"Composition of William, Duke of Gloucester.
"A Tyrant is a savage hideous beast. Imagine that you saw a certain monster armed on all sides with 500 horns on all sides dreadfull fatned with humane intrails drunken with humane blood this is the fatal mischiefe whom they call a Tyrant.
"William.
"June 13, 1700."
The pen of this little scholar was soon after laid aside forever. After a short illness of five days, he died, July 30, 1700.
[OLD LIGHT'S JOKE.]
"I say, have your folks got a horse?"
"Yes, we have, and I'm a-going to lead him down to water by-and-by."
"Is it your own horse?"
"Yes, he is. We've had him ever so long. His name's Lightning. What's your name?"
"Johnny Craddock; and I heard your mother call you Peter, when she said what she'd do if you went away from the gate before dinner was ready."
"That's only because we've just come. She won't be afraid about me after I get used to it."
"There's lots of nice boys around here. Me and Joe Somers and Put Medill and a whole crowd. Some of us have got horses. We've got four, but they belong to old Squire Potter, and he keeps 'em. Some day you may go with me and see 'em."
A clear ringing voice sounded across the village street just then: "Johnny!—Johnny Craddock!"
"Guess your mother wants you. It's dinner-time."
Johnny knew it, but he left a promise behind him, as he darted away, that he would come back after dinner and see Pete Burrows ride Lightning down to the river to water. The arrival of a new boy was a great event in Ridgeville, and his new neighbors were as eager to make his acquaintance as they had been shy about coming too near the house while the furniture was unloading and being carried in.
Johnny Craddock and two others were pretending to play jackstones in the grass near the big gate when Pete Burrows at last came out through the lane from the barn, with Lightning, at the end of a halter, behind him.
"Ain't he a big one?"
"He's blind of one eye."
"Can he go?"
"He's the biggest kind of a hoss," remarked Pete, proudly, "and when he's brushed up he's pretty nigh red."
"Did you ever ride him?" asked Put Medill, doubtfully.
"Ride him? I'll show you."
He led his big, raw-boned, one-eyed sorrel wonder right alongside of the fence, and in another moment he was mounted.
"There! He's as gentle as—"
"I say, will he carry double?"
"Of course he will. I've seen him carry three, and he didn't care any more what they weighed—"
That was almost enough, and boy after boy gathered courage to follow Johnny Craddock, for Lightning really seemed to take no notice whatever of his increasing burden. He shook his ears a little when Joe Somers dug his bare heels into him, and then he walked calmly away from the fence. He could see the wide, shallow river spreading out above the bridge, and knew very well what was expected of him.
The four boys clung tight to each other at first, for they were on a very high horse as well as a strange one, but before they reached the bridge they had gathered courage enough to "hurrah" two at a time, and to answer questions other fellows asked them from the sidewalk.
"Stop him, won't you?" shouted Put Medill, as Lightning's big feet began to splash in the water. "I want to get down."
Pete might have tried, if the halter had been in his hand, but the lowering of the great heavy sorrel head toward the cool surface below had jerked the strap from his grasp, and Lightning was a free horse. He was free, and he had at once determined not to do his after-dinner drinking just there at the river's edge. There was more and deeper water further on, and it might be better.
Four half-grown boys will fill up the back of any one horse pretty well, however large he may be, and there was not room for any more. When his head was down, there did not seem to be quite enough, and a good push would have sent Pete Burrows down the animal's neck; that is, if the two handfulls of sorrel mane he was grasping should come out.
There were boys on the bridge now, and others along-shore, and they were all making remarks, and more were coming, besides three men, and old Grandmother Medill, and Mrs. Craddock, and all three of Joe Somers's aunts, who lived with his mother, and kept the milliner shop.
"LIGHTNING WALKED STRAIGHT AHEAD."
Lightning walked straight ahead until the water arose above his knees. Horses were driven through the river right there every day, and he knew there was no danger of his getting drowned; but it was a green-head fly that stung him and made him shiver. It seemed to the boys they were going to be shivered off into the water, and they all dug their heels in hard and shouted, not very loud, "Hold on!"
That was pretty nearly in the middle, and Lightning had taken three long drinks and a short one, but his halter was as far out of reach as ever.
"He'll go across," said Joe Somers, "and we can get off."
"Perhaps he'll turn back," said Put Medill; but Pete Burrows knew better, for he could see which way Lightning turned his head.
"He's going up stream. Oh dear!"
That was precisely what he began to do, and before he had gone a rod he stumbled dreadfully over a stone on the bottom, and the boys on the bridge gave a shout, and Johnny Craddock could hear his mother calling him to "come right back this minute."
Grandmother Medill said something too, and so did Joe Somers's three aunts; but old Lightning had only just settled in Ridgeville, and was not acquainted with either of them. He stumbled right along into still deeper water, and his four riders clung to him and to each other desperately.
"There's the island!" gasped Johnny Craddock. "It's awful deep and swift both sides of that."
A long, low, bushy affair was the island, and the water poured all over it in flood times; but it was dry now, and the grass had a fresh, green, inviting look to the eyes of Lightning. He had been drinking, and he would now eat. He made straight for the island, and his load held on until he got there.
They did not utter a sound while he was pulling his feet out of the mud at the shore, but the moment he was high and dry among the grass and bushes, boy after boy came sliding down, until Lightning's long back was bare again.
"Here we are! Hurrah!"
Three of those boys had been born and brought up in Ridgeville, but not one of them had ever before been to that island on horseback.
There was something almost grand about it until Mrs. Craddock and the rest gathered on the river-bank, within very easy speaking distance, and began to tell what they thought of the performance. There were at least six distinct voices telling Peter Burrows to catch his horse, and bring to the shore the three poor fellows upon whom he had played that wicked trick.
Poor Pete! Just at that moment old Lightning had discovered that all the grass on the island was coarse, hard, speary bunch-grass and swamp-grass, unfit for a horse like himself. He turned willingly away from it, and before a grasp could be made at his halter, he was pulling his feet out of the shore mud again, as he waded away from the island into the river.
He walked about half-way across, and then stood still, in pretty deep water. He looked at the island and the boys, and then he looked at the bank and the young and old ladies, and he put out his long neck, with a loud whinny.
"Hear him!" exclaimed Pete. "That's his way of laughing. It's an awful joke on us. Can we ever get ashore?"
"Get ashore?" said Johnny Craddock, looking very miserable. "My mother's going for Jones's boat now. She'll be here less 'n no time."
Old Lightning stumbled on, over the stones and through the water, and he reached the bank just in time for Mrs. Burrows to take him by the halter. She did not lead him away at once, for she wanted to see if there would be any room in Mr. Jones's boat for the boys. It looked as if there would not, for all the women were in it, and so was little Vic Doubleday, shoving from the stern with a pole. One old horse had carried the boys to the island, but it took a boat and a mother and a grandmother and three aunts and a second cousin to bring them away from it.
When Pete Burrows came at last, and his mother gave him the end of the halter, she said to him:
"Pete, did you let any of those Ridgeville boys know how scared you was?"
"No, ma'am, I wasn't scared."
"That's right, Pete. I wasn't, either, and all those women were. I'll settle with you when we get to the house. Go right along now. Not one of 'em shall say a word to you. Put Lightning in the stable, and come to me."
CAPTAIN ORTIS[2]
BY MARY A. BARR.
Rich was the city of Antwerp, richer than can be told—
Full of precious things from the East; full of silver and gold;
Full of merchants like princes, and of burghers bold and free,
Ready to fight for their faith and rights, proud of their liberty.
Alva took it for Philip of Spain with a wild fanatic band—
Hungry, desperate, cruel men, each fighting for his own hand;
For Alva had vowed, when Antwerp fell, each captain in his host
Should have for plunder whatever thing he thought would please him most.
Antwerp went down in fire and blood. Each captain, as he pleased,
Palace, or guild, or store, or gold for his own profit seized.
Then Captain Caspar Ortis spoke, "Duke Alva, for my share
I choose the city prison, and for nothing else I care."
The prison was full of patriots, of felons of every kind,
Of wealthy burgomasters who had dared to speak their mind,
Of heretics to Rome's high Church; and monks and priests cried out,
"These prisoners are the Pope's and King's: take care what you're about."
But Alva coldly made reply: "Ortis shall have his way;
He is my soldier, and his sword good work has done to-day.
Antwerp is mine; and what care I for Pope, or King, or Cortes?
I keep my word—the city prison belongs to Captain Ortis.
"If 'tis his whim these heretics to burn, that is his right;
You would have done the same, I know. Go quickly from my sight."
Then Ortis flung the prison gates as wide as they could be;
"Jailer," he said, "loose every bond, and set the prisoners free."
Then forth from rack and torture rooms, from darkness and from pain,
They trooped into the prison-yard—they saw the light again—
Women and children, rich and poor, young men and burghers old.
Said Ortis, "Who for liberty can measure me their gold?"
The wealthy gave him there their bond; they gave it cheerfully.
Unto the poor he only said, "Go forth; you too are free."
The women wept about his knees, the pale sick children feared,
And Ortis grimly smiled on them, and chewed his long black beard.
But not in all of Alva's host was captain, young or old,
Who for his share of plunder won such honor and such gold.
The ransom fees rolled up and up—he scarce their sum could count—
And not one thaler was grudged gold, whatever the amount.
Perhaps you think a hero should have set his prisoners free
Without a claim of any kind, without a ransom fee;
But good is good, however small; and in those wild dark days
His deed was thought most merciful, and worthy of all praise.
And, it is said, in after-years, when all his gold was spent,
He was with Antwerp's booty roll above all else content,
And that when old and weak he kept one single memory—
"Jailer, bring forth your prisoners, and let the poor go free."
[PERIL AND PRIVATION.]
BY JAMES PAYN.
WAGER ISLAND.
Part I.
In 1740 the English fitted out a fleet against the Spaniards, among which was the Wager, an old East India-man that had been transformed into a man-of-war.
In those days there were no iron-plated vessels, and the main difference between traders and ships of war lay in their guns. But the Wager was not a good ship, to begin with, and was now laden and encumbered with every description of military stores. Moreover, her crew consisted chiefly of "pressed men"—men who, having just returned from long voyages on their own account, had been seized, perhaps just as they reached their native land, and made men-of-war's men against their will, as was then the custom.
In England and America we should think the system employed by other nations of compelling men to become soldiers, their lot being decided by a number drawn from an urn, most intolerable; but the old system of "pressing" for the navy was far worse. Going to sea was not then looked upon as now as an honorable profession, with its compensations and pleasures, and not more difficult and dangerous than many another way in which the poor man has to earn his living. A sea-faring life, owing to the miserable equipment of the ships and the insolence and brutality of the officers, was considered by many a lot to which death was almost preferable. To obtain sailors for merchant vessels was so difficult that gangs of men were sent out who would overpower and seize any able-bodied man they might find in the streets, carrying him aboard a vessel at night, and keeping him in confinement until away from land, when he would be released and compelled to do his share in managing the vessel. Any attempt at remonstrance would be promptly quelled by blows and injuries of a fouler character.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that among the crew of the Wager, made up as it was in this way, a spirit of insubordination and a hatred of authority existed. This will explain many things that happened on this unhappy voyage that would otherwise be hard to believe.
The vessel had always difficulty in keeping up with the rest of the squadron; and meeting with a gale on the 7th of April, was so greatly shattered and disabled that she lost sight of her sister ships altogether, and could obtain no help from them. The place of rendezvous was the island of Socoro; but the weather was too bad to take an observation, as it is called, whereby to judge of her position. There were no charts on board of the neighborhood whither she had been driven, but an "abundance of weeds and the flight of certain birds" indicated her approach toward land of some sort.
The gale by this time had reduced the vessel to a mere wreck, and every endeavor was made to keep her from going ashore. It was difficult enough to set the top-sails, since "it was so extremely dark that the people could not see the length of the ship, and no sooner had it been accomplished than the wind blew them from the yards."
At four in the morning of the 14th, though she had her head to the west, and was therefore standing off shore, the Wager struck violently on a hidden rock. It helps us to picture the force of waves in storm to learn that the people on board at first took this concussion for the mere striking of a heavy sea. But the next minute the ship was laid on her beam ends, and the sea made a fair breach in her.
The consequence of this was an almost universal panic. Those who were not drowned in their berths rushed up on deck, and many appeared deprived of reason. One man, armed with a cutlass, struck at every one about him, and had to be knocked overboard, and another, "though one of the bravest men on board," was so dismayed by the terrible aspect of the breakers that he tried to throw himself over the rails of the quarter-deck. Others abandoned themselves to sullen despair, and were carried to and fro, with every shock of the ship, like inanimate logs.
The man at the wheel, however, kept his station, though both rudder and tiller were gone, and Mr. Jones, the mate, cried out, in order to encourage the crew: "What, my men, did you never see a ship among breakers before? Come, lend a hand; here's a sheet, and here's a brace; lay hold. We shall bring her near enough land yet to save our lives." This was the more creditable in him, as he knew what "breakers" were, and had a firm conviction in his own mind, as he afterward confessed, that nothing short of a miracle could save them.
But the ship drove on, and contrived to strike just between two large rocks. One of them partially sheltered her from the beating of the sea, which nevertheless threatened every minute to rend her to pieces.
As soon as day dawned, the barge, the cutter, and the yawl were launched, though with the greatest difficulty, and so "many leaped into the first that she was greatly overloaded." The bonds of discipline, it will thus be seen, were already relaxed; nor must the saying of the Captain, that "he would be the last man to leave the ship," be set down as very heroic, for Captain Cheap had recently dislocated his shoulder, and would have found getting into a boat a very difficult job indeed. Of all those in authority with whom we have to deal in these scenes of peril and privation, Captain Cheap, of the Wager, was, I think, the most selfish and incompetent. At the same time, as will be seen in the sequel, he had plenty of courage. Even on the present occasion, as Midshipman Byron witnesses, the Captain issued his orders "with as much calmness as ever he had done during the former part of the voyage."
But only a very few obeyed him. Many of those who had not gone in the boats "broke open every box and chest they could reach, stove in the heads of the casks of wine and brandy," and got so helplessly intoxicated that "they were drowned on board, and lay floating about the decks for days afterward."
Those who had reached land in the boats, the number amounting in all to no less than 140 persons, had but little to congratulate themselves upon. Whichever way they looked, horror and desolation presented themselves: on one side the wreck, containing all they had to subsist upon; on the other, bleak and barren rocks. They found, however, a deserted Indian hut, into which they crowded for shelter from the storm which still raged.
In the morning the pangs of hunger seized them. Most of them had fasted for forty-eight hours, yet only three pounds of biscuit dust had been brought ashore with them, while all the land afforded had been a single sea-gull and a handful of wild celery. These they made into a kind of soup, which, little as it was among so many, caused the most violent sickness and swooning. The biscuit dust had been put into a tobacco bag which had not been entirely cleaned out, and thus the whole party was very nearly poisoned to death.
The Captain and officers had now come on shore, but many of the crew had refused to do so. The storm continuing worse than ever, however, they got frightened, and since the boats could not be got out to them immediately "they fired one of the quarter-deck guns at the hut" as a gentle reminder.
The men on land occupied a rocky promontory so exceedingly steep that they were obliged to cut steps to ascend and descend it, which they called—not inaptly—Mount Misery. The knowledge that their comrades were in a state of open mutiny did not tend to raise their spirits. They would have been willing enough, perhaps, to leave them to their fate, but for the necessity of getting provisions.
WITH ONE BLOW CAPTAIN CHEAP FELLED HIM TO THE GROUND.
When at last they were brought to land, they presented an extraordinary appearance. They were armed to the teeth, and only by the resolution of the officers, who "held loaded pistols to their breasts," could they be induced to give up their weapons. They had rifled the chests in the cabins, and put the laced clothes they found in them over their own greasy raiment, and the boatswain, their ring-leader, was rigged out in the most splendid attire. One is glad to read that, without respect to the figure he made, Captain Cheap felled him to the ground with his cane, and for a few hours order was restored.
As the hut could only hold a few people, the cutter was turned keel upward, and fixed on props, which made a very tolerable habitation. But food was still so scarce, though the scanty provisions from the ship had been hoarded with great frugality, that the men were glad to eat the carrion crows that preyed on the corpses from the wreck, which every tide cast on shore.
The ship was now under water, except the quarter-deck and part of the forecastle, and all that was procurable from it had to be drawn up by large hooks—"an occupation much obstructed by the bodies floating between-decks."
It was not until the 25th of May (eleven days after the shipwreck) that provisions began to be regularly issued from the store tent, which was guarded by the officers night and day. On the 28th, three canoes with Indians came alongside the wreck, and from them they purchased "a dog or two and some very fine mussels."
The language of these men was utterly unintelligible: their clothing was composed of skins and feathers, and they had evidently never seen a white man before. But the castaways contrived to ascertain from them that they were on some island on the coast of Patagonia, about three hundred miles north of the Straits of Magellan.