stake, the only time he 
 seems to have acted like a man. Notwithstanding 
 his place in the calendar of Protestant saints, we 
 can make nothing of him but a Henrican, a tool of 
 the existing church power, furnishing another mel 
 ancholy instance how a really noble nature for 
 such his originally was can have all its powers 
 reversed, when it lends itself to unrighteous power, 
 and is swept over by the spirit of polluted law. 
 
 These were prominent among the men who un 
 der Henry founded a church, which was neither Pa 
 pal nor Protestant, and whose final creed determined 
 in what were called " THE Six BLOODY ARTICLES." 
 These Articles were thoroughly Catholic, with the 
 exception that Henry, instead of Clement, was made 
 Pope, and his ministers, and not those of the Roman 
 Pontiff, had all the diabolical pleasures of persecu 
 tion.* The Bloody Articles cut two ways, upon 
 
 * These Articles were as follows : The first affirms the doctrine 
 of transubstantiation. The second denies the necessity of communion 
 in both kinds. The third affirms the doctrine of clerical celibacy. 
 
82 THE EXILE. 
 
 Catholics for denying that Henry was the true Pope, 
 and upon Protestants for denying the transubstan- 
 tiation and its kindred dogmas. 
 
 It would be unjust, however, to say that all the 
 subscribers to the Bloody Articles were after the 
 pattern of Wriothesley and Gardiner. There were 
 a great many persons who stood on just this middle 
 and transition ground. They did not believe in the 
 Pope, and they dreaded Lutheranism and Lollard- 
 ism as the upheaving of all authority, and leading 
 to such irregularities as the Anabaptists were guilty 
 of in Germany. It was an era of perplexing change, 
 and these people clung to Henricism as the last stay 
 against the total wreck of society. In this class, 
 we suppose, the family of Richard Sayer was to be 
 found. 
 
 The Bloody Articles did not have the formal 
 sanction of Parliament till 1538, though they were 
 virtually in force at the time of More s execution. 
 Who the commissioner was that came down to 
 Essex as apostle of the Henrican Church, to swear 
 in the people to the true faith, we have no authen 
 tic record ; but we infer from various hints that it 
 was Wriothesley with his " glearing eye," which 
 blasted whomsoever it fell upon. We will show 
 the reader the work which was done, so far as our 
 family history is concerned, and he will judge which 
 of these select spirits of the Privy Council might 
 best claim it as his own. Of religious persecutions, 
 
 The fourth asserts that vows of chastity should be observed. The 
 fifth is in favor of private masses ; the sixth, of auricular confession. 
 Tolman s Neale s Puritans, II. 76. 
 
PORTRAITS. 83 
 
 those of the Roman Emperors, of St. Bartholo 
 mew s day, and of " the Bloody Mary " have passed 
 into the commonplaces of history, and wrought 
 deeply upon human sympathy The victims of St. 
 Bartholomew s day are computed variously, but 
 were probably not far from thirty thousand. The 
 martyrs in Mary s reign numbered about two hun 
 dred. This Henrican Church has never had its mar- 
 tyrologist or its history worthily written, and the 
 common reader is, perhaps, ignorant of the astound 
 ing fact, that, in the attempt to break the English 
 mind into a conformity with the doctrines of the 
 Six Bloody Articles, SEVENTY TWO THOUSAND PER 
 SONS were put to death during the reign of Henry,* 
 No persecution on record discloses such an appalling 
 havoc of human life. Most of these were in hum 
 ble circumstances, and if the secret story of all these 
 sufferers could be unrolled, it would be a thrilling 
 chapter in the history of earth s unrecorded martyrs. 
 But History has been so busy with the crimes of 
 courts, that she has never drawn the veil from this 
 lowly province of endurance and wrong. The above 
 fact is put down in Holingshed as an item of dry 
 statistics ; for since the sufferers were mainly among 
 
 * This fact is given by Miss Strickland, on the authority of Ho- 
 lingshed s Chronicle. See Queens of England, Vol. V. p. 218. It 
 docs not appear, however, that all this destruction of life was profess 
 edly the penalty of heretical opinions. But it must have been to a 
 great extent in consequence of religious animosities and persecutions. 
 The dissolution of the monasteries made vast numbers of people 
 homeless and destitute. Then homelessness and destitution wore 
 made capital crimes. Those who suffered directly for either Popery 
 or Lollardism swelled the frightful number of victims. 
 
84 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 the untitled populace, the hecatombs are passed over 
 with less remark than the execution of a single per 
 son like "the noble and accomplished Surrey." It 
 is our object simply to trace the results of this per 
 secution, and show its spirit in the domestic history 
 of a single family. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHEREIN JOB SINGS HIMSELF INTO MUCH TROUBLE. 
 
 RICHARD came away from the monastery marvel 
 lously refreshed. Faith in God and faith in virtue 
 had somehow got completely strengthened and re 
 lumed. The owls of atheism had all flitted away, 
 and left a clear and sunny sky ; and the last time 
 he kneeled before Raphael s picture, it seemed to 
 him that he was breathed upon by a whole army 
 of martyrs. 
 
 On the southern bank of the river Colne the 
 ground swells into a considerable eminence, and on 
 the northern side of this eminence lies the city of 
 Colchester. Commencing at the margin of the 
 stream, it spreads along up the acclivity, street 
 above street, till it finally crowns the top of the hill. 
 On the continuous summit of this same hill, as it 
 stretched along westward, lay the estate of Richard 
 Sayer, six miles out of the town, and on it stood 
 Bourchier Hall, the family mansion.* It stood 
 apart by itself, looking northward down into the 
 
 * The ruins still remain. It had fish-ponds, dove-cots, extensive 
 stables, and a rookery. 
 8 
 
86 THE EXILE. 
 
 vales of the Colne, and southward, over an undu 
 lating prospect, into the fertile fields of Essex. 
 
 The house, after the manner of country baronial 
 houses, was a quadrangular structure around an 
 inner court. Richard, in coming to it from Lon 
 don, did not pass through the town, but left the 
 town upon his right, a fortunate circumstance in 
 the present instance. From the house down to the 
 Colne the sloping fields were covered with crops of 
 grass and grain, through which rolled the lazy and 
 rustling billows under the summer wind. On both 
 sides of the house, north and south, were terraced 
 gardens, through which lay walks, some fringed with 
 flowers, and some shaded with trees and shrubbery. 
 The building fronted south, and was a tolerable 
 specimen of the baronial mansion-houses in the 
 times of the Tudors. At the middle of the south 
 front was a great, well-timbered gate, that seldom 
 grated on its hinges ; but in this was formed a small 
 wicket-gate, through which you look into the inner 
 court, and by which you enter it. Passing through 
 the wicket-gate, and turning to the right, you enter 
 the porter s lodge, Job s head-quarters, and through 
 that you pass into the dining-room. Or turning to 
 the left, you enter the chapel, for the old baronial 
 lords did not often attend the parish church, and 
 thence you enter the drawing-room or largest parlor. 
 These four rooms occupied the southern front of the 
 quadrangular structure on the ground floor. The 
 eastern side was occupied by an arcade, that, in 
 summer, looked through open arches into a flower- 
 garden, which arches in winter were closed up and 
 
JOB IN TROUBLE. 87 
 
 glazed. On the west side was a great, gloomy hall, 
 and on the north side was the immense kitchen, 
 with its long oaken tables. We need not stop to 
 describe the dormitories and chambers of the second 
 floor, any further than to say that the " royal apart 
 ments," so called, occupied the south front over the 
 gateway, the porter s lodge, and the drawing and 
 dining rooms. In the inner court, and near the 
 centre of it, stood a massive stone figure of Her 
 cules, holding in one hand a club, that lay across 
 his shoulders; the other resting on his hip, and dis 
 charging a perennial stream of water into a carved 
 stone basin below.* 
 
 Richard has walked over from the monastery, and 
 arrived at his house with such feelings as the read 
 er, provided he has a wife and child, may imagine 
 him to possess, after the scenes he has witnessed in 
 London. As he opens the wicket-gate into the 
 open court, a boy of about four summers, who does 
 not observe his approach, is leaning over the stone 
 basin, plashing languidly in the water, and some 
 times catching the spray from the stone Hercules 
 on his golden curls. Richard comes furtively to 
 wards him and catches him up ; and not till he has 
 plucked a thousand kisses from his white neck and 
 chubby cheeks, while the court rings with the child s 
 silvery laughter, does the father observe the big 
 tear-drops that the laughter was shaking down his 
 face, the gushings of some sorrow he had broken in 
 
 * For a more full and detailed description of one of these baronial 
 country-houses, see a curious book, " Sir John Cullum s History and 
 Antiquities of Hawstcad and Hard wick, in the County of Suffolk." 
 
88 THE EXILE. 
 
 upon. Before he has time to inquire into the case, 
 his wife is in his arms, and weeping upon his bosom. 
 The night-birds have been here in his absence. 
 
 "Where s Job?" 
 
 " The hounds have got him." 
 
 And Lottie ? " 
 
 No answer but choking sobs. 
 
 Poor Job had mistaken the matter. Not only 
 " loftie lugs," but lowly ones too, were in danger in 
 such times as these. Job, quite unconscious of his 
 peril, had provoked the Church authorities, and 
 brought down their power upon his head in its 
 most malignant shape. Notwithstanding his large 
 good-nature, he had a most irresistible propensity 
 to extract his amusements from the follies of other 
 people; and the shams especially which he saw 
 about him were the occasions of infinite fun. Lit 
 tle Johnny, the boy whom we just saw at the stone 
 basin, was always hanging on his neck for a story 
 or a song, and neither the stories nor the songs 
 were calculated to give him the most exalted ideas 
 of things which some people looked upon with 
 awful reverence. The child would go to bed, and 
 laugh himself to sleep ; and even after sleep had 
 got fast hold of him, his laughter would break out 
 in prolonged eruptions, as the droll images of Job s 
 songs would come floating through his dreams. 
 Fortunate would it have been for Job if little 
 Johnny had been his only admirer ; but the porter s 
 lodge at Bourchier Hall had become a famous place 
 for a certain class of people to resort to, and not 
 always till after midnight did the room cease jfb 
 
JOB IN TROUBLE. 89 
 
 shake with the merriment. Job s vanity became a 
 little excited, and, with a fine instinct, he did not 
 fail to discover the train he was to touch, in order 
 to produce a general explosion. Whoever satirized 
 the priests or the begging friars was pretty sure of 
 a sympathizing audience, and Job s poetic lore was 
 but too rich in material from which to draw. The 
 solemn drollery of his intonations was imitated by 
 worse people than himself; fragments of his songs 
 got popularized in the streets and alehouses, and 
 the whole of the lower stata of Colchester was get 
 ting infected with Lollardism. A system of fraud 
 and error, which will stand before whole batteries 
 of syllogisms, cannot stand very long the assaults of 
 popular lampooning. With the exception of the 
 following, tradition has preserved to us only short 
 fragments and snatches of Job s melodies of this 
 class ; but if this be a fair specimen, we rather won 
 der how he escaped so long either the real or sym 
 bolical fagots provided for such cases. 
 
 BOXLEY ROOD. 
 
 " There lived a priest in Maidstonc town, 
 
 Not many years agone ; 
 He had a cross called Boxlcy Rood, 
 
 Through all the country known ; 
 And all around the people came, 
 
 This Boxley Rood to view, 
 For on the cross an image hung, 
 
 Of Saint Bartholomew. 
 O, a wondrous thing this image was, 
 
 Of Saint Bartholomew ! 
 
 " The pilgrims came from far and near, 
 As I \Q heard people say, 
 8=* 
 
90 THE EXILE. 
 
 And paid the priest so much a head, 
 
 To see the image pray ; 
 Its lips would move, its eyes would roll, 
 
 Its hands it upward threw : 
 O, a wondrous thing this image was, 
 
 Of Saint Bartholomew ! 
 
 " One day a fanner lost his wife, 
 
 And came with a pistole : 
 O let the image say a mass 
 
 For my poor Betsey s soul ! 
 The priest he looked a solemn look, 
 
 And signed him thus and so : 
 Out popped the head of Bobbie Brant, 
 
 Bartholomew wont go ! 
 O dolorous joke, the crank is broke, 
 
 Bartholomew wont go ! 
 
 " Soft spake the priest : A tinker call, 
 
 As swiftly as you can, 
 And let him mend Bartholomew, 
 
 And grease his inner man. 
 O then, good people one and all, 
 
 Come on with your pistoles, 
 And Bobbie Brant will grind the prayers 
 
 For your poor, dying souls ! 
 O Bobbie Brant, he turns the crank, 
 
 To save poor sinners souls ! " 
 
 Poor Job was innocent of any evil design ; but 
 the roars of laughter had scarcely ceased to echo in 
 the porter s lodge, before Bobbie Brant became a fa 
 mous character in all the streets and market-places 
 of Colchester, and even the priests heard his praises 
 chanted under their windows by moonlight. It 
 made the matter worse, inasmuch as the doggerel 
 which Job had picked up was a rather loose and 
 incorrect version of a real fact ; for Boxley Rood at 
 that moment was receiving devotees from all parts 
 
JOB IN TROUBLE. 9l 
 
 of the kingdom, and swelling the revenues of the 
 priest at Maidstone ; and it was a pretty good speci 
 men of the trickeries which the opened monasteries 
 were every day disclosing.* They swore to make 
 an autodefe of the " gray-headed buffoon," and put 
 a stop to his cursed doggerel. 
 
 * The ultimate fate of Boxley Rood is curiously told in a letter in 
 Latin, given by Burnet. See his Reformation, p. 376 of the Appen 
 dix. The idol was also called the Image of Ashdod, and the Baby 
 lonish BeL After playing its tricks for a long time, the imposture 
 was discovered, and it was brought for exhibition to St. Paul s Cross, 
 where its ignominious end is thus described : 
 
 " Here the image once more, with all its machinery exposed, goes 
 through its part. Admiration, rage, astonishment, stir the multitude 
 by turns. The prevailing feeling is one of mortification, that they 
 should have been so shamefully deluded by such a cheat. At length, 
 as the preacher (Hilsey of Rochester) waxes warm in his discourse, 
 and the word of God is secretly working in the hearts of his auditors, 
 the wooden block is thrown down headlong into the thickest of the 
 thi-ong. Instantly a confused outcry of many voices arises ; the idol 
 is pulled about, is broken, is plucked in pieces, is torn into a thousand 
 fragments, and finally consigned to the flames." "Ethictulit exi- 
 tum ilium." 
 
 This was Sunday, February 24th, 1538. The whole letter is cu 
 rious, giving a lively description of the idol s pranks before the impos 
 ture was discovered. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SONGS IN THE NIGHT. 
 
 * 
 
 MORE had already been executed. Before Rich 
 ard arrived home, the judicial crime had been con 
 summated that sent a shudder, not only over Eng 
 land, but the whole continent of Europe. There 
 was no man more endeared to the common people 
 than More, and his murder was one of those mon 
 strous iniquities that make the child creep up closer 
 to its mother, and the mother clasp her babes in 
 terror. "Had we been the master of such a ser 
 vant," exclaimed the Emperor Charles, " we would 
 rather have lost the fairest city in our dominions 
 than such a counsellor." The commissioners ad 
 ministered the oath of supremacy, while the gloom 
 of this overshadowing crime lay heavy on the minds 
 of men. 
 
 They had been to Colchester, as we have said, 
 but Richard Sayer did not appear. They meant 
 to hunt him out. Job is to be used for a double 
 purpose. He is to be used in discovering and con 
 victing his master, and then doubtless they will 
 roast him in the Colchester market-place as a terror 
 
SONGS IN THE NIGHT. 93 
 
 to all Lollards, and especially those that sing ballads 
 and lampoons. 
 
 There ^ was a priest named Dyer,* convicted af 
 terwards of gross sensuality, who undertook to be 
 Job s confessor, and who very likely instigated his 
 arrest. Job was lodged in the common jail, and 
 Dyer came and talked sweet and softish at first, 
 holding out finally very unpleasant prospects, both 
 of temporal and eternal fire, yet intimating a par 
 don on conditions. Where was his master ? And 
 what had he heard him say ? 
 
 Job was dumb. 
 
 The priest threatened, but in vain. At length the 
 last ad hominem argument which tyrants resort to 
 was produced, the rack. Job s hair rose up stiffer 
 on the top of his head. " I will be plain with you, 
 Master Dyer, and save you all that trouble. You 
 may tear my limbs apart, but I cannot betray my 
 master." 
 
 We will not stop to describe the agonies of the 
 faithful old servant. They did not reach the place 
 where his secret was kept, and he hugged it closer, 
 and sent it deeper into his heart, in the rnidst of his 
 tortures. 
 
 But the fiends of cruelty have an inexhaustible 
 ingenuity. Respect and reverence for woman is a 
 native element of the English, and especially the 
 Anglo-Saxon mind, and antedates all the glories of 
 chivalry. But the beastly monster who now occu 
 pied the throne of England did what lay in him to 
 
 * For some account of this fellow, See Bumet s Reformation, in 
 Vol. II., Appendix. 
 
94 THE EXILE. 
 
 extinguish this essential element of civilization, and 
 brought in the fashion of burning and butchering 
 women to an extent that no nation, heathen or 
 Christian, ever practised or heard of before. The 
 royal butcher began with Elizabeth Barton, the 
 epileptic " Spiritualist " of those times. Thence 
 he proceeded to ladies of gentle blood, and sent his 
 queens to the block as remorselessly as a Devon 
 shire drover would drive his cattle to the shambles. 
 The gray-haired Countess of Salisbury followed, 
 hacked in pieces on the scaffold and dragged round 
 it by her hoary hair, the account of whose execu 
 tion we cannot read, now that three centuries have 
 passed, without a feeling of self-degradation that 
 we and Henry the Eighth belong to a common 
 species. The noble-minded Ann Ascew, with a 
 train of others, followed in her turn, and after her 
 Joan of Kent, whose innocent blood stains eternally 
 the robes of Cranmer, and, we are sorry to add, 
 of John Rogers, the famous martyr. 
 
 It was a question among the vultures of Essex, 
 put on the scent doubtless by Rich, the brutal and 
 cringing crown lawyer, who was doing his best to 
 earn the chancellorship and clutch his share of con 
 fiscated estates, whether they would attempt to get 
 hold of Richard through his wife or his servant. 
 His wife was a lady of gentle blood, and there were 
 difficulties in the way. The hard fate fell upon 
 poor Lottie, who was supposed to be thoroughly 
 infected with the Lollardism of her father. She 
 was arrested and lodged in another apartment of 
 the same jail. 
 
SONGS IN THE NIGHT. 95 
 
 The wits of these night-birds were infernally keen, 
 and would have honored a Solomon in a good 
 cause. Lottie proved as intractable as her father. 
 They could not win the secret from her by blandish 
 ments, nor frighten it out of her by threats. But 
 they contrived a rack for her, whose tortures were 
 sharper than any which poor Job had yet suffered. 
 They put her purposely where she could hear most 
 distinctly her father s groans, and thought to break 
 her in through the tortures of agonizing love. All 
 day she had heard at intervals the creaking of the 
 rack, followed by the piercing ejaculation, " O Lord, 
 save ! O Lord, forgive " with the assurance that 
 any moment she could put an end to the dreadful 
 business, by telling x where her master was to be 
 found. Her first truthful and womanly instinct was 
 to refuse even unto the death, but every new turn of 
 the rack sent a knife through the tenderest spot in her 
 heart, and what she would have done in her distrac 
 tion we cannot tell. Happily, however, this was 
 not an agony to be long endured; and as the day 
 closed, the dingy prison-walls grew darker and swam 
 before her eyes, and presently all sights and sounds 
 were as nothing to poor Lottie, and she lay insen 
 sible upon the dungeon floor 
 
 Night has set in, and the vultures have left their 
 victims to themselves. Lottie opened her eyes, 
 and looked at a light, which was none other than 
 the moonbeams shining through the grate, making 
 a picture on the \vall alive with the shadows of 
 fluttering leaves. She was musing what it could 
 be, when gradually all her senses unlocked, and 
 
96 THE EXILE. 
 
 she knew again where she was. She listened for 
 the sounds from the adjoining cell. There were 
 meanings of pain, made in loved and remembered 
 tones. But they grew fainter, and all was still; and 
 there came the bitter reflection, that he whose good 
 angel she had aspired to be, and whose pillow she 
 had hoped to make smooth in the last strange 
 hour, had met that hour alone. 
 
 But Job was alive, though he did not know what 
 had befallen his child. He was turning over his 
 lore to find something that suited his case and 
 would enable him to forget his pains. Presently the 
 low humming and tuning so familiar to Lottie s ear 
 greeted it again. She listened with all her life, and 
 anon an old and much-loved strain emerged, feeble 
 and tremulous at first, but gaining strength and 
 volume as it swept along. 
 
 " Night has shut the prisoner in, 
 Night of horrors, night of sin ! 
 Vain for light my eyeballs roll, 
 Darkly here I dwell in dole ; 
 On my bed I plain and mourn, 
 Bleeding with the twisted thorn. 
 
 " What arises dread and still ? 
 O t is Calvary s awftil hill ! 
 -..,.. the drooping Sufferer there ! 
 
 O the unprevailing prayer ! 
 O the temples gashed and torn, 
 Bleeding with the twisted thorn ! " 
 
 Lottie had listened, doubting in her heart whether 
 to let her voice be heard, fearing lest a knowledge 
 that she was there would add another drop of bit- 
 
SONGS IN THE NIGHT. 97 
 
 terness to her father s cup of trembling ; but she 
 forgot herself here, or at least could not keep her 
 voice suppressed, that leaped out of its own accord. 
 At the third stanza, she caught the song away from 
 her father s lips ; and her tones, made rich with a 
 new unction, rolled round her apartment, and filled 
 the whole prison with a strange melody. 
 
 " What arises dread and still ? 
 Lo, Ascension s holy hill ! 
 See the rifted clouds retire, 
 Flaming with the fleecy fire ! 
 Through them see a form upborne, 
 He who wore the twisted thorn ! 
 
 " What is that I see afar ? 
 T is the blinking of a star, 
 Tis Orion ! tis the Sun! 
 T is the Conqueror coming on ! 
 Riding through the gates of morn, 
 lie who wore the twisted thorn ! 
 
 " Look ye up to Calvary s hill, 
 Ye who tread the paths of ill ! 
 Look 3*0 towards Ascension Mount, 
 Ye who drink the bitter fount ! 
 Look ye towards the gates of Morn, 
 Ye who wear the twisted thorn ! " 
 
 Job was bewildered. He thought of other and 
 better men before him, who had sung songs in prison 
 that brought down angels to open the doors. He 
 thought he knew the voice, and in his pain and be 
 wilderment he looked up, half expecting his lost 
 Charlotte to melt through the darkness upon his 
 vision. Slowly he came to a realization of the 
 facts of the case, and then the song was repeated 
 
 9 
 
98 THE EXILE. 
 
 over and over with blended voices, till the drowsy 
 inmates of the prison rubbed their eyes, and looked 
 about in wonderment, and till a light not of this 
 world was shining through two of the prison cells. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CONSULTATIONS. 
 
 ALL this business had been going on while Rich 
 ard was staying at the monastery, his whereabouts 
 a secret to all but his own family. When he ar 
 rived at Colchester, the storm had got there before 
 him. 
 
 We have said that his father was living, and that 
 Richard had not yet come in possession of his 
 estate. But Bourchier Hall he held either in his 
 own right or that of his wife, and the hungry eyes 
 of the Privy Council were upon it. 
 
 As soon as he arrived, his family connections, 
 both on his side and that of his wife, drew around 
 him, and urged upon him all possible persuasions 
 to take the oath. Commands, entreaties, woman s 
 tears, threats of disinheritance, were brought to 
 bear. All the ties that can bind a man to his 
 family and to this world when it looks the fairest 
 were stirring at his heart, to draw him into con 
 formity with the government. But he was a 
 young man, his imagination bright with what 
 his friends called the romance of life, his mind as 
 
100 THE EXILE. 
 
 he thought smitten with the beauty of justice and 
 a conscience undented. The duty of obedience 
 to government was urged upon him. He stoutly 
 argued that there was a higher law than that of 
 Parliament, and a higher King than Henry. They 
 urged, that for an individual to set up his opinion 
 against the King and the Parliament was flat re 
 bellion. 
 
 He replied, that it was better to rebel against 
 human government than the Divine. 
 
 They urged that he was not the proper judge of 
 what was the Divine law. 
 
 He replied, that he thought his judgment as 
 good as that of the King s harlot, and that the 
 Church in which he was baptized and educated 
 was a better judge than either. 
 
 They urged the danger of anarchy and the Ana 
 baptist disorders in Germany. 
 
 He replied, that a tyranny that sent such men as 
 More and Fisher to the block was as bad as the 
 disorders of the Continent, and that the true safe 
 guard against both was the authority of the ancient 
 Church. 
 
 They urged his duty to his family, his aged 
 parents, and his wife and child, whom he exposed 
 to certain calamity. 
 
 " Alack ! " said he, in a voice becoming tremu 
 lous, I will give up everything of my own to please 
 and comfort you. But truth is not mine, and 
 when the choice lies between that and perjury, I 
 must know neither father nor mother nor wife nor 
 sister nor brother." 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 101 
 
 . He had passed the Rubicon, and Lawyer Leach s 
 distinction even could not save him now. They 
 gave him up sorrowfully, as utterly intractable, and 
 left him to himself. 
 
 His plan was soon formed. It was to leave the 
 country, and wait for better times. He had been 
 married about five years, and no blight had fallen 
 upon his domestic peace. His wife s family were 
 firm adherents of the government, Henricans in 
 the fullest sense, and he determined to resign her 
 to their powerful protection. 
 
 She had experienced nothing but tenderness and 
 sunshine, and he did not mean to involve her in his 
 evil fortunes. 
 
 " You are to be my good angel no longer, nor 
 the light of my home, and I will see that you are 
 sent safely to the shades of Ashwelthorpe, where 
 you will remain till this storm has spent its rage. 
 As for this young cherub of ours " and he 
 was musing with his hand on the head of Johnny 
 till his eyes were getting moist. 
 
 We have known men who had wives whose 
 worth they never had the fortune to discover. It is 
 one of the benefits of calamity that it reveals the 
 clear gold in woman s character ; and Richard did 
 not know what his treasures were till this hour. 
 His wife clung to him when all the rest had 
 left him to his fate. " Talk not," said she, " of 
 Ashwelthorpe ! Do you think I will desert you in 
 such an hour as this ? What did you take me 
 for, if I am good for nothing in your day of ex 
 tremity ? Trust me, I will cling to you to the end, 
 
102 THE EXILE. 
 
 and share with you your exile, your prison, or your 
 grave. You will be worth more to me with a con 
 science undenled, and an unbroken manhood, with 
 all its hardships, than living a dishonored life in 
 Bourchier Hall." 
 
 He reminded her that she would incur her own 
 father s displeasure, as he himself had already done. 
 " I will take care of that," said she. " Go and leave 
 everything to me, and, God willing, I will follow 
 you, and bring your child in safety to you at last. 
 Go, for the hounds may overtake you." 
 
 There was danger of it. Not many hours after 
 this conversation, they were at the door. But the 
 game had fled. 
 
 The Sayers owned estates in the neighboring 
 parishes of Copford and Aldham. Richard retired 
 to the latter place, and remained some days among 
 his tenantry, through whom he made arrangements 
 for his escape out of the country. There was a 
 vessel lying down the Colne, in which he intended 
 to embark for Holland, and news at length came to 
 him from his wife that the vessel was ready to sail, 
 and that he could trust himself on board. Emerg 
 ing from his retreat, he went a little out of his direct 
 course in order to take St. John s Abbey in his way, 
 and receive the farewell blessing of the good father 
 whose counsels he had sought, and whose meek 
 but unconquerable spirit he had imbibed in his 
 hour of darkness. He passed once more the ora 
 tory on the hill, where under the solemn stars he 
 drank in the spirit of self-sacrifice, and where im 
 mortality brooded on his soul once more, and made 
 
CONSULTATIONS. 103 
 
 it strong. He walked again under the arches of 
 the old chestnut-trees, whose shades had soothed 
 his chafed and wearied spirit, as the old man dis 
 coursed of heavenly things ; and finally he emerged 
 from the grove and came in front of the monastery. 
 But a ghastly sight was before him. The aged 
 form of Father Bache had been hacked into four 
 quarters, the head severed from the body, and the 
 mangled fragments hung over the gates of the 
 monastery. The deed had just been done. No 
 monks appeared on the chapel green, and no bell 
 ringing for matins poured its music through the 
 grove. All was desolate and still. The monastery 
 had been "dissolved," which means that the ab 
 bot had been executed for refusing the oath of su 
 premacy, the monks turned adrift to starve and beg, 
 and perhaps be gibbeted afterwards on a charge of 
 vagabondism , and the income of the abbey lands put 
 into the clutch of some greedy Privy Councillor. It 
 was perilous for Richard to venture in, but a strange 
 power drew him farther, and he passes under the 
 yet dripping quarters of his venerated friend, into 
 the green court of the monastery. Within the 
 buildings were three or four men, who, in merchant 
 phrase, were " taking account of stock," making an 
 inventory of church plunder, among which were the 
 offerings at the shrine of St. John, the picture of the 
 Crucifixion, and the two pictures, Christ bearing the 
 Cross, and the Virgin and Child. One of these 
 men had a " glearing eye," that looked very much 
 like the eye of Wriotheslcy, though it might be the 
 eye of almost any of Cromwell s commissioners. 
 
104 THE EXILE. 
 
 The image of St. John lay prone on the green in 
 the court, where it had been pitched out, and the 
 head broken off. The mosaic of the chapel floor 
 had been taken up and placed in piles ; coffins, dug 
 up and rifled of their silver ornaments, lay here and 
 there; and the horses of the "commissioners" stood 
 in the chapel, tethered to the high altar, the least 
 brutal of any of the inmates just now. In such wise 
 was " dissolved " one of the houses which " had 
 been inns for the wayfaring man, who heard from 
 afar the sound of the vesper bell, at once inviting 
 him to repose and devotion, and who might sing 
 his matins with the morning-star, and go on his 
 way rejoicing." 
 
 Our traveller fled swiftly from the sickening 
 spectacle, and reached his ship, which was soon 
 dropping down the Colne. His eye rested upon 
 the receding turrets of St. John s Abbey, till tears, 
 not distance, shut out the view, and a heart-break 
 ing sigh breathed out a last farewell to his native 
 land. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE WIFE. 
 
 THE wife of Richard Sayer was barely twenty- 
 three years of age when the storm broke upon his 
 household. It came to her out of a clear sky. No 
 cloud before this had ever passed over it. She was 
 the eldest daughter of Sir Edmund Knyvet of Ash- 
 welthorpe in Norfolk, whose family name had been 
 distinguished now for a century in English annals. 
 Sir Edmund Knyvet appears in the genealogical 
 tables with the addition of " Sergent Porter to 
 Henry VIII." What that means precisely we can 
 not say, only we know he stood well in Henry s 
 favor, and supported his government both against 
 Popery on one side and Lollardism on the other. 
 We find his family occupying a distinguished place 
 in the pageants of which Henry was so fond, even 
 as early as the rejoicings occasioned by the birth of 
 his first child.* 
 
 * For a description of one of these occasions at Westminster Hall, 
 and an amusing incident connected with Sir Thomas Knyvet, a 
 brother of Edmund, see Lives of the Queens, by Agnes Strickland, 
 Vol. IV. p. 79. 
 
106 THE EXILE. 
 
 The wife of Sir Edmund and the mother of 
 Anne Bourchier Knyvet was Jane Bourchier, only 
 surviving daughter and heiress of Lord Berners, who 
 was also an adherent of Henry and a supporter of 
 his government. The wife of Lord Berners was 
 Katharine Howard, daughter of John, Duke of Nor 
 folk, and therefore not a remote kindred of the ill- 
 fated Katharine Howard who became the queen of 
 Henry. 
 
 The Lady Anne Bourchier Knyvet, therefore, 
 who married Richard Sayer, was connected by her 
 maternal grandmother with the Bourchiers, whose 
 line runs up directly to Edward the Third, and by 
 her mother and maternal grandmother with the 
 house of Norfolk, now, next to the throne, the most 
 powerful in the realm. The blood both of the Plan- 
 tagenets and the Howards was flowing in her veins ; 
 but better blood than that of either was also there, 
 as we shall see before we get through with the his 
 tory of this admirable and noble woman. 
 
 Her father by his marriage acquired the manor 
 of Ashwelthorpe ; and there Lady Anne was 
 brought up and educated until Richard took her, 
 with the bloom of eighteen summers upon her 
 cheek and the enthusiasm of romantic love in her 
 dark eye, and made her the light of his home. 
 Life s prospects at first sparkled before her as with 
 the beams of the morning. Her husband was as 
 full of hope and promise as herself, not without a 
 tinge of romance that threw its rose colors over 
 all things. He was the undoubted heir of large 
 estates ; he selected for his own residence a favorite 
 
THE WIFE. 107 
 
 ancestral mansion, named it Bourchier Hall after 
 the second name of his bride, adorned its grounds 
 with everything which he thought would please her 
 eye, and placed within it the most tried and faithful 
 servants that he could find from among his ten 
 antry. Little Johnny had come, and grown into his 
 fourth year, and, with his laughing blue eye and his 
 merry-making voice, made sunshine through the 
 house, if there was any spot not already illumined 
 with the quiet humor of Job s songs, or the laughing 
 dimples in the fat cheeks of Lottie. Five years of 
 these domestic enjoyments had flowed on without 
 disturbance, when they all had to be sacrificed for 
 what Lawyer Leach called an abstraction. 
 
 All the family influences on both sides were 
 brought to bear upon Lady Anne, to draw her away 
 from the involving ruin of her husband s fortunes. 
 She did not share his opinions, and why should she 
 share the hard penalties which attached to them ? 
 All that heart could wish she could have still ; her 
 child, friends, luxuries, the glare of outward grand 
 eur, all but the joy of that one unchanging, un 
 dying passion, woman s devoted and faithful 
 love. She had but just come out of her girlhood, 
 and nothing till now had occurred to show of 
 what metal she was made. Her form was of 
 rather slender and delicate mould. But s-he had a 
 high and serene forehead; her raven hair hung in 
 glossy ringlets down her neck ; her features were 
 pale, but exquisitely moulded ; and her large black 
 eye, that sometimes changed its liquid softness into 
 quick flashings of light, would lead one to think 
 
108 THE EXILE. 
 
 that she had a power in reserve, and a Plantagenet 
 energy, whenever occasion might require it. 
 
 The occasion had come. In looking about her 
 after the bolt had fallen, her first care was to provide 
 means for her husband s escape. She was on the 
 watch till she found a vessel ready to sail in which 
 he might venture with safety. She had things pro 
 vided for his comfort, and yet eluded the vigilance 
 of the hunters ; kept him secretly advised of every 
 thing ; and, finally, watched the vessel from the bal 
 cony as it dropped down the Colne, and faded off 
 and disappeared in a white speck on the ocean. 
 Then she thought of her two faithful servants. 
 
 But what could she do ? It was perilous to take 
 the part of heretics. Even to ask a mitigation of 
 punishment exposed one to the fatal suspicion of 
 sympathizing in their opinions. Hence, when a 
 person was arrested for heresy, everybody else cried 
 out and reviled him. Even his own kindred would 
 turn against him, in order to save themselves. No 
 darker feature is revealed of those dark times, than 
 the power of persecution to abolish the tenderest 
 ties and yearnings of nature. The father of Ann 
 Boleyn accused and vilified his daughter as she 
 went to the block, innocent though she was ; and 
 Norfolk, the uncle of Katharine Howard, saw his 
 niece sacrificed without a word to save her. The 
 victim always went to the stake amid the jeers and 
 scoffs of the crowd, who took good care to prove 
 their orthodoxy by their brutality. Lady Anne, by 
 all the dictates of prudence and the prevalent moral 
 ity, should now have maintained a guarded silence ; 
 
THE WIFE. 109 
 
 or, as she was herself under some suspicion, she 
 should have cleared herself by giving in evidence 
 against the victims of power. 
 
 What she really did, as soon as her husband was 
 safe, was to present herself before the jail-keeper 
 and demand to see her servants. The keeper said 
 he must first get the consent of Master Dyer. Mas 
 ter Dyer said he must get the consent of Wriothes- 
 ley, whose eye we conclude was "glearing" some 
 where in the neighborhood. Nevertheless permis 
 sion came, and she was admitted. There lay poor 
 Job stretched upon a plank, with a groove at each 
 end, in which a roller was made to turn. His feet 
 were lashed with cords to the roller at one extrem 
 ity, and his hands at the other, and a man was 
 turning it occasionally with an air of unconcern. 
 Master Dyer, a man with a broad, stolid face, sat 
 writing at a table. Job was beyond any complaints 
 or remonstrances. His breathing was thick and 
 hard, his eyes turned and glazed ; the clover-blossom 
 had left his cheek, which was deadly pale ; cold beads 
 like death-dew stood over his forehead and temples, 
 and his lips were shrunk and quivering. His kind- 
 hearted mistress, who had heard nothing of what 
 was going on in the jail, uttered an involuntary 
 groan, and kneeled down and buried her face on 
 the breast of her faithful old servant. Recovered 
 from her first agony of heart, she turned and asked, 
 in deprecating tone, " Good Master Dyer, what is 
 this for, and who has ordered it ? " 
 
 Master Dyer explained : " The master of this 
 man lies under a charge of treason, and has con- 
 10 
 
110 THE EXILE. 
 
 cealed himself somewhere. The man can be re 
 lieved any moment, by just telling what he knows. 
 Or his master can relieve him, by just giving him 
 self up." 
 
 And Master Dyer went to writing again with a 
 look that said, " Don t interrupt me again." 
 
 " I think," said the good woman, " that I am the 
 person to give you this information. I know my 
 husband s whereabouts better than this man does, 
 of which matter, I assure you, he is completely ig 
 norant." 
 
 " Why did n t the old fool say so then ? " said Dyer, 
 in a guttural voice, looking half round from his 
 paper. 
 
 u You must release him, Master Dyer, or a higher 
 power will take him out of your hands. He is fast 
 going where no secrets are told." 
 
 " I will relieve him, Madam, if you will produce 
 your husband." 
 
 " Nay, Master Dyer, I have not the keeping of my 
 husband ; but I will tell you all that Job can tell 
 you, and a great deal more, if you will only let him 
 go." 
 
 " Tell where your husband can be found, and thy 
 old ballad-grinder can be relieved ; but if not, I swear 
 to you he shall be screwed up till he cracks in two " 
 
 " That I promise you, on my honor, I will tell 
 you. If I do not, you may put me in his place, and 
 torture me to your entire satisfaction." 
 
 The screws were accordingly reversed, and the 
 hunters had the satisfaction of learning that their 
 game was beyond their reach, and had eluded their 
 toils. 
 
THE WIFE. Ill 
 
 The good woman then raised Job from his hard 
 bed, pillowed his head upon her breast, and wiped 
 the cold beads from his temples. After the strain 
 upon his muscles had been relaxed, there was an 
 involuntary quiver in his flesh, but his limbs hung 
 loose and flexile, and he sank into that entire un 
 consciousness, the last gift of mercy to our poor, 
 suffering nature. She bathed his flesh gently in 
 tepid water, but with no result ; and she sighed to 
 herself, " Alas ! he has sung his last song." The 
 tears were dripping fast down upon his cheek, when 
 he opened his eyes and looked up into a familiar 
 face, sweeter to him at that hour than the face of 
 an angel. For long weeks he had looked only on 
 the hard features of cruel men, and he had to collect 
 his wits before persuading himself that he had 
 waked up in this world. " Ah, good my Lady 
 Anne!" was all he could say. She nursed him for 
 days, doubtful whether the fluttering life would stay 
 in his half-dislocated limbs. 
 
 She sought the apartment of Lottie, and did 
 what she could to pour healing oil over her lacer 
 ated sympathies. Stretched in spirit on the rack 
 of her father, all her nerves had been wrung till her 
 mind was on that verge that separates between 
 reason and maniac frenzy. Her eye was wild, and 
 already saw the spectral tormenters, and she heard 
 shrieks that were not of earth ; till reassured on the 
 breast of her beloved mistress, her nerves were 
 soothed and stilled, and in the thought that her 
 father was relieved from the torture, the crushing 
 agony was lifted off her heart. 
 
112 THE EXILE. 
 
 And now the question came back to this good 
 woman : Have I saved these people from the rack, 
 only that they may be kept for a more terrible fate ? 
 The charge of Lollardism was still in reserve. Job 
 had touched the quick of theologic hate, a passion 
 never known to be appeased except by blood since 
 the world began. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 GOING TO COURT. 
 
 ON the 29th of May, 1536, there was one of those 
 pageants in London, so often enacted during the 
 reigns of the Tudors. It was not a coronation ; a 
 coronation for every new queen was too expensive 
 a matter for the purse of Henry. There were 
 splendid banquetings and masqueradings at Mer 
 cer s Hall, the place where Henry chose to intro 
 duce a new queen to his people. It was one of the 
 pageantries in which the satellites of royalty were 
 required to shine their part, and in which the Kny- 
 vets and the Bernerses generally appeared. Who 
 the " Lady Kny vet " was who figures among the 
 " ladies and gentlewomen attendant," we do not 
 know, but judge from the circumstances that it was 
 one of the sisters of our " good Lady Anne," or one 
 of her cousins, the daughters of Sir Thomas.* No 
 matter. On this 29th of May the Thames, at sun 
 set, is alive with barges coming up from Greenwich 
 
 * Lives of the Queens. See the list of the royal attendants in the 
 Life of Katharine Howard. 
 10* 
 
114 THE EXILE. 
 
 and from the Tower, barges " freshly furnished with 
 banners and streamers of silk" ; all the way "trum 
 pets, shawms, and other divers instruments, playing 
 and making great melody." And in the evening, 
 Mercer s Hall is filled with rejoicings and congratu 
 lations, in the centre of which is a rather prim and 
 sour-looking lady, with high cheeks and a somewhat 
 Tartar profile, flaring in jewelry, and who is writ 
 ten down by historians, as doubtless in duty bound, 
 " the beautiful Jane Seymour, the most prudent of 
 all the queens of Henry." 
 
 This beautiful and prudent Jane, whose Tartar 
 face the unerring pencil of Holbein has preserved 
 to us, was Queen Ann Boleyn s " maid of honor," 
 which honor she manifested by coquetting with the 
 King, supplanting and circumventing her mistress ; 
 and at an hour when her mistress was in special 
 need of feminine sympathy and support, she sent a 
 pang through her heart by her treachery, that de 
 stroyed a promised heir to the throne, and left the 
 mother to the brutal insults of her royal husband. 
 This beautiful and prudent maid of honor prepared 
 for her wedding-day, while her queen mistress was 
 under that awful sentence of death which her own 
 treachery had procured. She wedded the King on 
 the 20th of May, the day after Ann, her rival, 
 was sent to the block, and while her mangled and 
 once lovely form was lying yet warm under the 
 floors of St. Peter s chapel. Such is the new star 
 to which the gentlemen and gentlewomen of Eng 
 land are summoned to do homage. There must 
 have been gloom and depression of spirits under this 
 
GOING TO COURT. 115 
 
 outward glare. There must have been sadness of 
 heart to a large extent under the silks and starred 
 velvet at Mercer s Hall. At that moment the exe 
 cution of Ann lay heavy on the hearts of Protes 
 tant subjects, and rebellion was looming up sullenly 
 in the northern counties among Catholics. The 
 latter bewailed the desecration of their faith, the 
 abolishing of their festal days, and the dissolving of 
 the monasteries, whose outcast inmates, both men 
 and women, were swarming in thousands over the 
 land, and begging for bread and shelter. While this 
 show of rejoicing was going on among the gentry 
 at London, victims hung gibbeted in chains over 
 the country ; and soon the banks of all the rivers in 
 the North of England were to be lined with rows 
 of quartered traitors. 
 
 It was in this state of things that a woman ap 
 peared at Mercer s Hall, on this 29th of May, for 
 other purposes than to do homage to the new star, 
 with those who were ducking around the court of 
 the Blue-Beard King. It is none other than our 
 good Lady Anne, seeking her father among the 
 starred velvet, and pouring a child s earnest entrea 
 ties into his ear. We are not admitted to the inter 
 view between the father and the afflicted but well- 
 beloved daughter, now before him in her beauty 
 and tears. But we know pretty well what passed 
 between them, that Sir Edmund used all his per 
 suasions to rescue her from the falling fortunes of 
 her obstinate husband, and that she used every ar 
 gument which she thought could reach a father s 
 heart to intercede for the royal clemency. Sir Ed- 
 
116 THE EXILE. 
 
 mund knew better than she that he might ask for a 
 blessing and receive a double curse, even at that 
 hour of nuptial rejoicings, when tyrants, if ever, are 
 disposed to mercy. He was too cautious to touch 
 upon the subject of the attainder of Sayer in the 
 royal presence, for he was too finished a courtier 
 not to know that to disturb the question of the oath 
 of supremacy would pitch him pretty suddenly, 
 not only from the office of " Sergent Porter to the 
 King," but from any comfortable standing-place 
 whatsoever. 
 
 Howbeit, our good Lady Anne returned to Col 
 chester with a brave heart, glad, we may be sure, 
 to get out of the sphere of the hollow rejoicings of 
 Mercer s Hall. She sought Master Dyer as soon 
 as she arrived. Master Dyer exercised the double 
 function of priest and keeper of an alehouse, 
 functions less incongruous than often were united 
 in the same person in these times.* She demanded 
 of him the release of her servants, in terms rather 
 more lofty than he had been wont to hear, and, 
 while her Plantagenet blood was up, denounced 
 him for his baseness and his cruelties. In reply, he 
 swore that her servants should go to the stake, and 
 
 * See a curious letter to Cromwell, in the state papers, quoted by 
 Knight, Pictorial England, Book VI. Chap. I. " His grace, the King, 
 hath a priest that yearly maketh his hawks, and this year hath made 
 him two which kill their game very well, and for the pain which the 
 said priest taketh about them his Majesty would that he should have 
 one of Mr. Bedell s benefices. And thus the blessed Trinity have your 
 good lordship in his most blessed preservation." Sec also Latimer s Ser 
 mons, who speaks of "uniting the calling of a tapster to that of 
 preaching the Gospel." 
 
GOING TO COURT. 117 
 
 she with them, and that shortly ; when she handed 
 him a paper, which, as he glanced over it, stopped 
 his words, and drove the color from his stolid face. 
 A name was on the paper at which stouter men 
 than Master Dyer had turned pale. He became 
 soft and pliant enough, ducking his square head 
 in a thousand obeisances, and was not long in writ 
 ing an order for the release of Job and Lottie. As 
 she left him, she fixed her black eye upon him, 
 while he quailed under it. " If I hear a word more 
 of your cruelties, know, sir, that I have the means at 
 my command of hanging up your carcass to swing 
 as a sign over the doors of your own alehouse." 
 
 Truth is, the lampooning of priests and monks 
 was the most venial of all offences in the eye of 
 Henry, always providing the supremacy and tran- 
 substantiation were undisturbed ; and if he had 
 heard the song of Boxley Rood, he would have 
 shaken his huge dropsies for an hour afterwards. 
 
 Job and Lottie were taken from prison, where 
 now they had remained for months, and carefully 
 nursed in Bourchier Hall. It was some time be 
 fore Job could sit in his chair ; one of his joints was 
 plucked asunder. But ere many weeks were gone, 
 he was sitting in the porter s lodge, with little John 
 ny climbing over him, brushing his cheek with his 
 yellow curls, and teasing for a song; and as the 
 song came, for it never failed, the little fellow would 
 shake with laughter, till the tears started, and he 
 finally rolled in convulsions over the floor. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 ON one of the calmest evenings in the month of 
 June, a vessel was lying in the small harbor of Col 
 chester waiting for a favoring breeze. Bourchier 
 Hall, we have said, was situated six miles above. 
 The river Colne is only navigable as far as the city. 
 Between the Hall and the city the passage is by a 
 small boat or skiff, and in this the exiles have em 
 barked, after nightfall, to pass down the stream to 
 the waiting vessel. It had been the policy of the 
 Knyvets to detain perforce the Lady Anne, and pre 
 vent her from going to her husband. She was vir 
 tually a prisoner in Bourchier Hall for nearly a year 
 after Richard s escape. But she has found means 
 to elude the vigilance of the watch, a vigilance 
 which became rather sleepy, probably through de 
 sign. She and her child and servants have found 
 their way to the skiff, and two sturdy boatmen are 
 rowing them down the stream. She watches the 
 receding fields, clothed in the dearest of home mem 
 ories, now sleeping under the silvery sheen of the 
 unclouded heavens. Bourchier Hall is watched as 
 
FAREWELL. 119 
 
 it recedes, long visible on the top of the hill, its tur 
 rets tipped with moonbeams and cutting their out 
 line on the blue sky beyond. The grounds around 
 it can be distinguished, the walks with fringing 
 flowers, even the clematis that climbed up over 
 the doorway and hung down its white blossoms, 
 all fading off into dimness for ever. She sits statue- 
 like, with folded arms, her face fixed towards the 
 spot where, a short time ago, she came a rejoicing 
 bride. But they soon reach the vessel, in which 
 they safely embark. They drop down the Colne ; 
 the city of Colchester grows dim and far off. They 
 pass into the great German Ocean ; the day dawns 
 only upon the boundless waters, and England, with 
 all its oppressions and miseries, has sunk in the 
 Western main. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AT SEA. 
 
 THERE was a gloomy silence on the deck as the 
 exiles sat and looked blank into the sea, while the 
 vessel tossed them over the waves. Lady Anne and 
 her two servants sat cowering towards the stern, 
 looking away in the direction where Old England 
 had disappeaiedt Presently Johnny appeared upon 
 deck, fresh from the night s repose. What were 
 the past and the future to him ? Lottie had im 
 pressed two things upon his mind : first, not to lose 
 his cap overboard ; secondly, not to fall over him 
 self and get drowned in the great German Ocean. 
 He readily promised to do neither. In fact, he had 
 no intention of it. So he ran to and fro, cap in 
 hand, his feet pattering over the deck, throwing 
 back his head, and giving his face to the breeze, 
 Ihat played fantastic tricks with his streaming curls. 
 Then he tossed his cap straight up towards the top 
 of ihc mast, leaving to the cap the whole responsi 
 bility of coming straight down again; but it sailed 
 oil into the sea, where it could be seen by its silver 
 lace tossing on the waves. Lottie gave him fresh 
 
AT SEA. 121 
 
 instructions, but before they were finished he was 
 off again ; and in his next appearance he rained 
 down upon her head, crushing her bonnet into a 
 trapezoid. The sea-breeze agreed with him. 
 
 Job sat leaning iiis chin upon the rail, looking 
 down into the vessel s track of hissing and flashing 
 foam, humming pensive snatches from the " Song 
 of Exile," which ran something in this wise : 
 
 " The ghostly moon above the hall 
 
 Was hanging pale and still ; 
 It showed the hawthorn up the lano, 
 The woodbine on the hill. 
 
 " The ghostly moon was hanging low 
 
 Just o er the moving mast, 
 And coldly looked the gloaming stars, 
 When Mary looked her last. 
 
 " The ghostly moon was on the fields ; 
 
 The fields did seem to mourn ; 
 The harebells hang their pretty cups 
 Till Mary shall return. 
 
 " The ghostly moon was on the sea ; 
 
 The wind sang soft its lay ; 
 Yet sighed the wind right mournfully 
 To bear the bark away." 
 
 We think there was more of it; but here the 
 ubiquitous boy appeared suddenly, caught the hat 
 of the old minstrel, and was off and away. Job 
 soon came to himself, and was in full chase after 
 his property, expecting to see it sail into the water. 
 Master Dyer had not improved his agility, though, 
 after doublings and turnings, he came back with 
 his hat, exclaiming, with his biggest oath, " Saint 
 George ! I believe that boy is getting vicious." 
 ii 
 
22 THE EXILE. 
 
 The boy followed him, teasing for the other exile 
 song, which Job refused to sing, as altogether 
 unsuited to his present feelings, and totally inap 
 propriate ; but, like other singers, he yielded to 
 importunity : 
 
 " The raging sea, the boiling sea ! 
 
 How wild the waters foam ! 
 
 But blithely rolls the raging sea 
 
 That bears the exile home. 
 
 " The windes from off the Norseman s hills 
 
 Doe shriek a dismall song : 
 There s music in the shrieking windes 
 That drive my barke along. 
 
 " The hills are rising near and fast 
 
 Out from the breaking sea : 
 O now I see my father s house, 
 Beside my father s tree ! 
 
 " I see the orchard on the moor 
 
 Where I and Jennie played : 
 O what if Jennie should be trothed, 
 Or Jennie should be dead ! 
 
 " Mayhap a lovelorn maid she sits, 
 To watch the heaving main : 
 O there are Jennie s twinkling feet 
 A-tripping down the lane ! 
 
 " And now to find a welcome home, 
 
 From tossings to and fro, 
 On Jennie s cheeks and cherry lips, 
 Where rareripe kisses grow ! " 
 
 There was a pause again, and Job grew solemn, 
 and, looking at Lady Anne, intimated that he had 
 a better exile song than this, and perhaps better 
 suited to her feelings. The good soul was thinking 
 of his mistress, and how he could comfort her. 
 
AT SEA. 123 
 
 " What is it, Job ? Do you want to sing to me ?" 
 
 " If my good lady will condescend to listen, old 
 Job will see if he has not something she would 
 like." 
 
 " O yes, Job ! I often listen when you don t know 
 it, and envy almost your gushes of happiness, that 
 come up so freshly out of misfortune." 
 
 The faithful old servant tuned his pipes anew, 
 looking up into the heavens ; and this time he sang 
 with such unction that it brought all the clover 
 back to his cheek, and sent all his soul into his eye. 
 
 " The raging sea, the boiling sea ! 
 
 How wild the waters foam ! 
 
 But blithely rolls the raging sea 
 
 That wafts the exile home. 
 
 " A breeze from off the Blessed Isles 
 
 The snow-white canvas fills ; 
 And yonder, yonder, heave in sight 
 The everlasting hills ! 
 
 " 4 Ye hosts ! that throng those heights in robes 
 
 Of unconsuming flame, 
 And touch your golden Citharons, 
 O tell me whence ye came ! 
 
 " We came through storms and seas of blood, 
 
 Like those whereon ye sail ; 
 But when Christ Jesus took the helm, 
 The ship rode out the gale ! " 
 
 " I thank you, Job, for your consolations. That 
 song has a note of triumph which I fear we cannot 
 take up just now. Do you remember that hyrnn 
 on the Love of God, which you said the monks 
 used to chant at their responsals in the abbey ? " 
 
124 THE EXILE. 
 
 " Yes, my good lady, hum hum hum 
 The last time I heard it, Father Bache sang the 
 refrain " ; and Job wiped a tear from his eye. 
 
 " Thou Grace Divine encircling all, 
 
 A soundless, shoreless sea ! 
 Wherein at last our souls shall fall, 
 O Love of God most free ! 
 
 " When over dizzy steeps we go, 
 
 One soft hand blinds our eyes, 
 The other leads us safe and slow, 
 O Love of God most wise ! 
 
 " And though we turn us from thy face, 
 
 And wander wide and long, 
 Thou hold st us still in thine embrace, 
 O Love of God most strong ! 
 
 " The saddened heart, the restless soul, 
 
 The toil-worn frame and mind, 
 Alike confess thy sweet control, 
 O Love of God most kind ! 
 
 " But not alone thy care we claim, 
 
 Our wayward steps to win : 
 We know thee by a dearer name, 
 O Love of God within ! 
 
 "And filled and quickened by thy breath, 
 
 Our souls are strong and free 
 To rise o er sin and fear and death, 
 O Love of God, to thee ! " * 
 
 * This hymn preserves the very flavor of the old Catholic piety. 
 We did not find it, hoAvever, among family papers, and never should 
 have heard of it if it had not lately sung itself anew through a femi 
 nine genius in the Old Colony. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AMSTERDAM. 
 
 THE river Amstel is a small stream, that rolls its 
 lazy waters through marshy grounds into an arm of 
 the Zuyder Zee. At the beginning of the thirteenth 
 century its banks were in possession of a set of bur 
 ly lords, whose vassals rowed their fishing-smacks 
 down the river into the open sea ; and in process 
 of time a small fishing village sprang up at the 
 mouth of the stream. It was under the control of 
 the grim lords of the Amstel, and its commercial 
 privileges were few and insignificant. But one of 
 these surly governors became implicated in the 
 murder of Count Floris of Holland, and the Hol 
 landers fell upon them, attacked and plundered their 
 village, overthrew their little dynasty, and took 
 entire possession of Amstelland. Under its new 
 governors, the fishing village rose into importance 
 and privilege, and grew rapidly into the great city 
 of Amsterdam, the Venice of the Northern Sea. 
 By the year 1537 it had become rich and prosper 
 ous. It lay on the Zuyder Zee in the shape of a 
 half-moon, bending its two horns up to the water 
 
126 THE EXILE. 
 
 and having its harbor between them. The Am- 
 stel flowed through the middle of the crescent, 
 dividing the city about equally. Around the land 
 side, and forming the outer curve of the crescent, 
 was raised a huge embankment, buttressed with 
 stone, wide enough on the top to be planted with 
 trees, and be converted into walks and boulevards. 
 Here too, at regular intervals, stood wind-mills, 
 always swinging their gigantic arms, both to pump 
 up water and grind the corn. 
 
 The ground on which the city stands is lower 
 than the ocean, and lower than the river. The 
 houses are built on piles driven into the marshy 
 earth ; but the marshes have all disappeared, and 
 given place to winding canals. The streets are 
 polygonal, and correspond with the bend of the 
 crescent ; and the three which form the outer verge 
 of it the Heeren, the Keysers, and the Princen 
 are even at this day as fine as the streets of any city 
 in Europe. The intersecting canals divide the city 
 into ninety islands, so that when you enter it you 
 do not order a carriage, but a canal-boat, on which 
 you move by water to any quarter of the town. 
 As you pass, you look upon paved walks bordered 
 by rows of trees that extend continuously on either 
 side of you their grateful umbrage, in front of the 
 endless rows of brick houses with their gables to 
 wards you. Should your boat take you into the 
 Keysers or the Princen, past the rich merchants 
 and the burgomasters, you shall find these houses 
 to be splendid structures of five stories. Such is 
 the great, busy city, in which there is no sound of 
 
AMSTERDAM. 127 
 
 rattling wheels. Curious it is, that, though one of 
 the most commercial places of the world, its in 
 habitants never " go down to the sea in ships," 
 they always go up. The ocean with his eternal 
 motion and roar is above you, suggesting constant 
 ly what would happen should he break through his 
 embankment ; to prevent which catastrophe the won 
 derful industry of man, by a huge wall of Norway 
 granite, seems to have repeated the Almighty fiat, 
 " Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther." At 
 the period of which we write, that eighth wonder 
 of the world, the " Stadt-house," had not lifted up 
 its enormous mass above the other buildings, but 
 the city was in the flood-tide of its prosperity, and 
 its crescent lay like a queenly crown on the Zuy- 
 der Zee. 
 
 As you walk along the harbor forming the inner 
 edge of the half-moon, the city lies below you, with 
 its crescent-shaped streets, jts innumerable spires, 
 its canals threading their way in all directions, and 
 involving the whole city in their silvery network 
 that gleams in spots out of the shade. The min 
 gled sounds of Dutch trade and jargon come up to 
 your ear, not much mellowed by distance. Here 
 our old friend and fugitive from tyranny, Richard 
 Sayer, has been pacing nearly every day for twelve 
 months, looking down sometimes into the city of 
 Dutchmen, seeing the boats glide among the 
 shade-trees, hearing the noises of strange tongues 
 from the life that swarms along the canals and 
 about the warehouses, looking away, we may be 
 assured, over the expanse of surging waters, with 
 
128 THE EXILE. 
 
 wearisome expectations and longings. Every sail 
 that nears the harbor is watched with anxious spec 
 ulation ; and it was one of those moments which 
 gather up into themselves the rapture of years, and 
 atone for long months of exile, when his eye dis 
 tinguished, on the nearing deck, his child and two 
 faithful servants, and when again he held to his 
 heart her whom he " singled from the world." 
 
 Lady Anne arrived with her faithful charge some 
 twelve months after her husband had left her. 
 Thus early had Amsterdam begun to be a city of 
 refuge, and many were already there who had 
 escaped the tyranny of the Blue-Beard monster 
 who now disgraced the English throne. The Neth 
 erlands at this period belonged to the dominions of 
 Charles the Fifth. The Roman Catholic religion 
 was the reigning and established one, and there 
 was not yet perfect toleration for Protestant sub 
 jects. The struggle was yet before them which 
 was to establish the great principle of religious 
 liberty, that struggle against the tyranny of the cold 
 and ruthless Philip the Second of Spain, in the 
 progress of which shone forth the most heroic vir 
 tues of which man is capable, and which issued in 
 giving to the united Netherlands the enviable glory 
 of being the first nation to establish the doctrine 
 of religious toleration. At the period of which we 
 write, English Catholics were specially welcomed 
 and protected in the dominions of Charles. He 
 was the nephew of Katharine of Aragon, the 
 first queen of Henry, and the victim of his brutal 
 tyranny ; and Charles had threatened vengeance for 
 
AMSTERDAM. 129 
 
 the treatment of his beloved kinswoman and her 
 daughter Mary. In the Netherlands, Richard Sayer 
 with his persecuted family was sure to find a peace 
 ful asylum. As he received his family and ser 
 vants, and took them by boat through the city, they 
 witnessed sights and sounds very strange to Eng 
 lish eyes and ears. Amsterdam already was choked 
 and crammed with life. Under splendid mansions 
 were cellars occupied by the poorer classes. Out of 
 these, dirty children and dirty women were swarm 
 ing with a perfect Babel of tongues. Boats they 
 pass, on which lived whole families who had no 
 home except upon the water ; whose parlor, dormi 
 tory, and kitchen were upon the upper deck, which 
 emitted all sounds and smells of cookery. Great 
 warehouses they pass, where boats are unlading 
 the products of every clime, and where the jargon 
 of trade heard in Dutch gibberish makes double 
 confusion. Things improve vastly as they pass 
 into the Princen, and are drawn up the silent high 
 way between rows of shade-trees. There, away 
 from the din and the tumult, they land at a five- 
 story dwelling, whose two upper stories they take 
 possession of, and whose windows at the gable-end 
 are shaded by stately chestnuts, and sometimes 
 brushed by the quivering boughs. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 LITE AND DEATH IN AMSTERDAM. 
 
 FOR three years the exiles lived in their new 
 residence, deprived of many of the outward com 
 forts which pertained to Bourchier Hall, but in the 
 full enjoyment of that never-failing fountain of 
 peace, a conscience undefiled. There is a beautiful 
 law of compensation to those who attain to a clear 
 consciousness of Divine favor through the rugged 
 path of self-sacrifice. As the outward enjoyments 
 are given up, the inward satisfactions become in 
 tense and pure. Richard found himself, not only 
 an exile from his country, but disinherited from his 
 paternal fortunes. But he had enough for the wants 
 of to-day ; he had cast himself on that Providence 
 that guides all things to their consummation ; and, 
 in his retreat from the angry storm, he waited the 
 issue in all tranquillity. One truth at least his trials 
 had revealed to him in clearer brightness, the real 
 ity of human virtue ; for the heroic woman who 
 shared his fortunes, and the faithful servants who 
 held their lives secondary to his safety, gave grate 
 ful demonstration that there was a nobility in hu- 
 

 
 LIFE AND DEATH IN AMSTERDAM. 
 
 mankind which could not be crushed out 
 rants. 
 
 As for Job and Lottie, they found full scope in 
 domestic responsibilities for all their assiduities, and 
 they kept the house lit up with their sunny be 
 nevolence. Slowly, nevertheless, rolled the heavy 
 years of the exile. Sometimes he paced the boule 
 vards, casting a longing look towards England. 
 Sometimes he sought the society of his brother 
 exiles, and talked over the affairs of home, from 
 which fresh news arrived almost every day of the 
 atrocities of the new Pope, "the Supreme Head" 
 of the Church of England. Sometimes he sat at 
 the windows in the Princen, looking down into the 
 navigable street and watching the boats as they 
 glided along. Nothing, however, disturbed his 
 tranquillity of mind, or broke the strain of thanks 
 giving that never ceased to go up from his heart, 
 that he had followed and obeyed the supreme law, 
 and preserved the whiteness of an innocent mind. 
 
 But his short and troublous life was nearly done. 
 The climate of Amsterdam, though well enough 
 adapted to Dutch habits and constitutions, was ill 
 adapted to one bred on the Colchester hills. An 
 offensive, mephitic air always rises from the canals ; 
 and so low is the site of the town, that the winds 
 find small chance for its thorough ventilation. 
 They sweep above the city with sufficient-fury from 
 the German Ocean, setting the windmills a whirl 
 all round the boulevards, without changing the air 
 beneath that lies dead along the streets and canals. 
 Richard had been breathing disease now three 
 
132 THE EXILE. 
 
 years into his hardy frame, and the time for its 
 fearful development had come. Oppressed with 
 pain and languor, he had walked the afternoon upon 
 the boulevards in order to catch the breeze; but 
 coming in at night, it became evident that the fever 
 was fixed fast upon him. For long days and nights 
 trains of confused and ever-changing imagery swept 
 in fantasy through the hot and throbbing brain ; 
 long processions wheeling through endless streets, 
 led on by the headsman and his bloody axe ; then 
 changing into pompous cavalcades, that march in 
 sight of his home on the Colchester hills, himself 
 marching with them till parched with thirst and 
 worn with fatigue, yet getting no nearer to his an 
 cestral bowers, that mock and tantalize him in the 
 distance ; then walking alone through files of grin 
 ning faces, among which are his own kindred, 
 looking for his wife and child, and looking in vain ; 
 toiling again through wilderness-paths, seeking the 
 way home, but finding no one to direct him thither. 
 So the days of delirium passed on, till he sank at 
 last into profound and unconscious sleep. When 
 he came out of it, he looked up into a face bent 
 anxious and sorrowing over him, and felt a soft 
 hand bathing in cordials his burning brow. It was 
 the face of his faithful Anne ; and he came to him 
 self and looked round on the familiar things of his 
 exile-home in the Princen. " Is there any unusual 
 light in this room ? " he asked his wife. " I can 
 see none," she said. " Then," said he, "the light of 
 eternity is coming on " ; and he called for his child 
 and his servants. He asked to be raised up, and, 
 
LIFE AND DEATH IN AMSTERDAM. 133 
 
 resting his head on the breast of the Lady Anne, he 
 took Job and Lottie by the hand, thanked them for 
 all their faithfulness and truth, and breathed a 
 dying prayer for their welfare ; and then, with his 
 hand laid in blessing on his child, charging him and 
 them always to obey the Eternal Law for its own 
 exceeding great reward, he looked up and saw the 
 beckoning angels and the opening gates, and passed 
 through them to where the wicked cease from trou 
 bling and the weary are at rest. 
 
 He was buried in the land of strangers, according 
 to the rites of the Catholic Church, in whose faith 
 he died. There were English exiles that followed 
 him to his last resting-place on earth, but none, 
 after the tried and faithful wife, poured over his 
 grave a more copious sorrow than the gray-haired 
 old man and his daughter, the girl of warm and 
 sunny heart, who had encountered racks and dun 
 geons rather than betray him to his enemies. 
 
 The Lady Anne did not return to England. She 
 would not have her child educated amid the cruel 
 ties and the mockeries of the Henrican Church. 
 She brought him up in the great commercial city, 
 where she lived to see him a bold and successful 
 navigator, and where at last she slept beside her 
 husband, whose fortunes she had shared faithfully 
 to the end. 
 
 12 
 
PART II. 
 
 THE ADVENTUKEK. 
 
 " With merchandize ashore 
 
 we hied to trafficke then, 
 Making the sea foam us before 
 
 by force of nine good men : 
 And rowing long at last 
 
 a river we cspie, 
 In at the which we bare full fast 
 
 to see what there might be. 
 And entering in we see 
 
 a number of black soules 
 Whose likenesses seemed men to be 
 
 but all as black as coles." 
 ROBERT BAKER S Rhymed Narrative. HAKLUYT, II. 519. 
 
 "Yet still his claim the injured ocean laycd 
 And oft at leap-frog o er their steeples played, 
 As if on purpose it on land had come 
 To show them what s their Mare Liberum. 
 A daily deluge over them docs boil, 
 The earth and water play at level-coy 1, 
 And fish ofttimes the burgher dispossessed, 
 And sat, not as at meat, but as a guest." 
 
 MARVEL. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Who s here beside foul weather ? " 
 
 " One minded like the weather, most unquietly." 
 
 ALL the afternoon there had been a murky and 
 grizzled sky, and now the wind began to drive the 
 rain before it up into Plymouth Bay. Mrs. Haw 
 kins is peering from the upper balcony, whence 
 through long hours and days, these twenty years 
 and more, she has been accustomed to look out 
 upon the great waters, and watch for the coming 
 sail. 
 
 " You do not think, mother, he will come to 
 night?" said Bessie Hawkins. 
 
 " I can t tell, my sweet chub ; but I heard of his 
 being spoken by a Spaniard a month agone, and 
 he ought to be in the Channel by this time." 
 
 " I guess the storm will abate, mother, and we 
 shall wake up to-morrow morning, and find him 
 anchored safely in the Catwater." 
 
 " The storm will not abate, but will rage dread 
 fully this night. Woe s my goodman if he has to 
 beat up the bay in such a gale ! " 
 
 The storm did not abate that night, but Mrs. Haw- 
 
138 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 kins knew she could not still the waves, and so she 
 kneeled and put up a prayer, repeated a thousandth 
 time for her dear sailor upon the deep, and she and 
 Bessie retired to rest. Bessie thought she never 
 saw her mother have such a look of distress. 
 
 " Why, mother, there have been worse storms 
 than this, and I never saw you take on so. Have 
 you dreamed anything ? " 
 
 Nothing, my chubby. But I felt from the begin 
 ning that the Lord wouldn t prosper this voyage. 
 I did n t dare ask him to, and I m fearful my prayers 
 have n t been effectual as they used to be." 
 
 " Why, mother, what s in the wind now ? " 
 
 " Tush ! sleep while ye are innocent, and dream 
 of the angels. A bad world is this, my darling, and 
 ye 11 learn that full soon enough." 
 
 Bessie slept as she was bidden, but her mother 
 lay awake with torturing thoughts and fears, while 
 the wind shrieked around the windows, dashing 
 floods of water upon the panes, and up the harbor 
 came all night the fierce complainings of the angry 
 sea. It was past midnight before the good woman 
 was at rest ; and hence, while the morning sun is 
 up and the storm has spent its rage, and the waters 
 of the harbor are empurpled with light, Bessie and 
 her mother are still asleep, while their neighbors are 
 astir. 
 
 Knock, knock, somebody is at the door trying 
 to shake it in pieces. 
 
 " Are ye all dead inside ? Molly! Bess Hawkins! 
 are ye all dead, I say?" 
 
 Bess was the first to spring up and unbar the 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 139 
 
 door, and she was on the point of rushing into her 
 father s arms and burying her fair ruddy cheeks in 
 his great matted beard ; but she stopped short, for he 
 held a sick man whose head was hanging uncon 
 scious over his shoulder. Hawkins shambled in 
 with his load, laid it carefully upon the floor, put a 
 cushion under the man s head, and then turning to 
 his daughter, and catching her up in his brawny 
 arms, 
 
 " Why, you chuck, you bird, you little flamingo, 
 where s your mammy, and what a murrain d ye 
 keep locked in like a jail for in the middle of the 
 day ? You gazelle, you bird of paradise, you little 
 great naughty thing, to be growing up into this 
 strapping girl ! " 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins by this time was in the room, and 
 was soon satisfied that it was her real husband and 
 not his ghost, as she was clinging around his neck, 
 which had been turned to the color and consistence 
 of leather. 
 
 " Why, my John, how came you here in this 
 storm ? Is the vessel wrecked, and is this the only 
 one of the crew that is saved ? Have you encoun 
 tered Spaniards ? " 
 
 " Spaniards ! Gorgons, devils, brimstone-eaters ! 
 Nathless, my sweet Molly, the good Jesus of Lubec 
 is safe in the harbor of Padstow in Cornwall, full 
 freighted with gold, silver, pearls, and jewels. D ye 
 think Jack Hawkins would come into the Channel 
 in such a storm as this ? I watched it coming three 
 days agone, put into the harbor of Padstow, and 
 crossed over by land." 
 
140 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 Plymouth Bay divides into two harbors, the east 
 ern, called the Catwater, into which runs the river 
 Plym; the western, called the Hamoaze, into which 
 runs the river Tamar. The two harbors are in fact 
 estuaries of those streams. They are about three 
 miles apart, the space between being a rocky prom 
 ontory, on which the town of Plymouth stands 
 and overlooks the bay. Furnished with these two 
 excellent harbors, it is, after Portsmouth, a seaport 
 of the first importance in the naval history of Eng 
 land. 
 
 It was nearly a year before the scene described 
 above that Captain Hawkins, named in the old rec 
 ords with the addition of " right worshipful and val 
 iant," sailed out of the Catwater in command of the 
 famous Jesus of Lubec, " a ship of 700 tunnes, be 
 longing to the Queen," the Salmon, a ship of 140, 
 the Tiger, a bark of 50, and the Swallow, of 30, "be 
 ing all well furnished with men to the number of 
 one hundred threescore and ten, and also with ordi 
 nance and victuall requisite for such a voyage." It 
 was on the 18th day of October, 1564, that Madam 
 Hawkins saw the little fleet sail out of the bay, 
 with many presentiments of evil; and it was on 
 the 20th of September of the following year that 
 it anchored at Padstow, " with golde, silver, pearles, 
 apd other jewels great store." 
 
 Old John has crossed over from Padstow, where 
 he left his vessels in port, and, in the midst of his 
 loving congratulations with Molly and Bess, had 
 well-nigh forgotten his man, until the man half 
 turned upon the floor and fetched a groan. 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 141 
 
 " Why, John, whom have you brought here ? That 
 man looks dreadful sick." 
 
 " He s worth saving. Too good meat for the 
 sharks, Molly. You must cure him." 
 
 " / cure him ? Why did n t you leave him aboard 
 with the other sick. Do you expect our house is to 
 be a hospital for the fleet? " 
 
 " I tell ye, Molly, that something more than ye 
 ken of hangs on the thread of that man s life. If 
 you and Bess let him die, you d better be sunk in 
 the sea." 
 
 " But he s nearly dead now, father. Do ye think 
 mother can work miracles, and raise a man out of 
 the grave? Look ! poor man, his eyes are set now. 
 We can t raise the dead, father." 
 
 " Tut, yes you can," pinching both her cheeks. 
 " Did n t Molly warm into life Tom Woorley of the 
 Swallow, after he had been frozen stiff and stark 
 and lain dead three days ? I must be off to Lon 
 don with my freight, and if when I return this man 
 is not hale and strong, the Lord s curse will be upon 
 your house. Mind ye, I will require his life at your 
 hands." 
 
 " But who is he ? " 
 
 " Adam s great-grandchild in the forty-millionth 
 degree. Don t be inquisitive about names, chuck, 
 in these perilous times." 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins by this time was bending over the 
 sick man. He had evidently been sick a great 
 while, and the fever had passed into the worst form 
 of typhoid. His eyes had sunk away into their 
 sockets, his breath and pulse were nearly gone, and 
 
142 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 sometimes a prolonged moan was the most decisive 
 indication of life. She got ready his bed in a spa 
 cious room that looked southward upon the sea, 
 ordered his sailor s dress to be removed, and provid 
 ed a warm bath and fresh linen, so that before an 
 hour had elapsed he had emerged from his old garb, 
 impregnated with accumulated fever, and was lying 
 in comparative comfort between clean sheets, and 
 breathing a plentiful supply of pure air. 
 
 Doctor Pomp comes in. He is a large man, well 
 rounded in front, sixty years old, wears a white 
 cravat, doubled wide and starched stiff. He is a 
 man of few words, but of very significant looks. 
 He stands by the bedside, his chin sunk behind his 
 cravat, his under lip working in and out, while his 
 eye surveys the patient o er and o er. He deals out 
 his powders, leaves his orders, and takes up saddle 
 bags to quit. Mrs. Hawkins follows him out of the 
 room. 
 
 " What do you think of the case, Doctor ? " 
 
 " The man will die," quoth the doctor, projecting 
 the under lip, by way of confirmation. 
 
 An awful pause ensued. 
 
 " That is to say, madam, the man will die ac 
 cording to the laws of disease. What science can 
 do in rendering the case exceptional remains to be 
 seen," and he walked off, with his chin behind 
 his cravat. 
 
 " I suppose he meant, mother, that, if the man 
 dies, science is not to blame for it ; but if he gets 
 well, science has worked a great miracle, and Doc 
 tor Pomp s science in particular." 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 143 
 
 " Doctor Pomp is very skilful, my dear, and we 
 will hope for the best. His patients very often re 
 cover after being desperately and mortally sick," 
 and Mrs. Hawkins looked queer, from under her 
 eyebrows. 
 
 John Hawkins comes in, takes a long and medi 
 tative look at the wan features, waddles out of the 
 room and out of the house, like a dab-chick, just the 
 same as if the house and the solid land were rock 
 ing in a trough of the sea, and is off to Padstow, 
 and thence to London. 
 
 And now came on the decisive contest between 
 the forces of life and death. That ugly sister 
 whom they call Atropos hovered over the couch 
 with her fatal shears, the edge keen and glistening 
 for the occasion. Then Doctor Pomp would come 
 in and stick out his under lip, and Atropos would 
 flee his presence. But the doctor gone, the stealthy 
 hag was sure to come back, trying now this lane of 
 life, now that, and getting the slender and vital 
 thread between her scissors. But Mrs. Hawkins 
 and Bess were both on the watch for her, and ere 
 she could give the final clip, they would dash into 
 her face one of Doctor Pomp s powders, or one 
 of their own cordials, and she would take herself 
 off again, perfectly disgusted with apothecary and 
 aromatic smells. Meanwhile the poor patient was 
 perfectly unconscious of the hand to hand contest 
 that was going on about the seat of life within him. 
 He had sunk into an iron stupor which looked very 
 much like death. 
 
 " Is it all over, Doctor Pomp ? " 
 
144 
 
 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 " Flying pulse, madam, flying pulse, cold ex 
 tremities. Mind the symptoms about three hours 
 hence, say twelve o clock to-night." 
 
 Twelve o clock came, and there was a gentle 
 heaving of the chest, and a gentle warmth in the 
 extremities, and something that resembled sleep. 
 Early in the morning Doctor Pomp was standing 
 in the door surveying the field of operations. 
 
 " Science has done the business, Mrs. Hawkins," 
 and the doctor nods, and sinks into his cravat. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins is relieved of responsibility. The 
 thread on which such mysterious consequences 
 seem to hang is now past the danger of being 
 clipped. They have time to speculate N on the fea 
 tures of the stranger. His black locks, smoothed 
 back from his temples, show an ample forehead, well 
 browned with sun and sea-wind ; his beard has 
 been carefully removed, and though the cheeks are 
 fallen quite away, the curves about the mouth indi 
 cate natural energy not without refined sensibility. 
 
 " A comely looking youth once, I trow. Worth 
 saving without doubt." 
 
 " Worth saving, mother, if only for good Chris 
 tian burial. It makes me shudder to think how 
 they throw men into the ocean. Only think ; if 
 that man had n t been brought hither, he would have 
 had his gra"ve ere now in those great sea-monsters. 
 J wonder if he has a mother ? " 
 
 " I must lie down and make up for broken rest, 
 and you, Bess, must give those drops once an hour." 
 
 He sleeps on, long past the morning hour, sweet 
 and placid sleep, as if unseen angels had driven 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 145 
 
 Atropos clean out of sight, and infused healing fra 
 grance from their hovering wings. At length he 
 opens his eyes ; clear black eyes they are, and look 
 unnaturally large from their deep sockets. . On the 
 opposite side of the room hung sea-shells, plumes 
 of tropical birds, stuffed skins of strange animals, 
 golden gewgaws. And on the side of the room at 
 the right of him, a pair of lustrous eyes were watch 
 ing him. Where he had been and what had hap 
 pened to him, what nightmare dream had come 
 over him, and in what place he had woke out of it, 
 or whether indeed he were not dreaming still, were 
 matters he could not very well make out. 
 
 Bess Hawkins came to his bedside and asked, in 
 a whisper, as if afraid of her own voice in the sick 
 room, " Is there anything you would have, sir ? " 
 
 The bewildered man did not know what he 
 would have, and if he did know, he had not 
 strength to speak ; and so he could only gaze silently 
 into the fair face and eyes that hung over his pillow. 
 She guessed how it was, offered the drops to his 
 lips, which he swallowed obediently, wiped away 
 the dew which had gathered over his forehead dur 
 ing sleep, and bathed it softly in cordials, and, whis 
 pering in his ear," You are better, sir, you will be 
 well," trod lightly out of the room to tell the good 
 news to her mother. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Ah, curiousness, first cause of all our ill, 
 
 And yet the plague that most torments us still ! " 
 
 Doomes Day. 
 
 " Is this Barbadoes, madam ? " was the first faint 
 essay of the sick man in the way of speech, as he 
 surveyed a stuffed armadillo upon the wall. 
 
 " Barbadoes, man? It is Old England, and this is 
 the house of Captain John Hawkins of Plymouth, 
 and I am Mrs. Hawkins, his wife, and this is our 
 daughter Bess, and you have been next door to the 
 grave, sir, and partly in it, and are just coming up 
 out of it, thanks to Doctor Pomp s powders." 
 
 " And to Mrs. Hawkins and her daughter Bess, 
 I reckon. But where s Master Jack, and where s 
 the Jesus of Lubec ? " 
 
 " Gone to London, stored full of gold, silver, and 
 pearls, which I suppose you helped in getting." 
 
 But the man was too weak as yet to answer ques 
 tions. Nevertheless, he grew stronger, his wan 
 features began to fill out and lose their sallow- 
 ness, and he would sit up on his couch, propped 
 with pillows, and look out through his window 
 upon the tumbling waves. At length he got to the 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 147 
 
 contents of his chest, which Captain Hawkins had 
 pitched into one corner of the room ; and one af 
 ternoon he ventured from his sick-bed, and came 
 walking out into the parlor in a long damask dress 
 ing-gown, looming up before Mrs. Hawkins and 
 Bessie as a tall and comely young man of cosmo 
 politan manners. 
 
 " As I live! why, the man is crazy to venture out 
 so soon. Get the arm-chair, Bess, and a cushion, 
 and that bottle of spice-waters, before he faints 
 clean away " ; and the good woman took hold of 
 him and deposited him carefully in the chair, while 
 Bess smoothed the pillow with her pretty white 
 hand, and bathed his temples with the spice-waters. 
 
 "Don t be troubled, my good woman. I have lain 
 and looked so long at those stuffed pelicans and 
 armadillos, that I have fairly looked them out of 
 countenance, and I thought the sight of your sweet 
 and loving faces would be an agreeable change." 
 
 And now Mrs. Hawkins s turn had come. She 
 surveyed the handsome stranger o er and o er, his 
 features and manners spiritualized by the refining 
 touch of sickness. Had he not developed into this 
 comely manhood, under her own nursing hand, 
 from a mere death-skeleton? and why should she 
 not be as proud of her work as an artist, when he 
 brings an Apollo out of the marble ? And had she 
 not a right to know something of the stranger, 
 who he is, and where he came from, and how he got 
 sick, and what sort of a voyage they have had? 
 matters on which her husband maintained a most 
 mysterious, and therefore a most provoking, silence. 
 
148 
 
 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 Was the gratification of her woman s curiosity 
 more than a just compensation for her kindly 
 watching and care ? 
 
 " You have friends, sir, I trust." 
 
 " Very many, madam. Indeed, the human race 
 are my friends." 
 
 " You are not an Englishman, I judge." 
 
 The stranger bowed courteously. 
 
 " You have a father and mother, and brothers 
 and sisters, perhaps." 
 
 " I have certainly a mother and sister," said the 
 stranger, bending his eye alternately upon Mrs. 
 Hawkins and Bessie, till a tear started out of it, 
 and rolled down his pale face. 
 
 " I suppose you were one of Captain Hawkins s 
 men, in his late voyage." 
 
 The stranger bowed again. 
 
 " And you can tell us something about it. You 
 had a hard voyage, I reckon. Fell in with Spaniards 
 and pirates, perhaps." 
 
 A shade came over the stranger s countenance. 
 But he replied after a pause, and an evident effort 
 to choke down his feelings. " Alas, my dear good 
 woman ! the voyage lies in my memory like an ugly 
 dream, and a great part of it is a blank to me. Pi 
 rates and Spaniards! yes, I have fought them for 
 the last three months, as they trooped through my 
 poor, hot brain, and I verily believe that nobody but 
 you and your daughter could have driven them away 
 from me." 
 
 " Now, mother, don t vex the gentleman with ques 
 tions, and make him talk himself sick again," said 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 149 
 
 Bessie, with a quick perception that he was putting 
 forth considerable intellectual effort to preserve both 
 his courtesy and reserve. 
 
 Two or three days after, as he looked out at the 
 window, and saw the waves coming up into Plym 
 outh Bay, line after line, rank beyond rank, like an 
 endless army, and where they crossed the sun s an 
 gle of reflection flashing like cohorts clad in steel, 
 he was seized with an irrepressible longing to get 
 out of prison, and bound like a sea-bird over the 
 waters. There is no sense of life so intense and 
 exquisite as in that exuberant flood-tide that comes 
 from returning health. 
 
 " If you will steady me over the threshold, I will 
 get out doors and drink a little of this sea-breeze 
 that comes up the bay." And Bessie led the inva 
 lid into the sun, and along the brow of the hill that 
 overlooks the Catwater. Looking away to the 
 southeast, his eye traced a richly cultivated border 
 lying along the bay under the dreamy haze of a 
 September sun, orchards bending with fruit, fields 
 yet green over which the bullocks were grazing, and 
 plenteous shocks of golden grain. 
 
 What country is that ?" 
 
 " That, sir, is in Devon. That region is called 
 the South Yams, or sometimes the gardens of 
 Devonshire. They say it is one of the finest tracts 
 in Old England." 
 
 " Tis a sweet country, Miss Bessie; but you 
 should see the tropics, where the tall forests are al 
 ways green, and it is spring the year round, and 
 grapes hang from the trees, and birds with crimson 
 
 13* 
 
150 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 feathers flit through the branches, and among the 
 wild fruits that hang over your head like great gold- 
 en drops ; and the air is so sweet with a thousand 
 perfumes, that breathing is a luxury, and you lie 
 down on a pillow of spices, and make your coverlet 
 of roses. Those are the gardens, Miss Bessie." And 
 the stranger went on with his discourse, while the 
 girl s eyes grew bigger and bigger with admiration 
 and wonder. 
 
 With the luxurious and bracing sea-breeze, and 
 the joy of new existence bounding through all his 
 veins, an hour with the stranger had sped rapidly 
 away, and quite as rapidly with Bessie, hearing the 
 glowing description of wonderful lands. 
 
 " Are ye crazed, both of you ? " said Mrs. Haw 
 kins, who came looking after them. " Are ye mad, 
 ye silly girl ? and is this the way ye take care of a 
 sick man, keeping him out here till nightfall, and 
 bringing the fever back again ? " And she led him 
 in and laid him upon the bed, as if he were a little 
 child. 
 
 " Trust ye with an invalid again, I reckon!" said 
 Mrs. Hawkins, coming back into the parlor. 
 
 " Forgive me, mother," said the innocent girl, 
 "but you don t know what wonderful things the 
 man has seen. I forgot we had been out so long : 
 I would n t get him sick for the world " ; and her 
 lip quivered with wounded sensibility. 
 
 " I know you forgot, chubby ; girls are apt to, 
 sometimes. You need n t take care of the stranger. 
 I 11 mind him and look after him. Did he tell you 
 anything about the voyage ? " 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 151 
 
 " He told of a paradise away in the tropics, a 
 great deal more beautiful than the Devonshire gar 
 dens." 
 
 " Meseems he s grown mighty communicative all 
 at once," and Mrs. Hawkins looked wise, while a 
 blush found its way into Bessie s cheek. " Not a 
 word could /get out of him, save bows and com 
 pliments." 
 
 " Now, mother ! He 11 tell you when he is strong 
 enough, and we 11 ask him about the Enchanted 
 Islands, and the fire-birds that make it light all night 
 long with their flashing wings ; for that was what 
 he was telling me of when you broke off his dis 
 course." 
 
 Not at all damaged by the airing he had taken, 
 the stranger walked into the parlor the next day 
 with a yet firmer tread, and a more glowing and 
 healthful color upon his cheeks, and was cordially 
 welcomed to the easy-chair. Mrs. Hawkins began 
 again on another tack, her curiosity by no means 
 allayed touching the mysterious invalid. He felt it 
 was almost cruel to keep up a reserve about him 
 self with people whose hearts had warmed towards 
 him with so much kindness, and without which he 
 might now have been sleeping at the bottom of the 
 sea. 
 
 " My dear good woman, you have saved me from 
 death, and you have a right to know something of 
 the life you have preserved. I don t know how 
 much Captain Hawkins wants his affairs bruited in 
 England. There is nothing that I want concealed 
 on my own account. But I must tell of strange 
 
152 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 adventures, such, I think, as were never heard of 
 in this country, and I must make you promise that 
 you will not divulge my story, without Captain 
 Hawkins s leave." 
 
 With this condition he plunged into his story, 
 and found ready arid open ears. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Tore God, your looks trouble me ; for your eyes have a most 
 particular appearance." 
 
 " Gramercy, I was musing the story." 
 
 " MY connection with Captain Hawkins com 
 menced years agone, while he was carrying on a 
 prosperous trade with the Canaries. I was a father 
 less boy, and I used to sit on the wharves of Am 
 sterdam looking at the ships as they cast off and 
 sailed away, till they disappeared as a speck upon 
 the ocean. One day I saw an English captain with 
 a broad and open countenance, and I asked him to 
 take me into his service. He consented, and my 
 first voyage was on board the Pelican while she was 
 engaged in the African trade, and the frank-hearted 
 captain proved to be the renowned commander, 
 Hawkins. Never within my memory had I been 
 outside the bastions of Amsterdam ; and so you may 
 conceive of the transport which I experienced as we 
 sailed into the tropic seas. The air was so trans 
 parent that all objects seen through it seemed to 
 stand out as if coming to meet you, and the sea 
 was a broad and living sapphire, into which you 
 
154 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 could look fathoms down, and inspect the wondrous 
 life of the great deep. How many hours have I 
 lain at the forecastle, and looked down to watch 
 the streaks of fire as they would shoot away out of 
 sight, made by the fishes in their gambols, every 
 motion of which seemed to light up a phosphores 
 cent train. Well, we came to the island of Madei 
 ra, and put in at the harbor of Funchal for a cargo 
 of wines. The island rises suddenly out of the sea, 
 lifted up on perpendicular columns of basaltic rock, 
 and sharp isolated peaks pierce the sky like needles. 
 As you sail towards them, you would not guess 
 from the craggy appearance what a paradise was 
 embosomed among them. But they are terraced 
 far up towards their summits, and you wind around 
 through a succession of gardens and vineyards, the 
 sea view expanding upon you meanwhile. We be 
 gan to ascend one of these peaks from Funchal ; 
 we passed the green bananas with their beautiful 
 feathery tops, the orange-trees hanging out to us 
 their golden fruit, plantations of coffee-trees, the 
 splendid coral-tree, the tulip-tree, with its snowy 
 bells mingled with the scarlet hibiscus. There were 
 sidewalks over which wide-spreading plane-trees 
 and willows of gigantic growth were bending their 
 slender arms, and beneath whose shade streams 
 murmured down the hill. We came to the vine 
 yards, where the vines were carried on trellises over 
 the road, and great bunches of grapes hung within 
 our reach. Hedges of geraniums, fuchsias, and he 
 liotropes bordered the narrow paths and shaded us 
 from the sun. Higher up grew the yam, prickly- 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 155 
 
 pear, dragon-tree, and cedar, the aloe, agave, and 
 sweet potatoe, and heaths and pines crowned the 
 summit. We passed groups of natives, in compa 
 nies of eight or ten, sitting under palms and eating 
 their morning meal, and we met others on their 
 way to the town with fowls, bunches of yellow 
 bananas, and strings of crimson pomegranates. 
 What was very remarkable, those of our crew 
 who had been sick, and one man who said he had 
 coughed up his lungs, seemed to breathe in health 
 at every step, and breathe it with the whole frame. 
 
 " We left Madeira and went to the Canaries to 
 complete our cargo, taking in large store of wines 
 and tropical fruits, and though I did not think that 
 these islands were quite to be compared with Ma 
 deira, yet they did charm us with their fertility and 
 climate, for they seemed to have a golden summer 
 at whatever season of the year. You will not be 
 surprised, I think, that I enlisted in Captain Haw 
 kins s service ; for next to living in those sunny isl 
 ands, it seemed to me a most blessed thing to sail 
 thither every year. I got the confidence of my 
 commander, he trusted me largely in his affairs, 
 and finally he let me share liberally in his gains." 
 
 " Mercy, yes ! you re Nimble Johnny I have heard 
 him tell so much of! " 
 
 " I used to bear that title, madam, and I liked 
 his service so well that I enlisted in it for six years. 
 And now I must tell you of our last voyage. The 
 Jesus, with three other ships, sailed out of Plymouth 
 Bay, as you know, doubtless, nearly a year agone, 
 and we bore straight for the Canaries, and touched 
 
156 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 at Teneriffe. The Pike, as they call the principal 
 peak, lifted its head into the clouds, white with its 
 crown of snow, and down to its base we could 
 trace the climate and the vegetation of all the 
 zones. They told us there of the wonderful Rain- 
 Tree, which we afterwards found in Africa. You 
 must know that it seldom rains in these islands 
 from the sky, but the dews fall plentifully, and 
 there is one tree that rains and supplies the ground 
 with moisture." 
 
 " A tree that rains ! " said Bessie, who had been 
 filling up with wonderment till she could not con 
 tain it. 
 
 " A tree that rains, Miss Hawkins, and supplies 
 the land with showers." 
 
 " Does the tree thunder too ? " 
 
 " Not that we heard of. It sends its roots so 
 deep among the springs, and sucks up so much 
 water, that it trickles adown from the leaves, and 
 men and cattle come and drink of it. A marvel 
 lous thing, Bessie, that is, Miss Hawkins, a 
 kind of vegetable well, that draws water of it 
 self." * 
 
 * " In one of these islands, called Fierro, there is, by the reports of 
 the inhabitants, a certaine tree that raineth continually, by the drop 
 ping whereof the inhabitants and cattell are satisfied with water, for 
 other water have they none in all the Hand. And it raineth in such 
 abundance, that it were incredible unto a man to beleeve such a vertuc 
 to bee in a tree, but it is knowen to bee a divine matter, and a thing 
 ordained by God, at whose power therein wee ought not to marvel, 
 seeing he did by his Providence, as we read in the Scriptures, when 
 the children of Israel were going into the land of promise, fcede them 
 with Manna from heaven for the space of forty years. Of the trees 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 157 
 
 " The mercy ! I 11 get Captain Hawkins to plant 
 one in our garden." 
 
 " But we did not take in any cargo at the Cana 
 ries. We kept sailing southward, and I began to 
 wonder whither we were bound. There was one of 
 our crew whose name was Mark, a rough, swear 
 ing, and drinking Dutchman, and I saw he knew 
 more about it than I did. I suspected some iniqui 
 ty ahead, for Captain Hawkins grew mighty par 
 ticular about the daily prayers, which before had 
 been rather irregular. Now we were summoned 
 together every morning, and the prayers were 
 droned out with redoubled awfulness. Mark this 
 fact, Mrs. Hawkins, when people contemplate 
 some strange and unheard-of deviltry, they often 
 take to praying with new vehemence and solemni 
 ty. I got into Mark s confidence. Where now ? 
 said I. 4 Are we going to girdle the globe in the 
 track of Captain Drake ? Nay, said he, with a 
 big oath, we are going to convert the heathen. 
 I saw the whole of it. We were going to the 
 Guinea coast to take in a cargo of negroes. 
 
 " This is not the business I enlisted for, Mark, 
 said I. No matter for that, he replied ; you are 
 fairly in for it now, and you see the only way of 
 getting out of it is by swinging at the yard-arm. 
 Well, we sailed along through those beautiful 
 sapphire seas, and passed some small islands that 
 
 aforesaid we saw in Guinic many, being of a great height, dropping 
 continually, but not so abundantly as the other, because the leaves are 
 narrower and are like the leaves of a peare tree." Narrative of 
 Hawkins s Voyages in Haklnyt, Vol. III. p. 59G. 
 14 
 
158 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 lie off from the mouth of the Rio Grande and the 
 coasts of Sierra Leone. We anchored by a small 
 island called Alcatarsa, and there we encountered 
 a new marvel. We did not find any negroes, for 
 the island was not inhabited, but birds of beautiful 
 plumage came in flocks around us, and piped their 
 songs. As they curved around our heads, almost 
 alighting upon us, inviting us to reach out and take 
 them, I could not help thinking of the awful curse 
 and wickedness that have put civilized man and 
 these innocent creatures at enmity. And yet we 
 killed them by wholesale, and loaded our boats 
 with them, though it did seem to me a betrayal of 
 the confidence put in us by these innocent birds.* 
 There was another island not far off, La Formio, 
 inhabited by a people called Sapies, and two of 
 our barks with their boats went thither in quest 
 of human plunder. Eighty of our men landed 
 there ; but the natives fled before them to the 
 woods, shooting terribly in their retreat with their 
 bows and arrows. Our men shot at the natives 
 with arquebuses, and it was curious to see, when 
 one of them was wounded, how he would look 
 upon his wound and wonder how it came, as he 
 could not see the missile that caused it. We took 
 no captives at this place. But a few days after, 
 the Jesus came and anchored at one of the islands 
 called Sambula, abounding in tropical fruits and 
 cultivated fields and inhabited towns." 
 
 * " The birds called by the Portugals Alcatarses, who for that 
 cause gave name to the island, not being used to the sight of men, flew 
 so about us that we stroke them down with poles." Hakluyt, Vol. 
 III. p. 597. 
 
THE ADVENTURER. ^ 159 
 
 " Towns ! Do the negroes have towns ? I thought 
 they were all savages, and lived out doors or in 
 caves." 
 
 " These people lived in towns, Miss Hawkins, 
 and I have often thought of this little island as a 
 gem in the ocean. Their towns were built in the 
 form of a cross, two principal streets intersecting 
 each other,- on which their houses stand in long 
 and regular rows. They are made round like a 
 dove-cot by stakes covered with palmetto-leaves, 
 and over the roof thereof, for the better garnishing 
 of the same, there is a round bundle of reed, prettily 
 contrived, like a lover s knot. Inside they have a 
 loft stored with provisions, and pretty apartments 
 divided off by the rind of the palmetto-tree. In the 
 centre of the town, or at the intersection of the 
 cross, there is a larger house, called the Consulta 
 tion-house, where the governor and elders dispense 
 justice. Around these towns were cultivated fields 
 and gardens ; fields of mill, rice, roots, pompions, 
 and date-trees ; goats feeding in flocks ; palmetto- 
 trees tapped and dropping their juices into gourd- 
 shells, from which came rich and delicious wines." 
 
 " But the people were all heathens, I suppose." 
 
 " The natives of the island were called Sapies ; 
 they were a mild, peaceable, industrious people, 
 belonging to the negro race ; heathens, I suppose, 
 but not half so bad heathens as you find here in 
 England. They never roasted people alive for their 
 opinions that I know of." 
 
 " But they eat each other," said Bessie. 
 
 " Troth, I d rather be eaten than roasted. But 
 
160 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 no, Miss Hawkins ; these Sapies are not man-eaters, 
 but live on fruits and cattle, whereof they have great 
 abundance." 
 
 " Have they got any religion ? " said Mrs. Haw 
 kins. 
 
 " Yes, madam, and a very curious religion it is. 
 In their dreams they see various personages whom 
 they take to be gods. So they paint, as well as 
 they can, the imagery of their dreams, as setting 
 forth the things of the invisible world." 
 
 " How strange ! " 
 
 " Not so very strange, Miss Bessie, for that is 
 precisely what they do here in Old England. Ev 
 ery man worships the god of his own imagination, 
 and I infer that the Sapies dream out better gods 
 than they do here in England, because their prac 
 tices are a great deal more just and peaceable." 
 
 " Why the mercy ! Do you think us worse than 
 the Africans ? " said Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 " I beg pardon, madam. If a Sapian were to 
 witness the scenes of Tower Hill or Smithfield 
 Square, I fancy he would be shocked at English 
 barbarism, and perhaps would like to send over a 
 few missionaries to convert you to his milder faith ; 
 for, on my soul, he dreams out a more merciful re 
 ligion when asleep than your bishops and priests 
 do when wide awake. At least, I judge so by its 
 fruits. However, these Sapies were not the only 
 people of the island. About three years before our 
 visit there, a people called Samboses, from beyond 
 Sierra Leone, had invaded the island, and made 
 slaves of the Sapies." 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 161 
 
 " How cruel those Samboses must be, to make 
 war on such inoffensive people ! " said Bessie. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Hawkins, they must have got a little 
 Christianized," said the stranger, with a peculiar 
 curl of the lip. " However, that is the way they 
 build up society in this world. These Samboses 
 were warlike, lazy man-eaters, so they conquered 
 the peaceable Sapies and made slaves of them." 
 
 " Is that what you. call building up society?" 
 
 " Why yes, Bessie, Miss Hawkins, I mean, 
 precisely the way English society was built up, tier 
 above tier. First were the native Britons. Then 
 came the Saxons and piled themselves top of them. 
 Then came the Normans and piled themselves top 
 of the Saxons ; and by this time you may well con 
 ceive the pile grew rather heavy for the poor devils 
 that were undermost. That is the way, Miss 
 Hawkins. And as I was saying, these Samboses, 
 having got a little touch of our Christianity, which, 
 perhaps, they learned of the Portugals, at Sierra 
 Leone, came and piled themselves upon the Sapies." 
 
 " Those Samboses must be a dreadful, horrible 
 people," said Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 " Quite horrible," said the stranger. " However," 
 (his lip curling,) " they had n t got thoroughly Chris 
 tianized like your English bishops. They only 
 cook men after they are dead. Here in England, 
 men are cooked while alive." 
 
 " Why the mercy!" said Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 " Not much mercy in either case. However, 
 there came along to this same island another peo 
 ple, yet more powerful than the Samboses." 
 
162 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 " And I suppose they formed what you call the 
 topmost tier of society. How did they treat the 
 Samboses ? " interposed Bessie. 
 
 " I will tell you, Bessie, how they treated both the 
 Samboses and the Sapies. I have described to you 
 their towns and villages, lying in the shape of a 
 cross, here and there about the island, surrounded 
 by palmetto-groves and luxuriant and cultivated 
 fields. Well, this third set of invaders landed upon 
 the island, stole slyly by night through the date- 
 trees and palmetto-groves, deployed round the vil 
 lage, on which the moonlight lay in a broad sheet 
 of gleaming silver, revealing the whole town in its 
 soft and silent glare. Why, Bessie, the moonlight 
 of the tropics is almost equal to the sunlight of 
 England! These invaders, having lurked all about 
 the town, would set fire to it in several places at 
 once; and then what furrows of flame would 
 plough in all directions through the palmetto-leaves 
 and thatched roofs, till the whole town was in 
 volved in smoke and blaze ! And then what shrieks 
 of women and children just waking from sleep! 
 Men and women rush frantic, emerging in all direc 
 tions from the involving ruin, and fall bewildered 
 into the hands of the invaders, who, in the tropic 
 moonlight, make sure of their prey. The palmetto- 
 leaved village becomes a blackened waste, and such 
 of the naked inmates as have not perished in the 
 fray are carried off captive." 
 
 " O horrible, to think such things are done ! " said 
 Mrs. Hawkins, her mouth and eyes both open with 
 wonder. " And what were these last dreadful sav 
 ages called ? " 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 163 
 
 " Captain John Hawkins and his crew," said the 
 stranger,* emphasizing each particular syllable. 
 
 This was rather too much for the good woman. 
 She turned pale as marble, her gaze bent on the 
 narrator, compelled now to. hear the dreadful tale 
 she had evoked. 
 
 " But do you think," said Bessie, her eyes brim 
 ming over, " that those poor creatures mind such 
 things as we should ? " 
 
 " I will tell you how they minded them. Three 
 hundred of the poor wretches had been stowed on 
 board the fleet, and we had already weighed anchor, 
 and put out to sea. Presently a Sapian girl came 
 skimming the waves like a swan, clear up to the 
 ship, looking into our faces with imploring agony. 
 They took her on board, and before she could be 
 chained, she bounded like a fawn to her mother s 
 breast. Her mother was bleeding with a wound 
 from an arquebuse, of which she died afterwards, 
 but the child clung frantic to the warm corpse, till 
 it was torn from her, and plunged into the waves. 
 She slipped through the hands of the man, and 
 plunged after with a wild shriek, and the merciful 
 sea closed over them both together " 
 
 " But why did n t you raise a mutiny, and stop 
 this?" 
 
 " Tush ! It is n t so pretty a business to raise 
 mutinies, Miss Bessie. And there was one quite 
 cogent reason why I could not. I got poisoned 
 
 * The cool complacency with which these exploits arc narrated, by 
 one of Hawkins s men, and by Hawkins himself, is marvellous. See 
 Hakluyt, Vol. III. pp. 598, 619. 
 
164 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 from one of the arrows of the Samboses, and was 
 lying helpless on board the Jesus. They have a 
 venomous cucumber, in the juice of which they dip 
 the heads of their arrows, so that a wound from 
 them is generally fatal. t I was glad of my wound, 
 for I would not for the world have aided in the 
 capture of those innocent and simple-minded Sapies. 
 I expected to die, and hardly know why I did not, 
 for the blood in all my veins seemed to turn into 
 fire, till it ended in delirium ; and then I know not 
 how long I was fighting with Spaniards in my 
 dreams, or running and shrieking through burning 
 villages. We sailed to the West Indies, where 
 Captain Hawkins sought a market for his human 
 cargo." * 
 
 " His money will never enrich him, got in this 
 way," said Mrs. Hawkins. " I have fasted and 
 prayed over this voyage, for I suspected what he 
 went out for, and I had a presentiment of some 
 dreadful calamity." 
 
 * "The 29th of this same month (January of 1565) WQ departed 
 with all our shippes from Sierra Leone, towards the West Indies, and 
 for the space of eighteene dayes we were becalmed, having nowe and 
 then contrary windes, and some Ternadoes amongst the same calme, 
 which happened to us very ill, beeing but reasonably watered for so 
 great a company of negroes and ourselves, which pinched us all, and 
 that which was worst, put us in such feare, that many never thought 
 to have reached the Indies without great death of negroes and of 
 themselves. But the Almightie God, who never siiffereth his elect to 
 perish, sent us the 16th of Februarie the ordinary Brise, which is the 
 northwest winde, which never left us till we came to an island of the 
 Canybals, called Dominica." Such is the account of " John Sparke 
 the younger, who went upon the same voyage, and wrote the same." 
 His application of the doctrine of election is unique. See Hakluyt, 
 Vol. III. p. 601. 
 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 165 
 
 " Well, madam, his way of finding a market for 
 his goods was quite as peculiar as his mode of get 
 ting them. We anchored before a Spanish town 
 called Burboroata, where the Captain offered his 
 negroes for sale. The Spaniards would not come 
 to his terms. So he landed one hundred men, well 
 armed with bows, arrows, arquebuses, and pikes, 
 with which he marched towards the town ; and this 
 had a sudden influence on the state of the market." 
 
 " Did he bum out the Spaniards too ? " asked 
 Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 " No, but he sold his negroes at his own price. 
 Afterwards we sailed for the Florida coast, which 
 we ranged and explored. There we saw serpents 
 with three heads,* fishes that fly in the air " 
 
 " And men that walked on their heads, perhaps," 
 said Bess, looking droll. 
 
 " Fishes that fly in the air, Miss Bessie, rising in 
 flocks from the surface of the water, and catching 
 the sunbeams on their slimy wings, and turning 
 them into a thousand rainbows. Then we saw 
 dolphins of goodly color and proportion to behold. 
 We sailed up the rivers, and saw flamingoes, that 
 fly through the woods, as red as blood, and seem to 
 set the woods on fire. Then we saw the egripts, all 
 white as a swan, which, as they glide through the 
 beautiful foliage, make you half believe that you 
 are in some paradise haunted by white-robed be- 
 
 * " The Captain of the Frenchman saw also a serpent with three 
 heads and foure feet, of the bignesse of a great spaniell, which for 
 want of a harqucbuz he durst not attempt to slay." Hawkins s Sec 
 ond Voyage, Hakluyt, p. 616. 
 
166 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 ings. Sailing from Florida towards Newfound 
 land, we had contrary winds, and scant provisions, 
 so that we despaired of getting home. So Captain 
 Hawkins got all the crew together, and called upon 
 God in fervent supplication and prayer." * 
 
 " Mr. Hawkins can pray." 
 
 " Yes, madam, when there is no swearing to be 
 done, Captain Hawkins can pray. And what with 
 the praying, and the wind, and the swearing withal, 
 we came safe into Padstow, as you are already in 
 formed. But long before this, my sickness had set 
 tled into a low chronic fever, and I owe it to the 
 best of motherly and sisterly care and kindness 
 that I am living in this wicked world, and on the 
 only quiet spot I have found in it for many a long 
 day." 
 
 * " In which state of great misery wee were provoked to call upon 
 God, by fervent prayer, which moved him to hear us, so that we had 
 a prosperous winde." John Sparke s Narrative of Hawkins s Voy 
 age. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 From cannibals them fled st in vain ; 
 
 Christians less quarter give ; 
 The first won t eat you till you re slain ; 
 
 The last will do t alive ! " 
 
 So ended the stranger s narrative of the voyage, 
 but the curiosity of his auditors was rather sharp 
 ened than satisfied. Who is this Nimble John, 
 thought they, of whom we have heard so much, and 
 who now appears before us to charm us with pic 
 tures of the tropics ? 
 
 " I think you said you were an Englishman ; but 
 you do not seem to have a very good opinion 
 of us." 
 
 " Why, madam, I was only speaking by way of 
 comparison. I was comparing your manners and 
 religion with those of the Samboses, and the differ 
 ence seemed in favor of the latter. Both nations 
 are in the habit of roasting people, but from differ 
 ent motives ; the Samboses to satisfy their hunger, 
 the English to satisfy their theological hate. The 
 former appetite is the most pardonable of the two, 
 I think," his lip curling again. 
 
 " You have suffered in the religious persecutions, 
 perhaps." 
 
168 
 
 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 " The history of my family is a strange one, but 
 I have no wish to conceal it. My father was ban 
 ished during the bloody times of Henry, and died 
 an exile in Amsterdam. I barely remember him, 
 for I was not six years old when he died. But my 
 mother often led me to his grave, and there we have 
 sat hours together while she would tell me the story 
 of his wrongs; and the lesson which she breathed 
 into me, or rather which she burned into my soul, 
 was detestation of tyranny, and religious tyrannies 
 in particular. Her great black eye would flash fires 
 that almost made me afraid, when she told me of 
 my father s exile ; and not half so fervently did 
 Hannibal make his son swear hatred to Rome at 
 the altar, as she made me take the vow against op 
 pression on my father s grave. She led me every 
 Sunday to the old St. Nicholas Church, where I 
 knelt and worshipped with her arm around me ; and 
 it seemed to me that God s spirit always entered 
 my heart by first passing straight through hers, and 
 that it lost none of its sanctity on the way. It was 
 not long before my mother drew attention upon 
 herself and her orphan child. One Sunday evening 
 there came a lady of noble carriage to our house, 
 which stood on a street called the Princen Gracht, 
 and I remember her soothing speech and dignified 
 manners. I found they were in consultation about 
 me and my education, but I did not get the drift of 
 it. Who was that tall lady, said I, after she had 
 left the house, and what is she going to do with 
 me ? i She is going to take you into her school, 
 said my mother. * Does she teach school ? I asked, 
 
THE ADVENTURER, 169 
 
 rather surprised. < Nay, but there is a school under 
 her patronage to which her son passes by every day, 
 and he will call to-morrow and take you there. 
 The tall lady is the Lady Egmond ; she has a son 
 considerably older than yourself, who attends school 
 on the Keysers, and is just closing his studies there, 
 and you are to go there with him to-morrow morn 
 ing. 
 
 " The young man came along, a youth with a 
 florid and blooming countenance, and I put my hand 
 in his and walked to the Keysers. He took me un 
 der his particular care, and there was something so 
 noble and generous in his bearing, that he was not 
 long in getting my confidence and love. He 
 watched the friendless boy with a brother s eye, for 
 I was the youngest in the school, and stammered 
 Dutch rather awkwardly. But if any big boy at 
 tempted to jeer me or lord it over me, it was enough 
 to know that Lamoral was on my side. So I got 
 along mighty well, and learned Dutch and naviga 
 tion, until, as I told you, I fell in with Captain 
 Hawkins, enlisted in his service, and sailed to the 
 Canaries." 
 
 " And your mother is alive yet ? " 
 
 " I have not seen her since the memorable day 
 when I left her at the Princen. I was to sail in the 
 Pelican early in the morning, and I went to her 
 chamber to bid her good by. She had risen, and 
 was not there. I followed on till I heard her in her 
 closet, praying for her child, that God would keep 
 him upon the great deep, and above all keep him 
 from the temptations of evil men. I saw her kneel- 
 
 15 
 
170 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 ing before her crucifix, and was about to withdraw, 
 when she beckoned me to her side, where I knelt 
 with her arm around me as we used to kneel in 
 church, and she went on with that prayer, which 
 seemed to me to be uttered with an angel s lips, and 
 which God has answered perpetually. She rose 
 and printed a kiss on my forehead, which is burning 
 there yet. I fell upon her bosom, and there all our 
 family wrongs rolled hot through my memory, 
 those wrongs which had fallen so heavily on her 
 noble heart, but had not been able to crush out 
 either its energy or tenderness ; and there I took the 
 vow to be true to her, my guardian angel. We 
 parted. Her sweet image has been my talisman by 
 land and sea. I hasten back to that room on the 
 Princen Gracht, and woe is me if the living image 
 is not there still, You have brought me through this 
 terrible sickness, and if it were only to do two things, 
 you have laid me under an eternal obligation, if 
 it were only to clasp my mother once more, and tell 
 her how her prayers have prevailed, and to find out 
 him who was the generous and manly boy, or rath 
 er young man, for he was my senior by fifteen years, 
 and who when I had neither father nor brother be 
 came both to me. But he left Amsterdam long be 
 fore I did, and mayhap I shall never look into his 
 loving and noble face again." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Oft in my si timberings at midnight, 
 
 And visions dark and drearer, 
 She conies and calls : the wind sinks down, 
 And sighs in awe to hear her." 
 
 " DID N T I say that Molly Hawkins could raise 
 the dead ? " said somebody, stumping through the 
 next room into the parlor, when the bear-like visage 
 of the most valiant and worshipful John Hawkins 
 appeared again, his beard rather cleaner and less 
 grizzled than before he went up to court. " Let 
 alone Molly Hawkins for keeping men out of the 
 churchyard." And he seized the hand of Nimble 
 John in both of his, which he crushed as in a vice. 
 " You are safe at last, my faithful fellow, from those 
 black heathen devils, and their pizen cucumbers. I 
 nursed ye in my arms like a sick baby over the 
 whole Atlantic Ocean, to keep ye out of the sharks 
 jaws. And we ve got ye out of Death s grip, praise 
 be to the Lord and Molly Hawkins ! " And then 
 making a grab at Bess, and drawing her into his 
 lap: " Come, you red flamingo, you ought to have 
 all the feathers plucked out of you, for growing up 
 into an eighteen-year-old girl." 
 
172 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 And the daughter laid her florid cheek lovingly 
 on her father s weather-beaten face, brushing the 
 bristles of his beard with her fine, glossy ringlets. 
 " Father, you are a wicked man ; I mean to tell 
 Parson Hobson." 
 
 " What a murrain has the girl got now ? " 
 
 u You burnt out those poor Sapies, and carried 
 them off, and God never will love you for it, nor 
 mother either." 
 
 "Nonsense, chuck, you don t understand. I only 
 convert them to the Christian religion." Then turn 
 ing to his man : " We ve disposed of the cargo. A 
 clean quarter-million left, after taking out her Ma 
 jesty s share. And we re ready for another voyage, 
 and have given you the command of the Minion, 
 with her Majesty s blessing upon ye. Your little 
 fortune will make a splendid outfit, and ye re sure 
 to double it in a twelvemonth." 
 
 " Captain Hawkins, I enlisted in your service for 
 the Canary trade, not for trade in human beings ; 
 and I d sooner see the Jesus of Lubec with the 
 whole fleet and crew sink in the bottom of the sea, 
 than engage in this business." 
 
 " What a murrain s got the man now ! Don t I 
 make more converts to Christianity than the Arch 
 bishop of Canterbury ? Would ye leave the poor 
 devils to eat each other up, man ? have God s image 
 turned into mutton-chops, man ? or would ye just 
 carry them off, and put them under good Christian 
 discipline ? Come, come, away with your woman s 
 conscience, if ye mean to do business in this world." 
 
 " I won t do any business in this world, Captain 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 173 
 
 Hawkins, that would interfere with my business in 
 the next. As for this Christianity you speak of, I 
 think heathenism much better. Spanish Christian 
 ity I ve seen quite enough of, and as for English 
 Christianity, my family but just escaped out of its 
 cannibal jaws; and I d be glad to bring hither some 
 scores of Sapies, not for slaves, but to convert the 
 nation to humanity." 
 
 " But the Queen is with us, and smiles upon our 
 scheme, and you shall have a round hundred thou 
 sand sterling for your profits, my Nimble John." 
 
 " Mif queen never would smile upon it," said 
 Nimble John, and the image of his mother came 
 before him. " The case is up, Captain Hawkins. 
 I ve sworn eternal hatred to all sorts of oppres 
 sion, on my father s grave." 
 
 " This voyage never will prosper, John," said 
 Mrs. Hawkins. " It is such gold as this that the 
 Scripture calls cankered." 
 
 " I told you, you was wicked," said Bess, hug 
 ging her white arms still closer around her father s 
 neck, and putting the rose of her cheek still more 
 warmly to the tan of his. 
 
 " What a murrain! Are ye all taking sides with 
 the younker in his mutiny? " And the Right Wor 
 shipful John Hawkins shambled out of the room. 
 
 Before we take our leave for the present of Nimble 
 John, whom by this time the reader has discovered 
 to be the Little Johnny of Bourchier Hall, well devel 
 oped into John Bourchier Sayer the navigator, we 
 must follow him for a few moments to Amsterdam. 
 
 15=* 
 
174 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 He took leave of Mrs. Hawkins with ten thou 
 sand fervent thanksgivings. " What can I do for 
 you, madam ? you have saved my life." 
 
 " Speak not of it. I knew you had a good 
 mother, for none other can have so good a son " ; 
 and she graciously received on her cheek a warm 
 kiss from the stranger s lips. 
 
 Then he put his hand into the gripe of his late 
 commander, bidding him change his business and 
 prosper ; and the old sailor, though outwardly hard 
 ened by fight and storm, choked down his feelings 
 as he gave him his blessing. Then, looking round 
 the room : " I do not see your daughter ; but I owe 
 her too much not to thank her for all her goodness 
 to a sick man." 
 
 " She s away this morning, minding some neces 
 sary affairs. May the Lord give ye safe to your 
 mother." 
 
 The stranger walked down to the harbor, and his 
 vessel was soon afloat in the Catwater, and as he 
 turned back with a yearning heart towards the 
 house, his quick eye saw a female form watching 
 him from the balcony. He waved his hand, but 
 it quickly disappeared. 
 
 When Bessie came down stairs that morning, 
 with a cheerful nonchalance her mother drew near, 
 and spoke with unusual tenderness. " I knew how 
 it would be with my chubby. She has heard too 
 many charming stories for her peace of mind. But 
 never you be carking your little heart about it. 
 The stranger saw it too, and meant it, for I watched 
 him ; and he s a good son and would n t do a mean 
 
THIS ADVENTURER. 175 
 
 thing for all the world. So don t be brooding and 
 dreaming over it, my darling." And Bessie s lip 
 quivered, and her eye filled, though she felt relieved 
 when she found her mother had divined the smoth 
 ered secret. 
 
 John Bourchier Sayer is again in Amsterdam, 
 after an absence of six years, during which he has 
 sailed over half the globe, and encountered all hard 
 ships and all specimens of human nature. He 
 floats up the canal into the Princen Gracht, be 
 tween the same rows of trees, till he comes to 
 the chestnut that still brushed the windows of the 
 old home. With heart almost leaping from his 
 bosom, he hastens to the old apartments, and knocks 
 tremulous at the door. A strange Dutch face 
 makes its appearance. 
 
 " Is the Lady Anne Sayer within ? " 
 Nay, sir ! " 
 
 " Will you tell me where she lives, my good 
 woman ? " 
 
 " In the upper world, I m thinking. She was a 
 saintly woman, and has gone up to the mansions, 
 I reckon." 
 
 " Where s her family ? " 
 
 " Her boy went away in an English ship, o er 
 the wide world." 
 
 " And her servants ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell ye, but they be gone from 
 here." 
 
 With these words knolling through his brain, 
 he sought the residence of the Lady Egmond, 
 
176 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 " Like one who from a distant land 
 
 Returns his home to see, 
 And starts to see the stranger stand 
 Beneath his father s tree." 
 
 Lady Egmond was the proper person from whose 
 lips to receive the dreaded tale. It came from her 
 in a soothing tone of consolation, mingled with 
 words of a serene and rejoicing faith. She had 
 been a fast friend of the exiled family, sat by the 
 Lady Anne in her sickness, and followed her to her 
 last earthly rest. " Your mother died about six 
 months ago ; her last talk of things below ran upon 
 her absent boy, and her last look was fixed on the 
 glories of heaven, in full sight of which she seemed 
 gently to fall away." He learned, moreover, that 
 Job, five years since, had sung his last song, and 
 slept beside his master, and that Lottie, since the 
 death of her mistress, had returned to England. 
 Lamoral, son of the gentle Lady Egmond, the 
 generous youth who had protected his childhood, 
 left Amsterdam long since for his patrimony in 
 Flanders, where he had become the idol of the 
 people, and been appointed Stadtholder, as a reward 
 for his brilliant military achievements. 
 
 Having heard this recital, he went out and paced 
 the streets in solitude, alone in the great city and 
 the great world. He paced back and forth by the 
 old school-room on the Keysets, and came at last 
 to an enclosure behind St. Nicholas Church. In 
 one corner was a spot reserved for the burial of 
 Catholic English exiles, and there was his mother s 
 grave. It was beside her husband s, and still looked 
 fresh, and was without a monument. He fell down 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 177 
 
 upon it, and there the pent-up agony found its way. 
 The old story of the family wrongs came up more 
 fresh than ever, those wrongs which had at last 
 crushed down the form of the sainted one beneath 
 the clod on which he lay ; and the waves of bitter 
 ness broke long and heavy upon his soul ; and 
 even when the dusk of twilight had settled over 
 the graves, and the moon had wheeled up the sky, 
 his agony was not yet over. But at last a sweet 
 image seemed to swim before the eye of his faith, 
 as if to say to him in pantomime, " Comfort, my 
 boy ! press hither, where there are no wrongs nor 
 troubles." He left the spot with new-made vows, 
 and two days after, there was a simple monument 
 upon the grave with these letters : 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 SLEEPS HERE TILL THE GKEAT MORNING. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "A country that draws fifty foot of water, 
 In which men live as in the hold of nature, 
 And when the sea does in upon them break, 
 And drowns a province, does but spring a leak." 
 
 HUDIBRAS. 
 
 SCENE changes. If the reader can be trusted to 
 hold on here to the thread of our story, we will en 
 deavor to give him some idea of the marvellous 
 events through which it must take its course. Per 
 haps you have got your notion of Dutchmen through 
 Knickerbocker s History, and think them a very dull 
 and feather-headed sort of people. Did you know 
 that the history of these same Dutchmen transcends 
 all the wonders of romance, and all the stories of 
 heroism, whether in modern history or classic song ? 
 And did you know that two hundred years before 
 the American Revolution, which is our pride and 
 boast, they established in Europe the principles of 
 our Declaration of Independence by a series of 
 struggles that evinced all the great virtues of which 
 humanity is capable, and in a degree to which the 
 world cannot furnish a parallel ? The Pilgrims 
 went to Holland for religious toleration. Do you 
 
THE ADVENTURER, 179 
 
 know how much that toleration cost the men who 
 had it to bestow ? Wonderful people ! it is hardly 
 meet that such a pen as mine should describe your 
 achievements ; but I will attempt it so far forth as 
 to make the way clear for the thread of my narra 
 tive. 
 
 And first, let me put my reader into a clairvoyant 
 mood, and take him to Holland on a sail up its 
 rivers and canals. The canals intersect the whole 
 country like network, as thick as roads in New 
 England ; and what is curious, the canals are higher 
 than the country that lies between them. They 
 are not dug-, but built, built through what once 
 were bogs and marshes and lakes ; and then the 
 bogs and marshes and lakes are pumped dry into 
 them of all their water, and turned into blooming 
 fields and gardens. So you sail along and look 
 upon the farms away beneath you, sometimes thirty 
 feet below high-water mark, where the men are at 
 work in the fields, and the flocks are feeding in clo 
 ver. A bad job, a Yankee would think, to pump up 
 all that water into the canals, yea, to pump his 
 farm dry every morning ! But look at those rows 
 of windmills all along on the banks and dikes, with 
 their great brawny arms whirling and whirling! 
 These do the work. Boreas comes sweeping and 
 howling from the Northern Sea, and why should he 
 not be put to some use, and do the drudgery of the 
 country? He will do more labor when properly 
 managed than three millions of negro slaves, and 
 ask you for neither pork nor corn-cake in return. 
 Sometimes the morass was so extensive, and shelved 
 
180 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 down so low, that the water has to be pumped three 
 times over, before it gets to a level with the sea, and 
 can run off, in which case three systems of pumps 
 are in requisition. Down towards the middle of 
 the polder, for so they call the reclaimed morass, 
 the windmills pump the water up into the lowest 
 set of water-courses, then others into higher ones, 
 and others still into the canals. So there the grim 
 giants are standing, these lusty Briarsei, one row 
 above another, handing water to each other by mil 
 lions of barrels, till it gets to the sea-level, but leav 
 ing the polders impregnated with an inexhaustible 
 fertility ; thus doing what Dame Partington could 
 not, and keeping the Atlantic Ocean swept clean 
 out. 
 
 A great country does not always measure its 
 greatness by the extent of territories annexed. 
 Neither Attica nor Sparta was much larger than 
 some counties in Massachusetts ; and these Neth 
 erlands we have described, this country scooped out 
 of the sea, with its polders teeming with cattle and 
 corn, could be laid snugly into the two States of 
 Massachusetts and Connecticut, with considerable 
 margin to spare.* And yet, before this little country 
 of polders and windmills, Spain, then the mightiest 
 monarchy in the world, wielding the strength of 
 Europe, with the gold of America pouring into 
 her coffers, shrank crippled and cowering into the 
 dust. 
 
 In the times of which we write, the Northern 
 
 * We mean the Northern or Protestant Netherlands. 
 
f 
 
 THE ADVENTURER. //TT ] 181 
 
 s. 
 
 Netherlands consisted of seven provinces ; namely, 
 Holland proper, which, being the strength and back 
 bone of the whole, ultimately gave its name to all 
 the rest, Zealand, Utrecht, Friesland, Groningen, 
 Overyssel, and Guelderland. Just take your map 
 and see these provinces clustered around the Zuyder 
 Zee, and leaning lovingly towards each other, as if 
 expecting to join hands against oppression. You 
 could put them into almost any two of the New 
 England States. And Holland (the province we 
 mean), which singly would not greatly overlap some 
 of our counties, was the leading power among them. 
 
 South of these, and on the other side of the 
 Meuse, lay the Spanish Netherlands, called thus 
 distinctively because they did not throw off the 
 Spanish yoke, the two principal provinces of 
 which were Flanders and Brabant, corresponding 
 in part to what is now Belgium. The people of 
 these had not the Dutch temperament and man 
 ners, but the French rather, and among them the 
 Catholic religion prevailed. 
 
 North of the Meuse, and among the seven prov 
 inces, the Protestant doctrines had spread among 
 all classes, but particularly in Holland, Zealand, 
 and Utrecht. Spite of penal laws and persecutions, 
 the people had imbibed the new opinions through 
 the bent of their own original genius, and through 
 the influence of the Bishop of Utrecht, and of Eras 
 mus, who lived and wrote at Rotterdam. 
 
 All these provinces, north and south, belonged to 
 the dominions of Charles the Fifth, Emperor of Ger 
 many ; and when that monarch resigned his empire, 
 
 16 
 
182 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 they passed into the hands of his son, Philip, King of 
 Spain.* Philip visited the provinces to receive their 
 allegiance, and swore "to preserve to all the no 
 bles, towns, commons, and subjects, whether lay or 
 clerical, their ancient immunities and privileges." 
 After this, the Netherlands, with the consent of the 
 several states, were declared permanently united 
 under the government of one sovereign, with all 
 their ancient rights severally secured. 
 
 During a four years residence among his Nether- 
 land subjects, for the settlement of affairs, Philip 
 did nothing to gain the love of the people, but dis 
 gusted them with his bigotry, and his austere and 
 chilling manners. When about to depart for Spain, 
 in 1559, it became necessary to appoint some one 
 to govern the provinces in his absence, and it was 
 a question of vital interest to the people on whom 
 the choice was to fall. Two men rose prominent 
 before them, around whom their hopes and affec 
 tions most fondly clung, and both of whom were 
 destined to figure largely and fearfully in coming 
 events. One of these was William, Prince of Or 
 ange. In his wisdom, foresight, and integrity the 
 people had unbounded confidence, though as yet 
 he had seen but twenty-six years. He was thin, 
 pale, and thoughtful, and acquired among his ene 
 mies the surname of the Taciturn, keeping his se 
 crets profoundly locked within him, yet pleasing 
 and affable to all who approached him. The other 
 
 * This is the Philip familiarly known to English readers as the 
 husband of the " Bloody Mary," and the real adviser and author of 
 the Marian persecutions. 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 183 
 
 was Lamoral, Count of Egmond, whom we have 
 already had a glimpse of, as the youth of frank and 
 generous bearing, but who has since become the bril 
 liant military commander. He was a Dutchman by 
 birth, but had the warm Southern temperament and 
 love of profusion and show. Though older than 
 William of Orange by fifteen years, he lacked his 
 judgment and penetration into the motives of men; 
 he was generous and confiding, his countenance still 
 open, fresh, and blooming, and his heart full of the 
 unchilled enthusiasm of his childhood. He had a 
 wife whom he tenderly loved, was the father of 
 eleven children, three sons and eight daughters, all 
 of whom regarded him with a warm idolatry. His 
 wealth was unbounded, being Count of Egmond in 
 Holland, and Prince of Gavres and Steenhuyzen 
 in Flanders. There was a well-known saying, 
 " Brederode the noblest, Wassenaar the oldest, and 
 Egmond the richest, of the noble families of Hol 
 land." 
 
 Overlooking both these idols of the people, and 
 probably for the reason that they were such, Philip 
 placed at the head of the government Margaret, 
 Duchess of Parma, his natural sister, whom accord 
 ingly he had summoned from Italy. She was a 
 woman of masculine appearance and strong un 
 derstanding, though not without natural goodness ; 
 of stature tall and large, and with " something of a 
 beard on the upper lip and chin " ; but what recom 
 mended her to Philip was that she was a most 
 devoted Catholic, having been a pupil and penitent 
 of Ignatius Loyola. She took up her residence at 
 
184 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 Brussels in Brabant, and a Council of State was 
 appointed to assist her in the - conduct of affairs. 
 The Prince of Orange and the Count of Egrnond 
 were both made members of this council. Separate 
 Stadtholders were placed over all the Provinces, ex 
 cept Brabant, in which the Governess herself resid 
 ed. The Prince of Orange was made Stadtholder 
 of Holland, Zealand, and Utrecht, the Count of 
 Aremberg of Friesland, Overyssel, and Groningen, 
 the Count of Megen of Guelderland, and the Count 
 of Egmond of Flanders. 
 
 Through all these smooth appearances the keen 
 eye of Orange saw a black speck in the horizon. 
 The Governess had been received in the country 
 with great pomp, and in a public audience the King 
 professed his paternal care for the welfare of his 
 states ; but at the close of his address admonished 
 the Governess, and every member of the government, 
 to be diligent in executing the edicts against heretics. 
 Coupled with this declaration was the fact that 
 some twelve thousand Spanish troops were left in 
 the Netherlands. This alarmed the Deputies of the 
 Provinces, who were then assembled at Ghent, and 
 they presented a petition to the King, headed by 
 the names of Orange and Egmond, that the troops 
 might be removed, and the execution of the edicts 
 intrusted solely to Netherlanders. He consented, 
 but those two conspicuous and illustrious names 
 seared his eyeballs, and he never forgave it. 
 
 All things being arranged, however, the King set 
 sail from Flushing. As he was about to embark, 
 a number of the principal nobility came to bid him 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 185 
 
 adieu, Orange among the rest. Philip, who before 
 had well dissembled his resentment, now in parting 
 bent an angry countenance upon Orange, and 
 charged him with impeding the execution of his 
 measures. 
 
 " It is not my act, sire, but that of the States," 
 said Orange. 
 
 " Non los Estados," exclaimed Philip, seizing his 
 wrist and shaking it violently, "mas vos, vos, vos!" 
 
 Philip embarked, however, with flattering expec 
 tations on either side, in a fleet of fifty large and 
 forty smaller vessels. Just before he reached the 
 port of Laredo, a violent tempest overtook him ; the 
 ship in which he sailed foundered and went down, 
 and all his baggage and jewels with it. He barely 
 escaped with his life, and in a small boat reached 
 the land. He bowed in worship before the miracu 
 lous Providence that had preserved him, and made 
 a vow to devote his life to the extirpation of heresy. 
 As soon as he landed in Spain, he signalized his 
 gratitude by assisting at the burning of a number 
 of heretics, among whom were fourteen ladies of 
 gentle blood, the savor of whose dying agonies he 
 sent up to the throne of mercy. 
 
 It very soon became evident that the " Council 
 of State " in the Netherlands was the merest shad 
 ow, and that none but the creatures of Philip had 
 any share in the government. Among these crea 
 tures there was one man who stood conspicuous, 
 and who alone had the ear of the Governess. This 
 
 * " Not the States, but you, you, you ! " The form of expression 
 was one of contempt among the Spaniards. 
 16* 
 
186 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 was Anthony Perrenot de Granvelle, a man of al 
 most unparalleled resources and abilities, and fit to 
 be made the iron tool of oppression. He spoke seven 
 languages, and was eloquent in all of them, dictated 
 at once to five amanuenses, worked all night with 
 out fatigue, was an unscrupulous arid bigoted Pa 
 pist, and had complete control of affairs. One of 
 his first measures was to thrust upon the people 
 fourteen new bishops, nominated by the King, and 
 confirmed by the Pope, and get himself made Arch 
 bishop with a cardinal s hat, and bring in the Inqui 
 sition with all its hateful cruelties. On all sides 
 came up murmurs from the people, that grew loud 
 er and louder, and broke in a storm of hatred around 
 the person of Granvelle. The whole country teemed 
 with lampoons and pasquinades, and the new bish 
 ops were threatened with death if they attempted 
 to enter upon their sees. As the foreign troops had 
 not been withdrawn, agreeably to the promise of the 
 King, the States refused to contribute funds for their 
 support, and the Zealanders declared they would 
 leave the dikes unrepaired, and their land to be 
 swallowed up by the ocean, rather than preserve it 
 to be overrun by a foreign soldiery. Orange and 
 Egmond, finding themselves entirely disregarded in 
 the government, withdrew in silent dignity from the 
 Council of State, addressed a letter to the King, 
 described the threatened ruin of the country, and 
 prayed for the removal of Granvelle. 
 
 For the present the storm was stayed. Granvelle 
 was not recalled, but voluntarily withdrew, and the 
 troops were removed from the country. Orange 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 187 
 
 and Egmond returned to the Council, and were con 
 sulted by the Governess as the representatives of the 
 " patriot " party. The edicts remained unexecuted, 
 and the enjoyment of security and liberty of con 
 science diffused universal contentment among the 
 people, and the angry waves of turbulence sank 
 down into a calm. 
 
 But it was specious and delusive, and owing to the 
 prudence of the Governess, and not to the altered 
 determination of the King. Despatches soon arrived 
 from Spain, ordering the decrees of the Council of 
 Trent to be published throughout the Netherlands, 
 and enforced to the letter, the Inquisition to be 
 pressed down upon the people with the whole au 
 thority of government, and the penal edicts to be 
 executed with rigor. Surprised and chagrined as 
 she read the despatches, the Governess spread them 
 before her Council for advice. She knew the temper 
 of her people, and she saw the blood that must flow. 
 A stormy debate arose. The King s partisans ad 
 vised that the despatches be kept secret till an am 
 bassador be sent to explain to Philip the state of the 
 country. Then Orange rose, and by a stroke of 
 policy for which he incurred afterwards the censure 
 of both friends and enemies, precipitated the crisis 
 which he saw must come. He and his party insist 
 ed that the King s pleasure should immediately be 
 made known, and the despatches published. That 
 he saw the result cannot be doubted. That he ad 
 vised wrong is not so clear, since he knew the tem 
 per of the King and of the people, and that a col 
 lision must come at last. Right or wrong, his 
 
188 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 advice prevailed ; the decrees were sent to all the 
 Stadtholders, and the magistrates were commanded 
 to aid the inquisitors and enforce the edicts. 
 
 Everywhere the people answered the despatches 
 with lowering anger, which soon burst into tumult. 
 Inflammatory pamphlets were circulated; placards 
 were posted on the walls of the towns, exhorting the 
 people to resist the Inquisition and the Spanish 
 tyranny, and every effort to discover the authors 
 was made in vain. The nobles saw that an insur 
 rection must come, and that they must either guide 
 and control the rising turbulence, or else have their 
 own estates plundered and involved in the ruin. 
 They banded together in a confederacy, which was 
 signed by some hundreds of the nobility and prin 
 cipal merchants, pledging mutual support in resist 
 ing the Inquisition and defending the lives and prop 
 erty of each other. They went up to Brussels with 
 a petition to the Governess for a redress of griev 
 ances ; they went through the city on foot, unarmed 
 and plainly dressed ; others joined them and swelled 
 their numbers ; they formed a procession numbering 
 from three to four hundred, and marched to court 
 four abreast, slowly and in solemn silence, while 
 the crowds stood mute and the streets were hushed 
 before the imposing spectacle. Seeing them plainly 
 dressed as they came up, the Count of Barlaimont 
 remarked to the Governess : " Fear not, they are 
 only a troop of beggars (gueux)." The taunt was 
 taken up by other lips, and turned into a watchword 
 of liberty. The answer of the Governess did not 
 satisfy them, and they assembled in the evening at 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 189 
 
 a feast, where their vows of patriotism became fer 
 vent and strong. " Long live the Gueux ! " rang 
 round and round the apartment, amid mirth and 
 wine ; and the name of contempt became their 
 boast and glory. It was adopted everywhere by 
 those who opposed the measures of the government. 
 They dressed themselves in a beggar s costume of 
 gray, with a wooden cup bound in their caps, such 
 as mendicant monks were used to carry, and made 
 these the honored badges of liberty. 
 
 Orange and Egmond did not sign the petition, 
 and they kept aloof from all violent measures. They 
 even informed the Governess faithfully of the con 
 federacy, and pledged themselves to support her. 
 But the people were aroused, and nothing could 
 now stay the tide except the repeal of the edicts. 
 Margaret, the Governess, sent to the King for instruc 
 tions, suspending their execution meanwhile. The 
 Council petitioned for a moderation of the edicts. 
 The King consented to soften the decrees, in that 
 Reformed preachers, composers, and printers should 
 be hanged instead of burnt, and that the punish 
 ment of death should be changed to banishment 
 only, for the common people. " This moderation is 
 murderation" said the populace, and the Reformers 
 went on more boldly than ever. Instead of meeting 
 in woods and by-places, they assembled in the 
 broad fields outside the walls of the cities, flocking 
 together in thousands, to show, they said, " how 
 many the Inquisition would have to burn, slay, and 
 banish." The first of these assemblies was held 
 near Oudenarde. The people, to the number of 
 
190 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 seven thousand, went out of the city into an open 
 plain ; the wagons formed a circuit, and girded the 
 enclosure, on which guards of armed men were sta 
 tioned ; a pulpit of rough planks was raised in the 
 centre ; women and children formed round it, while 
 about the women stood serried ranks of stern men ; 
 one Herman Stryker, a Reformed preacher, mounted 
 the platform ; a death-like silence was on the sea of 
 faces while the deep intonations of the preacher 
 were borne upon the wind, and rolled over the vast 
 multitudes ; their red-hot passions took mould and 
 form beneath his words, and became settled resolves ; 
 the congregation lifted a psalm together against the 
 blue heavens, and then wound slowly to the gates 
 of the city, and dispersed, every man, with closed 
 lips and a knit brow, to his home. Such scenes as 
 these occurred through nearly all the towns of Hol 
 land. 
 
 Disgraceful transactions ensued. A congregation 
 at Ypres in Flanders, returning from their field-wor 
 ship without the walls, passed by Catholic church 
 es with their crosses and images. " Why," thought 
 they, " should we be driven in disgrace to worship 
 God outside the walls, while the Papists sit secure 
 amid their splendid mummeries within?" And the 
 crosses and images became in their eyes the hate 
 ful badges of a religion that sought to crush them, 
 They fell upon the churches, and emptied their sa 
 cred furniture into the streets ; the ways became 
 strewed with torn pictures and broken statues. The 
 fury was contagious. It spread from city to city, 
 and from town to town. The cathedrals were plun- 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 191 
 
 dered and shattered, and their contents trampled in 
 the streets by maniac mobs, and a scene of icono- 
 clasm spread over the Provinces which good men 
 beheld with shuddering. Never were outrages more 
 ill-timed or more ruinous to a good cause. The 
 native Catholics, who before had sympathized with 
 the popular mind, now took sides with the govern 
 ment. Margaret found means to raise troops and 
 suppress the riots. She brought the ringleaders to 
 condign punishment, and before many months she 
 had restored order in the Provinces, completely 
 broken up the confederation of the nobles, and abol 
 ished the public worship of the Reformers. They 
 had built several churches. She had them pulled 
 down and made into gibbets, on which dangled the 
 corpses of image-breakers ! 
 
CHAPTER V.I I. 
 
 " Saith Saint Augustine, though the devils be wolves that strangle 
 the sheep of Jesu Christ, they do worse than wolves ; for soothly 
 when the wolf hath filled his wombe, he stinteth to strangle sheep ; but 
 soothly the destroyers of holy churches goodness do not so, for they 
 never stint their strangling/ CHAUCER. 
 
 THE city of Brussels stands on a theatre, across 
 which have passed the thrilling events of the drama 
 of history, from the days of the resignation of Charles 
 the Fifth to the day of the most decisive battle of 
 Modern Europe. The river Senne flows through a 
 valley of beautifully diversified scenery, flanked on 
 either side by sloping heights, and on one of these 
 slopes is the city of Brussels. As you approach it 
 from the west, you see it rising from the Senne as 
 a splendid amphitheatre of houses, till it covers the 
 summit like a queenly crown. At the foot of the 
 hill, where are the quays and canal basins, the city 
 swarms with commercial life ; but as your eye rises 
 up the acclivity it meets with green parks and 
 squares, surrounded by ducal palaces. At two of 
 these squares we will pause for a single moment. 
 The Grand Place, sometimes called the " Horse- 
 Market," is in the centre of the upper city, a noble 
 

 THE ADVENTURER. 193 
 
 square, containing the gorgeous old Hotel de Ville, 
 a civic palace in the florid Gothic style, with its 
 quaint sculptures and pointed turrets. Its pyram 
 idal tower rises to a summit of nearly four hun 
 dred feet, from the top of which you look away 
 over the level country and along the whole valley 
 of the Senne, and nine miles to the south see the 
 Waterloo plains, two hundred and fifty years from 
 the events we are describing, to be watered with 
 the blood of Europe. There is another square, 
 the large palace garden called the Park, surround 
 ed by four uniformly built streets, which compare 
 well with the finest streets of European capitals. 
 On one of these, the Rue Bellevue, or the Street 
 of Beautiful Views, is a spot consecrated alter 
 nately w T ith as much domestic happiness and an 
 guish as any spot in the world. Here stood the 
 residence occupied by the Count of Egmond, over 
 looking the palace garden, whose statuary gleamed 
 through linden-trees, overlooking, far below, the soft 
 luxuriance of the valley of the Senne. Hither he 
 was wont to come from the debates in the Council 
 of State, to caress his infant son and be the sun 
 light of his family and bask himself in its charms. 
 He had now four daughters in the freshest bloom 
 of early womanhood, the oldest one happy in her 
 recent betrothal, and he had several younger chil 
 dren, who kept his home alive with their prattle and 
 play. Of his son Philip, now about nine years old, 
 we shall hear again. In this domestic scene, which 
 caught its sunshine from the exuberant joyousness 
 of his own heart, he was called to decide between 
 
 17 
 
194 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 two courses of action, on which a prudent man 
 would have pondered well. He was summoned to 
 the presence of the Governess, and a new oath was 
 demanded of him and the Prince of Orange. They 
 had not joined the " Gueux"; they had both been 
 active in suppressing the recent disturbances. Both 
 were Catholics.* But they were opposed to the 
 Inquisition. They were idols of the people, and 
 both their names were on that petition for the re 
 moval of the troops which first roused the secret 
 ire of Philip. 
 
 The new oath required of them " to use their ut 
 most endeavors to uphold the Catholic Church, to 
 punish the sacrilegious, and extirpate heresy; and 
 that they should treat as enemies all those whom 
 she declared such in the King s name." Egmond 
 and most of the Council took the oath. Orange 
 steadily refused it. 
 
 Soon after, a private interview took place between 
 these two nobles, and long and earnest was the con 
 ference. Orange charged Egmond with deserting 
 the cause of the country, and painted in glowing 
 colors the bloody future that was not far off. Both 
 had received letters from the King, containing most 
 gracious assurances of the royal favor. But the 
 keen eye of Orange looked through the whole. 
 Beside his unrivalled sagacity, he had secret sour 
 ces of knowledge. He had a spy in the court of 
 Philip, who kept him informed of all the counsels 
 and purposes of that wily bigot. He knew that a 
 
 * Orange became a Protestant afterwards. 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 195 
 
 Spanish army was to be sent into the Netherlands, 
 and he knew the work they were to do. 
 
 " I assure you, my dear Egmond, that we have 
 safety only in two things. We must form a league 
 among the nobles, and oppose the coming of the 
 Spaniards, or we must fly." 
 
 " No, no," said Egmond. " Away with these 
 gloomy suspicions ! I shall do nothing to offend 
 my sovereign. I have offended him too much 
 already. But I have abundant assurance of his 
 grace and clemency, and I know, from the impor 
 tant aid I have rendered in suppressing the riots 
 and punishing the image-breakers, that I have 
 everything to hope. Our hope is in the royal good 
 ness, which I know to be great." 
 
 They separated. Orange revolving his gloomy 
 thoughts, Egmond with a buoyant spirit seeking 
 again his family on the Rue Bellevue, and rejoicing 
 in conscious security. Pomp, luxury, ease, emolu 
 ment, the favor of a court, domestic peace, were 
 not to be given up without the sublime philosophy 
 which raises man above the present; and this 
 belonged not to Egmond. With his defection from 
 the popular side, and the withdrawal of his immense 
 influence, the cause of liberty in the Netherlands 
 was hopeless for the present. 
 
 But Orange was to be gained over if possible. 
 Margaret knew well that all Holland and Zealand 
 waited upon his word. She plied every art to re 
 tain him and induce him to take the oath. A last 
 memorable meeting was appointed. It was at 
 Willebrock, a place on the Rupel, between Brussels 
 
196 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 and Antwerp, and such important consequences 
 were thought to hang on the decisions of the con 
 ference, that a Calvinist spy concealed himself in 
 the chimney to hear it. Along with Egmond, Mar 
 garet sent her secretary, Berti, and the young Count 
 Mansfeld, that their combined argument and elo 
 quence might shake the resolve of the Prince. 
 Orange appeared with the same pale and thought 
 ful face, and with all the secrets of Philip s cabinet 
 buried in his breast, where his spirit brooded upon 
 them by night and day. Of course the combined 
 eloquence of the three fell on him as on a rock of 
 flint. Then Egmond took him one side to a win 
 dow, and used all the entreaties of ardent friendship. 
 
 " It will cost you your estates, Orange, if you 
 persist in your purpose." 
 
 " And you your life, Egmond, if you change not 
 yours. To me, at least, it will be a consolation in 
 my misfortunes, that I dared in deed as well as 
 in word to help my country in her hour of need. 
 But you, my friend! you are dragging friends and 
 country with you to destruction." 
 
 " You will never persuade me, Orange, to see 
 things in the light in which they appear to your 
 mournful prudence. The King is good and just. 
 I have claims upon his gratitude, and I must not 
 forget what I owe to myself and my wife and chil 
 dren." 
 
 " Well, then," said Orange, with bitter anguish, 
 " trust if you will to this royal gratitude ; a mourn 
 ful presentiment tells me that you, Egmond, will 
 be the bridge by which the Spaniards will pass over 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 197 
 
 into the Netherlands, and when they have used you 
 for that purpose, they will destroy you without 
 mercy." 
 
 Then Orange drew him to his breast and clasped 
 him in his arms. Long and tenderly, as if the sight 
 was to serve him for a lifetime, did he keep his 
 eyes upon him, till the tears were flowing fast. 
 
 They parted. 
 
 " Adieu, Prince, sans terre" said Egmond. 
 
 " Adieu, Count, sans tete" said Orange.* 
 
 Orange resigned his seat in the Council the next 
 day, and retired to Holland. 
 
 Egmond went on towards the awful and bloody 
 chasm whose mouth was concealed by the pendent 
 flowers and lilies. 
 
 Order has been restored, the band of the Gueux 
 broken up, the image-breakers punished, and Mar 
 garet is now expecting to enjoy her regency with 
 her people. But the hate of Philip is not satisfied. 
 An army of twenty thousand Spanish veterans is 
 on its way to the Netherlands, men hardened to the 
 work of carnage in the wars of Italy. They are 
 led on by the Duke of Alva, already famed as the 
 wholesale butcher of men. They march at leisure 
 with two classes of attendants, priests and cour 
 tesans, nevertheless under admirable discipline. 
 So the vindicators of the true faith are coming! 
 In vain does Margaret remonstrate. In vain does 
 
 * These last words, given on the authority of Aubery du Maurier, 
 Davics discredits on account of their " coarse and cruel irony." They 
 sound rather like words of desperate and bitter anguish. 
 
198 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 she represent to Philip that the troubles are all 
 suppressed, and no foreign troops are wanted. In 
 vain does her woman s heart prompt her to plead 
 for clemency and conciliation with the gloomy 
 council at Madrid. 
 
 The Netherlands wait breathless before the com 
 ing destruction, yet with vague hopes of concilia- 
 lion. One hundred thousand persons leave the 
 country while the storm is yet distant. Egmond 
 is full of hope, declaiming of the royal clemency 
 and justice, soothing the fears and exciting the 
 hopes of the people. He puts himself at the head 
 of the nobles, and they go to the frontier with a 
 pompous retinue to meet Alva. 
 
 " We bid your Excellency welcome," said Eg 
 mond. 
 
 " Welcome or not, I am here," said Alva. 
 Alva was a man of consummate abilities, of 
 distinguished eloquence, of great military skill, and 
 sternly faithful to his king. He was tall and gaunt, 
 his face long and cadaverous, his eyes deep sunk in 
 his forehead, whence they lowered rather than looked. 
 He had been the most successful commander of his 
 time, and had learned to shed the blood of his fel 
 low-men with as little compunction as a beast of 
 prey. He leads the Spanish army into Brussels 
 amid silence like that of a tomb. Business leaves 
 the streets, the windows of the houses are closed, 
 and the Grand Place in the centre of the city is 
 made a garrison for Spanish soldiers, while a deep 
 gloom, like the pause before the thunder-crash, 
 spreads over the city and thence over all the Prov 
 inces. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " So as she thus mclancholickc did ride, 
 
 Chawing the cud of grief and inward paine, 
 She chanced to meet, toward the even-tide, 
 A knight that softly paced on the plaine." 
 
 Faerie Queene. 
 
 VERY good and proper people say that young 
 women have no right to get in love, until some 
 particular gentleman kneels to them, and thaws 
 out their hearts with a profession of particular pas 
 sion ; of which rule all young women will doubt 
 less take due notice. You are to behave well and 
 proper towards everybody, but you have no busi 
 ness to know there is any such thing as love, and 
 the young, handsome Duke of Castle Hall is to 
 be precisely the same to you as Tom Snooks of 
 Shoveldom, so far as all this matter is concerned. 
 You are to be like Maud, and wear a cold and clear- 
 cut face, " faultily faultless and icily regular," till 
 some one undertakes to find the perilous way to the 
 warm springs away in your inmost hearts, through 
 successive layers of frost and snow. We cannot 
 say, then, that we fully approve of the conduct of 
 Bessie in the exuberance of her affections. 
 Then as to unmarried men in general, if you mean 
 
200 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 always to maintain a cool independence, and never 
 be taken off your feet, never fall sick away from 
 your mothers and sisters. As surely as you wake 
 up elsewhere, and see that other eyes have been 
 watching you ; or as sure as you take your fever- 
 powders from fairy fingers ; or as sure as too soft a 
 hand fixes and smoothes your pillow ; you become 
 completely magnetized, and your senses from that 
 day forward are not like the senses of other men. 
 
 But enough of advice. It comes too late for poor 
 Bessie. In the warmth of her goodness, she took 
 care of a sick man, till she saw health blossoming 
 on his countenance, and she listened to his stories, 
 told in tones quick and tremulous with gratitude. 
 He went away, but the vision has staid with her, 
 and she has looked many times down the bay 
 where the sail disappeared. But it is a year ago. 
 And Captain Hawkins is gone, too, on another 
 perilous voyage, and Mrs. Hawkins and Bessie 
 both are bending anxious eyes over the bay for his 
 returning sail, and trembling at every storm that 
 sends its waitings into the Catwater. They are 
 sitting at the south window one warm October af 
 ternoon. Mrs. Hawkins has been particularly ten 
 der towards her little flamingo, for she cannot help 
 seeing that her brightness has somewhat faded, and 
 mirth has departed from her song. 
 
 " Is not that the Jesus of Lubec, mother, beating 
 up the bay ? " 
 
 " Nay, my bird, the Jesus is longer and deeper; 
 and don t you see she has not the sign of St. George 
 upon her colors ? It s a Dutchman." 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 201 
 
 Sure enough, a dozen Mynheers were on the wharf 
 in less than an hour, greeted by divers other Myn 
 heers from the town, with their " Hoe gaat het," and 
 " Bin uw be kant mit Mynheer," blending with end 
 less and undistinguished jabber. It was not long 
 before a tall and comely gentleman was making his 
 way to Mrs. Hawkins s door. 
 
 " Why the rnercy ! " said Mrs. Hawkins, " it s 
 Nimble John," and all the color went out from 
 Bessie s cheek. 
 
 " And how is my good mother ? " said he, as he 
 entered the room, kissing her reverently ; and then, 
 turning to Bess, and taking both her hands in his: 
 " May I kiss her too ? " 
 
 " Why yes ! and bring back into her cheek the 
 crimson blossoms "; and the long-smothered secret 
 of both hearts found its full utterance. 
 
 He looked into her face, and the pent-up feelings 
 of twelve months melted into her eyes as they 
 gazed into his. He saw indeed that the laughing 
 roses had left her cheek, once so round and full, and 
 that the delicate lily had come in its place, and the 
 whole meaning of Mrs. Hawkins s words flashed 
 upon his mind. 
 
 " Why, I did wrong, very wrong. I never ought 
 to have left you with this secret smouldering in both 
 our hearts; but upon my word I did not know how 
 it was with you. When I first woke out of that 
 horrible fever, I thought you was the angel of my 
 dream, and when I found that I was broad awake, 
 and that you did not melt into air, you seemed 
 more of an angel than ever. But I did not dare to 
 
202 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 tell you so, for I expected what the sailors call a 
 young furicano with Captain Hawkins. I thought 
 when we parted company that he would be for put 
 ting me into one of his arquebuses, and blowing me 
 up against the sky. So I would not think of doing 
 anything that looked like plucking his bird out of 
 his bosom." 
 
 Inquiries now are made concerning the mother 
 of the young man, and the story of grief and wrong 
 has to be told over. 
 
 " And the young Lamoral Egmond ? " 
 " Not young now, Bessie, but grown to be the 
 Stadtholder of Flanders. He lives in Brussels, on 
 the Rue Bellevue, where I saw him not a month 
 agone, and three of his daughters, in whom his own 
 joyous and sunny nature has been copied. Two 
 of them, Maria and Magdalena, are not far from 
 your age, and their wit, mirth, and bird-like songs 
 are the life of Palace Garden. I was fitting out a 
 merchant-ship to sail for the ports of Spain. The 
 times looked squally, and I went to the Count for 
 passports from the government, knowing that he 
 stood high in the King s confidence. He was pro 
 fuse and generous as ever, and procured me all I 
 wanted. But just as I was leaving Brussels, this 
 letter was put into my hand. 
 
 " MY GOOD COUSIN: 
 
 " Put your faith in no one ! The Prince knows 
 every name on the Roll of Blood in the King s 
 bureau. The dragon s jaws are wide open. See 
 that you are not between them. Leave the Neth 
 erlands. J. S., KT.> 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 203 
 
 " This letter I knew to be from my kinsman, Sir 
 John Sayer, page to the Prince of Orange.* How 
 much it portends, we shall see. But my ship has 
 left Amsterdam, and I am here." 
 
 Nimble John and Bessie are among the old haunts 
 again, in the communings of the most delicious of 
 friendships, sitting once more and looking over 
 into the Southern Yams of Devonshire, now brown 
 and golden under the colorings of an October sun, 
 when an old face appears upon the scene. 
 
 " What do you here, my nimble fellow ? " said 
 the new-comer. 
 
 " Whence now, Bullhead? Anything in the 
 wind ? " 
 
 " Yes, a good deal," he answered, with a big 
 oath. 
 
 " Softly, if you please. Swear in Dutch, if you 
 swear here. This is Miss Hawkins." 
 
 And the burly-headed fellow made a bow, and 
 both sputtered Dutch for the space of half an hour. 
 He was a stout fellow, with a red face, thick neck, 
 and fist like a sledge-hammer, which he swung in 
 the air when he wanted to emphasize his words. 
 Bessie surveyed him from head to foot, with a girl s 
 wonderment, till he turned on his heel and disap 
 peared. 
 
 " Is that another specimen of the tropics ? " 
 
 " That, Bessie, is William van der Mark, the 
 
 * The Sir John Sayer who was in the employ of the Prince of 
 Orange probably belonged to the Colchester branch, and if so was 
 cousin of John Bourchier Saycr, though we do not know in what de 
 gree. 
 
204 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 Dutchman, He is a kinsman of the Peter Mark 
 who was one of the crew of the Jesus, and a very 
 bulldog for negro-catching. He has left a letter 
 with me, which he thinks important. I will open 
 and read it to you. 
 
 " MY GOOD COUSIN : 
 
 " If the Count of Egmond is to be saved, it must 
 be done quickly. He is in the dragon s jaws. His 
 friends must snatch instantly. A few thousand 
 men in arms might do it. The Prince will help. 
 
 J. S., KT. " 
 
 " And what, pray, can you do ? " asked Bessie. 
 
 " Mark says the Flemings will rise if anybody 
 will head them. And that, at the worst, the Gueux 
 can arm in secret, and watch for a chance of rescue. 
 I told him I had a ship at his service for transports. 
 He is a reckless fellow, and would shake his fist at 
 a thousand thunderbolts." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " From these may grow 
 A hundred-fold, who, having learned thy way, 
 Early may fly the Babylonian woe." 
 
 EGMOND is indeed in the dragon s jaws. Alva at 
 first affected to treat him with confidence, and seek 
 his co-operation. He is summoned to the sittings 
 of the Council ; all his suspicions, if any he has, are 
 lulled under fair appearances. He is asked into a 
 private room, as if for secret consultation, where he 
 is suddenly arrested for high treason. At first he is 
 stunned and turns pale ; but he recovers himself 
 and delivers up his sword, saying, " That sword 
 has done the King some service." He is taken off 
 to Ghent, under a guard of four thousand Spaniards, 
 and kept for trial. 
 
 The trial comes on. Before whom ? Not before 
 his peers, as he had a right to demand, in virtue of 
 the ancient privileges of his order, but before the 
 creatures of Alva. Alva had organized what he 
 called the " Council of Troubles," but which soon 
 got the name of the Council of Blood. It consisted 
 originally of twelve ; but such was the work de 
 manded of it, that all decent men left it, and it 
 
 18 
 
206 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 came to consist of three, two of them bloodthirsty 
 fellows named John di Vargas and Jacob Hessels, 
 and the third a Spanish priest. Hessels generally 
 slept during the consultations, only when a vote 
 was to be taken he roused up enough to belch out, 
 To the gibbet! to the gibbet! " 
 
 Before this tribunal Egmond is summoned. He 
 denies its jurisdiction ; but his plea is of course 
 disregarded. He is charged with high treason on 
 ninety different counts, all of them either groundless 
 or frivolous, and he is convicted and sentenced to 
 die. 
 
 On the 5th of June, 1568, was enacted that scene 
 in the Grand Place or Horse- Market of Brussels 
 which turned the land pale. A scaffold is there 
 erected, covered with black, and around it are 
 formed the Spanish soldiers in serried ranks. Out 
 side of the soldiery all Brussels has gathered, and 
 among them many of the Gueux, disguised and 
 secretly armed. Through the serried columns Eg 
 mond is led forth to execution, attended by the 
 Bishop of Ypres. He shows a desire to address the 
 people. " You would excite an insurrection, said 
 the Bishop, and plunge your friends in destruction." 
 
 He desists, but paces the scaffold with noble 
 dignity, having on a black Spanish cloak fringed 
 with gold lace. But he cannot even yet believe 
 that he is to die, and turning to Romeo, the officer 
 in attendance, " Is there no hope of pardon ? " 
 
 Romeo shrugs his shoulders and looks upon the 
 ground. Egmond throws off his cloak, kneels and 
 prays, and gives his neck to the fatal stroke. The 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 207 
 
 blow fell on every heart, and loud sobs broke the 
 appalling silence. Tears rolled down the stolid 
 faces of the Spanish soldiers themselves, and even 
 Alva, who watched the execution from a window of 
 the town-house, wiped his eyes as his victim died. 
 As the ranks of the soldiers began to give way, the 
 people rushed in from every side to dip their hand 
 kerchiefs in the blood, and take the secret vow that 
 blood so noble should be avenged. In that crowd 
 two men found themselves side by side. The 
 fierce countenance of Mark meets the pale face of 
 Sayer, on the spot stained with the sacrifice. " Are 
 you here then, my nimble fellow ? " said William 
 Mark. " I swear to you that this beard shall not 
 be cut till this blood has been avenged." " It will be 
 avenged, Mark, as true as God is looking down." 
 
 It was Egmond s last wish to die honorably for 
 his country. But never could he have died in a 
 manner which was really more propitious to her 
 cause. Not all the horrors of the Inquisition, not 
 all the blood which thus far had flowed, inspired 
 men s minds with so much of detestation, or wrought 
 within them such mighty resolves. Every drop of 
 the blood now shed was to spring up an invincible 
 army. 
 
 As Sayer was retiring from the Grand Place, a 
 paper was put into his hand from the crowd, hav 
 ing on it the picture of a gibbet, and under it the 
 single sentence, "Beware! your name is before 
 the Council of Blood." It had no signature, but 
 he knew the handwriting. Nevertheless, he passed 
 over into the Palace-Garden Square, and down the 
 
208 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 Rue Bellevue, and paused before the house whose 
 windows were hung with black. All was silent, 
 for grief too deep for utterance turns the face to 
 marble. He sent in these words : " My vessel is 
 at Antwerp, and at the command of the Lady 
 Egmond," and .received in answer, " The Lady 
 Egmond and family will sail for Amsterdam to 
 morrow night." 
 
 To-morrow night came, and an aged woman, the 
 one who had been the friend of Lady Anne and her 
 orphan boy, has come to Antwerp, under the pro 
 tecting shadows that tenderly veil her grief from 
 human gaze. Her grandchildren are with her, 
 the children of the murdered Count. The sunshine 
 has left the Rue Bellevue, the bird-like songs are 
 hushed for ever, and beneath the black mantle of 
 sorrow these female forms, with their young charge, 
 tread the deck of the vessel, which soon bears them 
 away to Flushing, and thence to Amsterdam. 
 
 What a scene do they leave behind ! All Flan 
 ders and Brabant have become a charnel-house. 
 Besides Egmond and Van Hoorn, eighteen of the 
 Netherland nobles were executed. Eighteen hun 
 dred persons perished in a few weeks, and yet the 
 cry every day by the Council of Blood was for a 
 hundred victims more. Every one who had either 
 joined the Gueux, or at any time sympathized with 
 them, was declared a traitor ; and that included 
 nearly every man and woman in the Netherlands. 
 All the ways leading to Brussels and the principal 
 cities were lined with gibbets ; yea, the trees were 
 loaded with corpses, and the living walked through 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 209 
 
 the fetid avenues of the dead. Alva declared that 
 the whole land should be a desert rather than a 
 single heretic remain in it. The very men who 
 had brought in the Inquisition fell victims to it, 
 several being put to death on the charge of remiss- 
 ness, and none but Alva s bloodhounds themselves 
 were safe. The Gueux, who lurked in all the 
 provinces, were hunted out with tenfold ferocity. 
 Thousands of them escaped out of the dragon s 
 jaws, and crowded into the southern towns of Eng 
 land, Maidstone and Canterbury were filled with 
 them. Others lived upon the sea, a terror to all 
 Spaniards upon the deep, and acquired the name 
 of the " Water Gueux." So the country was emp 
 tied of its best population as the crimson billows 
 swept over it. 
 
 Orange had retired to Germany in season to 
 save his life. When Granvelle heard that Alva had 
 the principal of the nobles in his power, he asked 
 quickly, " Has he caught the Taciturn ? " and on 
 being answered in the negative, " Ah ! then," he re 
 plied, "if he is not in the net, Alva has caught 
 nothing." 
 
 Sayer landed his precious freight in Amsterdam, 
 at the ancestral mansion of the Counts of Egmond. 
 He belonged to the Gueux ; the Council of Blood 
 was scenting his track, but in a few days his vessel 
 was safe anchored in the Catwater. 
 
 18* 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " The devil, like an expert wrestler, usually gives a man a lift be 
 fore he gives him a throw." SOUTH. 
 
 IF we were writing a novel, we suppose we 
 ought to begin with love, proceed through fearful 
 labyrinths, and end at last with marriage. But we 
 trust the reader has found out by this time that we 
 are writing truth instead of fiction, simply because 
 the former is the more marvellous of the two. We 
 only reserve to ourselves a little background, and a 
 small margin of romance, in order that the truth 
 may look out in bolder relief in front. 
 
 Sayer is in Plymouth, safe from the scent of the 
 Spanish hounds, though looking back with a bleed 
 ing heart to the horrible work of the Inquisition in 
 his adopted country. The name of Gueux, as 
 sumed at first as a title of glory, has come, indeed, 
 to express again what its name properly imports. 
 Hundreds of thousands, who once gloried in the 
 name, are now driven to starve in woods and 
 hiding-places, or to hang on trees and gibbets ; to 
 live in, wild adventure on the deep, or to beg for 
 home and shelter in foreign lands. Happily for our 
 adventurer, he has escaped, with his vessel and a 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 211 
 
 good share of his property, and is safe in his old 
 asylum, which stands on the promontory that over 
 looks Plymouth Bay. 
 
 There is no news from Captain Hawkins, though 
 the month of January, 1569, has set in. Any allu 
 sion to the voyage causes Mrs. Hawkins to sigh, 
 and ejaculate a prayer. A sail at length is beating 
 up the bay, before a stiff northern gale. But it is 
 not the Jesus of Lubep. It is the Minion, and she 
 looks shattered and forlorn enough; and as she 
 comes into the Catwater, about twenty human be 
 ings, quite as shattered and forlorn, crawl out of 
 her. And Captain Hawkins is among them. He 
 reels and totters, but his foot has scarcely touched 
 land before his flamingo is at his side. Pale and 
 haggard, he comes up to the house, leaning on her 
 shoulder, and breathing hard and short, and she 
 hands him to the great arm-chair, and falls upon 
 his neck with kisses. The strong man is bowed 
 down, and weeps like a child in his daughter s arms. 
 Mrs. Hawkins is full of tenderness, but cannot help 
 putting in hints about her presentiments, and about 
 the advice that she gave ; but an imploring look 
 from Bessie, which seems to say, " Not now, 
 mother, pray don t," prevents all this, and there 
 is nothing but condolence and sympathy for the 
 broken man. As Nimble John appears before his 
 old master, a faint smile plays over his master s 
 sallow face, while he takes the hand into his feeble 
 grasp, and groans aloud : " O my good fellow, 
 never cease to thank God for the misery you have 
 been preserved from ! " 
 
212 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 And then followed the tale of woe. " Ah, good- 
 wife Hawkins, you were a prophet, and I should 
 have heard to ye. The Jesus gone down to the 
 bottom, with most of her men, riddled with Span 
 ish shot ! Two thirds of the crew dead either from 
 pirates or starvation, and the rest but just alive ! " 
 
 " Then you have been boarded by pirates," said 
 Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 " Yes, by the Don-devils and the Furicanos. 
 But," he added, with a ghastly smile, " I must give 
 
 * The last " troublesome voyage " made by the Jesus of Lubec, 
 the Minion, and four other ships, in the years 1567 - 8, ended in sig 
 nal disaster, and verified all Mrs. Hawkins s predictions and presenti 
 ments. Hawkins and his men took between four and five hundred 
 negroes from the coast of Guinea, sailed with them to the "West 
 Indies, and there disposed of them. But passing by the west end of 
 Cuba towards the coast of Florida, they encountered the "Furicanos," 
 which shattered the fleet, and they put into the Spanish port of St. 
 John de Ulloa, to refit. Soon after, a Spanish fleet of thirteen great 
 ships hove in sight, and came into the harbor. Captain Hawkins 
 made with them a treaty of amity, which the faithless Spaniards only 
 used as a snare. When matters Avere ripe for an outbreak, the viceroy 
 blew a trumpet, and, as Hawkins relates, " Of all sides they set upon 
 us. Then all the ordinance upon the ilande was in the Spaniardes 
 handes, which did us so great annoyance that it cut all the mastes and 
 yardes of the Jesus and sunke our small shippes." The upshot was, 
 that only the Minion, and a small bark called the Judith, escaped. 
 Nearly all the men were either massacred by the Spaniards or per 
 ished miserably afterwards. This remnant of the fleet came into the 
 harbor of Cornwall, January 20, 1569, "lean, rent, and beggared," 
 both by Spanish shot and the strumpet wind. Captain Hawkins 
 closes his melancholy narrative in these words : " If all the miseries 
 and troubelsome affaires of this sorrowfull voyage should be perfectly 
 and thoroughly written, there should need a painfull man with his 
 pen, and as great a time as he that wrote the lives and deathes of the 
 Martyrs." And so ended Captain Hawkins s last missionary voyage 
 for the conversion of Africa 1 See Hakluyt, Vol. III. pp. 618-623. 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 213 
 
 over the conversion of the heathen to the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury." 
 
 Under such nursing as he had, Captain Hawkins 
 was not long in rounding out to his ancient dimen 
 sions, and recovering from the collapse of starva 
 tion. He is sitting in his chair, with Bessie in his 
 lap, who is combing out the knots and tangles of 
 his shaggy beard, and smoothing back his long hair 
 from his temples, till she has made him look almost 
 as apostolic as he claimed to be. 
 
 " I guess you won t be wicked any more, nor con 
 vert any more of those poor Sapies, as you call it." 
 
 " Nay, old Jack Hawkins will mind his little 
 birdy, for the Lord has touched him with his finger. 
 Old Jack must reef his sails a little," and a tear was 
 starting in his eye. 
 
 "Now will you mind your birdy, though?" and 
 she held his head between her hands, arid looked 
 with strange earnestness into his face, as if explor 
 ing his honesty. 
 
 Yea, yea. Old Jack has but just escaped the 
 whirlpools that well-nigh had gulped him down. 
 Yea, the Lord has lifted him up high and let him 
 drop upon the rocks, and stove him all in, and let 
 all the billows come over him, and he had clean 
 gone down, if his birdy hadn t hovered over the 
 wave like a dove of mercy. Old Jack will do all 
 she bids him, else by and by she 11 be flitting up 
 to the skies, and leave him behind, away out of 
 sight. Say what you will, and old Jack Hawkins 
 won t cry you nay." 
 
 " And did you know your birdy was to flit away, 
 
214 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 and leave her father with nobody to fly to his heart, 
 when he comes home half killed with Furicanos and 
 Spaniards ? " And she crept into his great bosom 
 and sobbed. 
 
 " What a murrain ! But ye ar n t sick ! ye re a 
 red rose that ll bloom out this many a long day 
 after poor old Jack Hawkins lies with a thousand 
 fathom of ocean upon his breast. Nay, nay; we 
 won t call ye a bird that s for flitting up into the 
 blue skies. And don t then be taking on for any 
 such fantasy." 
 
 " Nay, but Nimble John has taken me and put 
 me into his heart, and I m to go off with him 
 among Spaniards and Inquisitions, and be his omen 
 of mercy, he says ; and now what will you do when 
 you come home wrecked and a-weary ? " 
 
 " But Nimble John won t do any such thing with 
 my silly girl. He won t take her among Spaniards 
 without asking me, nor steal her from her dear old 
 father!" 
 
 " Nay, Johnny won t do that, but he will ask 
 you, and you won t cry him nay." 
 
 The great breast on which the ocean storms had 
 beat for so many years heaves convulsively, and 
 the iron features are wet with the trickling rain. 
 Nimble John, at length, is called into the room. 
 "Take her, take her, my faithful fellow! Old 
 Jack ha n t the hardness of heart to keep her from 
 ye. She 11 be as sweet a dove to ye as ever hov 
 ered over the path of a weary mortal. Old Jack 
 must take her from him, and sail on without her 
 music. But know, my good fellow, by what he 
 gives, how much he loves." 
 
THE ADVENTtJRER. 215 
 
 A few days have passed, and then our flamingo, 
 " for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sick 
 ness and in health, to love and to cherish till death," 
 is nestling to the breast of Nimble John. Ah, you 
 dear little bird! Are you thinking what all that 
 means? and that the lightnings and the hail 
 storms and the fire-showers will come, when even 
 that faithful breast you cling to will be small pro 
 tection ? Look over into the Netherlands ! 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "Peasant. Pray, Philosopher, will you resolve me the thunder ? 
 
 " Phil. Thunders are nothing else but the blows and thumps given 
 by the fires beating hard upon the clouds; and therefore presently 
 the fiery chinks and rifts of those clouds do glitter and shine. Possi 
 ble it is also that the breath and wind elevated from the earth, being 
 repelled backe, and kept down by the starres, and so held in and re 
 strained within a cloud, may thunder, whiles nature choketh the rum 
 bling sound all the while it striveth and quarrclleth ; but sendeth forth 
 a cracke when it breaketh out, as we see in a bladder puffed with 
 wind. 
 
 " Peasant. I dislike that cloud coming up in the north." 
 
 Philosophical Transactions Revised. 
 
 THE Netherlands were crushed and subdued. 
 Alva had put garrisons into all the principal cities, 
 those of Holland included, and the reign of terror 
 and carnage was complete. Orange and his brother, 
 Louis of Nassau, had raised armies, crossed over 
 from Germany, and offered resistance. But Orange 
 in the field was no match for Alva. His military 
 skill by no means corresponded to his statesmanlike 
 abilities, and his troops all melted away without ac 
 complishing anything of moment. Alva has com 
 pleted his circuit of confiscations and murders, and 
 has come to Antwerp in triumph. There he orders 
 a brazen statue of himself to be cast, and set up in 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 217 
 
 the market-place, with an inscription on it signify 
 ing that the rebels were subdued. Two heads lay 
 at its feet, representing, some thought, those of the 
 Counts Egmond and Hoorn. " The heads grin hor 
 ribly," said the Duke of Aarschot to Aiva, as they 
 were both surveying the statue ; " they will take sig 
 nal vengeance if they ever rise again." Prophetic 
 words ! 
 
 Alva s troops must be supported, and for this 
 heavy taxes must be levied upon the States. The 
 States with some exceptions comply. Among these 
 exceptions are Utrecht and the city of Brussels. 
 He orders troops into Utrecht to harass the people, 
 and he thinks Brussels will be overawed into com 
 pliance by his immediate presence and his hateful 
 garrison. But the citizens of Brussels offer that 
 passive resistance which is the hardest for tyrants 
 to overcome. They cease their traffic. The shops 
 are all shut, the inns are closed; the brewers will 
 not brew, the bakers will not bake, and the garrison 
 cannot be supplied with provisions. Then Alva 
 determines to hang seventy of the principal shop 
 keepers before their own doors, and ladders and 
 ropes are already prepared for the purpose. But 
 before the hour comes, Alva hears news that makes 
 him pause ! 
 
 The Gueux had been driven from the ports of 
 Sweden and Denmark, and England was the only 
 country that gave them shelter. In her southern 
 ports their vessels had sought a refuge from the 
 Spanish rage. Alva remonstrates with Elizabeth 
 against her harboring heretics and rebels, and de- 
 
 19 
 
218 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 mands of her that they be driven from her domin 
 ions. Elizabeth is not now in a condition to break 
 with Philip, and complies. She issues her procla 
 mation, and commands the Gueux to leave the 
 ports of England. Alva in his blind fury does not 
 know the thunderbolt he is forging for his own 
 head. 
 
 Sayer was watching anxiously the progress of 
 events, when the mandate came which would eject 
 both himself and vessel from the Catwater. Whith 
 er ? The last refuge in Europe was now denied 
 the Gueux ; not a foot of solid land was left for the 
 soles of their feet to touch upon, and they had only 
 to betake themselves to the open sea and the God 
 of nature. At the time of the Queen s proclama 
 tion, Sayer had resided three years in Plymouth, 
 amid his own household, made bright with the love- 
 light of Bessie, and musical with her song. Another 
 Johnny Bourchier is just peeping into this trouble 
 some world ; a little fellow of two summers, who 
 has stolen some of the rose, though none of the 
 laughter, out of her cheek, and in that little paradise 
 of wedded love is all unconscious of the wicked 
 ness outside. Sayer, on hearing of the proclama 
 tion, goes up to the old mansion by the Catwater, 
 leaving his flamingo and her little charge at bo- 
 peep with each other. 
 
 " I am to leave you, my old commander, and you, 
 my best of mothers, and I must put my birdies un 
 der your wing for a little space. I may fall among 
 the Spaniards, and I will leave these behind just 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 219 
 
 " What ! are you going to fall single-handed up 
 on the Don-devils ? Don t fire your arquebuse too 
 quick, man ! " 
 
 " Nay, my old commander, but I must clear your 
 port, and I 11 take the best aim I can, when time 
 and opportunity come." 
 
 Three days more, and he is sailing out of the 
 harbor. There are sorrows and forebodings in all 
 hearts but little Johnny s, who " dances up high " 
 in his mother s arms as she looks her last. Sayer 
 puts on his bravest look, for men are wanted now, 
 and sails out of the bay and out of sight, and dis 
 appears from our story at present. May we meet 
 him again ! 
 
 Hunted out from their last places of refuge, the 
 Gueux are mustering and preparing to quit the har 
 bors of England. Dover is their place of rendezvous, 
 and there twenty-four ships have come together laden 
 with death, and with men ready to brave anything 
 in the last struggle for a final foothold upon God s 
 earth. What desperate-looking fellows they are ! 
 They have encountered all the winds of heaven, and 
 all the storms of the deep ; they have sailed a thou 
 sand times into the throat of destruction in the 
 chase after Spanish galleons and transports ; their 
 faces are scarred and seamed, and frightful to be 
 hold ; one has lost an arm, another a leg, and an 
 other an eye ; but halt and maimed as they are, they 
 are thirsting for revenge, and doubly nerved to get 
 it. Their hatred of Spaniards amounts to a frenzy, 
 but they are under admirable and exact discipline, 
 and their red-hot passions kept under for occasion. 
 
220 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 On the cap of each is a silver crescent, bearing the 
 motto, " Rather Turk than Pope." Such is the 
 force which Alva has driven together, and he de 
 mands of Elizabeth that they shall quit England. 
 They will quit undoubtedly ! Already they are lying 
 off Dover, and lowering down upon the Netherlands 
 more grim than the ferryman of hell. And the 
 fiercest and grimmest among them is in command. 
 It is WILLIAM VAN DER MARK, his hair and beard 
 uncut for four years, he who took the vows of 
 vengeance over the smoking blood of Egmond, and 
 who is now the Admiral of the " Water Gueux." 
 
 We trust the reader is not one of those foolish 
 people who read histories and historical novels with 
 out a good map before him. Please then look down 
 upon the little, devoted Netherlands, and search 
 out the towns of Briel and Flushing. The first 
 stands at the mouth of the Meuse, and commands 
 its navigation ; the second is on an island near the 
 mouth of the Scheldt, and commands the naviga 
 tion of that. These are the two principal rivers that 
 drain the Netherlands. So that, even if you have 
 not much of military genius, which we hope is .the 
 case, you may still see that these two seaports are 
 the keys of the country, and that he who com 
 mands these, lets in destruction or keeps it out at 
 pleasure. 
 
 The Water Gueux" have left Dover, with Mark 
 at their head ; he who swore terribly in Flanders, 
 and who swears terribly yet. They sailed for the 
 island of Texel, at the entrance of the Zuyder Zee, 
 but stress of weather has diverted them, and brought 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 221 
 
 them around into the Meuse, and they suddenly ap 
 pear before Briel. The Spanish troops have been 
 removed into Utrecht to harass that province, and 
 so Mark seizes upon Briel, in the name of the 
 Prince of Orange ; and within twenty-four hours, 
 thirteen Romish priests and monks are hanging 
 upon gibbets, and the Romish churches are stripped, 
 and the images smashed in pieces. This news 
 comes to Alva at Brussels, just as he has got his 
 ropes ready to hang the seventy shopkeepers ; but 
 he stops suddenly. He has something else to do. 
 
 Flushing is next surprised arid surrenders, and 
 the Gueux take possession. Then one town after 
 another in Holland raises the standard of revolt 
 against Alva. The Spanish garrisons have been 
 enfeebled, because the soldiers are wanted to crush 
 Utrecht ; Mark is on the watch, and sends in sup 
 plies and succors to the insurgents, and within three 
 months from the capture of Briel not a single town 
 in Holland, with the exception of Amsterdam, re 
 mains in subjection to Alva and his governor. 
 The Gueux have come with a vengeance ; they 
 have liberated Holland from the garrisons ; the little 
 state stands erect and defiant to the Spaniard, and 
 through all her towns the Orange flag is floating 
 on the walls. Alva himself begins to quail. He 
 asks the deputies of Holland to assemble, and offers 
 to remit the tax. They do assemble, not in the 
 spirit which he expected, but to assert their free 
 dom, arid throw off the dominion of Spain. 
 
 But a conflict is to come. As soon as Alva can 
 settle affairs in the Catholic Netherlands, he rein- 
 
222 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 forces his veterans to subdue once more the rebel 
 lious province. Sneering at the peaceful pursuits 
 of the agricultural Hollanders, he expects soon to 
 crush them again, and swears he will " smother 
 them in their own butter." 
 
 Before we see the little state lie torn and bleed- 
 ing under the tusks of the boar, let us look at it 
 one moment as it is described by a contemporary 
 writer, who resided among its people just before the 
 troubles began. Guicciardini, who sailed over its 
 canals, lined with rows of willows and industrious 
 windmills, and looked down into its polders, and 
 had intercourse with its inhabitants in town and 
 country, says: " This little -corner of the earth 
 abounds with people, with riches and virtue, and 
 everything that the heart of man can desire. Not 
 the most minute portion of the land is without its 
 production ; even the sand-hills afford food and shel 
 ter to vast quantities of rabbits, esteemed for their 
 delicate flavor ; and on every creek of the sea are 
 to be found incredible numbers of water-fowl and 
 their eggs, both of which form a valuable article of 
 export to the Belgic provinces." The men are de 
 scribed as " brave, active, and industrious, devoted 
 to freedom, but faithful and obedient subjects." 
 They are also " humane, benevolent, and affable, 
 lively and facetious, but sometimes rather licentious 
 in their jests " ; they are " upright and sincere," but 
 addicted to two vices, covetousness and drunken 
 ness. They are fond of learning and the arts, and 
 have large numbers of scientific men, and even the 
 peasantry " can read and write well." The women 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 223 
 
 " have extraordinary beauty of shape and counte 
 nance," are remarkable for their chastity and pu 
 rity, but are in no degree " timid, shy, or reserved." 
 They " walk and travel alone in confidence and 
 security " ; they " mingle in all the active business 
 of life, such as buying and selling," which, the au 
 thor observes, with great want of gallantry, " must 
 increase their natural love of domineering and grum 
 bling, and there can be no doubt makes them impe 
 rious and capricious." * 
 
 Such are the peaceful Hollanders ; but Alva 
 will probably find it difficult to " smother " them. 
 Their little strip of land measures some seventy- 
 five miles by thirty, and could be laid snugly away 
 in the State of Connecticut, with considerable room 
 to spare. Philip is to force the Inquisition upon 
 them, and for this purpose he has the strength of 
 Italy, Germany, and Spain, the Southern or Catho 
 lic Netherlands, the most experienced commander 
 of the age, and all the gold of Spanish America to 
 carry on the war. Fearful odds! but God is 
 looking on. 
 
 * Quoted by Davies, Vol. I. pp. 486, 487. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Nature provides exceptions to every rule. She sends women to 
 battle, and sets Hercules spinning." MARGARET FULLER. 
 
 THE troops of Alva are on their march towards 
 the devoted province, and wherever they have passed 
 there is a track of carnage and desolation. They 
 have pillaged Zutphen, and now they are coming 
 into Utrecht to the town of Naarden, close on the 
 borders of Holland. Naarden surrenders, on the 
 condition that the lives and property of all the in 
 habitants shall be preserved, and that they shall 
 take a new oath to the King of Spain. The 
 burghers are summoned to the guild-hall to take the 
 oath, and the town overflows with Spanish soldiers. 
 The hall is filled with the unarmed citizens, while 
 the soldiers stand in front, headed by a priest, who 
 turns suddenly towards the people, and bids them 
 prepare for death. Then the muskets are levelled 
 towards the defenceless multitude, and at a signal 
 given five hundred lie dead on the floor of the guild 
 hall, which is immediately set on fire, and wrapped 
 in flames. And then follows a scene of slaughter 
 in all the streets, compared with which the policy 
 of Herod were mild and humane ; all of which 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 225 
 
 meets with the highest approbation of Alva. Hol 
 land looks on aghast, and sees in Naarden her own 
 portending doom ; for the way is now clear, and 
 the butchers march through Amsterdam, and invest 
 the city of Haarlem. 
 
 The citizens waver, and hesitate at first whether 
 to make a defence. They see the weakness of their 
 fortifications, and the numbers and discipline of the 
 enemy, whose hands are yet reeking with the blood 
 of Naarden; and the government of Haarlem sends 
 secretly to make terms with the Spaniards. But 
 one Wybald van Ripperda stands up, and with 
 his rousing eloquence touches every chord of hero 
 ism ; the people answer everywhere with a shout of 
 enthusiasm, and they arm for the defence of their 
 town. 
 
 A memorable siege follows, in which the uncon 
 querable spirit of the Hollanders begins to appear. 
 They build an inner wall, higher and stronger than 
 the old one, and for this purpose men, women, and 
 children join in the work. There is a lady of noble 
 blood, Catharine Hasselar, who forms a regiment of 
 three hundred women, and they not only use the 
 pick-axe and spade, but with the sword and musket 
 they deal death to the enemy from the top of the 
 walls. These probably are some of the " impe 
 rious" women whom Guicciardini speaks of, but 
 who have learned to do something a good deal more 
 practical than " grumbling," and who have no idea 
 of being smothered in their own butter. For seven 
 long months do the citizens of Haarlem hold out 
 against the besiegers, in hope of succor from the 
 
226 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 Prince of Orange. The besiegers try the effect of 
 cruelty and intimidation, and hang their prisoners 
 in sight of the town. Whereupon a row of gibbets 
 appears on the walls, from which an equal number 
 of Spanish prisoners dangle in the air. It is un 
 christian retaliation, but it is done. The besieg 
 ers throw over the wall into the city the head of 
 one Philip King, whom they have taken prisoner 
 in an unsuccessful attempt to relieve the city ; and 
 on it is this inscription of cruel irony : " This is 
 the King who should have relieved Haarlem." 
 They are answered with irony quite as sharp and 
 cutting. Eleven barrels come rolling down from 
 the walls towards the enemy s camp, bearing the 
 inscription : " This is the tithe, with interest, for 
 the payment of which Alva has besieged Haarlem." 
 They open the barrels, and find them full of decapi 
 tated Spaniards. Unchristian retaliation again ; but 
 we cannot help it, for it was done. For seven long 
 months this siege and defence are carried on, but 
 no relief comes to the doomed city. It falls at last, 
 but not till it has cost the lives of twelve thousand 
 Spaniards. Ye could conquer the Inquisitors, but 
 ye could not conquer starvation and pestilence, not 
 the three hundred brave women even, with the no 
 ble Lady Catharine at your head. It capitulates, 
 and the hateful Spanish garrison comes in with the 
 usual bad faith and cruelty which render the Span 
 ish name a stench in our nostrils. 
 
 And now comes the hour of despair to the little, 
 devoted commonwealth. What can she do before 
 the invading foe ? Her army is no match in the 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 227 
 
 open field for the veterans of Alva, and the dispirit 
 ed exiles who had returned to their country prepare 
 for a second hight, and all the towns expect, in 
 mute and gloomy despondency, to share the fate of 
 Haarlem. Alva says, if they do not submit, he will 
 exterminate them with fire and sword, and give the 
 land to strangers. 
 
 Now then the powerful voice of Orange is heard, 
 rousing all the energy of the little commonwealth, 
 and touching that deep chord of religious enthu 
 siasm which he knows how to touch so well. " The 
 King of kings," says he, " is our ally, and in him 
 will we put our trust. Is it because the misfortunes 
 to which all men are subject have fallen upon you, 
 that manly courage has fled entirely from your 
 hearts ? If God has done what it pleased him with 
 Haarlem, is it therefore that his arm is shortened ? 
 Has he forsaken his Church, that it should deny 
 him ? Cast away from you all idle fears ! Rouse 
 within yourselves the courage of former days ! Do 
 your duty, and the blessing of God shall be yours ! " 
 
 Ail murmurs cease; new fire rolls through all the 
 veins of the little state ; the towns and cities repair 
 their fortifications; the finances are replenished; the 
 army is put on a better footing, and they wait still, 
 but determined and defiant, before the invaders. 
 
 The town of Alkmaar comes next in turn. Alva 
 has sent his son, Don Frederick, to lay siege to it, at 
 the head of 16,000 men. Look on the map and 
 see it, lying up north of Haarlem some eighteen 
 miles, amid meadows of sweet clover and fat kine, 
 where Alva will find plenty of butter ; a town well 
 
228 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 fortified, with the canals flowing through it and all 
 around it, shaded with beautiful trees. Thirteen 
 hundred armed burghers have mustered upon its 
 walls, with eight hundred soldiers, to welcome the 
 invaders. And is this all ye have, ye gallant few, to 
 oppose to Alva s sixteen thousand human bulldogs ? 
 No, it is not all. The spirit of those " imperious " 
 women is up again. Companies of women, and 
 girls without any consumptive symptoms, help drive 
 back the onslaughts of the Spaniards, even where 
 the fight is the thickest and the hottest. The wife 
 and daughters of Mynheer hand to him the stones 
 and burning missiles as fast as he can use them, 
 and say to him, " Ply them surely and plumply on 
 the pate of the Spaniard, or else make way for us." 
 Plump and sure they fly, till not a Spaniard dares 
 lift his pate above his bulwarks, or if he does, he 
 gets it cracked in two. But a month has gone ; 
 no reinforcements can be conveyed into the town 
 through Don Frederick s thick line of forts, and the 
 provisions begin to fail. " What can we do now?" 
 cry the despairing burghers ; " for neither men nor 
 girls can fight without food, and the Spaniard is 
 gaining upon us." " Drown him" is the quick and 
 dqsperate resolve. And no sooner resolved, than 
 the dikes are opened ; the canals are let loose from 
 their beds ; the polders are filled with water ; the 
 country around the town is turned into a lake ; it 
 rises higher and higher, till it surges over those of 
 the sixteen thousand Spaniards, whose heads the 
 burghers and the girls have left whole ; the enemy s 
 camp breaks up, and they crawl off, half drowned, 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 229 
 
 over the dikes, and slink, drenched and dripping, 
 away to Amsterdam, appalled at the new method 
 of defensive warfare. And the cry of victory goes 
 up from the brave men and women of Alkmaar; 
 and the windmills must now go to work and pump 
 the polders dry again ! 
 
 The potent touch of Orange has stirred up all 
 the national life, and the blessings which he prom 
 ised have begun to dawn. Mutiny breaks out 
 among the unpaid troops of Alva ; the remittances 
 from Spain fail him, and his own bloodhounds 
 turn against him and against each other. They 
 prey upon and plunder the loyal and Catholic por 
 tion of the Netherlands, and Alva summons the 
 Deputies of the States to assemble at Brussels, in 
 order to obtain from them a vote of subsidy. They 
 assemble, and Holland sends to them an appeal, 
 which strikes on a chord of patriotism that vibrates 
 as to words of fire. " Rise and join us, and free 
 yourselves from Spanish slavery. If all the forces 
 of Spain, Italy, and Germany have not been able 
 to conquer this little strip of land that makes the 
 Province of Holland, how easy would it be to eman 
 cipate all the Netherlands, if united in a common 
 cause ? If Holland is subdued, Alva will then take 
 vengeance on all the Provinces. But we will not 
 be subdued! We are determined to perish, town 
 by town and man by man, rather than submit to so 
 disgraceful a slavery." It had its effect. Not a 
 single pistole will the Deputies vote for Alva and 
 his bloodhounds. 
 
 Alva is chagrined at the result of his government, 
 20 
 
230 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 which has become involved in hopeless confusion. 
 He sullenly quits the Netherlands, leaving a name 
 behind him which in all time to come is to pass 
 human lips with hisses and execrations. And yet 
 he was only the fitting tool of the royal bigot at 
 Madrid, who approved of all that his agent had 
 done. 
 
 Holland has a fearful crisis to come yet, but she 
 has time to breathe a little now, until a new 
 commander is sent, and the troops are reorganized. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " You will suffer my little doves and sparrows to take wing among 
 your eagles, if you should have the same good opinion of them as 
 they have of themselves ; if not, you will kindly confine them to their 
 cage and their nests." PLINY. 
 
 BUT what has become of Nimble John ? Alack, 
 he has not been heard from for a whole year since 
 his sail disappeared from the Catwater, and there is 
 all the anxiety and agony and chronic grief of long 
 suspense in the house of the " valiant and worshipp- 
 full John Hawkins." The missing man sailed off 
 with a crew of Water Gueux, among whom was 
 Peter van der Mark, the old comrade of Sayer, and 
 kinsman of the Admiral. He should have joined 
 the Admiral s fleet off Dover, previous to their 
 memorable descent upon Briel, but Briel was taken, 
 and neither Nimble John nor his ship appeared 
 there. Meanwhile, it goes not smoothly with our 
 darling Bess, for she dreams of shipwrecks and truc 
 ulent Spaniards, and her lost Johnny gone down 
 among the ocean graves. Perhaps, however, he 
 did not join the Water Gueux, not liking the com 
 mand of their brutal and ferocious Admiral ; per 
 haps he has sailed off on a private venture, and is 
 
232 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 safe somewhere ; but then again, perhaps, the Fu- 
 ricanos or the Inquisition have got him, and a 
 thousand other dreadful perhapses disturb the peace 
 of poor Bess and her mother. All the news from 
 Holland, and especially from Amsterdam, is sought 
 and sifted, but they do not sift out the name of 
 Nimble John. 
 
 Meanwhile young 1 Johnny has fallen ill, as young 
 Johnnies are very apt to do. What ails him we 
 cannot tell, only he keeps up a croupy breathing 
 and barking; and if it is not croup of the most 
 decided and malignant character, we do not know 
 what it is. At any rate, we expect the poor little 
 fellow will strangle and turn black and die before 
 morning, and with the loss of both her Johnnies, 
 we fear, indeed, that poor Bessie would quit for 
 the skies. 
 
 The doctor is called by sunrise, and a great white 
 cravat appears moving down the street, with Dr. 
 Pomp peering over from behind it. 
 
 " Why can t he stir a little faster," said Bessie, 
 " when the child is a-dying. He seems to be taking 
 a pleasure walk of a summer morning, and he looks 
 cool enough to be a moving refrigerator." 
 
 " Why, my sweet sister, you must consider that 
 people die almost every day, and if Doctor Pomp 
 ran always at such times, he never would get a 
 chance to stop running." So answered Richard 
 Hawkins, who has returned from a three years 
 cruise, to find his sister a wife and a mother mean 
 while. He has a peaked chin, and a bland smile, 
 and we suppose from his self-satisfied look that he 
 has made a prosperous voyage. 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 233 
 
 But Doctor Pomp brings up at last to the sick 
 child, whom he looks at for the space of a minute ; 
 and we infer from the motion of his under lip, that 
 he thinks science will cure it ; for he deals out his 
 drops, and holds up the phial between his eye and 
 the light, and looks through it with a profound 
 squint, which counts every vitalizing particle in the 
 mysterious compound. 
 
 " Ten drops every half-hour till vomiting begins. 
 Shocking work in the Netherlands, Mr. Hawkins." 
 
 " Anything in particular ? " said Richard ; and 
 Bessie s eyes and ears opened wide. 
 
 " Well, sir, they make shocking mutilation there 
 of the human frame, particularly of the osseous 
 portions of it. A man breaks his leg through the 
 regular operation of natural laws, and there is some 
 pleasure in setting it. But it s bad work when 
 men break each other to pieces. I had a whole- 
 cargo of broken limbs and skulls to mend last 
 night. But it s little science can do, when her 
 rules are so totally disregarded in the matter of 
 wounding and killing." 
 
 " Were these men brought in from the Nether 
 lands ? " asked Richard Hawkins. 
 
 " Yes, sir. One man, sir, had the os frontis driv 
 en clear into his brain. A moderate blow would 
 have made a fracture that science can deal with. 
 But in this case the osseous portion was driven 
 into the pia mater. Strange that men will fight 
 so like demons, instead of taking it moderately. 
 And there was another man who had the os pelvis 
 smashed fine as pebble-stones. Impossible to do 
 
 20* 
 
234 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 anything with it but make a new one, and that, sir, 
 is out of our province." 
 
 " Are these Spaniards that you have been patch 
 ing up, Doctor ? " 
 
 " No, sir. Ah, the drops are working off tire 
 phlegm, pulse not so wiry, freer passage 
 through the trachea. These were some of the 
 Water Gueux. They lie in wait off Flushing, and 
 watch for the Spanish transports at the mouths 
 of the Scheldt, as a cat watches a rat-hole. Then 
 they bear down upon them, and snatch them, and 
 bring in their prizes to Middleburg. Well, sir, it 
 happened that one of their ships got separated from 
 the rest, and was chased by the ships of Alva clear 
 into the Channel. At length the Spaniard grappled 
 the Dutchman ; they fought desperately, and the 
 latter was likely to be captured ; whereupon one of 
 the crew of the Dutchman, who sat grimly upon 
 the powder-magazine, touched it off, according to 
 his orders, and Spaniards and Dutchmen blew up 
 into the sky together, and rained down promiscu 
 ously into the water. An English vessel happened 
 along and picked up the fragments." 
 
 " But don t it kill people to be blown up ? " asked 
 Bessie. 
 
 " It s very apt, madam, to injure the cellular tis 
 sues, and that too beyond the power of science to 
 repair. However, some of these Gueux came down 
 nearly as whole as they went up. They fight like 
 devils, and are about as hard to kill ; and it is their 
 rule, I understand, to blow themselves into the air 
 rather than be captured by the Spaniard. But 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 235 
 
 they are bad fellows to mend, madam, very 
 bad, and it does seem to me a pity, after God 
 has taken pains to make us so wonderfully, that we 
 should unmake ourselves so shockingly, not to say 
 shabbily. Breathes easier, flesh softer. The little 
 fellow will be jumping about the house to-morrow. 
 Good morning." 
 
 But Bessie followed him out of the door, and, 
 with a heart that doubled its beat, asked Doctor 
 Pomp, " Did you hear anything of my husband 
 and his- vessel? " 
 
 " I put that very question to those fellows, at 
 least to what was left of them, and they said 
 they had heard of your husband doing service 
 under the Prince of Orange, but they could not tell 
 where. But," he added, in a kindly voice, touch 
 ing her gently upon the cheek, " don t let this cheek 
 lose all its rubies ; your husband won t be blowing 
 himself into the sky by physical force; he is too 
 sensible a man for that, and when the time comes, 
 and not before, he will go up there the natural 
 way." 
 
 Small consolation was this to Bessie, for she 
 knew very well that her husband s kinsman, Sir 
 John Sayer, was in the service of the Prince of 
 Orange, and that the two might very easily be 
 confounded. But it is something to build a hope 
 upon, and she forms the brave resolve of going to 
 find him. But what can you do, Bessie, and how 
 can you think of going, without chart or compass, 
 into that sea of blood and storm ? These consider 
 ations did not fail to occur to the whole family. 
 
236 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 " Nay, nay ! old Jack Hawkins will rather go 
 himself than see his fire-bird put wing into such 
 a tempest of hot thunders. I 11 take the Minion 
 and the Judith, and go and join Mark, and send 
 the murrain among the Don-devils, and bring back 
 Nimble John, if s alive." 
 
 " Nay, answered Bessie, but I promised to be his 
 dove of good omen, and hover about him in the 
 hurricanes, and I shall certainly go along with you 
 till we find him." 
 
 " Mad, mad, ye silly girl ! What do ye ex 
 pect to do among the Inquisitors that slashed wo 
 men and children to pieces at Naarden ? " 
 
 "But I 11 hand him up stones and fire-missiles, 
 as those women did at Alkmaar, or I 11 take care 
 of him when he s sick or wounded, and keep him 
 from being snatched by the Spanish bulldogs." 
 
 " What a murrain ! Ye should have seen the 
 Jesus of Lubec when she was grappled by two 
 Spaniards at once, and when she had cut her 
 head-fastes and gotten out by the stern-fastes, and 
 the Minion were gotten about, and the ordnance 
 from the island opened on the Jesus, and cut and 
 whizzed through her ; and the Spaniards fired two 
 great ships, and sent them blazing down upon us, 
 and they came a-crackling and a-roaring alongside 
 of us, and scorched and blinded us with smoke 
 and flame, and the men of the Jesus were seized 
 with a panic, for they thought hell was agape and 
 belching its cinders over them ; and some of them 
 got off in the boat, and left the rest to abide the 
 mercy of the Spaniards and the fire. And we sailed 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 237 
 
 away while the waters of the harbor were red with 
 the glare, and the shrieks and screams of the men 
 we had left in the Jesus were ringing in our ears 
 out of the fire. What could ye do in such a place 
 as that, ye silly girl ? " 
 
 " Jump into the fire, and bring my husband out 
 to see his baby." 
 
 On one of the polygonal streets that form the 
 outer circle of the half-moon, the shape, as the 
 reader will remember, of the city of Amsterdam, 
 was the house of the Lady Egmond. The street 
 was called Heeren Straat, and was away from the 
 noise and turmoil of the business portion of the 
 great commercial city. The canal-boats passed 
 along its silent and shaded highway ; but no sound 
 of wheels went by, and the gentle plashing of 
 the canal-waters, or a footfall along the sidewalks 
 under the chestnut and linden trees, was the only 
 noise of passengers. Here in her old mansion is 
 the Lady Egmond and a part of her grandchildren, 
 sons and daughters of the ill-fated Count Lamoral. 
 The eldest is Maria,* who at this time (1574) is 
 some twenty*seven years of age. There are two 
 other daughters who have arrived at womanhood, 
 Magdalena and Christina, one about twenty-one 
 and the other nineteen. Besides these there are 
 three younger sisters who are yet in their girlhood, 
 Anna, Sabina, and Jenne ; and there are three sons, 
 Philip, Lamoral, and Charles, their ages ranging 
 
 # That is, the eldest unmarried. There was an elder sister, Leo 
 nora, who was now married to the Count van Houtkerke. 
 
238 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 from six to sixteen. The widow of the murdered 
 Count, and mother of these children, was Sabina, 
 daughter of the Count Palatine of Bavaria, and she 
 has remained in Brussels, poor and desolate, since 
 the cruel stroke that crushed her household. Lady 
 Egmond, the grandmother of these children, is 
 watching tenderly over them for a little space, 
 she whose benevolent face appeared before the 
 Lady Anne Sayer to assuage the bitterness of her 
 exile and that of her orphan boy. 
 
 Alas ! the story of sieges and battles and public 
 executions does not measure the depth of calamity 
 produced by war. In this old mansion on the 
 Heeren Straat is the unimagined sorrow which has 
 sought its silent and protecting shades. Age has 
 slightly bent down the Lady Egmond, and studded 
 her hair with drops of silver ; but there is the same 
 curve of benevolence under each of her large and 
 beamy blue eyes. There is one awful image that is 
 never out of her mind, imparting its subduing power 
 to her manner and tone, and even tinging the light 
 of day with ashen hues. Among the six daughters 
 whose melodies charmed the Rue Bellevue, the song 
 is hushed and the lute is silent, and they look into 
 each other s marble faces without speaking that 
 one name which crowds all other names from their 
 memory, or of that one event which crowds all 
 other images out of sight. Three of them are to 
 become nuns in the priories of Brussels, those re 
 treats into which the noise of human cruelty and 
 wrong cannot enter, and where the soul shall yearn 
 upward till she sees the gates unbarred by the shin- 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 239 
 
 ing ones, and she shall pass through them, and they 
 shall close and shut out the earth for ever, and all 
 its hideous sights. 
 
 To this mansion on the Heeren Straat, covered 
 thickly with the shadows of the linden-trees, a 
 strange footstep has bent its way. It is a woman 
 with a buoyant tread, and with a bright but anx 
 ious countenance, with a boy beside her, walking, 
 like little lulus, " haud passibus sequis " , and now 
 we perceive it is none other than our little flamingo. 
 She has found her way hither, notwithstanding her 
 father s warnings ; for she has come over in the 
 Minion under the care of Richard, whose ship has 
 sailed in the merchant service to the great city of 
 commerce. And if she means to find her husband 
 and hover about him in the storm, she could not do 
 better than consult the Lady Egmond, and for this 
 very purpose she enters the mansion of silent sor 
 row. 
 
 The good woman sat and listened to Bessie s 
 story ; and when it was finished, the light of her 
 benevolent smile broke through and irradiated the 
 lines of grief upon her brow. 
 
 " If your husband is in the service of the Prince, 
 or even in the Netherlands, he can probably be 
 found." And she sat down and dictated a line 
 to the Prince of Orange, who was at the Hague. 
 Then, laying her hand gently upon Bessie : " You 
 will stay here, my good child, till we get an answer. 
 Keep quiet with me, my pretty lamb, and don t go 
 out needlessly among the wolves." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "Water, water, everywhere." Ancient Mariner. 
 
 ALONG one of the mouths of the Rhine, on either 
 side, and extending inward some fifteen miles, lies 
 the district of Rhynland, quite as remarkable as any 
 in Holland, and for some of its features as remark 
 able as any in the whole world. In the midst of 
 this district stands the city of Ley den ; and if the 
 reader has any Pilgrim blood in his veins, he will 
 pause at that name with some degree of reverence 
 and affection. The Rhine before it enters Leyden 
 parts into two streams ; these sweep round through 
 opposite portions of the city, and reunite near its 
 centre. These branches are called the Old and the 
 New Rhine. From these, streams the canals cir 
 culate through the city in all directions, cutting it 
 up into innumerable islands, the silent highways 
 through all its principal streets and squares. But 
 if you would get a view both extended and minute, 
 you must come along with us to the top of the 
 town-hall, and look out from its belfry; and now 
 the whole city, with its environs, and nearly the 
 whole of Rhynland, is unrolled beneath the eye. 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 241 
 
 What an odd city is this Leyden ! What strange- 
 looking houses, with their old gables, standing each 
 with the end towards the canal, with the eave- 
 trough projecting forward so as to empty itself into 
 the water! What a queer jumble of brick inlaid 
 with stone-work ! What narrow streets and winding 
 lanes, kept clean by stout women and girls, dashing 
 over them their endless pails of water ! How beau 
 tifully does the Rhine, with its divided streams, 
 move along through the city, and how oddly do the 
 canals gleam in silver threads all over it, wherever 
 you can see them through the trees that are planted 
 along the banks ! How significantly do the church 
 es point upward their turrets above the masses of 
 houses, and how sweet is the noise of their chimes, 
 as they break out almost every hour, and thrill 
 through the air, and around the old gables, and 
 down through the lanes, and along the lazy canal- 
 waters, sometimes sad and sometimes merry, some 
 times loud and sometimes soft, keeping the whole 
 city bathed in an atmosphere of fantastic sounds! 
 And then look over the walls of the city, and be 
 yond through the charming region of the Rhynland, 
 lying level as a floor, and therefore visible far away 
 to where the green fields become hazy, and at length 
 fade softly into blue. Seventy villages are under 
 your eye, surrounded each by rich fields of corn and 
 clover and endless herds of grazing kine. The pol 
 ders are spread out before you, in soft, luxuriant 
 green, checkered by the canals, along which the 
 everlasting windmills swing their brawny arms. 
 Away ten miles to the south you can see the city 
 21 
 
242 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 of the Hague, and a little farther the town of Delft, 
 lying under the half-transparent mantle of dreamy 
 haze. A rich and teeming landscape is this district 
 of Rhynland, with its seventy villages glittering out 
 of the green foliage like gems from a velvet robe. 
 But it is frightful to think that this whole fairy re 
 gion lies lower down than the waters either of the 
 ocean or the Rhine. What if those waters should 
 break through the dikes, and blot out one by one 
 these glittering gems, villages, polders, windmills, 
 and all! 
 
 But alas for the devoted city! a worse calamity 
 than that is impending now. The Spaniard, 
 though baffled for a time, has mustered his forces 
 and is coming again. Alva has left never to return, 
 but his successor, Requesens, has been sent by 
 Philip to take his place, reorganize the army, en 
 force the edicts of the Inquisition, and crush out 
 the vital spark of liberty in Holland. Since the 
 siege and capture of Haarlem, she has had a breath 
 ing time ; the Prince of Orange has been present, 
 to rouse and guide her energies by his masterly 
 statesmanship. But she has lost the services of 
 him who may be said to have been the founder of 
 her liberty. William van der Mark, who made 
 Holland master of the ocean, who took Briel and 
 was made commander of the forces by sea and land, 
 has been deposed from his command for his inso 
 lence and his cruelties. He came, at length, to 
 defy the authority of the State and of the Prince 
 himself; he would hang Catholic priests wherever 
 he could find them, and the people complained that 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 243 
 
 his rule was not much better than that of the Span 
 iard. He was deprived of his offices and thrown 
 into prison, but permitted ultimately to retire with 
 his property from Holland ; and so his name disap 
 pears henceforth from her glorious annals. 
 
 Requesens, the successor of Alva as Governor of 
 the Netherlands, unlike his predecessor, is a man 
 of clemency and humanity ; but he comes with the 
 fame of a skilful commander, and is fresh from his 
 victory over the Turk. He will not practise the 
 cruelties of Alva, but he will enforce the edicts and 
 reduce Holland if he can. And as soon as he can 
 subdue the mutinies in his army, and extricate af 
 fairs from the disorder in which Alva left them, 
 Requesens despatches his general, Valdez, with 
 eight thousand men, to lay siege to Leyden. They 
 have taken possession of the Rhynland, and com 
 pletely surrounded the devoted city with a cordon 
 of forts, and wait the slow but sure effect of famine. 
 Remembering the lesson which they learned at 
 Alkmaar, they have left their artillery behind them ; 
 but they possess all the canals that enter the city ; 
 and since there are not three months provision with 
 in it, Valdez feels sure of his prey. 
 
 The citizens of Leyden are taken by surprise. 
 They have neglected to lay in a store of provisions, 
 and they have no troops to defend the city but the 
 burgher guards. But the burgher guards will de 
 fend it to the death. They are commanded by 
 Peter van der Werff. The governor of the city is 
 John van der Does. The names of these two men 
 are not remarkably euphonious, and they would not 
 
244 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 sound very well in Homer s verse, nor keep time 
 with its thunder-tramp ; but fortunately they do 
 not need it to make their deeds immortal. Their 
 pictures hang up to this day in the town-hall, and 
 their faces look mild and benevolent, but at the 
 same time full of calm and immovable determi 
 nation. 
 
 Valdez summons a surrender. He sends a letter 
 by the hands of some deserters, filled with flatter 
 ing promises and offers of pardon. He receives 
 from the governor a very short and pithy reply in 
 Latin : " Fistula dulce canit volucrem, dum decipit 
 anceps." * 
 
 Orange is alive to the emergency. Large col 
 lections of provisions are made for the relief of the 
 besieged, but he has no force sufficient to break 
 through the line of forts that invests the starving 
 city. The three months provisions are consumed, 
 and dogs and horses and offal only remain to feed 
 the inhabitants. The young girls eat the lapdogs 
 with which they used to play. Women, with their 
 faces covered, crawl through the streets, or sit on 
 heaps of refuse in search of some morsel to satisfy 
 their hunger. Plague, the attendant of famine, 
 breaks oat, and the haggard processions carry out 
 the corpses to burial. Still the women urge on the 
 defence, and keep alive the flagging heroism of the 
 men. " Leave us to die with starvation rather 
 than submit to the foe." And the burgher guard 
 comes down from the walls at night, to find that 
 
 * " The fowler plays sweet notes on his pipe, while he spreads his 
 net for the bird." 
 
((UNIVERSITY) 
 
 THE ADVENTURER. N^O 245 
 
 the wife or daughter who- cheered him on in the 
 morning is no more. There is no sound of battle, 
 no din of arms. The Spaniard without awaits his 
 prey in silence, and within there is the fixed and 
 gloomy resolve, if need be, to starve and die. 
 
 In this state of things Valdez urges once more a 
 surrender. " You have become eaters of cats and 
 dogs, and these must fail you soon." And he 
 promises again to grant them generous terms of 
 capitulation. The burghers rush to the walls with 
 their answer : " When the cats and dogs fail us, we 
 will eat our left hand, and fight you with our right." 
 
 And that desperate extremity has well-nigh come, 
 for they can scarcely drag their limbs to the walls. 
 At length the spirits even of these brave men are 
 subdued, and they raise a riot against their com 
 mander, Van der Werff, and demand a surrender 
 of the city. They throng around him with implor 
 ing and piteous looks. "Give us food, or else treat 
 with the Spaniards!" This memorable scene has 
 been transferred to canvas by the pencil of Van 
 Bree of Antwerp, and hangs up also in the Burgo 
 masters Hall at Leyden ; but no pencil can paint 
 the lofty heroism of the commander, as he looks 
 around on his haggard company, and nerves their 
 arms anew by his immortal words: " I have made 
 an oath, which, by the help of God, I will keep, 
 that I will never yield to the Spaniard. Bread, as 
 you know, I have none ; but if my death can serve 
 you, slay me, cut my body into morsels, and divide 
 it amongst you." The rioters slink away, silent and 
 ashamed, and return to their duty on the walls. 
 21* 
 
246 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 As the Prince cannot break through the line of 
 forts, and throw succors into the city, he meets the 
 deputies at Rotterdam, and lays before them a new 
 plan of operations. " Cut through the sluices," says 
 he, " and let in the waters to flood the Rhynland, and 
 on these waters we will float provisions up to the 
 gates of Leyden." It was a desperate sacrifice to 
 lay that fertile and lovely region under water. But 
 let it be done, said the deputies ; for " it is better 
 that the country should be ruined than lost." Two 
 hundred flat-bottomed boats are got ready, laden 
 with ammunition and provisions, and Admiral Boi- 
 sot is summoned with his men from Zealand, the 
 same Water Gueux who had taken Flushing, and 
 commanded the mouths of the Scheldt. 
 
 The sluices are opened, and the Meuse and the 
 Issel invited to pour their waters over the Rhyn 
 land. But alas ! the wind and the tide have con 
 spired with the Spaniard. The waters will not 
 come in. The wind is dead northeast, arid there 
 it keeps day after day, and drives back the waters 
 of the Meuse ; and the Spaniards laugh at the fee 
 ble and desperate expedient. Day after day the 
 starving burghers strain their eyes from the walls, 
 but nothing comes over the Rhynland. The flat- 
 boats, laden with provisions, wait in the waters of 
 the Meuse, but they can get no farther. But a 
 change comes at last ; the wind on a sudden veers 
 round to the southwest, and drives the Meuse over 
 the polders ! The waters rush on, flood after flood, 
 and submerge the Rhynland, rolling around the 
 gates of Leyden, and dashing against the forts of 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 247 
 
 the Spaniard, who looks around him appalled. But 
 he has something to fear besides the Meuse, with 
 its army of waves. The two hundred flat-bottomed 
 boats float triumphant over the polders towards the 
 walls of Leyden. Grim fellows they are that man 
 them, breathing silent revenge to the motion of the 
 oar, holding each in his hand a long pole with an 
 iron hook at the end, and wearing upon his hat the 
 dreaded motto, Rather Turk than Pope." The 
 Water Gueux are coming! On one of the flat- 
 bottomed boats, bending silent to his oar, is the 
 truculent fellow who took a Spanish soldier at Zoe- 
 termeer, tore his heart out of his body, and set his 
 teeth into it, and then dashed it on the ground, say 
 ing, " It is bitter." And there are enough men of 
 the same spirit, who are rowing the flat-bottomed 
 boats over the polders. 
 
 The Spaniards abandon their forts, and fly in ter 
 ror along the dikes and causeways. Over these 
 they deploy in Indian file, drenched in the waters 
 or swamping in the mad, but the Water Gueux 
 are after them. With the long poles they hook 
 them down one after another, and give them to 
 the mercy of the sea. Wherever they deploy, the 
 sound, " Long live the Gueux in srjite of the Mass!" 
 comes shouting after them, and then the fatal hook 
 lays hold of them. In their disastrous retreat, a 
 large proportion of them leave their carcasses to 
 fatten the polders, and be turned into Dutch butter, 
 a better use, probably, than they ever were put to 
 before ! The Water Gueux have come again. 
 
 Among the boats that ride triumphant in this 
 
248 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 artificial sea, there is one that has neither sail nor 
 oar, but moves nevertheless with rapid motion, and 
 leaves behid it a path that hisses with foam. It 
 is the " Ark of Delft," so called because it was built 
 there ; it moves by a wheel worked by twelve men, 
 and thus anticipates in part the invention of Ful 
 ton. And who is that burly-pated fellow who 
 stands at the prow, with his long pole, which he 
 uses sometimes to ease off the boat from some im 
 pinging chimney or church steeple, that peeps above 
 the waves, sometimes changing ends as occasion 
 offers, and hooking a Spaniard from his slippery 
 foothold on the dikes, and sending him twirling 
 through the air, as a boy would a salmon, till he 
 comes plashing down in the boat s wake, uttering 
 innumerable curses and Ave Marias ? The burly- 
 pated fellow looks very much like Peter van der 
 Mark. And who is the tallyman that stands on the 
 deck, and directs the motions of the boat, keeping 
 a keen look-out with his great black eye, that darts 
 hither and thither, and giving orders to his men 
 with earnest gestures of his long arms? It is Nim 
 ble John ! His vessel is riding in the Meuse, filled 
 with stores for the Leyden sufferers, and the Ark of 
 Delft is transporting the stores over the flooded 
 Rhynland, and hooking off Spaniards from their 
 retreat by the way. 
 
 All the forts had now been abandoned but one. 
 Fort Larnmen stands about half a mile from Ley- 
 den, on a slight eminence, provided with enormous 
 pieces of artillery. The waves do not come quite 
 up to it, and it must be taken by storm. Admiral 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 249 
 
 Boisot is doubtful whether he shall master it, and 
 he sends a carrier-pigeon into the besieged city, and 
 requests the burgher guards to be ready on the 
 morrow to make a sally at a given signal ; and the 
 burgher guards stand eager to obey. The morrow 
 comes, and the Admiral has marshalled his boats, 
 and is sailing towards Fort Lammen. Suddenly a 
 cry of terror runs through the fort. " The Water 
 GueuK are coming!" and the fort is abandoned, 
 with nearly the whole of its baggage and ammuni 
 tion, and the frightened Spaniards are cowering 
 along the dikes, or sticking fast in the sedges to be 
 fished up by the long poles, and so the last foe dis 
 appears from before the gates of Leyden. And 
 now the feeble but joyful cry, " Leyden is saved!" 
 runs round the walls, and down through the streets 
 of the half-deserted city, and numbers come to the 
 gates to hail their deliverers. The deliverers stand 
 and weep at the sight. What skeletons are these 
 that totter through the gates, or sit along the silent 
 streets, where gaunt famine and despair have reigned 
 supreme, without crushing out a spark of the hero 
 ism of the people ! They pour in provisions upon 
 the sufferers, which are devoured sometimes with a 
 fatal eagerness ; nevertheless the cry of thanksgiv 
 ing and joy waxes louder and louder, " Leyden is 
 saved!" 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " In this firm hour Salvation lifts her horn ; 
 Glory to arms ! " 
 
 LEYDEN is saved! is the news which comes to 
 Orange as he lies on a sick-bed at Delft, over 
 whelmed with the cares of the state, and revolving 
 in his gloomy thoughts the salvation of his beloved 
 people. He springs from his bed, his limbs made 
 elastic by the glad tidings, and rushes into one of 
 the churches of Delft with offerings of praise. Then 
 he hastens to the afflicted city, to sympathize and 
 rejoice with the late sufferers. For the first few days 
 the care of the sick absorbed all the attention of the 
 deliverers, who saw in all the circumstances of their 
 deliverance a Divine and interposing hand. Im 
 mediately after the siege was raised, twenty rods 
 of the wall fell down without any apparent cause ; 
 an incident which two days before would have 
 been fatal to the besieged, but which now increased 
 the speed of their flying enemies, who heard the 
 noise behind them, and, ignorant of its cause, 
 shouted again the panic-cry, " The Gueux are 
 coming ! " On the very day too that the siege was 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 251 
 
 raised, the wind veered round again to the north 
 east, and drove back the waters of the Meuse and 
 the Issel into their old limits, as if God himself had 
 mustered his armies, and called them off when the 
 victory was won. 
 
 A Dutch poet celebrates the victory in these 
 strains : 
 
 " Non opus est gladiis, ferroque rigentibus armis ; 
 Solse pro Batavo belligeranter aquae : 
 Tolle metus, Hispane fuge, et ne respice terras, 
 Pro quibus oceanus pugnat, et ipse Deus." 
 
 No need of swords, nor steel, nor armor bright I 
 Armies of waters for Batavia fight. 
 Fly, Spaniard ! look not back upon the land 
 For which old Ocean wars, at God s command ! 
 
 And now the famished men and women walk 
 erect and strong again, and all the belfries of Leyden 
 are answering to each other in joyful chimes, 
 
 " Low and loud and sweetly blended, 
 Low at times and loud at times, 
 Changing like a poet s rhymes." 
 
 The admirals are presented with a magnificent 
 chain and medal of gold. The great Church of 
 St. Peter is thrown open for religious service, and 
 the deliverers and delivered together crowd thither, 
 Orange at their head, to give thanks to the God 
 of battles. Among the crowd is Nimble John, 
 with his men that rowed the Ark of Delft, some 
 of them truculent-looking enough, even when their 
 features are relaxed and softened with devotional 
 feeling. The Gueux themselves crowd into the 
 church, and their features, seamed and scarred and 
 
252 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 tanned with fight and wind and storm, become 
 changed, and even tremulous, as they bow before 
 the spirit of prayer and praise that sweeps all hearts 
 before it, and mounts away to the skies. 
 
 " I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed 
 gloriously ; Pharaoh s chariots and his host hath he 
 cast into the sea; his chosen captains also are 
 drowned in the sea. 
 
 " The depths have covered them ; they sank into 
 the bottom as a stone. 
 
 " Thy right hand, O Lord, is become glorious in 
 power; thy right hand, O Lord, hath dashed in 
 pieces the enemy. 
 
 " With the blast of thy nostrils the waters were 
 gathered together; the floods stood upright as an 
 heap. 
 
 " The enemy said, I will pursue, I will divide the 
 spoil"; I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy 
 them. 
 
 " Thou didst blow with thy wind, the sea covered 
 them, they sank as lead in the mighty waters." 
 
 These strains have rolled down the nave and 
 back again, and seem to linger in the arches and 
 the hearts of the multitudes as they leave the 
 church and break away to their homes. As Nim 
 ble John is coming out of the door of St. Peter s, 
 nearly the last of the dispersing crowd, a sweet 
 face appears before him, and his wife rushes into 
 his arms. He is taken somewhat by surprise, but 
 he cannot doubt the waking reality as he scans her 
 o er and o er. 
 
 " Did you fly hither, my bird ? And how came 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 253 
 
 you to trust yourself to the storm and wind ? And 
 what have you done with the little fellow I left 
 with you a year agone ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did fly hither, for did you not tell me I 
 should hover about you, and come down through 
 the storm as your sign of blessed promise ? I found 
 you out through the Lady Egmond, and I know all 
 you have done ; how you sailed to Flushing and 
 put your ships in command of Admiral Boisot ; 
 how you were stationed at Middle burg ; how your 
 fleet scattered the ships of Requesens when he 
 came for the capture of Middleburg, and you drove 
 them shattered to Antwerp ; how you were com 
 ing for the relief of Ley den; and finally, how you 
 did relieve it, and Leyden was rejoicing in her de 
 liverance ; and I left Johnny with Lady Egmond, 
 and flew over here on purpose to alight upon you. 
 Did you think I should not find you out ? " 
 
 " You must indeed have been the blessed omen 
 before which the storm was rolling away. I sent 
 you three letters, all of which, doubtless, were 
 clutched by Alva s spies. I did not join the fleet 
 of Admiral Mark, as I first intended, for I heard of 
 his brutality, and did not care to serve under him. 
 But you must go back to Amsterdam, and not trust 
 your pretty wings here among the thunderbolts." 
 
 " Nay, I shall keep about you, for by and by 
 the thunderbolts will alight upon you, and the 
 Spanish shot will get hold of you, and you will lie 
 wounded in your hammock, with nobody to give 
 you water or bathe your head when the fever rages; 
 and then you will die without your birdy." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " No eye can follow to a fatal place 
 That power of Freedom, whether on the wing, 
 Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind 
 "Within its awful caves." WORDSWORTH. 
 
 IT does not fall in with our plan to write the his 
 tory of these times, any farther than it connects it 
 self with our family story. For a knowledge of the 
 rest of it, the reader must look into larger books and 
 learn its important lessons; how Providence inter 
 posed directly, once and again, to save the little 
 country of heroic men and women, and deflected 
 the thunderbolt from them when actually descend 
 ing; how three hundred vessels, commanded by 
 Don Pedro di Menendez, a " valiant and able cap 
 tain," were got ready and lay in the Bay of Biscay, 
 with fifteen thousand troops on board, all ready to 
 sail, w r hen the plague broke out among them, and 
 swept off half their number, with Don Pedro him 
 self, and Philip had to abandon the enterprise; 
 how Requesens had laid his plans of operation, 
 and seemed already to have got Holland fast in his 
 net, so that Orange himself despaired, and proposed 
 to the people to collect all the vessels, put their 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 255 
 
 wives and little ones on board, and open all the 
 dikes and flood the country with destruction, and 
 then bid a last farewell to their fatherland, and sail 
 away to some distant shore, on which the curse of 
 Spanish tyranny had not fallen ; how just then a 
 pestilential fever carried Requesens to his grave, 
 and his unpaid troops mutinied and fell into disor 
 der, and his last feeble garrisons in Haarlem and a 
 few other Dutch towns were driven out, and left 
 Holland never to return ; how the potent voice of 
 Orange summoned the northern provinces to form 
 a union against the Spaniard, and how the famous 
 " Union of Utrecht" arose under his masterly states 
 manship, embracing Holland, Zealand, and Utrecht, 
 to which afterwards were added Friesland, Gron- 
 ingen, Overyssel, and Guelderland, the seven north 
 ern provinces embraced in one indissoluble bond ; 
 how, when she had paid out her last farthing, and 
 her coffers were all empty, she found an inexhaust 
 ible mine in her unsullied probity and honor, so 
 that her bills of credit were always at par, and more 
 current than fine gold, and kept her troops paid and 
 clothed and in discipline, while at the same time 
 the King of Spain, who commanded the wealth of 
 two worlds, but repudiated his debts, saw his troops 
 mutiny and turn into bands of robbers to prey upon 
 the provinces that had continued loyal to him, till 
 even the Catholic Netherlands became disgusted 
 with his service ; how Holland found at length a 
 generous ally in Elizabeth, who sent both troops and 
 money; how Philip equipped new armies, and 
 sent over as their grand commander the Duke of 
 
256 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 Parma, the experienced and accomplished general ; 
 how Parma worked ten years in the Netherlands, 
 and reduced town after town, till the tide of conquest 
 had rolled up to the very borders of Holland, and 
 even crossed over it, and she seemed about to fall 
 before it, when Parma was carried off by sickness, 
 and the tide of conquest rolled back again ; how 
 valiantly the burghers and their wives defended 
 Maestricht, the key to the entrance of the Meuse 
 from the German side, and how, when Parma s 
 troops undertook to mount the breach in the walls, 
 the Dutch peasants broke their heads with their 
 flails, and the Dutch women poured over them burn 
 ing pitch, so that those whose heads escaped un- 
 threshed retreated, maddened and bellowing, and 
 died miserably under their garments of clinging 
 fire ; how Philip and his priests and generals 
 sought the death of Orange by hired and secret as 
 sassins, since they could not conquer him in the 
 field, till at last they succeeded, and Orange fell by 
 the weapon of his own servant in his own house at 
 the Hague, exclaiming, " God have mercy upon me 
 and my poor country! " how the Spaniard exulted, 
 and how Holland sat down in grief and despair, and 
 grovelled on the grave of her fallen martyr ; how 
 the awful crime recoiled on the perpetrators, to their 
 own defeat and confusion, since in the place of Or 
 ange came up his valiant son Maurice, who excelled 
 his father in military skill, and never lost a battle 
 with the Spaniard, and to supply the statesmanship 
 of Orange arose Owen Barneveldt, "the advocate 
 of Holland," whose wisdom, forecast, prudence, in- 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 257 
 
 tegrity, and patriotism have given a savor to his 
 name throughout the world ; how, under Maurice 
 and Barneveldt, Holland with the seven provinces 
 rose along the little border around the Zuyder Zee, 
 covered with strength and glory; how her army 
 drove the Spaniard over the Meuse, and kept him 
 there ; how, while her right hand kept the enemy 
 at bay, with her left she cultivated the fields, and 
 the polders bloomed anew, and waved and nodded 
 with golden grain, and the blackened waste where 
 the Spaniard had trodden grew green and flourished ; 
 how her commerce flourished too, and her mer 
 chant-ships doubled the Cape of Good Hope, and 
 brought back the wealth of the Indies, and the won 
 derful anomaly was witnessed of a little state pro 
 tecting her industry, nourishing within her borders 
 all the arts of peace, and sending her sails around 
 the globe, while at the same time she waged a de 
 fensive war against the richest and most powerful 
 monarchy in Europe ; how thousands of the per 
 secuted and oppressed of all nations, and especially 
 of the Spanish Netherlands, crowded into the seven 
 provinces, and more than all into Holland, to enjoy 
 security and protection under her banners, and build 
 up noble cities and factories within her borders, and 
 make the arts of peace flourish within the very 
 sound of war ; how at the same time the Spanish 
 Netherlands over the Meuse, who would not throw 
 off the yoke, but thought to have protection under it, 
 were emptied of their best population and went to 
 ruin ; how the once smiling pastures ran waste, 
 and wild-boars and wolves prowled in the deserted 
 
 22* 
 
258 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 cities, and nourished their young on couches be 
 neath whose gorgeous tapestry the nobility had 
 slept, and dogs ran about and howled piteously for 
 their masters, and the public ways were filled with 
 copse and brier, and in the once busy towns of 
 Flanders and Brabant the members of noble fam 
 ilies crept by night out of their wretched abodes to 
 search the streets for bones and offal ; how terri 
 bly the prophecy of Orange to Egmond was fulfilled, 
 You will let in the Spaniard over your dead body 
 to ruin your country ; and that other prophecy over 
 the smoking blood of Egmond, It will be avenged 
 as sure as there is a God who is looking on ; how 
 Philip made one desperate effort to conquer Hol 
 land, and avenge himself on Elizabeth, because she 
 had aided his enemies, arid how he sent forth the 
 " Invincible Armada," which came into the Channel, 
 spread out like a half-moon, sweeping the sea to 
 right and left through a breadth of seven miles, and 
 expecting to be joined at Dunkirk by the fleet in the 
 Netherlands ; how Elizabeth s fore-admiral, How 
 ard, and her rear-admiral, " the worshipfull and re 
 nowned John Hawkins," fell upon the Armada and 
 scattered it to the four winds, which sent it in turn 
 to the bottom of the sea, and how the fleet in the 
 Netherlands never came to Dunkirk, because the 
 Water Gueux lay watching it grim as death, and 
 ready to pounce upon it ; how Spain, after a war 
 of forty years, through which she tried in vain to 
 force the Inquisition on Holland, and squandered 
 her treasures and wasted her men, finally gave over, 
 collapsed, exhausted, and poor, and cowered before 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 259 
 
 her foe, and drew off her troops, while Holland rose 
 from the waves in her independence, wealth, and 
 glory ; for all this the reader must consult the an 
 nals of the little state whose territory, as we have 
 already said, might be laid within the borders of 
 Connecticut. Wonderful people ! we say again ; 
 your history is fraught with more lessons, moral and 
 political, than Thucydides or Tacitus has pointed 
 out ; your women had more of greatness than be 
 longs to common men, and your deeds are wor 
 thy to be told in Homer s majestic rhythm, and to 
 be set to his eternal music. This was the people 
 that offered an asylum to our forefathers, and this 
 is the way the asylum was procured and guarded, 
 when there was no other spot in the civilized world 
 that offered a protection from the wolves of perse 
 cution.* 
 
 * The history of this marvellous people has never been popular 
 ized as it deserves to be. Schiller s " Thirty Years War " is written 
 with great spirit, but it stops short with the execution of Egmond and 
 Hoorn, the very point where the reader is most anxious to go on. 
 Davies s " History of Holland," an expensive English work in three 
 volumes, which we have referred to above, and often followed, is ex 
 cellent. 
 
 Since this note and these pages were written, two works have ap 
 peared, Prescott s Philip II. and Motley s History of the Dutch 
 Kepublic. It would be superfluous to praise works of such unrivalled 
 merit. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " I have ever looked, when that in these long stormes and tempestes 
 of warres, there would some fayre weather or clereness of peace shine 
 upon us out of one quarter or other." UDAL. 
 
 SCENE changes again. Bessie did indeed go 
 back to Amsterdam. But through the eyes of Sir 
 John Sayer, one of the secretaries of Orange, she 
 kept a bright outlook over the passing drama, es 
 pecially when the events crowded and thickened 
 around her husband, who was serving among the 
 Zealanders under Admiral Boisot. Once only did 
 her prediction come near its fulfilment, for Nimble 
 John is slung in his hammock, as his ship lies in the 
 harbors of Flushing; and he is brought there, not by 
 Spanish shot, but by a pestilential fever, and for 
 more than a week has been counting the chances of 
 life and death. His wife flies again over the waves, 
 and makes her way among grisly Water Gueux, 
 till she finds the hammock of the sick man; and she 
 does not leave it till she has raised him from it, and 
 seen him walking the deck of his vessel. But in- 
 
 o 
 
 ternal order and prosperity come at length to Hol 
 land, even while war is bristling and growling all 
 along her frontier; for the last Spaniard is driven 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 261 
 
 out, and the young and valiant Maurice keeps him 
 out with his little army of invincible Dutchmen. 
 Leyden and Haarlem and Naarden rise elastic 
 from the dust. A twelve years truce is finally 
 agreed upon, and the Spaniard retires, sullen and- 
 baffled, from the Netherlands. 
 
 On the Princen Graat the same old house is 
 standing in which the exiles Richard Sayer arid 
 the Lady Anne looked their last upon this world, 
 and in which Job sang to it his last snatches of song ; 
 and the same old chestnut-tree brushes its leaves 
 against the windows. Hither has Nimble John re 
 tired at last from all his adventures ; the house has 
 passed into his hands, its walls fragrant with sweet 
 and pensive memories, arid into it he has transferred 
 the flamingo, whose wing has hovered about him 
 through all his escapes and troubles. His ships lie 
 in the harbors of Amsterdam, among that endless 
 forest of masts ; they come and go, and bring to 
 him wealth and prosperity. And here we must 
 take our leave of the son of the exile, since we 
 have seen him safe through all his adventures, re 
 turned at last beneath the shelter of his father s 
 tree. But before we bid him a final farewell, the 
 reader will step in for a single moment at the house 
 of the Princen Graat, and see how it fares with the 
 inmates. Have a care, however, for that great 
 Dutch girl has trundled her water-engine in front of 
 the house, and is ejecting its contents against the 
 second-story windows, and the spray is descending 
 all over the yard. We think she must be a relative 
 of some of those women that threw rocks on the 
 
262 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 heads of the Spaniards from the walls of Alkmaar, or 
 gave them a hot-tar bath at Maestricht ; and she does 
 not look and act now as if she had any intention of 
 " going into decline." But what means this hydro- 
 mania of Katreen van der Speigle ? for we cannot 
 see that the house is on fire, and she is drenching 
 us as she did the Spaniards before Leyden. It is 
 only a trick which Dutch women have of keeping 
 clean outside as well as inside ; and as you enter the 
 house, the trace of Katreen s hand is everywhere 
 seen. There is no grain of dust, except what you are 
 bringing in yourself, no speck on the white cur 
 tains ; and from the polished brass on the doors and 
 andirons your own distorted face is shining bright. 
 You find at last our friend Bessie in the rnidst of 
 her household, but the rose colors are less brilliant 
 on her cheek, and she is no longer the red flamingo. 
 But she has not lost her native mirthfulness, nor 
 any of the genial sunshine from the open and be 
 nevolent face that first rayed into the heart of 
 Nimble John when he came out of the long deliri 
 um of his fever. Little Johnny Bourchier is grown 
 up into great Johnny, spite of teething and croup, 
 and three younger specimens, Henry, William, and 
 Richard, have all come, to go through teething and 
 croup in their turn, besides measles, mumps, influ 
 enzas, and the whole train of juvenile calamities. 
 How they all get through safe is a wonder, and 
 why babies were not bom with teeth ready made 
 was always a painful mystery to us. Reasoning 
 metaphysically, and taking the " a priori road," you 
 would not come to the conclusion that Nature 
 
i THE ADVENTURER. 263 
 
 would turn out her work unfinished, and leave a 
 very important implement of our human economy 
 to be painfully furnished at the hands of Doctor 
 Pomp, but so it is ; and John, Henry, William, and 
 Richard have all got furnished at last, at some 
 body s hands, and are tumbling at large in the 
 leadings of Providence. Nimble John, after all his 
 adventures, is happy at home in the peace and the 
 love-light which Bessie diffuses through his house 
 hold. His black hair has become threaded with 
 silver; some wrinkles have gathered on his brow, 
 but his eye looks out from under them bright and 
 piercing as ever. But he has roamed the world till 
 he is satisfied, and will be content to leave it amid 
 the angel sympathies that first shed their beams 
 around his pillow from the face of Bessie Haw 
 kins. 
 
 Lady Egmond has bent lower and lower under 
 the weight of sorrow and years, the curves of be 
 nevolence under her eyes growing larger and deeper 
 to the last, till her aged frame has sunk into the 
 grave, and the gentle touch of Death has turned the 
 woman into the angel, or rather disclosed the angel 
 that tabernacled in mortality, in brighter robes. Of 
 her eight granddaughters, four have become mar 
 ried and three have become nuns, one of them, 
 Jenne, is Prioress of St. Elizabeth s cloister in 
 Brussels. The unmarried one is living at the 
 Hague. The three sons, Philip, Lamoral, and 
 Charles, are living still, and we shall hear of Philip 
 by and by. 
 
 As for "the renowned and worshipfull John 
 
264 THE ADVENTURER. 
 
 Hawkins," he recovered from the disasters of his 
 last missionary voyage, did valiant service for the 
 Queen in the fight with the Invincible Armada, 
 and became knighted therefor. He was promoted 
 to the office of Treasurer of the Navy, was much 
 consulted in maritime affairs, was sent with Sir 
 Francis Drake against the Spaniards in the West 
 Indies, was unsuccessful in the expedition, and died 
 at sea. Whereupon Mrs. Hawkins wept and prayed, 
 and said she always knew that an evil star was to 
 hang over him since those dreadful missionary voy 
 ages, for which she hoped God would forgive him 
 before the coming of the great day. And for this 
 forgiveness she spent the rest of her life in making 
 supplication, and died happily under the assuaging 
 influence of Doctor Pomp s powders and the bright 
 ening hopes of a benevolent and pious mind. 
 
 As for Bessie, she has enough to do at present in 
 bringing up those four boys, and we cannot help 
 sympathizing with her in such a charge. How 
 will they turn out, and what will become of them ? 
 What use will they make of their teeth, now they 
 are all fairly and safely through? Will they use 
 them for the purposes intended, or will they gnash 
 with them upon Spaniards, or, what is worse and 
 more inexcusable, upon mankind in general ? Will 
 they turn the world upside down and downside up, 
 as they do the nursery and the parlor, or will they 
 help set the world at rights, which certainly needs 
 righting if ever a world did ? Alas ! we cannot tell ; 
 for we have no horoscope which we can cast, and 
 we and Bessie must wait anxiously for your devel- 
 
THE ADVENTURER. 265 
 
 opments, O John, Henry, William, and Richard! 
 One thing is certain, and it is a very important 
 thing in juvenile education, ye never will be 
 lacking in external order and purification so long 
 as Katreen van der Speigle has charge of the 
 kitchen and the laundry, and trundles the hydraulic 
 engine. 
 
 23 
 
PART III. 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 " I vow to God I would sooner bring myself to put a man to im 
 mediate death for opinions I disliked, and so get rid of the man and 
 his opinions at once, than to fret him with a feverish being, tainted 
 with the jail-distemper of contagious servitude," BURKE. 
 
 We read of faith and purest charity 
 
 In statesman, priest, and humble citizen. 
 
 O could we copy their mild virtues, then 
 
 What joy to live, what blessedness to die ! 
 
 Methinks their very names shine still and bright, 
 
 Apart, like glow-worms in the woods of Spring." 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 " We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array, 
 With all its priest-led citizens and all its rebel peers, 
 And Appenzel s stout infantry and Egmond s Flemish spears." 
 
 Battle oflvry. 
 
 ON the evening before his execution, when the 
 Count of Egmond was repeating the Lord s Prayer, 
 as the words most befitting his awful condition, the 
 thoughts of his family interrupted him. They clung 
 tenderly to the loved ones he was to leave behind 
 him. His devotions were suspended ; he called for 
 pen and paper, and wrote two letters, one to his 
 wife and one to the King. That to the King was 
 as follows : 
 
 Sire : This morning I received the sentence 
 
 which your Majesty has been pleased to pass upon 
 me. Far as I have ever been from attempting 
 anything against the person or the service of your 
 Majesty, or against the only true, old, and Catholic 
 religion, I yet submit myself with patience to the 
 fate which it has pleased God to ordain I should 
 suffer. If, during the past disturbances, I have 
 omitted, advised, or done anything that seems at 
 
 23* 
 
270 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 variance with my duty, it was most assuredly per 
 formed with the best intentions, or was forced upon 
 me by the pressure of circumstances. I therefore 
 pray your Majesty to forgive me, and, in considera 
 tion of my past services, show mercy to my un 
 happy wife and my poor children and servants. 
 In a firm hope of this, I commend myself to the 
 infinite mercy of God. 
 
 " Your Majesty s most faithful vassal and servant, 
 "LAMORAL COUNT EGMOND. 
 
 " Brussels, June 5th, 1568, near my last moments." 
 
 The " unhappy " but faithful wife who was thus 
 the object of such tender solicitude to her husband 
 in his last hour, was Sabrina of Bavaria, daughter 
 of the Count Palatine John, and sister of Frederick, 
 afterwards Count Palatine and Elector. She was 
 a woman of rare beauty and accomplishments, and 
 she tried every art which affection could devise to 
 save her husband from his fate. After sentence 
 had been passed, she sought an interview with 
 Alva, and begged for his life with all her womanly 
 eloquence. " Take comfort, madam," was Alva s 
 reply, " your husband shall be released to-morrow." 
 She did not see the cruel irony that lurked in these 
 words, and went away in the belief that he was to 
 be pardoned and restored to his family. 
 
 She was overwhelmed by the event, being re 
 duced to abject poverty and despair. Egmond s 
 letter seems not to have touched the heart of the 
 treacherous bigot at Madrid. Alva himself was 
 affected at the sight of her misfortunes, and relieved 
 
THE PILGRIM, 271 
 
 her wants from his own purse, and wrote to the 
 King in her behalf. He tells the King that she is 
 the most wretched of women, and has to beg her 
 daily food after nightfall, or pick it up in the streets 
 of Brussels. Relief from poverty, however, came at 
 last. The family were afterwards placed in posses 
 sion again of the property, which by virtue of the 
 sentence had escheated to the King. 
 
 Philip, eldest son of the murdered Count, was 
 born in 1558, and was therefore about ten years 
 of age at the time of his father s death. The 
 intolerable wrongs which the tyrant had inflicted 
 upon his family, a father s blood crying from the 
 ground, and a mother s woes appealing even to the 
 marble heart of Alva, ought to have roused the son 
 against the tyranny that was crushing the Nether 
 lands. But it did not. He must have inherited his 
 father s disposition to fawn upon royalty, and live 
 only by its favors. He had no sooner reached man 
 hood, than he espoused warmly the royal cause 
 against the States, much to the surprise and mor 
 tification of the friends of his late father. 
 
 There had been a temporary lull in the disturb 
 ances of the Netherlands, after the famous truce 
 called the " Pacification of Ghent." But it was 
 soon broken, and a party called the " Malecontents," 
 under the lead of Monti gny, raised again the royal 
 standard, and renewed the war. He succeeded in 
 drawing over young Egmond to his party, and ga\e 
 him command of a regiment of infantry.* 
 
 * Davies says that Charles Egmond, son of the murdered Count, 
 
THE PILGRIM. 
 
 Before his change of sentiments was known, he 
 brought his regiment into Brussels, with the design 
 of making himself master of the city. He marched 
 into the Horse- Market, and, by a most remarkable 
 coincidence, halted on the very spot where his fa 
 ther had been executed, and on the same day of 
 the month, just eleven years before. The wary 
 burghers, suspecting his intentions, quickly barri 
 caded all the streets leading to the Horse-Market, so 
 that he remained closely cooped up within it, with 
 out the power of escape. There for twenty-four 
 hours they kept him and his men, without food or 
 drink ; and they did not fail to assail his ears with 
 taunts the most cutting and bitter, for his defection 
 from the popular cause. The populace thronged 
 the streets and the tops of the buildings, or mounted 
 the barricades, and poured their jeers upon him till 
 he wept for vexation and shame. 
 
 " Do you remember that in that place your father 
 lost his head ? " 
 
 " Have you come in that guise to visit his grave?" 
 
 " Lift up two or three stones, and you will see 
 your father s blood." 
 
 is the person here alluded to. This cannot be, if my genealogy is 
 correct. I have a list of all the children of the Count, with names 
 and dates specified so minutely, that it must have been copied from 
 authentic family records. According to this, Charles was an infant 
 child when his father was executed, and therefore could not have 
 been in command of infantry eleven years later, whereas Philip 
 was ten years old at his father s death, was his eldest son, and was 
 therefore twenty-one years old when these transactions occurred. 
 I infer, therefore, that Philip, and not Charles, was the person al 
 luded to. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 273 
 
 The burghers had him completely in their power ; 
 but on that spot they could not raise a hand against 
 the son whose father s blood they had sworn to 
 avenge ; and after these bitter reproaches they threw 
 down the barricades and let him go. He marched 
 out with his infantry, being stung with chagrin, and 
 perhaps remorse ; but he met with better success a 
 few days after, in surprising and capturing the town 
 of Ninhoven. 
 
 During the progress of the war in the Nether 
 lands, France became the scene of civil strife be 
 tween the Catholics and the Huguenots. The Cath 
 olics had formed the celebrated " League," under 
 the lead of the Duke of Guise, had triumphed in 
 every part of the kingdom, and were in possession 
 of the capital. The Huguenots, with Henry of Na 
 varre at their head, lately proclaimed King on the 
 assassination of Henry III., were gaining strength 
 and besieging the capital, when Philip of Spain 
 ordered a detachment from the army in the Neth 
 erlands to support the Catholic cause, " If," he 
 writes to Parma, " you wish to make me forget the 
 destruction of the Armada, succor my good city of 
 Paris." 
 
 Parma, therefore, sent a strong detachment under 
 the command of Philip Egmond, who joined the 
 Leaguers just before the battle of Ivry. In that 
 battle Philip Egmond was slain, and nearly all his 
 troops cut to pieces, and the Huguenots gained a 
 complete and brilliant victory. It is the subject of 
 one of Macaulay s most stirring ballads, in which 
 Egmond is alluded to. 
 
274 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 " Now God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned his rein, 
 D Aumale hath cried for quarter, the Flemish count is slain ; 
 Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ; 
 The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail." 
 
 So ended the life of Philip, eldest son of Count 
 Lamoral Egmond. Ingloriously it ended we should 
 say, for it was devoted to a cause whose injus 
 tice had crushed his father, broken the heart of his 
 mother, and sent his sisters into convents to pine 
 with sorrow. He is said even to have insulted his 
 father s memory for the sake of gaining the royal 
 favor. He had his reward. He obtained that fa 
 vor, and his paternal estates were restored to him ; 
 but he lost his life fighting side by side with those 
 whose hands were yet red with the massacre of St. 
 Bartholomew, for such were the Leaguers who fell 
 at the battle of Ivry. He was thirty-two years old 
 when his career closed. He had married Marie 
 van Home, sister of the Count of Houtkerke, who 
 had married Leonora, his eldest sister. 
 
 The histories say that Philip Egmond died with 
 out issue.* My genealogical memorials say " with 
 out issue male," and that he probably left an only 
 child and daughter, Marie Lamoral Egmond. Cer 
 tainly we find Marie Lamoral Egmond, daughter 
 of Philip Egmond, living soon after at Amsterdam. 
 God be merciful to her, and shield her from the 
 storms ! 
 
 John Bourchier Sayer, whom we have surnamed 
 the Nimble, died in Amsterdam, and we suppose 
 that he and his beloved Bessie slept together at last 
 with the English exiles. What became of all their 
 
THE PILGRIM. 275 
 
 children we do not know. But their little Johnny, 
 who first opened his eyes at Plymouth on his moth 
 er and Doctor Pomp, came up bravely in some way 
 through croup and scarlet-fever, and ripened into 
 manhood. Through the hydraulic operations of 
 Katreen van der Speigle he came forth healthful 
 and strong, and meeting somehow and somewhere 
 Marie Lamoral Egmond, the orphan girl, we sup 
 pose they went through all the preliminaries of love 
 and courtship. At any rate, they were married, and 
 lived, as we imagine, in the old house on the Princen 
 Graat. The accounts say that he acquired through 
 her a large fortune, principally in money. He made 
 long and strenuous efforts to recover also his own 
 ancestral estates in England, but in vain. 
 
 A few years after this marriage, a little boy who 
 was the fruit of it might be seen in the streets of 
 Amsterdam, playing on the Princen Graat, plash 
 ing in the canal, and lounging under the linden- 
 trees. Fortunately, his face has been preserved by 
 the painter, and it appears to us as if more of 
 Egmond blood than English were mantling in his 
 cheeks. He has a mild blue eye, a florid counte 
 nance that looks inexpressibly sweet, ruby lips, 
 bright yellow hair that hangs curling down his 
 neck ; and he wears the appearance of a sensitive 
 amiability that shrinks from the wrongs and con 
 flicts of this turbulent world. Ah! he has come 
 into it at the wrong time, and in the wrong place, 
 as we shall very soon have occasion to see. This 
 is RICHARD THE PILGRIM, the subject of the story 
 which we now have in hand. The dates of his 
 
276 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 birth are provokingly variant and irreconcilable, but 
 the true date must have been something earlier than 
 1600. The Spanish war was soon over after that, 
 but upon what other conflict scarcely less fierce 
 and virulent did the amiable little fellow open his 
 eyes ! or how did he get startled by it from his 
 boy-dreams, as he plashed in the lazy canal! 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Backward to the Past I wandered, 
 To the old, white-bearded Past ; 
 
 Then he bade me sit beside him, 
 By the hand he held me fast." 
 
 JOHN BOURCHIER SAYER, the son of Nimble John 
 and his wife, Marie L. Egmond, were Catholics. 
 Long and bitter and unavailing was the contro 
 versy with his Protestant kinsfolk at Colchester, 
 England. They were determined to keep him ex 
 cluded from his paternal estates, and they even 
 charged him with complicity in the " Gunpowder 
 Plot," and threatened to bring him to punishment 
 for it, should be set foot in England. Our young 
 Richard, then, the pensive boy with the yellow locks, 
 is to be educated in the Catholic faith, through the 
 instructions of both the parents. A difficult task 
 they will have of it, we imagine, where the whole 
 air is reeking with Protestantism. We imagine, 
 too, that, when the boy gets old enough, he will ask 
 who murdered his grandfather, and who killed the 
 Prince of Orange, and by what means. 
 
 The forty years struggle of the Netherlands with 
 Spain had now come to a close, and tales of indi- 
 
 24 
 
278 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 vidual prowess, heroism, and suffering had become 
 nursery stories, to fire the imagination of the next 
 generation, and make its hatred burn unrelentingly 
 against the Spaniard and his religion. Such tales 
 make a more indelible impression upon the young 
 mind than histories of sieges and battles, and the 
 times just ended had an inexhaustible fund of anec 
 dote for the fireside through generations to come. 
 They have more to do than the Catechism in giv 
 ing to the young their biases and impressions, and 
 we shall give a few which must have gone a good 
 way to modify Richard s ideas of Catholicism. 
 
 Among the inventions of cruelty which the Cath 
 olic Inquisitors had brought into the Netherlands, 
 there was a mode of punishment by burying alive. 
 In the year 1597, there was a single instance of it, 
 which was related for years afterwards, and prob 
 ably had as much influence in fomenting in young 
 minds a hatred of Popery, as the woodcut of John 
 Rogers s martyrdom in the New England Primer 
 had among the children of the Puritans. 
 
 Executions for heresy had become infrequent, 
 and loud professions of the clemency and mercy of 
 Philip II. had been made, and it was in the very 
 midst of these professions that a spectacle was ex 
 hibited at Ghent that thrilled the people with new 
 spasms of hatred and revenge. 
 
 A woman named Annette van der Hove, aged 
 about forty years, in the humble station of a servant, 
 but of unblemished reputation, was tried for heresy, 
 condemned, and sentenced to be buried alive. She 
 was educated in the Reformed religion, and had re- 
 
THE PILGRIM. 279 
 
 \ 
 
 ceived it in the simplicity of her heart. While in 
 prison, the priest called upon her, as usual, to make 
 her retract her opinions. The wisdom and becom 
 ing modesty with which she answered him were re 
 ported to the admiration of all. 
 
 " As far as I am capable of judging, I believe 
 myself to be right ; but if not, I am guilty of a mis 
 take, which in one so ignorant may well be par 
 doned ; but I shall merit the just vengeance of 
 Heaven, if under the influence of fear I should sub 
 scribe to the truth of what I believe to be false, even 
 though it should prove to be true." 
 
 The pit was dug, and she was led forth to it, and 
 let down in a standing posture. As the execution 
 er filled it up, the Jesuit priest who attended her had 
 ample time to ply her with arguments for her con 
 version. The earth had reached to her shoulders. 
 
 " Are you willing now to change your faith ? " 
 
 " I will not fear," she replied, u this dreadful 
 death, it is for the truth. Into the Lord s hand I 
 commend my spirit." 
 
 The executioner continued to stamp the earth 
 around her and above her. The crowd heard her 
 groans and cries of agony stifled more and more 
 until the dreadful business was over. 
 
 It is said that all the blood which had been shed 
 before the commencement of the war had less influ 
 ence than the death of this one poor woman. It 
 passed into nursery tales ; it was told with pale 
 cheeks and quivering lips ; it reached undoubtedly 
 our boy with the bright locks on the Princen Graat, 
 and sank down into his pensive spirit. 
 
280 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 Among the many incidents in the destruction of 
 Naarden, there was one which took a despotic hold 
 of the imagination, and passed also into the nursery 
 tales. The town had been surrendered to Alva s 
 troops, on the express condition that the lives and 
 properties of all the inhabitants should be preserved, 
 and the citizens take a new oath to the King of 
 Spain. The burghers were summoned, and came 
 unarmed to the town-house for the purpose of tak 
 ing the oath, while their wives were busy in prepa 
 rations for the entertainment of the strangers. The 
 town-hall was filled with the peaceful burghers, 
 and surrounded with Spanish soldiers, A Catho 
 lic priest walked to and fro before the town-hall 
 for some time, and then turned suddenly upon the 
 burghers and bade them prepare for death ; where 
 upon the soldiers fired upon them, and instantly five 
 hundred lay dead upon the floor, and the building 
 was set on fire. Then commenced the slaughter 
 through the city. One Herbert Williamson, a hardy 
 blacksmith, snatched up a three-legged stool for a 
 shield in one hand, and a sword in the other, and 
 defended the entrance to his house till several 
 Spaniards were laid dead in the passage. But he 
 sinks overpowered by numbers, grasps with his 
 horny hands the blades of two swords that are 
 plunged into his body, severing his fingers in their 
 way His daughter rushes out and kneels for mer 
 cy, and for answer the quivering fingers of her father 
 are flung into her face. The women of Naarden are 
 thrown into the wells and drowned. Alva approved 
 of the proceedings, and Philip and the Pope both 
 
THE PILGRIM. 281 
 
 gave to Alva their " Well done, good and faithful 
 servant!" Tales of which these are a specimen 
 were among Richard s first lessons in Catholicism ! 
 
 Stories of adventure and personal heroism were 
 equally abundant, and for a long time formed the 
 staple of nursery anecdotes, setting forth the prow 
 ess and magnanimity of the Reformers. Among 
 these was the story of " the boatmen of Liere." 
 
 The town of Breda was in the hands of the 
 Spaniards, and it was important that it should be 
 recovered. Some boatmen of the village of Liere 
 were accustomed to supply the garrison of Breda 
 with fuel, and they intimated to Maurice that the 
 town could be taken. One Charles Heraguire was 
 intrusted with the execution of the plan. He hired 
 a vessel, contrived in the bottom of it a place of 
 concealment capable of holding seventy persons, 
 and covered with boards, over which was placed a 
 cargo of turf. Sixty-eight persons were picked for 
 the enterprise, nearly all beardless boys, but full of 
 courage and patriotism. They were stowed away 
 under the boards, and had to sit close, and in a 
 stooping posture. The vessel sprung a leak, and 
 filled with water up to their knees, and in this state 
 they came into the harbor of Breda. The corporal 
 of the citadel came on board to inspect the cargo. 
 One of the men concealed under it, in the cold and 
 wet, is seized with a propensity to cough, which 
 would betray them all to certain destruction. Where 
 upon he gave his poignard to one of his fellows, say 
 ing, " Kill me instantly the moment I make a noise." 
 Fortunately it was not necessary. The cargo is in- 
 
 24* 
 
282 THE riLGRIM. 
 
 spected, the ship unladen by soldiers of the garrison, 
 and the silence of midnight has ensued. The ship, 
 like the Trojan horse, then empties its fatal contents. 
 They encounter the sentinel at the gate, and run him 
 through ; they seize the garrison, and in a short time 
 are in complete possession of Breda. 
 
 The story of " the baker of Antwerp " and of 
 " Regnier Klaaszoon," who blew himself up in the 
 midst of the Spanish galleons, belonged to the same 
 class, and helped to make up that body of tradition 
 which more than general history tends to fire the 
 young mind with admiration of personal bravery, 
 and detestation of the tyranny that called it forth. 
 
 The twelve years truce was agreed upon in 1609, 
 when Richard Sayer might have been about nine 
 teen years old. If the events which had preceded, 
 and which furnished every tavern, street, fireside, 
 and nursery with their fund of traditional lore, were 
 not adapted to draw a sensitive and thinking mind 
 towards Catholicism, those which immediately fol 
 lowed were adapted quite as little to draw it to 
 wards the Reformed religion of the Netherlands. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Truth for ever on the scaffold, wrong for ever on the throne." 
 
 LOWELL. 
 
 AFTER the Spanish war was ended, a religious 
 one followed, a war of sect with sect; and the 
 passions of the human heart blazed aloft as fierce 
 and lurid as before. The boy was educated in the 
 midst of its tumults, and its contentions constituted 
 his daily surroundings, at the period when the mind 
 receives its first religious ideas. It was the famous 
 controversy between the Calvinists and Arminians, 
 which ended in the subjugation of the latter, and 
 the judicial murder of Barneveldt. This contro 
 versy probably had something to do in causing 
 Richard to quit the country, We will give as dis 
 tinct an idea of it as we can, in the brief summary 
 of a single chapter. The following are the prin 
 cipals among the dramatis persons of the contro 
 versy. 
 
 MAURICE OF NASSAU, son of the Prince of Orange, 
 was only seventeen years old when his father was 
 assassinated. But he soon manifested military tal 
 ents unrivalled by any commander in Europe. He 
 carried Holland successfully through the long Span- 
 
284 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 ish war. He scarcely ever lost a battle, and he 
 kept the Spaniards at bay, while his countrymen 
 cultivated the fields ; indeed, all the arts of peace 
 flourished within the sound of arms. But the no 
 blest virtues are not nourished in a camp. Maurice 
 became imperious, ambitious, and impatient of all 
 opposition ; and when peace returned was the most 
 dangerous man whom a free state could have among 
 its citizens. 
 
 JOHN OWEN BARNEVELDT was the great states 
 man of Holland after the fall of Orange. He was 
 first in council, as Maurice was the first in the field. 
 Pure, wise, patriotic, and just, the whole country 
 looked up to him as its venerable and benignant 
 father. When the truce with Spain was under 
 negotiation, Maurice opposed it, and was in favor 
 of a continuance of the war. Barneveldt saw 
 through his ambitious designs, and thwarted them 
 by procuring an auspicious and glorious peace. 
 Maurice from that time became his secret enemy. 
 
 There were two Professors at the University of 
 Leyden, who were destined to open a religious con 
 troversy of wide-spread and fearful consequences. 
 FRANCIS GOMAR was a man of sour temper and 
 turbulent disposition ; a teacher of theology, but 
 delighting less in its flowery fields than its tangles 
 of thorns and briers. His face looks out from one 
 of the huge woodcuts of Brandt s folio history of 
 the Reformation ; his eye appears hard and stony, 
 and his features have evidently been shaped under 
 the influence of ghastly contemplations. 
 
 The other Professor was JAMES ARMINIUS, a man 
 
THE PILGRIM. 285 
 
 of vast learning, mild and amiable manners, and a 
 persuasive and silvery eloquence. In one of his 
 lectures, he seemed to call in question the doctrine 
 of Calvin on predestination, and excited the oppo 
 sition of Gomar. The dispute waxed warmer and 
 warmer, the students took sides, and the University 
 became a scene of strife. At first, the dispute was 
 carried on in Latin. But the ministers took up the 
 controversy, and fulminated from the pulpits in the 
 vernacular tongue. The people took it up after 
 them, and in a short time men at their business, 
 ladies in the drawing-room, washerwomen at their 
 tubs, girls at school, and boys in the streets, were 
 spluttering fiercely in Dutch about " fixed fate, free 
 will, foreknowledge absolute." The dispute waxed 
 hot and virulent, and all Holland was involved in 
 the blaze. 
 
 From a war of words, it became a war of blows, 
 and Amsterdam was the first scene of violence. 
 There the Calvinists were in a decided majority, 
 and the city government was in their hands. The 
 Arminians had hired a large warehouse as a place 
 of worship, and one Sunday morning they had as 
 sembled within it for divine service, to the number 
 of eighteen hundred. Scarcely had the preacher 
 opened his lips, when a mob collected oir 
 broke in the windows, and rushed upon the preach 
 er to drag him from his desk. The women, quite 
 as brave as Jenny Geddes, formed a guard about 
 him, and defended him with their stools. The as 
 sailants then withdrew, and nailed up the only door 
 of the building, and were about to set fire to it, and 
 
286 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 roast the Arminians alive together. But the latter 
 broke through the door and made their escape, the 
 minister at the peril of his life, when the building 
 was plundered, and the tiles stripped from the roof. 
 The magistrates, being Calvinists, refused to punish 
 the rioters. 
 
 Encouraged by this impunity, the mob assembled 
 in the streets the next Sabbath, at first in knots and 
 companies that stood in evil consultation. Passing 
 the house of a wealthy Arminian by the name of 
 Bishop, a brother of the famous Episcopius, some 
 one cried out, " Here the Arminians preach." It 
 was the signal for assault. They broke into the 
 house, and plundered it from garret to cellar, the 
 police refusing to defend it or stop the rioters. The 
 family escaped with their lives through a back door. 
 The next day the mob assembled for fresh outrage, 
 and the principal merchants threatened to leave the 
 city. Considerations of trade brought the magis 
 trates to a sense of duty, and soldiers were immedi 
 ately stationed to restore order. It is mentioned 
 as a curious instance of sectarian conscientiousness, 
 that the Calvinist clergy, who had preached with 
 great solemnity against dances, and gay dress, never 
 expressed the slightest disapprobation of these at 
 tempts to rob and murder the Arminians. 
 
 The example was contagious. In other towns 
 and cities where the authorities were Calvinist," 
 mobs rose upon the Arminians, and were encour 
 aged in their violence. At last, the persecuted sect 
 appealed to the government for protection. Bar- 
 neveldt was at the head of the State Council, by 
 
THE PILGRIM. 287 
 
 whom a decree was issued, that there should be a 
 new levy of troops in all the principal towns, who 
 should enforce order and keep the peace. 
 
 Maurice had watched his hour, and it had now 
 come. He allied himself with the Calvinists, in 
 opposition to Barneveldt, and formed his plan to 
 subvert the government, and rise to despotic power 
 on the down-trodden liberties of Holland. He fa 
 vored the scheme of the Calvinists, of a general 
 synod to condemn the Arminians, and he put 
 himself at the head of two companies of infantry, 
 marched into the towns and cities where the new 
 levies had been raised, and disarmed and disbanded 
 them. This open defiance of the civil power was 
 followed by more atrocious outrages. Barneveldt 
 and three of his friends were arrested by the body 
 guard of Maurice, and thrown into prison, without 
 the least color of legal authority. 
 
 The famous Synod of Dort was convened, com 
 posed of the most violent enemies of the Armini 
 ans. It was backed by the authority of Maurice, 
 and was a clear usurpation of the rights of Holland. 
 By the terms of union between the seven provinces, 
 each retained the exclusive control of its own relig 
 ious affairs. But the Synod assumed that control, 
 and condemned the Arminians, who, by the States- 
 General, the Assembly of the seven provinces, 
 with Maurice at their head, were sentenced to 
 silence or banishment, and they generally chose 
 the latter. 
 
 Then followed a scene, which sent a shudder 
 through the civilized world, The aged Barneveldt, 
 
288 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 grown gray in his country s service, the incorrupti 
 ble patriot, Christian, and sage, around whom, in the 
 hour of distress, the people had clung for protection, 
 as children around a father, was led forth from 
 prison to a mock trial, and condemned to die. His 
 only crime was the levy of the new troops, to pro 
 tect the citizens from Calvinist mobs, a course 
 perfectly legal and necessary, though other char 
 ges of a frivolous nature were brought against him. 
 It was a most affecting sight, when the old man 
 was led forth to execution, leaning on the arm of a 
 faithful servant, through the multitude, many of 
 whom averted their faces and wept. Had Wash 
 ington been led to the scaffold at the close of his 
 glorious services, the sight could hardly have been 
 more afflictive to good men. As he ascended the 
 platform, he repeated the lines of Horace : 
 
 " Justum, et tenacem propositi virum, 
 Non civium ardor prava jubentium, 
 Non vultus instantis tyranni 
 Mente quatit solida." * 
 
 In front of the saloon of the court-house, where 
 the ambassadors of the haughty Philip had come 
 to him and sued for peace, the old patriot and sage 
 bared his neck to the axe, and his gray head rolled 
 upon the scaffold. 
 
 The tragedy moved on till the reign of terror un 
 der Maurice and Calvinism was complete. Every 
 
 * " Not the rage of the people commanding wicked measures, not the 
 face of a threatening tyrant, can shake the settled purpose of the man 
 just and determined in his resolve." 
 
THE PILGRIM. 289 
 
 Arminian clergyman was deposed from office, and 
 the Arminian assemblies were broken up. To at 
 tend their worship subjected the offender to heavy 
 penalties. Still they assembled. Outside the city 
 walls, in woods, in deserts, at midnight and under 
 the watching stars, they lifted up to the naked sky 
 their low and tremulous song. But the hunters 
 were ever on the scent, and armed men would break 
 in on their lonely devotions, and turn the place of 
 worship into a scene of massacre. The old Spanish 
 cruelties were acted over again, and Calvinism, with 
 the decrees of the Synod of Dort, committed pre 
 cisely the crimes against human nature that it had 
 complained of so bitterly when Philip, with the de 
 crees of the Council of Trent, was forcing the In 
 quisition on the Netherlands. 
 
 25 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Then the good old Past would leave me, 
 
 With the full tears in my eyes, 
 That our pathway is no longer 
 Hand in hand to Paradise." 
 
 THERE is no period in the life of the individual 
 so decisive and so full of interest as that in which 
 he chooses between diverse and conflicting forms 
 of religious belief. Those who receive a tradi 
 tional belief, or those whose minds are sluggish 
 and earthly, have no such struggle to go through. 
 "Richard, now a young man, not only rejected the 
 traditional faith; but, identified as it was with 
 Spanish cruelties, it must have haunted his sensi 
 tive mind with frightful horrors. But the domi 
 nant religion of Protestantism, as he had seen it 
 exhibited in Holland, had features equally fright 
 ful and repulsive. He had seen it denouncing 
 the natural sports of childhood, and then mobbing 
 peaceful citizens ; he saw its robes crimson with the 
 blood of Barneveldt, and he saw that it kept in its 
 employ, and as a part of its establishment, a pack 
 of hounds to smell out Arminians and hunt them 
 to death. Even when the civil power relented, he 
 
THE PILGRIM. 291 
 
 saw the clergy urging them on with a zeal that 
 had settled down into chronic hate. If the penal 
 edicts were relaxed, they petitioned the States- 
 General, and, calling themselves the " Sorrowing 
 Church," deprecated calling off the hunters from 
 their appropriate work. With his warm religious 
 temperament, what must have been the feelings of 
 our young man, when he found himself cut loose 
 from the religions of his day, and adrift on a sea 
 of doubt and speculation! The question must 
 have pressed painfully upon him as he walked the 
 streets of Amsterdam : u Is there any religion 
 which is true, amid this tumult, bloodshed, and 
 wrong?" and, with his constitutional love of 
 peace, he must have sighed for some far-off spot 
 over which the waves of bitterness had never 
 rolled. 
 
 He found it. I do not know what first called 
 him to Leyden, or at what precise point of time. 
 But we find him there during the troubles described 
 in the preceding pages, joining his fortunes to those 
 of an obscure company of strangers, who had fled 
 to Holland out of England for protection. As 
 Richard Sayer was never a Calvinist, but held in 
 after life the tolerant sentiments of the Arminians, 
 there is some reason to believe that he sympathized 
 with them at this time, and it is quite possible that 
 the sellouts and bailiffs may have been upon his 
 track. 
 
 At any rate, we find him at Leyden joined to a 
 small but rneek company of worshippers, who met 
 every Sunday at a private house, and whose sim- 
 
292 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 pie worship, primitive manners, and loving spirit 
 were calculated to charm a young mind which had 
 a tinge of religious romance, arid was yearning for 
 a communion which had never been tainted with 
 the principles of intolerance. 
 
 A company of three hundred persons came to 
 Leyden in 1609, just about the time of the 
 armistice with Spain. They must have been there 
 several years when Richard joined them. They 
 excited little notice at Leyden, except as an indus 
 trious and sober people, honest in their dealings, 
 plain in their dress, pure in their lives, at peace 
 among themselves, and warm in their affections 
 towards each other. Public worship was not al 
 lowed them, as only the Presbyterian form was 
 tolerated by the government, but they met unmo 
 lested at the house of their pastor. This was none 
 other than John Robinson, a man who leaned on 
 the bosom of his Lord all the year, there to get 
 comfort and strength in his many and bitter trials. 
 Never since the primitive days had there been such 
 a flock with such a pastor as assembled in that 
 house at Leyden. Trial and hardship had pencilled 
 their features with the lines of care, but at the same 
 time it had clothed them in the meekest of the 
 Christian graces, made them patient arid gentle, for 
 giving towards their enemies, and tolerant towards 
 all the disciples of the Lord Jesus. Common dan 
 gers and hardships had knit them to each other by 
 the strongest ties of love, and even a stranger, 
 as he looked in upon the little company while 
 they were engaged in worship, would be touched 
 
THE PILGRJM. 293 
 
 with sympathy, especially during the singing and the 
 prayer ; for their faces would be rapt like Stephen s 
 with visions of supersensual glory, and their fervid 
 psalms, touching a thousand memories of dark 
 dangers and Divine deliverances, would bring the 
 tears of gratitude from all their eyes in a sweet 
 and gentle rain. " It was the sweetest melody," 
 says one of their number, "that ever mine ears 
 heard." While the noise of tongues was sound 
 ing everywhere else, and the billows of strife were 
 dashing on every side, this flock at Leyden occu 
 pied a charmed spot, which was never disturbed, 
 as if "Peace, be still!" from the lips of the Master, 
 were breathed over it in perpetual benediction. 
 
 The reader will please take his map and cast his 
 eye over the northern counties of England. You 
 will find two counties, Nottinghamshire and Lin 
 colnshire, lying adjacent, and both cornering up on 
 the line of Yorkshire. There, as you perceive, a 
 pin s point touches upon those three counties ; and 
 about that point there are three towns which were 
 never large enough to have a place on the maps, 
 but which nevertheless contained the elements of 
 a mighty empire. These towns were Austerfield, 
 Scrooby, and Bawtry, lying near to each other 
 in the three counties severally ; the first in Lincoln 
 shire, the second in Nottinghamshire, and the third 
 in Yorkshire. They are agricultural towns, and 
 the whole region surrounding is an agricultural 
 region, and in the times of which we write was 
 occupied by a population in a happy medium be 
 tween poverty and riches. It contained a class of 
 
 25* 
 
294 THp PILGRIM. 
 
 sturdy farmers with their families, who worked 
 through the week and worshipped God in neat at 
 tire when Sunday came round. Away from court 
 influence, away from the town with its luxuries or 
 its destitutions, they dwelt amid corn-fields and 
 sheep and kine, read little, saved something from 
 their hard earnings, and thought somewhat about 
 God and futurity.* 
 
 The English Church had been established. Con 
 formity Vith its rites of worship was required by 
 act of Parliament, and non-conformity punished 
 with fine and imprisonment. Wealth, rank, sta 
 tion, and respectability were with the Established 
 Church ; the throne, and the aristocracy next to it, 
 were firmly allied with prelacy, and they pressed 
 down with a weight that either crushed out non 
 conformity or ground it to the earth. The English 
 Episcopal Church had also its bloodhounds, that 
 sought out and worried the non-conformists in a 
 manner much as we have described that of the 
 Calvinists in their treatment of the Arminians in 
 Holland. 
 
 But in that class which constitutes the middle 
 stratum of English life, made up mainly of the 
 Anglo-Saxon element, there was a growing number 
 who desired a more ascetic religion, and a more se 
 vere morality, than were to be found in the Estab 
 lishment. Its May-days, its dances, its bear-bait 
 ings, its theatre-going, were opposed to their notions 
 of godly living ; and its robes and surplices were in 
 
 * See the pamphlet containing the late researches of Rev. Robert 
 Hunter. It is in the library of Harvard College. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 295 
 
 their eyes no better than the rags of Popery. This 
 growing number of people who kept the Sabbath, 
 and who prayed not by reciting from the prayer- 
 book, but wrestled with God in secret, got the name 
 of Puritans ; and so early as the reign of Elizabeth 
 were- said by Sir Walter Raleigh to comprise twen 
 ty thousand people throughout England. These 
 were the descendants of " the men that wore fag 
 ots," and their co-operators and co-thinkers, de 
 scribed in a former page. Puritanism was simply 
 Lollardism getting ripe and going to seed. They 
 had no visible organization, and they sought safety 
 in obscurity. We find them now and then gather 
 ing to a head around some nucleus of a conventi 
 cle, and among the earliest of these manifestations 
 were those in the neighborhood of the obscure towns 
 in the North, Austerfield, Scrooby, and Bawtry. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Till men s persons great afflictions touch, 
 If worth be found, their worth is not so much, 
 Because, like wheat in straw, they have not yet 
 That value which in threshing they may get/ 
 
 THERE was a man by the name of Davison, Sec 
 retary in the Court of Queen Elizabeth, who fell 
 under the sore displeasure of that royal termagant. 
 It is a curious story, and is not generally told truly 
 in the popular histories. Elizabeth signed the death- 
 warrant of her cousin, the Queen of Scots, and gave 
 it to Davison that he might take it to Walsingham 
 to receive the royal seal. Meanwhile, before the 
 warrant was to be despatched, she devised means of 
 getting Mary taken off, so as not to bear before the 
 world the fearful responsibility herself. She fore 
 saw the odium it would bring upon her. She there 
 fore ordered Walsingham and Davison to write to 
 Sir Amyas Paulet and Sir Drue Drury, keepers of 
 Fotheringay Castle, and let them know that it was 
 the Queen s pleasure that they should have Mary 
 put out of the way secretly, and on their own re 
 sponsibility. The horrified keepers refused the busi 
 ness. Still Elizabeth brooded over a private mur- 
 
THE PILGRIM. 297 
 
 der. Meanwhile, her Council, knowing the fact, and 
 fearing that the Queen would shift the burden on 
 their shoulders, or delay the affair from time to time, 
 and die before the deed was done, sent off the death- 
 warrant privately, and without her knowledge. Ma 
 ry was thus executed at the very hour when Eliza 
 beth was lamenting that some one who professed to 
 love her would not take the business off her hands ; 
 and she actually did not know of the execution till 
 she heard the bells of London ringing in honor of 
 the event. She was enraged with her ministers for 
 deceiving her, but she vented her wrath principally 
 on Davison. She imposed a ruinous fine upon him, 
 and sent him to the Tower.* 
 
 This event had an influence on the fortunes of 
 another person, very interesting to those who like to 
 trace the causes of events, and the inter-connection 
 of each with all. Davison while in favor at court 
 had in his employ a private secretary named Wil 
 liam Brewster. He was a man of good abilities 
 and unswerving honesty, and withal given to relig 
 ious meditations. After the fall of Davison, he still 
 clung to his patron as a friend, visited him in pris 
 on, and did everything in his power to soothe his 
 grief and alleviate his misfortunes. But he had 
 seen the vanity of human greatness, and in the 
 mock-sunshine of the court had learned thoroughly 
 the lesson which Wolsey learned too late, and Da 
 vison after him. 
 
 * All this is proved beyond doubt by the " State Papers/ and by 
 private letters given in Miss Strickland s Lives of the Queens, Vol. 
 VI, pp. 50 - G4. 
 
298 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 " Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ! 
 I feel my heart new opened. O how wretched 
 Is that poor man that hangs on princes favors ! 
 There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again." 
 
 Brewster, being now about thirty-eight years 
 old, sought a place of retirement, far away from 
 court, where he might give up his mind, unmolested, 
 to religious exercises and contemplations. He se 
 lected the little town of Scrooby in Nottingham 
 shire, already described. There was an old manor- 
 house in the village, which had formerly been occu 
 pied by the Archbishops of York, but which had 
 fallen into neglect and decay. Brewster rented it, 
 and retired thither with his wife and family. The 
 parish church was close by, but Brewster did not 
 attend it, preferring private worship in his own fam 
 ily ; and on Sunday, around " the old blessed Bible 
 that lay on the stand," he and his wife, with the 
 children, Jonathan, Love, Wrestling, Patience, and 
 Fear, gathered for a special exercise of exhortation 
 and prayer. Godly neighbors came in and joined 
 them, people whom the formalities of the Church 
 ritual did not satisfy, while they hungered for the 
 bread of life. The old manor-house gradually gath 
 ered within it a little congregation, that hung with 
 rapt attention on the prayers and prophesyings of 
 Brewster. He was something of a scholar, had 
 studied at Cambridge, was fully imbued with the 
 Puritan theology, and withal had a singular gift 
 
THE PILGRIM. 299 
 
 " in ripping up the heart and conscience before 
 God." It was not long before the congregation 
 gathered at his house so regularly, as to require the 
 work and oversight of a regular pastor. 
 
 Not far off from Scrooby, in the town of Bab- 
 worth, lived a gray-haired old man by the name of 
 Richard Clifton, who had been a rector of the 
 church in that place, but had embraced Puritan 
 sentiments, and probably been silenced for non-con 
 formity. At any rate, he came to Scrooby, and was 
 chosen pastor of the congregation that met at Brew- 
 ster s house ; and such was his sanctity and his gift 
 at exhortation, that he drew to him devout people 
 from the rural towns in the neighborhood. He had 
 " a great white beard " hanging down upon his 
 breast, and with such power and pungency did he 
 send home the arrows of truth, that it seemed as if 
 one of the old Apostles had risen from the grave. 
 
 Among those drawn to Brewster s house by the 
 preaching of Clifton, was a boy from the neighbor 
 ing town of Austerfield, which lies just over the line 
 in Lincolnshire. Mark the boy well, for Providence 
 has great designs in bringing him hither ! He is 
 not more than twelve or fourteen years old ; has a 
 pale, meek face ; sickness has made him thoughtful, 
 and the opposition of his own friends and relatives 
 has given him a pensive air. His father died when 
 he was only two years old, and left him in the 
 charge of two uncles. Austerfield was a place of 
 licentiousness and wickedness, and the boy has 
 grown up in sight and hearing of it ; but his long- 
 continued sickness has kept his mind fixed on bet- 
 
300 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 ter things ; he has read his Bible much, and, as some 
 one conjectures, has had access to a choice library 
 in possession of one of his uncles, where slaking 
 his early thirst for knowledge has only made him 
 thirst the more. He walks every Sunday over the 
 Idle, a brook that flows languidly between Aus- 
 terfield and Scrooby, and the sermons of the old 
 man with " a great white beard" have made an in 
 delible impression on his soul. 
 
 His uncles oppose the course he is taking, and 
 there are profane wits enough in Austerfield to 
 scoff at the young Puritan for his precocious pi 
 etism. But it is all in vain. A special Providence 
 is training him and leading him on ; for that little 
 band at Brewster s house are to colonize a mighty 
 empire, and that pale boy is to be its guide and 
 stay through its first dark and perilous years. This 
 boy is William Bradford, the future Governor of 
 the Plymouth colony. 
 
 Not long after this, the congregation received 
 another accession. John Robinson had been a 
 preacher of the Established Church near Yarmouth 
 in Norfolk, but he had been " harried " for non 
 conformity, and his friends almost ruined in the 
 ecclesiastical courts. Seeking obscurity and the 
 quiet and unmolested worship of God, he also found 
 his way to Scrooby. Never since the apostolic days 
 was there a character in which the opposite qual 
 ities of firmness and meekness were more beauti 
 fully blended. He separated from the English 
 Church without a particle of bitterness towards its 
 communion ; he embraced the rigid theology of the 
 
THE PILGRIM. 301 
 
 Puritans, which he held with a gentle and an all- 
 comprehending charity. The hardest trials made 
 his temper more mild, and his piety more serene ; 
 and persecution and wrong only set free in a 
 more signal manner that spirit of toleration which 
 breathed from his heart like a heavenly perfume. 
 He was associated with Clifton in the pastorate of 
 the church in Brewster s house, and when Clifton 
 removed to Amsterdam, Robinson was left in sole 
 charge of it. 
 
 Thus and in an obscure corner originated the 
 congregation which in a preceding chapter we 
 have described as being at Leyden, where Richard 
 Sayer found them, and joined their number. Why 
 they left Scrooby and removed to Leyden, and 
 throligh what perils and hardships, has been de 
 scribed by Bradford, who became the historian of 
 the Pilgrim church. It will be readily conceived 
 that the old manor-house at Scrooby did not con 
 ceal them a great while, or shield them from the 
 tender mercies of the bishops and the officials of 
 the ecclesiastical courts. They were fined, impris 
 oned, and worried, till they finally resolved on re 
 moval to Holland. They went in separate com 
 panies, first to Amsterdam, where some of them 
 remained, the aged Clifton among the rest ; but 
 most of the Scrooby congregation came finally to 
 Leyden; Brewster, Robinson, and Bradford being 
 the leading spirits of the enterprise, and infusing 
 through its affairs an immortal energy. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Wild heather floors and rolling convex skies 
 Their temples now." 
 
 WITH what delightful emotions must the hero of 
 our simple narrative have listened to the preaching 
 of Robinson, as he first joined the Pilgrim congrega 
 tion at Leyden ! Except in the persons of the per 
 secuted and almost extinguished Arminians, Chris 
 tianity had been exhibited to him only as a gloomy 
 and bloody superstition. We have reason to sup 
 pose that he sought Robinson at Leyden, and was 
 drawn to him by the magnetic power of spirit upon 
 spirit, much as Bradford had been drawn to Clifton at 
 Scrooby. The longing heart and fond imagination 
 of his dreaming boyhood had pictured on his fancy 
 a church and a Christian polity which had nothing 
 corresponding to it in the state of things around 
 him. From what fulness of heart must he have 
 poured into the ear of the Pilgrim pastor the story 
 of his ancestral wrongs, and the sighings of his soul 
 after a religion that came to bless, and not to curse ! 
 And what a contrast must he have felt as soon as 
 he crossed the threshold into the sphere of that meek 
 and loving fellowship, which was like an " orb of 
 tranquillity " in the midst of storms ! 
 
THE PILGRIM. 303 
 
 Robinson believed substantially with the Calvin- 
 ists of Holland, but his whole spirit was that of 
 the Arminians, and their fundamental principle of 
 " God s word above the Catechism and Confession," 
 he adopted, defended, and impressed on the minds 
 of his people. He disputed with the Arminians, 
 held a controversy with Episcopius in the Univer 
 sity, wrote in defence of Predestination ; but no 
 barbed words ever fell from his tongue, and no drop 
 of gall ever flowed from his pen.* He was a ripe 
 scholar, and his piety was not less constant and 
 fervent than his learning was varied and profound. 
 
 It is probable that the struggle was long and se 
 vere, before the final separation of the tie between 
 Richard and his kinsfolk at Amsterdam. We have 
 no record of that struggle ; but his parents being 
 Catholics, and therefore regarding the obscure band 
 of Separatists at Leyden with no favorable eye, it 
 must have been a grievous disappointment when 
 their son joined the despised company of Pilgrims. 
 How many times he travelled from Amsterdam to 
 Leyden before he finally embarked his hopes and his 
 fortunes ; how the love of home and friends strug 
 gled with religious convictions and aspirations ; 
 how his spirit was charmed with the apostolic be 
 nignity and heavenly eloquence of the Pilgrim pas 
 tor, and thrilled and melted by the quivering pathos 
 of the worship, and " the music sweeter than ear 
 
 * Bradford says he " non-plusscd " Episcopius in debate. He 
 must have been a remarkable man to accomplish, single-handed, 
 what the whole Synod of Dort could not, even when backed by the 
 States-General. Bradford s account, however, is evidently colored. 
 
304 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 ever heard," is easy enough to be conceived, in the 
 absence of any record which has been left us. But 
 at the time Richard joined them, they had come to 
 the determination to quit Holland, and seek a home 
 beyond the Western main ; and his imagination was 
 just the one to be captivated by the dream of a 
 Utopia beyond the waters, far away from rumors of 
 strife and dissension, where brethren should dwell 
 together in unity, and worship God free from the 
 pest of the schouts and bailiffs. There they would 
 establish a commonwealth where humanity should 
 start anew, and the Church of Christ arise in the 
 purity and splendor of her primitive days, with no 
 wrinkle on her brow, and no blood-spot on her 
 robes. 
 
 The Scrooby church had been in Holland only 
 about eleven years, when they resolved on a new 
 emigration. Their lot in Holland was a hard one, 
 for though they were at peace among themselves, 
 and their worship was unmolested, yet poverty al 
 ways stared them in the face ; they were strangers 
 and sojourners, and the jargon of a foreign language 
 was always sounding in their ears. What grieved 
 them most of all, their children grew up and left 
 them, sometimes assimilating to the native popula 
 tion, adopting their habits and customs, which were 
 often corrupt, " some becoming soldiers, others tak 
 ing them upon far voyages by sea, and others some 
 worse courses, tending to dissoluteness and the dan 
 ger of their souls." They saw that, if they remained 
 in Ley den, they should ultimately disappear, melt 
 ing away as a soluble element in the foreign pop- 
 
THE PILGRIM. 305 
 
 ulation, instead of establishing a Church that from 
 small beginnings should grow mighty, and invite 
 the poor and oppressed to its sheltering bosom. 
 This was their fondest dream, not only to estab 
 lish a true church for themselves, but one that 
 should endure and be a blessing to all posterity. 
 But whither shall they go ? Sir Walter Raleigh 
 a few years before had published his " Discovery of 
 Guiana," and the gorgeousness of his description 
 had well-nigh captivated the sober imagination of 
 some of the Pilgrims. He calls it " a mighty rich 
 and beautiful empire, lying under the equinoctial 
 line," its capital " that great and golden city 
 which the Spaniards call El Dorado, and the na 
 tives Manoa, and for greatness, richness, and excel 
 lent seat, it far excelleth any of the world." He 
 sailed up the Orinoco in 1595, in quest of this 
 imaginary city. " On both sides of the river we 
 passed the most beautiful country that ever mine 
 eyes beheld, all fair, green grass, the deer cross 
 ing in every path, the birds towards the evening 
 singing on every tree with a thousand several tunes, 
 and every stone we stopped to take up promised 
 either gold or silver by his complexion. For health, 
 good air, pleasure, and riches, I am resolved it can 
 not be equalled by any region either in the East or 
 West." * Some, and " none of the meanest " of 
 the company, were earnest for this land of eternal 
 summer ; but they were outvoted by the majority, 
 
 * Raleigh s Works, Vol. VIII. pp. 381, 398, 427, 442. Quoted by 
 Young, Chronicles, p. 52. 
 
 26* 
 
306 THE 
 
 and Virginia was finally fixed upon, not without 
 misgivings on the part of many. What a future 
 was depending on that debate and that decision ! 
 
 It comes not within our scope to detail the 
 heart-sickening perplexities which intervened be 
 tween their purpose and the execution. After de 
 lays and difficulties, the Speedwell is got ready, 
 and is lying at Delftbaven waiting to take its 
 sorrowful freight on another and more perilous 
 exile. The younger and more vigorous portion of 
 the company, numbering about one hundred and 
 twenty, are to go first ; the elder and more infirm 
 are to tarry behind, and follow on when Providence 
 shall prepare the way. But among those who are 
 going are Brewster and Bradford, not now the pale- 
 faced boy, but the grown man of thirty, schooled in 
 misfortune, unconquerable through faith, and wise 
 and prudent by experience. 
 
 Richard Sayer may have been present to witness 
 that scene, memorable in history, and described in 
 Bradford s style of Hebrew simplicity and pathos. 
 Delfthaven is the harbor of the fine old city of 
 Delft, lying on the Meuse, about fourteen miles 
 south of Leyden. This fourteen miles the Pilgrims 
 are to pass over by the canal. It is the last of 
 July, and the barge takes them over the polders 
 alive with thriving industry, and past the neat 
 cottages with tulips and roses beneath the win 
 dows; but the beautiful prospect on either side 
 must have looked sad enough to the departing 
 exiles. They pass through the city of Delft, and 
 thence the barge comes into the " Haven," which is 
 
THE PILGRIM. 307 
 
 simply a canal, extending from the city down to 
 the river, lined on either bank with old trees and 
 antique houses with gable ends. And now the 
 barge has reached the wharf, where the Speedwell 
 lies ready to receive them. 
 
 Many of the company who are to be left behind, 
 Robinson among them, have accompanied them 
 to the ship, to bid them farewell. They all kneel 
 down together upon the wharf, with faces turned 
 heavenward, and the tears streaming down their 
 care-worn cheeks, while Robinson in tones of be 
 seeching earnestness sends up his parting prayer 
 under the open sky, and before its last plaintive 
 tone has died away the whole company with break 
 ing hearts are sobbing aloud. Some burly Dutch 
 men who stood not far off brushed the tears from 
 their eyes as they witnessed the holy scene. 
 
 Then, after embracing each other again and 
 again, they parted, many of them never to meet 
 more. Those left behind waved their hands till 
 the bark faded away on the Meuse towards the 
 open sea, straining their eyes after it till it melted 
 in the blue distance, and then returning with heavy 
 hearts to Leyden. Bartlett says, an old mill is 
 standing on the point of land that juts out into the 
 river, and marks the spot where they must have 
 watched the vessel as it faded from their view. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " There never needs to chant their deeds, like swan that lies a-dying, 
 So far their name by trump of fame around the sphere is flying." 
 
 THE reader knows well enough the result of the 
 embarkation just described; how the Speedwell 
 touched at Southampton, and was there joined by 
 the Mayflower, and how both set sail together for 
 the New World ; how the Speedwell put back as 
 unseaworthy, while the Mayflower took the pas 
 sengers of both ships, with the exception of about 
 twenty, who with another sorrowful parting were 
 left behind in England ; how the Mayflower held 
 on her course alone for Virginia, but the Lord 
 in his providence shaped her end otherwise, since 
 Cape Cod projected its encircling arm into the sea, 
 and arrested their course and brought them safely 
 into its harbor; how after various soundings and 
 debarkations they came into Plymouth Bay and 
 stepped upon Plymouth Rock ; how, on that bleak 
 and barren shore, and not on the paradisiacal banks 
 of the Orinoco, chilled by wintry storms, and not 
 fanned by breezes that wafted the perfume of 
 eternal flowers, they laid the foundations of their 
 church, which was to gather the unborn generations 
 
THE PILGRIM. 309 
 
 into its fold, and of an empire that was to stretch 
 from sea to sea. What a wonderful Providence 
 was that, which led on the little company that met 
 for prayer in that okj manor-house at Scrooby ! 
 The pale-faced, conscientious boy, who walked over 
 every Sunday from Austerfield to hear Clifton 
 preach, has come in the Mayflower, a full-grown 
 man; he has prayed much and studied much, 
 has learned Greek and Hebrew from an insatiable 
 desire to read the Divine oracles in the original 
 
 o 
 
 tongues, and u see them in all their native beauty." 
 Meanwhile Richard Sayer is with the remainder 
 of the congregation at Leydcn, and with them is 
 waiting a favorable opportunity to join the new 
 exiles. His father had made strenuous exertions 
 to recover the paternal estate at Colchester, and a 
 long and bitter controversy had been the conse 
 quence. It ended in total alienation between the 
 Sayers of Holland and the Sayers and Knyvets of 
 England, and the former were threatened with a 
 criminal prosecution if they set foot again in the 
 land of their fathers. This, with the motives al 
 ready given, may have urged him to quit Holland 
 for ever. 
 
 His father died in 1629, and not till then does 
 the way seem to have been clear to him to embark 
 his fortunes with the Pilgrims. He then came in 
 possession of his paternal inheritance, and he made 
 immediate preparations to carry his purpose into ex 
 ecution. Robinson, the sainted pastor, whose char 
 acter must have won upon his heart, and whose 
 congregation answered so fully to his ideal of a 
 
310 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 true Christian polity, had gone to his rest. He died 
 in 1625, longing for a reunion with his absent 
 flock. The portion left at Leyden, and the portion 
 who had gone to New Plymouth, seem to have 
 been like two lobes of a heart torn cruelly asunder, 
 and seeking to be joined again, and to beat in 
 unison. 
 
 Robinson s letters to the absent portion show the 
 most ardent affection and tender solicitude. Why 
 he never came over does not appear very clearly in 
 Bradford s History, or in the letters which passed 
 between the two divisions of the Pilgrim church ; but 
 it since appears that the jealous eyes of James and 
 his bishops were upon the whole enterprise, watch 
 ing all its movements, and that the agents of the 
 Virginia Company had secret and positive orders to 
 keep Robinson separated from his Plymouth flock. 
 Always longing to look once more upon the faces 
 so cruelly parted from him at Delfthaven, he yet 
 died without the sight, and tears of a truer and 
 more tender affection never fell upon a good 
 man s grave. 
 
 After Robinson s death, the remnant of the Ley- 
 den congregation came over and joined their breth 
 ren. In 1629 came thirty-five, with their families. 
 In 1630 came sixty more, and among them was 
 Richard Sayer. He had settled his affairs at Am 
 sterdam, after his father s death, given up all hope 
 of recovering his paternal estates at Colchester, be 
 come heart-sick with the controversy and with the 
 selfishness of man, sick with the noise of sects that 
 filled the country with strife and had but recently 
 
THE PILGRIM. 311 
 
 stained its beautiful fields with blood ; and, sighing 
 for a peaceful retreat, and a pure and unmolested 
 worship, he gathered up his fortune, which must 
 have been considerable, and embarked with the Ley- 
 den exiles, with whom he landed at Plymouth, May 
 8, 1630. His company was the last that came over 
 from Leyden, it being the last of the Scrooby con 
 gregation that remained in Holland, and with them 
 all of it that survived in this world was gathered 
 once more in sweet and loving fellowship in the 
 Western wilderness. How joyous must have been 
 the first songs which they lifted up to the cold sky, 
 when no hounds were on the scent, and only God 
 and his angels were listening ! 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Among the watching hills a nook they found 
 Where the hushed winds a holy Sabbath keep ; 
 
 Where war s red foot had never dyed the ground, 
 Nor ravening wolves disturbed the gentle sheep." 
 
 THEIR first settlement at New Plymouth was 
 along the street still known as Leyden Street, made 
 up at first of rudely-built houses, surrounded by 
 a palisade. In the midst rose a larger building, 
 which served both as a council-house and a place 
 of worship; and here, until they found a pastor, 
 they gathered as at first around the godly " Elder 
 Brewster," who in teaching " was very stirring," and 
 " had a singular good gift in prayer." Among the 
 commendable qualities of his prayers, brevity was 
 one ; and perhaps to this he owed that other of pith 
 and searching pungency already described, whereby 
 he " ripped up the conscience before the Lord." 
 
 Outside the palisade the field was staked out 
 into lots, in which each family cultivated its patch 
 of beans and Indian com. Notwithstanding their 
 trials and hardships, sometimes from the winter 
 cold, sometimes from the drouth of the summer 
 heat, sometimes from sickness and famine, and 
 
THE PILGRIM. 313 
 
 sometimes from fear of the savage, their cheerful 
 faith never deserted them ; their hyrrin rose every 
 morning over the forest woods, and those who sank 
 into the grave departed hence full of the hope of 
 immortality. They never looked back with regrets 
 or repinings, being, as one of them had said, " well 
 weaned from the delicate milk of their mother coun 
 try, and inured to the difficulties of a strange and 
 hard land." 
 
 It soon appeared, however, that they had pitched 
 upon a spot whose soil was poor and barren. We 
 fancy that those of the company who had been 
 strenuous for removal to Guiana thought their 
 counsels had been unwisely set at naught, as they 
 contrasted in imagination the sand-fields of New 
 Plymouth with the banks of the Orinoco, and their 
 plains of refulgent green, where the birds sang a 
 thousand tunes, and " the deer came down feeding 
 by the water s side as if they had been used to a 
 keeper s call." At any rate, they began to grow dis 
 contented with their situation, and file off in little 
 companies in search of greener spots and a kindlier 
 soil. Hence we find, that, within fourteen years af 
 ter the last remnant of the church at Leyden had 
 been brought over, serious apprehensions arose lest 
 it should be dissolved, because many of the inhab 
 itants had left the town, and others still contemplat 
 ed leaving on account of the " barrenness of the 
 place." Not less than three little sub-colonies had 
 gone out from the parent colony, so that, in the lan 
 guage of the records, "this poor church was left 
 like an ancient mother grown old and forsaken of 
 
314 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 her children, in regard to their bodily presence and 
 personal helpfulness ; her ancient members being 
 most of them worn away by death, and those of 
 later times being like children translated into other 
 families ; and she like a Avidow left only to trust in 
 God. Thus she that had made many rich, became 
 herself poor." 
 
 Oddly enough, however, as it seems to us at this 
 distance of time, they sought better situations by re 
 moving farther down the Cape, over its downs and 
 sand-hills. Two sub-colonies went forth in this di 
 rection, and formed settlements near to each other 
 in localities known by the Indians as Sursuit and 
 Mattakeese, the sites severally of the present towns 
 of East Dennis and Yarmouth.* These two settle 
 ments were seven or eight miles from each other, 
 and were both at first included in the same town 
 ship. One of them, that of Sursuit, it lies in my 
 way to describe. 
 
 As you travel eastward from Plymouth, passing 
 down the Cape on the northern shore through the 
 modern towns of Barnstable, Yarmouth Port, North 
 Dennis, and East Dennis, you very soon discover 
 what must have been the attractions which drew 
 the children away from their poor mother at Plym 
 outh, till she felt forsaken. Between the gentle ele 
 vations along the shore, and the sand-hills that rise 
 farther inland, there is an interval which contains 
 rich alluvial deposits watered by unfailing springs. 
 They form some of the best soil in Massachusetts, 
 
 * Mattakeese, however, extended some distance within the present 
 limits of East Barnstable. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 315 
 
 and are like oases in the desert. Along these hollows 
 and basins lay the region of Mattakeese. Passing 
 farther on through Yarmouth into Dennis, and as 
 cending an elevation called Scargo Hill, you look 
 over into green meadows, with rank waving grass, 
 through which " Sursuit Creek " and " Quivet 
 Creek" wind with soft music to the sea. These 
 are the meadows of Sursuit, on whose margin the 
 pretty village of East Dennis now stands, but which 
 in the Pilgrim days had only here and there an In 
 dian wigwam with its smoke creeping lazily into 
 the air. 
 
 About the year 1643, a company led by Richard 
 Sayer left Plymouth, passed down through Matta 
 keese, which had already begun to be colonized, 
 kept on to Scargo Hill, and looked down upon the 
 meadows of Sursuit and Quivet, shut in on three 
 sides by sand-hills, and open on the left to the sea. 
 Could there be a more charming retreat from 
 schouts and bailiffs, or a place less likely to be dis 
 turbed by the noises of the world and the strife of 
 tongues ? Descending into this quiet nook, he and 
 his company pitched their tents and selected the 
 sites of their future habitations. 
 
 Between the two creeks whose Indian names we 
 have given above, there was a tongue of land called 
 " Quivet Neck," made up in part of alluvial depos 
 its, and forming therefore the best and most fertile 
 soil. Richard Sayer purchased the greater part of 
 this neck of land, and built his house upon it. On 
 this gentle swell he could hear the crooning of the 
 two brooks on either side of him as they wound 
 
316 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 through the meadows, and he could look over the 
 green interval into the broad blue ocean, always 
 sounding with the march and countermarch of its 
 waves. After two hundred years, the house which 
 he built has disappeared ; but the precise spot is still 
 to be seen where his household gods found undis 
 turbed repose. We do not know all the names of 
 the first company, but some time afterwards we find 
 among his neighbors and associates John Wing, 
 Kenelm Winslow, John Dillingham, and Zachariah 
 Paddock. Kenelm Winslow was a brother of Gov 
 ernor Winslow, and settled afterwards at Marsh- 
 field. Of Zachariah we shall get a glimpse in the 
 following chapter. 
 
 Notwithstanding his peace-loving habits, the Pil 
 grim, as tradition says, held a military office, and 
 lost an arm by a gun-shot wound in some conflict 
 with the Indians. He also appears on the records 
 as constable of Yarmouth, and once on some com 
 mittee in ecclesiastical affairs. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 And may the sun of life, when near its setting, 
 Clothe in more beauteous gleams the distant hills." 
 
 RICHARD SAYER, before he left Plymouth, had mar 
 ried Dorothy Thacher. She was a sister of Antho 
 ny Thacher, who removed from Plymouth to Matta- 
 keese, and whose name is familiarly known in the 
 Pilgrim annals. The children of this marriage 
 were three sons, Knyvet, Paul, and Silas, and one 
 daughter named Deborah. 
 
 With this family gathered about him, he passed 
 the latter half of a long life in this peaceful retreat, 
 whose seclusion seems to have been fully congenial 
 with his gentle spirit. Before we take leave of him, 
 we will endeavor, from what material we have, to 
 reproduce his surroundings, and put them as dis 
 tinctly as we can upon the canvas. It is a picture 
 of primitive manners, which contrasts strangely 
 enough with those two hundred years later among 
 the descendants of the Pilgrims. 
 
 On Quivet Neck he has built a house one-story 
 high, roofed with thatch, and fronting south with 
 such precision as to serve as a sun-dial and indicate 
 the hour of noon. The fireplace is made of rough 
 
 27* 
 
318 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 stone ; the chimney, of boards, plastered over in 
 side with clay. Both the fireplace and the chim 
 ney-flue are of immense capacity, so that, after a 
 rousing fire has been kindled on a winter s evening, 
 the family can occupy both the spaces on each side 
 of it, and look up through the chimney opening, 
 and gaze at the stars. What visions of other days 
 must have come over the old Pilgrim, as he sat there 
 and heard the whistling winds and the roaring on 
 the sea-beach, and looked up through his chimney- 
 flue and saw the same planets that twinkled upon 
 him on the Princen Graat of old Amsterdam ! Bat 
 the neighbors come in during the long evenings, to 
 talk over the news of the Colony, and be regaled 
 with mugs of cider and barley-beer. John Wing, 
 John Dillingham, John Grey, Richard Taylor, and 
 some others, have also nestled into the quiet nook 
 of Sursuit; but of all the neighbors Zachariah Pad 
 dock comes oftenest and stays the longest, yea, gets 
 close up to Deborah in the chimney-corner, and 
 stays there till all the rest have retired ; and they 
 two look up together through the flue and count 
 the stars. Zachariah is the son of Robert Paddock, 
 who was the son of Zachariah, who came over, say 
 my family papers, in the Mayflower; but he cer 
 tainly did not, for his name is not on the list, as 
 everybody may see by looking at it. But no mat 
 ter. Zachariah Paddock got over some way, and 
 his grandson Zachariah is bent on star-gazing in 
 the chimney-corner with Deborah Sayer. 
 
 Deborah has grown into a comely and healthy 
 maiden, without any hacking cough, and with no 
 
THE PILGRIM. 319 
 
 occasion for either valerian or homreopathic glob 
 ules. Well she might, for she wears in cold weath 
 er a flannel gown, and in warm weather a gown 
 of linen homespun, both of which she had to spin 
 and weave herself; the latter from flax which the 
 boys, Knyvet, Paul, and Silas, raised on Qaivet 
 Neck. It is very fortunate for Deborah that she is 
 thus getting strength and bloom for future years, 
 for by and by she and Zachariah will have eight 
 children to bring up as a contribution to the rising 
 Colony. 
 
 A meeting-house had been built between the two 
 settlements of Mattakeese and Sursuit, but much 
 nearer to the former, and there the inhabitants of 
 both villages met together on Sunday, to listen to 
 Rev. Marmaduke Matthews ; an exceedingly good 
 man, but whose goodness sometimes lacked the 
 ballast of common sense. It stood not far from the 
 site of the present Orthodox meeting-hous-e in Yar 
 mouth, and thither on Sunday morning the people 
 might be seen wending their way, from either set 
 tlement, for the worship of God. The meeting 
 house has neither bell nor steeple, but a thatched 
 roof, and perhaps port-holes, with the muzzles of 
 muskets, if need be, grimly pointing through ; for 
 though there is no danger of interruption from po 
 lice officials, yet there may be from Indian savages. 
 The Colony Court has passed a law, that, " if any 
 lazy, slothful, or profane persons, in any of the 
 towns, neglect to come to the public worship of 
 God, they shall forfeit for every such default ten 
 shillings, or be publicly whipped," for our good 
 
320 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 ancestors judged that people had better be brought 
 to a knowledge of Christianity through flagellation, 
 than not at all. As South says, ironically, of the 
 Roman Catholic penance, they made thongs and 
 whipcord essentials of salvation. 
 
 Imagine, then, on a calm summer s morning, the 
 people of Sursuit summoned to the place of prayer. 
 No bell pours out its solemn music, but in the 
 place of it some one " beats upon the drum," and 
 that is the roll-call to church which is borne on the 
 breeze over the Sursuit meadows. It is six or seven 
 miles to church, and there is not a vehicle in the 
 place, for they had not yet come into use, and both 
 the old Pilgrims and young must go to hear Marma- 
 duke Matthews. The procession is soon on its way ; 
 Richard Sayer is on horseback, with his wife Dor 
 othy behind him ; and they ride just half the dis 
 tance, and fasten the horse by the way-side for 
 Goodman Wing and his wife to take it and ride in 
 their turn. By this arrangement the same horse 
 accommodated two or three neighbors, the elderly 
 people always riding a part of the distance, while 
 the young men and maidens walked the whole six 
 or seven miles without weariness. In this way 
 came the procession, winding round Scargo Hill, the 
 old people riding and walking alternately, the young 
 people walking the whole distance, which was short 
 enough when such persons as Zachariah Paddock 
 and Deborah Sayer happened to fall into company 
 with each other. Deborah has doffed her home 
 spun, and appears in clean calico, one dress of 
 which serves her for a lifetime. It has short sleeves, 
 
THE PILGRIM. 
 
 with three ruffs on each arm, and she wears long 
 gloves, made of horse-hair, that come up to the 
 elbow. Her shoes are made of broadcloth, with 
 wooden heels and peaked toes turning up at the 
 end. But she carries her shoes in her hand till she 
 arrives at church, except when Zachariah has the 
 gallantry to relieve her of the burden. Arrived at 
 church, how grateful and fervent must have been 
 the devotions of these people, after all their sacri 
 fices, escapes, and labors. Their songs of praise 
 need not be suppressed now, but sound full and 
 joyous over the woods and hills. They sit in their 
 plain and neat attire under Marmaduke Matthews, 
 who measures out his sermon to them by the hour 
 glass. The sexton turns the glass when the sermon 
 begins, and the preacher must keep on till the sand 
 runs out, whether his ideas have run out or not. 
 It is not a very difficult rule, however, for Fatfier 
 Matthews, who is said to have used words without 
 much reference to thoughts, and to have been 
 called to account by his brethren for preaching 
 heresy when he was not aware of it. 
 
 Richard Sayer lived to be the patriarch of the 
 little colony of Sursuit, and to see his children and 
 his children s children settled around him. Fields 
 of corn, of beans, and of flax covered the gentle 
 acclivities, and the tall grass wnved along the green 
 margin of the brooks ; and without wealth or want 
 the little community thrived and prospered. Indus 
 try and frugality were in the place of riches, and 
 piety and virtue brought down the Divine bless- 
 
322 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 ing without interruption. These homebred virtues 
 were guarded by strict laws arid social maxims. 
 It is related by an old chronicler, that a certain 
 neighbor of his father had four sons, whose habits 
 of profusion excited the alarm of the village ; " for 
 the oldest got a pair of boots, the second an over 
 coat, the third a watch, and the fourth a pair of 
 shoe-buckles"; and the neighbors all shook their 
 heads, and whispered to each other, " That family 
 is on the high road to insolvency." * The posses 
 sion of any one of these articles of luxury would 
 perhaps have done serious damage to the suit of 
 Zachariah Paddock. 
 
 Richard Sayer was once or twice summoned 
 from his seclusion, as Deputy to the Colony Court 
 at Plymouth. But he seems to have found what 
 he sighed after amid the strifes and the tumults of 
 the- Old World, a place far away from the ru 
 mors of oppression, deceit, and bloodshed, where 
 he might worship God with a free conscience and 
 breathe out his soul in peace. He lived to a green 
 and honored old age, and died in 1676. He had 
 seen eighty-six years ere he rested from his labors ; 
 and the people of the village of Sursuit that grew 
 up around him followed him to his peaceful grave. 
 Children and children s children were there to talk 
 of his virtues around his bier. His ashes repose in 
 the old Yarmouth churchyard, where one of his 
 descendants, with filial reverence and affection, has 
 erected a costly monument to his memory. 
 
 * Pratt s History of Eastham, pp. 177, 178. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 323 
 
 Pass through the modern village of East Dennis, 
 or roam among the monuments of its churchyard, 
 and you find that almost every third person, whether 
 among the living or the dead, belongs to the line 
 of the old Pilgrim and patriarch. Look around 
 there on the cultivated fields, or the industrious, 
 virtuous, and thriving community, and you see 
 the best monuments of his sacrifices and toils. 
 Pass through the land, north, south, east, and 
 west, and you meet with his innumerable descend 
 ants among the busy and teeming population. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " They lay down two grand ground-works on which their follow 
 ing fabric is to be erected; first, only to take what was held forth in 
 God s word, leaving nothing to church practice or human prudence, 
 as but the iron legs and clay toes of that statue whose head and 
 whole body ought to be pure Scripture gold ; second, because one 
 day teacheth another, they will not be tied on Tuesday morning to 
 maintain their tenets on Monday night, if a new discovery intervene." 
 FULLER on the Pilgrims, Church History, Vol. III. p. 462. 
 
 WE will not take our final leave of the good 
 men whose labors and sacrifices we have been re 
 viewing, without a filial tribute to their virtues. 
 This we do, because, with all the eulogy bestowed 
 upon them by popular historians and orators, we 
 doubt if their principles are yet fully understood. 
 They are constantly confounded with the Massa 
 chusetts Puritans, whereas they were entirely differ 
 ent in character, temper, principles, and policy. 
 
 We have already stated that the three leading 
 minds of the Scrooby church were Robinson, Brew- 
 ster, and Bradford. Their spirit and doctrines be 
 came the soul of the Pilgrim enterprise from the 
 beginning. Of the first we have said enough per 
 taining to his large, heavenly, and tolerant spirit. 
 Brewster lived to a serene old age. He died in 
 
THE PILGRIM. 325 
 
 1644, aged 84 years. With all his perseverance 
 and energy, he was a man of great kindliness 
 and modesty. Eminently qualified for the pastoral 
 office, his diffidence and profound reverence for it 
 prevented his assuming it, though in the humbler 
 station of " Elder " he virtually discharged all its 
 duties up to the year 1629, when a regular pastor 
 was settled at Plymouth. More than any other man 
 the originator and father of the Pilgrim church, he 
 shared as a private citizen in all its toils, spent his 
 fortune in the enterprise, and almost to the day of 
 his death worked with his hands in the field. But 
 all the more for his meekness and modesty did his 
 example shed its hallowed light and diffuse his be 
 nignant and pious spirit through the rising colony. 
 Almost to the day of his death he kept about his 
 humble duties, and at the last he seemed not so 
 much to die as to subside into the bosom of God s 
 love, like a wave sinking into the bosom of the sea. 
 He took one day to his bed, where he lay without a 
 pang or a groan ; but as the evening was coming 
 on " he drew his breath short," and some minutes 
 before his last he " drew his breath long," and on 
 that tranquil sigh his spirit was wafted away. 
 
 Bradford died in 1657, aged 69. He was bom 
 and bred to agricultural pursuits ; and if the words 
 of the aged Clifton had not touched his youthful 
 heart, he would probably have lived and died among 
 the yeomanry of Old England. As Governor of the 
 Colony through most of the first thirty years of its 
 existence, he managed its affairs with consummate 
 wisdom. He was just even to a scruple in all his 
 
 28 
 
326 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 dealings with the Indians ; his energy was tempered 
 with mildness ; he had all the sagacity of the prac 
 tical man, with the dove-like simplicity of the Chris 
 tian. As a writer and historian, he has rare merits, 
 for he tells his story with the perspicuity and ease 
 of the scholar, yet with the unconsciousness of the 
 child. With none of the pedantry of Cotton Math 
 er, his style has sometimes a peculiar charm and 
 pathos on account of its artlessness, and steals on 
 the reader s heart like the plaintive narratives of 
 Scripture, which must have been his classic model. 
 More than all, though the faith of Bradford was 
 strongly puritanic, it had not the least tinge of 
 fanaticism, but glowed with the ardors of Christian 
 charity. 
 
 Other names will readily occur to the reader, 
 especially those of Winslow, Cushman, and Carver. 
 But the men now described, more than any others, 
 stamped their characters on the young Colony, and 
 shaped its ends. And it is not a violation of his 
 torical verity to say, that no people ever carried out 
 their principles more faithfully than the Pilgrim 
 church and its dependencies. Constantly confound 
 ing the Plymouth men with the Massachusetts men, 
 it is common for writers and speakers to apologize 
 for their u bigotry " and " intolerance " with that 
 stale and wretched excuse, " the spirit of the age," 
 as if it were not the very purpose of a true church 
 to rise above the age, and illumine its darkness 
 and reform its abuses.* These men need no such 
 
 * A late writer, referring to this impotent plea, though totally 
 

 THE PILGRIM. 327 
 
 apology, and there is not a church of the nineteenth 
 century which is competent to teach them a first 
 lesson in the principles of toleration. 
 
 It will be seen from the preceding narratives, 
 that the Scrooby church was gathered from the mid 
 dle and humbler walks of English life ; from a class 
 that had never been corrupted by the possession of 
 power. After they were "harried" out of Eng 
 land, they dwelt twelve years in Holland, shut in 
 from the great world among themselves, and draw 
 ing closer than ever around the Head of the Church. 
 During that twelve years, those who were children 
 and youth when they came out of England had 
 grown up into men and women under the influence 
 of the saintly Robinson, so that when they came 
 to Plymouth these were the active portion, the 
 very muscle of the Colony. They had imbibed the 
 spirit of Robinson, as it glows through his farewell 
 address. The church at Leyden owned fellowship 
 with all other churches that owned Christ as their 
 head, and they brought the same principle with 
 them in the Mayflower. So early as 1641, an ordi 
 nance passed the General Court at Plymouth, that 
 
 " No INJUNCTION SHOULD BE PUT ON ANY CHURCH OR 
 CHURCH-MEMBER, AS TO DOCTRINE, WORSHIP, OR DIS 
 CIPLINE, WHETHER FOR SUBSTANCE OR CIRCUMSTANCE, 
 
 misapprehending the Pilgrims, says, with much pith and force of 
 argument : " If a persecuting model may thus be copied or pleaded 
 as ample palliation, why may not the Church of England refer her 
 accusers to the persecutions of the Church of Rome, and the Church 
 of Rome hers to the persecutions of the Pagans, and the Pagans 
 theirs to their persecutions of each other 7 " Coit on Puritanism, 
 p. 85. 
 
328 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 BESIDE THE COMMAND OF THE BIBLE." * They made 
 the acknowledgment of the Bible as supreme au 
 thority a fundamental principle ; the State as well 
 as the Church was founded upon it ; but they left 
 each man free to interpret the Bible for himself. 
 They required no relation of private experiences, no 
 assent to special articles of faith, but godly living 
 alone, as preliminaries to admission into the church. 
 They were friendly to all sects, not excepting the 
 Quakers and Anabaptists ; and when Roger Wil 
 liams had been driven from Massachusetts, Wins- 
 low sought him out in his exile, to cheer and 
 comfort him. He made a journey from Plymouth 
 to Providence, to take him by the hand. " That 
 great and precious soul, Mr. Win slow," says Wil 
 liams, " melted and kindly visited me at Providence, 
 and pat a piece of gold into the hands of my wife 
 for our supply." f 
 
 The Massachusetts Colony came over nine years 
 later than the Plymouth, and it was gathered from 
 an entirely different class of people. Its leaders 
 were men of rank, wealth, and legal acquirements. 
 They were descendants of earls, gentlemen, and 
 lord mayors. At the time they came, Puritanism 
 
 * Thatcher s Plymouth, p. 291. 
 
 t I have said nothing of the church of John Lothrop, which settled 
 early in West Barnstablc, and became a constituent part of the Plym 
 outh Colony. But Lothrop and his flock were also refugees from 
 persecution ; and though they originated in a different part of Eng 
 land from the Plymouth people, they were of a like temper with 
 them, and had learned the same lesson from adversity. It is said that 
 most of them came originally from Kent. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 329 
 
 was rising rapidly into power and consideration in 
 England, and was soon to overturn the throne. 
 The Massachusetts Company was formed in Lon 
 don, and men who were " large proprietors " em 
 barked in the enterprise. They were not separatists 
 from the Established Church, and some of them were 
 in full communion with it. They came from amid 
 the refinements and comforts of English life, and 
 had never been schooled in poverty and persecution. 
 They had high notions of church prerogative and 
 infallibility. They encountered no hardships in emi 
 gration which can be compared with those of the 
 Pilgrims, but came over, fifteen hundred in a year, 
 bringing their wealth with them. What a contrast 
 have we here with the humble congregation of 
 Scrooby ! 
 
 The leader of the Massachusetts enterprise, be 
 fore the arrival of Winthrop, was John Endicott, 
 a hard, cruel, and persecuting spirit, and the com 
 plete opposite of William Bradford. Hence the 
 whole bearing and temper of the Massachusetts 
 Colony were in contrast with those of the Plymouth, 
 and its spirit from the very beginning was one of 
 persecution and intolerance. The Pilgrims natu 
 rally looked up with deference to the Massachu 
 setts men, and the only time when they swerved 
 from their principles was when they followed the 
 evil counsel of their neighbors. 
 
 This was in 1657 - 60, when the excitement 
 against the Quakers ran high in the Massachu 
 setts Colony, and cruel laws were enacted against 
 them. Some of the persecuted sect found their 
 
 28* 
 
330 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 way into the Plymouth Colony, and letters came 
 down from Massachusetts, urging the Pilgrim set 
 tlements to adopt the same policy. Prince was 
 Governor. The just and pious Bradford had gone ; 
 and, with few exceptions, the first generation of the 
 Pilgrim church had passed away. Some of the mag 
 istrates, among whom appear the names of Allerton 
 and Cudworth, rose in opposition to the proposed 
 measures. But they were overruled. At first the 
 Massachusetts influence prevailed. Prince yielded 
 to it, and the odious law was enacted. But the re 
 bound was sudden and universal back to the first 
 tolerant principles of the Colony. The odious law 
 was blotted out, the discarded magistrates who had 
 opposed it were restored to favor, among whom 
 was a son of John Robinson, who had imbibed the 
 principles of the Quakers. No blood was shed 
 within the Plymouth jurisdiction, and the few pun 
 ishments inflicted were more for contempt of court 
 than on account of religious opinion. Tradition 
 says, that in all these controversies the patriarch of 
 Sursuit was on the liberal side. 
 
 The early legislation of the Pilgrim Colony was 
 statesmanlike, just, and liberal. Hardly an instance 
 will be found among the laws on the Plymouth 
 records of that meddlesome interference with private 
 rights, or that espionage over household matters, 
 that disgraces the records of Massachusetts and 
 Connecticut. No code of "blue laws" was ever 
 enacted by the Pilgrims. An enlightened forecast, 
 and a severe and practical common sense, are every 
 where apparent. We have alluded to the law for 
 
THE PILGRIM. 
 
 331 
 
 the fine or the flagellation of non-attendants on 
 public worship ; but it applied only to " lazy, sloth 
 ful, or profane persons," who were sometimes found 
 hanging about the infant settlements, to corrupt the 
 morals of the youth, and it was designed to put them 
 in the most direct way for a better course of life. 
 
 In all their dealings with the Indians, the Pil 
 grims treated them as men, not as Pagans and 
 Canaanites, to be preyed upon by God s people ; 
 and they scrupulously observed with them the obli 
 gations of humanity and justice. Once, in the ex 
 tremity of hunger, they found and appropriated a 
 quantity of corn that belonged to the natives, but 
 afterwards took the earliest opportunity to seek out 
 the owners, tell them what they had done, and ren 
 der to them the most ample remuneration. If any 
 Englishman wronged the red-man, he was sure, if 
 found out, to be brought to punishment. In one in 
 stance, three men who had robbed and murdered an 
 Indian, and who came back to Plymouth for protec 
 tion and security, were apprehended, tried, and sen 
 tenced, and expiated their crime upon the gallows. 
 In the eye of the Pilgrim, every man, heathen though 
 he was, belonged to the same brotherhood with 
 himself, and had equal rights and immunities before 
 the Eternal Justice. Such a case of shocking bar 
 barity towards the Indian as may be found detailed 
 in Savage s Winthrop,* and which Coit cites with 
 much point in his attack on Puritanism, could never 
 have occurred within the jurisdiction of Plymouth. 
 
 * Vol. II. pp. 130-134. 
 
332 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 The Massachusetts people grounded their rights 
 on the Charter, and on their prerogatives as English 
 men, or as God s only true Church. The Plymouth 
 people derived their ideas of government from the 
 inherent rights of man. To the latter belongs the 
 undying honor of originating and diffusing the 
 principles of Congregationalism in New England, 
 the doctrine that each separate church is complete 
 in itself, is responsible to no synods or councils, but 
 to Christ alone. Before they left England, and 
 while yet in the humble seclusion of Scrooby, they 
 "shook off the yoke of Antichristian bondage"; and 
 they pledged themselves to each other, " to walk in 
 all the ways of the Lord made known, or TO BE 
 MADE KNOWN, unto them, according to their best 
 endeavors." * Thus from Brewster s old mansion 
 in Nottinghamshire they brought away the doctrine 
 of the sacred rights of the human mind. No church 
 had any authority over it, but Christ alone, nor could 
 any church shut out from its own members the light 
 " to be made known," and thus deprive them of a 
 glorious future, living doctrines to them, strug 
 gling away from the cold prison and the wintry 
 night of prelacy into Christ s free Gospel, which 
 they hailed as a reviving spring. 
 
 These doctrines were the precious freight of the 
 Mayflower. The Massachusetts men brought with 
 them no such principles. They had not separated 
 from the Church of England, and they fell into its 
 intolerant practices. They believed in the highest 
 
 * Young s Chronicles of the Pilgrims, p. 21. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 333 
 
 governmental prerogatives, both in the Church and 
 the State. The individual was of no account before 
 the Juggernaut of Arbitrary Power ; and the eccle 
 siastical polity of Massachusetts was at first, in point 
 of fact, a church despotism of the most absolute 
 kind. A good many others besides Roger Wil 
 liams and Ann Hutchinson found out this to their 
 own bitter experience. 
 
 The spirit of the Plymouth men, however, in some 
 measure diffused itself as a boon of priceless value 
 to the sister colonies. " Some of the chief of them," 
 writes Winslow, " advised with us how they should 
 do to fall upon a right platform of worship, and de 
 sired to that end, since God had honored us to lay 
 the foundation of a commonwealth, and to settle a 
 church in it, to show them whereupon our practice 
 was grounded ; and if they found upon due search 
 it was built upon the Word, they should be willing 
 to take up what was of God. We accordingly 
 showed them the primitive practice for our warrant, 
 taken out of the Acts of the Apostles and the Epis 
 tles, together with the commandments of Christ the 
 Lord in the Gospel, and our other warrants in every 
 particular we did, from the book of God. Which 
 being by them well weighed and considered, they 
 also entered into covenant with God and one an 
 other to walk in all his ways revealed, or as they 
 should be made known unto them, and to worship 
 him according to his will revealed in his written 
 word only." * 
 
 * Young s Chronicles, p. 386. 
 
334 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 In nothing do the Plymouth men appear with 
 more honorable distinction than in their freedom 
 from the wretched and drivelling superstitions 
 which afflicted Massachusetts, and fixed an inef 
 faceable blot upon her fame. They were not only 
 men of piety and liberality, but of that broad and 
 clear common sense which secured them against 
 the delusions of their day. It is not generally 
 known that there were trials for witchcraft in the 
 Old Colony also, as the account of them is only 
 found reposing in her ancient records. It is not a 
 record that she has reason to be ashamed of; and 
 one of her sons has recently searched it out and 
 held it up as a specimen of Pilgrim legislation, on 
 a subject that requires the historian of Massachu 
 setts Bay to plead " the ignorance of the age." 
 It is short, but pithy and to the point. 
 
 In 1676, Mary Ingraham was tried for witchcraft, 
 and promptly acquitted by a jury of twelve men. 
 But sixteen years before, there was a trial which 
 exhibits yet more signally the beauty of justice 
 as it was administered in the Old Colony. In 1660, 
 Dinah Silvester, of Bcituate, accused the wife of 
 William Homes of being a witch. An examina 
 tion is held, and Dinah is produced as a witness. 
 We condense the account, and give the substance 
 of it. 
 
 Court. You say that William Homes s wife is 
 a witch. What evidence have you of the fact ? 
 
 Dinah. She appeared to me as a witch. 
 
 Court. In what shape ? 
 
 Dinah. In the shape of a bear, your honor. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 335 
 
 Court. How far off was the bear ? 
 
 Dinah. About a stone s throw from the highway. 
 
 Court. What manner of tail did the bear have ? 
 
 Dinah. I cannot tell, your honor, as his head 
 was towards me. 
 
 Court. Let this examination be recorded for the 
 clearing of William Homes s wife. Ordered, THAT 
 DINAH SILVESTER BE PUBLICLY WHIPPED, or else 
 pay the sum of five pounds to William Homes. 
 Or in case the said Dinah make a public acknowl 
 edgment of her crime, she shall only pay William 
 Homes the charge he has been at. 
 
 And then follows the acknowledgment of Dinah 
 Silvester, that her accusation was false and mali 
 cious.* 
 
 Such in the Pilgrim courts was the summary 
 disposition of a matter which, with precisely the 
 same beginnings, in the sister Colony went on till 
 it involved the whole community in a contagious 
 fanaticism, turned the wits of the clergy and the 
 lawyers, and doomed twenty innocent men and 
 women to a horrible death. The " ignorance of 
 the age," which lay like an Egyptian night on the 
 fields of Massachusetts, did not even for a moment 
 obstruct the sun s clear shining on the sand-hills 
 around Plymouth Bay. 
 
 The transactions at Salem are generally excused 
 on the ground that the age believed in the reality 
 of witchcraft. Indeed! and so does every age, 
 though the form of the belief may be somewhat 
 
 * The account of these trials may be found in the books of " Pub 
 lic Records," kept in the Court-House at Plymouth. 
 
336 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 variant. Its vital element was the idea of an in 
 fernal world in such proximity to the natural tlmt 
 it had the power of projecting its sorceries into the 
 minds of men and women who were willing to re 
 ceive and entertain them,* an article of faith 
 cherished as extensively now, perhaps, as it was 
 in the days of the fathers. The Plymouth people 
 held it, and passed a law which made " solemn 
 compaction or conversing with the Devil by way 
 of witchcraft or the like " a capital crime. But the 
 difference between them and their neighbors of 
 Massachusetts Bay was this, that, when a case 
 presented itself for trial, the former applied to it the 
 wisest rules of evidence and the most enlightened 
 principles of common sense ; the latter outraged 
 all the rules of evidence and all common sense, and 
 so plunged without chart or compass into the most 
 hideous and bewildering superstitions. 
 
 In these remarks, we mean no disrespect or dis 
 loyalty towards Massachusetts. We mean simply 
 to rescue the name of the Pilgrim from an odium 
 that does not belong to it, and, so far as we are 
 humbly concerned, to place it before the world in 
 that meek but unstained and immortal lustre which 
 is all its own. 
 
 The Plymouth Colony, comprising the Pilgrim 
 church, with her several daughters about her, was 
 
 * Consult Cudworth on Sorcery, Intellectual System, Book I. 
 Chap. IV., and especially Mosheim s notes. Augustine rcganlnl 
 thcurgists and sorcerers as " deluded by the fallacious rites of de 
 mons under the name of angels," a belief in harmony with his 
 whole system of theology and pneumatology. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 337 
 
 "swallowed alive by Massachusetts" in 1692. It 
 had an independent existence of only seventy-one 
 years. It was merged in Massachusetts against 
 its own will. But to this day the Pilgrim blood 
 flows with less foreign intermixture than elsewhere 
 through the veins of the people of the Cape ; and 
 in tolerant principles, genial spirit, and generous 
 bearing, in religion without bigotry, and faith 
 warm with the ardors of charity, may be traced, 
 after two hundred years, some moral lineaments 
 of the Scrooby congregation. 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 29 
 
NOTE. 
 
 I GIVE here a specimen of the skeletons I have attempted to 
 galvanize. The following items are taken principally from 
 Burke s "Visitation of Seats and Arms in Great Britain and 
 Ireland," and from private records and documents preserved in 
 a family of the Old Colony. 
 
 A great many disconnected facts, and names which stand in 
 broken lineage, occur in the early English annals, but the ances 
 tor of the Colchester Sayers, whose fortunes have been described 
 in the preceding pages, was Adam Sayer, who died possessed of 
 the manor of Hougham, near Rochester, in the county of Kent, 
 in 1346. He had a son, who was returned to serve in Parlia 
 ment in the reign of Henry VI., and a grandson who was created 
 a Banneret by Henry VII. after the battle of Stoke in 1487. 
 But the first name among his descendants that stands at the 
 head of an unbroken line is that of 
 
 1. John Sayer of Colchester, alderman of that city, a man of 
 considerable wealth and dignity, who died in 1509, and was bur 
 ied in St. Peter s Church under the south aisle, a mural brass 
 memorial recording, in Old English letters, his name and honors. 
 At what time the Sayers removed from Kent to Colchester does 
 not appear, but long before the above date they had held the 
 highest offices in the corporation of that city, and exerted an 
 extensive influence in its affairs. John Sayer left three sons, 
 viz. : 
 
 2. John, Eobert, and George. The eldest of these, John, 
 died in 1562, and was buried near his father, with a similar brass 
 memorial. He left two sons, viz. : 
 
 3. Richard and George. Richard was born at Colchester in 
 
340 NOTE. 
 
 1508, and married Anne Bourcliier, daughter of Sir Edmund 
 Knyvet of Ashweltliorpe, in the county of Norfolk. It was 
 during the time of Richard Sayer that religious animosities and 
 persecutions attained their height, excited by the violence of 
 Henry VIII. Richard became a warm and zealous partisan on 
 the side opposed to his own relatives, as well as the existing gov 
 ernment, and found it necessary to escape with his wife and oth 
 er refugees into Holland, where he settled at Amsterdam, in 1540. 
 The lot of his wife the noble Lady Anne was a hard one, but 
 bravely and cheerfully borne. Because she took the side of her 
 husband, and clung to him in adversity, she incurred the lasting 
 displeasure of the Knyvets. Her father seems to have become 
 so bitterly estranged from her as to erase her name from all his 
 family records, that she might be forgotten. He regarded her 
 in fact as if dead, and gave her name, Anne, to a younger 
 daughter while she was yet living. The exiled and persecuted 
 woman long survived her husband, living in Amsterdam in charge 
 of her orphan boy. 
 
 George, in consequence of Richard s flight, secured for himself 
 possession of the patrimonial inheritance. There was a long and 
 bitter controversy for the ancient estate between him and his 
 heirs on the one hand, and Richard s heirs on the other, ending 
 in total alienation and non-intercourse. George died in 1577, 
 and was buried with his ancestors in St. Peter s Church, Colches 
 ter. A beautiful marble monument erected to his memory in the 
 south side of the chancel bears a quaint epitaph, which has re 
 mote allusions to the family controversy. The first portion of it 
 is as follows : 
 
 " O happier Sayer that here in grave doth lie, 
 Whose body resteth now in Earth, whose ghost with Christ on high, 
 His youthfull race he ran with travayle and with troth, 
 His middle and his aged years with wealth and worship both ; 
 Full thirty years or more, cheef rule or place he bare 
 In this his native ancient town whereof he had great care ; 
 "With justice he did rule, and eke with mercy mylde, 
 With love he lyved many years of man, woman, and child. 
 A monument he made, for ever to remain, 
 For ayde to poor and aged wights which are oppressed with payne." 
 
NOTE. 341 
 
 The " poor and aged wights " seem to have got a little of the 
 patrimony which belonged of right to his injured brother, not 
 an unusual expedient which some people have in this world for 
 getting on in the way to heaven. 
 
 The flight of Richard was in 1537. There is a single anachro 
 nism in the text of Part II., which, though slight, ought to be men 
 tioned. Richard is there made a witness to the scene of Father 
 Bache s execution. Father Bache was not, in fact, executed un 
 til about a year after Richard left the country. The execution 
 then took place precisely as related, it being anticipated a little 
 in the narrative, to make the picture more complete. 
 
 Richard the exile left an only son, viz. : 
 
 4. John Bourchier Sayer. He became, at the death of his 
 grandfather, heir to the family estates m Essex. But the same 
 difficulties that forced his father to quit England still existed, and 
 he was excluded from the succession. He was of a bold and ad 
 venturous disposition, and sought renown by his own exertions. 
 He fell in with Sir John Hawkins, the distinguished navigator, 
 obtained his confidence, accompanied him in many of his voyages, 
 and obtained the hand of his daughter " Bess." He lived through 
 the trying times of the war in the Netherlands, in which he is 
 said to have taken a part. He died in Holland, leaving by Eliz 
 abeth Hawkins, his wife, four sons, viz. : 
 
 5. John Bourchier, Henry, William, and Richard. The first 
 married Maria L., daughter of Philip Lamoral van Egmond, and 
 acquired with her a large fortune, principally in money. 
 
 The family papers assume that this Philip L. van Egmond was 
 the son of the murdered Count Egmond, the victim of Alva. The 
 Count had a son of that name, who fell at the battle of Ivry. 
 There is reason, however, to believe that the father-in-law of 
 Sayer was another Philip, belonging to another branch of the 
 Egmond family. 
 
 This John Bourchier Sayer purchased with his wife s fortune 
 property in England, adjoining the patrimonial lands which he 
 hoped to recover. But his return to England was resisted stout 
 ly by his kinsfolk there, who charged him with participation in 
 the " Gunpowder Plot," and threatened him with a trial for 
 treason should he set foot in England. He wrote them a long 
 
342 NOTE. 
 
 letter, -which closed the controversy. The letter was extant not a 
 great many years since among the family papers, and was spoken 
 of by those who had seen it as remarkably able and excellent. 
 He died in Holland in 1629. By Maria L. van Egmond, his 
 wife, he left two sons, viz. : 
 
 6. Richard and John. John went to England ; Richard, dis 
 gusted with the ancestral controversy, and sick of the distrac 
 tions of the times, for the Calvinist war in Holland was at its 
 height, joined Robinson s congregation, and embarked his for 
 tune with the Pilgrims. The likeness which fronts the title-page 
 of a private edition of this work was copied originally from a 
 portrait in the gallery of the Egmond family in Amsterdam. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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