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.