added the rough soldier, walking towards the steps of the altar, where the lady of Cecil Place still supported the fading form of the poor faithful maiden she had so truly loved--"Mistress Constantia will forgive one of her father"s oldest friends for thus breaking in upon and disturbing a most solemn ceremony. His Highness has commanded her bridegroom to be brought before him, and the marriage to be stayed, inasmuch as he charges Sir Willmott Burrell with being already wedded!"
The maiden to whom he spoke looked up, and gazed into the countenance of the speaker; but it would have been difficult to determine the nature of her feelings, save by the cold shudder that seemed to pa.s.s over her whole frame.
On Sir Robert Cecil the information made no impression, for he understood it not, though he smiled and bowed several times to his old companion in arms. But the Buccaneer started, roused for a moment from the one absorbing sorrow of his whole soul, but still heedless of the danger he encountered in thus standing face to face with a troop of the hardiest soldiers of the Commonwealth. Turning eagerly towards their officer, he exclaimed,--
"Ha! it is known!--then the papers were received."
"Traitor! double traitor! I have ye now!" shouted Burrell, presenting his pistol at the head of the Buccaneer. Instantly Barbara, as with a last effort, sprang from the arms of the Lady Cecil, and threw herself on her father"s bosom. The effort was not needed, for the weapon was s.n.a.t.c.hed from the villain"s hand. He had now to encounter the reproof of Colonel Jones.
"Sir Willmott, I thought I could have taken your word, that you had no arms except your sword. I was mistaken."
"That fellow is the famous Buccaneer, Hugh Dalton, upon whose head a price is set. Arrest him, Colonel Jones!" exclaimed Burrell, skilfully turning the attention from himself to the Skipper, who stood embracing the lifeless form of his daughter--gazing upon eyes that were now closed, and upon lips parted no longer by the soft breath of as sweet a maiden as ever was born of woman.
"Are you the Malignant of whom he speaks?" inquired the stern colonel.
"He is the unhappy father of that murdered girl," interposed Constantia.
"Whoever refuses to seize him deserves a traitor"s death," reiterated Sir Willmott.
The troopers stood with their hands on their swords, awaiting their officer"s commands.
The Buccaneer turned fiercely round, still pressing his child to his bosom with one arm, and holding a pistol within the other hand.
"I am," he said in a bold and fearless, but not an arrogant tone, "I am he whom that accursed villain names. But ye had better not rouse a desperate man. Dare not to touch me; at your peril stay my course.
Colonel Jones, tell the Protector of England, that Hugh Dalton craves no pardon now. This, this was my hope--my pride; for her I would have been honest, and well thought of! Behold! she stiffens on my arm. She is nothing now but clay! Yet, by the G.o.d that made her! no churlish earth shall sully this fair form. She was as pure as the blue sea that cradled her first months of infancy; and, mark ye, when the rays of the young sun rest upon the ocean, at the morning-watch, by my own ship"s side, in the bosom of the calm waters, shall she find a grave. I will no more trouble England--no more--no more! Gold may come dancing on the waves, even to my vessel"s prow, I will not touch it. Cromwell may take me if he will, but not till I perform for my good and gentle child the only rite that ever she demanded from me."
Even as the tiger-mother pa.s.ses through an Indian crowd, bearing the cherished offspring of her fierce but affectionate nature, which some stray arrow has destroyed--terrible in her anguish and awful in her despair--her foes appalled at her sufferings and the bravery of her spirit, though still panting for her destruction--their arrows are on the string--yet the untaught, but secret and powerful respect for the great source of our good as well as of our evil pa.s.sions--Nature--works within them, and she pa.s.ses on, unmolested, to her lair:--even so did Dalton pa.s.s along, carrying his daughter, as she were a sleeping infant, through the armed warriors, who made way, as if unconscious of what they did;--some, who were themselves fathers, pressed their mailed fingers on their eyes, while others touched their helmets, and raised them a little from their brows.
"Colonel Jones," exclaimed the enraged Burrell, "you will have to answer for this to a high power. The Protector would give its weight in gold for the head of that man; and the weight of that again for a knowledge of his haunts."
"Sir Willmott," was the soldier"s reply, who, now that Dalton was really gone, began to fear he had done wrong in permitting his escape, and therefore resolved to brave it haughtily, "I can answer for my own actions. Methinks you are cold and hot as best serves your purpose!"
Then turning abruptly from him, he added, "We will but intrude upon the hospitality of this mourning bride," glancing at Constantia"s dress, and smiling grimly, "until some tidings be obtained of the person who has perpetrated this horrid murder; and having refreshed our horses, return forthwith; for his Highness is impatient of delay, and "tis good fifty miles to London. Our orders were, Sir Willmott, that you hold no communion with any; so that, if you have aught to say to Mistress Cecil, it must be said at once."
"I can only offer my protestations against this tyrannical--ay, sir, I speak boldly, and repeat it--this tyrannical mandate--and a.s.sure the fair dame that I consider her my lawful wife."
Constantia made no reply. Colonel Jones then gave the Lady Frances a slip of paper from the Protector, which merely stated that he thought she ought to remain with her friend, until the mysterious rumour was either cleared up or confirmed. Lady Frances right joyfully a.s.sented; and Constantia, overpowered by a mult.i.tude of contending feelings, led the way with her father, who seemed as pa.s.sive and as uninterested in the events of that most eventful hour, as if he were a child of a twelvemonth old. The soldiers who had been sent to reconnoitre soon returned, for night was closing upon them, and they had searched the ruins of Minster, and galloped over the wild hills of Shepey, without being able to trace the misguided Jewess. Colonel Jones could, therefore, do nothing more than advise Sir Michael Livesey (the sheriff, who resided, as we have stated, at Little Shurland) of the circ.u.mstance that had occurred, and send off to King"s Ferry, Sheerness, Queenborough, and all the little hamlets along the coast, information of the melancholy event, with orders to prevent any stranger, male or female, from quitting the island, until his Highness"s future pleasure was known.
The murder of Lady Cecil"s favourite was calculated to excite strong feelings among all cla.s.ses; for the poor had long considered the residence of so good a family on their island as a blessing from Heaven; more particularly, as the former possessor, Sir Herbert, Sir Robert"s elder brother, only lived at Cecil Place occasionally, being of too gay, too cavalier a temperament, to bide long in so solitary a dwelling. He had been warmly attached to the house of Stuart; and while his younger brother sought, and made friends of the Parliamentarian faction, he remained steady in his loyalty, and firm in his attachment to the unfortunate and unpopular Charles. Upon this topic we may hereafter treat: at present, we have to do with the living, not the dead.
We cannot now intrude upon the privacy of either Lady Frances or Constantia; we must content ourselves with simply stating that Colonel Jones took his departure, leaving, at Lady Frances"s request, a guard of six soldiers at Cecil Place--a precaution he felt justified in adopting when he had taken late events into consideration, and was made acquainted with the miserable condition of Sir Robert"s mind, to whom also he undertook to send immediate medical advice. The servants, particularly Lady Frances"s women, a.s.sembled in the great hall, and with many tears, real and unfeigned tears, lamented the loss of poor Barbara--talked of the mystery of her birth, and the sudden and almost supernatural appearance of her father. Greatly did they blame themselves for permitting him to remove the body, "not knowing," as they said, "but he would give it heathenish and not Christian burial."
After a little while they conversed upon the malady that had overtaken their master, and then hints and old tales were thought of, and almost forgotten rumours of Sir Herbert and his revelries repeated; and as the lamps burned still more dim, and the embers of the fire dropped one by one into that grey and blue dust that heralds their perfect decay, the legends of the isle were rehea.r.s.ed--How Sir Robert de Shurland, a great knight and a powerful thane, being angry with a priest, buried him alive in Minster churchyard; and then, fearing the king"s displeasure, and knowing he was at the Nore, swam on a most faithful horse to his majesty from the island, to crave pardon for his sin; and the king pardoned him; and then, right joyfully, he swam back to the land, where, on his dismounting, he was accosted by a foul witch, who prophesied that the horse which had saved him should be the cause of his death; but, in order to prevent the accomplishment of the prophecy, he slew the faithful animal upon the beach;--how that some time afterwards he pa.s.sed by the carca.s.s, and striking a bone with his foot, it entered the flesh, which mortified, and the tyrant died; in testimony whereof the tomb stands in Minster church until this day, in the south wall, under a pointed arch, where he lies, leaning on his shield and banner, and at his feet a page, while behind him is carved the horse"s head that caused his death:--and, moreover, how his spirit is seen frequently leaping from turret to turret of the house of Great Shurland, pursued by a phantom steed! Of such like legends did they talk. Then they thanked G.o.d that their lady was not likely to be Sir Willmott"s wife, and spoke of Dalton and his daring, and many of the old servants shuddered.
Then again they reverted to Barbara, and the women crept more closely together, like a flock of frightened sheep, when one older than the others affirmed that no true maid could ever rest in the ocean"s bed, unless a Bible were slung about her neck; and as Dalton, of course, had no Bible, their beloved Barbara could have no rest, but must wander to all eternity on the foam of the white waves, or among the coral-rocks that pave the southern seas, or sigh in the shrouds of a doomed ship.
But again, some other said, as she was so pure a Christian, perhaps that would save her from such a fate; and one of the soldiers who sat with them reproved their folly, and lectured, and prayed for their edification, with much zeal and G.o.dliness; and when he had concluded, the thought came upon them that the Reverend Jonas Fleetword had not been there since the earliest morning, when somebody declared he was seen talking with Sir Willmott Burrell near the Gull"s Nest, and fear for the preacher came over them all--why, they could not tell.
CHAPTER II.
Poesy! thou sweet"st content That e"er Heaven to mortals lent, Though they as a trifle leave thee Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee; Though thou be to them a scorn That to nought but earth are born; Let my life no longer be Than I am in love with thee.
GEORGE WITHER.
There are two things that to a marvellous degree bring people under subjection--moral and corporeal fear. The most dissolute are held in restraint by the influence of moral worth, and there are few who would engage in a quarrel, if they were certain that defeat or death would be the consequence. Cromwell obtained, and we may add, maintained his ascendency over the people of England, by his earnest and continually directed efforts towards these two important ends. His court was a rare example of irreproachable conduct, from which all debauchery and immorality were banished; while such was his deep and intimate, though mysterious, acquaintance with every occurrence throughout the Commonwealth, its subjects had the certainty of knowing that, sooner or later, whatever crimes they committed would of a surety reach the ear of the Protector. His natural abilities must always have been of the highest order, though in the early part of his career he discovered none of those extraordinary talents that afterwards gained him so much applause, and worked so upon the affections of the hearers and standers by. His mind may be compared to one of those valuable ma.n.u.scripts that had long been rolled up and kept hidden from vulgar eyes, but which exhibits some new proof of wisdom at each unfolding. It has been well said by a philosopher, whose equal the world has not known since his day, "that a place showeth the man." Of a certainty Cromwell had no sooner possessed the opportunity so to do, than he showed to the whole world that he was destined to govern. "Some men achieve greatness, some men are born to greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them."
With Cromwell, greatness was achieved. He was the architect of his own fortunes, owing little to, what is called, "chance," less to patronage, and still less to crime, if we except the one sad blot upon the page of his own history, as connected with that of his country. There appears in his character but a small portion of that which is evil, blended with much that is undoubtedly good. Although his public speeches were, for the most part, ambiguous--leaving others to pick out his meaning--or more frequently still, having no meaning to pick out--being words, words, words--strung of mouldy sentences, scriptural phrases, foolish exclamations, and such like; yet, when necessary, he showed that he could sufficiently command his style, delivering himself with so much energy, pith, propriety, and strength of expression, that it was commonly said of him, under such circ.u.mstances, "every word he spoke was a thing." But the strongest indication of his vast abilities was, the extraordinary tact with which he entered into, dissected, and scrutinised the nature of human kind. No man ever dived into the manners and minds of those around him with greater penetration, or more rapidly discovered their natural talents and tempers. If he chanced to hear of a person fit for his purpose, whether as a minister, a soldier, an artisan, a preacher, or a spy--no matter how previously obscure--he sent for him forthwith, and employed him in the way in which he could be made most useful, and answer best the purpose of his employer. Upon this most admirable system (a system in which, unhappily, he has had but few imitators among modern statesmen,) depended in a great degree his success. His devotion has been sneered at; but it has never been proved to have been insincere. With how much more show of justice may we consider it to have been founded upon a solid and upright basis, when we recollect that his whole outward deportment spoke its truth. Those who decry him as a fanatic ought to bethink themselves that _religion was the chivalry of the age in which he lived_. Had Cromwell been born a few centuries earlier, he would have headed the Crusades, with as much bravery, and far better results than our n.o.ble-hearted, but wrong-headed "Coeur de Lion." It was no great compliment that was pa.s.sed on him by the French minister, when he called the Protector "the first captain of the age." His courage and conduct in the field were undoubtedly admirable: he had a dignity of soul which the greatest dangers and difficulties rather animated than discouraged, and his discipline and government of the army, in all respects, was the wonder of the world. It was no diminution of this part of his character that he was wary in his conduct, and that, after he was declared Protector, he wore a coat-of-mail concealed beneath his dress. Less caution than he made use of, in the place he held, and surrounded as he was by secret and open enemies, would have deserved the name of negligence. As to his political sincerity, which many think had nothing to do with his religious opinions, he was, to the full, as honest as the first or second Charles.
Of a truth, that same sincerity, it would appear, is no kingly virtue!
Cromwell loved justice as he loved his own life, and wherever he was compelled to be arbitrary, it was only where his authority was controverted, which, as things then were, it was not only right to establish for his own sake, but for the peace and security of the country over whose proud destinies he had been called to govern. "The dignity of the crown," to quote his own words, "was upon the account of the nation, of which the king was only the representative head, and therefore, the nation being still the same, he would have the same respect paid to his ministers as if he had been a king." England ought to write the name of Cromwell in letters of gold, when she remembers that, within a s.p.a.ce of four or five years, he avenged all the insults that had been lavishly flung upon her by every country in Europe throughout a long, disastrous, and most perplexing civil war. Gloriously did he retrieve the credit that had been mouldering and decaying during two weak and discreditable reigns of nearly fifty years"
continuance--gloriously did he establish and extend his country"s authority and influence in remote nations--gloriously acquire the real mastery of the British Channel--gloriously send forth fleets that went and conquered, and never sullied the union-flag by an act of dishonour or dissimulation!
Not a single Briton, during the Protectorate, but could demand and receive either reparation or revenge for injury, whether it came from France, from Spain, from any open foe or treacherous ally;--not an oppressed foreigner claimed his protection but it was immediately and effectually granted. Were things to be compared to this in the reign of either Charles? England may blush at the remembrance of the insults she sustained during the reigns of the first most amiable, yet most weak--of the second most admired, yet most contemptible--of these legal kings.
What must she think of the treatment received by the Elector Palatine, though he was son-in-law to King James? And let her ask herself how the Duke of Rohan was a.s.sisted in the Protestant war at Roch.e.l.le, notwithstanding the solemn engagement of King Charles under his own hand! But we are treading too fearlessly upon ground on which, in our humble capacity, we have scarcely the right to enter. Alas! alas! the page of History is but a sad one! and the Stuarts and the Cromwells, the Roundheads and the Cavaliers, the pennons and the drums, are but part and parcel of the same dust--the dust we, who are made of dust, animated for a time by a living spirit, now tread upon! Their words, that wrestled with the winds and mounted on the air, have left no trace along that air whereon they sported;--the clouds in all their beauty cap our isle with their magnificence, as in those by-gone days;--the rivers are as blue, the seas as salt;--the flowers, those sweet things! remain fresh within our fields as when G.o.d called them into existence in Paradise--and are bright as ever. But the change is over us, as it has been over them: we, too, are pa.s.sing. O England! what should this teach?
Even three things--wisdom, justice, and mercy. Wisdom to watch ourselves, and then our rulers, so that we neither do nor suffer wrong;--justice to the memory of the mighty dead, whether born to thrones or footstools;--mercy, inasmuch as we shall deeply need it from our successors.
We must not longer trifle with or mingle among forbidden themes, but turn to that which lightens many a heart, and creates of its own power a magic world of pure and perfect enjoyment.
Many there were, before and during those troublous times, who, heedless of the turmoils that were taking place around them, sang, as birds will sometimes sing, during the pauses of a thunder-storm. We would fain con over the names of a few of those who live with the memories of peace, and hope, and love, and joy--as so many happy contrasts to the wars and intrigues, that sin, and its numberless and terrible attendants, have brought upon this cheerful, and beautiful, and abundantly gifted earth.
A blessing on sweet Poesy! whether she come to us mounted on the gallant war-horse, trumpet-tongued, awakening our souls and senses unto glory, hymning with Dryden some bold battle-strain that makes us crow of victories past, present, and to come;--or with a scholar"s trim and ta.s.selled cap, a flowing gown of raven hue, and many tales of Chaucer"s--quaint, but pleasing--good reading under some old tree close by a quiet brook, where minnows sport and dart with silver flight beneath the broad-leaved lilies, whose white and yellow chalices are spread full to the cheerful heavens, wherein the sun rides like a monarch in his azure kingdom;--or, better still, mounted on a green dragon with glaring eyes and forky tongue, looking for encounter with some Christian knight, who, "full of sad feare and ghastley dreariment,"
would nathless risk life, honour, all--for his faire ladie love. Beloved Spenser! age withers not thy beauty.
Or Poesy may come in the cool twilight, when the garish day is past, and the young modest flowers, which refused their perfume to the sun, that, with his hot and fiery beams, sought to command their incense, now welcome back the evening, and become prodigal of sweetness;--within some rustic temple, cl.u.s.tered with woodbine, where the robin or the tiny wren hath formed a nest of matchless skill and neat propriety, and trembles not at the approaching footstep, while the soft breath of heaven plays with those blossoms of the sun--the painted b.u.t.terflies--that fold their wings and fain would sleep till morning. There let her come, and with her bring more blessed children of the olden time,--
"Whose names In Fame"s eternal volume live for aye."
The gallant handsome Surrey, tutored by Love into our first, if not our sweetest sonneteer; and Michael Drayton, with his apt crest--Mercury"s bright cap, blazoned with sunbeams. Old Fletcher, floating towards his Purple Island, in the same graceful bark that bears his more thoughtful, it may be sombre, brother Giles. Then, garlanded with the rich thistle in all its purple glory; the perfume of his braes, and burns, and heather, reeking amid his cl.u.s.tering hair; his cheerful plaid, and his gay bonnet, graced by the heron"s plume; his voice subdued by sorrow, but still sweet and free, singing of "Sion"s flowers"--Drummond of Hawthornden! welcome from bonny Scotland, herald of a line of poets, who fling their music on the breezy air, that floats along in melody.
Our gentle Lovelace! thee too I hail--beauty in all thy lines, so quaint yet graceful. A fopling poet though thou wert, dainty and perfumed, yet still a poet, sweet in a lady"s bower, where all is fashioned as befits the place and time: a poet indeed! and, what is more, never wert thou turned from thy chosen path of duty by praise or purse--although a poet and poor all the days of thy most checkered life. Alas! must we contrast thee with the weatherc.o.c.k of the rhyming folk, bowing to kings, protector, lords, and all that could pay golden coin for his poesy? Many there be among the scribbling tribe who emulate a Waller"s practice, and amble in his ill-chosen path; how few have the redeeming gift that was his so largely!
And thou must not be forgotten, "O rare Ben Jonson!" for whom a single sentence doth suffice. And him, "the melancholy Cowley!" let him come too, with his honeyed wisdom: it will be still the sweeter if we think upon his stern bitterness in prose. Let him reprove the muse to whom he owes his fame,--
"Thou who rewardest but with popular breath, ----And that too after death:--"
let him reprove, yet not come without her. Ah! the poet is but a sorry politician after all.
Ye cannot do ill if ye pile the verdant turf breast high with those old masters; those mighty monarchs of sweet song,--
"Blessings be with them and eternal praise, The poets!"
Bring them all, all, from the ancient of days, who have gained this "praise eternal," to those of our own age, who have laboured for, and will also obtain it. And chiefly among such as have sweetly carolled among us--still more, if ye be young and warm-hearted, with the affections pure and true within you--bring the dear lays of a poet--a ladye poet--a poet who will hold rank among the best, when life shall have given place to immortality.--How gladly do I add the tribute of admiration to the gift of friendship.--In her own eloquent words may we give our thoughts utterance.
"Methinks it is not much to die-- To die, and leave behind A spirit in the hearts of men, A voice amid our kind; When Fame and Death, in unison, Have given a thousand lives for one.
"Our thoughts, we live again in them, Our nature"s n.o.blest part; Our life in many a memory, Our home in many a heart: When not a lip that breathes our strain, But calls us into life again."
But fail not, above all, to bring the one who comprehends the whole; whose name is to be found in every school-boy book, written in living letters--words that breathe; to whom the hearts of mult.i.tudes were as one most simple instrument, which he could tune and tone unto his pleasure. The birds taught him their language--the forest leaves had life within their veins, and talked with him of Nature"s mysteries. The broad sea sent its homage by a thousand sprites, fresh from their coral beds, who watched him in his dreams, or by those sylvan glens wherein he wandered--riding the salt-sea foam, or the light spray of the wild cataract, they sung the melodies of river and of ocean into his soul.