We left Captain Christison and his son just as they had gallantly rescued the stranger who had been set upon by ruffians in one of the principal thoroughfares of London. They had scarcely time to proceed far with him before they met a carriage accompanied by a couple of running footmen.
“O my lord duke! Are you safe? are you safe?” exclaimed the men.
“No thanks to your bravery, varlets,” answered the nobleman. “Had it not been for these gentlemen, you would probably have never seen me again alive. And now, gentlemen,” he said, turning to the captain and his son, “let me beg you will take a seat in my carriage, that I may convey you to your abode; or, if you will, honour me by coming to my mansion, that I may thank you more particularly for the essential service you have rendered me. I am the Duke of Ormonde. I was seated in my carriage, not dreaming of an attack, when two men suddenly opened the door, dragged me out, and, before my attendants could interfere, one of them, a powerful fellow, hoisted me up on the saddle before him. I struggled, and had just succeeded in bringing him with myself to the ground, when you came up. Why I have been thus assaulted I cannot tell, but I fear that it was in consequence of the animosity of some political opponents.”
“Thank you, my lord duke,” answered Christison. “We are lodging in the City, and I would not wish to take your grace so far out of your way, nor can we intrude upon you at this hour of the evening; but to-morrow morning we will, with your leave, wait on your grace. We have met before, though perhaps the recollection of the circumstances may not be altogether pleasant. I will not therefore now speak of them, though, as your grace at present sits on the upper end of the seesaw, you may look back on those days without annoyance.”
“As you will,” said the duke; “but you have not given me your name, and I should wish to recollect one who has rendered me so essential a service.”
“Wenlock Christison,—an old soldier, an it please your grace,” said the captain, introducing his son at the same time.
“Ah! ah! now I recollect you well, Captain Christison,” answered the duke, “and truly I bear you no grudge because you sided with those I considered my foes; but let bygones be bygones, and I shall be very glad to see you again.”
Saying this, with the help of his attendants, the duke entered his carriage, shaking hands very warmly with Wenlock. “I owe you a heavy debt, young gentleman,” he said, “and one I shall at all times be glad to repay, and yet consider that I have not paid you sufficiently.”
“A fortunate meeting,” said Captain Christison to his son, as they walked on together. “The Duke of Ormonde is a powerful nobleman, and a truly upright and honest gentleman at the same time. What he promises he will fulfil. It is more than can be said of most of those in King Charles’s court. Take my advice, Wenlock. Do not let this opportunity of gaining a good position in the world pass by. I do not suppose that he will offer me anything, but if he does, I shall be inclined to accept it. You see, Wenlock, our finances are far from being in a flourishing condition. I cannot turn to trade like my friend Mead, as I have no knowledge of it. In truth, as our family have always followed the calling of arms, or one of the liberal professions, I am not much disposed to yield to my worthy friend’s arguments, and sheathe my sword for ever. I cannot understand why people should not be soldiers, and at the same time honest men and Christians.”
“I will have a talk with Mistress Mary Mead on the subject,” answered Wenlock, “when next we meet. At the same time I desire to follow your wishes, father.”
“I rather suspect that Mistress Mary’s bright eyes will weigh somewhat in the balance with her arguments, Master Wenlock,” said his father, with a laugh. “However, we will pay our visit to the duke, and if he throws fortune in our way, I see not why we should refuse to clutch it.”
The next morning was bright and dry. The captain and his son set off to pay their intended visit to the Duke of Ormonde. Wenlock, in his new slash doublet and hose, with a feather in his cap and a sword by his side, looked a brave young gallant, as in truth he was.
His father gazed at him proudly. “It were a pity,” thought the old soldier to himself, “to see the lad turn Quaker, and throw away the brilliant prospects he has of rising in the world. Such a chance as this may never occur to him again; for though I perchance might get him a commission in a troop of horse with myself, yet he would have many hard blows to strike before he could rise to fortune and fame, while a bullet might, long ere he reached them, cut short his career.”
On arriving at the Duke of Ormonde’s residence, they were at once shown into an ante-chamber, where two or three pages in attendance minutely scrutinised young Wenlock. They suspected, perhaps, from his manner and appearance, that he had come to take service with them. Courtesy, however, prevented them making any inquiries on the subject. After a short time, a gentleman came out of the duke’s chamber and invited Captain Christison and his son to enter. His manner was especially respectful, and this evidently raised the visitors in the opinion of the young pages. The duke came forward and shook Captain Christison cordially by the hand. He received Wenlock in a still more kind manner. Then turning to a dignified young man by his side, he said, “Allow me to introduce you to my son Ossory. He desires also to thank you for the service you have rendered his father.”
“Indeed I do, gentlemen,” said Lord Ossory, coming forward; “and I only hope that this young gentleman will allow me to show my gratitude. Who the villains were from whom you rescued the duke we have been as yet unable to ascertain, but there can be no doubt that their purpose was to murder him; indeed, preparations for hanging some one were found made this morning under the gibbet at Tyburn; and coupling this with a threatening letter received a few days ago by the duke, we suspect that they intended to put him thus ignominiously to death.”
Captain Christison made a suitable reply to these remarks of the duke and the earl. “As to myself,” he said, “I have been a stranger to England for many years, and came home for the sake of seeing my native land again, and then taking service afloat or on shore, wherever I might find my sword acceptable, and my conscience would allow me.”
“I understand you, my friend,” said the duke; “and since old foes have shaken hands, and Roundheads and Cavaliers now unite together, I trust that you will not object to accept a company in my regiment. As senior captain, you will have the command; and as you have fought at sea, you will not object, I presume, to serve again on board ship, should a war break out. Lord Ossory, who is in the navy, desires to retain your son about his own person, should the young gentleman like to see something of the world. Otherwise, I should be glad to give him a post in my household.”
“You overwhelm us with kindnesses, my lord duke,” said Captain Christison. “For myself, nothing would suit me better than what you propose, and I must beg to leave my son to choose for himself. What say you, Wenlock? Do you wish to take time to think on the matter, or will you run the chance of seeing service under the noble Earl of Ossory?”
The worldly ambition of the old soldier, excited by the flattering remarks of the duke, imparted itself to Wenlock. Could he make up his mind to turn draper’s assistant in the City, as he had been meditating doing yesterday, while so brilliant a prospect had opened itself up before him? The thought were ridiculous.
“I heartily accept the offer of the Earl of Ossory, my lord duke,” he said, with a bow which could not have been surpassed had he been all his life at court. “I could not wish to serve under a more noble and gallant leader.”
“I am glad it is so settled,” said the Duke. “To be frank with you, Captain Christison, I remember you well, and the good service you did to the cause you advocated. I have not forgotten, either, the courteous way in which you treated me when I fell into your hands on the fatal field of Worcester; and, by my troth, the way the Cavaliers behaved on that occasion made me ashamed of my order and the cause I served. You tell me that you are lodging in the City. You can, however, move here as soon as you please. There are rooms for you both, and places at my table. In truth, after the dastardly attack made upon me last night, I shall be thankful to have two such trusty friends within call, for I know not when I may be again assaulted.”
Thus invited, the captain and his son were glad to move that very evening to the duke’s house; indeed, the few gold pieces remaining in the old soldier’s purse reminded him that he must find some speedy means of replenishing it, or run the risk of having to live upon short commons. The captain had never been a prudent man, and Wenlock little thought what a hole the cost of his suit had made in his father’s exchequer.
“And thou art going away on board a warship to fight and slay, and, alack! perchance to be slain,” said Mary Mead, whose hand was held by Wenlock Christison. “It is sad to think of such cruel deeds, and sadder still that thou, Wenlock, should engage in such work. I had thought my father had shown thee the sinfulness of warfare, and that I might have said something to the same effect that might have moved thee.”
“So you did, Mary; and when I am with you truly I feel inclined to play the woman, and, throwing up all my brilliant prospects, to join myself to your father or Master William Penn, and to go forth as they are wont to do to promulgate their doctrines.”
“Nay; but that would not be playing the woman, surely,” said Mary, reproachfully. “It is no woman’s work they have to go through, although some women are found who boldly go forth even into foreign lands, and, in spite of danger and opposition, are not behind the men in zeal in the good cause.”
“I am wrong, Mary, thus to speak. I should greatly have disappointed my father had I refused to serve under the Earl of Ossory; besides which, no other means are open to me of supporting myself. I must, I find, depend upon my sword; for my father now tells me, what I did not before know, that all his means are expended, and that without a profession I should be little better than a beggar.”
“Alack! alack!” said poor Mary, and the tears came into her eyes. “For ‘they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.’ You know, Wenlock, too, that my father would gladly have found employment for you, if you would have accepted it.”
This remark came home to Wenlock’s heart. It was the truth, and he could not help acknowledging that he had preferred his worldly associates, and the so-called brilliant prospects offered to him by the earl, instead of becoming a haberdasher’s apprentice, an humble Quaker, and the husband of the pretty Mary Mead. He still hoped, indeed, to win her. She had acknowledged her love for him, and he had built up many castles in the air of which she was to be the mistress. After serving a few years under Lord Ossory, he expected to rise in rank, and to come home with ample wealth, which would enable him to settle down on shore, and marry her. Master Mead had parted from Captain Christison somewhat coldly. He bade Wenlock farewell with a sigh.
“Thou hast been led to act as thou art doing by thy father, and I cannot blame thee,” he said. “I had hoped better things of thee, and I would now pray that thy heart may be turned to the right way.”
Mary was very sad after Wenlock had gone. He was frank and artless, good-looking, and of agreeable manners; and believing that he was about to join her sect, she had given her heart to him without reserve. He had come frequently to the house after he had taken service under Lord Ossory, though his duties had of late prevented his visits being as frequent as at first. Several months had thus passed away, his father having in the meantime joined the fleet under the Earl of Sandwich, one of the bravest of England’s admirals at that time. He would have taken Wenlock with him, had not Lord Ossory desired that the young man should remain in his service. The morning after parting from Mary, Wenlock accompanied Lord Ossory to Portsmouth. Here a ship of sixty guns, the Resolution, was waiting to receive the earl as her captain.
Not till Wenlock was on board, and sailing out from Spithead past Saint Helen’s, had he any notion whither the fleet was bound. He, with several other young men and boys, were occupants of part of the captain’s cabin, which was devoted to them.
“You will see some service, Christison,” said the earl. “I wish it were of a more worthy character than it is likely to prove. King Charles’s exchequer is low, and we have been sent out here to capture a homeward-bound fleet of Dutch merchantmen expected shortly in the Channel. You heard the other day of the Dutch refusing to strike their flag when the Merlin yacht passed through their fleet with Lady Temple on board. Her captain fired in return, and was rewarded with a gold chain on his arrival at home. This is our pretence, a sorry one, I confess, for war.”
The Resolution formed one of the fleet under Sir Robert Holmes, consisting altogether of some thirty-six men-of-war. Eight only had, however, been got ready for sea, and with these Sir Robert was about to take a short cruise outside the Isle of Wight, for practising the crews. Scarcely, however, had they lost sight of land before the Resolution, being to the westward, descried a fleet standing up Channel. She communicated the intelligence to the rest of the squadron. They were soon made out to be Dutch. The sea officers, after examining them carefully, declared that there were several men-of-war among them. On their approaching nearer, of this there was no doubt. Sir Robert Holmes, however, followed by the Resolution, stood gallantly towards them, when in addition to the seventy merchantmen expected, six stout men-of-war were perceived. Of the English ships five were frigates. The Dutch, who had timely notice of the intended attack, were prepared for battle, with their decks cleared, divided into three squadrons, each guarded by two men-of-war, and together forming a half-moon. Sir Robert approaching them, ordered them to strike their flags. On their refusing to do so, he fired a broadside into the nearest ship. They, however, lowered their topsails. Again he asked whether they would strike their flags. On their refusing, he again fired; and now the action became general.
Sir Robert especially attacked the ship of the Dutch commodore, while Lord Ossory attacked another commanded by Captain du Bois. For some hours the action continued, but so well did the Dutch defend themselves, that when darkness put an end to the fight, no material advantage had been gained. The next day, however, the English fleet being joined by four more frigates from Portsmouth, again attacked the Dutch. Lord Ossory gallantly boarded Captain du Bois’ ship. Wenlock was among the first to dash on to the deck of the enemy. His swordsmanship served him in good stead. Many, however, of his companions were killed around him, and for some time he was left with but few followers on the enemy’s deck. Lord Ossory, seeing the danger of his young officer, calling upon his men, led a fresh body of boarder on to the deck of the enemy. In spite however of his valour, they were driven back on board his own ship. Out of the whole Dutch squadron, indeed, when darkness again came on, only one man-of-war and three merchantmen had been captured. With these Sir Robert was compelled to return to port, the Dutchmen making good their escape.
“It was scurvy work,” exclaimed Lord Ossory, as the ship came to an anchor. “Such is unfit for gallant gentlemen to engage in. I would rather sheathe my sword, and forswear fighting for the future, than to undertake again such a buccaneering business.”
Wenlock, however, had got a taste for sea life. His gallantry in the action had been remarked, and was highly commended. When therefore the Royal James, on board which his father was serving under the Earl of Sandwich, came to an anchor, he begged that he also might join her. Through Lord Ossory’s introduction, the admiral received him very courteously, and promised to look after his interests. The captain of the ship, Sir Richard Haddock, also expressed his satisfaction at having him on board.
The Royal James was one of the largest ships in the navy, carrying a hundred guns, and nearly one thousand men, including seamen and soldiers. Captain Christison, now in his element, was delighted to have his son with him, and well-pleased at the credit the young man had gained.
“You will see some real fighting before long, Wenlock,” he observed. “Braver men than Lord Sandwich and his captain do not exist, and now this war with the Dutch has broken out we shall not let their fleets alone.”
Some time after this, the English fleets, consisting of nearly a hundred sail, under the command of the Duke of York, the Earl of Sandwich being the admiral of the blue squadron, were lying at Spithead. War had been declared against the Dutch, in reality at the instigation of France, whose armies were at the same time pouring into Holland. Early in May, a French fleet of forty-eight ships, under the command of Count d’Estrees, arrived at Portsmouth, and soon afterwards he and the English together put to sea. After cruising about for some time in search of the enemy, they anchored in Sole Bay.
“Wenlock, before many days are over you will have seen a real sea-fight. The very thought of it warms up my old blood,” exclaimed his father. “I know you will acquit yourself well; and if the enemy’s fleet falls into our hands, as I doubt not it will, we shall have no cause henceforth to complain of want of money in our purses.”
Alas! what would Mary Mead, what would her father and William Penn, have said to such sentiments?
The English and French fleets lay in Sole Bay, a brave sight, with flags flying and trumpets sounding from the different ships. Just as day broke on the 28th of May, numerous sail were seen dotting the horizon. On they came. There was no doubt that they were the ships of the Dutch fleet. The Duke of York threw out the signal for action; and the ships setting sail, some of them cutting their cables in their eagerness, stood out of the bay. The French, who were on the outside, were nearest to the Dutch. From the deck of the Royal James, no less than seventy-five large ships were discovered, and forty frigates. The fleet was commanded, as was well known, by the brave Admirals de Ruyter, Banquert, and Van Ghent. The French were first attacked by Admiral Banquert. And now the guns on both sides sent forth their missiles of death,—round shot and chain shot, the latter cutting to pieces the rigging and spars of their antagonists.
“See, Wenlock, those Frenchmen fight well,” exclaimed Christison. “We must acquit ourselves in a like gallant way.” This was said as the Royal James was standing into action, approaching a large Dutch ship called the Great Holland. “But see! what are they about? They are beating a retreat. Two or three of their ships remain in the enemy’s hands. They have no stomach for the fight, that is clear; or, from what I hear, they are playing the game they have long done. It is the old story. They wish the Dutch and us to tear ourselves to pieces, and then they will come in and pick up the fragments.”
Meantime, the Duke of York in the Saint Michael was engaged with Admiral de Ruyter, his ship being so severely handled that he had to leave her, and hoist his flag on board the Loyal London.
“Ah! we have enemies enough coming down upon us,” exclaimed Christison, as the Royal James, at the head of the blue squadron, became almost surrounded by Dutch ships. The Great Holland was the first to lay her alongside, the Dutchmen, however, in vain endeavouring to board. Admiral Van Ghent next attacked her with a squadron of fire-ships. The brave Earl of Sandwich encouraged his men to resist, in spite of the numerous foes round him. Again and again the Dutchmen from the deck of the Great Holland attempted to carry the Royal James. Each time they were beaten back. Sometimes the earl put himself at the head of his men; at others Christison and his son repelling the boarders. All this time the other Dutch ships kept up a terrific fire on the Royal James. More than once the earl turned his eyes towards the remainder of the English fleet, but none of the ships seemed prepared to come to his assistance. The Englishmen were falling thickly; already many hundreds strewed the deck.
“When a man’s destruction has been resolved on, it is easy to bring it about,” observed the earl to his captain, Sir Richard Haddock, who stood by his side. “However, neither friends nor foes shall say that Edward Montagu failed in his duty to his country, or ceased to fight till the last.” Saying this, he again cheered his men. Never did a crew fight with more fierce desperation than did that of the Royal James. Even the wounded refused to quit their guns, till they dropped at their quarters. A cheer at length arose from their decks. The Great Holland had been beaten off, and was retiring in a disabled state. De Ruyter, his person conspicuous on the deck of his ship, still assailed her however. At length a shot was seen to strike him, and he sank, apparently slain, to the deck.
For a short time the hard-pressed ship of the gallant admiral enjoyed a respite; but by this time she was reduced almost to a wreck, while six hundred of her brave crew lay dead or dying about her decks, with many of her officers, and several gallant gentlemen who had volunteered on board. Night was coming on, the constant flashes from the guns, however, showing the fury with which the fight was continued. Still the earl refused to retire from the combat. Christison and his son had hitherto escaped. “I have seen many fierce battles, Wenlock, but never one like this,” said the old officer; “and our fighting is not over to-day. See here come more foes!” As he spoke, several ships were seen bearing down upon the Royal James, and now, opening their fire, they surrounded her with smoke. The four hundred survivors of her crew fought their guns with the same desperation as at first; but in the midst of the smoke a ship, approaching unperceived, grappled closely with her. Directly afterwards there was a cry of fire!
Flames were seen bursting forth from the enemy, now, when too late, known to be a fire-ship. In vain the crew endeavoured to free themselves from her, but the Dutch sent such showers of shot among them that many were killed in the attempt. Wenlock had been keeping near his father, who, for the first time since the commencement of the fight, acknowledged that they were in desperate circumstances. Scarcely had he spoken, when Wenlock heard a sharp cry by his side, and turning round, he saw his father falling to the deck. He lifted him up; but as he gazed in his countenance, he saw that those eyes which had always looked at him with affection were glazing in death.
“Father! father! speak to me,” said Wenlock; but there was no answer. He laid him down on the deck. And now on every side the flames were bursting forth through the ports. Already the fore part of the ship was a mass of fire. Just then the brave Sir Richard Haddock received a shot in the thigh. He fell, but again raised himself to his feet: “Lower the boats, lads!” he shouted. “Ere a few minutes are over, no one will be able to live on board our stout ship. Where is the earl?”
“He went to his cabin,” answered some one.
“Christison, come with me; we must get him into a boat. I fear he is wounded.” Wenlock was obeying his commander, when just at that moment he felt a severe pang, and was conscious that a missile of some sort had passed through his side. In spite of his wound, however, he followed the captain. The earl was seated at the table, with a handkerchief over his eyes.
“My lord, a boat is in readiness, and we have come to conduct you to it,” said Sir Richard.
“No, friend, no,” answered the earl. “I cannot brook some bitter words spoken to me yesterday by the Duke of York. If my ship is to perish, I will perish with her.”
In vain Sir Richard and Wenlock tried to persuade the brave earl to listen to reason. Already the crackling sounds of the flames were heard, and wreaths of smoke came driving into the cabin. Then came a terrific sound. Wenlock scarcely knew what had happened, when he found himself plunged into the water. He was a strong swimmer, and struck out for life. Near him was another man whose features, lighted up by the flames from the burning ship, he recognised as those of Sir Richard Haddock. He swam towards him.
“Leave me, Christison,” he said; “I am desperately wounded, and cannot survive this night. You too I saw were wounded, and will have enough to do to save yourself.”
“No, no, sir,” answered Wenlock; “I see close to us a spar. It will support us till some help arrives. I will tow you towards it if you will float quietly.”
Sir Richard did as he was advised, and in a short space of time Wenlock had placed him on the spar. It was not, however, sufficient to support both of them.
Another was seen at a little distance. Securing the captain to the first, Wenlock swam to the other. He had wished to remain by his captain, but by some means he perceived that they were gradually receding from each other. In vain he shouted to the ships nearest to him. The din of battle drowned his voice. First one tall ship, then another, went down. The whole ocean around seemed covered with fragments of wrecks and struggling men. Of the latter, one after the other, however, sunk below the surface. At length he saw several ships approaching him. Again he shouted. It seemed to him that one was about to run over him, and courageous as he was, he gave himself up for lost. Leaving the spar, he swam off, hoping thus to avoid her. She must have been hotly engaged, for her topmasts and all their rigging were hanging over the side. As the ship passed by, he caught hold of the rigging, and drawing himself up, found a firm footing. Though his wound pained him considerably, he still had sufficient strength to climb on board, not knowing as he did so whether he was to find himself among friends or foes.
Almost exhausted, pale as death, the blood flowing from his wound opened by the exertions he had made, Wenlock Christison dropped down on the deck of the stranger, not knowing whether he was to find himself on board an English or Dutch ship. The condition of the ship showed that she had been hotly engaged, for numbers of dead men lay about her blood-stained decks. From their appearance, as the light of the lanterns occasionally glanced on them, Wenlock at once saw that they were Dutch. Dutch was among the languages with which he was acquainted, having met many Hollanders in America.
“Who are you?” said an officer, who saw him come over the side.
“An Englishman, and one of the few survivors of the ill-fated ship which blew up just now,” he answered. “Well-nigh a thousand men who walked her decks in health and strength this morning are now in eternity.”
“You are indeed fortunate in escaping then,” said the Dutch officer, “and though we must consider you a prisoner, you will be treated with due courtesy on board this ship. I see that you are wounded, and badly it seems to me, so that you must be forthwith put under the surgeon’s care.”
Wenlock thanked him, and supported by a couple of men was carried below. After this he knew nothing of what happened to him, for scarcely had he been placed on a bed than he fainted. When he came to consciousness he found the surgeon ready to administer some medicine, soon after which he fell asleep, nor did he awake again till daylight. He inquired eagerly what had occurred.
“You must not talk much,” said the surgeon; “but this I will tell you, that we have had a very fierce engagement, and lost three of our stoutest ships; while, if the truth is known, you English have not been less sufferers. Depend on it, altogether between us, four or five thousand people have been killed: a sensible employment for human beings. Heu! while we,—a free Protestant people,—were fighting for liberty, you English were beguiled by your own traitorous sovereign, bribed by the King of France, to attack us.”
The surgeon, Nicholas Van Erk, notwithstanding his remarks, treated Wenlock with the greatest kindness. They however gave him ample material for thought. In a short time the Dutch fleet arrived off the coast of Holland, and the injured ships proceeded to the chief naval ports to undergo repair. The Marten Harptez, the ship on board which Wenlock had found refuge, proceeded to Rotterdam.
“You are a prisoner, but I have got leave to receive you at my house,” said Mynheer Van Erk; “and as I have a good many sick men to look after, I do not purpose again going to sea. In truth, fighting may be a very satisfactory amusement to people without brains; but I am a philosopher, and have seen enough of it to be satisfied that it is a most detestable occupation.”
Wenlock found himself conveyed to a comfortable mansion in Rotterdam overlooking a canal; indeed, what houses do not overlook canals in that city? He was very weak, for his wound had been severe,—more severe than he had supposed; and he was surprised that he should have been enabled to undergo so much exertion as he had done. Van Erk, indeed, told him that had he remained much longer in the water, he would probably have fainted from loss of blood, and been drowned.
“As you may become a wise man and enjoy life, being young, that would have been a pity,” observed the philosopher; “but it depends how you spend the future whether you should or should not be justly congratulated on your escape.”
The doctor’s wife and only daughter,—the fair Frowline Gretchen,—formed the only members of the surgeon’s household, with their serving maid Barbara. They, fortunately for Wenlock, were not philosophers, but turned their attention to household affairs, and watched over him with the greatest care. He, poor fellow, felt very sad and forlorn. For many days he could only think with deep grief of the untimely loss of his brave father. In time, however, he began to meditate a little also about himself. All his prospects appeared blighted. The friends who might have spoken of his brave conduct in the fight were dead. He had hoped to obtain wealth, and to return and marry Mary Mead. He had not a groat remaining in the world. Never in his life before had he been so downhearted Gretchen observed his melancholy.
“You should not thus grieve for being a prisoner,” she observed; “many brave men have been so, and the time will come when you will be set at liberty.”
Wenlock then told her how he had lost his father, and how his own hopes of advancement had been blighted. “Have you no one then who cares for you?” she asked, in a tone of sympathy; “no one in your native land to whom you desire to return?”
“Yes,” said Wenlock; and he then told her of his engagement to the fair Quakeress.
“Ah! I am not surprised at that,” observed the Dutch girl, with a sigh. After this, though as kind as usual, Wenlock observed that she was somewhat more distant in her manner to him than she had been at first.
Considering that he was a prisoner, his time passed very pleasantly. Having given his word to the authorities and to his host that he would not attempt to escape, he was allowed to go about that picturesque town as much as he pleased. Month after month the war continued, and he remained a prisoner. His affection, however, for Mary Mead had rather increased by absence than diminished; and fearing that she might forget him, he at length wrote her a letter, entreating her to remain faithful, and promising, as soon as he should be able, to return to England and follow any course she might advise. In vain he waited for an answer to this letter; week after week passed by, and none came.
“She has forgotten you,” said Gretchen one day, observing him look very sad.
Wenlock started! He was thinking the same thing. “I know not,” he answered; “I have heard that women are fickle.”
“I did not say that,” observed Gretchen; “but if you chose to disregard the wishes of one you professed to love, I am not surprised that she should at length have dismissed you from her thoughts. I do not say she has, but it is possible.”
Wenlock had for some time felt ashamed of being idle; for though his host might have received payment for his support from the government, yet that, he was sure, could not be sufficient to cover the expense to which he was put. He expressed his wishes to his kind host.
“A very sensible remark,” observed the surgeon, “and as you have now recovered from your wound, and regained your strength, it is proper that you should be employed. I have a brother, a merchant, trading with Surinam. He may possibly give you employment. You speak several languages, and write a good hand. You will, I doubt not, soon be ranked among his principal clerks, if you have a good knowledge of accounts.”
“If he will try me, I will do my best,” answered Wenlock.
The next day he was installed as a clerk in the office of Peter Van Erk, one of the principal merchants in the city. Wenlock had an aptitude for business of which he had not been aware. He took a positive pleasure in his work, and soon attracted the observation of his quick-sighted employer.
The kind surgeon was highly pleased. “You do credit to my recommendation, Christison,” he observed; “you will soon win the confidence of my brother, and will then be on the fair way to making your fortune.”
Time passed by. Wenlock made himself so useful that in a short time his employer agreed to pay him a handsome salary. When peace was declared, therefore, he felt that it would be folly to return to England, where he had no home and no one from whom he had a right to demand assistance. He had forfeited William Mead’s regard by acting contrary to his advice, while from Lord Ossory he might possibly fail to receive further patronage. He had heard enough of the fickleness of those in authority, and he did not expect to be better treated than others. He therefore continued to work away steadily as a merchant’s clerk in the house of Van Erk and Company, of Rotterdam.
“Come with my mother and me to a meeting to which we are going this evening!” said Gretchen, when Wenlock returned home at a somewhat earlier hour than usual, for he still lived at the house of the kind surgeon. “Some Englishmen arrived yesterday in Rotterdam, and they are about to address the public on some important religious matters. They are said to be very earnest and devoted people, and one of them speaks Dutch perfectly. Their names I cannot remember. Those short, curious, English names quickly escape my memory.”
Wenlock at once agreed to Gretchen’s request; indeed he had no longer the heart to refuse her anything she asked. It might have been just possible that, had he learned that the fair Mary had forgotten him and accepted another suitor, he would have had no great difficulty in consoling himself. Yet it was not so at present. He always treated Gretchen with kindness and respect, but was fully convinced in his own mind that he never allowed a warmer feeling to enter his bosom. The large public hall in which meetings of the sort were generally held was nearly filled by the time the Van Erk party arrived. They, however, were shown to seats near the platform whence the speakers were to address the people. Many more persons crowded in, till the hall was quite full. Just then five gentlemen appeared on the platform, advancing with slow and dignified steps. A curious and very mixed feeling agitated Wenlock’s heart when among them he recognised Master William Penn, and his father’s old friend, Captain Mead. The thought of his father rushed into his mind, and a tear filled his eye. He thought, however, also of Mary, and he longed to ask her father about her; yet, at that moment, to do so was impossible. As the speakers appeared, the whole hall was hushed in silence. At length William Penn offered up a prayer in Dutch. He then introduced a tall thin, careworn man, as George Fox, who addressed the people in English, Penn interpreting as he spoke. He urged on them in forcible language to adopt the principles which the Friends had accepted, and many were moved to tears while he spoke. William Mead then came forward, but said little. Another Englishman, Robert Barclay, then addressed the assemblage. He was followed by Penn himself; who, in calm yet forcible language, placed the simple truths of the gospel before his hearers. Wenlock’s feelings were greatly moved. His reason too was convinced. He had had a severe lesson. He had declined to accept those principles, and sought for worldly honour and distinction instead. The result had been the loss of his beloved father, he himself escaping with life almost by a miracle. “Those are old friends I little expected to meet again,” said Wenlock to Gretchen and her mother. “I must speak to them now, lest they leave the city to-morrow and I may miss them.”
As the assembly broke up, the speakers descended into the body of the hall, and Wenlock found himself standing before William Penn and Captain Mead. Neither of them knew him, though they looked at him kindly, having observed the deep attention with which he had listened to their discourses. “I am afraid, Master Mead, I am forgotten,” said Wenlock, feeling that he must speak at last. The Quaker started, and examined his countenance narrowly. “What!” he exclaimed, “art thou the son of my ancient comrade? Verily I thought that he and thou were long since numbered with the dead. How is it, young man? Has thy father escaped also?”
“Alas! no,” said Wenlock; and he gave a brief account of his father’s death.
“And hast thou been content to pass so long a time without communicating with thy old friends?” said Mead, in a reproachful tone.
“No, indeed. I wrote to Mistress Mary,” said Wenlock; “but she replied not to my letter.”
“My daughter received no letter from thee, young man,” said Mead; “and I will not deny that she grieved at the thought of thy loss.”
“O Master Mead, I wish that I had written oftener, till one of my letters had reached you or her,” exclaimed Wenlock; “but I thought that she had discarded me.”
“I see; I see! And thou wast too proud to run the risk of being chid further for thy youthful folly,” said the Quaker.
“You are right, I confess,” answered Wenlock. “But tell me, how is she? Where is she? Would I could once more see her and explain my conduct.”
“Perchance thou mayst see her sooner than thou dost expect,” said Mead. “Come to-morrow morning to the house where we lodge, and we will talk further of this matter.”
“What! is she in Rotterdam?” exclaimed Wenlock, in a voice trembling with agitation.
“She accompanied us thus far on our journey; but I know not whether she will go farther. I must not let thee see her, however, to-night, as, believing thee dead, it might perchance somewhat agitate her; for I do not deny, Wenlock, that thou wast once dear to us all. But whether thou canst sufficiently explain thy conduct since thou didst part from us, to regain thy lost place in our regard, I cannot now determine.”
“Oh, I trust I can,” exclaimed Wenlock, all his affection for Mary reviving immediately at the thought of again meeting her.
William Penn received the young man very kindly, and then for some minutes spoke to him with deep seriousness of his past life. “Thou canst not serve God and Mammon, Friend Wenlock,” he said. “Thou didst attempt to do so, and Mammon left thee struggling for thy life on the ocean. More on that matter I need not say.”
Wenlock, on reaching home, found that his friends had been deeply impressed by the addresses they had heard. They were also much surprised to find that two of the speakers were known to him.
“Indeed, one of them,” he said, “is a very old friend; and should he invite me to accompany him to England, I should wish to do so.”
“What! and leave us all here, not to return?” said Gretchen.
“It is right that I should tell the truth at once,” thought Wenlock. He did so.
“And is this English girl very, very pretty,” asked Gretchen; and her voice trembled slightly.
“I thought her so when we parted; and amiable, and right-minded, and pious I know she is.”
“Ah!” said Gretchen, “I should like to see her while she remains in this city.”
The next morning Wenlock set out to pay his promised visit to his Quaker friends. Master Mead met him at the door of the house.
“Come in; Mary will see thee,” he said; and taking him upstairs, he led him into a room, at the farther end of which a young lady was seated with a book before her. She rose as her father and their visitor entered, and gave an inquiring glance at Wenlock, apparently at first scarcely knowing him. Another look assured her who it was, but no smile lighted up her countenance. She advanced, however, and held out her hand. “Thou art welcome, Master Christison,” she said; “and I rejoice to find that thou didst escape the sad fate we heard had overtaken thee. And yet, was it kind to leave old friends who were interested in thee, albeit thou didst differ from them in opinion, without knowing of thy existence?” Her voice, which had hitherto remained firm, began to tremble.
“Oh, no, no, Mary!” exclaimed Wenlock. “I cannot blame myself too much. Yet I did write; but I ought to have written again and again, till I heard from you. I should have known that the risk of a letter miscarrying was very great.”
“Yea; verily thou ought to have put more confidence in us,” said Mary.
Then Wenlock again blamed himself, and Mary showed herself before long inclined to be more lenient than her manner had at first led him to hope she might prove.
Penn and his party remained for some days at Rotterdam, holding numerous meetings. Many among the most educated of the inhabitants,—officers of the government, merchants, and others,—came to hear them preach; while many of the principal houses of the place were thrown open to them. Among other converts was Wenlock’s employer, Mynheer Van Erk, as was also his kind friend the surgeon and his family. Gretchen and Mary met frequently. “You have not over praised the English maiden,” said the former to Wenlock. “I hope you will be fortunate in regaining her regard; for it is clear to me that you still look on her with affection.”
Penn, with three of his companions, proceeded on their tour through Holland and part of Germany, gaining many proselytes to their opinions. Mead, who had some mercantile transactions at Rotterdam, remained in that city. After they were concluded he prepared to return home. Wenlock wished to accompany him. “No, my young friend,” he answered, “I cannot allow thee to quit thy present employer without due notice. Should he wish to dispense with thy services, I will receive thee when thou dost come to me.” Wenlock had now openly professed himself to be a Quaker. Perchance, Master Mead, who had no lack of worldly wisdom, desired to try the young man’s constancy, both as to his love and his religion; for, in both, people are very apt to deceive themselves, mistaking enthusiasm and momentary excitement for well grounded principle. As winter approached, Penn and his party returned to Rotterdam, and sailed for England.
The beams of the evening sun were streaming through a deep bay window of the country house of Worminghurst, in Sussex, on the heads of two men seated at a large oak writing table in a room which, lined as it was with bookcases, showed that it was devoted to study.
The heads of both of them betokened high intellect, traces of care and thought being especially discernible on the countenance of the elder,—that lofty intellect to be quenched, ere a few short years were over, by the executioner’s axe,—a deed as cruel and unjust as any caused by the cowardice and tyranny of a monarch.
The table was covered with parchments, papers, books, and writing materials. Both were holding pens in their hands, now and then making note from the documents before them, at other times stopping and addressing each other. The younger man was William Penn, who, lately having obtained a grant of a large tract of country on the American continent, was now engaged in drawing up a constitution for its government, assisted by the elder,—the enlightened patriot and philosopher, Sidney.
“See! such a constitution as this for Carolina will not suit a free people such as will be our colonists!” said the former, pointing to a document before him, “albeit it emanated from the brain of John Locke. Here we have a king, though with the title of palatine, with a whole court and two orders of nobility. Laws to prevent estates accumulating or diminishing. The children of leet men to be leet men for ever, while every free man is to have power over his negro slaves. Truly, society will thus be bound hand and foot. All political rights to be taken from the cultivators of the soil. Trial by jury virtually set aside. The Church of England to be alone the true and orthodox, and to be supported out of the coffers of the State.”
“In truth, no,” said Sidney. “John Locke has not emancipated himself from his admiration of the feudal system. Let this be our principle,—that those whose lives, properties, and liberties are most concerned in the administration of the laws shall be the people to form them. Let there be two bodies to be elected by the people,—a council and an assembly. Let the council consist of seventy-two persons, to be chosen by universal suffrage, for three years, twenty-four of them retiring every year, their places to be supplied by new election. Let the members of the assembly be elected annually, and all votes taken by ballot. The suffrage to be universal. Let it have the privilege of making out the list of persons to be named as justices and sheriffs, and let the governor be bound to select one half of those thus recommended. Now we must consider numerous provisional laws relating to liberty of conscience, provision for the poor, choice of civil officers, and so on, which can be in force until accepted by the council. We shall thus, dear friend, I trust, have secured freedom of thought, the sacredness of person and property, popular control over all powers of the state; and we will leave our new democracy to develop itself in accordance with its own genius, unencumbered with useless formalities and laws.”
“Yes; I trust that the simplicity of our constitution will secure its permanence,” said Sidney. “I will take the papers home with me to Penshurst, and there maturely consider over all the points.”
Left alone, William Penn might have been seen lifting up his hands in earnest prayer to heaven that his noble scheme might prosper. He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a servant announced a visitor. In another minute a young man entered the room with modest air and in sober costume.
“Who art thou?” said Penn, looking up.
“Wenlock Christison,” answered the visitor. “I came at the desire of Friend Mead.”
“Yea; I wish to see thee, young friend,” said Penn; “but when thou earnest into the room I did not at first recognise thee. Thou art somewhat changed, I may say, for the better. Sit down, and I will tell thee what I require. Look at this map of the American continent. See this magnificent river,—the Delaware, entering the Atlantic between Cape Henlopen and Cape May. See those other fine rivers,—the Susquehannah, the Ohio, and the Alleghany. Here is a country but a little less than the size of England; its surface covered with a rich vegetable loam capable of the highest cultivation, and of producing wheat, barley, rye, Indian corn, hemp, oats, flax. Here too are mighty forests supplying woods of every kind, abounding too in wild game and venison, equal to any in England. The rivers are full of fish, oysters, and crabs in abundance. On the coast the most luscious fruits grow wild, while the flowers of the forest are superior in beauty to any found in our native land. A few settlers from Sweden are already there, and some Hollanders. The native red men have hitherto proved friendly; and I trust by treating them kindly, with due regard to their just rights, we may ever remain on brotherly terms with them. They are mere wanderers over the land, build no cities, nor permanently cultivate the ground. I trust before to-morrow’s sun has set, unless I am deceived, to obtain a grant of this territory, in lieu of a debt owing by the government to my father of nearly 15,000 pounds. I wish forthwith to despatch a vessel with certain commissioners authorised to purchase lands from the natives; and as Friend Mead has spoken favourably of thee, it is my wish to send thee with them. Wilt thou accept my offer? I will tell thee, if thou wilt, more particularly of thy duties.”
Wenlock’s heart somewhat sunk within him at this proposal. He had been hoping to make Mary Mead his wife; yet he was sure her father would not allow her to go forth into a new settlement, and to undergo all the incidental risks and hardships. How long a time might pass before he could return, he could not tell. Of one thing only he felt sure, that she would be faithful to him.
Some time had passed since he left Rotterdam, his friend Van Erk having given him permission to go over to England to enter the employment of William Mead. He had, since then, been living in his family, enjoying an almost daily intercourse with Mary; not yet, however, having obtained a position to enable him to marry her. Her father had resolved to put his patience and constancy to the test. Here, however, was a trial he had not expected; and when Penn had sent for him, he had, with the sanguine spirit of youth, hoped that it was to receive some appointment which would enable him to realise the wishes of his heart. Still the offer was a flattering one, and he felt that it would be unwise in him to decline it. He therefore, in suitable language, accepted the offer.
“Stay here then,” said Penn, “as I have abundance of work for thee for some days to come, and I will then more fully explain to thee my wishes.”
While Penn was still speaking, a messenger arrived from London. He brought a summons for him to attend a council at Whitehall, a note from a friend at court informing him that it was to settle the matter of the colony. He hastened up to London. In the council chamber were already assembled his majesty’s privy councillors, and at the farther end of the room was the king himself, hat on head. William Penn, not the least conspicuous among them for his height and manly bearing, advanced up the room in his usual dignified manner; but neither did he doff his hat nor bend his knee before the king’s majesty, although he has come in the hope of obtaining an object among the dearest to his heart.
“I have come at thy desire, and thank thee for the invitation,” said Penn, standing before the king.
“Verily thou art welcome,” said the monarch, with a smile on his lips; at the same time removing his hat and placing it by his side.
“Friend Charles, why dost thou not keep on thy hat?” said Penn with perfect gravity; at the same time making no attempt to remove his own.
“Ha! ha! ha! knowest thou not, Friend William, that it is the custom of this place for only one person to remain covered at a time?” answered the king, laughing heartily. “To business, however, my lords,” he added. “And what name hast thou fixed on for this new province, Master Penn?”
“As it is a somewhat mountainous country, I would have it called New Wales,” answered the Quaker.
Here Master Secretary Blathwayte, who was a Welshman, interposed; in reality objecting to have the country of a sect to which he was no friend called after his native land.
“Well then, as it hath many noble forests, let it be called Sylvania,” said Penn.
“Nay, nay; but I have a better name still,” exclaimed the king. “We will call it Pennsylvania, in honour of your worthy father,—the great admiral. The forest land of Penn, that shall be it; and my word shall be as the law of the Medes and Persians.”
At this the courtiers laughed, not, perchance, considering the king’s word of much value. However, the name was thus fixed, the patent being then and there issued under the king’s inspection.
With the charter in his possession, Penn returned home to make the final arrangements with Sidney for the great work he had undertaken. The document was written on a roll of parchment. At the head of the first sheet there is a well-executed portrait of Charles the Second, while the borders are handsomely emblazoned with heraldic devices. Great had been the opposition made to Penn’s receiving this grant. Sidney had come back to Worminghurst.
“God hath given it to me in the face of the world,” exclaimed Penn, as the friends met. “He will bless and make it the seed of a nation.”
Truly has that prediction been fulfilled.