An incident in connection with ring-tokens is related in the life of that distinguished knight and courtier, Sir John Perrot, which has additional interest from having formed the subject of a poem by the late Mrs. Maclean (‘L. E. L.’). The ballad, which appeared some years ago in one of the ‘annuals,’ is so charming and characteristic that I have ventured to reproduce it:—
The evening tide is on the turn; so calm the waters flow,
There seems to be one heav’n above, another heav’n below;
The blue skies broken by white clouds, the river by white foam,
The stars reflect themselves, and seem to have another home.
A shade upon the elements; ’tis of a gallant bark,
Her stately sides fling on the waves an outline dim and dark;
The difference this by things of earth, and things of heav’n made,
The things of heav’n are trac’d in light, and those of earth in shade.
Wrapt in his cloak a noble knight stept to and fro that deck,
Revolving all those gentler thoughts the busier day-hours check;
A thousand sad, sweet influences in truth and beauty lie
Within the quiet atmosphere of a lone starry sky.
A shower of glittering sparkles fell from off the dashing oar,
As a little boat shot rapidly from an old oak on shore;
His eye and pulse grew quick, the knight’s, his heart kept no true time
In his unsteady breathing, with the light oar’s measur’d chime.
‘Thou hast loiter’d—so, in sooth, should I—thy errand be thy plea,
And now, what of my lady bright, what guerdon sent she me?
Or sat she lonely in her bower, or lovely in the hall?
How look’d she when she took my gift? sir page, now tell me all.’
‘I found her with a pallid cheek, and with a drooping head;
I left her, and the summer rose wears not a gladder red.
And she murmur’d something like the tones a lute has in its chords;
So very sweet the whisper was, I have forgot the words.’
‘A health to thee, my lady love, a health in Spanish wine,
To-night I’ll pledge no other health, I’ll name no name but thine.’
The young page hid his laugh, then dropp’d in rev’rence on his knee:
‘In sooth, good master, that I think to-night may scarcely be.
‘While kneeling at your lady’s feet another dame passed by,
The lion in her haughty step, the eagle in her eye:
“And doth the good knight barter gems? God’s truth, we’ll do the same,”
A pleasant meaning lit the smile that to her proud eyes came.
‘She took the fairest of the gems upon her glittering hand,
With her own fingers fasten’d it upon a silken band,
And held it to the lamp, then said: “Like this stone’s spotless flame
So tell your master that I hold his high and knightly fame.”’
Low on his bended knee the knight received that precious stone,
And bold and proud the spirit now that in his dark eyes shone:
‘Up from your sleep, my mariners, for ere the break of day,
And even now the stars are pale, I must be miles away.’
The spray fell from the oars in showers, as in some fairy hall
They say in melting diamonds the charmèd fountains fall;
And though, as set the weary stars, the darker grew the night,
Yet far behind the vessel left a track of silver light.
They saw again that self-same shore which they that morn had pass’d,
On which they look’d as those who know such look may be the last—
Then out he spoke, the helmsman old: ‘I marvel we should go,
Just like a lady’s messenger, on the same path to and fro.’
‘And ’tis to see a lady’s face this homeward task we ply.
I wot the proudest of us all were proud to catch her eye.
A royal gift our queen hath sent, and it were sore disgrace
If that I first put on her gem, and not before her face!’
On the terrace by the river-side there stood a gallant band,
The very flower of knight and dame were there of English land;
The morning wind toss’d ostrich plume, and stirr’d the silken train,
The morning light from gold and gem was mirror’d back again.
There walk’d the Queen Elizabeth; you knew her from the rest
More by the royal step and eye than by the royal vest;
There flashed, though now the step was staid, the falcon eye was still,
The fiery blood of Lancaster, the haughty Tudor’s will.
A lady by the balustrade, a little way apart,
Lean’d languidly, indulging in the solitude of heart
Which is Love’s empire tenanted by visions of his own—
Such solitude is soon disturb’d, such visions soon are flown.
Love’s pleasant time is with her now, for she hath hope and faith,
Which think not what the lover doth, but what the lover saith.
Upon her hand there is a ring, within her heart a vow;
No voice is whispering at her side—what doth she blush for now?
A noble galley valiantly comes on before the wind;
Her sails are dyed by the red sky she’s leaving fast behind.
None other mark’d the ship that swept so eagerly along;
The lady knew the flag, and when hath lover’s eye been wrong?
The lonely lady watch’d; meantime went on the converse gay.
It was as if the spirits caught the freshness of the day.
‘Good omen such a morn as this,’ her Grace of England said,
‘What progress down our noble Thames hath Sir John Perrot made?’
Then spoke Sir Walter Raleigh, with a soft and silvery smile,
And an earnest gaze that seem’d to catch the Queen’s least look the while,
‘Methinks that ev’ry wind in heav’n will crowd his sails to fill,
For goeth he not forth to do his gracious Sovereign’s will?’
With that the bark came bounding up, then staid her in her flight;
And right beneath the terrace she moor’d her in their sight.
‘Now, by my troth,’ exclaimed the Queen, ‘it is our captain’s bark.
What brings the loiterer back again?’—her eye and brow grew dark.
‘Fair Queen,’ replied a voice below, ‘I pay a vow of mine,
And never yet was voyage delayed by worship at a shrine.’
He took the jewel in his hand, and bent him on his knee,
Then flung the scarf around his neck, where all the gem might see.
His white plumes swept the very deck, yet once he glanc’d above;
The courtesy was for the Queen, the glance was for his love.
‘Now fare-thee-well,’ then said the Queen, ‘for thou art a true knight.’
But even as she spoke the ship was flitting from the sight.
Woe to the Spaniards and their gold amid the Indian seas,
When rolled the thunder of that deck upon the southern breeze,
For bravely Sir John Perrot bore our flag across the main,
And England’s bells for victory rang when he came home again.
In the will of Thomas Sackville, Duke of Dorset (Lord High Treasurer in the times of Elizabeth and James I.), given in Collins’s ‘Baronage,’ is a mention of a token ring. It is described as ‘of gold and enamelled black, and set round with diamonds to the number of twenty; whereof, five, being placed in the upper part of the said ring, do represent the fashion of a cross.’ It is further mentioned as to be a heirloom. ‘And to the intent that they may knowe howe just and great cause bothe they and I have to hould the sayed Rynge, with twentie Diamonds, in so highe esteeme, yt is most requisite that I doe here set downe the whole course and circumstance, howe and from whome the same rynge did come to my possession, which was thus: In the Begynning of the monethe of June, one thousand sixe hundred and seaven, this rynge thus set with twenty Diamonds, as is aforesayed, was sent unto me from my most gracious soveraigne, King James, by that honourable personage, the Lord Haye, one of the gentlemen of His Highnes Bedchamber, the Courte then beying at Whitehall in London, and I at that tyme remayning at Horsley House in Surrey, twentie myles from London, where I laye in suche extremetye of sickness as yt was a common and a constant reporte all over London that I was dead, and the same confidentlie affirmed even unto the Kinge’s Highnes himselfe; upon which occasion it pleased his most excellent majestie, in token of his gracious goodness and great favour towards me, to send the saied Lord Hay with the saied Ringe, and this Royal message unto me, namelie, that his Highness wished a speedie and a perfect recoverye of my healthe, with all happie and good successe unto me, and that I might live as long as the diamondes of that Rynge (which therewithall he delivered unto me) did endure, and in token thereof, required me to weare yt and keepe yt for his sake.’
Among other token rings, under affecting circumstances, I may also mention those given on the eve of his execution (1651) by James Stanley, Earl of Derby, Governor of the Isle of Man—‘a man,’ observes Lodge, ‘of great honour and clear courage.’ A minute narrative of the circumstances of his final hours was penned with touching simplicity by a Mr. Bagaley, one of his gentlemen, who was allowed to attend him to the last, and the manuscript has been carefully preserved in the family. A transcript of the most part of it may be found in Collins’s ‘Peerage.’ He wrote letters to his wife, daughter, and sons, and sent a servant to purchase all the rings he could get. These were wrapped in separate papers, and Bagaley, under the Earl’s instructions, directed them to his children and servants, and the unfortunate nobleman said: ‘As to them I can say nothing; silence and your own looks will best tell your message.’
Rings, as ‘tokens,’ or pledges, for the repayment of loans were made for Queen Henrietta Maria, the consort of Charles the First, while she was in Holland, endeavouring to raise money and troops for her unfortunate husband. To such as gave her pecuniary assistance she was accustomed to show her gratitude by the gift of a ring, or some other trinket from her own cabinet; but when the increasing exigencies of the King’s affairs compelled her to sell or pawn in Holland the whole of her plate and most of her jewels for his use, she adopted an ingenious device by which she was enabled, at a small expense, to continue her gifts to her friends, and in a form that rendered them more precious to the recipient parties, because they had immediate reference to herself. She had a great many rings, lockets, and bracelet clasps made with her cipher, the letters ‘H. M. R.,’ Henrietta Maria Regina, in very delicate filagree of gold, entwined in a monogram, laid on a ground of crimson velvet, covered with thick crystal, cut like a table-diamond and set in gold. These were called the King’s pledges, or ‘tokens,’ and presented by her to any person who had lent her money, or had rendered her any particular service, with an understanding that if presented to Her Majesty at any future time, when fortune smiled on the royal cause, it would command, either repayment of the money advanced, or some favour from the Queen as an equivalent.
‘Many of these interesting testimonials are still in existence’ (observes Miss Strickland), ‘and, in families where the tradition has been forgotten, have been regarded as amulets which were to secure good fortune to the wearer.’ One of these royal pledges, Miss Strickland informs us, has been preserved as an heirloom in her family, and there is a ring with the same device, in possession of Philip Darrell, Esq., of Cales Hill, Kent, which was presented to his immediate ancestor by that queen.
It was in the reign of Charles the First that a fearful incident occurred in Scotland (1630) at the Castle of Frendraught—a fire breaking out at midnight in a sudden manner, ‘yea, in ane clap,’ says Spalding, involving the whole of the inmates in destruction, excepting three persons. Viscount Melgum, son of the Marquis of Huntly, only twenty-four years of age, who was a guest of the Laird of Frendraught at the time, perished, leaving a widow and child. A popular ballad of the day speaks of his being called on to leap from the window:—
‘How can I leap, how can I win,
How can I leap to thee?
My head’s fast in the wire-window,
My feet burning from me.’
He’s ta’en the rings from aff his hands,
And thrown them o’er the wall;
Saying, ‘Give them to my lady fair,
Where she sits in the hall.’
A pledge or token ring of remarkable interest was exhibited by Mr. J. W. Singer at the Loan Exhibition of Ancient and Modern Jewellery, South Kensington Museum, in 1872. This ring (of silver, set with a yellow topaz, diamonds, and a small ruby of English manufacture) has been preserved in the Penderell family, as that given by King Charles II. as a token of gratitude for the fidelity which saved him in the oak-tree at Boscobel, after the battle of Worcester. At the King’s Restoration the five brothers Penderell attended at Whitehall, ‘when his Majesty was pleased to own their faithful service, and graciously dismissed them with a princely reward’ (‘Boscobel Tracts’).
This ring now belongs to Mrs. Whiteby, of Beckington, Somerset, fifth in descent from Penderell. A yearly pension of one hundred pounds for ever was conferred upon the family, a portion of which (forty pounds) is now only received by a male relative.