We had to remain at anchor for some time, as, the tide and wind being contrary, we could not proceed down the river. The information we received made it very necessary for us to be on our guard; for although we had driven back the pirates once, they would very probably again attack us with increased numbers. We proposed to the stranger captain the plan which had been suggested, and he agreed at once that it was a good one. Much to the surprise of our prisoners, who had expected to be run up at the yard-arm, or to be sent overboard with shot round their feet, we promised them their liberty—provided they would do as we directed them. They, of course, gladly consented, “We have done well,” observed the stranger captain, when he saw the prisoners rowing away; “not that we can depend much upon those fellows. They may or may not persuade their companions that your vessel is not worth attacking. However, the sooner you sail away from this the better. I am also bound for England, and will bear you company. My vessel lies not far from you; and knowing what was likely to happen, I was on the watch, so that the instant I heard the sounds of strife, I was able to come to your assistance.”
Captain Davis thanked the stranger warmly. “But, friend,” he said, “I have not yet learned your name. I should like to know what to call you when we meet again.”
“Oh! that is of little consequence,” answered the stranger. “To confess the honest truth, I have had more than one name. Call me Rover. I have wandered not a little about the world, and it is a name you will not easily forget.”
“But that is not your real name, surely?” observed A’Dale.
“Young master, when you have lived longer in the world, you will know that you should not ask such a question. A man, in my opinion, may have a dozen names, and slip them off and on in these troublous times as often as he lists. I beg you will remember me as Captain Rover, of the Falcon. We shall see more of each other ere long, probably. I hope that you will not lose sight of the Falcon, nor I of the Diamond, till we are safe in the Thames.”
Saying this, Captain Rover ordered his men into their boats, and pulled away down the stream. His advice was too important to be despised. We continued to keep a bright look-out, knowing that at any moment we might be attacked. We only hoped that his departure might not have been discovered by our enemies. We soon lost sight of him, although we could hear the oars of the boat some time afterwards, as they dipped at intervals into the water, every moment growing fainter and fainter.
I had begun to feel considerable pain from my wound, though the darkness prevented my friends from observing what had happened. It was not till I went down into the cabin with Captain Davis and A’Dale that they perceived that I was hurt. The blood had stained my coat. I felt very faint from the loss of blood, and should have sunk on the deck of the cabin had not A’Dale caught me.
“My dear Ernst,” he exclaimed, “you are badly hurt! why did you not let us know before?” I heard him say, though I was then unable to make a reply.
He and the captain lifted me into my berth. They then took off my clothes, and the latter examined my wound, so I was afterwards told. He had seen so many sword-cut wounds that he knew exactly what to do; and he immediately, with lint and bandage, bound up my arm, and stopped the flow of blood. In a short time I returned to consciousness, when I found A’Dale sitting by me. At first I could not recollect where I was, or what had happened. My first question, however, on coming to my senses, was whether anything more had been seen of the pirates.
“No,” answered A’Dale; “but two or three boats have passed near us in the dark, and the captain is afraid that they are still on the watch for us. He proposes, therefore, directly the tide serves, to get under weigh, and to drop farther down the river. Perhaps we shall fall in with our friend Captain Rover, but if not, we must take care of ourselves, and our fellows have shown that they are both willing and able to fight.”
Soon after he had said this, we heard the sound of heaving up the anchor, and other familiar noises showed us that the vessel was already moving. A’Dale told me that he had left all the men on deck, with their hangers buckled by their sides, and their pikes ready to their hands, to repel any sudden assault.
“I scarcely like to remain so long down here with you;” he added, “lest they should think I am skulking.”
I begged him not to think of me, but to go on deck, if he thought fit.
“Very well,” he said; “but I must come and have a look at you occasionally.”
He was as good as his word. I remember his coming down once, but I was very sleepy, and soon dropped off, so that I was no longer aware of what was taking place.
The grey light of morning had found its way into the cabin when I awoke. All was then quiet; the only sounds which reached my ears being the heavy tread of the men on deck, the occasional creaking of a block, and the ripple of the water against the sides of the vessel. By this I knew that the vessel was under weigh. Feeling much better, I managed to get out of my bed, and throwing a cloak over my shoulders, crawled up on deck. We were standing down the Scheld, with all sail set, for the wind had changed. The crew were still on deck, and, with the captain and mates and A’Dale, were watching a large vessel which was following us. So intent were they in watching the stranger that they did not observe me. As soon, however, as Captain Davis’s eyes rested on me, he exclaimed:
“Go down below, Master Verner, and turn into your berth again. You had no business to come on deck, and run the chance of getting the cold into your wound. I am your doctor, as well as the captain of this ship, and in both characters have a right to command you.”
“I will obey you,” I answered; “but pray tell me, what is that ship astern?”
“That question is one I have no means of answering,” he replied; “but go down, I say, and perhaps A’Dale will tell you all about it when he is wiser than I am.”
A’Dale now came to the companion-hatch, and I was very glad to have his assistance in going down again, and being helped into bed. He told me that the captain was somewhat anxious about the vessel coming up astern; that we had passed her in the early morning, and that soon afterwards she was seen getting under weigh. We, however, having somewhat the start of her, had hitherto kept ahead; but she was now fast coming up with us, and if she was an enemy we might fare ill, however bravely our men might fight.
“But does not the captain suppose she may be Captain Rover’s ship?” I asked. “He told me that she was not tar off, and that he was bound for England.”
“Captain Davis seemed rather to doubt that,” he answered, as he went on deck.
He soon returned, however, saying that I was right; and in a short time the Falcon was almost abreast of us. Captain Davis had had not only my wound to dress, but those of three of his men who had been hurt. Two had been killed, and their bodies were now resting at the bottom of the Scheld.
Captain Rover hailed us through his speaking-trumpet, and expressed his sorrow at hearing that I was hurt. The two captains agreed on the course they were to steer, and promised to remain by each other, thus being the better able to beat off those who might have been inclined to attack us singly.
When the air became warmed by the sun, Captain Davis allowed me to return on deck, for I could not bear being kept below. The water was smooth and the sky bright, and our bulging sails were filled with the fresh breeze. It was pleasant to watch the tall ship as she sailed by our side, with pennants flying, and the muzzles of her guns peering through her ports, and to think of the far-distant lands she had visited. I hoped to have another opportunity of meeting Captain Rover, and of hearing an account of his adventures. Thus the voyage continued. At night our lanterns were lighted, which we carried on the poops and forecastles, so that we might not run the risk of losing sight of each other. Several times strange vessels were seen, but we held on our way without being molested.
I still continued very weak, and I knew that such a wound as I had received was not likely to be cured in a hurry. For my own sake, I was very glad, therefore, when the shores of Essex on one side, and those of Kent on the other, appeared in sight, and we glided slowly up over the bosom of old Father Thames. The same breeze carried us along which had brought us across from Flanders, and at length we cast anchor close to the Tower.
Here Master Elliot, Sir Thomas Gresham’s factor, came on board, and we delivered over to him the goods we had brought. They were at once carefully transferred into boats, and carried into the Tower, where Sir William Cecil had ordered them to be stored. Here, under the superintendence of Master Elliot, the coin was taken out; neither A’Dale nor I, however, saw anything of that. Master Elliot, when he heard that I was wounded, sent a litter, and had me conveyed to Master Gresham’s new house in Bishopsgate Street, which had been built during my absence from England. Lady Anne had just come up to London, and received me with especial kindness. She had many inquiries to make, not only about Sir Thomas, but about her son and Aveline. I was sorry that with a good conscience I could not give a better account of Richard. She sighed as she heard my report.
“And my sweet Aveline, how is she?” she asked.
She watched me, I thought, as I replied; and I was afraid of blushing, and betraying certain feelings which had long been agitating my bosom. I was soon sufficiently recovered to attend the dinner-table, at which Master Elliot, in his employer’s absence, presided. Among the guests, much to my satisfaction, I found Captain Rover, as well as Captain Davis who had brought us over. The latter told me that, after a few slight repairs, he should be ready again to sail, and to convey A’Dale and me back to Antwerp. I learnt also from Captain Rover somewhat about the numerous countries he had visited. He had been, I found, many years from England in command of his ship, which belonged to a company of merchant adventurers, in which company Sir Thomas Gresham had a share. He had been acquainted with Sir Thomas from his youth, having always sailed in ships either belonging to him, or to those with whom he was connected.
On parting from Lady Anne, she gave me many charges with regard to her son Richard.
“And above all things,” she said, “remember you bring him and Aveline ere long back to me in safety.”
A’Dale joined me on board. He had been with his friends to the last moment, and had a great deal to tell me about the wonders he had seen in England, and the state of Queen Elizabeth, who had passed through the City in a magnificent coach, all of gold and silver and silk. But the grandest sight, according to A’Dale’s idea, was the shooting for a great wager of archery, in Finsbury Square, Lord Robert Dudley having been the challenger.
We proceeded for some distance down the Thames aided by the tide, but afterwards were kept a week in the mouth of the Medway, waiting for a fair wind. After this, when we got to sea, we encountered a heavy gale, which drove us back again into harbour. Thus three weeks passed before we arrived at the mouth of the Scheld.
We had brought over a cargo of wool and hides, to be manufactured in the Netherlands into numerous articles.
Sir Thomas approved of all that we had done. He now for the first time heard of the Diamond having been attacked by pirates, and of the assistance which Captain Rover had afforded us.
“I hope that he will be here before long,” he observed, “as I shall be glad to offer him my best thanks, and perchance show him my gratitude in a more substantial manner.”
Having delivered my despatches to Sir Thomas, I hastened in search of Aveline and Richard. On entering the sitting-room, the noise of the opening door aroused Aveline, who was busy over her work, absorbed in thought, so it seemed to me. She started up, and, as I approached, took my hand.
“Why, Ernst!” she exclaimed, “what has happened? you look so pale and ill.”
I told her of our ship having been attacked by pirates, and she listened with deep interest, so it seemed to me, to my narrative.
“And Richard,” I asked, “how is he?” She pointed to a couch in a recess, shaded by a curtain, and shook her head, while a sad look came over her countenance. “He sleeps,” she said. “He sleeps often now, and a long time together, and every day grows weaker; but his father does not observe it. I have not ventured to write to Lady Anne to tell her; and I fear that her grief will be greatly increased when she hears of what will, I am sure, ere long take place. I wish that he had never been brought over here, and separated from her.”
I need not say what further conversation passed between Aveline and me. It was some time before Richard awoke. He seemed pleased at seeing me, but I soon observed that the account which Aveline had given of him was too correct. After the day of my arrival, I saw both him and Aveline only for a short time in the evenings, being engaged in the counting-house from an early hour in the morning till late every day. There was a large amount of work to be done, and as Sir Thomas and Master Clough never spared themselves, so they required us, their inferiors, to labour with a like assiduity.
The state of the country was also becoming every day more and more disordered. It is only surprising that this had not occurred at an earlier period. Antwerp itself suffered, as well as other places. Bands of ruffians went about the streets at night, attacking any unarmed persons they met, and sometimes breaking into houses, when they carried off whatever they could lay hands on, and had generally decamped before the arrival of the watch or guard. At length the robbers so increased in numbers, that the ordinary watch of the town could do nothing to oppose them.
The persecutions continued as fierce as ever, the Inquisitor, Titelmann, daily citing before him persons of all ranks and callings, men and women, and compelling them by force to say whatever it pleased him. Often he did so in revenge for words which they were accused of having uttered against him, although he always used the pretext of heresy. The Government of the Regent—the Duchess of Parma—was also employed in ruining the country, edicts being passed to prohibit the importation of cloth and wool from England. Shortly after this, another edict was passed, prohibiting the importation of any merchandise or goods of any sort from England; while no Flemish goods were allowed to be exported on board English ships.
I was one evening seated at my desk at work, when the porter told me a stranger wished to see me. I went down, and as the light fell on my visitor’s features, I recognised Captain Rover, who had rendered us such essential service on board the Diamond.
I put out my hand and shook his warmly.
“I have come to have a few words with you, Master Verner,” he said, “and it maybe better that they should be in private.”
I led him into the room where Sir Thomas was accustomed to receive casual visitors, and where what was said could not be overheard.
“I have come on a matter of no little importance,” he said.
“A great danger threatens your friend and patron, Sir Thomas Gresham. In my last passage from England, I brought over several persons of whom I had some suspicions when they came on board; yet I did not show what I thought, and they somewhat to my surprise, seemed inclined to take me into their confidence. They were Romanists, I discovered; but as such have perfect freedom to enter or leave the country, I had no wish to molest them. One of them fell sick while on board, and, as his companions neglected him, I did my best to attend to his wants. When we arrived in harbour, I kept him on board some days, and then took him on shore, and had him attended to till he recovered. He then, it appears, joined his companions; but last night he came on board my ship, and entreated me to take him back to his native land, saying that he could have nothing more to do with those with whom he had joined himself. He told me that a villain who goes by the name of Martin has laid a plot to rob this house, and either to carry off Sir Thomas Gresham or to murder him. As he is a cunning villain, it is too likely that he will carry out his plans, if care is not taken to guard against them.”
I warmly thanked Captain Rover for this information, and begged that he would allow me to bring him to Sir Thomas. He thanked me, but declined seeing my patron.
“I do not require any reward of him; and if you repeat what I have told you, my object is gained,” he answered. “Perchance, some day I may make myself known to him; but at present I have no desire to meet those I once knew. I have been deprived of all I cared for or loved on earth; and, if I had the power, I would begin a new existence, so as to forget the past.”
“But why not see my kind patron? he will surely not be ungrateful for the important warning you have brought him; besides, he owes you a debt of gratitude for the assistance you rendered us on board the Diamond. I heard him say that, could he discover you, he would thankfully repay you.”
“I am sure that he would, my young friend,” answered Captain Rover. “He is a just and liberal man; but I require no assistance at present; when I do, I promise you I will ask for it. And now I must bid you farewell; I have myself an important undertaking on hand. I have good reason to hate the bigoted Spaniards and their fearful idolatries, and to befriend those they persecute. I have therefore agreed to assist in the escape of a number of families who dread the persecutions of the Inquisition. Already the demon Titelmann has carried off some of their relatives to imprisonment and slaughter, and they full well know that he will treat them in the same way, if he can capture them.”
“I wish that I could help you!” I exclaimed. “If you can point out how I can do so, after I have performed my duty to my employer, I will join you at any place you may indicate.”
“I thank you, but you cannot do that,” he answered; “I have my vessel ready for sailing, and all I could do was to let the poor people know that when they came alongside I would receive them on board. All my crew are staunch, and I have no fear that they will betray any one. The instant, therefore, the poor fugitives come alongside, they will be hoisted on board and stowed away below, so that, should a Government boat follow them, by the time the officers reach the ship there will be no one to be seen. And now, Ernst Verner, farewell. We may meet, I dare hope, again. I must hasten on board to be ready to receive the fugitives.”
As soon as Captain Rover had left me, I hastened to Sir Thomas. He received my information very calmly, and cross-questioned me as to all Captain Rover had said. “I wished that you had stopped him,” he observed; “and yet I have no reason to doubt his information. I have already received a warning to the same effect, but was in some doubts as to the truth of the account given me. None, however, now remains on my mind. I will, therefore, follow the only prudent course: I will take my treasure and my family out of the country forthwith.”
My patron was prompt in all his actions. Captain Davis was in the harbour. He instantly sent A’Dale on board to the captain, telling him to get his vessel in readiness for his reception, and desired him at the same time to send a dozen stout hands, well-armed, for the protection of some goods which he proposed to ship forthwith. Litters were ordered for Aveline and Richard. He, poor fellow, was unable to sit on horseback; indeed, Sir Thomas could scarcely have been aware of his dangerous condition, or he would not have attempted to move him, especially at night, when the damp air was so likely to increase his malady. Master Clough was not unmindful of the threatened attack on the house, and secured several porters and other trusty men for its protection. A similar body was also prepared to conduct the litters and Sir Thomas down to the water-side. The men had been summoned up one by one, and did not put on their harness till they were inside the house: thus no one was aware of the preparations we were making. The tide would not serve till an hour after midnight: we therefore waited till nearly twelve o’clock before we set out.
The horses were brought round for Sir Thomas, with four stout men-at-arms, who had been engaged as his guards. A’Dale and I went on foot; he taking care of Richard, while I walked by the side of Aveline’s litter. With our swords drawn, and our pistols in our belts, ready for instant use, we proceeded along the streets. Several persons passed us, but if they were robbers, they must have seen that we were too strong a party to be attacked with impunity. Thus we reached the water-side in safety. We there found, much to our surprise, a number of people, all of them with boxes and bundles on their backs, or under their arms—quite a concourse they seemed in the gloom of night. As we entered our boat, we saw that several other boats were ready, apparently for their reception. There were old men and women and children, as well as many young men. As the boats were filled, they rowed off down the river. We could judge by their exclamations that they were in great haste, and fearful of being overtaken. At length there was a cry, “The guard is coming! the guard is coming!”
The men faced about and drew their weapons, while the remainder of the women and children were hurried into the boats. Then their protectors slowly retreated. The soldiers rushed forward, as they saw the number of the fugitives on shore decreasing. The latter defended themselves bravely. We were, of course, shoved off forthwith, lest the soldiers might fire on us, as we saw them doing upon the helpless people in the other boats. We judged, as we pulled down the river, from the flashes of fire-arms, that none of the fugitives were longer defending themselves on shore, but that either they had thrown themselves into the water, or had escaped in the boats, unless they had been taken prisoners. From the number of people, and the boats which were rowing down the river with us, we thought there must have been one hundred or more fugitives escaping from the fearful persecution of the terrible Inquisitor, Peter Titelmann. From what Captain Rover had told me, I concluded that these people were attempting to reach his ship. I prayed earnestly that they might do so in safety. We urged our boatmen to row as fast as they could, for now numerous lights were seen on the shore, and we feared that the emissaries of the Inquisitors were getting boats ready in order to pursue the fugitives. I knew well the sort of man with whom they would have to deal, if the latter were captured.
Aveline became as much interested as I was, when I explained what was taking place.
“I wish that I could help the poor people,” she exclaimed; “but I can, at all events, pray for them!”
She did not appear in any way to think of the dangerous position in which we ourselves were placed, for there was no doubt that, should we be overtaken, we should run a great risk of being cast into the prisons of the Inquisitors. Although no building exclusively used for confining those accused of heresy had been erected in the Netherlands, the ordinary prisons were so completely under the command of the Inquisitors, that they answered every purpose of those fearful edifices which existed in Spain.
Sir Thomas sat calmly in the boat supporting Richard in his arms, and endeavouring with his cloak to protect him from the night air. As I cast my eyes back toward the town we were leaving, the number of lights increased, and some appeared to be close to the water, and moving towards us. “If our pursuers have lights in their boats, it will be an advantage to us,” I thought, “as we shall be the better able to avoid them.” I did not, however, mention what I had observed to our crew, who were already doing their utmost to reach the ship. At length, greatly to our satisfaction, her signal lights were seen a short distance ahead, and soon her high sides appeared rising up close before us. Aveline, with her maiden and Richard, were soon lifted on board, followed by Sir Thomas. The treasure was quickly hoisted up, and, as the breeze was favourable, the ship was immediately got under weigh. Those only who knew the river well could venture down it in the dark. Objects scarcely visible to landsmen’s eyes were seen by her pilot, and thus we were able to avoid any risk of striking.
We continued on till morning at length broke, when no boats were in sight; but a short distance from us appeared a large vessel, which I had little doubt was the Falcon, as, having watched her earnestly when I had before crossed to England, I well remembered her appearance.
It was satisfactory, I thought, to have her near us, in case we might meet an enemy, as she was, I knew, well-armed; and I was very certain that Captain Rover would do his best to support us. I had more of Aveline’s society than I had enjoyed for some time, for Sir Thomas was greatly taken up with his son. Poor Richard was evidently the worse for being out on the river at night, and his father, I think, now for the first time saw his very great danger. Aveline watched the tall ship which followed us with great interest, when I told her about the poor people who, I believed, were on board, and gave her an account of the singular man who commanded the vessel.
At length we were at sea, but the wind was so light that we made but little way. The night was very dark, and during it we lost sight of the Falcon. After Aveline had retired to her cabin, I observed that the captain called all the crew on deck, and ordered them to take in some of the sails and to furl the rest. I inquired why he did this.
“Because I don’t like the look of the weather, Master Verner,” he answered. “I may be mistaken, and we may not have a breath of wind all night, and if so, our sails will do us no good; whereas, if the gale comes down upon us, it will be well they are all snugly furled.”
I agreed with him; and, with the expectation of what might occur, I could not bring myself to lie down in my cabin. I consequently continued walking the deck with him. Now he stopped and looked out over the ship’s side, peering, as it were, into the darkness; now, without making any remark, he continued his walk. He was at no time very communicative, being a man rather of action than of words. He was, however, brave and true-hearted, and I felt satisfied that in no safer hands could our lives be placed. We had not taken many turns when I felt a strong, damp wind in my face, which rapidly increased. In a short time the dark water was lighted up with the foam-crested seas, which rose out of its hitherto mirror-like surface. The wind howled and whistled through the rigging, the yards creaked, stray ropes lashed about, and the foam began to fly over the decks.
The vessel, like a horse to which the spur has been given, dashed onwards, plunging and leaping, as it were, over the fast rising waves. The noise I have described increased as the vessel began to plunge more and more furiously. At first, only masses of spray broke over her; but now the seas themselves dashed upwards and washed over our deck. I had gone down below to put on my sea-coat, when I heard Sir Thomas’s voice inquiring what was occurring. Aveline also asked timidly if anything serious was the matter. I could only reply that a gale had commenced, which I hoped our stout ship would without difficulty ride out. Even during the short time I had been below a change for the worse had taken place. The wind howled more furiously; the water in greater volumes burst over the vessel, and she seemed to pitch and roll more desperately than before. The captain advised me to go below, urging that the sea might wash over the deck, and perchance carry me overboard; but I begged to remain on deck, saying that I could hold on to the rigging as well as the crew. Few words were spoken; only occasionally the captain issued some orders to the helmsman or to the rest of the crew, which were quickly obeyed. At length, several heavy seas struck the ship; one came roaring up, and carried away part of her bulwarks, and a breach having thus been made, those which broke on board committed yet further damage. After a time, I heard the captain order the carpenter to sound the well. He spoke a few ominous words, on his return, to the captain. The ship had sprung a leak. Orders were given to man the pumps. And now the crew began working away with might and main. However bad the leak, they might hope to keep the water under till the ship could reach a port. Thus the night passed away. I begged that I might take my part, and laboured with the rest. I was thankful indeed to see the grey dawn slowly break upon the world of waters. On every side the dark green seas were rolling and leaping up, thickly crested with masses of foam, which flew off their tops, and danced from sea to sea. No other vessel was in sight. The dark clouds hung down, as it were, covering the ocean with a thick canopy. The leak would allow of no rest to the crew. As soon as one party of men grew tired, others took their places. Several times I threw myself down on the deck to regain my strength.
I was thus lying down near the companion-hatch, when I saw a figure standing close to me. It was Aveline. She gazed about her with a look of astonishment and awe, but when her eyes fell on me, her countenance exhibited an expression of consternation. “Oh! Ernst Verner, what has happened? are you hurt?” she exclaimed.
I rose as she spoke, assuring her that I had suffered no harm, and at the same time entreating her to return to the cabin, lest one of the furious seas which ever and anon swept over the deck might carry her into the raging ocean.
“But the same fate might befall you,” she said. “Oh, Ernst, how fearful!”
I showed her that I was holding on to a ring-bolt in the deck, and that the risk I ran when thus lying down was not so great as she had supposed. As I was speaking, I saw a sea rising high above the bows of the vessel. I had just time to grasp her in my arms, and to spring under shelter of the companion-hatch, before it broke on board, and rushed as others had done along our deck. Not without difficulty I saved her from injury, and, descending the ladder, placed her in the cabin, where her maiden was sitting crying bitterly with alarm. On the other side was Sir Thomas, supporting poor Richard. He himself had been too often at sea not to have been placed before in a like position, though he seemed scarcely aware how furious was the gale then blowing, nor had he been told, I found, how serious was the leak the vessel had sprung. The crew continued working energetically at the pumps; and I judged by the way the captain and mates urged them to persevere, themselves working like the rest, that the water in the hold had in no way been got under. The captain and his officers were brave men; but their countenances grew pale with anxiety, and I saw them looking constantly round the horizon in search of some vessel which might come to our assistance. At length I asked Captain Davis what he thought of our condition.
“To be frank with you, I think very bad of it, Master Verner,” he said. “If the gale abates, the ship may be kept afloat; but if not, all our efforts will be unavailing; and then, unless some vessel comes to our assistance, drowning must be our lot!”
My heart sank at these words, for I had not before realised our danger. Should I go and tell those below to be prepared for death? I had not the heart to do it. At that instant my post at the pumps was left by another man. I rushed frantically at it, and worked away with might and main. As long as I was in action, I could keep off the painful thoughts which pressed on me. Was I prepared for death? Yes, I had settled that matter as every man ought to settle it; if he does not, wretched is his condition when the hour of trial arrives; but I thought of others,—my kind patron, of his gentle son, but, more than all, of Aveline, so young, so fair, thus to be summoned out of the world. Yet, surely there must be hope. I looked at the boats.
“We can be saved in them, captain,” I said.
“They would not live a moment in such a sea as this,” he answered.
“Then we can construct some rafts?”
He shook his head.
“The strongest man would quickly be washed off them. No, Ernst Verner, we are in God’s hands. If He orders the storm and seas, they will obey Him. I know thus much about religion. We will make another effort to get at the leak, but not for a moment can we desert the pumps. Already the ship labours heavily, and a few more feet of water in her hold will carry her to the bottom.”
The captain was as good as his word. A sail was got over the bows, and hauled by ropes under the ship, where the leak was supposed to be. This done, a party of men descended with bedding and clothes, and such loose stuff as could be found, in order to ram it into the leak. It seemed that these efforts were not altogether unavailing, for though the water still increased, it did so less rapidly than before. Hour after hour passed by, and I judged from the looks of the captain, and the way he spoke, that he was still very anxious.
“We can but prolong our lives,” he remarked at length. “The men are now almost worn-out, and cannot, I see, continue much longer at work.” Even as he spoke, several of the crew left their posts, and, throwing themselves on the deck, declared that they could do no more. Others murmured out that the ship was sinking. Some begged that spirits might be given to them.
At this juncture, as I was gazing round the horizon, my eye fell on a white spot rising above the dancing seas. At first I thought it was but a sea-gull’s wing, or it might be the crest of a wave higher than those near us. I called the attention of one of the mates, who was standing near me, to it. He looked at it anxiously for some time. At length he shouted, “A sail! a sail! Cheer up, lads!”
The cry was taken up by the men. Those who had thrown themselves on the deck leaped to their feet, and once more seized the handles of the pumps. Nearer and nearer drew the ship. The wind too, I thought, was also abating.
“Cheer up, lads! cheer up!” shouted the captain ever and anon, as the men appeared to be relaxing their efforts at the pumps. “You will see your homes again, never fear, if you keep moving smartly!” Still, although the crew worked on bravely, the water continued pouring in, and rising higher and higher. It needed not now for any one to tell Sir Thomas Gresham or his companions in the cabin of the danger we were in, for already the water was rising to their feet. They now rushed with scared looks on deck; Sir Thomas supporting his son in his arms, followed by Aveline and her maiden.
Seeing the way in which the men were working at the pumps, Sir Thomas, placing Richard under shelter within the companion-hatch, seized a handle, and began himself working away like the rest.
“You should have told me of this before,” he observed. “I had no right to be excused labouring with others.”
His example had the effect of encouraging the crew, who even now had begun to relax somewhat in their efforts.
A signal of distress had been hoisted. It was seen by the approaching vessel. I judged from her appearance that she was the Falcon, and Captain Davis told me I was right. Night, however, was approaching, and the difficulty of reaching her would be greatly increased by the darkness. On she came, and by this time the sea had so much gone down, that boats could be lowered from her without difficulty. Two were seen let into the water, and, propelled by sturdy crews, they approached our ship. Sir Thomas at that time thought little of the wealth on board the Diamond. His desire was to save the lives of his son and those with him, but Richard seemed to engross almost all his thoughts. He scarcely regarded himself, so it seemed to me. Even though the boats were approaching, the captain urged the crew to keep to the pumps.
“Lads,” he exclaimed, “it would be a base thing to let this fine ship sink beneath our feet, if any exertion of ours can keep her afloat!”
“Think not of the wealth on board, but rather run no risk of losing your own life and that of your companions, Master Davis,” said Sir Thomas.
By this time the boats had come alongside.
The first who leaped out of them on to the deck of the sinking ship was Captain Rover. A glance showed him our condition, and he seemed to recognise Sir Thomas, though he did not address him by name.
“We will convey you safely on board my ship, sir,” he said, “with those who cannot work; but I never let a stout ship sink under me if I can keep her afloat; and perchance a few fresh hands will help her to do that, if my friend here, Captain Davis, will accept their services.”
Captain Davis’s countenance brightened, and cordially thanking his brother captain, he accepted his offer.
“You shall have half a dozen of my men for those who are already knocked up,” said Captain Rover.
Meantime Aveline and her maiden had been carefully lowered into one of the boats. Sir Thomas and Richard followed.
“Can I desert my charge?” I said to myself. “No; that were a disgrace while I have strength. If Captain Davis remains, so will I.”
I did not forget Aveline when I came to this resolution. It was in spite of the strong wish I had to accompany her. Yet she would be in safety on board the Falcon, and I trusted that the Diamond would yet swim, and enter port at last. I therefore bade Sir Thomas farewell, telling him that I would remain by the ship and her cargo, of which I had charge.
“You do well, Ernst,” he exclaimed; “and your service shall not be forgotten.”
I fancied, but it might have been vanity, that Aveline looked up at me anxiously, as if she wished that I had accompanied her; but my resolve was taken, I was doing my duty, and prepared for the consequences.
Captain Rover, with our worn-out men and passengers, returned to the Falcon; while we, once more making sail, stood on our course towards the mouth of the Thames. The six fresh hands which had been left with us soon reduced the depth of water in the hold. Yet as night came on our anxiety returned. Though the wind had fallen, the sea was still somewhat rough, and the night was dark, and we could with difficulty keep the Falcon in sight. As the wind fell, a fog came on, and at last completely shut her out. Thus we were all alone on the dark ocean. Now and then the men at the pumps would cheer and pass jokes to each other, but those who had knocked off lay without speaking, resting from their toil. The only other sound was the creaking of the yards against the masts, and the splashing of the sea against the vessel’s bows. I had had no rest the previous night; at length, overcome with fatigue, I descended to the cabin, and threw myself into my berth. I had scarcely time to offer up a prayer before my eyelids closed in sleep. And yet, while I asked for my own safety, more fervently did I petition for that of Aveline. The cabin, and many of the articles which she had left about in the hurried departure from the ship, brought her vividly to my mind. Yet surely I did not require any visible things to recall her. I knew full well that there were still many dangers to be encountered. Another gale might arise. Even the Falcon might spring a leak, or be driven on rocks or quicksands, while there were many pirates cruising about, some French and others Flemish, on the look-out for merchantmen sailing without a convoy of men-of-war.
I do not think I shall ever get the sound of those clanging pumps out of my ears. Daylight returned, but a thick mist hung over the sea, and concealed all objects from sight. The ocean was now calm; we wished indeed that there had been more wind, that we might with greater speed finish our voyage. At length, as the sun rose higher in the sky, his warm beams dispelled the mist, while a breeze from the south filled our sails, and once more we glided rapidly through the water. We looked round for the Falcon. No vessel answering her description was visible, but in the south-west were two or three sail. The Falcon was not likely to have been in that position. We only hoped that, should they draw near to us, they might prove friends. Now we set all the sail the vessel could carry; indeed, every one on board was anxious to take her home in safety, knowing the reward they would receive for so doing. As the day advanced, two of the strangers drew nearer. They were tall ships, their hulls being high out of the water, and their masts crowded with sail, towering above them. Our captain regarded them attentively.
“They may be friends,” he observed; “but it is not impossible that they are foes, and we shall do well to keep out of their way.”
The wind now favoured us, coming still more astern; and long yards were rigged out on either side of the vessel, from which sails were hung close down to the water. Active seamen went aloft and hoisted other masts with yards and sails above those already set. To the extreme yard-arm also spars were run out, from which more canvas was hung. Thus, like some winged creature, we glided rapidly over the smooth sea.
We watched the strangers. The more our captain looked at them, the more he was convinced that they were French. It was doubtful at first whether, with all our exertions, we were getting ahead of our pursuers. If taken, we should not only lose the wealth committed to our charge, but be ourselves placed in prison; and the French had a bad name for the way in which they treated their prisoners. The more anxious we appeared to be to escape, the more eager our pursuers evidently became to overtake us. They also, as they got the wind astern, set fresh sails; and it was evident that we no longer increased our distance from them, rather at times we feared the contrary. We ran on, and, had the ship been free of water, we might probably have distanced our pursuers. Still hope kept us up. At night we might have a better prospect of escaping, but night was still far-distant. On looking ahead, we observed in the horizon another sail. After looking at her for some time, we were convinced that she was standing the same way that we were; therefore, even if a friend, she would not render us any assistance.
We stood on, but every hour showed that our pursuers were gaining on us. But we also were gaining on the vessel ahead. And now, as we looked, another appeared. She, too, was a tall ship. Though we saw her, our pursuers did not; and thus, as I before said, we continued to run on, the chances of our escaping lessening every hour. At length, a flash and a puff of smoke were seen, and the sound of a gun came rolling over the water.
“Your shot will not reach us yet, my friends!” exclaimed Captain Davis; “and while you are inclined to play at long bowls, we need not fear you.” Another and another followed, till the enemy ceased firing, seeing that their shot fell short. The sound, however, had the effect of calling the attention of the vessels ahead, and we now saw them coming round to the wind and standing toward us. There were two tall ships, and a third much smaller. As they approached, our pursuers seemed to think that they had followed us far enough. All their light sails were taken in, and they now also hauled to the wind. The two tall ships were evidently English men-of-war, while the third was, as I had supposed, the Falcon. As she passed us, Captain Rover hailed, desiring us to continue our course, saying that he would keep us company, while the men-of-war would pursue the enemy. We had now a friend near us; and although the leak gave us ample employment, we at length safely entered the Thames.
The wind continuing favourable, we ran up, and came to an anchor off the Tower.
The fugitives at once landed, and joined their countrymen who had already settled in England. The Government of the Queen had wisely and liberally made all possible arrangements for their accommodation; abodes, and places of worship where they might hold their services according to the Protestant form, being assigned to them.
I proceeded at once on board the Falcon, and was amply repaid for the risk I had run by the reception I met with from my kind patron. Aveline’s welcome also was abundantly gratifying. I was on this occasion much struck by the way in which Captain Rover regarded the young lady.
“Yes,” I heard him say to himself; “if it were not for the difference of age, I could believe that one whom I know is now in heaven had returned once more to earth. Strange! most strange!”
He did not give me an opportunity of inquiring what he meant. Indeed, it was said only as we were about to leave the ship, and to proceed to Sir Thomas Gresham’s new house in Bishopsgate Street.
Lady Anne was at this time residing at Osterley. Sir Thomas therefore remained at Gresham House only one day, in order that Richard’s strength might be somewhat recruited. We then proceeded to Osterley House, a beautiful residence which Sir Thomas had lately purchased, ten miles out of London. On the approach of our cavalcade, Lady Anne hurried down to welcome her husband and son, as well as Aveline, with open arms. I saw her countenance fall as her eyes rested on Richard. She, at a glance, discovered, what his father had yet scarcely done, that he was greatly altered; for he had become daily weaker since we left Antwerp. The best physicians from London were called in, but they could give no hope to the fond parents; and Sir Thomas became fully aware that he must be prepared to lose his only son. The blow was a heavy one. My patron was a strong-minded man, accustomed to deal with characters of all sorts; but his diplomatic powers, his financial talents, could here avail him nothing. He almost succumbed under the heavy sorrow. Even before he expected, Richard breathed his last. He knew, however, that the same Hand which had given him worldly prosperity had taken away his son, and he submitted without murmuring. He said little, but he suffered none the less. The pleasant house had become a house of mourning. Aveline, with all a daughter’s tenderness, endeavoured to soothe the sorrow of her kind mistress; and when I next paid a visit to Osterley, I was thankful to see that both my patron and his lady had regained their usual tranquil manner. Sir Thomas had entertained the thought, common to most men who have gained rank and honours, of building up a house. The death of his son altered all his projects. He now began to speak to me of the duty of public men, who have wealth at their command, undertaking works for the general benefit of their countrymen. Numerous projects passed through his mind.
We had been one day in London, standing out in Lombard Street, where the merchants were wont to meet to transact business, and had been exposed to much damp and cold; the heavy rain frequently compelling us, with other persons, to seek shelter in the shops near where we happened to be standing, when, on our return to Gresham House, Sir Thomas exclaimed:
“Why should not a great commercial city like London possess a Bourse like that of Antwerp? It would be a great benefit to our merchants; and yet I fear that unless some private person undertakes it, we may never see such a building erected. The Government, provided they obtain the money for their wants, can scarcely be expected to care how their merchants are lodged.”
I, of course, agreed with Sir Thomas, that such a building was very desirable; but that I scarcely expected that any one would be found public-spirited enough to erect it at his own expense.
“Nay,” he said, “but if a man has the means, and the thought is put into his heart, it is his duty to carry it out.”
To plan, with Sir Thomas, was in most cases to execute. At his dictation, I wrote out a proposal, in which he offered to build a Bourse, or Exchange, at his own expense, for the accommodation of the merchants, provided a site should be found on which the edifice might be conveniently erected. One of his principal clerks—Anthony Strynger—was directed the next day, the 4th of January, 1565, to make the proposal in due form before the Court of Aldermen. At first it was proposed to establish it in Leadenhall. But Sir Thomas wished to erect his building in the close vicinity of Lombard Street, so that the merchants might not be moved to any distance from their original place of meeting. His magnificent offer was at once accepted, and a subscription was entered into by the merchants for purchasing a piece of ground in the position he indicated. Some time, however, passed before the stone of the foundation was laid. The ceremony took place on the 7th of June, 1567; but so diligently did the workmen perform their task, that the whole was finished by the end of November in the same year. I should say that during the period I have mentioned I was sent over to Antwerp—as was also one of my patron’s apprentices, John Worrall—to assist Master Clough in purchasing materials for the Bourse. The architect of the building was Flemish—Master Henryke by name. We shipped large quantities of stone, as also much of the woodwork, from the Netherlands. All the wainscoting was made at Antwerp, as was also the glass for the windows. It was adorned with numerous statues. Most of them were executed in England; but Sir Thomas desired to have one, superior to the rest, of the Queen’s Majesty. This was executed in Antwerp, and received great commendation. We shipped iron also, and the slates with which the building was roofed. I now continued to reside in Flanders, where Sir Thomas only occasionally paid a visit, as business of importance demanded his presence. Master Clough, having become weary of a single life, had gone to his native country—Wales—and had there found an amiable lady to his taste, and with her he had lately returned to Antwerp, there to resume his office as Sir Thomas Gresham’s chief factor. My old friend A’Dale had been residing there ever since the time I last spoke of him, and frequently I had letters from him describing events which had taken place. From these I have noted down the more important points of interest by which my friends in after years may be able to understand the state of the Low Countries at that time.
Before I commence that brief narrative, however, I must say that Aveline continued to reside with Lady Anne, and truly to act towards her the part of a loving daughter. I had for some time entertained hopes that the young lady was not altogether indifferent to me. That I myself loved her I had long since discovered. I had, however, as yet not the means of supporting her in that state to which, through the kindness of our friends, she had been accustomed. I spoke, it may be remembered, of a document which had been placed in my hands by her martyred mother. On examination it was found that it related to an estate which was rightfully the property of her father; but without his appearance to claim it, she herself could not take possession of it. Sir Thomas had expressed his readiness to endeavour to obtain it for her; but on consulting the lawyers they decided that this could not be done. Her father—Master Radford—had been outlawed in the reign of King Henry for holding heretical opinions; and unless he should appear and obtain a reversion of that outlawry, the estate would remain forfeited. By petitioning the Queen’s Majesty, however, there would be no difficulty in obtaining this reversion. But Master Radford had not appeared; and great doubts were entertained whether he was still in existence.
Oftentimes I thought of expressing my wishes to Sir Thomas, and entreating him to place me in some position where my means would be sufficient for the maintenance of a wife; but yet, owing everything as I did to him, I felt that I ought to wait until he should propose to advance me, being sure that, had I patience, this he would certainly do at some time. I may mention also that Captain Davis was continually employed in the service of Sir Thomas, especially in bringing over the materials for the Bourse. Of my friend Captain Rover, however, I in vain attempted to gain tidings. He had again left England on a long voyage; his ship, the Falcon, being employed by a company of merchant adventurers.
I have already spoken of the fearful persecutions to which the inhabitants of the Netherlands were subjected by the officers of the Inquisition.
At length they could no longer submit to the tyranny under which they groaned. Some of the principal nobles of the land resolved to oppose the bloody edicts of King Philip. Among the chief was Philip de Marnix, Lord of Sainte Aldegonde, a Protestant nobleman and a true patriot. He having collected a number of other leading men of a similar character, they drew up a document called “The Compromise,” by which all the signers bound themselves to oppose the Inquisition, and to defend each other against all the consequences of such a resistance. At the same time they professed allegiance to the King, pretending to suppose that he was unacquainted with the tyranny exercised over his subjects. Among those who first signed this document were Louis of Nassau, brother of the Prince of Orange, Henry de Brederode, the Counts of Culembourg and De Berg. De Brederode at the commencement took the leading part in this movement.
But all eyes were turned towards William of Nassau, Prince of Orange. He was nominally a minister of the Regent, and Governor of the Provinces of Holland and Zealand; but it was well-known that his heart was with his fellow-countrymen. Some of the people, however, looked towards Lamoral Count Egmont, who was considered the best soldier of his time; and it was thought he would hasten to the relief of the country. Count Horn, Admiral of the Seas, noted for his bravery, was also considered a patriot likely to come forward in the cause of liberty.
At length, the Compromise having been signed by a large number of noblemen and gentlemen, it was resolved to present the petition to the Regent, then holding her court at Brussels. Master Clough, hearing what was about to take place, sent me over there to gain information. I arrived on the 3rd of April, 1566.
On the evening of that day notice was given that a cavalcade of noblemen was entering the city, and I, with many thousands of the citizens, hurried out to meet it. There were at least two hundred noblemen on horseback, all magnificently dressed, with pistols in their holsters, and swords by their sides. Count Brederode rode at their head—a tall, stout man, with a soldier-like bearing and handsome features, his light curling locks hanging down over his shoulders. Close to him rode Count Louis of Nassau, one of the bravest and most gallant of knights. As the cavalcade advanced, slowly making its way through the streets, it was greeted from all sides with frequent demonstrations of applause. The two Counts alighted at the house of the Prince of Orange, while the rest of the company, with their numerous attendants, separated to other parts of the city. The following day the Counts Culembourg and De Berg entered the city with a hundred other cavaliers. The 5th of April was the day fixed for presenting the petition. The confederates assembled at the mansion of Count Culembourg, a short distance from the palace where the Duchess Margaret was prepared to receive them. It was a brave sight to see these three hundred young noblemen, arrayed in the most magnificent costumes, walking arm in arm through the street. There was little doubt of the risk they ran, but they had resolved to attempt the deliverance of their country from Spanish tyranny. The daughter of Charles the Fifth received them in the very hall where he had abdicated his throne, many of the nobles who appeared on that occasion being present. Among them were Orange and Egmont. Brederode, advancing, addressed the Duchess, expressing his devotion both to her and to the King, at the same time pointing out that the edicts and the Inquisition would certainly produce a general rebellion if continued. He stated, also, that there was not a man in the country, whatever his condition, who was not liable at any moment to lose his life under the edicts; and that the life and property of each individual were in the power of the first man who desired to obtain his estate, and chose to denounce him to an Inquisitor. He requested, therefore, that her Highness would despatch an envoy to the King, and that in the meantime the Inquisitors should be directed no longer to exercise their functions. Among those who stood near the Duchess was the Baron Berlaymont, who, in a voice stifled with passion, though still loud enough for the petitioners to hear, exclaimed:
“Is it possible that your Highness can entertain fears of these beggars (gueux)? See! there is not one of them who has not outgrown his estate!”
The same remark was repeated in the hearing of some of the confederates. On their meeting afterwards at a banquet prepared in the Culembourg mansion, after the wine had freely circulated, Brederode rose. He well knew the feelings which the remark I have mentioned had excited in the breasts of the confederates.
“They call us beggars!” he shouted, in a scornful tone. “The joke is a good one. Let us accept the name; we will contend with the abominable Inquisition till compelled to wear the beggar’s sack in reality!”
He then called one of his pages, who brought him a leathern wallet, such as are worn by mendicants, and a large wooden bowl.
Hanging the wallet round his neck, he filled the bowl with wine, and lifting it with both hands, he drained it at a draught.
“Long live the beggars!” he cried, as he wiped his beard and put the bowl down.
“Long live the beggars!” resounded through the hall. The bowl went round, and each noble, pushing his golden goblet aside, and filling the bowl to the brim, drank the same toast: “Vivent les Gueux!”
The wine continued to flow fast. While the conviviality was at its height, the Prince of Orange, with Counts Horn and Egmont, made their appearance. Immediately they were surrounded by the now half-intoxicated beggars, who compelled each of them to drink from the bowl, amid shouts of “Vivent le Roi et les Gueux!”