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UNIVERSITY OF MICHI GAN
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INGERSTEIN HALL
AND
CHAIDWICK RISE,
CHADWIC K RISE,
A storm of the ſhirty years' &
BY
JAMES ROUTL EDGE.
IN THEEE VOLUMES,
VOL. I.
LONDON :
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND,
1878. -
[Right of Translation reserved.]


I.O.NIDON :
-SAWILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,
COVENT GABDEN.
PREFA CE.
àHE story of “Ingerstein Hall and
Chadwick Rise” is an attempt to
picture some phases of the Thirty Years'
War in their relation to England, and
to suggest rather than directly show
how event led to event, in a remark-
able chain of cause and effect, from the
marriage of the Princess Elizabeth, in 1613,
to the accession to the throne of England
of George T., in 1714—perhaps the most
curious and perplexing century in English
history. r
The characters I have attempted to depict


vi Preface.
3 Fe intended, especially where phraseology
is concerned, to be individualities, not re-
presentatives of classes, social, political, or
religious. I do not think that because
some courtier might habitually use a
peculiar word—as, for instance, “oddsfish;”
or because a great lady, or a greater serving
WOman, used such a word—as, for instance,
“marry-come-up,” that therefore “ oddsfish”
and “marry-come-up” were more charac-
teristic of any class of ladies, or of
ladies’ ladies, or of courtiers, than the use
of the word “which,” appropriate enough
in the mouth of immortal Sairey Gamp, is
characteristic of all monthly nurses.
I should not like to believe that Crom-
well and Milton talked to each other in
religious slang, and that they were imitated
Preface. vii
by all the army of “Saints.” The men
whom Cromwell led in battle and asso-
ciated with in worship could scarcely be
more characterised by class peculiarities
than were the early Methodists; yet we
know that the famous “Billy Dawson” was
as distinct an entity as John Wesley
himself.
De Foe the Dissenter, among the bravest
of all tyrant-haters, wrote, and we may well
believe spoke, in as plain and direct a
manner as Pepys the Courtier; and there
could hardly be any broad line of sectarian
phraseology dividing such friends as Dr.
Tillotson and John Howe, or Richard
Baxter and Sir Matthew Hale. In fact,
while personal peculiarities were everywhere
as marked and distinct as are those of
viii Preface.
Father Newman and Mr. Spurgeon at the
present day, they were not, I think, any the
more characteristic of classes of persons, or of
churches. It is not, therefore, because he
was a Puritan that Peter Prim used certain
religious phrases, but because, being a
Puritan, he was also Peter Prim. If Harry
Waye, the blacksmith, could by any chance.
have been a Puritan, which is very doubtful,
I could not have imagined him speaking in
the terms that come so aptly to the lips of
his more fervid friend.
With respect to grades of rank in foreign
armies, and some other trifling features of
the story, I have put foreign facts as far as
possible in an English dress. I have not,
however, intentionally, or to my knowledge,
taken any liberties with historical circum-
Preface. ix
stances or dates. The characters which
revolve around the centre of “The Hall
and The Rise,” are intended simply to fill
up blanks of the history of the Thirty
Years' War, and of the events that arose
therefrom.

E. R. R. A. T. A.
Vol. I., page 244, line 7, for “Mister,” read “Mistr,”—an:
abbreviation for Mistress. *
Vol. II., page 65, line 7, for “a very fine old house,” read
“ the fine old house.”
Vol. II., page 206, 3rd line from bottom, for “Eldred
Chad-,” read “Eldred Chadwick.”
CONTENTS
OF
T H E F I R S T V o L U M E.
CHAPTER I.
GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS . . . . . . . . pp. 1-18
CHAPTER II.
RICHELIEU-INGERSTEIN HALL AND CHADWICK RISE—
THE COTTAGES OF PETER PRIM AND HARRY WAYE
pp. 19-44
CHAPTER III.
RELIGION AND POLITICS IN MONKERTON. . . pp. 45-73
CHAPTER IV.
COUNT MANSFELDT IN LONDON.—STRANGE PROCEEDINGS
IN COTTAGE AND HALL . . . . . pp. 74–104
CHAPTER V.
ADVENTURES OF TOM PRIM—LA ROCHELLE pp. 105-137
Xii Contents.
CHAPTER VI.
THE RIVAL CAMPS IN GERMANY–A TRUCE, AND WHAT
FOLLOWED . . . . . . . . . . pp. 138-168
CHAPTER VII.
WALLENSTEIN . . . . . . . . . pp. 164-187
CHAPTER VIII.
WEIAT COUNT WIERNER FOUND BESIDES DUTY ON THE
THAMES : A PRIVATE FRIEND-A. POLITICAL FOE
pp. 188–220
CHAPTER IX.
COUNT WERNER DISGRACED–THE DISCOVERY HE MADE
pp. 221-260
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ING E R STEIN HALL
AND
CHADWICK RISE,
CHAPTER I.
GUSTAVUS AHD OTLPH.U.S.
ºHE great king whose name stands at
ºf the head of this chapter ascended
the throne of Sweden in the year 1611, and
in the eighteenth year of his age. Martin
Luther had been dead sixty-five years; Henry
VIII. of England sixty-four ; Elizabeth of
England eight. For nearly fifty years there
had been fermenting in the public mind of
JEurope the dread lessons of the reign of the
fierce eldest daughter of Henry VIII., and
VOIA. I. I
























2 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
for nearly forty years the lessons of the
Massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day. The
war of opinions had been fierce, but Rome
had little to boast of in the weapons she
had used, or the degree of success she had
achieved. Elizabeth, the royal arch-heretic,
had reigned forty-four years, victorious over
all her enemies and the enemies of the Re-
formation. The destruction of the Spanish
Armada, six years prior to the birth of
Gustavus, and the fall of the House of
Valois a year later, after a dynastic history
of two hundred and sixty-one years, were
great events wherewith to point the lessons
of the young Prince of Sweden. Very
many years—many generations, indeed—
would pass before Europe forgot those
memorable days when the heretic sailors of
England broke the naval power of Spain,
and trampled down the authority of the Pope.
Gustavus Adolphus. 3
Nor was the fall of the House of Valois,
and the accession of the Bourbons in the
person of Henry of Navarre, less important
to the free impulses of the nations that had
defied Rome. There came a melancholy
day, four years later, when Henry, victor at
Ivry, and capable of even greater deeds,
humiliated himself to the clergy—made that
strange recantation of faith which has been
the wonder of all succeeding times. At
the foot of the altar, at St. Denis, the Arch-
bishop of Bourges received the abjuration
of the King of the Huguenots. The 7e
Deum and the cries of Wive le Roi that
followed were the assurance that Henry of
Navarre, blessed by the Church, was now
Henry IV. of France. The great recanta-
tion was in the year before Gustavus Adol-
phus was born. That the abjuration was in
the first place a tremendous sacrifice for the
1–2
4. Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
peace of France, more than for mere sove-
reignty, most calm writers of history have
since admitted; but that a nobler sacrifice
had been possible, few who believe that there
can be no permanent peace without freedom,
and no real freedom without veracity, will
doubt. When, some years later, Henry was
murdered by a Catholic in the name of the
faith, everything was forgotten of him but
that he had been the father of his people.
His praises were in all lands. History, how-
ever, dealing with the mixed motives of
men, on the enduring high ground of public
morals, which do not change, judges Henry's
recantation by a different light than that of
mere shifting policy, and will ever look with
mournfulness on that sad day when the
great King turned his face backward in the
direction of mental thraldom.
Gustavus was about four years of age
Gustavus Adolphus. 5
when Henry issued the famous Edict of
Nantes, securing to Protestants the rights
of French subjects; an edict which, nomi-
nally at least, continued in force for eighty-
seven years, till the reign of Louis XIV.
and Madame de Maintenon, when its revo-
cation drove away from France, and for
ever, a vast amount of her wealth in men.
The reign of Henry IV. was one of those
crucial periods when the minds of a nation
fermenting with new impulses may turn
in the direction of national prosperity or
national ruin. The Reformation was the
sword of Ithuriel, by which the life or
death of nations was determined.
The Lutheran faith had been established
in Sweden in the reign of Gustavus Vasa,
grandfather of Gustavus Adolphus. The
future “Lion of the North” was brought
up by his father, Charles IX., with the
6 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
utmost strictness and precision, so far as
morals and frugality were concerned, and
instructed by the best masters in languages, -
statesmanship, theology, mathematics, and
the art of war. To serve, to labour, to
endure, “to fear God and know no other
fear,” were among the subjects of the studies
of the young prince. g g
Called to the throne while yet little more
than a boy, and confronted at one time by
the Poles, the Russians, and the Danes, he
had the good fortune to discover, and the
courage to engage in his service, a states-
man only about ten years older, than
himself, but possessing gifts of the first
order, and destined to impress the character
of his mind indelibly upon his time—the
famous Axel Oxenstiern. What super-
human efforts Gustavus and Oxenstiern put
forth alike on the battle-field and in the
Gustavus Adolphus.
7
cabinet, the history of Europe from 1611 to
the partial capture of Prague, and the peace
of Westphalia in 1648, testifies on every
page. -
In France the war between the Church
of Rome and the Reformation had been
exceedingly fierce, but the brunt of the
battle fell on Germany, where the defiance
to the Pope had first been given with a
decision that rendered the breach irre-
parable. There the doctrines of Luther
had turned the affairs of States upside down;
had carried war to the very hearthstone;
but from the principles of religious freedom
had sprung the germs of nationality. A
number of States, each with its own ruler
—King, Elector, or Duke, as the case might
be—discovered early in the Seventeenth
Century, as on a new impulse, that a
principle of union—a welding principle—
8 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
was needed if they would avoid falling
asunder and becoming a prey of SOTY) {2
greater Power. The Catholie States bound
themselves together in a C & League.” the
Protestants in a Confederation, which they
termed a “Protestant Union.”
The gage of battle between them was
found on the death of Matthias, King of
Bohemia, who was also the German Em-
peror. The Emperor-King had greatly
offended his Protestant subjects by joining
the Catholic League, and the offence was
vastly deepened when he nominated as his
successor his cousin-german, Ferdinand of
Styria, a bigoted pupil of the J esuits, and
handed over to him in advance the royal
power and position in Bohemia, where he
soon made his hand felt heavily. The Pro-
testants petitioned the Emperor against the
Ying. The Emperor replied with bitter
Gustavus Adolphus. 9
reproaches and accusations of disloyalty.
The Protestant deputies, roused to fury,
threw certain Imperial deputies from a
window of the palace, and haughtily de-
fended the act in the face of all Europe,
which looked on with wonder. In this way
began the Thirty Years' War. -
The Emperor died in 1619. The King
of Bohemia ascended the Imperial throne as
Ferdinand II., and with the ardent support
of the Catholics. The Protestants replied
to the proclamation of his accession by
declaring the throne of Bohemia vacant,
and offering the crown to the Elector Pala-
time, Frederick V., who had succeeded his
father as recognised head of the Protestant
Union. Six years earlier the Elector, who
was nephew of the Stadtholder of Holland,
Prince Maurice, had married Elizabeth,
daughter of King James of England, amid
10 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
great rejoicings and festivity; and the
young Princess, then only sixteen years of
age, was, as the old chroniclers express it,
“borne away” by her husband to his Pala-
tinate, and installed with great rejoicings in
his Castle of Heidelberg. When thirteen
years of age she had been asked for by the
father of Gustavus Adolphus for his son;
but that had passed away. She stepped down
to an Electorate, and knew that she had
descended in the social scale. The daughter
of a king, the Princess hankered, it is said,
to be a queen. The fatal offer of the
Bohemian crown was accepted, and in the
autumn of 1619 Frederick and Elizabeth
made a grand journey from Heidelberg to
Prague, where they were crowned. Two
sons and a daughter had been born to
them. Rupert was born a little later, at
Prague.
Gustavus Adolphus. I l
–-------sº-º
In war Frederick was altogether unfortu-
nate. Spain and the Pope were on the side
of the Emperor, and while the latter aided
him with the thunders of the Vatican, the
former sent the still more effective help of
men and arms, under the military genius of
Spinola, who ravaged the Palatinate, while
the Emperor, in his own name, was served
by one of the ablest generals of the age in
Count Tilly. The Palatinate and Bohemia
were overrun; Prague captured; a number
of recalcitrant nobles in both the Palatinate
and Bohemia were beheaded, and their
estates confiscated ; the Electorate was torn
away. Never had Protestantism seemed in
greater danger of extinction in blood. The
JEmperor wielded all the power of Germany
against heretics. The King of Spain was
able to answer for Holland and Italy; Tilly
fixed his iron grip on the Palatinate, fetter-
12 /a/erstein Ha// and Chadwick Rise.
ing town by town as he proceeded, and
giving up Heidelberg to his soldiers. King
James did his part for his daughter in send-
ing a wretched force of from 2200 to 2500
men—probably the latter on paper, and
fewer than the former in fact—but before
the men reached Germany Spinola had
entered the Palatinate. The Marquis of
Anspach, who commanded for the Elector,
appears to have abandoned the little body
of Englishmen to whatever fate might befall
them. Utterly defeated by General Boquoy
and the Duke of Bavaria, Frederick fled to
Bolland. The Palatinate, effectually sub-
dued, was handed over to the T)uke of Ba-
varia. King James had now the further
merit of supplying the fugitive Elector with
excellent advice, and admirable Tuatin and
other quotations; and as he had from the
first refused to permit Frederick to be prayed
Gustavus Ado/p/us. 13
for in English churches as King of Bohemia,
he could with some show of reason boast
that while he had done something in arms
to prevent the loss of the Palatinate, he had
not encouraged the rebellion. So far as the
Elector was concerned, the day was irrevo-
cably lost.
The Protestants next turned to Denmark
for a leader, and in 1625 King Christian TV.,
whose sister King James had married,
and who therefore was uncle to the Princess
Llizabeth, was raised to the dangerous emi-
nence. A fine army under Count Mans-
feldt, whose fame as a soldier had gone far,
and of the Duke of Brunswick, who gave
princely status to the enterprise, was put in
the field. This has been termed the begin-
ning of the second period of the Thirty
Years' War. *-
The new union was met by Count Tilly,
14 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
and, when Tilly lost ground, by Count
Albrecht of Waldstein, the famous Wallen-
stein, who was called to the rescue of the
Empire. Count Mansfeldt and King Chris-
tian were utterly defeated, the Danes
pursued to their own country, and Schles-
wig Holstein and Jutland invaded. Then
Wallenstein boldly proposed to Ferdinand
that the victorious armies should remain in
the conquered provinces, and provide on the
Baltic a fleet with which to cope with the
ICing of Sweden, whose eventual appear-
ance in the struggle Wallenstein foresaw.
At this time France, represented by
Richelieu, began to take alarm in view of
the advance of Austria to what seemed
European Empire, and Richelieu found
little difficulty in eliciting from Gustavus
Adolphus that he was by no means indis-
posed to take up the cause of the van-
Gustavus Adolphus. } 5
quished Protestants. The negotiations be-
tween the young King and the wily Car-
dinal had been carried on without any pos-
sibility of secrecy, and in all probability it
was the knowledge of them that led even
the Catholic deputies at the Diet of Ra-
tisbon to demand from Ferdinand the re-
duction of his army, and in particular the
dismissal of Count Wallenstein, who had
already filled the world with the terror of
his mode of warfare and with his military
renown. -
A soldier from his earliest years, fortu-
mate in amassing wealth, by marriage,
pillage, and all other means by which
wealth may be won by a soldier—especially
successful in enlisting and organising sol-
diers of adventure, who asked for no pay
other than what they could seize in an
enemy's country, Wallenstein was just the
I (3 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
man for such a prince as Ferdinand, and
such an occasion as the Thirty Years' War,
when all the secondary objects were to kill,
burn, and destroy, and the final end of every
effort to subjugate and enslave. Happily
for Europe, Wallenstein was by birth a
Protestant, and though educated by J esuits,
he never could bring himself to love Jesuits
or their “belongings;” while Tilly, in ad-
dition to his natural dislike to a more than
ordinarily successful and haughty rival, had
previously been an actual Jesuit, and had
long nursed a deep animosity towards the
man who professed to hate and contemn the
subtle and unforgivin g Order—the one Order,
perhaps, which a man, once committed to,
finds the greatest difficulty in ever after
quitting. The two, therefore, were in heart
opponents. Wallenstein was dismissed.
IIe retired—sullenly, silently, but with
Gustavus Adolphus. 17
dignity, it is said—to his estates in Bohe-
mia. Twelve years, and two stages, of the
Thirty Years' War had now passed away.
The third stage presents the hero who
in war possessed a genius superior to that
of Tilly, or even of Wallenstein, and who in
morals and sensibility of nature—in that
loftiness of spirit which men speak of as
distinguishing the Christian gentleman,
seems hardly to belong to the same race.
It will be perceived here that there was
now another bond altogether different
from that of religion uniting the Powers
against Austria—Gustavus the champion
of Protestäntism, and Richelieu its deadly
foe. The dread of Austrian domination
was far from a chimera; and the ambition
of Richelieu, and the ambition which he
infused into Louis XIII. and into France,
supply the key to much that otherwise
VOIA. I. 2
18 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
would be incomprehensible in these strange
and incongruous unions.
We take up the thread of our history in
1624–25, when the Elector Palatine having
been utterly defeated, and his Electoral
possessions, as well as Bohemia, wrested
from him, the appeal of the Protestant
|Union was made to King Christian of
Tenmark. The six years from the corona-
tion at Prague had been terrible years to
the daughter of King James. She had felt
all the horrors of war, and all the horrors
of dependence on friends, though her
soldiers had followed her with enthusiasm.
Her husband's stage of the Thirty Years'
War had ended. The second—“ the Danish
Period”—had hegun.
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CHAPTER II.
RICHELIEU-INGERSTEIN HALL AND CHADWICK RISE—
THE COTTAGES OF PETER PRIM AND HARRY WAYE.
jº NTELLIGENCE that Protestant
Wu. Tº ºſº
š and Catholic stood arrayed against
each other for mortal strife in Germany
aroused England like a trumpet-call. Aged
men began to refurbish their stories of the
fires of Smithfield, of the cruelties of the
Catholics in France, of the Inquisition, and of
the terrible butcheries on the Spanish Main.
King James, in the last year of his reign
(1624–25), ordered a force of twelve thou-
sand infantry and a small body of horse to be
raised by impressment, and placed under the
orders of Count Mansfeldt, who had arrived
in England as a suppliant for the substantial






2—2
20 Ingerstein Hall and C/adwick Rise.
help which it was presumed King James
could readily and would willingly afford. The
poverty of England in horses was, according
to Hume, shown in an official report which,
early in the succeeding reign, stated that
the Crown could not then mount more than
two thousand men in the whole kingdom ; yet
the order for the relief of the Palatinate was
received by Protestants with something like
enthusiasm, which a great King might have
turned to account. The City of London
promptly raised at least two thousand of
the men-at-arms, who were to follow Count
Mansfeldt on foot. This was one side of the
question; one portion of the ingredients
which entered into the composition of the
yeast which speedily began to ferment
all England through.
There were, however, many Englishmen
who had read the history of the previous.
For the Palatinate. 21
fifty years very differently from the Pro-
testant manner of reading. To them the
struggle on the Continent was that of an
ancient and hallowed creed against an un-
natural and parricidal rebellion. Wherever
the influence of the Catholic priest was felt
this view prevailed. While, therefore, the
servants of King James were carrying out
the levy by impressment for the recovery of
the Palatinate, there were levies without
impressment converging along all the main
roads, and from all directions seaward, to-
wards London; from the North, by Carlisle
and Barnard Castle, or by Berwick and
Newcastle, riding or walking according to
their means, towards York or Knares-
borough, and so to Doncaster and Peter-
borough, and through Hertfordshire, to
some rendezvous in London, or on to the
south-east coast. Cumbrians and Northum-
22 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
brians, Welshmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen,
the men of Lincolnshire and of York, Pro-
testant and Catholic, met on these great
roads, or in the seaport towns nearest to the
Continent, as partisans of the Emperor or
of the King of Denmark, of the Catholic
League or the Protestant Union. Little
knew they in the main to what they were
devoting their lives. The isolated adven-
turers had upon the whole better prospects
than the men sent out in a body, who, as a
rule, perished ignobly, or made their way
individually to the seat of war.
The perceptible political and religious
decision of the time was in Germany. But
France, as well as England, Denmark,
and Sweden, had a keen eye fixed upon
the changing scenes of the drama. The
position of France demands a brief retrospect.
Henry IV. had been succeeded in 1610 by
Richelieu. 23
Louis XIII., then only nine years of age,
with Maria de Medici, his mother, a bigoted
adherent of Rome, as Regent; and with the
Prince of Condé, the Protestant Duke of
Rohan, and others of the nobility, as rebels,
either in fact if not in name, or in both
name and fact. Affairs appeared dark for
despotic royalty, when the Regent had the
fortune to find in a young Catholic Bishop
the powerful and indomitable Richelieu.
This discovery changed the whole aspect of
politics. Stern measures were adopted.
Several refractory nobles, including the
Prince of Condé, were thrown into the Bas-
tille. At the moment, however, when victory
seemed secure, the King revolted against
the rule of the Regent, his mother, who in
1617 was exiled. Richelieu was ordered to
his diocese in disgrace. A couple of years
later Ferdinand was raised to the throne of
24 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Germany, and the power of the Protestants
was broken by the series of victories referred
to in the previous chapter.
Then Maria de Medici, who had been
reconciled to her son, succeeded in procur-
ing the recall of Richelieu, who received a
Cardinal’s hat, and in 1624 was made Privy
Councillor. Then arose one of the strangest
entanglements known to history. Austria
bade fair to be all-powerful, and France
must have alliances. Richelieu could pro-
cure those alliances, and he cared little
under what name he found them so long as
they answered his purpose. He espoused the
King's sister, Henrietta Maria, to Prince
Charles of England, cleverly defeating the
Spanish match. He made an alliance with
the Dutch, secretly supplied money to Count
Mansfeldt to support the Protestant Union
against the Catholic Emperor, sent 10,000
|
7%e Protestant Pope. 25
men to drive the Pope's soldiers from the
Valleline, and dealt so gently with the
virtual Protestant Republic created at La
Rochelle that he was termed “Protestant
Pope,” or “Pope of the Huguenots and
Patriarch of Atheists.”
In particular his apparent attack on the
Papacy struck the world with amazement.
The Walteline—the valley of the Tyrolean
Alps, forming a highway between Ger-
many, France, and Italy—was in the Pro-
testant Canton of the Grisons, but was held
by Papal troops, in the interest of the
Catholic Powers. The Catholic Powers
were with Austria. When Richelieu seized
the forts and strong places in the Walteline,
the Papal Nuncio told him he would find
it difficult to defend his course in the
Council. “Not at all,” replied the auda-
cious Cardinal; “the Pope authorised me
26 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
to say and to do with a safe conscience
anything that might be useful to the State.”
“But you might be assisting heretics,” said
the astonished Nuncio. Richelieu replied:
“I believe that the Pope's authorisation
extends even to a case of that kind.” In
what state of mind the Nuncio received
this may be surmised.
The Spaniards replied to the seizure of
the Walteline by sending help to Rochelle.
They were outwitted, however, and the
Cardinal's policy proved victorious. Eng-
lishmen journeying along those great roads,
or voyaging in coasting vessels from the
great Northern or other ports, seemed to
have a clear case as between the Emperor
and the Elector, or between Tilly and
Mansfeldt. What, however, were they to
make of this Catholic Cardinal, who was
acting so palpably as “Pope of the Hugue-
Sir John Ingerstein. 27
nots and Patriarch of Atheists P” “For
the Pope or Martin Luther,” or “For the
Emperor or the Elector,” was simple to the
man whose ambition was to become a pike-
man in one of the two armies. But Riche-
lieu against the Pope was a puzzle alike to
Catholic and Protestant anxious for a clear
and distinct side on which to throw away
lives. The kaleidoscope of the war pre-
sented strange colours even then. It pre-
sented colours very much stranger before
those dreadful thirty years were ended.
Among the young men fired with enthu-
siasm for the Protestant cause, represented
by the defeated Elector Palatine, the Pro-
testant States of Germany, and the Hugue-
nots of France, was Richard Ingerstein, son
of Sir John Ingerstein, of Ingerstein Hall,
who had a fine estate some distance south
of the Thames, but on a clear day in full
28 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
view of Somerset House, where Anne of
T)enmark, Queen of King James, had, till
death snatched her away in 1619, held ex-
traordinary revels in never-ceasing masque-
rade. To this locality the rank, statesman-
ship, prowess, wit, and learning of England
were attracted as by a magnet, and the
direct influence of the Court was felt for
miles around.
Sir John Ingerstein, at the time when
Count Mansfeldt landed in England, was in
the sixty-fifth year of his age, a fine country
gentleman, with nearly all the habits of his
class save an inveterate repugnance to hunt-
ing hares, though he was noted as one of
the best cross-country riders—some said the
very best—in the South of England. When
therefore he was, as he sometimes was,
taunted with his dislike to the chasing of
hares, “the nursery of good riding,” he would
| Sir John Ingerstein. 29
reply, with a grave smile: “If I saw that it
was an indispensable nursery of good riding
I might agree with you—men are of more
value than hares—but you see that I can
ride, and enjoy riding. I simply cannot
enjoy torturing a gentle, innocent creature.
Besides,” he would add, “you are teaching
your children to be cruel. Believe me,
English children need no such teaching;
they have in them almost the fiercest blood
that runs in human veins.”
Sir John had another peculiarity, though
it does not come within the category of
habits. In an age of sectarianism he was
able to see, as clearly as any divine the world -
ever knew, that differences of creed do not
involve impurity of life, or forgetfulness or
neglect of duty to God or men. He at-
tended the parish church on the ground
that the State must have some Church, and
30 Ingerstein Hall and C/adwick Rise.
-*-
that a man having settled in his own mind
that the Church so selected is fundamentally
right, ought to waive smaller matters, just
as he would have to waive some matters if
he sought, in connexion with other men, to
form a new Church which would more com-
pletely embody his and their private views.
To all intolerance he was a determined foe.
Once, indeed, when in the absence of the
parish clergyman of Monkerton a stranger
used the pulpit, for the purpose of creating
bitterness of feeling under the guise of de-
nouncing at once, the Pope and the Ana-
baptists, Sir John Ingerstein took up his
hat, and, to the surprise of rich and poor,
walked from his pew and from the church.
He made no complaint against the man,
but he resolved, he said, never to sanction
by listening to such wicked doctrine.
Ö
Lady Ingerstein was a blooming, cheerful
A# “ 7%e Ha//.” 31
dame of about fifty, whose hand was ever
doing good, and whose sunny Smile lit up
many other smiles over all the country side.
She had a family of six children, but three
of them slept in the Monkerton churchyard;
and, without knowing what a little child
would tell to a great poet two centuries
later, Sir John and his wife were in the habit
of saying—not gloomily, but as people who
believed in the resurrection of the dead—
“We are six.” The three remaining chil-
dren were Richard—to whom reference has
been made—a robust and daring young man
of twenty-three ; Henry, a pale and some-
what delicate student of twenty; and Mabel,
a beautiful girl of eighteen. Mabel Inger-
stein was very lovely, and her name was
a name to conjure by for many a score of
miles around Ingerstein Hall.
Three miles distant, as the crow flies,
32 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
stood the fine old manor house of Chadwick
Rise, the property of Eldred Chadwick, who
boasted a Saxon ancestry, and believed, on
good evidence, that his forefathers had
lived, generation after generation, on or near
to the very spot where Chadwick Rise then
stood. Eldred Chadwick and John Inger-
stein had in early life been schoolfellows,
in later life College friends, and ever after-
wards good neighbours and mutual ad-
visers. Yet no two men could well have been
more dissimilar in appearance and in tastes,
save that both alike were gentlemen. El-
dred Chadwick was pale and short of stature,
with a marvellously sharp eye and a square
lofty forehead, so prominent that it might
have been said to overhang the lower part
of the face, as a solid plateau may at times
be seen to overhang a rugged quarry.
Sunken cheeks, a bald head, scanty whiskers,
The Chadwicks. 33
and a nervous twitching of the left cheek
and the lips, complete the picture of this
English gentleman as he appeared at this
time. Mr. Chadwick was a widower, and,
like his friend, was the father of three living
children. Several had been laid in the
family vault on his own estate. In his case
the living children were two daughters and
OIOle SOJOl.
Margaret, the eldest, was tall, pale, and
dark-eyed, “classical” in features, an exact
resemblance, people said, of her dead mother.
If the expression of her face had been stern
the picture might have been completed by
the word “plain.” It was not stern, how-
ever, but extraordinarily sweet, and seemed
to indicate that she had been chastened by
sorrow and suffering. Though still only
twenty-two years of age, she had for four-
teen long years stood in the relation of
VOL. I. ¥ 3
34 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
mother to her brother, now twenty years of
age, and to her sister, who had come into
life as their mother had passed away. Mr.
Chadwick’s son was named after him, Eldred,
but that at first sight seemed the only point
of resemblance of the young man to his
father. He was tall, strong, muscular,
vigorous in speech and in action, and with
a lip that warned off intrusion. At school
he had distanced nearly all competitors, but
had failed even to hold his own against
EHenry Ingerstein, two years his junior.
Pſis college days, which had been unusually
few, had been passed abroad and without
much real pleasure. He had now been at
home a little more than three months, and
already, like his friend Richard Ingerstein,
was about to set out for the wars. The
youngest child, a sweet little girl named
Agnes, shall describe herself as our history
Harry Waye, Blacksmith. 35
proceeds. It only remains to be added that
Squire Chadwick was a firm Catholic, and
had suffered for his faith. -
Between Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick
Rise lay the pretty village of Monkerton;
and in the main thoroughfare thereof lived
a stalwart blacksmith named Harry Waye—
a man who had owned his little cottage,
covered with woodbine and roses, about as
long as Mr. Eldred Chadwick had owned
Chadwick Rise, and as Sir John Ingerstein
had owned Ingerstein Hall. That is, Harry
Waye, the blacksmith, was very nearly the
same age as the two great landowners his
neighbours. He had been born in the cottage
he then occupied and owned. It had been
the cottage of his ancestors. In the room
wherein his father and mother had slept in
years gone by, he and his wife slept. The
best parlour, the kitchen, the chest of drawers,
3–2
36 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
the eight-day clock—a marvel in those days,
and representing a little fortune—the chairs,
tables, chests, and even buck-handled knives
and forks, of Harry and Sarah Waye, had
belonged previously to David and Martha
Waye, and would, Harry Waye hoped,
belong to another Harry and another Mis-
tress Waye in days to come. And the
three anvils and four large hammers, and
the three unrivalled bellows, and the smaller
hammers, and the tongs, and the moulds,
and the cunning workmanship—would not
they, too, go down to another Harry Waye P
Perhaps.
Harry Waye had a family of four children
living. A fair and good daughter married,
was “settled” in the wonderful city of Lon-
don, and is not important to these pages;
a son, George, a sailor of twenty-three, then
about to leave London on a voyage to the
The Blacksmith's Coffage. 37
Spanish Main, where he had served as a boy
on Sir Walter Raleigh's last voyage; and a
son, Harry, twenty years of age, heir to the
anvils, and perhaps to the woodbine-clad
cottage. By an ancient law of the Waye
family, the smithy and the cottage had
always gone together, and George had sold
his birthright for the hard biscuits, discom-
fort, hardship, and glory of the sailor's life.
Then there was Susan, a young lady about
eighteen years of age, of whom we shall
have to say much. Harry Waye was a
proud man and Sarah Waye a proud woman
in these their children, of whom a king
might have been proud.
It was George Waye of whom the story
was told, that when Raleigh's yards
became entangled in the rigging of a
Spanish vessel of almost double the English
ship's weight of metal, and more than double
38 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
her tonnage, he leaped to the enemy's top-
gallant yard, and, fighting his way upward,
tore down the then detested flag of Spain.
Barry again was, by general consent, allowed
to be the strongest and most agile lad, not
of the village of Monkerton alone, but on
that side of the Thames. He was also as
gentle and brave as he was strong and
active. A short time prior to the year
with which we are now concerned, the scaf-
folding around the walls of a lofty building
then in the course of erection at Mortlake,
for the manufacture of tapestry, had fallen
with a crash, destroying the only ladder
anywhere at hand that was long enough
to reach the place where two men were left
hanging to a bearer or “needle,” one end of
which was in the wall and the other in mid-
air. The death of both the men in a very
few minutes would have been certain, when
Harry Waye the Younger. 39
Harry Waye, then not quite eighteen years
of age, appeared on the top of the lofty wall
which was almost ready for the roofing
timber, and, descending on the outer side
with two ropes for which he had no fasten-
ings nearer than the ground on the inner
side, securely tied each of the endangered
men round the body. Then drawing them
slowly and carefully from the end of the
needle farthest from the wall to the end in
the wall, he lowered them to ladders which
reached half-way to the scaffolding. They
were both saved. The danger to the adven-
turous young man was in the fact that all
but a small part of the needle was in open
air, and that, according to all human reason
and calculation, it ought to have fallen with
the scaffolding. Such an idea as that it
would support two men never could have
entered into any one's dreams; yet, that
40 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Harry Waye's venture should succeed, what
had, against all rules of calculation, borne
two men at rest, must bear three in motion.
It succeeded, but the danger was appalling.
When the daring feat was over, the pent-up
enthusiasm of the bystanders burst into
thundering cheers, amid which Harry Waye
walked quietly and quickly away home,
blushing like a girl at the praise which he
evidently never had expected.
On the following evening his sister Susan
said to him——
“Harry, you did not tell us of your great
deed yesterday.” -
“Now, Sue,” he replied, firing up sharply,
“let us have an end of this nonsense. I
never was so tormented with anything in
my life I almost wish I had let the men
fall.” - e
“Harry "
Harry Waye the Younger. 4l
“Sue ! I mean it. If one is to be made
a fool of in this fashion for saving a man, I
don't see that one could be much worse used
for killing one.” -:
Such was Harry Waye the younger.
Of another of his early adventures we
shall see a little in the right place.
- Then there was Susan—dark-eyed, red-
lipped, rosy-cheeked, graceful “little Sue,”
the sweetest flower, even courtiers had been
heard to say, on either side of the Thames.
Many an attempt had been made to allure
and even to steal the Rose of Monkerton,
and carry her over the water to the frippery
of an inane court, and of “ Society” in which
fashion was becoming every day more rank
and unwholesome. Susan, however, had not
merely a somewhat dangerous brother, but
also a stout band of retainers, including
every young man, and indeed every man of
42 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise
whatever age in Monkerton, and for many
miles around. To no titled lady did Eldred
Chadwick and Richard and Henry Inger-
stein raise their caps more politely than to
her ; and the homage was beautiful, because
—noble boys all of them—they would no
more have thought of injuring the black-
smith's daughter than they would of brook-
ing an injury to their own sisters.
Harry Waye and his family were Protes-
tants of the Established Church, and pos-
sessed some family traditions of the fires
of Smithfield, as well as some traditions of
another kind into which their own name
was interwoven, of the glorious deeds of
Drake and Frobisher and Raleigh. None
of the Wayes had any great gift as talkers
or reasoners, but they had a remarkably
strong determination as to where they went,
Peter Prim, WZeelwright. 43
and where they went not, to say their
prayers on Sundays.
In a cottage three doors from theirs lived
an Anabaptist wheelwright, a skilled work-
man, a good neighbour, an honest and
respectable man in the eyes of all who knew
him, but a born arguer; and very often he
Sorely tried the patience of his genial neigh-
bour, Harry Waye. Whatever the nature
of his work, Peter Prim found time and
opportunity to talk. No subject was too
high or too deep for him, and it is but
right to say that he not merely argued
very closely and cogently, but made great
sacrifices for his opinions. There had been
occasions when all the influence of Sir
John Ingerstein and Mr. Chadwick, always
freely exerted, had been necessary to pre-
serve Peter from the terrible penalties which
44 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
the law at that time provided for daring
untaught theologians. Twice he had been
all but condemned to the pillory; and
once had narrowly escaped being whipped
from old St. Paul’s to the village of Charing.
In these and other ways his temper had
become soured; but amid all, his spirit was
high and his resolution indomitable. Peter
Prim had one son, now nineteen years of
age, named Tom, whom he loved dearly.
Tom’s mother slept the long sleep in
Monkerton churchyard. Other kindred had
they none.

CHAPTER III.
RELIGION AND POLITICS IN MONRERTON.
ſºn E day Peter Prim and Harry Waye
ºf stood together in front of the
Smithy door of the latter watching the
closing up of the felloes of a wheel which
Peter had made and brought to his friend to
“hoop ;” Harry Waye was one of the first
workmen south of the Thames to adopt the
modern hoop. The wheelwright's work-
manship, like the smith's, was always good
and honest workmanship, and the felloes
creaked healthily as the red-hot hoop con-
tracted in the cool air, and drew every joint
to its fair and just bearing. The genial
face of the blacksmith contrasted finely with
the grimmer countenance of the wheel-


46 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
wright, but for once Harry Waye seemed
as earnest as his friend. -
“Peter Prim,” he said, throwing down
his hammer, “I think the world itself does
not contain so vexatious a man as you.
T}o you wish to bring those bloodhounds
down on you again P. If not, what do you
mean?”
“I mean, Harry Waye, that if it is my
duty to hold up my testimony against
Papacy and Prelacy I will do it, even
though I die the death.”
“Die the foul fiend! You would provoke
52
a saint
“A saint l—and pray what is that, my
friend, in these times?”
“Never mind what it is ; I can’t say that
I know myself, but I verily believe you -
would provoke my little Sue, which is say-
ing a great deal.”
Po/emics in Monkerſon. 47
“So it is, neighbour”—and the grim
wheelwright smiled—“a very great deal.
If she is the kind of saint you speak of,
why—” * }
“But she is not, and you know very well
I meant no such nonsense. What I want
to ask you is this"—and Harry Waye folded
his arms and looked inquisitorially—“Do
you, in your heart, believe that the Almighty
cares whether we pray standing or kneeling
so long as we pray humbly and earnestly
or do you think the Almighty cares in what
form we are baptised?”
“Whew Who is the heretic now, I
wonder P who is in danger now of the pil-
lory and the lash P Take my advice, Harry
Waye, and keep these free-born thoughts to
yourself, or you will find your mistake.
Our godly King, who acts fooleries at
Whitehall and Theobald’s, as his wife did
48 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
at the big house in the distance there, over
the water, would as lief brook an attack
On his sacred crown—sacred rubbish l—as
on his articles of faith. For what purpose
did our Solomon go to Berwick seven years
ago but to provide that Scotland should be
cured of such heresy as you avow P For
what did he publish the detestable and blas-
phemous Book of Sports, which your sordid
time-serving clergy are mean enough and
graceless enough to read, in what ought
to be God’s house, but which is really a den
of thieves P”
“Gently, Peter, gently.”
“Let me say on, Harry Waye. What
was the purpose of the Conference at
FIampton Court but to assert, but only as
fools and players assert when they touch
what should only be touched by earnest
men, that there is some difference between
Po/emics in Monkerſon. 49
truths and falsehoods in the world P You
would not be very safe if such things as
you now have said were told of you.”
“I do not agree with you. The things
I am talking of give me very little concern.
I cannot argue the right or wrong of this or
that baptism, and I say it matters little
how such questions are decided if only we
live honest lives.”
“Harry Waye, as I live I believe you
are a Pagan | What was the Word given
to us for P Show me anything—any one
text—in favour of infant baptism.”
“Nay, I am done if you ask me for
texts. And upon my soul, Peter, I never
yet saw any good come from them. I am
sure my children are none the worse, if they
are none the better, for being baptised; and
I am sure your Tom is none the worse for
VOL. I. 4 .
50 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
his different bringing up ; a finer lad is not
on either side of the Thames.”
“Thank ye, neighbour, thank yel” and
the wheelwright brushed away a tear. For
a moment the ardent polemic was silenced.
IIe could not, however, bring himself to
give up the argument.
“Surely, Harry Waye,” he said, “you
do not mean to tell me that if Christ
says one thing you are free to choose
another?”
“No ; I mean nothing of the kind. If I
knew that our Lord meant this or that I’d
try to do it, without asking any questions;
but when I do not know it—for it is out of
my depth—then I leave it to my country.”
“Ah, ah ! then you really in your heart
accept, in the spirit of Sir John Ingerstein,
the adulterous connexion of Church and
State P”
Polemics in Monkerton. 5|
“I believe that people help each other by
saying their prayers in company, and , the
State Church provides me with one form of
prayer, as your preacher provides you a
fresh one every Sunday—though I fancy
your forms are rather alike, the one to the
other—eh, Peter P”
“We pray with the spirit and the under-
standing, Harry Waye. You pray without
either. Your prelacy is the devil’s best
agent on earth next to Popery for deluding
the souls of men. Your vicar, pleasant
enough of speech, I know, lives for the
flesh, and of the flesh will reap corruption.
You are in the gall of bitterness and the
bond of iniquity. Your life is a delusion,
your faith a snare ; you will die in your
sins. You 22
“Not quite so fast, Peter Prim,” said a
grave voice at the wheelwright's elbow.
4–2
52 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Let Him curse to whom curses and
55
blessings alike belong.
“So I do, Mr. Eldred,” said Peter, turn-
ing sturdily and confronting the heir of
Chadwick Rise, who had approached in
company with a stranger, and had heard
the latter part of Peter's harangue.
“Well, I can only say, then, that you
have an odd way of showing it.”
“Odd way of showing it ! I am merely
saying what the Bible says. Now, there is
your own Church, Mr. Eldred, where was
there ever such a harlot drunk with the
blood of the saints P”
“I do not know where,” and the young
man smiled, “ for the truth is I do not
2 3
understand your figure, but
“Do not you understand the subject,
Mr. Eldred P Hah! Now, sir, if you
would but listen for an hour or two I could,
Po/emics in Monkerton.
5
3
I think, by God's help, throw light into
the dark places of your mind. Your
priests
“But you interrupted me, Peter. I was
about to say that if my Church, as you call
it—the Holy Catholic Church as I call it—
has taken, she has also given, the blood of
the saints.”
“That’s your folly and the stupidity
of your papistry. Your so-called saints,
if real saints, belong to the Church of
Christ. Your evils alone are all your
55
OWIOl.
“Oh, that is it P. If we produce a bad
man he is our own, and if a good one he
is yours
“Not ours, but 53
“Well, somebody’s—not ours. But I see
we are soon likely to have a small congrega-
tion for our discussion, and my time will
54 Jayerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
not allow me to prolong the amuse-
ment.” While saying this the young man
glanced towards the smithy, where he saw
Harry Waye the younger listening to the
discussion with an amused expression of
countenance, and Tom Prim, who was at
|Harry's side, with a look of undisguised
vexation on his face. Perhaps Tom's gloom
might be accounted for by the fact that at
a little distance from the Smithy, among
the woodbine and roses, there was another
face dearer to Tom than life, and now
smiling at his father's zeal. Eldred Chad-
wick saw all this at a glance, and turning
round sharply, his eyes met those of Susan
Waye, as full of fun as of goodness, while
Peter Prim continued—
“Amusement Mr. Eldred, you will use
different words at the last day. I hope
you will not then be glad for the mountains
Po/emics in Monkerton. 55
to fall on you, and the hills to cover
you!”
“Thank you, Peter.”
“Hold your tongue, man l’” said the
blacksmith, in a whisper; “do you not see
that Mr. Eldred has a stranger with him P”
“Ay, a stranger to Christ, I’ll be bound.
52
I will speak to him. Sir
“Father,” interposed Tom Prim, coming
from the smithy, “do you not remember
that you promised Dick Markham his shaft,
repaired, to-night, and it is now three
o'clock P” -
“Yes, that's true, and it must be done;
yet men have a higher duty than mending
cart-shafts.” -
This little digression sufficed to turn at-
tention in other directions, and Peter, find-
ing it impossible to take up again what he
called the thread of his discourse, went
56 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
gloomily home, while Tom prepared to
follow with the wheel which had received
its circlet of iron. He appeared in no
hurry, however, to select the particular part
of the wheel that ought to be raised first
from the ground, for he went round it more
than twice or thrice before he finally Cà, Iſle
to a decision that the side farthest from the
woodbine cottage, and facing the cottage
window, would be best for the purpose.
Then, having raised the wheel in a workman-
like fashion, he trundled it to very near
where Mistress Susan Waye stood; and in
passing said, in a low voice—and Susan saw
there was a big tear in his eye—
“Pardon my father's crotchet, Susan; he
would give his right hand to do any one
any good.”
Susan was surprised, and said—no fun
now in her bright eyes—
Polemics in Monkerſon. 57
“But what has he done that is wrong,
Tom P I like to see his earnest face, and to
hear him talk as if he believed every word
he spoke.”
“Do you though, Susan P’—and Tom's
face broke into sunshine—“I thought he
must be annoying you cruelly.”
Tom lingered a little longer, moving his
wheel first forward and then backward, as if
uncertain of his own mind, while the
stranger and Eldred Chadwick took a polite
leave of Susan and her father, and walked in
the direction of the Rise.
“Do you know anything of this business
of the Palatine, Master Waye P” said Tom,
watching the retiring figures. “All London
seems alive with the beating up for Count
Mansfeldt's command.”
“I only know, my lad, that the Romish
Powers seem bent on tearing up Protest-
58 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
antism in Germany and elsewhere by the
roots.” -
“I daresay you will hardly believe it, but
my father is possessed, as he says, with the
idea that I ought to go to the help of the
Lord against the mighty’—meaning that I
should go direct to La Rochelle, where the
Duke of Rohan has made a kind of Calvinist
Republic.”
“And you don’t care for the flag, Tom P”
said the blacksmith, while his daughter and
Harry listened with breathless attention.
“In all truth I do not. I like the spirit
of Rochelle, but I do not care to go to the
place. I cannot either in the least under-
stand this news of Cardinal Richelieu threat-
ening to drive the Papal troops out of that
valley of the Alps. My father often talks
about Satan being divided against himself;
but Richelieu against the Pope seems the
Preparing for the Wars. 59
—º
nearest approach to it of anything I ever
knew.” - *
“Richelieu is not divided against the
Pope, Tom. I had a long talk with Master
Henry Ingerstein yesterday on this very
point, and he says that we shall yet see
|Richelieu the most terrible and cruel, as he
is now the most subtle and cunning, enemy
of Protestantism. He will first settle with
Austria; after that he will not spare the
Huguenots. I have Mr. Henry's exact
words in my memory ; indeed I have been
repeating them ever since—“most terrible
and cruel,’ and so on. But I may as well
tell you, Tom, that Harry here is as mad to
join this Count Mansfeldt as your father is
for you to join the French Huguenots at
Bochelle.” - •,
“Harry I Do you mean this? Why, I
never heard of it till this moment l’’
60 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“It’s true, though, Tom,” said Harry;
“and, if my father will consent, I go at once
with Mr. Richard Ingerstein.”
“Stranger still, I never heard of Mr.
Richard going either.”
& & N o,” said Mistress Waye, in a tremulous
voice; “it was only settled last night that
Mr. Richard was to go. I fear it will be
settled to-night that Harry is to go with him.”
Tom Prim looked from the blacksmith to
Mistress Waye, and from her to Susan, and
from Susan to Harry, as if he hardly believed
the evidence of his senses. After a long
pause he said—
“I am quite willing to do as my father
wishes, so far as going to the help of the
Ilord against the mighty is concerned,
though I don’t think the Lord has half as
much to do with the business as a pack of
selfish, unprincipled politicians have ; but I
Preparing for the Wars. 6]
think I have a right to say whether I shall
go to Germany or Rochelle, and I hope I
shall go with you, Harry.”
In this spirit Tom Prim went home,
thinking long and ardently of the dark,
kind eyes that had watched him with such
solicitude when his voice trembled as he
spoke of leaving England.
Richard Ingerstein and Harry Waye
would cross the Channel with high spirits.
Tom Prim, go in which direction he might,
would go dissatisfied with his lot and un-
certain as to his duty.
While the conversation just recorded
was taking place, Eldred Chadwick and his
stranger companion were on their way to
the Rise, engaged in like earnest but less
impassioned conversation.
“It is a heavy burden you lay upon me,
Father Simeon,” Eldred said ; “I had hoped,
62 In/ersfein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
on returning home, to settle down in the
old place and do my duty to my country
and my faith.”
“I had hoped the same for you, my son ;
I will even confess to you that I had
dreams of visiting you in your English
home, not as your confessor, but as your
friend, and enjoying the comfort which I
thought I saw in store for you. I need
not ask you, Eldred, if you have confessed
this infatuation for a mere creature of flesh
and blood to the good father who has
watched over you so long, and who has yet
charge of your eternal welfare.”
“I have done so, Father Simeon, but
that subject need not again be raised be-
tween us. Let us deal with the main
guestion. I am ready to go, as you desire,
and as the Holy Father commands. I can-
not, however, think without pain that I
7%e 7hpo Faiths. 63
shall be on one side, and my friend Richard
Ingerstein, and, indeed, my country, on the
other.”
“Do not speak and look so gloomily, my
son, or I shall regret that I ever came to
Dngland. If your mind is not free to
obey the Holy Father's behest, tell me so
frankly, and I will undertake to secure you
a dispensation.”
“Nay, Father Simeon, my English word
is my bond.”
“Your Catholic word, Eldred. Re-
member you are, first of all, more than
English. Do you not perceive from the
wildly fanatical conversation of the old
workman we have just left, what a fearful
state of mind may result from deeming
yourself first English P’’
“Peter Prim is a brave man, Father
Simeon.”
64 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“‘Brave' I should scarcely call it ;
bravery involves loyalty. A man may be
hardy enough to sell himself to the devil.
You would scarcely term that bravery. The
only sensible words he uttered were about
that heretic vicar. He was right there.”
“Baldwin is beloved by the poor
people.”
“Beloved, my son P−he is on the way to
bell.”
“So old Peter says. But now, Father
Simeon, I obey your demand upon my
loyalty. On the other point *—and Eldred
blushed a little—“ you must please to leave
me free.”
Father Simeon, who had been Eldred's
tutor and fast friend in France, was a
man formed, as many of those old priests
were, by nature to win influence over
young minds. Every line of his face
The 7hpo Fażhs. 65
*—
was marked with strength, and though his
voice was not gentle and winning, neither
was his address unpleasing. His mission
to England was an important one at
an important time. Despite King James
and his alliances, Father Simeon was ex-
pected to array on the side of the Church,
which England had disowned and dis-
carded, some young Englishmen whose
names would serve to connect England
with the cause of the Empire and the Pa-
pacy. Eldred Chadwick, in obeying the
command of the head of his Church, had con-
fessed to Father Simeon, as he had previously
confessed to an Italian priest, who exer-
cised the duties of his priesthood in defi-
ance of English law, that there was a
private question upon which he claimed the
right of private judgment, and Father
Simeon had disputed, and at first all but
WOL. I. 5
66 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
refused, the claim. To what extent his
decision had become modified will be seen
by following the conversation, which we
have left at the point of Eldred’s demand in
one particular, to be free. Father Simeon
did not hasten to reply to the claim, un-
usual as it was to his ears. He paused,
and for some moments there was silence.
At last he said—
“Those are hardly the words, Eldred, I
should have expected from you. ‘Must' is
not pleasant to me, and I can say is a word
that never was used by me in my early
days to my tutor and friend.”
“I acknowledge my fault, Father Simeon,
and beg you to pardon me; but give me
your permission to follow the dictates of
my own heart in the selection of my
wife.”
“The heart is wicked, my son. How-
7%e Two Fażhs. 67
ever, I shall, though reluctantly, leave this
subject to your father confessor, whose weak-
ness I lament. My duty is of a different
kind. Are you almost ready to leave Eng-
land P”
“Personally I am ready this moment,
but I have a fancy to leave on the same day
that my friend Richard leaves.”
Father Simeon looked sharply, and replied
cheerfully: “To deepen the lines of difference,
Eldred, I perceive.”
“No, Father Simeon; my fancy is that
we may deepen the lines of union ; may
remember that we are old neighbours and
friends, and that blood is thicker than
water.”
“I did not imagine you were romantic,
Eldred.”
“Nor so gloomy, I daresay, Father
Simeon. I am surprised at myself. I
5–2
68 Ingerstein Hall and C/adwick Rise.
wonder what will have come to pass before
we again stroll—if we ever again stroll—on
the banks of the Thames.”
“Let us pray that the faith from which
your English Julian apostatised will once
more be supreme. You will return, Eldred,
to build a chapel to Our Lady in this beau-
tiful village.”
Eldred Chadwick shook his head mourn-
fully, and said: “You know little of the
new spirit that is abroad in England. There
are men like Peter Prim all the country
through. The high prerogative claimed
by this Scotch Solomon is roundly dis-
puted, but not in favour of the Church.
The claim is for free thought; and I think
sometimes the claim will prevail. At all
events, if the need should come, men like
Peter Prim will know not merely how to
Tie, but also how to fight.”
The 7%po Faż//s. 69
“Our lot has fallen in a hard time, my
son. Let us do our duty to our holy Church,
and leave the rest to her. Who is this lady
approaching us, Eldred P”
“It is Mabel Ingerstein, Father Simeon;
will you speak to her 3’’
“I think not ; I shall stroll down to the
river side, and join you again after dinner.
Pray let a crust of bread and a vessel of
water be taken to my room. Then I shall
have no need to disturb the household.”
After this Eldred joined Mabel Ingerstein,
while Father Simeon took the direction of
the Chadwick woods. He had not gone far
when, on a path leading from the river to
the Rise, he met, full in the face, the
Anglican vicar of Monkerton, Master Bald-
win, and the Catholic priest now resident at
the Rise, Father Altona. Master Baldwin
was a man whose character an observer of
70 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
human nature would at once have pro-
nounced colourless, but he was also a lover
of peace, and possessed unbounded charity
even for Peter Prim. Father Altona, with
a more decided character, had an equal
aversion to turmoil, either of words or
action, and the two men were in a sense
friends.
Father Simeon had observed all this,
and had spoken to Father Altona very
seriously as to the responsibility he was
incurring in this dreadful complicity with
heresy. -
The priests now looked at each other
uneasily as they met, while Master Bald-
win, with the easy good-nature which
even then was a characteristic of the Church
which Father Simeon and Peter Prim alike
called political, talked away glibly on all
manner of subjects, and ended by shaking
7%e Two Fażf/s. l 71
hands heartily with the priests as he bade
them good-day. r:
“What a sour-looking fellow that Simeon
is,” he thought, as he walked away towards
the vicarage. “But, poor fellow, he has
no wife;” and on Master Baldwin went,
whistling a lively air of the time.
Meanwhile, the two Catholic priests
walked on in silence, which Father Simeon
was the first to break.
“Is this right, Father Altona P” he asked,
in a low stern voice. “Is this a time to
consort with a heretic teacher when
I am striving my best to procure
men for the Church, and to prevent
this ill-starred affection from ending in
marriage P’’
“You will not prevent the marriage,”
Father Altona replied, “and you have
secured your recruit. What would you?”
72 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“I would that you entered at least a
silent protest against heresy, by avoiding
this wolf in sheep's clothing.”
“Ealdwin a wolf, brother P You are
greatly mistaken. He is a heretic, and a
worldling; and I at first tried to quarrel
with him, but it was out of the question.
IIe declined, laughed at me, and said
we were both right. What could I
do P”
“I would”—and the priest looked like an
inquisitor as he said this—“ have—have—
I do not know what I would have
2 3
done
“That was my case, and therefore I did
nothing.” Father Altona said this as
meekly as a lamb, while his brother priest
looked furious.
“I must bid you farewell,” he said,
The Zhoo Faż/s. 73
turning away; “I cannot trust myself to
reply.”
“Farewell, my brother ; we shall meet
again at the Rise. Our Lady preserve
you.” And they parted.

CHAPTER IV.
COUNT MANSFELDT IN LONDON.—STRANGE PROCEEDINGS
IN COTTAGE AND HALL.
§ long in England before he per-
ceived that there was little really to hope
for from the royal voluptuary who was
father-in-law of the Elector Palatine, and
brother-in-law of the Danish King. The
wise Monarch, sorely afflicted with gout,
ague, and chronic intemperance, had more
important business at his favourite retreat
of Theobald’s, than troubling himself too
closely with the great events that were
passing in Europe. It was, moreover, far
from easy for him to see that rebellion is
not as the sin of witchcraft. If the Bohe-


Count Mansfeldt in London. 75
mian Protestants had succeeded, then
“treason successful had been no longer
treason ;” but to have tried and failed was
shocking to James. The acceptance of the
leadership of the new union by King
Christian only slightly altered the com-
plexion of affairs. King James had pleasant
recollections of some splendid orgies, in
which his brother Christian and he had
figured together almost twenty years pre-
viously, at Whitehall. Sir John Harrington
wrote of them: “The sports began each
day in such manner and such sorte as well
nigh persuaded me of Mahomet's paradise.
We had women, and, indeed, wine too, of
such plenty as would have astonished each
beholder. Our feasts were magnificent, and
the two royal guests did most lovingly em-
brace each other at table. I think the
Dane both strangely wrought on our good
76 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
English nobles. . . . . The ladies abandon
their sobriety and are seen to roll about in
intoxication.” These orgies were a great
memory for King James. The levies, there-
fore, were ordered, the subsidies granted,
the impressments set on foot, the gaols
and sponging-houses emptied, and motley
rabbles were sent forth to fight for the
Protestant faith ; but it was “not war.”
While the negotiations and prepara-
tions for the expedition were going on, it
was far from an uncommon thing for Count
Mansfeldt to leave Whitehall, and the gay
saloons in Great Queen Street, in quest of
peace and comfort in Ingerstein Hall. Sir
John and he had formed an acquaintance in
the course of some inquiries necessary in
view of Richard Ingerstein’s intention to
follow the Protestant leaders to the war; and
the acquaintance had been to Count Mans-
Count Mansfeldt in Zondon. 77
feldt like the opening up of a new life, of
which hitherto he had known nothing.
One day he ventured to express his surprise
that Mabel Ingerstein had not yet been seen
at Court; but the vexed look on the young
lady's face, and the frown on that of Lady
Ingerstein, having shown him that the sub-
ject was a distasteful one, he hastened to
apologise, dreading indeed that he had un-
wittingly trod upon more delicate ground
than he really had. This restored the good
humour. Sir John explained that the seclu-
sion of his family was not owing to prudery,
but to the fact that he had no love for the
Court and its manners, and no wish that
his sweet Mabel should learn to be a fine
lady of the kind most in esteem at White-
hall.
Sometimes, too, Count Mansfeldt was
accompanied to Ingerstein Hall by friends,
78 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
English, German, and Dane, and more than
One young man carried away recollections
of Mabel not easily effaced even in the
stirring times of war. All the Count's
skill was naturally exerted to add to his
force recruits of a better quality than those
whom he was likely to obtain from King
James, and in passing through the village
of Monkerton he had fixed his attention on
IHarry Waye, Tom Prim, and some other
young men, whom he decided to be of the
required material for good soldiers. Here,
however, Sir John Ingerstein, who had very
high conceptions of his duty to his poorer
neighbours, and who never knowingly suf-
fered them to be imposed upon, was
inexorable. He resolutely desired Count
Mansfeldt to look elsewhere for his recruits,
and his wish was complied with, till in the
end the interdict was of necessity removed
by himself.
Count Mansfeldt in London. 79
No interdict, however, had been laid
upon the eyes or imagination of the young
companions of Count Mansfeldt, and an
interesting little drama had ensued. The
Marquis de Rochambord having had, as
he boasted, “the supreme good fortune”
to one day espy the fair face of Susan
Waye among the roses and woodbine of
her father's cottage, had attempted what
he elegantly termed an amour, but he was
so roughly treated by the young lady's
brother and Tom Prim that he was glad
to escape and to keep his secret from the
merciless wits of Whitehall. He made no
second attempt to insult the daughter of
Harry Waye. Nor was Susan again
molested by any of the young men who
followed Count Mansfeldt.
Among the frequent guests at Ingerstein
Hall during the visit of Count Mansfeldt
were Mr. Chadwick, his eldest daughter,
80 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise,
and occasionally Eldred. At first the
young man hesitated to say anything, to
the enemy of his faith, with respect to the
champions of that faith ; but gradually the
reserve wore away; and Eldred found him-
self asking, and Count Mansfeldt answering,
questions as to Count Tilly, Count Wallen-
stein, General Spinola, and even Ferdinand
himself. Tilly and Spinola he pronounced
able and accomplished soldiers. Of Wallen-
stein he spoke as more than an accomplished
soldier, as indeed one of the most astute,
politic, and resolute men of any age. “But
you must pardon me,” he said, “if I add,
One of the most unscrupulous.”
“You would assert the same, I suppose,
of Count Tilly,” Eldred said, a little tartly.
“Yes; and if ever you come, as I suppose
you may come, to know Count Tilly, you
will find in that attenuated body, under
The Coming Storm. 81.
those pale sunken cheeks, and that hawk-
like eye, a heart as hard as the nether
millstone. I am not now speaking as a
Protestant, but as gentleman to gentleman.
If we meet again you will perhaps tell me,
also, as gentleman to gentleman, whether I
was right or wrong. Wallenstein differs
from Tilly in the fact that he is not a
bigot, save in the absurdities of his
astrology. He cares not a straw for
Catholic or Protestant, kaiser or rebel. He
simply loves power with a passion for which
the world has only a few parallels. You are
aware that when he offers to raise an army
he scorns subsidies or pay P ‘I undertake,”
he says, “to raise the army if you undertake
to allow me to pay it as I please in the
enemy's country’—a dreadful power in his
hands. His palace is royal in a sense to
which no palace of your Cardinal Wolsey
VOL. T. 6
82 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
had any pretension. He may yet be a king
or an emperor for aught I know. His
ambition is illimitable.”
Eldred bowed and was silent. He knew
that Count Mansfeldt had also a character
for reckless warfare.
“And Richelieu, Count Mansfeldt,” said
Margaret Chadwick; “please tell us some-
thing of him.”
“ Richelieu’s character, Mistress Chad-
wick, is as yet as great an enigma to me as
it can be to you. I cannot read it. If he
had not been a priest, I should have said he
might become one of the most terrible foes
the Papacy ever had. He made use of, and
then cast aside, even the mother of the
King, who believed she was using him.
You have heard of his mysterious resolu-
tion in the case of the Walteline. I should
say he is temporising till he can swallow up
The Coming Storm. 83
the Protestant State which is establishing
itself at La Rochelle.”
“And quite justifiably, you will admit,
sir,” said Eldred.
“Quite justifiably, Mr. Eldred, according
to the laws that govern political life.”
“There is one other name, Count Mans-
feldt,” said Mabel Ingerstein. “If we are
not annoying you, please tell us of King
Gustavus Adolphus.”
“Ah ! there, Lady Mabel, we leave diplo-
macy. I believe that, when the time
comes, Gustavus Adolphus will be found to
stand on a platform of thought far higher
than Tilly, or Wallenstein, or Spinola, or
any man of this age.”
“With much of the player, however,
in his character, Count Mansfeldt,” said
Eldred.
“No, sir”—this was very carelessly uttered
6—2
84. Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
—“ he has already faced danger and death
in a way unknown to players.”
By this time it was perfectly understood
in both households that Richard Ingerstein
would accompany Count Mansfeldt, and
that Eldred Chadwick would join Count
Tilly.
In time also it became known that
Richard would have at his side at least
one of the stoutest young hearts in
Monkerton, in Harry Waye, and almost till
the last it was hoped that he would have
another in Tom Prim.
On the evening before Count Mansfeldt
left London, there was a painful scene in
the cottage of Harry and Sarah Waye.
Their son's wallet had been packed, and
was lying on the white kitchen-table, and
the doors had been fastened for the night,
when a hesitating knock and a timid
Tom Prim’s First Difficul/y. S5
moving of the latch disturbed the little
family group, amid which the kind, good
mother sat like one bereft of speech. When
the door was opened, Tom Prim, pale, and in
evident distress, walked into the cottage,
and, without looking to right or left, took
the hand of the “Rose of Monkerton,” and
said—
“Susan, my father is, I think, as nearly
mad as a man can be. He tells me flatly
that I shall go with his curse on me if I go
not to Rochelle.”
“Oh, it is cruel, Tom.”
“No, not cruel, Susan, but I fear insane.
My father has some crotchet in his head
about the purity of the motives of the men
at Rochelle, and the merely political aims of
the people in Bohemia. No power of man
will remove that crotchet. I must go to
this Rochelle, Harry. I shall do no good
86 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
anywhere if my father's curse rests on
me.” -
“Decidedly not, Tom ; but I am sorry,
for your sake as well as ours. Why, you
will go among people of whom you know
nothing, to do nobody knows what l”
“I will try to do my duty, Harry. If I
fall, why—I must fall. You run the same
risk, old friend. Master Waye, Susan kindly
permits me to-night to say to you what, but
for these partings, I never perhaps had dared
to say at all, that if you do not object, and
God spares us, she may some day consent to
be my wife.”
Master Waye was silent.
Tom continued in a mournful tone—“I
have been too bold, too abrupt, I know ;
but it is a solemn night. I shall start
to-morrow morning before you, Harry.”
“What on earth do you mean, Tom P”
Tom Prim's First Difficulty. 87
“I mean that I shall go on foot to
Falmouth, where, I am told, I may easily
ship for Rochelle.”
“It is madness l’’
“Then I am mad, for I shall go. I must
have my father's blessing, anyhow. I hope,
having satisfied him as to duty, I may come
back—to make carts. My father is reason-
able enough to say that if I go to Rochelle,
and do not find my duty there, I shall
not do wrong if I leave France on the first
opportunity.”
“Very reasonable, certainly,” said Harry
the younger, with a little irony.
Tom had still bravely kept his hold of
Susan's hand, though as yet neither father
nor mother had uttered a word.
“Well, Tom,” said the blacksmith, after
what seemed an age of silence, “I have not
spoken quickly, because you have asked me
88 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
for what is dearer to us than our hearts'
blood, but if Susan is willing to wait, I am
willing, and I know her mother is so too.”
—Mrs. Waye looked her consent tearfully—
“Now, now Tom, go away home; but
come and say good-bye in the morning.”
“It must be before daylight.”
“Ay, let it ; we shall have no going to
bed to-night here. Susan will see you to the
door, my lad; and remember, that come
what may, we shall look to your father,
though he argue a dog's tail out of joint, as
the old proverb says.”
“Thank you kindly, Master Waye ; my
father is a solitary man, and may need
your kindness.”
Tom Prim then bade good-night to his
friends, and went away with a heart like to
break.
“Brave boy,” said the blacksmith, when
—–4
Harry Waye's Dream. 89.
the door was closed; “he is a good son ;
he never can be a bad husband. Harry,
have you no one to introduce to us before
going away P’’ -
“No, father, I think not. I had a dream
once, but it went in the morning. * * To
think, though, of Tom walking to Fal-
mouth !”
“A dream—eh, Harry P”
“And how long he may wait at Fal-
mouth before he finds a ship, goodness
knows.” -
“And is that all, then, Harry P’’
“Father, do not let us drift into deep
water this last night.” This was very
seriously said. Then he added jocularly,
“You know I never could remember dreams.”
The same evening there was another scene,
not dissimilar, at Ingerstein Hall, in the
library of which Eldred Chadwick had asked
90 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
for a private interview with Sir John Inger-
stein.
“So you leave us to-morrow, Eldred?”
said the baronet. “Why do you make it
the same day as that of Count Mansfeldt's
and Richard's departure?”
“Because, sir, I somehow should like to
leave on the same day.”
“As Dick's enemy, Eldred P I fancy if
your father and I had been going away as
enemies we should have instinctively selected
different days.”
“But from the same motive, sir, as mine;
you would have selected different days, so
that you might blunt the edge of the nomi-
nal enmity. I select the same day that we
may convert the nominal enmity into clear
friendship. Richard and I never could lift
a hand against each other.”
“ I know that, Eldred. But what is it.
Two Grave Questions. 9]
that you wish me to do P Your father—if
that is it—will be my brother; your sisters
my daughters. Indeed, if I may tell you a
secret, I believe Dick—the rogue !—is away
at this moment to ask your father something
about Margaret. Do not name it till you
hear the news in a proper way, but it is a
fact. There, now, if that's all, we can return
to the ladies.” -
“Sir John, I want to ask you for Mabel,
if I live to be worthy of her—not other-
wise.”
The cool and self-possessed Eldred now
hung his head as if he had committed
a crime. Sir John paused in astonish-
ment.
“Eldred, you have asked me a hard—a
very hard—thing. Does my daughter know
of this P”
“Yes, Sir John.”
92 Ingerstein A/a/ and Chadwick Rise.
“It is hard. Do you remember our
different creeds P”
“Yes; I remember everything.”
“Nay! you forget to tell me that I had not
considered creeds in the case of Margaret
and Richard.” *
“I should not think, still less say, any-
thing so insulting, sir. I know there is to
Protestants one great difference between
Tichard's request and mine. You dread
priestly influence in the family. I have no
wish to argue against that view, sir, but
simply to say that I do recognise a differ-
ence between the request of Richard and
my request.” -
“You forget, Eldred, that your father may
refuse Dick.”
“I had not the remotest idea that my
father was about to be put to such a test.
Two Grave Questions. 93
Of course, I cannot presume to think what
his answer may be.”
“You are very proud, Eldred. It is a
noble pride, though, and will preserve you
from meanness. Yet of all the strange
things I ever knew this is the very strangest.
Here are you, two boys, going away to be-
come enemies in the worst of all wars—a
war for religion—and you begin by each
wishing to marry the sister of the other.
Really, I should not wonder now if I heard
that young Harry Waye and Tom Prim
had in like manner set their hearts upon
some similarly strange prelude to the
enterprise upon which they are starting.”
“I do not know much about Harry,
sir,” said Eldred, with a faint smile, “but a
blind man might see how Tom’s thoughts
tº 2 3
lie.
94 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Well, and pray how do they lie, Eldred P’’
“Why, sir, with Harry’s sister, as-
suredly—with Susan.”
“And does Susan know of that, Eldred P”
“Ah ! that, sir, I cannot say.”
“It shall be as you wish, my boy, and as
far as you personally are concerned, I should
not have aught but pleasure. I only dread
your Church.”
“Then, sir, let us leave the question. I
shall rest contented that you know my
wishes, and that my affection will be
changeless. I shall simply ask your per-
mission to write to you or Lady Ingerstein
from time to time what I wish to say to
Mistress Mabel. We know each other
too well to need any protestations of affec-
tion.”
“You know each other so well as all
that, Eldred P You must not, then, go
Two Grave Questions. 95
away in such an anomalous fashion. You
have my full, free consent to speak to my
daughter. We will leave the rest to the
great God who never forgets those who put
their trust in Him. Be merciful, Eldred,
to your foe, as I know you will be loyal to
your friends, and may God bless you. Now
go—good-bye! You will find Mabel with
her mother; and perhaps, Eldred, you had
better ask Lady Ingerstein if she will come
to me here for awhile.”
At the time this scene was passing in
Ingerstein Hall, Mr. Richard Ingerstein
was in private conference with the master
of Chadwick Rise.
“So you have come to bid me farewell,
Dick 7" said Mr. Chadwick, mournfully. “It
is shocking that our families, after so long
and unchanging a union, should be sepa-
rated now. We must take care, however,
96 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
that we do not suffer what you boys under-
take with a good conscience, and as a duty,
to embitter our family relations. We must
show the world that it is possible to at once
be enemies and friends.”
This manner of opening the question was
assuredly one of the most favourable for
Richard Ingerstein, but curiously he did
not seem to think so. In fact, he stumbled
so unaccountably over the smooth ground
that Mr. Chadwick looked up with some
surprise, and expressed a hope that Richard
had no doubt of his power to preserve his
old friendships.
“In fact,” the wise old man continued,
“I will tell you honestly, that I am at this
moment trembling almost like a woman
lest your father should refuse me one of the
greatest favours of life.”
“Indeed, sir!”
7hpo. Grave Questions. 97
“Yes, Dick, and if I am refused you must
keep the secret and carry it with you to the
grave; even Margaret does not know of it.
Come a little nearer while I whisper to you
—Eldred is perhaps at this moment asking
your father to allow him to make a certain
proposal to Mabel. And, oh! Dick, if
your father says ‘No,' it will break my
heart.”
“I did not know of this, sir.”
“Nor I till now ; and Eldred says I
should not have known of it for a long
while to come had it not been for this dis.
turbing war.” *
“But put yourself in my father's place,
sir; you would not like to give away your
daughter at a first asking, and without
warning P”
“It would depend upon who asked me,
Tick,” said the old man, looking up
WOL. I. 7
98 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
sharply. “That, however, is not the ques-
tion.”
“I am afraid it is, unless I am to go
away very wretched.”
“Fh P−what's that, Dick P What are
you saying P’’
“Why, sir, I came here to ask your per-
mission to make the same proposai to
Margaret that Eldred, I hope, is making to
Mabel.”
“Dick you are not playing with your
father's friend? No, no, you are not ; but
it is all very strange. Why, you are going
to fight against us! You are opposed to us
in creed l’’
“So, sir, is Eldred to us; but I hope he
will succeed with my father.”
“And–Mabel go to Mass, Dick?”
“Eldred never would ask for that.”
“No : yet I would rather he became a
Farewell to England. 99
heret—
of children. But, Richard, tell me this :
have you and Margaret long been agreed
a Protestant, than see a division
upon this matter—unknown to me?”
“We only agreed upon it this very day.
You should not have known of it for some
time to come but for this war.”
“I see—yes, you young rascal' I see how
aptly you are giving me back Eldred's
words. Come, though, we must not wait
for Eldred's return, as if we intended to
make our decision a question of what those
Parliament people call reciprocity—as if we
were Dutchmen, Dick. Go to Margaret,
and bid Agnes come here to me. Say what
you please. Yes, my boy, you have my
consent.” And the old man covered his
face with his hands.
We must let the curtain fall on all the
farewells save two. Eldred and Richard
7—2
100 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
met the same night on their way home,
pressed each other's hand in silence, and
then with a “Good-bye, Dick;” “Good-bye,
Eldie;” “Is all right, Eldie?” “Yes;”
“And with you, Dick P” “Yes;” the two
young men rode away at a Canter in dif-
ferent directions.
The other farewell was at three o'clock in
the morning, in the cottage of Harry Waye.
Peter Prim was there, and Mistress Waye
was moving about with tearful eyes, and
Susan was very silent. There, too, stood
Tom with his wallet on his back and his
stick in his hand ready for the march. His
general farewells passed over well enough.
Even Peter Prim held up bravely till all
was over and his son had gone. One
special farewell, however, cost some effort,
and it was the last.
There was a long silence, then a sound
Tom Prim’s Fareweſ/. 10}
as of sobbing in the best parlour, where Tom
and Susan were shut up alone. Then the
front door was softly opened, and a heavy
foot was heard on the road outside. That
Scene was at an end.
Peter Prim sat and listened as in a
stupor till the sound had died away; then
he rested his head on his hands, and wept as
if his stern old heart would burst in twain.
A little later part of Count Mansfeldt's
troops were embarked for France, where
they were not permitted to land; “ the
permission,” it was said, “had not arrived.”
Sail was made to Zealand, where like
difficulties were raised. Disease crept into
the force, and carried off fully half of it, and
prostrated the whole. The expedition came
to an ignominious end. Count Mansfeldt,
meanwhile, made his way to the scene
of his command, followed by Richard
102 /n/erstein Ha/Z and C/adwick Rise.
Ingerstein, Harry Waye, and some others,
whose sound health had withstood the
disease.
Some days before they reached the head-
quarters of the Protestant army, Eldred
Chadwick had joined the Imperialists, and
had received a welcome such as Count Tilly
knew how to give to so truly representative
a recruit. a
The Protestant forces at this time
were an overmatch for Tilly. It was the
dark hour before Wallenstein appeared
Once more in arms. He had promised,
however, to come. He had served the
Emperor Matthias, and was, he said, as
ready to serve Ferdinand—on very simple
conditions.
Eſe offered to raise fifty thousand men at
his own cost, provided he were allowed to
The Palažimate. 103
prey on the enemy's country—a request
too cheaply purchased to be refused. He
actually enrolled thirty thousand men of
many nations—English, Scotch, Irish, Ger-
mans, Poles, Hungarians, and even Croats
and Cossacks, whom he led like a master
in War.
This, however, was yet in the future.
What Richard Ingerstein and Harry Waye
found was the Protestant Union victorious,
and Tilly overmatched on all hands. The
avalanche that was to hurl King Christian
over the Belt was yet hidden in the womb
of futurity.
Soldiering was rather pleasant at that
time in the Protestant army, but the two
young men were not long at head-quarters
before they found that Count Mansfeldt,
too, had a manner of winking at the depre-
104 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
dations of his men, and that his theories at
Monkerton and his practice in Germany did.
not quite accord. They had, long after,
however, still further to learn that he was
not quite as brutal as were Tilly and Wallen-
stein in that awful carnival of hell. Mean-
while, King James of England had passed.
away, and Charles I. was King.

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CHAPTER V.
ADVENTURES OF TOM PRIM—LA ROCHIELLE.
ſººn the darkness of that early morning
㺠hour in February, 1625, Tom Prim
went forth with a heavy heart, but also with
a firm and unfaltering step, to the duty to
which his stern old father had devoted him.
BIe had stipulated that his last word was to
be with Susan Waye, and that no one should
accompany him one foot of the road towards,
Falmouth. He had also whispered to Susan
last of all, “Keep my father with you this
morning, dear Susan, as long as possible ;
your farewells to Harry will take away the
sting from my father's to me. His heart
is sore enough, bravely as he carries it ; he
ſ







106 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
will break down, my dear, when once I am
gone l’ Away from the cottage, Tom put
On a brisk step, only stopping to look at
one or two well-known spots, and to kneel
for a few minutes in the gloomy churchyard
by the side of his mother's grave.
On arriving at Falmouth, he found that
vessels to Rochelle were by no means so
numerous as he had supposed, and he was
glad at last, after waiting several weeks,
to “work his way” in a brigantine, the
master of which promised to land him at
Nantes, whence he might walk—he knew
not how—to Rochelle. He had a letter
from Count Mansfeldt to the Duke de
Tohan, sent after him to Falmouth by
Bichard Ingerstein, and this—in reality,
the most valuable of all his possessions—he
sewed up tightly in the belt of his trousers,
and managed to preserve. His money,
On the Way to Rochelle. 107
the savings of many years, never left the
brigantine. During a severe illness of
some days, on one of which he narrowly
escaped being thrown overboard as “all but
dead,” the contents of his wallet were
coolly appropriated to the last article, and
the wallet itself cut into pieces, and divided
among the crew. His shoes, socks—for he
had the luxury of socks—all, indeed, save an
under-shirt and his trousers, , were taken
away. When he complained in English,
the only language he spoke, he was an-
swered in French, though several of the
crew spoke a broken English. Then he
was laughed at and derided for his pains.
On landing at Nantes, barefooted and
nearly naked, he was apprehended and
charged with the dreadful crime of having
no means of livelihood. He replied to the
charge by stating the truth, which the master
108 /n/erstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
of the brigantine roundly denied, and
Tom was under the disadvantage of not
knowing one word that was said against
him. He was on a fair way to being sent to
the galleys, when a generous advocate who
was present, by a few timely questions,
elicited in English more than it would
have been wise to say in French, of the
nature and object of the young English-
man's voyage to France.
“I will undertake,” he said, “ for this.
poor fellow, who seems of my creed; per-
haps we may be able to send him on to La
Rochelle, where he ought to find friends.” .
“Very likely, M. Advocate." replied the
chief notary of Nantes ; “but I would wish
to know what Cardinal Richelieu would say
to it, P”
“Our gracious sovereign, sir, is at peace.
with La Rochelle.”
t—º
Difficulties on the Way. I 09
In the end Tom was set free, on the con-
ditions offered by his newly-found friend;
and he was now once more clothed decently,
and made, as he said, to feel like a man.
Pſis first object was to find work at his
trade, and pay back the money that the
generous Frenchman had spent for him ;
but this he was soon made to feel would be
impracticable. “La Rochelle,” the advo-
cate said, “is for the moment at peace; and
with such help as I can give you, admission
to the city will not be difficult. I cannot
answer for either the help or the peace a
week hence. Go, therefore, without delay,
present your letter, and take whatever post
is assigned you. One may, I think, almost
now hear the tramp of troops marching to
the assault of La Rochelle.”
Tom weighed this advice with some
gloomy feeling. He had been in the
110 Ingerstein Ha/ and C/adwick Rise.
house of the advocate several days, and
had contracted, as he felt, a heavy debt,
both to the gentleman himself, and to his
wife and family.
“How shall I ever repay you, sir?” he
said, “and how shall I repay Madame?”
“I will tell you. Take my name—
Bugene Clairville, Advocate, Nantes—and
if, through the fortune of war, you become
rich and my family are poor, why help
them, Master Prim. You see, I have in-
vested a small amount of labour at a high
rate of interest, because of the risk. If you
pay me, well and good—I must accept the
penalty for my sins, and lose the pleasure I
now feel of having done you some small
service. If you do not, why—ah but
there is the rub l—if you do not, it will be
because you cannot. No, no, my young
friend; I think, upon the whole, I would
Ja Rocheſłe. T11
rather you paid me. Now go to bed.
Early to-morrow you shall start for
La Rochelle.”
Next morning Tom began his journey,
but difficulties again fell upon him. In
spite of M. Clairville's help, and a list of
French words which he carried with him,
he was several times arrested ; and he failed
to make himself understood. From one
cause and another he did not reach Rochelle
before the middle of 1626. Once in the
town, he presented his letter to the Maire,
M. Guitou, by whose influence he was
assigned a post of honour and danger in
the guard of the Duchess de Rohan, mother
of the renowned Duke. He now set to
work with all his native energy to learn both
the French language and his military duties.
Before long, in consequence of some sug-
gestion in engineering, for which he had an
112 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
especial genius, he obtained the command
of a gun on the Isle of Ré.
By the beginning of the year 1627 Tom
spoke French fairly, and wrote it consider-
ably better. His pleasure in the acquisi-
tion, however, was lessened by the facility
it. gave him for comprehending the scornful
language directed against his country. The
abortive expedition of Sir Edward Cecil
against Cadiz, at the end of 1625, was a
sore subject in Rochelle. “Ten thousand
good troops and eighty ships,” one ardent
Republican said, “ and actually not a blow
struck l’’ This was hardly correct, but it
was sufficiently so for the general argument.
Tom also heard rumours of an intended
declaration of war by England against
Erance, at the instance of the Duke of
Buckingham, in revenge for a private affront
offered to him by Richelieu. The version
Stern Reso/uſions. I 13
of the story in Rochelle, and indeed
throughout France—a version, too, that
has come down in history—was that the
handsome libertine, while engaged in the
delicate duty of receiving, and so attending
to England, the espoused wife of Charles I.,
the Princess Henrietta, had ventured to
make love to Anne of Austria, Queen of
France, for whom Richelieu was credited
with a hardly concealed and equally felo-
nious affection. Buckingham, it was said,
having received, or fancied he had received,
encouragement from the Queen, coolly pro-
jected, for the sole purpose of seeing her, a
new Embassy, which Richelieu had the
address to frustrate, with some marked
insult to the Duke, who thereupon declared,
in the mad fashion of the time, that he
would see the Queen in spite of all the
power of France. -
WOL. I. 8
114 /n/erstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
Rumours like these, partly true and
partly fiction, were not calculated to incline
the minds of the stern Calvinists—the back-
bone of Rochelle—to an English alliance.
The Duke of Soubise, brother of the Duke
of Rohan, was, it is true, in England,
moving heaven and earth to form such an
alliance; and he conveyed from time to
time to Rochelle news of the success of
bis negotiations, occasionally very hopeful.
Richelieu, however, caused insidious counter-
intelligence to be dropped in steadily, and
though as by mere accident, with all the skill
of that great master of diplomacy, and every
rumour was so well framed to the end in
view, that the news from England awakened
only mistrust.
EIappily for Tom Prim, the Duchess of
Rohan had herself read the letter of Count
Mansfeldt, and had made herself acquainted
Conduct of Tom Prim. 115
with the peculiar circumstances under which
Tom had left his peaceful home on the
Thames, to fight for the liberties of the
Protestants of France. These facts she
took care to make widely known, and in that
way she preserved the young Englishman
from the suspicion which in such cases
always attaches to the man who gives un-
sought service to a nation with which his
own nation is or may be at war. There
were in Rochelle many other Englishmen
in a less favourable position, and to some
of them Tom was able to do real service.
Meanwhile, Rochelle became more and
more isolated. Forts and lines grew up on
every side—slowly, but, the citizens well
knew, with a terrible significance. At
length, in 1627, the memorable siege began,
and continued during the whole year with
unabated ferocity. The Duchess com-
8—2
116 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
manded, in the absence of her son, and
with her daughter and the Maire, a man of
undaunted courage, incited the townsmen
to acts of heroism which extorted admira-
tion from even their enemies. From a line.
of circumvallation of three leagues in extent,
with thirteen forts, flanked by redoubts and
bristling with gums, the city was subjected
to an ever-recurring rain of fire, which,
when least expected, would fall with the force
of a tornado, carrying ruin and desolation
in every direction. The population, only
fifteen thousand in all, could supply but a
handful of armed men against all the power
of France, incited by the genius of Riche-
lieu. Yet the small band stood heroically,
and not only repelled every attack, but
occasionally fell upon the invaders with the
terrible retribution of despair.
In the fiercest period of the struggle,
Zom Prim’s Rewardſ. 117
when every man was expected to do his
best, Tom Prim had the skill and address
to attach to him a small band of his own
countrymen and others, and by permission
of the Duchess, to make a night attack on
one of the forts, which had proved a serious
annoyance. The fort was not only captured,
but held for several days in the face of the
fiercest attempts to retake it, and when it
was at last, perforce, evacuated as untenable,
the wheelwright's son was received by the
heroic Duchess in person, and presented
with a captain's commission.
“Take it, sir,” she said, “ and may it
some day remind you in your native Eng-
land, that as you once won the admiration
of Frenchmen by your cool courage and
capacity, you also extorted their esteem by
your modesty and high sense of duty l’’
“Madame, your Excellency,” said poor
118 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Tom, stammering and blushing like the
Tom Prim of Monkerton, “I cannot even
express my thanks, but I shall not disgrace
the trust your Excellency reposes in me.”
Midway in the year the Duke of Buck-
ingham arrived with a fleet of ninety vessels
and seven thousand men. TInfortunately the
townsmen, anxious as they were for English
help, remembered Buckingham as the man
who had so lately been in Paris, not merely as
the representative of an alliance with the
arch-enemy of Rochelle, but also as the nego-
tiator of a marriage with the royal family;
and having received no intimation of his
expedition, they closed their harbour against
him. The fleet had left Portsmouth in
June as for a holiday excursion. Now the
gay T)uke was faced by bristling cannon on
stone walls. The stern FIuguenots did not
comprehend the hollow shifting policy of
Buckin/am at Rochelle. 119
the English Court, and they detested the
character of the man who had appeared as
their friend. It would be difficult to ima-
gine anything more resolute than this
defiance of an English fleet, professedly,
and indeed really, a relief fleet, at the very
time that the town seemed devoted to
destruction by Frenchmen.
The Duke landed on the Isle of Ré,
where he rested five days, while the great
fort was revictualled before his eyes. The
expedition was from first to last wofully
mismanaged; the reputation of Bucking-
ham was destroyed. While he was looking
in this direction and that, as a man engaged
in work the first principles of which he had
not yet learned, his great foe, the Cardinal,
appeared landward, with the King of France
and a large body of French nobles, whom
he had invited to see the end of Protestant
120 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Bochelle. No more bitter lesson ever was
given to a flippant courtier than that which
was given here to Buckingham. The
Cardinal, whom he had rivalled, flouted, and
defied, had now a revenge such as might
have satisfied the most vindictive man on
earth.
A hazardous communication had at last
been opened between the relieving fleet and
the town ; and Captain Prim, appointed the
bearer of one important message, had the
gratification of receiving his first letters
from England. His reception by the Duke
was characteristic of the spoiled favourite of
fortune. No sign of haste or distress dis-
figured the handsome face of Buckingham,
or ruffled the elegant cloak which hung
gracefully from his shoulders.
“You are an Englishman, Captain Prim?”
he said.
Buckin/am ał Rochelle. 121
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Of London P’’
“Of Monkerton, near the Thames.”
“Of what family, may I ask?”
“Of the family of Peter Prim, working
wheelwright, from whom I have received
a letter by the kindness of your Grace.”
“What brought you here? how came you
to be captain P’’
“I came at the request of my father—the
wheelwright, your Grace—to fight for the
Protestant religion. I received my com-
mission from Her Excellency, our Governor,
the Duchess of Rohan.”
“‘Her Excellency, our Governor l’ You
are an apt scholar, and you do not waste
words. What is your business with me?”
“I am to inform your Grace that, in the
opinion of the people of La Rochelle, your
error in leaving unoccupied the Fort of
122 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
St. Prie, and in allowing St. Martin to be
provisioned, will render it necessary for
you to evacuate the Isle of Ré.”
“And this is the advice of the tradesmen
of La Rochelle P”
“Yes, of the tradesmen, your Grace, who
have held Rochelle against the soldiers, and
who will hold it still.”
The Duke looked sharply at the bold
Englishman, and said—
“You, too, advise this, then, sir?”
“No, your Grace ; I am an Englishman.
I would like to see something worthy
of the English flag. We cannot, however,
now spare you provisions.”
“‘We l’ you speak boldly, considering
that we have closed our gates against our
friends.” The irony Tom never forgot.
“I am authorised to speak boldly, your
Grace. We are a Republic.”
JBuckingham Returns ſo England. | 23
“Ay, and I’ll warrant you will bring
those notions to England some day !”
Captain Prim was silent.
“Well, sir, let me hear the rest of your
message P” -
Captain Prim obeyed and delivered the
last message that passed between the Duke
of Buckingham and the town of Rochelle.
Richelieu fell upon the invaders in the
Isle of Ré with such resolute and well-
directed blows that the haughty Duke was
compelled to re-embark. -
Then the Cardinal began the great en-
gineering feat of building a mole, four
thousand seven hundred feet long, to
destroy the last chance of revictualling the
town. A little later Captain Prim had the
mortification of seeing his country’s sails
disappear in the north-west, standing out
for Ushant and the Land's End.
124 /n/erstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
Tom read and re-read his letters, but he
was unable to reach the fleet with replies.
One long letter from his father exhorted
him to remember Ehud, the one-armed
judge of Israel, and Baruk, and all the
Tmighty men of the Bible, and to wage war
as one fighting the Lord’s battles. Tom
folded this letter very slowly, and said: “If
I did not know better, I might fancy my
father wanted me killed right off l’’
A sensible, thoughtful letter from Henry
Ingerstein gave him much information as
to the state of affairs at home and in Ger-
many, and concluded with the significant
words: “I fancy you four knights-errant
will, before long, find plenty of work in Old
England. There is rising among us a spirit
such as never before was known.” A third,
long letter Tom merely opened, glanced at,
and reserved till he was alone with his dim
Tom’s First Zetter from Susan. 125
lamp and his narrow truckle bed, at night.
Then, with his eyes opened to their fullest,
he read his first letter from Susan Waye.
“What a wonderful letter it is l’’ said he ;
“I had no idea of Susan’s power to tell one
everything one wished to know without a
word too much on any subject. Why,
Shakspeare, who was clever enough in all
reason, never wrote a letter like that I
see everybody and everything in Monkerton
in Susie's dear lines. Look at that one
sentence : ‘Your father goes on as usual
with his dog and his texts.” How clever!”
The reader will remember that Tom was in
love. He learned from Susan all about
Bichard’s and Eldred’s love-making, of
which he had been entirely ignorant when
he left home. Then he began dreaming, as
people do in such cases. “I wonder,” he
said, “ on whom Harry's heart is set P That
126 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
it is set on some One, I know, or he would
not have been so mysterious about that bit
of rose-bud that I one day caught him con-
cealing. I think I can guess, though ;” and
Tom Smiled sagaciously. In this way the
thoughts, and even the tongue, of the poor
young fellow were wandering, when he was
roused by a general assault on the town.
It was thirty-six hours before he was again
able to return to his letter; then he had
time to read it again and again. Then
also he dreamt again, as before.
Another English fleet sailed from Ply-
mouth for Rochelle under the Earl of Den-
bigh, but it also returned as it went. A
third, under Lord Lindsay, left Portsmouth
in September, carrying with it the news of
the assassination of the Duke of Bucking-
ham, for whom the command had been
intended. This fleet arrived in time to see
JBefore Ric/e/ieu. 127
Richelieu’s mole completed. It remained
long enough to see Rochelle surrender at
discretion ; only four thousand of fifteen
thousand persons remaining at the end of the
fifteen months' siege. Captain Prim, badly
wounded in the final struggle, was taken with
several French officers before the dreadful
Cardinal. They were offered freedom on con-
dition that they took service under the King
of France. Captain Prim, and a few others,
declined. Richelieu, speaking slowly and
sententiously, and fixing his keen eyes on
the young Englishman, who was barely
able to stand, said—
“I can understand the refusal of French-
men, for our religious differences run high.
I cannot understand that of a man who,
having no concern in a quarrel, sells his
blood for money. On what ground, may I
ask, do you refuse P’’
128 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
“On the ground of my faith, your Excel-
lency.”
“Ah ! Did your faith, then, bring you
to France P”
Captain Prim was silent.
“Now tell me, Captain Prim—you are a
wounded man; I am sorry my duty compels.
me to detain you standing there—have you
a conscience, a faith, in cutting throats 3–
eh, sir p”
“I have a conscience, your Grace, in
fighting Popery and despotic power.”
“And you fought them here, I suppose?”
“I believe that I did.”
“Very good. Now answer me one or
two questions more. Supposing I permitted
you to go free, would you return home, or
what would you do?”
“I would, if I could, join two friends.
who are with Count Mansfeldt.”
Richelieu’s Political Chess. 129
“Bah! Count Mansfeldt's power is
smashed to atoms. You might as well join
the ex-Elector Palatine in his boating and
other amusements at the Hague. Take
the prisoners away !”
Captain Prim was conveyed, prisoner, to
Paris, where he was closely confined till
the autumn of 1629. He was then again
taken before Cardinal Richelieu.
“Captain Prim,” Richelieu said, “I wish
to convince you that I never forget a face
—a face, I mean, that I think worth Y’é-
membering. It is some months since you
and I met, and I must say that you look a
little better than I expected. Wound quite
healed P Quite.—Very good. You know,
I suppose, that you have no longer an
Elector Palatine to fight for P The Elector
Frederick is no more. True, there are the
Princess and her family—let me see, twenty-
VOL. I. 9
130 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
three, are there not P What will you
English make of such a family, Captain
Prim P”
“Your Excellency is jocular.”
“No, indeed; I am in earnest—grim
earnest. At the same time, I daresay it is
not worth your while replying to me.
Still”—here he spoke musingly—“what will
become of all these children P−twenty-three
or thirteen, it matters not. They cannot
dig ; it is useless, in these times, to beg.—
Is your father one of the new lights, Cap-
tain Prim, who believe that the world is
fast coming to an end ?”
“Yes, your Excellency, he has some
views in that way;” and Tom smiled.
“You do not agree with him though, I
see P
“I neither agree nor disagree, your Ex-
cellency. I have not studied the subject.”
Tom Prim Astonished. 131
Then he continued to himself, “What on
earth is he driving at now P’’
“Ah very good. Now I have another
offer to make you. Do not start, I beg
you; it disturbs me. I hate scenes, as
they say Wallenstein hates noise. You
refused to enter the service of a Catholic
king. Have you the same objection to
entering the service of a Protestant king 2
You have written to England—to—let me
see—Peter Prim, wheelwright; to Master
Henry Ingerstein ; to—may, don't blush, it
is girlish—to Mistress Susan Waye. Am I
right P. Very good. I knew I was so, but
I desired your attestation of the fact. I
have read all the letters you have sent, and
all you have received. Yes; I know you
expected it, for you bluntly said so in your
first letters. You did not, however, say
anything either to flatter or insult me. I
9—2
132 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
rather liked that. You very daringly—in-
deed, it was very daringly—said that you
hoped your friends would write exactly as if
the letters would reach you unopened. That,
too, was manly; and your father, I must say,
has so far obeyed you that he has done his
best to cause you to be hanged. Thank Our
Lady, young man, that you were not in this
case in the hands of Tilly, or Wallenstein, or
Spinola. Tell me, though, where did you
learn to write, and where did Mistress Susan
Waye—a very pretty name—learn to
write? I presume that wheelwrights and
the daughters of blacksmiths do not in Eng-
land write as you do. Ah, indeed Well,
the story is notable. You learned from the
Ingersteins and the Chadwicks, Catholic in
one case, Protestant in the other P So the
Ingersteins have a son with somebody—
JHeaven knows whom by this time—fighting
Tom Primo Astonished. 133
for Elizabeth, and the Chadwicks a son with
Tilly fighting for Ferdinand P And each
young man is to marry a young woman in
the family of the other—Catholic and Pro-
testant blood to mix, as Mistress Susan
says—eh P’’
“Your Excellency appears to know all
about us from first to last.”
“Well, I desire you to see that I had
found out all I wished for save the one
fact, which you have given me—namely,
where and how you mastered so well the art
of penmanship. We now come to the vital
point of all. I do not ask you if I can
trust you, for if a man wishes to betray a
trust, he will as readily break a promise. I
simply tell you that what I am about to say
to you I wish to be confined to your own
breast. I ask you to enter the service of
Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. Pshaw
134 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
e---
you start again, Captain Prim. Let me
repeat, I dislike people to do so. I tell
you, it annoys me. I request you to remem-
ber this. You shall go to Sweden. You
shall say to King Gustavus Adolphus,
‘Cardinal Richelieu has sent me, and
desires me to represent him at your head-
quarters, and to keep him acquainted with
sundry particulars of your movements in
war and your action in diplomacy, as already
arranged between your Majesty and Riche-
lieu.’ Will you do this?”
“Gladly, your Grace, if 55 t
“There ! the subject admits of no ifs. I
have already informed you that you are not
to be a spy, or to serve a Catholic, but to
enter the service of Gustavus Adolphus for
a definite purpose, in which you can serve
him, serve Protestantism, and—to give you
the key to the whole—serve me by serving
Jęichelieu’s Pawns. 135
the interests of France, but in no respect to
be a spy. You must go within two hours.
Meanwhile, you shall be properly clad”—
touching a gong—“ and you must take
food Your complete instructions wil
await you. Stay; a word more. I see by
one of your letters that you were kindly
treated when you first came among us by
a Nantes advocate, M. Clairville. Your
friend was some months ago apprehended
for conspiracy, and was condemned to death.
The sentence would have been commuted
to the galleys. I have this week liberated
M. Clairville, restored his estates, and in-
formed him that he owes both to your
courage, which I have admired. Stay; here
are letters from England for you—opened,
as you will see.” -
“Oh, sir! this is very generous, espe-
cially as regards M. Clairville.”
136 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“ Hush | Go | Two hours, remember.
And remember, too, that you will not be
my only representative in Sweden. You
must, however, act as if you were the
only one.”
Utterly bewildered, Tom turned away,
with a packet of letters from England in
his hand. Wonderful letters again, telling
him, amid all the news from home, that
his name had become a household word in
connexion with Rochelle. At the end of
two hours he awaited the orders of Cardinal
Bichelieu.
Ten minutes later he was on his way,
with a high heart, but also with a
sternly compressed brow, to the new
and still stranger duties which had been
committed to him by the able man who,
after conquering Protestant Rochelle, was
preparing to send Catholics to the side of
The Cardinal's Victory. 1:37
Protestants for the special interests of
France. No wonder that Richelieu then,
and for long, was to many persons
but another name for the Prince of
Darkness. And Tom, of all men, was
at last the servant of Richelieu. Alas,
for what man “proposes l’ Alas, for
Peter Prim

CHAPTER WI.
THE RIVAL CAMPS IN GERMANY–A TRUCE, AND WHAT
FOLLOWED.
º ICHARD INGERSTEIN and Harry
Waye, as we have seen, found the
Protestant army in the flush of numbers, and
the confidence of untried strength. Tilly was
on the defensive, waiting and watching, but
clearly overmatched. Count Mansfeldt was
no longer the polished gentleman, suave
and deferential, as at Monkerton, but the
stern commander, who allowed some license
to his men, and who could not be intruded
upon with impunity. On very rare occa-
sions did he exchange an idea with Richard
Ingerstein. When he did so at all, it was
to talk of Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick


Richard Ingerstein in Camp. 139
Rise, Whitehall, the pretty village of
Charing, and the green lanes of Kent
and Surrey—rarely of military movements
or political combinations. One day, how-
ever, he did say—
“You are likely to see hotter work before
long, Ingerstein. Wallenstein is taking
the field against us, and as he allows
plunder, and indeed subsists upon it, in a
sense in which we do not, every mile of
ground we lose will be a mile of ground
lost to humanity.”
Richard had by this time formed his own
opinion as to what was meant by “in a
sense in which we do not,” but he made no
reply on that particular point.
He had at the outset been appointed to
a post on Count Mansfeldt's staff, and
Harry Waye had been at once fitted for and
presented with an ensigncy. Count Mans-
140 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
feldt kept his eye on both the young men
when they were first under fire ; and he
was satisfied, though they did not know
that he was so till long afterwards. 4;
Their companions, they found, were Iſle]].
of varied character and many nations, and
that feuds on the score of race or otherwise
often ran high. Yet they found also that
there was a certain wholesome restraint
which a sense of danger often imposes even
on the most lawless, and that the instinct
of self-preservation made the law-abiding
portion of the army the stronger—a very
common occurrence in human life. Few
observant persons, indeed, who have been
thrown into scenes where the passions of
men have been let loose, have not noticed
that among a body of even lawless and
violent men a certain kind of order has
been preserved by the common sense of
Harry Waye in Camp. 141
necessity. Fierce and unrelenting pirates
elect their ablest man to be captain, bring-
ing order out of disorder, that by means of
that one law all other law may be trampled
under foot. In the case of Ensign Waye,
there was something in his face which from
the offset prevented liberties from being
taken with him. In the case of Richard
Ingerstein, the military equinoctial line had
to be crossed in the usual way by a few
duels, after which he was left to take his
own course without molestation.
Now and then news reached the camp of
exploits in which Lieutenant Chadwick
figured. Now and then, also, news which
reached the camp of Count Tilly made the
names of Ingerstein and Waye known to
the Imperial army. Up to the end of 1628,
however, Eldred Chadwick and his friends
had not met once from the time of their
142 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
parting at Monkerton. On the approach of
Christmas, Eldred ventured to solicit per-
mission to endeavour to arrange a meeting
with his friends, on neutral ground, in
sight of the two armies; and the request
led to a flag of truce, and a general armistice
of three hours, during which the men lately
engaged in war drank from each other's
flasks, and cooked their provisions in com-
pany, and ate together in peace. In a few
other cases eating and drinking were for-
gotten, while old friends from the same
villages or towns met for that communion
—that wandering back into old times—
which is so dear to men who have lost the
possession, and can only retain the memory,
of an old home.
Among these were the three young men
from Monkerton. Their meeting was on a
plain large enough to possess all the
A Truce—Glimpses of England. 143
elements of complete privacy. It was a
little after one o'clock in the day when
Eldred, Richard, and Harry Waye stood
hand in hand for the first time for three
years. For a moment or two they were
silent. Three years had made a great
change in all of them, and no one would
now have surmised from any peculiarity of
manner or speech that two of the three were
of wealthy parentage, and the third a
village blacksmith's son. Sturdy, strong,
self-reliant men, with embrowned faces, had
grown out of the gentle boys whom we
saw last on the banks of the Thames.
What notes there were to compare in those
short three hours. Letters from home,
with those precious scraps of gossip which
in a letter from home have a value that
far outweighs the fall of Empires and the
fate of Kings, were exchanged—letters in
144 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
which dogs and cats, ponies and birds, old
oaks and elms, flowers and hedgerows, fields
ploughed, or fields with “the green side
up,” the vicar's latest sermon, or the
Catholic priest's last “call”—nay, even the
ribbon worn on Whit-Sunday, or the prize
won on May-Day——all had a charm to
those Monkerton “lads” far away from
home. Curiously, too, that very week
some scraps of news had reached both
camps of the defeat of the Protestants at
Rochelle; and in the list of the men who
had performed gallant deeds, the name of
Captain Prim was read with amazement by
the three friends, for “poor Tom,” as they
had called him, had long been given up
as a doomed man.
“Captain Prim l’’ said Harry, with a
laugh; “why, old Peter will be vexed to
the heart. He will see only utter selfish-
The Monkerton “Boys” Compare Wofes. 145
mess in a son of his being rewarded with a
title, or with filthy lucre.”
“He may be quite easy on the score of
the lucre, Harry,” said Eldred; “I question
if Tom has seen a penny of pay since he left
Falmouth.”
“Judging by ourselves, I agree with you,
Eldie,” said Richard, laughingly. “Besides,
you know, we are not allowed to plunder
as you are.” -
“Is that really a fact, though, Dick P”
“It is a fact, that being in what we call
our own country, we cannot do exactly as
if we were in the country of an enemy; but
it is also a fact that if your army skins one
side of the sheep, ours skins the other. I
hate the whole business, Eldie.”
“So do I, Dick, upon my soul! I wish
a fair opportunity would arise for bidding
good-bye to Counts Tilly and Wallenstein.
WOL. I. 10
146 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
I have seen enough to make the blood boil
one minute of the day and curdle the next.
I have seen poor people harried from or
burnt in their homes by ruffians half mad
with drink. And, great God in Heaven
we talk about fighting for religion l’’
“It is hateful,” said Harry Waye, “but
it can do us no permanent harm. We do
not add to the devilry.” (“No, thank
God l’’ said Eldred, gravely.) “And we
shall be none the worse if we are spared to
see after years, for knowing what really is
the chivalry and faith of bloody and devas-
tating war.”
“T)oes Count Mansfeldt ever talk to you
in his Monkerton way?” Eldred asked.
“I have often wondered. Tilly is as dumb
as a dog that never barks.”
“Well, Mansfeldt does, and he does not,”
said Richard ; “he talks as if his mind was
The Monkerſon “Boys” Compare Woſes. 147
—-
in the clouds; he seldom by any chance
speaks of the war.”
“I have often wondered, too,” said Eldred,
“what he would think if I now challenged
him to the comparison of mental notes
which he once invited, as to the character
of Wallenstein and Tilly. Do you re-
member, Dick, the talk we had on that
subject?”
“Yes; well—but I should not care to be
present when you reminded him of it. He
would put you under a guard for imper-
tinence.” -
“I would give something to-day for an
hour of conversation with Mabel.”
“And I for one such hour with Mar-
garet.”
“And I,” said Harry, sadly and slowly,
as if speaking to himself, “to look for three
minutes into the eyes, even if no word
10–2
148 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
were spoken, of one I shall never, I suppose,
see again.”
“Harry l’’ The exclamation was from
both the young men at the same time.
“Yes, you are surprised, I know ; I
never mentioned anything of the kind
before. Why I have done so now, good-
ness only knows, unless it is that the sun
has got into my head. Nothing else has,”
he added, laughing. “However, I shall
now take a turn on the plain while you
5
exchange thoughts ;” and before they could
prevent him, Harry was striding away
among the crowds of men spread over the
plain, and muttering to himself some-
thing about “child's talk.”
“Believe me, Eldie,” said Richard, “I
never heard anything at all like that from
Harry since I knew him ; and I have seen
him in fever, and heard him in the ravings
Harry Waye's Dream. 149
—”
of delirium, as he has several times seen and
heard me in the same state.”
“Who can the lady be, Dick?—any one
in Monkerton P Harry seemed heart-whole
while we were there. Yet 53
“So has he seemed ever since, and I have
seen him tried pretty fairly. Harry is just
of the stuff to create for himself an ideal,
endow it with all manner of perfections,
and worship silently at its shrine, and no
other.”
“I should say the same, but I am puzzled.
Question him, Dick.”
“I hardly should know how to begin.
Harry cannot well be trifled with, as two
or three fellows found when first he came
here.”
“He would not resent it from you,
though.”
“No, nor from you, say what we might.
150 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Still, I never knew so deep and calm a
nature as Harry's, and I would not like to
ruffle it by claiming a confidence he did not
voluntarily give me.”
“I would give something to know,
though. Tuet us walk, Dick. That hate-
ful bugle will be heard in half an hour.
There was a subject on which I wished
much to talk to you, but our time has gone
like the wind, and it is too late now to say
what I never again may have the chance of
saying.”
“Speak it out sharply, Eldie.”
“That is impossible—it is a large sub-
ject.” -
“Does it refer to Mabel, or any one in
Monkerton P”
“ It refers to all the world ; it refers to
faith, Dick; but it is out of the question
speaking of it now.”
Father Simeon—fºnd of the Truce. 151
“Tell me, Eldie, what has become of
Father Simeon P”
“He is with the army; but I see little of
him. He thinks me lukewarm, and looks
at times as if he would kill me with a
glance of his eye. Do you remember the
day on which he and I had the good or
bad fortune to overhear Peter Prim talking
against the Catholic Church P”
“Yes; I remember it well. Peter's
tongue, I believe, was mischievous.”
“It was ; but he did good for once. His
fanaticism had the advantage of checking
the counter-irritation of the fanaticism of
Father Simeon, and I begin at last to think
the accomplished Jesuit the worse fanatic of
the two. Both are sincere, and ready to
die for their faith.-But where's Harry P
Let us have a friendly, united farewell.”
Harry was not far off. There was now
1 52 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
barely time for the kindly farewell before
the bugle sounded, and the friendly groups
nnelted away into two hostile armies. Next
day, the Imperialists made a sharp attack,
and many of those who had assembled under
the flag of truce were sent to their final
rest. Blow succeeded blow, with different
tactics, but in all with the same uniform
burning of houses, massacre of the helpless,
wanton destruction of the fruits of industry,
and insult to women and to the justice and
mercy of God.
Towards the end of 1629, the Protestant
army made a final stand in Holstein, and
for a time the Imperialists were repulsed.
The action was in a small but well-wooded
valley, along which a silvery rivulet ran.
When the fight seemed over, Ensign Waye,
returning wearily with his almost totally
disorganised regiment, had his attention
Vultures of War. | 53
attracted by a young officer of the Im-
perial army, lying on the wayside, but
slightly raised on his left arm, and in that
position defending himself against three un-
wounded harpies of the army of the Protes-
tants. To dismount was with Harry the
work of an instant. If he had been a
moment later it would have been the last of
the wounded man. Hurling back one of the
would-be murderers, and pointing his sword
towards the other two, while he stood over
the Imperialist officer, who, now that relief
had come, sank back exhausted on the ground,
Harry demanded the object of the men.
“Sport l’” said one of them.
“Then your sport must cease.”
“ Must it P. We shall see.”
Harry's regiment, while this scene was
being enacted, had trotted coolly on—
wearied, listless, and, upon the whole, pro-
154 Ingers/ein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
nouncing their ensign a fool for meddling
with what did not concern him. The
moment they were out of sight, Harry had
three strong and expert swordsmen upon
him, while quite a little crowd of the dis-
abled men of both armies assembled on a
hillock at some distance to see the sport.
|Harry fought like a lion, and wounded two
of the three assailants; but an ugly sword-
thrust from behind had brought him to his
knees, still over the man he was protecting,
when the assassins caught a certain sharp
sound, which soldiers know well, and a
moment later a troop of Imperial horse
swept along the valley, but detached four
men to ascertain the meaning of the affray.
The intending murderers attempted to
escape, and one made good his retreat to
the cover of the thick brushwood. The
other two were cut down.
Harry Waye Represents Monkerſon. 155
A few words sufficed to tell the story,
a very common one in war, and in no
war commoner than in the one now
raging. The wounded Protestant and the
wounded Imperialist were then placed side
by side on the ground.
“I owe you my life, sir,” the Imperialist
officer said, in English, which he spoke like
an Englishman. “It is worth something
also, at present, for if I had died under those
assassins, a mother, now in years, and three
sisters had been left penniless. It was this
that made me so desperate ; otherwise, I
think I should have fallen at the first
onset. I am Count Werner, of Count
Wallenstein's army.”
“I, sir, am Harry Waye, an English
blacksmith's son, and now in the army of
Count Mansfeldt.”
º I trust, sir, we shall know each other in
156 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
days to come. I have had, as you hear, a
kind of English education. We have many
Englishmen among us—do you chance to
know any of them P”
“I imagine not, Count Werner. I know
Ilieutenant Chadwick, though, of Count
Tilly's army.”
“And I also, intimately. I shall tell
him to-night, if we both live so long, of the
service I owe to you.”
“Do not speak of it, sir. I would have
done the same for any one of your meanest
camp followers in a like case.”
“I am sure you would, and I honour you
for it; but—could you hand me that flask?
I feel very faint.”
Eefore the flask could be handed to him
Count Werner had fainted away, the four
troopers quietly sitting alongside, holding
their horses by the bridles and chewing a
Surges of Battle—E/dred Chadwick. 157
kind of liquorice-stick, of which the regi-
ment had a few days earlier made a large
seizure at Kiel, and which had all at once
become in great request—so marked a ten-
dency have men in danger, difficulty, or
idleness to—chew. Harry was endeavour-
ing, as well as his own wounds permitted
him, to revive Count Werner, when he
heard one of the troopers, evidently a
Fleming, say: “We had better mount. If
Chadwick is beaten, I should not like to be
tripped up by those heretic devils.”
“Is the detachment that has passed,
Lieutenant Chadwick’s?” said Harry.
“It is; and as you seem rather weakly,
and not likely to see another day, and as
we are about to move Count Werner a little
further up the bank, perhaps you would
oblige me with your watch, the chain of
which I see there. And, while you are
158 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
about it, hand me over also the contents of
your pockets.”
“Surely you would not rob a man who
is here simply because he protected one of
your own officers?”
The man vigorously anathematised “one
of our own officers I” and drawing his sabre
said, with a huge oath--
“Give up your property l’’
“Take it, if you will, for come what may,
I shall not help you in your cowardly
act.”
The reply was a sabre-stroke, which Harry
dexterously eluded; at the same moment
he raised himself on his knee in much
the same position as that in which he had
found Count Werner. The clash of the
sabres aroused the wounded Count. When
he had taken in the scene he said, as if
every word caused a fresh pang—
Fresh ſulfures of War. 159
“You cowardly scoundrels | Count Wal-
lenstein shall know of this.”
“Who from, hell-hound P” said another
of the men, spurring his horse with the
intention of trampling Count Werner to
death; but the horse, with a by no means
uncommon sagacity, Swerved to one side,
and the wounded officer was saved.
Before the trooper could turn in his
saddle the horses of his troop again came in
sight, hotly pursued by an evidently much
larger force—the pursuit had recoiled on
the pursuers.
The four troopers now sought safety by
falling in among their comrades; first
attempting, however, but ineffectually, to
destroy the evidence of their villainy by kill-
ing both their own officer and Ensign
Waye. -
Barry saw Eldred Chadwick gallop past
160 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
in the rear of his troop, covered with mire,
and, Harry thought, bleeding, but holding
straight onward, and looking neither to
right nor left.
Ten minutes later the tide of battle re-
coiled again; the Protestants were hurrying
back, pursued by the late fugitives, Eldred
Chadwick now in the front as he had pre-
viously been in the rear.
“Wallenstein has sent up reinforcements,”
Count Werner said.
“Undoubtedly he has,” Harry replied ;
“it will be a hard day. Mansfeldt will
risk a general engagement.” -
“He will lose, though ; Tilly and Wal-
lenstein are in overwhelming force. By
Our Lady they are turning again—here
they are, coming pell-mell down the valley.
What a strange day !”
“Yes; and it bids fair to be stranger,
Count Werner Represents Humanity. 161
and more fateful for us, Count Werner. If
I am not mistaken there are fresh Im-
perialist horse fast approaching on our left,
while the slopes of the valley, I am all but
positive, are being crowded with infantry.
We were safe enough while but cavalry
were engaged ; now we can only escape by
a miracle. Hold fast by me, sir; let us
secure the shelter of this tree.”
“Save yourself, Ensign Waye, I never
shall survive till night. I am so faint now
that I may die any moment. You can
escape if you crawl to the tree, I cannot
even crawl. Ugh ! how fearfully cold it
is "
“Hold fast, sir! hold fast ! the cavalry are
here, and we shall soon have musketry from
both sides of the valley.”
The words were hardly out of his lips
when the Imperial horse came in sight,
WOL. H., 11
162 Jngerstein Ha// and Chadwick Rise.
engaged in a furious hand-to-hand fight with
their enemy. And then there came up a
mighty fresh Imperial wave from the left
of where the two wounded men sat—a wave
such as Wallenstein's soul delighted in—
while two deadly volleys, one from each
side of the valley, put an immediate stop to
resistance, and again, and for the last time,
turned the tide of that terrible day. In the
midst of the carnage the quick eye of Harry
Waye had several times caught sight both
of Eldred Chadwick and Richard Ingerstein,
in both cases fighting desperately. Then
he saw with pleasure, yet with dread, that
Iłichard, amid the general wreck, was fore-
most among a few brave officers who were
labouring hard to bring the stragglers
together, that the retreat might not become
a disorderly rout. Night put an end to the
carnage, which had been fearful. In the
Wight after Battle. I 63
pitchy darkness, and amid a pelting snow-
storm, Count Werner and Harry Waye
were carried on litters to Wallenstein’s
camp.
Next day the relentless fight was re-
newed by the Imperialists. Nor had the
army of Christian IV. another day of rest
till it had put the sea between it and
Wallenstein.

11—2
() §§
§§§ jº. gº º
#º §ačğs §ºsººdºš
§ Nº § śsºś
CHAPTER VII.
WALLENSTEIN.
Fº URING the fierce battles by which
tº the Danish period of the Thirty
Years' War was finished, Ensign Waye was
a prisoner, with, however, the best treat-
ment that could be procured for him by
Count Werner, whose praises of his heroism
were, Harry thought, both extravagant and
ridiculous. The wounded prisoners were
ordered to be sent to Kiel, but before they
went Wallenstein was informed by Count
Werner of the heroic conduct of the young
Englishman. *
“Would he accept a decoration ?” Wal-
lenstein asked.





Wa//enstein's Prisoner. I 65
Count Werner doubted that he would,
but ventured to ask for his parole, promis-
ing for him that he would reside quietly in
Bavaria and not serve against the Emperor
till the end of the war, or until exchanged.
“It is a pity,” Wallenstein said, keenly,
“to see so fine a young fellow unemployed.
Considering the circumstances under which
he fell into our hands I feel inclined to
acknowledge his service to you by setting
him free. You are sure he would not take
service with me P. Well, well; we cannot
help it. The most regular way will be to
exchange him. The subject shall remain
before me. Meanwhile, take him with you
home to Bavaria, and remind me of my
intention to absolutely release him at the
right time.” Then, after a pause, he con-
tinued—“Or, Count Werner, for the
present, I think you had better remain at
166 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
Wismar, which I shall make my head-
quarters. Your family can join you there.
Moreover, you will not be quite taking this
young Englishman away from all chances
of active service. He would hardly thank
you for that.”
|Prior to this interview Harry had been
several times visited by Eldred Chadwick,
from whom he learned that the King of
IDenmark had fled over the Cattegat; that
Holstein, Schleswig, and Jutland were in
the hands of Count Wallenstein, and that
IRichard Ingerstein, who had been knighted
for his bravery, had accompanied the King
to Copenhagen.
“And what have you been made of an
honourable kind, Eldred P’’ said Harry;
“ for you fought like a fury, and more than
once or twice I never expected to see you
again.”
E/dred Chadwick and Harry Waye. 167
“Oh I as to that,” said Eldred, laughingly,
“Wallenstein has received the Emperor's
command to knight me, too. He has given
me a regiment.”
“I have sent the full account home,
Eldred, in a letter as long as a book, of
how you and Richard fought, with all
manner of scraps of news about the great
day.”
“Such, I suppose, as how you threw
yourself from your horse and ran the risk
of imprisonment or death to save a stranger
and an enemy.”
It was now Harry's turn to laugh. He
replied—
“Of course, I wrote all that nonsense.”
“And I know you did not. But I
did so ; and I have no doubt Dick has
done the same. You see, therefore, we
are quits.”
168 In/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
On the occasion of Eldred's last visit,
after which he was sent with important
intelligence to Vienna, he said—
“Harry, I always look on you, Dick,
Tom, and I, as if we were children of
the same parents. I want, therefore, to ask
you a serious question. I see you surmise
its purport. You will save me the trouble
of putting it P”
“Eldred, I should lie if I pretended not
to know what you are aiming at, but I beg
you to let the subject drop. I was mad
that day, and when I tell you that since
then I have again and again started up in
my sleep in real agony of mind in recol-
lection of my folly, I think you will pity
me and forbear.”
“But, Harry, let us suppose a case—not
a likely case, I hope, but still a possibility.
Supposing that you died, would you not
Eldred's Anariety. 169
like a message carried to somebody—by a
brother P’’
“Perhaps I should, but if I gave such a
message, and then had not the luck to die,
why, you know, I never could bear to
return to England, or, at least, to Monker-
ton. No, no, Eldred ; you are kind and
generous, but you must not ask me
more.”
“If I tell you that I can guess who the
fair lady is, Harry, what then P”
Harry coloured to the roots of his hair,
and said, in a low voice—
“Well, you must guess what you please,
Eldred, and think of me what you please.
I really cannot confess; it would kill me.
I was an idiot to say what I did.”
“I had guessed something before that,
though.”
When Eldred had gone Harry sat long
170 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
and thoughtfully in one position. Then he
started from his seat, and said—
“Who on earth is it that Eldred has
guessed I am fool enough to be in
love with P Nobody knows, nobody ever
knew, nobody ever will know, the truth.
Eldred is sharp enough in all reason ; but
if he has guessed rightly in this he is a
wizard. He has puzzled me ; but I fancy
he is as far from the mark as ever man was
from any mark. I shall keep my own
counsel. A fool I am, but it shall end
here. What a horrid thing it is to be a
prisoner l’
At Wismar Ensign Waye was hardly in
any sense a prisoner, but in every sense a
guest of Count Werner, whose mother and
three sisters had arrived, and rented a house
overlooking the Baltic. -
The King of Denmark having gladly
enough made peace in the summer of 1629,
Wa//ems/ein. | 7 |
Wallenstein's army was gradually reduced
in numbers, while day by day the great
soldier strode proudly and silently backward
and forward along a bare plateau, near to
which lie had fixed his head-quarters, in
view of Kiel Bay. What mighty thoughts
of Empire floated through his mind may
partly be surmised from his proposal to the
Emperor to boldly take possession of part
of the seaboard of the Baltic. The Duke
of Bavaria and Count Tilly, on the other
hand, from the subjugated Palatinate, tor-
mented Ferdinand with complaints of the
rapacity and illimitable ambition of the
proud, solitary, unscrupulous man whose
genius had trampled down the second great
Union and effort of the Protestants for the
throne of Bohemia. Wallenstein knew it
all, and somewhat of his fierce pent-up
feeling escaped him one day at very nearly
the end of 1629, when Count Werner was
172 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
spending some hours with him. They were
walking together on the plateau, and had
been speaking of the object of the visit of
Count Werner—a recommendation to him
by Wallenstein to at once proceed to
Bavaria.
“Or,” he added, “I would rather suggest
to you to go to England. I think I have
still influence enough with the Emperor to
procure for you a secret office of high trust,
which I some time ago induced Ferdinand
to create and attach to the English Court,
of the doings of which, and of the relation
of which to the English nation, Germany
knows far too little. If you agree, start
for Vienna to-night. I know not but at
this very moment the intrigues of my
enemies may have prevailed and procured
my recall. But,” he added, gloomily, “they
will see some day how I would have made,
Wal/enstein. 173
and how they will have lost, the great reality
of a united Empire in Germany.”
“What relation will my mission, if I
obtain it, have to your Excellency P’’
“This relation. Say to the Emperor,
‘Wallenstein asks me to write him with
respect to England generally ; but he ex-
pressly says, on no subject upon which your
Majesty demurs.’ You will have no diffi-
culty, Werner, for you will, I know, draw
the line fairly. Tell me all you can of men
and events, and of your own private doings
if you like ; nothing of your duties to the
IEmperor, unless the Emperor orders you to
do so. Repeat this conversation to Ferdi-
mand. Let everything be above-board.”
And, strange to say, this wily man, like
Richelieu in many such cases, meant what
he said—despising, as Richelieu despised,
the ordinary weapons of ordinary men.
174 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Count Werner accepted the suggestion of
the great soldier and diplomatist, and left
almost immediately for Vienna, his mother
and sisters returning leisurely to their
family estates in Bavaria. Before leaving
Wismar, however, the young German re-
minded Wallenstein of his promise with
respect to Ensign Waye.
“I have not forgotten him,” Wallenstein
replied. “What are his special gifts P”
35
“He is brave and
“Yes, all men are brave, so far as
fighting is concerned, but can he think in
danger?”
“I have no doubt of it, your Excellency;
he is not an ordinary man. But I do not
see to what your Excellency's questions are
tending. I have before said, that he would
not under any circumstances serve the
Empire.”
Wa//ensſein’s Advice fo Count Werner. 175
“Not for pay P-honours ?—a place at
Court P. Ah, Count Werner, you are a
young man I have thought it all over.
We shall have him without fail.”
“I venture to assert, sir, you will not.
And, may I beg that your Excellency will
not try?”
“I shall not try, then, Werner.”
“Thank your Excellency, sincerely. You
will permit Mr. Waye to go to Denmark P”
“No ; anything but that. I shall not
add one man knowingly to the army which,
before many months are gone, the fanatic
Swede will bring down upon Germany.
Let the prisoner remain where he is at
present.”
The news of Count Werner's removal
from Wismar would have been dismal
tidings to some men in Harry Waye's
position. It was hardly so to him. For
176 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
several months he had been living, as he
chose to think, a very useless life. With
money he had been supplied, as his due,
ostensibly by the King of Denmark, but
really—though Harry never to the day of
his death knew it--by Richard Ingerstein.
He had for his bravery been raised to the
rank of captain, and the pay, if he had
received it, would have been ample for his
wants, as the equivalent which he fancied
was his pay undoubtedly was. His time
had been spent, partly in perfecting his
German and French, by the help of the
sisters of Count Werner, three amiable
ladies, who were learned in all the learning
of the Jesuits, and who gladly communi-
cated their knowledge to the friend of their
brother ; partly in studying the principles
of engineering and of the art of war from
Count Werner himself; and partly in mas-
Wa//e/esſeſ?. 177
tering mathematics, for the last of which he
engaged an accomplished teacher. His
leisure time he spent in riding, reading,
note-taking, and studying the campaigns of
Counts Wallenstein and Tilly, with such
references as were needed to those of General
Spinola. The evenings were delightful to
Harry. The sisters of Count Werner were
not strikingly beautiful, but they all were
pretty and pleasing.
“Frederika,” Count Werner said one day,
in a jesting humour, “is an old maid, Cap-
tain Waye—she is twenty-five fully ; Alice
is what I call on the border-land of old
maidery—she is twenty-one ; Louise is a
baby of nineteen. Frederika might have
looked a little younger if she had been any-
thing but a mathematician. Look at her
furrowed brow,”—pointing to a brow as
fair and smooth as the brow of Venus.
WOIA. T. 12
178 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
“Alice has spoiled herself with linguistic
studies, while poor Louise is good for
nothing but quarrelling, and causing every
one else to quarrel, wherever she goes.”
Louise was the gentle one of the family.
This badinage may afford a glimpse of the
society in which Harry was a prisoner.
FCind, courteous, considerate, and good are
the terms one would apply to this genial
family.
The Werner estates, which were extensive,
were strictly bound up in the male line.
Hence Count Werner's anxiety to preserve
a life which was all-important to the com-
fort of the mother and sisters he loved so
well. Of the outside world the Werner
family saw very little at Wismar. They
were a little world within themselves, and
apart from two facts, Harry Waye ought to
have been extremely happy. The first was,
Harry Waye at School. 179
that he believed himself an idler, though in
reality he was receiving a valuable educa-
tion ; the second was, that his thoughts
were far away on the banks of the Thames.
Unlike the heroes and heroines of romance,
the young Englishman did not fall in love
with the young ladies among whom his lot
had for a time been cast, nor did they fall
in love with him.
There was still another method by which
Harry, during his residence in Wismar,
had improved the time which he thought
that he was idling away. Brought up in
a genial religious school, he had no objec-
tion whatever to go with his new friends to
Mass, and to blend his prayers with theirs
as far as he could. But there were also in
Wismar a Lutheran Church and a Cal-
vinistic Church, and to them, and the dis-
courses in them, he mainly directed his
12—2
180 Ingerstein Hal/ and C/adwick Rise.
attention on Sundays and select evenings;
and he was puzzled. The Lutheran divine,
he found, laboured earnestly to prove that
man is justified by faith, works not being
taken into account, save as the necessary
offspring of that which justified; while the
Catholic priest taught that good works are
all-important, but cannot exist without a
true faith. Harry weighed all this over in
his own mind, and with all the light that his
friends could shed upon it, and he came to
the conclusion that Catholic and Protestant
meant pretty nearly the same thing, though
their theories were different.
It was in Calvinism, however, that he
was most interested. To find a man on the
strength of some kind of words—of mental
assent to a creed, and of outward obser-
vance of forms of religion—not only be-
lieving himself one of the few elect of God
2
Jºutheran and Calvinist. w 18]
but inducing other people to so speak of him,
was to the young Englishman a real source
of wonder. It must be remembered that, in
Harry Waye's time, questions with which
many English and Scotch children are now
familiar, were new, startling, and difficult;
and when the stern Calvinist preacher
whom Wallenstein permitted to continue
his duties at Wismar told of the blessed-
ness of the elect, Harry Waye considered
the question on all sides. He made the
acquaintance of one of the foremost of the
elect, a grocer, but he did not find that
people had any greater confidence in this
grocer's weights and scales than in those of
the Roman Catholic or the Lutheran. He
found another of the elect, who was notori-
ously cruel even to his own flesh and blood ;
another who fell periodically into what was
then deemed the national vice of Denmark
182 Ingerstein Ha/Z and Chadwick Rise.
—the too free use of the convivial cup ; and
so on. He found also some exceedingly
good people among the elect. Perhaps
among all his studies there were few more
useful than these, though they brought no
marketable return ; and after the Werners
had left Wismar he became very eager in
the study. One day he was sent for by
Count Wallenstein, who said—
“Captain Waye (for I see that King
Christian has had the wit to promote you
to a captaincy), I am told—in fact, I have
made a point of knowing—that you keep a
diary; would you care to let me read it P
I am idle, as you see. It may amuse me.”
“I am your Excellency’s prisoner, and can-
not refuse; but my remarks, while they have
no merit, are free, and might be offensive.”
“To me?”—putting up his eyebrows.
“I fear so, your Excellency.”
Wa//e/s/e772. 183
“Permit me, then, to read them. I should
like to know what you English will say of
me a century hence. Not that I care; I am
simply curious, and, as I have said, I am
idle.”
“Shall I send for it, your Excellency?”
“No, no, I trust you—bring it to-morrow.”
The diary was duly taken, and in two
days was returned with “Count Wallen-
stein's thanks.” -
A week later Harry was invited to dine
at the head-quarters of the army, and Count
Wallenstein, who entered just before dinner
was over, said—
“Gentlemen, you must be careful; I have
been reading Captain Waye's diary, and it
has rarely been my lot to see sharper
criticism. It is just, in the sense of being
honest, but it is pungent.”
These remarks were received with a
184 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
jovial, but not boisterous, laugh, and one
privileged officer said—
“Is it to go to the world after Caxton's
method, your Excellency?”
Wallenstein looked to Harry, who re-
plied—
“Your Excellency is pleased to be face-
tious. I have written too freely.” A remark
identical with one of Tom Prim’s to
JRichelieu.
“Not in the least, Captain Waye ; you
have simply, I say, been scathing. I have
asked you here to-night that we may all
say good-bye to you, I now give you back
your parole, and I tell you that I believe
you have from first to last behaved as a
gentleman. You have criticised me and my
Officers as a gentleman, and my operations
as a sharp student of the art of war. You
have made some remarks, which I did not
Fall of Wallenstein. 185
expect, as to what may arise from the pos-
session of certain posts which I shall not
mention ; but you have recorded no secret,
nor do I see a trace of anything like an
ungenerous use of the privileges accorded to
you in Wismar. You are now free to cross
the Cattegat if you please. I expect I shall
next hear of you in Stockholm, whither so
many of your countrymen are drifting.”
Next morning Count Wallenstein left
Wismar.
A little later (1630) he once more found
in the solitude of his Bohemian estates a
refuge from State affairs. He again wove
around him that mystic quietude and those
weird pleasures which he made to appear to
the outer world like indications of Jovian
power in repose.
Ring James and the Elector had alike
gone from the scene. Rochelle had
186 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
fallen. The Palatinate had been given to
the Duke of Bavaria as right of war and
reward of loyalty. Peace had been pro-
claimed between England and France. The
IQing of England had already broken the
privilege of the House of Commons and the
laws of England. The House and the
nation had replied in that slow, firm,
dogged, tentative spirit which is the most
dangerous, because the most difficult, to
interpret of all the humours of the English
people. Mr. Oliver Cromwell had been
heard of as an uncompromising opponent
in Parliament of Arminianism, “ which is
the spawn of Popery.” England was throb-
bing from centre to sea with new and un-
tried impulses and forces, greatly influenced
by like strange impulses on the Continent ;
and England had a King to whom all such
impulses were as treason to his throne. A
New Impulses in England. 187
war of giants was beginning in the
dominions which King Charles called his
royal heritage. Much would have to be
settled before England could again appear
as a potent power in European politics.
Such was the state of affairs when Count
Werner, having received the trust which
Wallenstein had solicited for him, arrived
in England as the ambassador of the
Emperor. It was the beginning of 1630,
midway in that deceptive lull in the ruthless
storm of the evil passions of men. King
Christian had made peace in May, 1629;
Gustavus was preparing for the drama that
would open in June, 1630.

CHAPTER VIII.
WHAT COUNT WERNER FOUND BESIDES DUTY ON THE
THAMES : A PRIVATE FRIEND–A POLITICAL FOE.
ñº ALLENSTEIN'S influence had, even
*AAA in his fall, proved potent enough
to secure for Count Werner not merely
the embassy to London, but also the
Emperor's confidence. The young plenipo-
tentiary carried with him extraordinarily
full powers to promote a better understand-
ing between the King of England and the
Emperor of Germany. Everything was to
be done that could be done by the Emperor
and by Spain to induce England to stand
aloof from any future Protestant union in
opposition to the Emperor; but the feat
was felt to be a difficult one, because Spain


Count Werner's Views of English Affairs, 189
and the Empire were pledged not to con-
cede what England was certain to demand.
The King, whom no one charged with a
lack of affection for his family, never could
forget that he had an only sister titular
Queen of Bohemia, yet an outcast, by means
of the Emperor and Spain, not merely from
the throne of Bohemia, which she never had
possessed, but from the Palatinate of which
she was the presumed rightful Princess.
Count Werner began his duties with
great caution. He saw Laud, then Bishop
of London, and wrote of him—
“More papal in his priestly assumption
than Richelieu, possessing a sort of book-
learning, considerable address, and a certain
obstimacy which he calls earnestness, but
with no dignity of character, nor any real
genius for State affairs, which, however, he
affects to guide.”
190 Ingerstein Ha/Z and Chadwick Rise.
Of Sir Thomas Wentworth, created Earl
of Strafford, he wrote—
“A man who would possess ability and
power for State affairs, provided the path
were clear before him. In demeanour he is
as stern as Count Tilly; but in Wentworth
the sternness is more assumed than real;
he is not capable, like Tilly, of adapting
means to ends.” -
To Noy, who was made Attorney-General,
a full page of foolscap paper was devoted.
A patriot converted into a courtier; a petty,
vindictive, clever, self-seeking man, affecting
to be erudite, yet shallow and ill-informed,
are among the phrases applied to him. Of
the general position of public affairs Count
Werner wrote, in a private letter to Count
Wallenstein—
“England is on the eve of a great revo-
lution, whether peaceful or warlike I cannot
Count Werner aſ Monkerſon. 19 |
see. If warlike, Royalty may survive and
even take deeper roots, because it will be
fought with its own weapons, and its
enemies are not popular. If peaceful, the
Royal Prerogative, now absurdly elevated,
will certainly be curtailed, if not destroyed.”
On the very earliest opportunity Count
Werner paid a visit to Monkerton, with the
pleasant introduction of a packet of letters,
which he sent in advance over the Thames,
from Eldred Chadwick and Harry Waye.
He had learned so much that he was not
surprised when he found the father of
Captain Waye, with bare arms and grimy
hands, shaping a ploughshare, or when he
found Peter Prim fitting the wood cogs into
a mill-wheel.
“You and I ought to be old friends,
Master Waye,” he said, “for your son
never wearied talking of you and Mistress
192 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
Waye, and Mistress Susan, to whom I am
delighted to find he did no wrong when
he said she was more than ordinarily ill-
favoured.”
Susan laughed her merry musical laugh,
and her father said—
“Harry tells us, sir, that you are fond of
a joke. He says”—reading—“‘In a great
many things you must be sure to take
Count Werner by the contrary. If he says
that I killed a cow, or stole a horse, or
saved a man's life, don't contradict him—
for that would not be polite—but rest
assured it was he who did it.’ So I am
afraid, sir, we must take you as paying my
little daughter an extravagant compliment
common to courtiers.”
If Count Werner had paid Susan the
highest compliment which his vocabulary
of the English language gave him the
Susan Waye Questions Count Werner. 193
power to pay, he would not have said more
than he felt of her exceeding beauty, to
which the long period that had elapsed
since she bade adieu to her brother and
Tom Prim had only added fresh charms.
Her life, during those years, had not been
unruffled. She had had suitors, many;
honest and dishonest, high and homely,
but she had not only preserved a faithful
trust to the wheelwright's son, but by her
geniality and kindness had brought even
Peter Prim to love her, and at times to for-
get in ordinary conversation the inordinate
demands of his exacting creed. Susan
was not, however, without troubles. She
had observed the strange difference between
Tom's earlier and later letters; how grave,
how even terse and brief, if not stern, the
latest letter written from Rostock was, as
compared with the first full, kind, exuberant
VOL. I. 13
194 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
letter from Falmouth. Her beautiful eyes
filled with tears and her lip quivered as she
said— " +
“Tom does not even tell me, Count
Werner, what he is doing, or thinking of, at
Rostock, or how he travelled from Rochelle,
or—anything.”
“My dear, I do not see that,” Mistress
Waye said, soothingly. “Tom writes, I
am sure, whenever he can find any means
of sending a letter ; and then who knows
what number of his letters have been
lost or stolen P”
Mistress Waye spoke in the hard, strong
dialect of a northern county, and it was
not difficult to perceive that she possessed
none of the advantages which belong to
education; but her words now, as always,
were as clear, pointed, and logical as if she
could have spoken them in half a dozen
Counſ Werner Argues for Tom Prim. 195
languages. Susan meanwhile shook her
pretty head. Count Werner replied—
“Indeed, madame, that is the fact. Mis-
tress Susan must also take into considera-
tion the difficulty of Captain Prim's position.
He is employed in some responsible way,
and his letters may be opened. Take, now,
my own case. Few men care more for
mother and sisters than I do for mine,
yet the business that has brought me to
London I not only cannot mention to
them, but I cannot even approach it in-
directly. I could not so much as say that
I had seen Bishop Laud, or Lord Strafford,
lest some thief purloined my letter, and
some busybody turned an innocent remark
into a meaning as different as could be from
my intention—perhaps into something that
concealed a weighty affair of State.”
All the same, however, when Count
13–2
196 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Werner turned away from the cottage of
Harry Waye, he said to himself—
“Captain Tom Prim I wish sincerely
you may be hanged and quartered if you
are growing cold of heart towards this
lovely English rose.” Then he continued,
musingly—“What can be Captain Prim's
business at Rostock P Richelieu is hardly
given to setting his prisoners free, and
sending them on long journeys without
some motive ; yet if Richelieu had not
willed it, Tom Prim had not been at
Rostock. Shall I communicate this to the
Emperor P No, not on any account l” And a
week later he said (again to himself)—“What
I learn elsewhere I shall communicate, as
my duty. What I learn in this sweet
village, or in any of these friendly homes,
shall be sacred.”
At Ingerstein Hall Count Werner saw
Count Werner at “The Hal/’6 “The Rise.” 197
and admired Mabel Ingerstein. At Chad-
wick Rise he saw and more than admired
Agnes Chadwick. When the “boys” left
England, the younger daughter of Mr.
Chadwick was too little beyond childhood
for special description as an element in the
history of the two families. She was now,
at eighteen years of age, very lovely. Her
features were not finely chiselled, like Mar-
garet's, but they were well formed, and her
cheeks were as blooming and her eyes as
bright as either Mabel Ingerstein’s or
Susan Waye's ; while a certain witching
grace of expression, all her own, gave to her
beauty that glorious gift of individuality
without which the most perfect loveliness
lacks beauty's great special charm.
Count Werner, who had a poetic nature,
felt that Agnes differed from all other per-
sons on the face of the earth, and in a very
198 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
short time he was deeply in love. Tran-
scendently lovely, of an “old family,” a
Catholic, and evidently heart-free, what
more could a Catholic desire? Count
Werner took his resolution, but he dreaded
to speak the words that lay nearest to his
heart. His spirit quailed lest he should be
refused, and his life's hope torn away.
“Squire” Chadwick was at this time
stronger and firmer than he had been five
years earlier, when he had bidden his son
farewell, and his conversation was racy,
vigorous, and charming. Sir John and
Lady Ingerstein, Count Werner thought
the most perfect lady and gentleman he
ever had met. The intercourse of the Hall
and the Rise he in his heart pronounced
matchless, and indeed that intercourse had,
during the years from 1625 to 1630,
become more and more intimate, till the
Count Werner at “The Hall” & “The Rise.” 199
families were not, Count Werner perceived,
so much two as one, with all the interests
of two intertwined. Sir John Ingerstein
and Mr. Chadwick invited Harry Waye and
Peter Prim to dine with Count Werner at
the Hall and the Rise, but the proud, sturdy
cottagers could not bring themselves to
accept the invitation. And well it was
they could not. In their own cottages
they would not have feared to meet with
and talk with princes. At Chadwick Rise
or Ingerstein Hall neither of them would
have been the same man. Every kindness
would have savoured of condescension ; and
neither Peter nor Harry could be safely
patronised. Happily they refused, and
refused so firmly that, till circumstance
had greatly changed, no second attempt
was made to turn the old mountain streams
of two homely lives backward and up-hill.
200 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Count Werner, however, saw a great deal
of both, and managed as completely and
cleverly to misunderstand the intense theo-
logy of Peter as he had succeeded in doubt-
ing the steadfastness of the affection of
Peter's son. One day, after leaving the
wheelwright's shop, he said to Agnes Chad-
wick, when nearly all the members of the two
families were present—
“What a dreadful fanatic and incendiary
Peter Prim is He would overthrow all
human society l’
Agnes laughed merrily, and said—
“You misunderstand him, Count Werner;
he is as simple as a child, he would not
hurt a worm. You should see how prettily
Susan Waye compels him to almost call
black white when she wishes it—for his
good, of course.”
“All I can say is, that I should not like
Understandings and Misunderstandings. 201
to be long in his company if I wished to
retain my senses. I suppose his son is very
like him, in temper—Captain Prim, I
mean.”
Agnes laughed again, and still more
merrily.
“You must,” she said, “ask Susan about
that ; I am expecting her here every
minute to spend the day with us. Dear,
dear, how shrewd you gentlemen are l’
“Tom Prim, Count Werner,” said Henry
Ingerstein, gravely but gently, “is one of
the finest fellows alive. I am only afraid
he will not come back to us, if any of your
subtle Continental statesmen should discover
his true merit and character.”
“Then I am certain he never will come
back to you, for he has assuredly been
weighed and measured to the utmost nicety
by one who never failed to discover the true
202 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
merit and character of any human being
who ever came under the extraordinary in-
fluence of his magical eye—I mean Riche-
lieu.”
“You give us almost the same character
of Richelieu that Count Mansfeldt gave us
of Wallenstein,” said Agnes.
“Yet, Mistress Agnes, they are very dif-
ferent men. I should not like to answer for
what either of them believes of God, or the
Dible, or Heaven, or Hell; but, undoubtedly,
Wallenstein could more easily live without
power than Richelieu could ; while of the
two, Richelieu could the more easily live
without faith. To the Cardinal, power is
as the breath of life. Wallenstein, although
superstitious to childishness on some points,
cares more for his stupendous individuality
than for the mere pleasure of wielding
power. He is too proud to value applause,
Wal/enstein and Richelieu. 203
but he delights in being known as the man
who can do what other men cannot, and he
likes to be spoken of with awe-it is the
infirmity of his great mind. I firmly be-
lieve that he felt positive comfort and satis-
faction in his recent dismissal by the Em-
peror, where Richelieu would have gone
away in deep chagrin. The pride of being
wronged is a great pride with Wallenstein.
Richelieu has none of that peculiar kind
of pride—he would rather commit than
suffer the wrong.”
“ It was their subtlety and intellect of
which Agnes was thinking,” said Henry
Ingerstein.
“Even in these there is a vast difference
not easily stated in words, but not to be
misunderstood, between Richelieu and Wal-
lenstein.”
“Is it,” replied Henry, slowly, “that
204 Ingerstein Hall and C/adwick Rise.
Wallenstein's plans are the more compre-
hensive and even the abler, but that Riche-
lieu plays the political game with greater
patience and address P. The Cardinal seems
able to stoop; the Count is ever erect, and
ever the master.”
“Your remarks are very just, Master
Ingerstein. I dread Wallenstein the less
because I see all his huge plan spread out
like a map, and hear his grim defiance,
‘Break it if you dare l’ In Richelieu I see
nothing, hear no defiance, hear nothing, in
fact, till a mine is sprung.”
“England has had few statesmen like
these,” said gentle Mabel Ingerstein; “and I
hope never will have any—forenduringfame.”
“I have the same hope, dear lady, in my
heart. Still, if danger came, you would like
25
to have a great man to
“Take it by the horns, Count Werner”
7%e Heroes for England’s Weed. 205
—and Mabel's sweet lip curled—“ and turn
it back with a hand of iron. I am ashamed
to have interrupted you,” and now Mabel
blushed crimson; “but I would have our
heroes to be like Hereward the Wake.”
“You may need them sooner than you
imagine.”
“Then I pray God to send us a man like
Hereward, or Alfred, not like Richelieu
77
Ol'
“Cranmer P” -
“Yes,” in a low voice, “ or Cranmer.
Thank you, Count Werner, I was at a loss
for a name.”
“We are no admirers of Cranmer,” said
Sir John.
“I have often wished, Count Werner, to
ask you something of King Christian IV.,”
said Margaret Chadwick.
“Of his ability, Miss Chadwick?”
206 Ingers/ein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Of his character chiefly.”
“Your father and Sir John Ingerstein
have told me that they remember only too
well the visit that King Christian paid to
his royal brother-in-law in 1606.”
“ A most disgraceful visit,” said Sir John;
“disgraceful to England and to Denmark.
It went far to make me a Republican.”
“Yes,” said Margaret, pensively, “ those
disgraceful days will ever redound to the
dishonour of the two kings. But even
ignoble men have sometimes grown better—
not often, I daresay, as you, Sir John, have
told us—but sometimes, as in the case of
Ignatius Loyola.”
Sir John replied in his beautiful fatherly
IY) alſ) ſle]?–
“Prior to his disasters—ending with the
humiliating peace, which Wallenstein com-
pelled him to sign at Lubeck—King
Ring Christian in the Balance. 207
Christian had, I suppose, the reputation
of a respectable commonplace man, who
fostered the arts of peace and encouraged
learning; but, as usual with kings, he was
outrageously overrated. I should say that
of any twelve educated men one might meet
on Tuondon Bridge, ten at least would be
equal to King Christian intellectually.
I never saw him, but his doings here
were notorious, and were of a character
to stamp at once his intellect and his
heart.”
“I was thinking, sir,” Margaret said, “ of
our friends in his service.”
“Nominally in his service,” Count
Werner replied. “They will not be long
in the service of King Christian. They
will soon have a leader who will cause you
to re-study your geography, if you would
follow his movements in war.”
208 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Thank you, Count Werner, you are
very kind.” -
“Your view, here also, agrees with that of
Count Mansfeldt,” said Sir John Inger-
stein.
These remarks chanced to be made at Sir
John and Lady Ingerstein's dinner-table,
in the presence of Father Altona and the
Vicar of Monkerton ; and the conversation
led to some inquiries about Father Simeon.
“I know him well,” Count Werner said,
“ and I suppose he is a good man; but
he would sacrifice his best friend to his
Church. He is altogether at home with
Count Tilly.”
“He is a good man l’” said Father Altona,
emphatically. “I wish I could attain to
half his piety.”
“I am thankful you cannot,” said Master
Baldwin, laughing. “If you had attained
The Vicar and his Wife. 209
to his piety we should have had a pretty
parish. I never in all my experience met
so grim and disagreeable a man—haven’t
you heard me say so, my dear?”—to Mis-
tress Baldwin, a buxom, humorous lady,
who replied—
“Yes, scores of times; but that does not
make the case any the stronger, you
know, Mathew.”
At this there was a general burst of
laughter, in which Master Baldwin, though
with a disconcerted look, joined.
In this way the pleasant relations of
Count Werner and the families of Inger-
stein Hall and Chadwick Rise continued till
the beginning of April, when an event
occurred which overturned the equanimity
of the united little commonwealth. It was
on an evening, after work hours, and Harry
Waye and Peter Prim, standing together
TVOL. I. 14
210 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
at the Smithy door of the former, and talk-
ing, as they often talked, of the wars, saw
riding towards the village a gentlemanly-
looking man, whose air bespoke the soldier,
though he was in the ordinary morning
dress of the time. Quick almost as thought,
they both, to avoid what might have the
appearance of rudeness, turned aside towards
the blacksmith's shop, and appeared to
interest themselves in an iron harrow which
the blacksmith had devised. The rider
halted and said—
“Why, Peter—Harry—is this how you
turn from an old friend ?”
“Master Richard I can hardly believe
my eyes. Sue, my little girl, here is
Master Richard How changed you are,
sir. Sue ! where are you?”
The reader will perceive that the speaker
was Harry Waye. Peter Prim stood like
A Surprise for Monkerton. 211
one in a dream, while Richard dismounted,
and asked eagerly and anxiously for news
of home. Some hours afterwards Peter
said to his friend—
“I thought, Harry, it must be a trick of
the brain, or a phantom of magic ; and I
was scarcely satisfied to the contrary even
after he had shaken my hand, as if he
would shake it off.”
Susan did not require much calling.
Running out, all tears and sunshine, she
actually, readily and without hesitation, gave
Richard Ingerstein a sisterly kiss.
“Why, Sue,” her father said, with a
laugh, “how is this P I hope your kisses
are not always to be had so cheaply.”
“Indeed, father, I never kissed any one
before—never !” said Susan, with a sob;
“but I was so glad, I forgot myself.”
“Never mind your father for once,” said
14–2
212 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
old Peter; “you did quite right, my dear.
But, Mr. Richard, what of Harry, and—
Eldred, and—Tom P”
The gentlemanly old workman, even in
his excitement and with his heart almost
bursting, put his own son—dearer to him
than the apple of his eye—last.
“Of Tom, I am sorry to say, Peter, we
have heard little beyond the reports, which
are all over Europe, of the distinction he
has won. Harry and Eldred and I have
tried our best to obtain intelligence of him,
but Eldred labours under the disadvantage
of being in the wrong camp for Richelieu ;
and I am far from sure that Harry and I
are in the right one. Harry, as you know,
was till lately a prisoner. Perhaps you do
not know, though, that he has been set
free by Wallenstein. He had arrived in
Copenhagen before I left Sweden; but I
Richard Ingerstein at the Smithy. 213
came with orders by Christiania, and so missed
him. I am afraid you have not heard
either, Susan, how bravely Harry behaved
in one of the fiercest actions of the war,
and how he saved the life of a gallant officer
of the Imperial army, Count Werner, at
the risk of his own life.”
“Oh, yes; we have heard all that, Master
Richard. We evidently know more than you
imagine,” said Susan, with a roguish toss of
her head and a mock demure smile. “You, too,
have much to learn, I perceive. But do you see
those three ladies and the one gentleman rid-
ing towards Chadwick Rise? There—look!”
“Yes, of course I see them, Susan—
what then P”
“The one is Lady Mabel Ingerstein,
and the other Mistress Agnes Chadwick,
and—”
“Well, you little rogue, whom P And
214 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
what makes your eyes dance in that
provoking manner P”
“The third is—Mistress Margaret Chad-
wick, who ought to have had precedence.”
“And the fourth, I suppose, is dear old
Eſal P’’ said Richard, with his foot in the
stirrup. “Come, I must overtake them.
Good-bye.”
“Stay a single minute, Mr. Richard,”
said Susan ; “do not rob me of the pleasure
of giving you the first news. The fourth—
and she
the gentleman you see—is
paused again and laughed roguishly.
“For shame, Susan l’” said her father,
affecting to be angry, but laughing in spite
of himself, while Peter's sides were literally
shaking.
“Well, then, Mr. Richard, take the whole
of my news at once ; the fourth is Count
Werner, who has been here some time.” "
The Two Envoys. 215
“Count Werner, indeed l’ and Richard’s
brow darkened a little. “Lend me this
shawl, Susan—for a muffler. And here is my
servant coming on with the baggage. Stop
him pray, for half an hour. There, thank
you.” And away went Richard, with his face
muffled in Susan's shawl.
“Much good may his muffler do him l’
said Susan, with her merry laugh. “Why,
he is disguising himself from Miss Chad-
wick in her own birthday present to me.
Certainly,” she added, in “a half-aside,”
“men are all very clever,”—a sentiment she
had probably learnt from or taught to
Mistress Agnes Chadwick.
Count Werner and his three fair com-
panions were riding leisurely towards the
Iłise, talking somewhat sadly. The friendly
German had that day received intelligence
which led him to believe that his mission
216 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
was a failure, and he was preparing for an
immediate return to Germany, though he
had not as yet spoken the important word
at Chadwick Rise. In this mood they were
overtaken by Richard, who rode slowly
past, with Susan Waye's shawl conspicu-
ously displayed, and his own face hidden
therein. Margaret Chadwick's heart beat
high as she whispered, “Do you see that
muffler, Mabel? It is the same pattern as
the shawl I sent to Susan last week on her
birthday.”
“It is the same shawl,” said Agnes.
“Then the rider is—somebody, for cer-
tain,” argued Mabel, logically, and without
whispering. “A little quicker, please ; let
us overtake this gentleman.”
They put on a quicker pace, but so did
the gentleman. In this way more than
half a mile was passed, till Agnes, hearing,
Richard Ingerstein's Disguise. 217
—º
or fancying she heard, a smothered laugh
under the muffler—Richard always declared
it was pure fancy—put her horse to a
canter, and first fairly outrode and then
boldly confronted Richard Ingerstein. It
was a great meeting.
“Oh, Dick I" said Margaret, riding up
coyly, but with her earnest face beaming
with joy, “I knew it was you when I saw
my shawl ; and I think I should have
known you without it—somehow.”
“Your shawl, Margaret P”
“Yes, stupid Dick!” said Agnes, “Maggie's
birthday present. Susan will be making her
sides ache with laughing at you, old boy.”
“She is quite capable of that ; but some-
body would have been laughing at you,
Mistress Daring, if the person you con-
fronted so coolly some minutes ago had
turned out to be Count Wallenstein.”
218 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Count Wallenstein Do you suppose
I should not have known you, dear old
Dick, from an insignificant person like
Count Wallenstein P. It was Margaret,
though, who found you out.”
It must not be supposed that all this
time Count Werner had been suffered to
remain unintroduced to Richard. All the
forms of courtesy, and much that underlies
the forms, and in that way makes life
happy, had been complied with ; and Count
Werner and Richard Ingerstein had greeted
each other heartily.
Then, with Mabel on one hand and Mar-
garet on the other, the heir to Ingerstein
rode slowly and proudly towards Chadwick.
Rise, which was now considerably nearer
than the Hall.
“I will,” he said, “call and shake hands
with your father, and see the dear old Rise
Once again, Margaret, as I pass.”
Persona/ Friends, Po/jffica/ Foes. 219
Count Werner and Agnes rode behind,
and in a little time much farther behind
than seemed at all necessary. *
“I fear, Mistress Agnes,” he said in a low
voice, “this pleasant surprise must end the
brightest period of my life.”
“I am deeply sorry, Count Werner. Is
the cause in some affair of State?”
There was no misunderstanding the
tone of true sympathy and sorrow in which
Agnes Chadwick spoke. Count Werner
replied that he feared so. “At any rate,” he
said, “I must speak to Colonel Ingerstein
at once. Then, Mistress Agnes,” he added,
with some sadness, “I must ask from you
one favour—a last interview. Perhaps”
—and his voice trembled—“we may meet
in happier and more peaceful times. Will
you permit me to ride on and ask Colonel
Ingerstein for a few words of conversa-
tion P”
220 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“How strange the word ‘Colonel’ sounds
prefixed to Ingerstein Certainly, Count
Werner. Let me ride on with you; then I
shall join Mabel and Margaret, and leave
you with dear old Dick.” The words were
tremulously spoken, and in a manner very
unlike the wonted brightness and gaiety of
Agnes Chadwick.

CHAPTER IX.
COUNT WERNER DISGRACED–THE DISCOVERY HE MADE.
tº beaming with happiness when Count
Werner claimed him “for five minutes—not
more.”
When a man has been five years from
home, it often goes hard with any one,
however kindly, who steps between him
and those in whom his heart has been
wrapped up as in a cerement of impene-
trable silence, and whom he has at times
dreaded that he never will be permitted to
see again; and Count Werner knew this
fact well from experience.
“Colonel Ingerstein,” he said, “it is


222 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
rather a hardy step to steal you from your
friends at a moment like this, but I fear I
must not go farther with you than the gate
of Chadwick Rise. Will you say good-bye
for me to my friends at Ingerstein Hall ?—
or, better perhaps that I should ask Sir
John and Lady Ingerstein if I may hope for
the privilege of meeting them at Chadwick
Rise for once, and once only, to say good-
bye.”
“Is this step necessary, Count Werner P
Will you not permit me in some slight
manner to acknowledge your kindness to
my friend, Captain Waye P’’
“That, in any case, has already been only
too fully acknowledged by two generous
families, Colonel Ingerstein; only the debt
chances to be mine to Captain Waye. Let
me say, however, that when I came here I
resolved, as a man of honour, that no word
A Sacrifice to Duffy. 223
spoken in Chadwick Rise or Ingerstein Hall
ever should be repeated by me, in speech or
writing, elsewhere. I represent the Em-
peror in England, a fact your father and
Mr. Chadwick both knew from the first.
Indeed, I presume that though nominally
a secret, it is not really so to any one
in London who is at all interested in State
affairs.” .
“But why leave Ingerstein, sir? We
both believe ourselves men of honour, and I
have no hesitation in telling you that I am
for a time to represent the King of Sweden
in London, and also that I certainly shall
not allow Gustavus Adolphus to dictate to
me my private friends.”
“I know you would not. My case, how-
ever, is different. I represent Ferdinand,
and I in a manner represent Wallenstein.
They represent Germany, rightly or wrongly,
224 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
and my family estates are in Bavaria. If I had
died when Captain Waye came to my rescue,
those estates had gone to a distant, wealthy,
and to us unfriendly, branch of our family.
Nor would failure on my part to fulfil my
obligations to the State prove other than the
loss of my inheritance. This is my own
position. Yours, in one sense, is not dis-
similar. You, of course, care nothing per-
sonally for the service of the King of
Sweden; but you would, equally of course,
prefer that your undertaking should be above
suspicion.” -
“It is vexatious, Count Werner, but I
suppose you are right. In State affairs the
aims that you and I have in London are
the exact opposite of each other. In neither
case can there be any success without en-
tailing failure on the other. Do you wish
to say adieu to the ladies for the present P’’
A Sacrifice to Duffy. 225
“Not to-day, thank you; for to-morrow,
or the following day, I shall ask Mr. Chad-
wick to grant me a farewell meeting.
Meanwhile, Colonel Ingerstein, if we meet
at Whitehall, let us be acquaintances and
no more. Perhaps, when this hateful war
is over, we may be friends.”
“I sincerely trust so, sir. Good-bye,
Count Werner.”
“Good-bye, Sir Richard Ingerstein ;”
and the representative of Ferdinand, after
one glance and one bow to the now distant
ladies, rode away briskly towards the banks
of the Thames.
The conversation which it has taken some
time and space to record here, did not oc-
cupy more than a very few moments, during
which the three young ladies had gone
on slowly in the direction of the Rise.
Chancing to look back, Agnes Chadwick saw
VOL. I. 15
226 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
with surprise that Richard and Count
Werner had stopped, and, hand in hand,
were evidently bidding each other adieu.
To this accident the young Bavarian owed the
opportunity of that farewell bow. Richard In-
gerstein simply said, in answer to inquiries—
“There are State reasons why Count
Werner should not come any more to In-
gerstein Hall; and only once more, to say
a good-bye to both families, to Chadwick
Rise. Do not ask me more. Let us ride
on as fast as you please ; you do not.—
cannot—know what a world of bliss there
is in the word ‘home.’”
Leaving Richard Ingerstein to the happy
lot that that evening awaited him, we may
follow Count Werner in his solitary ride to
his house in Great Queen Street. A night
of deep sadness and sorrow it was to the
young soldier and diplomatist. Never before
Darkness for Count Werner. 227
had he known the meaning of loneliness—
of heart-loneliness. The Thames flowed on
quietly to the sea, laden with the commerce
of all nations. The bargemen and lighter-
men Sang their merry songs; parties on plea-
sure flitted past; the palaces of the wealthy
were beginning to put on those signs of life
with which London, even at that time, de-
lighted to turn night into day. Count
Werner looked on all this with sad feelings.
Any number of brilliant saloons had been
open to him, but he had committed the
grave fault of neglecting them ; and, per-
- haps, as he now began to fear, to the injury
of his mission. He went home, and wrote
at length to the Emperor, to Wallenstein
in exile, and to his own mother and sisters
in Bavaria. Then he wrote to Agnes Chad-
wick and to Mr. Chadwick. He was still
writing at day-dawn; writing when the
15–2
228 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Abbey clock chimed six. Startled by find-
ing that the night had gone, he stretched
himself listlessly on a couch and slept. In
a couple of hours he rose refreshed, and had
a cold bath. Then he read and corrected
the letters he had written.
That to Mr. Chadwick he found to be a
very proper letter indeed; a plain, business-
like, yet most formal request for permission
to endeavour to win his daughter's love; a
statement of the Werner rent-roll, and of
the circumstances under which the estate
might pass away to other hands. The
letter ended with a request that if Mr.
Chadwick did not disapprove what was
here written, he would be pleased to give
to Mistress Agnes Chadwick the enclosed
sealed letter. Count Werner concluded in
his mind that to the formal letter at least
there could be no objection.
Darkness for Count Werner. 229
The letter to be enclosed therein he re-
read with very different feelings. It was,
he felt, a letter that Wallenstein would
have derided; that Ferdinand would have
deemed a political crime. He had, he
found, thrown into it the pent-up feeling of
months and the yearning sympathies of a
whole life. It was a letter that would be
mocked if it fell into the hands of any
foolish person ; a letter to be respected if it
fell into any honest hands now or ever.
“It is mad,” he said, “but I would not
withdraw a word—not one.” The seal was
affixed, the letter enclosed, and by eleven
o'clock the packet was in the hands of the
master of Chadwick Rise.
Having sent off these letters, Count
Werner read carefully the State despatches.
They were full, copious, clear, and pointed,
but there was no mention of the fact that,
230 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Colonel Ingerstein was in London as the
secret ambassador of Gustavus Adolphus.
The omission, he now felt, would not be
just to the interests of the Emperor. There
must be a postscript on the subject of
Colonel Ingerstein, provided the information
came to him naturally, without being sought
for on the basis of that which he had
obtained on the previous day, as a private
guest. He therefore locked up his despatches,
and at the hour when the Court was astir
he rode to Whitehall.
He found King Charles in the Banqueting
Room, in high spirits, listening to Bishop
Laud, who was engaged in setting on foot a
grand project for repairing and adorning
St. Paul’s Cathedral—a project which he
affirmed would distinguish for ever his most
gracious Majesty's glorious reign. Went-
worth, too, was present, obsequious to the
Whitehall—The Favourite of the Hour. 231
Ring and Queen, and even to Laud; stern
and haughty to all from whom he had
nothing to gain.
In the presence of a brilliant Court, Colonel
Sir Richard Ingerstein was presented to the
JKing and Queen; while Count Werner,
after being duly announced, was left in that
solitude which Courts know so well how to
provide for the representative of a fallen
cause. Laud affected not to see him—
Laud, whose praises of the Emperor had a
week earlier been extravagant. Strafford dis-
tinguished him by a haughty bow, and Noy
by an impertinent stare. Colonel Ingerstein
alone stepped forward to speak to the
shunned envoy, actuated, Count Werner
saw, with a generous impetuosity which
would, unless thwarted in its aim, prove the
juin of the new diplomatist. Seeing this,
Count Werner coolly turned on his heel,
232 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
and left Richard Ingerstein to retrace his.
steps to where the favourites of the hour
were basking in Court sunshine. Strolling
down the avenue of the royal garden,
hardly knowing whither to turn, the envoy
of the Emperor found himself confronted by
Wentworth.
“Count Werner,” the great man said,
“you are a lost man. Gustavus is in the
ascendant. I merely wish to tell you, as a
friend, that there will be a turn of the tide,
and that I hope to have the pleasure of
again welcoming you to Tondon.”
“Then I am to leave Tondon P” -
“At once. You will find the royal com-
mands on your return to Great Queen.
Street.”
“Thank you, Sir Thomas.”
“You have seen the reception of Colonel
Ingerstein. His is the rising, yours for a
Count Werner Disgraced. 233
time the setting, sun. He is from the King
of Sweden.”
“Thank you again, and good-bye.”
Count Werner returned to his despatches,
and added, with a clear conscience, the
postscript, which certainly had come to him
unsought. Then he read his own dismissal
from the English Court, and found that it
was personal, more than political. It was
Count Werner whose presence the Court of
Eing Charles disapproved. The Emperor
was assured of the good feeling of King
Charles towards himself and Germany. It
was hypocrisy, but it was none the less
damaging to the young officer. Count
Werner laid down the paper in amazement.
What had he done? Whom offended P. He
would ask; he would demand. No ; he
would not demand, neither would he ask.
He would return to Vienna and to Bavaria
234 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
as proudly as Wallenstein had retired to
JBohemia. The document was dated eleven
o'clock in the morning ; it was now seven
in the evening. He was to leave London
in forty-eight hours. There would be no
6c/až in his departure, but there would be
no hooting. There were no penny-a-liners
in those days, and the envoy’s security
against the ancient forerunner of them, the
Omnivorous London crowd, was in the fact
that his mission had been secret and free
from public display. He copied and en-
closed to the Emperor the insulting docu-
ment from the English Court. Then he
wrote another copy, and enclosed it in the
other despatch, which he sent by a sure
hand to Count Wallenstein. “ There is no
breach of confidence,” he said, “in this.
Wallenstein must have seen that I have
studiously avoided in my letters to him the
Count Werner Dis/raced. 235
slightest approach to anything like a refer-
ence to my orders from the Emperor, or
indeed to State affairs.” He was right;
Wallenstein had seen this, and, with his
usual capriciousness, had been disappointed ;
but he honoured the probity while he chafed
under a reticence upon the rigorous honour
of which he had not calculated.
Having finished his despatches, Count
Werner—whose very servants, as he
thought, and thought rightly, knew of his
disgrace—called for coffee, and desired a
bath to be prepared for him. Then he
attended to the other business of his mis-
sion. At a little after ten o'clock he walked
down to the river, through a pelting storm,
and took a barge at Whitehall Stair in the
belief that, having crossed the Thames, he
could engage a horse for Monkerton. It
was a foolish step, but the disgraced envoy
236 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
was in a humour for taking foolish steps.
If he had been treated with ordinary cour-
tesy at Whitehall, he might not perhaps
have added to the feverishness of a sleep-
less night, and a night and day of hard
work, the freak of an adventure in sleet and
storm, and in a wind that cut to the bone.
Travelling by day and travelling by
night involved very different considerations
in the reign of King Charles I. ; and Count
Werner, who had on previous occasions
taken his horse over the river with him
when he visited Monkerton, now found con-
siderable difficulty in engaging for himself
a horse at the “Maiden Queen,” the best.
hostelry on the Surrey side of the Thames.
The night was not merely stormy, but dark
as pitch, and the “ Maiden Queen,” though
crowded with revellers, seemed altogether.
bereft of grooms. An offer of a large re-
A Refuge in a Storm. 237
ward only appeared to arouse suspicion. To
attempt to reach Monkerton on foot, Count
Werner decided, was out of the question,
wet and travel-soiled as he had become in
his passage of the river. Blaming himself
grievously for his folly in crossing the
Thames at such an hour, in such weather,
he made his way to the river-side for the
purpose of returning to London.
Here another, and, as it proved, an in-
superable, difficulty arose. The barge in
which he had crossed had disappeared, and
no other was to be had. In this dilemma
he determined to direct his steps to the
first respectable house—palace or cottage—
he could find, and, as chance would have it,
the first house was neither palace nor cot-
tage, but a substantial, square-built wooden
house, standing in pretty but not extensive
grounds. He went at once to the door,
238 Ingerstein Hall and C/adwick Rise.
stated his name, and the “trifling misfor-
tune” that had, he said, befallen him, and
requested assistance to engage a boat and a
guide for London.
A grave, gentlemanly man appeared, and
said he feared there would be little chance
of any boats crossing the river on such a
night, but that if Count Werner would
accept of such hospitality as the house
afforded he was welcome. Count Werner
was wearied well-nigh to death, and his
clothes were wet through. He had been
publicly affronted at Whitehall, had been
informed in a studiously insulting docu-
ment that he had failed as a diplomatist,
and that, though another envoy would be
received, he must leave England. He felt
the need of kindness as perhaps he never
had felt that need before. Yet how could
he encroach on the courteous stranger?
Commodore and Misſress Mordaunt. 239
Seeing that he hesitated, the gentleman,
who had by this time introduced himself
as Commodore Mordaunt, said—
“You can have dry clothing, Count
Werner; and before day-dawn to-morrow
your servant shall, if you wish it, be sent
for. We are a family of three—my wife,
my daughter, and myself. Pray come in.”
“I shall do so, sir, for I never, I think—
and I have seen some service—knew really
what fatigue was till to-night. Let me say
first, however, that if you have any interest at
Court you had better not receive me; I have
this day been ordered to leave England.”
“Be satisfied then, sir; I have no in-
terest at Court, and never shall have till I
find a Court that can respect the law.”
Commodore Mordaunt himself saw his
guest to a room where a fire had been
kindled, and in half an hour the disgraced
240 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
envoy reappeared looking like a new man.
|He found awaiting him, in addition to his
host, a matronly and still handsome lady of
about fifty years, and a young lady of, he
supposed, about twenty-one—Mistress and
Mistress Eliza Mordaunt. The elder lady,
Count Werner thought, appeared as if she
had seen sorrow, and he was right; the
younger lady he pronounced in his own
mind very nearly as lovely as Agnes Chad-
wick, and that, perhaps, was saying for Mis-
tress Eliza Mordaunt (since a lover was the
judge) that she was the more beautiful of
the two. He found also that the young
lady was highly educated, and above all,
and to his greatest surprise, that she knew
all about the war, and actually had shrewd
Opinions as to the prominent actors in it.
All this Count Werner discovered during
a homely supper, which he greatly enjoyed.
J/iza Mordaunt. 24l
Eliza Mordaunt was very lovely. She
had full, clear blue eyes, auburn hair, teeth
which Count Werner saw were like pearls,
and a cheek in which the glow of health
WàS a S delicate as the bloom on a blush-rose.
Commodore Mordaunt said—
“I am sorry your service has been with
Wallenstein, Count Werner, for my foolish
little daughter here has a friend who went
away into the opposite camp with Count
Mansfeldt. It is true she never has heard
very much of her friend since he left
home, save that he was taken prisoner; but
still, I fear, she has an interest in his welfare,
which is more than he appears to have in
hers.”
Mistress Eliza said timidly, and in a low
voice—
“He saved all our lives, Count Werner.
It would be strange if we forgot him.”
WOIA. I. 16
242 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Yes; but then he refused even our
thanks in return,” her father replied, in a
testy tone. “He fastened an obligation
On us, and would not permit us to acknow-
ledge it even by a word. I never did like
that sort of disposition. The story is this:
We had driven out one day towards Monk-
erton, and finding a pleasant glade—such, I
suppose, as no other country in the world
can equal—had decided to ramble down to
the river's bank, to pluck wild flowers. The
place where we left our tub—it is not a
carriage, but a tub—was at the top of a
straight lane, enclosed on each side by a
thick hawthorn hedge, which even a man
could no more have either scaled or pene-
trated than he could have gone to the moon.
We were about half-way down the lane
when we heard a wild bellowing behind us,
and, looking back, we saw, with dismay,
A Story of a Bul/. 243
that we were pursued by a truly mad bull.
Probably it had been attracted by my
daughter's scarlet cloak, and I confess to
you that I gave up our lives as lost, when
all at once a young fellow came dashing up
the lane as fast as the bull was dashing
down it, and, before we could either speak
or think, he had thrown himself dexte-
rously before the furious animal, which he
brought to the ground. He then contrived,
with great courage, to keep down the bull’s
head, and called to us to gain the water-side,
which we did—Well, well, Eliza, which you
did, then, we will say ! In a short time
help arrived, and the bull was secured, but
our deliverer was badly hurt. Then came
that very odd thing: the young fellow—a
fine, intelligent lad, I grant—would not
even tell us his name; and when I offered
him a money reward, he coloured to the
16—2
244 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
temples, and asked me if I intended to insult
him.
“‘What can we do, then, to show our
gratitude P’ I said. He blushed ingenu-
ously”—yes, Count Werner thought, as
your daughter does now—“ and said—‘If
Mister—I do not know your name, sir—
will give me that rose-bud, I shall be more
than rewarded.” “Nonsense, you foolish
boy,” I replied, ‘what good will a rose-bud
do you?’ ‘Then you cannot reward me,
and I shall say good-day, sir, and he
raised his cap like a prince. Here though
Eliza (she is a forward young lady, as you
see) interposed, and the young fellow had the
rose-bud, after which he actually ran away, -
as if my daughter had been a ghost.”
“You say that he went away with Count
Mansfeldt P”
“Oh, yes. I am forgetting to tell you
Count Werner’s Discovery. 245
that we found him out afterwards in Monk-
erton; but never could we induce him to
call to see us, though Eliza literally begged
him to do so, and I fear to the verge of
unmaidenly boldness.”
“Father l’’
“Well, you did, my dear! I can tell
you I was ashamed of you.”
Count Werner laughed, and said—
“But his name, Commodore Mor-
daunt P”
“Harry Waye was the churlish rogue's
name. You never heard of him, did
you?”
Count Werner was for some time silent.
Then he said, in a low voice—
“If I had not heard of Harry Waye, I
had not been here now.”
Eliza now trembled unmistakably, and
her father said—
246 /n/erstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
“Why, that is strange. Tell us the
story, my dear sir.” f
Thereupon the fallen diplomatist told a
story of the war, and, tired as he had been,
continued it far into the small hours of
morning to deeply-interested auditors, who
only interrupted him with remarks and
inquiries which drew forth fresh phases of
the all-engrossing story.
“I suppose he is long ago married ?”
said Commodore Mordaunt, quizzically, but
with unaffected interest ; while Eliza
glanced sharply from her father to her
mother, and then to the stranger.
“Married l’ he replied, “I should say he
is a doomed celibate. I never saw him even
look with admiration on a female face.”
Commodore Mordaunt was silent.
“We know his sister, Mistress Susan,
very well,” Mistress Mordaunt said ; “but
Noðility of 7%po Orders. 247
though we have often called to see her, she
declines to visit us. My stupid husband
here says he likes her spirit, and that she
refuses to visit us for the selfsame reason
that we refuse to go to Ingerstein Hall or
Chadwick Rise—because she ſhinks herself
poorer than we are, just as we ſºnow our-
selves to be poorer than our grand neigh-
bours at the Hall and the Rise.”
“Yes, we are poor people, Count
Werner,” said the bluff Commodore; “but
we have comfort in knowing that we might
have been in different circumstances if we
could have brooked Court fooleries and had
sought Court favour.”
“Pardon me saying, sir, that you ought
to know more of Master Chadwick and
Sir John Ingerstein. Your sentiments and
theirs entirely accord.”
“I know they do. Sir John and Master
248 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Chadwick and I often exchange notes when
we meet ; but my little girl shall go nowhere
save as an equal.” -
“Yet—again pardon me, Commodore
Mordaunt—do you not wish Mistress Susan
Waye to come here?”
“True; but then you perceive that we
could not, if we tried, patronise her on the
score of wealth, or anything. Mr. Waye's
circumstances in life are, I am sure, better
than mine, and his daughter lacks nothing
of education. We invited her, knowing
well that she was in every way the equal of
Eliza; but we can hardly induce her to take
from us a dish of strawberries or a nosegay
of flowers. When by any strange chance
she does so, we are sure to have some re-
turn which places us immensely in her
debt. Is it not provoking P Why, sir,
Mr. Waye's cottage is an infinitely prettier
Mobility of Two Orders. 249
place, inside or out, than Whitehall or any
of your fine houses. It is, compared
with them, like a rose among meaningless
tulips.”
“Who could have imagined all this P”
Count Werner said to himself; “that
fine young Englishman threw himself into
almost imminent destruction, and remained,
for certain imprisonment, to save the life of
an enemy. He and I met on one of the
fiercest fields in the war; and here am I
now, by a series of accidents for which I
cannot account, in the peaceful place not
merely of his birth, but, if I mistake not, of
something more. It is a true saying, that
the ways of God are past finding out.”
Three hours' sleep were all that were left
for Count Werner, but he slept soundly, and
received more benefit from his three hours
than many people have from twelve. In
250 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
*—
the morning he found Eliza Mordaunt in
the breakfast-room, alone, and charmingly
dressed. She said to him modestly—
“Count Werner, my father and mother
permit me to ask you if you will kindly
give this rose-bud to Captain Waye, if you
see him, and tell him under what circum-
stances I have this morning plucked it for
him. And would you please tell him also
that we follow his actions as well as we can,
and—and”—in a low voice—“that we shall
never forget him?”
“That I will, dear lady, that I will; and
all the more so because I once, by mere
chance, and in a trying hour, saw Captain.
Waye look, in a manner not to be forgotten,
upon a dried rose-bud. It was on a day
which he and I thought our last. I asked
him no question; nor did I receive any
information as to the history of the little.
A Fres/, Rose-Bud for Harry Waye. 251
flower; and now I almost shudder lest in
referring to it I should have betrayed a
confidence the meaning of which I may not
have rightly divined. I hope, though, that
I have done right.”
Mistress Eliza was the very picture of
innocence as she replied— -
“It is hardly likely that Captain Waye
can have had my poor rose-bud so long, if
that is what you mean, and I should be
foolish to think so;”—Eliza, however, blushed
crimson as she said this—“but I know he
will accept this fresh rose as from a true
friend.”
“I am sure he will,” said Mistress Mor-
daunt, who at that moment entered the
room; “ he is a noble young man, and we
esteem him highly.”
“Please do not say too much, though, to—
to Captain Waye,” said Eliza; “and—and
252 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
you will not mention the subject of our
conversation—of the bull, or anything—at
the Hall or the Rise P”
At this moment, as chance would have it,
Commodore Mordaunt appeared on the
scene, and heard the concluding remarks of
his daughter.
“My dear Eliza,” he said, “do you know
that all this is calculated to give Count
Werner a very incorrect impression of your
relation to Captain Waye. How if our
guest supposes you over head in love?”
“Nonsense, father l’’
“Count Werner will do nothing of the
kind,” said Mistress Mordaunt, with a quiet
and serious dignity, but with a kindly and
motherly smile, too; “my husband, Count
Werner, wishes Eliza to be natural,
and to speak her true sentiments, and he
The Disgraced Envoy at the Rise. 253
hopes in his heart that Captain Waye and
we may even yet be friends.” *
“Do not fear that I shall misunderstand
your sweet daughter, madame, or that
Captain Waye will do so, if he and I live to
meet again;” but all the same, Count Werner
concluded in his own mind that the Com-
modore's sweet daughter was by no means.
heart-whole. Such was the nature of his
thoughts as he took his seat in Commodore
Mordaunt’s “ tub,” and rumbled on therein
to Chadwick Rise.
Count Werner's reception by Mr. Chad-
wick was kind, but he thought a little stiff;
and as neither Agnes nor Margaret appeared
he naturally concluded that there was in
store for him another, and perhaps a
bitterer, disappointment. In this spirit he
muttered to himself—
254 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
“Tlet it come !” Steeled to this stern re-
solve, he burst at once into the object of his
visit; told Mr. Chadwick the whole story of
the disgrace at Court, and even exaggerated
the importance and significance of his fall.
It was not without some surprise, therefore,
that he found himself interrupted by the
quaint question—
“Well, Count Werner, King Charles has
left you your hands, has he not P and I
suppose Ferdinand will be equally generous.
If even you lose your estates, you can work
—plough, dig, delve P There, I don’t
think you need look so gloomy. Go into the
next room—there, see—and you will find
Agnes. If she says that you are not too far
disgraced for her, why, you are not so for
me. There, away you go!”
Count Werner, with a grateful sense of
this frank kindness, did as he was re-
Suns/ine for Count Werner. 255
quested, and he was seen no more by
Master Chadwick for a full hour. Then
he reappeared with Agnes by his side, and
looking supremely happy. Curiously also
Margaret Chadwick appeared at the same
time from a room in another direction,
almost as if she had been waiting there
all that long hour. Margaret at first seemed
anxious, but her face soon broke into
sunshine. Master Chadwick looked up,
quietly and nervously, from a book which
he had been affecting to read, and his voice
trembled as he said, with a half-sad smile—
“I see, Count Werner, you are a little
less gloomy than when you arrived here
some little time ago. It seems a long time
to me.”
“I am very happy, sir.”
“What In spite of the disgrace at
Court, P” w
256 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“In spite of all the Courts in the world,
Sir l’’ -
Agnes was silent, but her eyes spoke
volumes. Thus ended the first stage of
Count Werner's romance of life.
In the evening there was a pleasant
meeting of the families of the Rise and the
Hall. Sir John and Lady Ingerstein were
unwontedly cheerful; Mabel was bright as
a sunbeam; and though “Squire” Chadwick
and Margaret looked somewhat sad, and
Agnes, as became her, a little shy and
reserved, all were supremely happy and
thankful.
Richard was absent at Whitehall,
much to his father's annoyance, and to
the relief of Count Werner, who dreaded
that his fall might react upon and injure
his friend's diplomatic prospects. Little
Knew the young couple, then betrothed,
Adieu to England. 257
what was before them. Little knew the
elders present that evening what was be-
hind the dark curtain of the coming years.
At four o’clock on the following morning
Count Werner, whose baggage had left
London the previous might, was at the
“White Bear,” Piccadilly, waiting for the
coach to Dover.
No one who saw him, then or later, on the
road from London to the sea, or later still
in the Royal Hotel at Dover, would have
suspected that he was a broken courtier, a
disgraced and insulted man. He had, as
he repeated to himself, been wounded
in the keenest of all ways, by the last low
weapon of ignoble and vindictive minds—
the praise of the master at the cost of the
servant. He knew not then, though he
learned long afterwards, that the origin of .
his humiliation was the pique of Queen º
WOI. I. 17
258 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Henrietta that he did not pay to her the
homage which she received in full measure
from all courtiers who desired to rise, and
cared not by what steps the ascent was made.
The Queen’s history even now possessed
many elements of romance. She had, as
the daughter of Henry IV., an illustrious
parentage on the male side; but her mother
was the arch-plotter Marie de Medici, and
her brother was Richelieu’s convenient
puppet and deadly foe, Louis XIII. Born
in an atmosphere of intrigue and despotic
power, and possessing great personal
ambition and very little conscience, no
woman could have been better fitted to
assist the downward course of the Stuart
Rings. Her triumph over Count Werner
was but a slight episode in a long series of
triumphs which seemed hardly ever to have
had a beginning, and which as yet had no
appearance of the end.
Adieu to England. 259
If Queen Henrietta could have seen
her victim, however, as he embarked at
Dover, she would have had reason to ques-
tion whether her venomed dart had not been
rendered innocuous after it had left her hand.
No step that day on the deck of the swift
trader Elizabeth was more brisk or light or
firm than that of the disgraced envoy.
The kindness of Commodore Mordaunt
to Count Werner led to a determination
on the part of Sir John Ingerstein and Mr.
Chadwick to once more attempt to break
down the old sailor's wall of reserve; and
after a time the assault, skilfully conducted
by three young ladies, and seconded by a
fourth at “Frobisher Cottage,” as Com-
modore Mordaunt had named his house,
succeeded in levelling the disagreeable wall
to the ground. Then Susan Waye's equally
offensive partition wall s] ared the same fate,
if indeed it was not the first to fall. But
260 Ingerstein Ha/Z and Chadwick Rise.
if Harry Waye had a secret in connexion
with Frobisher Cottage, Count Werner did
not attempt further to unravel it at the
Hall, or the Rise, or elsewhere. Nor did he
afford to any other person the material for
doing what he on his own part, as a point.
of honour, forbore to attempt.
Save, therefore, in the decided and in-
genious mind of Susan Waye, the secret
of Eliza Mordaunt remained a secret very
long after Count Werner's departure from
the Thames. What Susan thought and
how she acted we shall see in another.
volume.
END OF WOIL. I.
IN G. E.R STEIN HALL
AND
CHAIDWICK RISE,

ING ER, STEIN HAL L
AND
CHADWICK RISE,
A storm of the Čbirty years' &lar.
BY
J. A. M. E S R O U T L E D G. E.
IN THIREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND,
1878.
[Right of Translation reserved.]
- LONDON :
sAWILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,
...A. COVENT GARDEN.
CONTENTS
OF
T H E S E O O N D W O L U M E.
CHAPTER I.
"GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS PREPARING FOR WAR–A MEETING
IN AN ANTE-CHAMBER—THE KING's FAREWELL TO
SWEDEN . . . . . . . . . . pp. 1-29
CHAPTER II.
LETTERS TO MONKERTON.—THE LANDING AT RüGEN-
GREAT DEEDS OF THE SWEDISH KING . pp. 30–45
CHAPTER III.
MAGDEBURG–ELDRED CHADWICK DESERTs . pp. 46–80
CHAPTER IV.
GEORGE WAYE’s LETTER-BAG-NEWS OF MAGDEBURG–
LEIPSIC—“JESU MARIA’’ AND “GOD WITH Us”—
THE PASSAGE OF THE LECH-CAPTURE OF TOM PRIM
VI. * Confezás.
CHAPTER V.
CAPTAIN PRIM BEFORE WALLENSTEIN AND RICHELIEU-
HE OBTAINS HIS FREEDOM. . . . . pp. 116-133.
CHAPTER WI.
ELIDRED CHADWICK AND TOM PRIM LAY DOWN PLANS-
AN EARLY BANK–AND SOMETHING MORE pp. 134–167
CHAPTER VII.
MONIKERTON AND NUREMBURG-RICHARD INGERSTEIN AND .
IHARRY WAYE AFTER THE BATTLE-PRESENTIMENTS.
OF THE GREAT KING—THE NIGHT BEFORE LüTZEN
pp. 168–195
CHAPTER VIII.
VICTORY OF LüTZEN—DEATH OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS—
AN ARRIVAL ON THE THAMES-A FRESH EXPEDITION
pp. 196–229
CHAPTER IX.
RELIEF FOR THE WOUNDED–WALLENSTEIN IN THE TOILS,
–THE WIRECE OF COUNT WIERNER AND OF HARRY:
wAYE—WALLENSTEIN ESCAPES . . . pp. 230–258
CHAPTER X.
RESULTS OF THE FALL OF WALI.ENSTEIN-A REUNION AT"
MUNICH-LETTERS FOR ENGLAND- A FINAL RETURN
To MONKERTON . . . . . . . pp. 259–287
INGERSTEIN HALL
AND
CHAIDWTCK RISE,
CHAPTER I.
GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS PREPARING FOR WAR–A MEETING
IN AN ANTE-CHAMBER—THE KING's FAREWELL TO
SWEDEN.
tº APTAIN WAYE had not been long
in Denmark before he found that
Sº
the pomp and parade of armies had been
transferred from Copenhagen to Stockholm,
where Gustavus Adolphus and Oxenstiern
were sternly organising formidable war.
For months these preparations had con-
tinued with unabated vigour, and without
any affectation of secrecy. Volunteers of
WOL. II. I


2 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
English blood arrived every week in little
groups, or sometimes singly—men who had
fought under Count Mansfeldt, young men
never before engaged in war, all anxious to be
enrolled under the already renowned King,
in an enterprise which would probably
decide the question of the undisturbed
supremacy of the Pope as opposed to civil
and religious freedom. Nor was it in men
alone that King Gustavus Adolphus re-
ceived English help. Vessels, mostly of
small burthen, but of the very best for the
purposes of a military expedition, came in
from different English among other ports,
in some cases bringing volunteers, in some
chartered with cargo, in others merely laden
with ballast, the main object being to pro-
vide for the King of Sweden effective
transport.
King Gustavus Adolphus was every-
Preparing to Leave Stockholm. 3.
where, resting not day nor night. The
administration of affairs in his absence
would, he knew, be safe in the hands of his
loyal and wise Chancellor, but much never-
theless would be needed that could only be
done by the King. The hero-monarch left
nothing to chance. He conferred personally
with the leading men of his States, reminded
them how insolently Ferdinand had treated
the Swedish ambassador; how unscrupu-
lously he had assisted their enemy the
King of Poland; how he had, on the
insolent suggestion of Wallenstein, seriously
entertained the idea of extending his empire
over the Baltic ; and finally, and chiefly,
how he had trampled the Reformed
Religion under foot wherever he had the
power. All these and many like facts were
forcibly and pointedly stated, and driven
home to the minds of the Swedish people
l—-2
4. Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
by the simple logic of their indomitable
truth-speaking King. *
Eſow successful he was in attracting men
of principle to his standards the history of
the next few years amply attest. How un-
successful he was in attracting mere adven-
turers, bent on plunder, is shown by the fact
that he left Sweden for Pomerania in the
middle of the year with only fifteen thousand
men. Considering the strength of the army
lately under the King of Denmark, and
that thirty thousand men, pure adventurers,
were speedily raised subsequently by
Wallenstein, the Swedish army is a curious
historical fact. Gustavus Adolphus had no
attraction of plunder to offer—not by any
means the attraction that Mansfeldt had—
and the foreigners who sought to enter his
service were on the whole men either in-
fluenced by a religious feeling, or by a love
Preparing to Leave Stockholm. 5
of freedom, or by the hope of seeing war
under one who, besides being a King, was
also a great soldier. To Stockholm, there-
fore, Captain Waye went, and the same day
he was received by the Swedish King.
Two ends it was necessary for Gustavus
to secure in diplomacy. First, England,
which had of late shown a strong tendency
to peace with Spain, might prove a very
formidable ally. Secondly, the neutrality
of France would be worth an army. In
both cases the Swedish King was met by a
temporising policy, under which his haughty
spirit chafed. From Richard Ingerstein he
had all but positive intelligence that the
Court of England promised to send him
effective aid when once he had taken the
field, but also that the same Court, and the
same men in that Court, intended both to
make peace with Spain, and to assist that
36 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
power to reduce Holland, to its old
thraldom to the House of Austria. This
was one of the first bitter lessons of the
hero in his great work.
“In fact,” wrote Sir Richard Ingerstein,
“the aid which may be given to your
Majesty will be the offspring of a mere
sentiment arising from the Queen's pre-
dilections for a policy inimical to Austria,
and because the dignity of the King's sister
is involved in the recovery of the Palatinate,
while the help given to Spain and the
Empire will be the natural result of a
‘passion, uppermost in all I see at Whitehall,
‘in favour of despotic power, and in opposi-
tion to subjects in rebellion against that
'power. The English envoy with your
Majesty, however much he may temporise,
only reflects the feeling prevalent here.
The policy I have laid down is to gain as
Captain Prim with the Swedish King. 7
-------errºr
much as I can—substantial help if possible,
countenance as a last resource. The dis-
missal of Count Werner, the secret envoy
of the Emperor, and a nobleman of singular
honour, as well as of marked ability, leads
me to believe that the convenient sentiment
in your Majesty's favour may continue long
enough in the ascendant to check the
despotic passion as yet concealed.”
On behalf of France, or rather of
Richelieu, the King of Sweden and Chan-
cellor Oxenstiern had privately received
Captain Prim in September, 1629, and
had learned from him the exact circum-
stances under which he had been sent to
Sweden.
“Cardinal Richelieu must have unusual
confidence in you, Captain Prim,” said the
JKing, searchingly.
“That, your Majesty, I do not know, but
8 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
*** * *
*t
I intend to give him cause to have con-
fidence in me.”
“By informing him of everything?”
—laying an emphasis on the last word.
“Of everything, your Majesty, while I
retain my present trust. When circum-
stances arise which render it impossible for
me to perform my duty I shall resign that
trust. I believe, sire, that Cardinal Riche-
lieu’s object in secretly accrediting me to
your Majesty, was to give you confidence in
his policy—to convince your Majesty that if
he does not do all you wish, he does all he
can in the present state of France.”
“You believe Cardinal Richelieu an
enemy to Spain and Austria?” -
“Especially to Austria, your Majesty.”
“And a friend to the Huguenots?”
“No, sire l’” -
“It was as a Protestant you first were
Captain Prim on Trial. 9
brought into contact with Richelieu ? You
are a Protestant from conviction—not a
political Protestant, Captain Prim, a time-
server, who is this to-day and that to-
morrow for the purpose of gaining a
position, but a man who fears God?”
“I hope, sire, that I fear God. For the
rest, I never looked for anything in
Rochelle but hard blows, and eventual
defeat.”
“A secret embassy, Captain Prim, may
be most honourable, but I need not remind.
you it is also one of the most delicate of
missions.”
“Your Majesty need not remind me of
that. I am aware that a secret embassy
may be either honourable or dishonourable.
Mine shall not be dishonourable.”
“I have confidence in you, sir. But”—
after apause—“youremember how Henry IV.
10 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
abjured his faith for, as he said, ‘the peace
of France?' May I ask you if you can
conceive any political circumstances what-
ever under which you would feel yourself
justified in abjuring your Protestantism—
say for some presumed great public good; I
do not say for personal advantage p”
“I can conceive no such circumstance,
your Majesty. I think the abjuration of
E[enry IV. was a public crime.”
“He gave peace to France, you will
remember.”
“Nothing, your Majesty, can be right in
public affairs which involves a sacrifice of
individual honour.”
“I agree with you, sir—fully I am
willing personally to accede to Cardinal
Tichelieu’s proposal, and will observe a
strict neutrality towards Bavaria and the
Catholic States generally. My object is
Captain Prime on 7 ria/. ll
to draw the sting from a perfidious and
overbearing Empire, and to secure for my
co-religionists freedom to worship God, and
speak their sentiments on subjects of
religion in their own way. But you must
arrange with Chancellor Oxenstiern. I
shall see him to-day. You shall have an
appointment for to-morrow. Come and see
me whenever you have anything to say, or
any question to ask.”
Speaking to Chancellor Oxenstiern the
same day, the King said—“I have
confidence in Captain Prim, and the more
so from the frankness with which his
history has been stated to me by Richelieu.
In this at least the Cardinal intends us fair.
I know not that I ever met a man who
impressed me more with his truthfulness
than Captain Prim has.
It need scarcely be said that Tom Prim
12 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
was not long in Stockholm before he began
to make diligent inquiries for his friends,
Richard Ingerstein and Harry Waye. Of
the former and Count Werner he had
ample information from Chancellor Oxen-
stiern himself, and was able to picture
Bichard's happy days at Ingerstein Hall
and Chadwick Rise, and in the cottages.
and the dear old lanes around Monkerton.
Of Harry he could only learn that he had
been taken prisoner by Wallenstein's men
while defending the life of Count Werner.
Tom had no alternative but to wait, and do.
the direct work before him. In that he
was no laggard. His duties often carried
him to the official residence of Chancellor
Oxenstiern, where he was received with
grave courtesy. Sometimes he found the
King present ; in which case he invariably
withdrew at once, unless requested to the
Captain Prim with the Swedish King. 13
contrary, for Captain Prim had divined by
instinct the profound political fact, that
however familiar persons in a high position
may be in intercourse with those less dis-
tinguished, the safer and better plan for
the latter is to avoid the most distant
approach to familiarity in return. On one
occasion the King said—
“We are rather closely engaged to-day,
Captain Prim, and I shall not ask you to
stay for me; but if you will step into the
ante-room and wait a few minutes, I think
Chancellor Oxenstiern has something to say
to you.”
The Chancellor looked to the King and
smiled gravely; but the countenance of
Gustavus was unruffled. Captain Prim
went into the ante-room and sat down,
occupied with his own thoughts. There
were a number of persons present, waiting
14 Ingerstein Hall and C/adwick Rise.
for interviews; but he gave them very little
attention, till one, an officer in the uniform
of King Christian of Tenmark, strode across
the room, and stood, rather intrusively, as
Tom thought, before him. In the occupied
state of his mind, Tom was rather inclined
to resent than to reciprocate a cordiality
he had not invited. He had a weighty
despatch to send off that very day, and in
a crowd he would have been solitary.
There was a spell, however, that moved
his in most heart, and drove away from his
mind even the weighty despatch, when the
officer of King Christian said, slowly, in the
low music of a never-to-be-forgotten voice,
“Dear old Tom Prim l’’ In an instant
Tom was on his feet ; all—spectators,
despatches, Oxenstiern, the King—all were
forgotten by Tom Prim and Harry Waye |
They were recalled to the outer world by a
A Meeting in an Amfechamber. I 5
buzz and a whisper, and turning to see the
cause, they found that Gustavus Adolphus
had been an amused spectator of the scene.
“I knew I should gratify you, Captain
Prim,” he said, with a quiet smile ; “and
now, if you want a few words with the
Chancellor, you will find him disengaged;
after which, Captain Waye, please to con-
sider the day your own, but be with me
on parade at dawn in the morning, or a
little earlier if you like.”
Captain Waye bowed, and observed that
Gustavus Adolphus, passing through the
room, ascertained in a few minutes the
business of every one waiting for him or
for the Chancellor. To some he spoke con-
siderately and kindly. To some he said,
“You must not annoy the Chancellor with
trifles like these ; speak to so-and-so.” To
others he addressed inquiries as to their
I6 Ingerstein Ha/Z and Chadwick Rise.
families and friends—in all respects, Harry
Waye said, deporting himself like a true king.
An hour later the two old friends were
seated together in Tom Prim's rooms,
revelling in the memories of old associa-
tions, comparing notes of their once un-
dreamt-of adventures, and wishing that the
hateful war was at an end, and that they
once again were on the banks of the
Thames. -
“What a stern fellow you have become,
Tom,” said Harry ; “why, I hardly knew
you, even after I had looked several times
in your face.”
“I know it, Harry, and I am sorry for
it ; but my face and my grimness generally
are beyond my control. I think a dark
shadow fell on me that day when I began
the tramp to Falmouth. I never since have
been able to cast it off.” -
Harry Waye and Tom Prim. 17
“Well, I do not know how you could,
passing though such scenes. But pray do
not fancy that I spoke as of a change for
the worse. Quite the contrary; your stern-
ness becomes you. It would be a long
time before my face attracted the attention
of a man like Richelieu.”
“Hush | I beg you, Harry, not to
mention the name of Cardinal Richelieu to
me in any way, whether in public or alone.
On any other subject talk freely, but you
can hardly guess what might depend upon
a stray word picked up by a spy. You
may deem it strange, but I am satisfied
that we are surrounded daily and nightly
by spies of Ferdinand and Wallenstein, and”
—whispering—“of Richelieu. In fact, the
Cardinal told me that I should not be his
only representative here, but I was to act as
if I was the only one.”
WOL. II. º, 2
18 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“All right, Tom. But now I have a bit
of news for you—a bit of Swedish news,
Stockholm news, though I have only been
here two days. Walking yesterday by the
splendid harbour, reading the names of
vessels, my attention was, as you may well
believe, attracted to the exclusion of every
other sight and of every sound by seeing on
the stern of a trim little barque—what now
would you think?”
“I do not know, Harry. I never could
guess a riddle in my life.”
“Nay, but try. Let us be boys again for
the nonce.” * *
“Well—a tin of paint.”
“Pshaw on the stern, man—a name !”
“‘ Gustavus Adolphus, then P”
“No Now prepare for a surprise.
* 7%e Mabel Ingerstein, London.’”
“Harry l—you do not tell me that P”
The “Maffel Ingerstein.” 19
“I do, though, in solemn truth, and in
less time than you and I have been talking
about it, I was on board, and in the cabin.
And there was old George, sitting, without
either coat or waistcoat, poring over a
chart of the Swedish and German coasts.
He pored no more that day, I can tell you.
The Maffel Ingerstein is mainly the pro-
perty of George himself, but assisted by our
friends at the Hall. At Sir John’s request
George brought a cargo, and then placed
his barque at the disposal of the King, for
transport, as a free-will offering.”
“Splendid, Harryl And does the King
know who George is P” *
“No ; nor shall he. We will owe nothing
to an accident of this kind.”
“You know all about Richard, Harry P’’
“I know nothing in the world about him,
Save that I have heard he is in London.”
2—2
20 Ingerstein JHal/ and Chadwick Rise.
“Then I can tell you a whole history—a
history longer than half a dozen Acts of
Parliament. But you must bring George
here as soon as possible—after first giving
me two hours to finish a despatch which
must leave Stockholm to-night. You know
all about Count Werner P”
“No, very little Tom, since he left
Wismar, beyond the bare facts of his
residence in London and his visits to
Monkerton.”
“Ah, you have heard, then, of his fre-
quent rides with Mistress Agnes Chadwick?
It looks like something, does it not P*
“Yes, and an excellent husband she will
have, if he makes her—‘the proposal,” you
know, Tom, and she accepts him.” -
“Ah! Harry, you do not wish that
You thought you were very dark and
astute in those old days with respect to
Harry Waye's Word-Fence. 2I
Agnes, but I knew you from first to last.
I often said, ‘If Harry does not marry
Agnes, he will marry nobody.’”
“You deep dog | Luckily, I was not
born a diplomatist, Tom. I can see a hole
through a ladder, but never through a mill-
stone.” -
Tom stared, and said—
“How knocking about in the world does
blunt a man’s feelings | Why, I could no
more have fancied you talking in that way
of Agnes Chadwick, than I could have
imagined Anne of Austria in love with
you, Harry.” *
“I confess I did enjoy making pretty
little Agnes garden rakes, and spades, and
all manner of playthings, Tom ; and I did,
I believe, think her the prettiest little thing
on the face of the earth.”
“Is it, then, all over, Harry P’’
22 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Well, it is no use fighting Count
Werner, is it, Tom P But you are a deep.
dog Think of you keeping my secret so.
well and so long ! How did you find me.
out at first P”
“You are a cool customer, Harry, upon
my word. Find you out P Why, I found
you out by a hundred sure signs. But
now—be off for George.”
When Harry had gone, Tom strode the
floor for several minutes in silence. Then,
sitting down on a chair with his face to the
back, he said—“And this is modest, shame-
faced Harry Waye | I could no more talk
of my little Sue in that fashion than I
could fly.”
Harry meanwhile was going along the
streets literally shaking his sides with
laughter. “Yes,” he said, “these diplo-
matists are great men, certainly. They see
Harry Waye's Word-Fence. 23
everything but what is directly before their
eyes. I perceive now that this is Eldred
Chadwick's grand secret. Thank goodness
I am no diplomatist | If I had guessed
what Eldred was driving at, I should have
escaped making myself such an ass; but I
never thought of anybody on earth sus-
pecting me of being in love—at least not
in the alarming sense—with sweet little
Agnes. Of course I was in love with her,
and so was I with Margaret, and with
Mabel; but not in that fashion, Tom, you
dear old, sly, diplomatic dog!”
What a happy evening that was when
the despatch had gone and the candles had
been lit in Captain Prim's rooms The
hours sped like minutes, till, Harry Waye
began to think of the coming morning,
when he was to be on parade before dawn.
The preparations that were being made
24 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
were for no holiday work. The King was
about to put his crown on the cast of a die,
against relentless, merciless enemies. Every
man in the army, every one in Sweden,
every one in Europe, seemed to know this.
The ring of the blacksmith's hammer, the
casting of shot, the manufacture of gun-
powder, of land carriage, and of clothing,
the carting of forage, the making of lint,
the baking of bread—not a sound reached
the ear, not a sight the eye, that had not some
reference, directly or indirectly, to the great
expedition in which fifteen thousand men
were about to invade an empire which was
able, exclusive of garrisons, to put in the field
ten men to every one of the invaders. Ten
men against one l Not ten men either of
an effete race, like those of Darius against
Alexander ; but men who had vanquished
some of the best soldiers in Europe, who had
The Snow King. 25
broken two formidable coalitions, and carried
the terror of their devastating arms through-
out Germany, and to the shores of the
Ealtic. Count Mansfeldt, one of the ablest
soldiers of the age, had been utterly defeated.
Yet Gustavus Adolphus would make the
attempt to do with one-third the number of
Mansfeldt's army what Mansfeldt had failed
to accomplish.
The enterprise was pronounced absurd by
all who were ignorant of war. The wits of
Vienna were especially facetious, and gave
to Gustavus Adolphus the nickname, which
soon became very popular, of “The Snow
Ying,” because, said these wise and prescient
people, when he comes south he will melt
away. Oh, it was a time for wit, for ridi-
cule, for merriment in Vienna | Wallenstein,
however, did not laugh, save in derision of
the wits. He had said to one of his
26 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
*-
generals during the war with Denmark—
“I beg you, sir, to keep an eye on the
Swede; he is a dangerous fellow.” Nor
did Tilly laugh. He had said—“This is a
player from whom we gain much if we lose
nothing.” These were not among the
people who talked so gaily of the “The
Snow King.” Steadily, sturdily the work
went on, and at last all was ready. Affairs.
were settled at home as for an expedition
from whence the hero King never would
return. Every man was in his place; every
waggon, every ship was ready. Then there
was a ceremony, the story of which will
remain while the world stands.
The King having summoned the estates.
of the realm for a solemn farewell, took in
his arms his little daughter, Christina, then
only four years of age, and presenting her
to the Diet, demanded on her, behalf a
7%e Snow King leaves Sweden. 27
renewal of the oath of allegiance. His
words and tone were so serious and af-
fecting that the whole TXiet was in tears,
and grave men wept bitterly. He declared,
in accents broken by the deep emotion
with which his breast heaved, that he had
not sought the war upon which he was
entering.
“The Emperor,” he said, “ has supported
my enemies, persecuted my friends and
brethren, trampled my religion in the dust,
and stretched his ambitious hand to grasp my
crown. The oppressed States of Germany
call loudly to us for aid, and by the help of
God it shall be afforded them.” Then, after
special remarks to various orders of the
people, he said—“I feel a presentiment
that I shall die in defence of my country
and religion. I commend you, therefore,
to the protection of Heaven. Be just, be
28 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
conscientious, act uprightly, and we shall
meet again in eternity.” -
There were men present who had served
tunder Richelieu, Wallenstein, Tilly, Spinola;
but no man of all who heard Gustavus Adol-
phus on that solemn day ever had heard the
like before, or ever heard the like again.
No State actor was here, but a man who
believed with an overmastering belief, and
who was ready to seal his faith with his
blood.
This ceremonial ended, the King had the
air of a man who had made his will, and
said the last adieu to his friends, and who
had now the simple duty of action. Like
the children of Israel in sight of the Red
Sea, the King and his people had cried to the
Lord. The time had now arrived when the
word had reached Gustavus—“Speak to the
people that they go forward.” The troops
Grim Work of War. 29.
were embarked, without parade or display,
like men who were conscious that they were
on the way to grim and saddening work, and
who were determined to do that work as
one of paramount necessity.

| -- º
fift|||}|
CHAPTER II.
LETTERS TO MONKERTON.—THE LANDING AT Rijg BN–
GREAT DEEDS OF THE SWEDISH KING.
iºn the midst of the preparations for
§§ war Harry Waye found time to
write at length to his father and mother, to
his sister Susan, and to his watchful friend,
Henry Ingerstein. Tom Prim also wrote
long letters to his father and Susan ; and
this time, at all events, Susan would have
no reason to complain of the stiffness,
coldness, or baldness of her letter. The
letter-carrier was to be George Waye, and
fear of miscarriage, or the opening of letters
being nearly out of the question, Tom
poured out his whole heart on paper
in words that seemed to live and burn.




Jeffers żo Monkerſon. 31
|Pie had no idea that he had written one
word that would cause Susan to laugh; but
he had. Near to the close of his letter was
this curious passage—
“My dear Susan, I have a strange thing
to tell you. I roundly charged Harry with
his affection, which you and I long ago
knew perfectly well, for Agnes; and you
would have been surprised to find how cool
he was about the whole affair. ‘Yes,’ he
said, quite gravely, ‘Agnes was a dear little
lady,’ and so on, with many wonderful
compliments, and that he-what do you
think P-trusted when the time came she
would be blessed with a good husband, and
he was positive she would be so if she
married Count Werner. I assure you I
opened my eyes and stared at him,
wondering if he was the same Harry as of
old. Yet once, when I came upon him
32 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
suddenly in my own room, and found him
staring at a withered flower of some kind,
he blushed, swarthy as he now is, till his
cheeks were as red as your own. I am.
breaking no confidence in saying this, for T
told Harry I would do so, and—he only
laughed.”
E[arry’s letter to Susan also contained
this significant passage, and all the more
significant because it was in a postscript,
and on a mere slip of paper. “By the
way, do you remember Commodore Mor-
daunt, who lived in Frobisher Cottage P.
That was the name I believe. If I re-
member rightly he had one daughter.
Could you tell me about Commodore
Mordaunt, where he is, and everything?
It is a fancy that has come into my head.
In fact, I had a strange dream about him.
one night. I shall tell you all about it.
An Astute //effer. 33
some day, if we live. We had something to
do with him about a bull; but perhaps you
have forgotten it. I think, dear Sue, you
might just as well burn this slip of paper. It
would seem so funny to be troubling you
just now by inquiring about a gentleman of
whom we know so little. And it also
occurs to me, that when you are writing
you might as well tell me about his
daughter—I think, somehow, there was a
daughter. If there was, pray tell me to
whom she is married, and all that, you
know. My dream was so odd. You will
be sure to burn this, Susan P You know we
are just embarking on an expedition of very
serious importance, and from which none of
us may return ; and one would not like to
be made foolish after one's death.”
Brother George, some time after this
letter was written and he had shaken
WOI. II. 3
34 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
hands with Harry and Tom, and had seen
them safely on the Island of Rügen, in
Pomerania, sat on the deck of his barque
till late at night, looking at a plain gold
ring on his finger, and wondering all
manner of things as to why Harry was so
eager to talk about Commodore Mordaunt,
while professing the utmost indifference to
the subject. Of course George knew some
little about the bull, but he knew also that
Barry had heretofore appeared to dislike
any, even the most distant, reference to the
subject. “Now, why on earth,” George said,
“ has he returned to it again and again, at
every opening in conversation, no matter
on what subjects, and always with such an
affectation of accidental thought P* Even
plain, simple George, sitting that night on
the deck of his vessel, began to think there
was more to tell than appeared on the surface.
The Landing at Rågen. 35
“Yet,” said he, musingly, “Harry is not
the lad”—they still called each other lads—
“to keep such a secret ; in fact, I never knew
him keep a secret in his life. Tom Prim,
now, I could imagine burying such a
thought ten fathoms deep in his unfathom-
able heart, but Harry's heart, though true as
steel, is not deep in that fashion. Even if
his thoughts were not on his lips they
would be in his eyes. I know what I shall
do on arriving home—I shall ask Susan l’’
With this reflection George Waye went to
his berth. It had been a momentous day.
It was the 24th day of June ; the
Swedish troops had landed on the Isle of
Rügen. The first boat that touched the
shore was the King's; the oar of every other
boat rested, and every sailor and soldier sat
still as death while Gustavus Adolphus,
towering in stature above all his army,
3–2
36 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
leaped ashore, and bent his knee in deep
humiliation and solemn prayer to the great
God who was about to once more in the
world's history become “the God of
battles.” Oh it was a solemn day, memo-
rable for ever in the annals of men.
Harry Waye had still only command of a
company; and Gustavus observed with
gratification, that while others were plead-
ing for higher rank the young Englishman
asked for nothing, but went cheerfully
about his duty. “He shall have a bri-
gade some day,” muttered the grateful
King.
Late in the day of the landing, Gustavus
Adolphus, watching the disembarkation
and directing the military precautions
against surprise, noticed the name, 7%e
Maffel Ingerstein, on George Waye's
barque, and not receiving a satisfactory
George Waye's Barque. 37
reply to a question on the subject, he sent
for Captain Prim.
“What,” he said, “is the meaning of
that name, Captain Prim P”
Tom explained.
“Then the vessel has been fitted out by
Colonel Ingerstein's father, and Captain
Waye's brother P and but for this chance I
never should have known of it?”
“Certainly, sire, you would not—at
least not from Captain Waye, or from his
brother, the master of the barque, or from
Colonel Ingerstein.”
The King mused for a moment in silence.
Then he said, a little hastily—
“I have noticed this barque for some
time, and the alacrity with which—I had
almost said my orders, have been carried
out—but I must rather say in which my
wishes have been forestalled, and in some
38 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
cases action taken which I never could have
suggested from my inability to divine its
effect.”
“George Waye is a fine sailor, sire ; he
was with Raleigh, and was distinguished
for daring.”
“Yet he only commands a trading
barque P”
“He preferred his independence, sire.”
“I fear I have neither Star, Order, nor
Badge of any kind within my reach. See,
though, Captain Prim, I have here a plain
gold ring, with a simple stone—not together
worth a rix-dollar, but it was worn by my
grandfather during his days of tribulation,
and at times despair, among the mountains
of Dalicarlia, and by my father during the
Polish wars. Give it to Master Waye, and
tell him that if I return from the war he
must allow me to redeem it by some other
Z%e Snow King's Rin/. 39
token of my gratitude for services at once
so valuable and disinterested.”
“George Waye will esteem your Majesty's
kindness beyond all price, but I know that
he will be pained to rob your Majesty of
such an heir-loom.”
“He will not rob me, Tom Prim”—and
the grave King smiled as he said “Tom”
—“I shall redeem it if I live; if I die, my
daughter Christina, or Oxenstiern for her,
must do so. You see I pay Master Waye
the compliment of not offering him money.
Go, Captain Prim, and do not let me hear
of it again. And, Captain Prim, tell
Master Waye to commend me kindly to Sir
John, Lady, and Lady Mabel Ingerstein,
and to his own parents and to your father,
of whom Captain Waye has told me a little.”
The ring was duly presented to George
Waye, and upset his equanimity. “You are
40 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
joking, Tom,” he said. “Why, I have done
nothing.”
“Then it is the King who is joking,
George, for he has sent the ring, and desires
you to commend him kindly to Sir John, to
Lady, and to Mistress Mabel Ingerstein, and
to your father and mother, and to my father.
Now, good-bye, old fellow; God knows when
you will next hear of us, living or dead.”
This was the ring from which, as we have
seen, George could hardly take away his
eyes on the night after the landing.
One of the first results of the King's
decided action was the success of the mission
to London, and of the negotiations with
Richelieu. The Cardinal agreed, on his
part, to pay to the Swedish King an
annual subsidy, and Gustavus agreed, on his
part, not to disturb the Catholic States of
Germany so long as they remained neutral.
Greatness of Oaxenstiern. 4l
The treaty has been deemed one of
Richelieu’s masterpieces. If the Swede
succeeded he would effectually humiliate
Austria without creating a rupture between
France and the Catholic States. It was,
however, at least an equal masterpiece of
Oxenstiern's. It not merely secured the
neutrality of France, but prevented
Gustavus Adolphus from having to fight
at the very outset against all the strength
of the Catholic States; and in giving to
Richelieu the apparent victory while secur-
ing to Sweden the substantial advantage,
Oxenstiern rose above himself into that
grand oblivion of all paltry distinctions by
which great minds have always been dis-
tinguished. Europe, boiling with the
passions of the time, said—“ How cleverly
Richelieu has protected the neutral Catholic
States I’’ History has marked more dis-
42 Ingerstein J/a/ and Chadwick Rise.
tinctly how ably the Swedish Chancellor
secured the neutrality of those States, and
of France. \
On England the advance of the King of
Sweden had a like happy effect. King Charles,
though content to make peace with Spain
without exacting the restoration of the Pala-
tinate, was willing to contribute six thousand
men to the Swedish army—not, indeed, as an
open measure, for that would have been to re-
open war, only as yet suspended, with Spain,
but as a contingent of volunteers—under the
Marquis of Hamilton, and bearing his name;
a ruse which deceived no one.
It was with the Marquis of Hamilton that
the envoy of Gustavus Adolphus was now
engaged in negotiations, and when the
men were ready to leave England, Richard
Ingerstein, considering his diplomatic work
at an end, embarked with the first, and in
Sledge-Hammer Blows. 43
due time was once more under the banners
of the Swedish King. In all this Gustavus
Adolphus was perfectly conscious that
England and France both wished him well
up to a certain point—that is, hoped for him
success up to the point, in the former case,
of the recovery of the Palatinate, and in
the latter, to that of the humiliation of
Austria. If the expedition had been under-
taken nineteen years later, or Cromwell had
been in power nineteen years sooner, history
had had a different story to tell of England's
decision and policy.
Gustavus Adolphus overran Pomerania,
but unlike Tilly and Wallenstein he paid
for whatever food or forage he was com-
pelled to take from the inhabitants, and for
what they voluntarily brought to him. No
private property was destroyed, or inten-
tionally injured. He took Colberg, Frank-
44 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
fort-on-the-Oder, Mecklenburg, &c. He was
everywhere victorious. Still the Protestant
States hesitated. They had suffered so
fearfully from the devastating ravages of
the armies of Tilly and Wallenstein that
even the bravest hearts were deadened.
Hesitation, however, would have been ruin.
to Gustavus Adolphus. He must have
decision, and that quickly.
To the Elector of Brandenburg he
sent a peremptory summons, demand-
ing in three days an open declaration
of his adherence to Sweden or to Fer-
dinand. The Elector evading a direct
reply, Gustavus immediately marched on
Berlin, where he was received as a friend
and welcomed as a deliverer. The Land-
grave of Hesse, and the Elector of Saxony
followed the example of their brethren of
Brandenburg, and Gustavus, now at the
Decision of the Snow Kºng. 45
head of a real Protestant Union around the
good backbone of his own indomitable army,
prepared to meet Count Tilly. Vienna had
before this begun to take a different view of
“The Snow King.”

§
s\º
#sº
CHAPTER III,
MAGIDEBURG-ELDRED CHADWICK DESERTS,
jount TILLY advanced slowly and
ºğ with unwonted caution, devastating
the country till - scarcely a blade of grass
remained behind as evidence of an industry
which had been slowly reappearing after the
ravages of previous years.
Slowly, cruelly, he advanced—that short,
thin, hollow-cheeked, long-nosed, wrinkled,
ugly old man, with his dress of the finest,
and in fashion as of a youthful gallant, with
the red feather hanging down his back, as
if to court attention ; a man who was the
sport of ladies who dared to presume, the
demi-god of ladies who did not so dare;






Sack of Magdeburg. 47
the terror, in certain moods, of both friends
and enemies, male and female. Slowly,
stealthily, he crept on, like a tiger in the
jungle, till at last he sprang with a fatal and
deadly spring on the rich city of Magdeburg.
Gustavus hastened to the relief of the
citizens, who had bravely declared for him
and for the Protestant cause ; but the
spring had been too sure for relief to be of
any avail. The city was captured, and
given up for four days to the brutality of
the army—to men of all nations, men who
had been schooled, in a war among the most
merciless ever known, to respect nothing—
wife, mother, infant, old age. For four
days these wild wolves were let loose on
the wretched city to work their will. By
night and by day the deeds of hell went on.
The wealthy and the poor, the learned and
the ignorant, nay, even the Catholic and
48 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Protestant, were devoted to the same pitiless
vengeance.
First the streets were cleared by the
musket and the sword. Next the houses were
entered, one by one—every room, every
cellar, every garret. Women were seized
for the worst fate, and then were cut to
pieces—beautiful, gentle, helpless women,
who pleaded for mercy where mercy there
was none. The aged and the sick were
tortured and slain, the children were hacked
to pieces ; each fresh day and night fiendish
ingenuity discovered new methods of cruelty
and slaughter, till the city, which a few days
previously had been among the wealthiest
and finest in Germany, was one huge
shamble. Mr. William Howitt says—
“The soldiers had amused themselves, as a
relaxation from their wholesale horrors on
the adults, with practising tortures on
Infernal Deeds at Magdebury. 49
children. One man boasted that he had
tossed twenty babies on his spear; others
they roasted alive in ovens; and others they
pinned down in various modes of agony, and
pleased themselves with their cries as they
sat and ate.” In those four fearful days
not fewer than 30,000 people were believed
to have been slain. The houses and streets
were choked up with dead bodies; houses
were burning in almost every street ; and
amid all the brutal soldiery held wild revel,
amid cries and groans, ever becoming
fewer, but heard—perhaps by lives being
preserved for that very purpose—to the last
—for one last draught from that fearful cup
of demons.
At length the sword and the fire had
done their worst, and Magdeburg was a
desert. When the last drop of blood had
been drawn—drawn, too, to the watchword
"WOL. II. 4.
50 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
of Jesu Maria—the brute-beast who had
given the order unloosed his hold, and the
mangled carcase was abandoned. Nothing
so fearful had been known in modern times;
nothing so fearful had been heard of save
in those ancient stories which people had
begun to imagine were in the main ro-
Iſla,I) C62.
Eldred Chadwick, lately appointed to the
command of a regiment, was with the army
of Count Tilly when the dreadful order went
forth that Magdeburg was to be given up
to the soldiers. He strode impetuously to
the general’s quarters and implored him to
rescind the order. Father Simeon, Eldred's
old tutor, stood by the general’s side.
Tilly's eyes glared ferociously, and his huge
whiskers shook in a terrible way, known
only to those who had seen him in a tower-
ing rage.
Tilly's Reply to a Plea for Mercy. 51
“Do you know what you ask?” he said,
in a voice as of muffled thunder. •
“Yes, sir; I ask you to spare the helpless
people of this unfortunate city.”
“Leave my presence, and look to your
regiment.”
“I have no regiment, and never shall
again under you, unless this hellish order
is rescinded !”
“You may, perhaps, provoke me to order
you to be shot l” and the fiend spoke in
a slow, measured tone.
“I wish you to remember that you are a
man.”
“Are you a Catholic, or are you not P’’
“I was so till lately—till I witnessed
some of the ravages of your army. I am
so no longer. I abhor your blasphemous
watchword and your hellish cause.”
“Arrest this fellow, Lieutenant Mohan,
4–2
52 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
and throw him into the town. Tie him
hand and foot, and see that when the fire is
lit he is placed where the scum of the
IHuguenots is thickest. Do you see the kind
of recruit you brought me, sir?”—turning
ferociously on Father Simeon, whose lip
quivered. “Do you, I repeat, see what
kind of a recruit you have brought me P
What fate does he deserve?”
The priest, without raising his eyes from
the ground, said, “He deserves to die.”
Eldred looked at his old tutor with
undisguised amazement, and Tilly with
triumph.
“Ah !” the latter said, “you do remember
the Church, I see. Now, away with the
heretic fool!” Eldred was hurried away
rapidly by men who were eager to share in
the plunder of Magdeburg. But for this
timely haste he would have been only a
Doom of Eldred Chadwick. 53
sº-
stone's throw or two from the place where
he had been condemned, when Father
Simeon, approaching Count Tilly, said—
“I wish the young man could have been
spared; but since his death is necessary, you
ought to leave nothing to chance, general.
If he escape he will set Europe aflame.”
“You are right.” Then he hissed aloud—
“Bring back that prisoner; we will make
sure of him You are right; if he escape the
devil only knows what lies he may set abroad.
Bring him back; let me see him shot.”
The men went out hastily, but after
remaining longer than necessary in the city,
they returned and reported that Colonel
Chadwick had been burned to death This
story afterwards went through the army
when order had once again been restored.
Eldred Chadwick, however, had not been
burnt to death. The officer who had charge
54 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
of his fate carried out a portion of his in-
structions to the letter. He saw the
prisoner tied hand and foot, and laid on the
floor of a house to which the officer himself
set fire. He then said to his men—“Now
go ; I will see the heretic roasted.” When
the men, nothing loth, had rushed off to
share in the plunder and death, Lieutenant
Mohan cut the prisoner's cords in an instant.
“Throw on you some garments, Colonel
Chadwick,” he said, “and escape for your
life. I will see you safe out of the city.
Bemember, the word within is ‘Jesu Maria.’”
In two minutes Eldred had clothed him-
self in a burgher's dress belonging to the late
owners of the house; and as a burgher of
Magdeburg he followed the generous officer
to the city gate. Met by the men with
Tilly's second order, the officer said—
“Colonel Chadwick has been fastened in
F//ſ from Magdeburg. 55
a burning house. So much for /im /* When
the men had turned away he added, “God
forgive me the real, if not verbal, falsehood "
“You are venturing your life, sir,” said
Eldred, “I never can repay you.”
“You have repaid me already by your
manly appeal to Tilly to spare this poor
city. Where can you find a refuge?”
“I hardly know, unless it is at the home of
Count Werner, who is, I believe, in England.”
“Dare you venture to take me with you ?
I am, as you know, French. I shall not
remain here.”
“What, sir, leave the service P”
“Yes, for ever. If I remain I shall
meet the fate intended for you. Never
more shall I fight under that accursed man,
or under any man who would give the
fiendish order for the sack of any city.
“Would the refuge given to us imperil
56 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
the safety of the family of Count Werner,
think you?”
“I do not think it would. The Werners
are known as good Catholics, and Count
Werner, being an envoy, is safe.”
“But I know not that he is a successful
envoy.”
“Would you then prefer service with
Gustavus Adolphus P”
“No ; I could not bring myself to that at
present. I never again shall serve Tilly, or
as you say, my friend, any man who could
give up a city to be sacked, but it is not
pleasant to turn in an hour from the
Emperor to his enemy. A year hence I
know not what I may do. That hellish
priest'—I can forgive Tilly more easily than
I can forgive him.”
“I agree with you—let us turn for a
moment into this house.”
Passing the Imperial Dines. 57
They turned into a house that had
already been devastated, and in every room
of which there were mangled bodies.
Lieutenant Mohan said—
“Our first step, at any rate, is to leave
Magdeburg; our next to pass the Im-
perial lines. If we accomplish that, I say,
let us aim for Bavaria. When we are
sufficiently near to the estate of Count
Werner, we can be guided by events. We
shall require all our circumspection. Help
me now to make up a bundle of clothes
which you can carry for me as a Magde-
burger.”
This was done, and the city gate reached
through a volley of cruel questions from
plunderers — questions interspersed with
such remarks as, “ Kill the heretic when
!”
you have done with him It was now
evening, and as it was deemed necessary
58 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
to remain in the camp till dark, nothing
better seemed to offer than Lieutenant
Mohan’s tent. To reach this, Count Tilly's
own headquarters must be passed, and at
the time when Lieutenant Mohan and his
Magdeburg porter appeared, the ruthless
murderer and the priest were standing at
the tent door.
“You carried out my orders, Lieutenant
Mohan P”
“I myself saw the man tied, and I also
set fire to the house.”
“You are sure you did not leave him in
the house alive P” -
“Positive, your Excellency. When I
left the burning house not a shred of
Colonel Chadwick, I should say, remained
there.”
“Served him right—the heretic A.
little plunder—eh, sir?” with a grim smile.
Passing the Imperial Lines. 59
“A few odd articles of vertú which your
Excellency shall see in the morning.”
“Good; but Mohan” — whispering —
“when you have done with that fellow—
you know what I mean. Dead men tell no
tales. Not that we care about tales, but
it is as well.”
The lieutenant bowed, and rejoining
Eldred, said—
“Did you hear the whisper ?”
“Yes, and I needed all my patience to
keep me from flying at the old wolf’s
throat. But I hesitated between him and
the priest, whose face was triumphant.
His eagerness to hear you prevented him
from observing me. It was difficult for me
to restrain myself.”
“It is well you did. You see, Tilly
helped me to escape the technical lie, but
all the same I told the real one.”
60 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Of course you did; no one but a Jesuit
ever argues to the contrary. We can only
hope to be forgiven by God for that which,
whether told to a good man or a bad one, is
all the same an untruth. The lie, however,
is as much mine as yours, and I am not in
the least disturbed by it.”
“Here we are at my tent; it is empty,
too; come in, and tell me what do you
propose?”
“I was thinking, while you spoke to
Tilly, that if I had an infantry officer's
uniform and assumed some unknown name,
we could pass the lines.”
“Nothing easier than the uniform. I
can enter Hayman's tent from my own
when it is dark.”
“You have the watchword for the lines?”
“Yes—‘ Ferdinand.’ But would you
ride P”
Zasł View of the Sacked City. 61
“Decidedly, for a time; but not long as
an Imperialist officer.”
When it was quite dark two mounted
officers, each carrying a wallet, which in
reality contained changes of clothing, passed
Count Tilly's lines, gave the watchword
accurately, and talked, while passing the
various posts, of night observations they
were about to take from a certain hill.
When quite outside the most remote posts
they put spurs to their horses, and rode in
the direction of Erfurt. After an hour's
ride, partly through a dense forest, they
halted on a hill-top, and looked back
mournfully on Magdeburg in flames.
Then they thanked God on their knees for
His mercy to them, and prayed Him to
arrest the hands of the cruel men who were
pouring vials of wrath on that devoted city.
They were at last beyond the sound of the
62 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
cries, which had pursued them long, but
the flames shooting up here and there, and
the sounds of musketry, told a fearful tale.
“We must not stay here long, Mohan,”
Eldred said ; “but I seem as if I could not
drag myself away from the sight of that
poor city.”
These words were dropped out, as it
were, in a low and trembling tone, very
unlike the ordinary tone of Eldred Chad-
wick. Lieutenant Mohan replied in a like
tone, that lamentation was of no avail, and
that all their address would be necessary to
secure their own retreat, to which Eldred
simply answered, “Yes.” They rode on the
greater part of the night, resting only when
absolutely necessary for the horses. In the
early dawn they stopped and sank their
uniforms, and the saddles and accoutrements
of their horses, in an old putrid well. They
Arriva/ ał Werner. 63
then turned the horses loose, conscious
that this would arouse no suspicion in that
dreadful war time. They were now dis-
guised as two burghers, and were to pass as
burghers of Leipsic travelling to Mannheim,
by road and river, in the public conveyances
of the time. At length they found them-
selves in a mountain district in Eastern
Bavaria, and after a long journey on foot
they entered the Werner estates.
It was a beautiful peaceful morning, the
birds warbling on bush and tree, the butter-
fly and the bee flitting from flower to
flower. Close at hand the uplands stretched
away into imposing hills, and far off were
the mountains of Bohemia, giving to the
scene that “setting” which added to its
beauty an element of grandeur never
seen save in a mountain land. From the
entry to the estates to a house which the
64 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
travellers saw in the distance appeared about
half a mile, partly along a winding shady
road, and partly over a lawn of velvet grass.
When near to the house—a fine old man-
sion, almost embedded in groves of giant
trees—a chariot of ancient design passed
them, going in the opposite direction, and
they saw that it contained Count Werner,
an elderly lady, and two younger ones.
The travellers and the Count bowed to each
other politely, but without the recognition
of the fugitives by Count Werner. When
the chariot had passed, Eldred said—
, “I do not understand this ; I thought
Werner was in England. His presence,
however, decides me to propose to you,
Mohan, that we do unhesitatingly make
ourselves known. Though I have said
little to you about it, I have been greatly
perplexed what to do in his absence.”
Reception of the Deserters. 65
Saying this, Eldred and his friend began
to ascend a flight of stone stairs leading
from a beautiful lawn, on which were flower-
beds of many designs and a variety of
shrubs, to an open space, also tastefully
adorned with shrubs and flowers, in front of
a very fine old house. Here the travellers
were met by a young lady, who in the
homely manner of the time inquired, in
Erench, if they wished to see Count
Werner, and on receiving an affirmative
anSWer, invited them into the house and
offered them refreshment.
“We must not refuse your kind offer
Mademoiselle, for we need refreshment,”
said Eldred, also speaking in French. “Will
you, however, kindly permit us to remain
unintroduced till Count Werner arrives? I.
do not ask the favour without a cause.”
“Certainly, sir. May I show you to a
fe
WOIA. II. 9
66 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
room P You are tired, I see. Follow me,
please. My brother will be delighted, I am
SULI'e. My name is Alice—Alice Werner.
I speak English, though,” she added, to
Eldred.—“Are you English?”
“How beautiful l’” said Lieutenant Mohan,
when the young lady had departed and left
them together.
“And natural,” said Eldred; “a mountain
flower l’’
“I never heard so sweet a voice, Chad-
wick.” *
“It is indeed sweet.”
When they returned to their young
hostess they found a substantial meal ready,
and they thought it necessary to apologise
to her for eating, as Eldred was pleased to
put it, as if they never had seen food before.
Ori Count Werner's return, Eldred met
him and said—
Reception of the Deserters. 67
“Will you give me a few words in pri-
vate, Count Werner? My business is some-
what important, and I am compelled to take
this liberty.”
“Do not name it, sir. I seem to
know you, and yet I do not remember
when or where we have met.”
Bldred smiled.
“Ah! I know you now, though ;
23
and to
the astonishment of his sister, he ran for-
ward, and seizing both of Eldred's hands,
shook them heartily. “Why, Alice, my
dear, this is Eldred Chadwick; and this—
why, bless my soul!—it is Mohan. This is
strange. Where are mother, and Frederika,
and Louise? It is all marvellously strange l’’
In a few minutes the Countess de Werner
and her daughters, Frederika and Louise,
were making, as Alice had already made,
the acquaintance of Eldred and Lieutenant
5–2
68 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Mohan. Eldred, however, was ill at ease,
and Count Werner saw it,
“There is something on your mind, my
friend,” he said, gravely. “Come to my
own room, and let us talk of it in private.
Eirst, though, let me tell you that I have
this very day had a letter from Agnes, and
they are all well.”
“Agnes P. They are all well—who, my
dear fellow P−and what Agnes P”
“Why, do you not know? Have you
had no letters from home P Really
What Agnes? Ha, haſ why, Mistress
Agnes Chadwick, I mean. I—I—”
“Yes, I see it all; and it gives me
both pleasure and pain—pardon me saying
so—we are, then, to lose our dear little
Agnes P”
“No, dear Colonel Chadwick, not so; you
will simply gain us all, if you will have
Mew Ze/aftons. (59
25
us,” said Lady Werner, with inexpressible
sweetness. -
“Pardon me, dear lady, I have been rude;
I did not, however, mean it unkindly or
ungenerously.”
“Not likely, Chadwick!” said Count
Werner, “I know how I should feel if any
fellow with big whiskers came here to steal
my little Alice, or Frederika, or Louise. But
is it, after all, necessary for us to go to my
room P I have often found that one female
head, in cases of difficulty, was worth more
than two male heads—at any rate, two like
mine. Tell us the whole case. Or—nay,
we will go if you please.”
“You misunderstand me, my friend. I
merely hesitate because I fear to endanger
your peace. We are by no means safeguests.”
Count Werner looked to his mother, who
said, still gravely, and still sweetl 1–-
70 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwic/ Rise.
“Then we shall have no going to my
son's room. We live in times when no one
can say what a day may bring us, and we
have all learned that danger is least danger
when faced.”
“I knew what you would say, my
mother,” said Count Werner, with a look of
great affection. “Now Chadwick, let us have
the whole story. That is, if you would not
like to put it off till to-morrow.”
“No”—and here Lieutenant Mohan ex-
pressed agreement—“we must first see the
true position of our affairs. I am here,
Count Werner, rescued by my brave com-
rade from a shameful death—from what,”
looking apologetically towards the ladies,
“if you will pardon me, I can only call the
Devil's Carnival ordered by Tilly at Mag-
deburg.”
“Oh, Colonel Chadwick, were you indeed
Eldred’s Story of His Deser/ion. 71
there P’’ said the Countess, with an ex-
pression on her face of intense pain.
“Yes, Madame ; Tilly ordered me to be
bound, and left in a house at Magdeburg to
be burned alive. Lieutenant Mohan saved
me at the risk of his own life; and here we
are—deserters. We resolved to come to you
and trust to what we saw of your position
whether or no we made ourselves known to
you. I think if you, Werner, had been, as
we supposed you were, in London, or absent
from home we must have gone farther.”
“Luckily, then, I am not in London, or
absent from Werner. You go no farther
now.”
“Certainly not,” said the Countess; and
the three young ladies looked the welcome
it seemed needless to speak.
“Tell us first, though,” Eldred inquired,
anxiously, “is it safe for you?”
72 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Safe for us! yes, as safe as the Empire
—perhaps a little safer. But you must, I
think, return to the village as burghers of
Leipsic, and passing out as such, return, after
dark, by a way I shall show you, as friends
of ours from France. What say you?”
The plan was carried out skilfully, and
that same night the two deserters, re-
novated by cold water and clean attire, were
like new men—“restored, as I once was,”
Count Werner said, “ by Commodore Mor-
daunt on the banks of the Thames.”
“Ah !” said Eldred, inquiringly.
“Yes—but never mind that now. And
so you do not even know that I am a
disgraced envoy P’’
“Indeed, I know nothing.”
“Partly, then, for some reason I do not
comprehend, but chiefly, I am told, because
the Emperor wished to express his displeasure
Count Werner's Story of His Disgrace. 73
with me because your Queen Henrietta was
pleased to take a dislike to me, I have
been ordered into this exile, ostensibly on
the score of my wound—far away, as you
see, from the sun of Imperial favour.”
“You were sorry, naturally?” said El-
dred, laughing.
“Do I not appear so? I hate this war
intensely.”
“So do I,” said Eldred ; “and so do I,”
said Lieutenant Mohan. Eldred had now
so much to learn of England, and especially
of Monkerton, that whole days passed
before the subject was exhausted. With
respect to the betrothal of Agnes, he did
not hesitate to express his unbounded sur-
prise.
“I am afraid,” he said “you have
broken the heart of a fine fellow—of poor
Harry Waye.”
74 /n/erstein Ha/ and C/adwic/ Rise.
“There you are again,” said Count
Werner, laughing heartily; “you too, then,
have fallen into the common, and, pardon
me saying, stupid error of Monkerton P I
was lucky enough to make a great dis-
covery—of the main features of which,
however, you must be content to remain
ignorant at present. I may just tell you,
though, that I am the bearer of a rose-bud,
which I am to give into the hands of
Captain Waye, as a part-substitute for
an old withered rose which somebody
by chance heard that he still held
dear.”
“I have no wish to know more, Count
has this.
Werner, save on this one point
rose-bud—the knowledge of Harry’s posses-
sion of which came to the knowledge of
Bichard and myself by chance—nothing to
do with Agnes?”
Fruits of Magdebury. 75
“On my honour I am all but certain it
has not.” !
“Well, wonders never cease—an old
proverb, is it not ?”
Another day when the three friends were
together—as they only occasionally were,
for Lieutenant Mohan, in consideration for
Eldred's natural thirst for home news,
often left him and Count Werner alone, and
submitted to the hard fate of entertaining,
and being entertained by, three beautiful
ladies—the conversation turned on religion.
Eldred Chadwick said, in round terms—
“I meant what I said to Tilly ; I from
that day at Magdeburg disown for ever the
Church that permits such atrocities.”
“The fault is in human nature, Colonel
Chadwick,” said Count Werner.
“No, Werner, it is not. Human nature
has plenty of sins to answer for. When its
76 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
worst barbarities are, as it were, embalmed
for universal honour by the Church of Him
who came to bring peace on earth and good
will to men, then I say it is the Church
that is in fault, not poor human nature.
But pray do not call me colonel, I am no
colonel. Call me by my name.”
“Certainly, Chadwick. I confess I do
not understand the questions as between the
Catholic Church and Luther.”
“Neither do I, but I understand Magde-
burg
ugh ' I shudder in my sleep at
the very name. I also understand ‘St.
IBartholomew ;’ and I know a little, and
begin now to partly understand a little, of
the Marian persecutions in England.”
“But supposing you became an avowed
member of another Church, and it, too, fell
into the like faults?”
“Crimes—huge, damning crimes, Werner,
Fruits of Magdebury. 77
not faults I would leave that Church.
And if I found another, and it fell into the
same devil's work, I would leave it too ; and
so till I stood alone. The Church that
needs Magdeburg shall never again be
Church of mine.”
“Nor mine,” said Lieutenant Mohan.
“I cannot easily become a Protestant ; but
I am done for ever with the Pope and his
Church.”
“Remember, gentlemen, that if you go
from the Church, you may possibly—I say
possibly—go from your hope of salva-
tion.”
“If it is so it must be so,” said Eldred
fiercely, “I shall risk it, at any rate, in life
and death. Trusting to God's mercy, to
our Lord's boundless compassion for all that
labour and are heavy laden, I shall defy to
the last the men of blood—defy every
78 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Church, be its name and profession what
they may, that can consecrate deeds such as
I have known since I came, only five years
ago, to fight for what I then deemed a sacred
cause.”
“This reminds me, Chadwick, that you
met Mansfeldt in London. What did you
think of him P”
“Well, I hardly know. He half pro-
mised, if ever we met again, to compare
notes with me as to the morals of Tilly,
Wallenstein, and Spinola, whom I charged
him with calumniating. He would laugh
at me now.”
“Yes, if any laughter is left in him. He
has been awfully cut up by the Im-
perialists.”
“He has. I doubt whether he has
genius for war. But he is not ruthless, as
his antagonists are.”
Suns/?ne aſ Werner. 79
“The hope of the Lutherans now rests
on the Swede—the ‘Snow King' of the
Vienna wits.”
“Yes, and he has already answered to the
hope. His failure to relieve Magdeburg
was a mere chance.”
“It was, but in God's name I hope he
will avenge it,” said Count Werner.
In a short time the two friends were
quite at home with the family of Count
Werner. The days glided away peacefully,
and even at times happily, in cheerful inter-
course, amid the rural beauties of those
charming woodland scenes — days too
bright to last, yet dark withal when
thoughts of absent friends asserted their
right to turn even sunshine into gloom.
Looking upon Lieutenant Mohan and the
three young ladies rambling by the side of a
beautiful mountain stream, any one would
80 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
have thought they had not a care. Yet they
had cares and misgivings. They knew not
what a day might bring forth ; and there
were days approaching with dreadful
burthens for them all—burthens heavy to
be borne.
& \ Sº º
Nºº
&
\\



CHAPTER IV.
GEORGE WAYE’s LETTER-BAG-NEWS OF MAGDEBURG--
LEIPSIC–“JESU MARIA’’ AND “GOD WITH Us”—THE
IPASSAGE OF THE LECH-CAPTURE OF TOM PRIM.
§ºº. were yet in the future when George
Waye arrived safely on the peaceful Thames
and carried to Monkerton his great news of
Tom and Harry, of King Gustavus Adol-
phus, and of the mighty expedition from
which few of the army might live to return.
On the third day after his arrival the sailor
and his sister walked leisurely, and in earnest
conversation, along the then beautiful bank
of the river, to Frobisher Cottage. Com-
modore Mordaunt knew George well by
name, and the freemasonry of the sea soon
voL. II. 6


82 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
carried the two deeply into those “ yarns”
against which no old sailor is proof, and
which no landsman comprehends.
“And you put on all sail, and kept your
helm hard a-starboard, eh? Well, it needed
pluck, I must say ; but it was your only
chance of safety. Now I remember,” &c.
&c. We have no real interest in this par-
ticular conversation, beyond showing how
Commodore Mordaunt and George Waye
were engaged, and almost, as it were, spell-
bound, while Mistress Mordaunt formed a
silent, but an eager and interested audience
for her daughter and Susan Waye, who
spoke in whispers of mysteries deeper even
than those of the sea.
It must be stated in simple honesty that
Susan very coolly betrayed the confidence of
Harry's and Tom's letters, and supplemented
them with equal coolness, by repeating the
“In the Sºricfest Conſidence.” 83
*-*--—
purport of what George had revealed of
Harry's endless, and to George incom-
prehensible, questions as to Commodore
Mordaunt. Not that Susan had been too
ready to tell these great secrets. Eliza
Mordaunt had been compelled—and at first
against her will—to give ere she could obtain
full confidence. At last, however, she did
acknowledge, in the fulness of her heart,
to the delinquency of having given Susan’s
brother one rose-bud and sent him another.
“But of course, dear Susan, this is in the
strictest confidence, and I gave them in
simple friendship.” Susan said, “Of course.”
But the ice was broken, and the conversa-
tion after that flowed on amain.
“I must write something to Harry, in reply
to his letters,” Susan said, roguishly. “I
am bound, you know, to tell him all about
Commodore Mordaunt and his daughter.
6—2
84 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
—‘ I think there is a daughter, you
know—and to whom she is married.’”
Mistress Susan laughed, as also did her
friend. Mistress Mordaunt was more
serious; she put away these things and
pondered them in her heart. Of Susan’s
reply to her brother, it need only be said
that she wrote what was right and teasing
towards Harry. She told him all about
Commodore Mordaunt and the daughter
whom Harry believed there was in existence;
but the fun, and wit, and news alike
were lost, as also were some very serious
and sisterly remarks about the rose-bud, for
Harry never received the letter. It was
lost on its devious way. To Tom she wrote,
“You dear old goose! Harry will tell you
that we have found him out, though you
have not ; he will also tell you that he has
had a fresh rose-bud from the same *—
Pełer Prim Sees the Darß Side. 85
Then followed the provoking dash as copied
here. Tom received his letter and declared
this part of it utterly incomprehensible.
To Commodore Mordaunt and his wife and
daughter, as to the families at the Hall and
the Rise, and in the cottages at Monkerton,
the ring given by Gustavus Adolphus to
George, and the circumstances under which
it was given, supplied a never-ending topic
of conversation. One circumstance, how-
ever, jarred terribly on the temper of Peter
Prim, and threw him back for a time into
the gloom from which Susan, by her win-
some strategy, had all but rescued him. It
could not be concealed that Tom was at the
head-quarters of Gustavus Adolphus as the
representative of Cardinal Richelieu-‘‘the
Arch-Papist, foe to God and man,” poor old
Peter said. That is, while Harry and Richard
were with the hero now designated the Lion
sº-ºs-e-T"T
86 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
of the North, the bulwark of Protestantism,
Tom was in the same camp but as the servant
of the devil. It was in vain to talk of the
confidence reposed in Tom by the Protestant
Fing, or even of the fact that the message
and the ring were entrusted to him by the
JKing for George. The old man refused to
be comforted, or to believe that his son,
after having put his hand to the plough,
had not turned back.
Susan at last became a little piqued in
turn, and said that she believed Peter Prim
cared nothing whatever for his son, whether
he lived or died; and she reminded the old
man, with some extraordinary asperity for
sweet genial Susan, that Tom had left
Tichard and Harry, and had gone through
all manner of uncalled-for difficulties, simply
to satisfy his father's crotchet for La
Rochelle in preference to the Palatinate.
The Silver /ining to the Cloud. 87
Then, seeing that large tears were rolling
down the cheeks of her aged friend,
she hastened to add, in a gentler tone—
“I have full confidence in Tom, anyhow,
dear father. I know that he will prove
worthy of you. And”—here her sweet voice
fell low—“so will I, if I can.” Then she
tenderly wiped the old man's tears away.
Towards the end of the year news ran
through England, as by blast of trumpet
borne on the four winds of heaven, that
Count Tilly and the Imperialists had
crowned all their atrocities by the sack of
Magdeburg; and fresh recruits now has-
tened to the seaboard of England and Scot-
land, anxious to serve under the Lion of
the North against the perfidious enemies of
all liberty, the most cruel and relentless
butchers the world had known for ages.
In the course of a little time a very
SS Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
short letter arrived from Richard Ingerstein
to Margaret Chadwick—
“You may perhaps hear, dear Margaret,”
it said, “as we have heard, that Eldred was
burned in Magdeburg by the foul order of
Tilly. Do not believe it. The devilish
order was given, but Eldred escaped. I
cannot say a word more. My messenger
may be compelled to swallow this bit of
paper before he is able to place it in safe
hands to reach you.”
Well it was that this letter reached,
Monkerton safely, for one of the main items
of news in England with respect to Magde-
burg was, that an Englishman, colonel of
an Imperial regiment, had, for protesting
against the sack of the city, been fastened,
by Count Tilly's orders, in one of the
burning houses, and left there to die.
“Thank God!” Master Chadwick said, in
Tilly Judyed in Monkerſon. S9.
a broken, tremulous voice; “but the brutal
man meant it all the same for my poor
5.5
boy.” They knew nothing at this time in.
Monkerton of Father Simeon’s complicity in
the intended murder.
Henry Ingerstein was furious, and his
cheek flushed crimson, as he bitterly de-
nounced Count Tilly and his army of
butchers. Sir John Ingerstein spoke little,
but every word was solemn, and the whole
sadly broken. It was the expression on his
face, however, which said more than any
words could have told of his abhorrence of
the murderous order, and of the dreadful
deeds to which every fresh mail from
almost every port on the southern and
eastern seaboard of England added some
frightful detail. Margaret, Agnes, and
Mabel were horrified. Susan's eyes flashed
fire, and Eliza Mordaunt's face lighted with.
90 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
a righteous indignation, which for the mo-
ment transformed the gentlest of girls into
all angel of vengeance. Such was the spirit
of these sweet ladies who might become
mothers in England.
A little later a letter came from Eldred
himself, but very cautiously worded as to
his place of refuge, and it was signed in
another name, but every line was under-
stood. Tuater still, by another method of
conveyance, Agnes received a long letter
from Count Werner, also avoiding all direct
mention of the escape from Magdeburg, but
conveying hints which led Henry Inger-
stein first of all to surmise that Eldred
either was with Count Werner, or in some
place of refuge with which Count Werner
was well acquainted. The letter was
remarkably cheerful, while Eldred's short
note was grave and almost grim. Count
News from Werner. Father Simeon. 91
Werner wrote of his mother and sisters, of
his peaceful estate, and of his happy days
On the Thames. Some weeks later a more
reliable method of conveyance having been
found, Eldred ventured to send full in-
telligence of Tilly’s order, and of Father
Simeon’s agreement with the sentence of
death. -
“I knew,” he said, “ that the priest dis-
approved of much that he saw in me;
(Father Altona may now tell Mabel some
facts that I have hitherto withheld)—but I
never thought that a man who had been so
friendly to us all could so callously have
handed me over to such a death. I shall
not to my dying day forget his self-satisfied
countenance when he said, ‘He deserves to
die.’ The words were less marked than the
manner and tone. Yet that he is in
earnest I do not doubt. What can We
92 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
think of a faith that so transforms a
naturally well-meaning man P”
The letter was read with horror for
which for a time there seemed no power of
expression. Its contents were, however,
from prudential motives, and in accordance
with Eldred's request, confined to the five
families and to Father Altona. Even
Master Baldwin was not for a long time
taken into their confidence on this point,
though he was on many. Father Altona.
wept bitterly, but only said—
“My poor Church 1”
Eldred’s letter concluded—“I am busied
at present reading works on divinity with
special reference to the grounds upon which
the Papal claims of supremacy rest. A
IRomanist I ceased to be on the day when
Tilly ordered the sack of Magdeburg, but I
am not yet prepared to call myself a Pro-
Father Alfona Mourns /or his Church. 93
testant.” Master Chadwick, turning in a
kindly way to the Italian priest, said—
“I am grieved to utter an unfriendly
word to you, Father Altona, but I think
neither my Catholicism, nor that of my
daughters, can long survive Magdeburg.”
From that time, although they still
continued to hear Mass, and were in no
decided sense Protestant, neither Master
Chadwick nor his daughters allowed them-
selves to be called Catholic.
The month of October brought fresh and
now joyful news, for which a nation's
thanks ascended to God. Tilly and Gus-
tavus Adolphus had met at Teipsic ; the
Romanists with the battle-cry of “Jesu
Maria”—the watchword to which they had
sacked Magdeburg ; the Protestants with
that of “God with us;” and the Papal
cause had been trampled in the dust. And
94. Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
still at short intervals the great news came
—how Tilly, as the dread hour of battle
approached, had become gloomy and morose,
how his voice and his hand had trembled, and
how his words had grown incoherent, till
people said that the shadow of Magdeburg
was on him—a phrase which ever since the
sack of the city had been current in the
Imperial army, and the dread meaning of
which only soldiers, perhaps, can fully know.
What a picture, too, there was to set off
against this What a story men told of
Gustavus Adolphus, clothed from head to
foot in plain grey, with only one green
plume to distinguish him from the men of
his gallant army, stepping out in front of
his line of battle ; and there, in sight of all,
kneeling down, and, with uncovered head
praying, not for splendid victory, but that
God would defend the Right, while there
7%e Meeting at Zeipsic. 95
ran, like a flash of lightning along his
heroic line, a deep solemn “Amen l’’ That
prayer and that solemn Amen would not
be lost on England. They would recur
again, and with terrific effect, in years now
fast approaching. They sank deeply in
many minds and hearts, and among others
in the mind and heart of Mr. Oliver
Cromwell, already known to all England as
a hater of Popery and arbitrary power.
Was it not enough to make men jubi-
lant?—the butcher of Magdeburg barely
escaping with life, and with less than a
thousand men P−the King of Sweden, as
great in mercy as in warlike genius, assur-
ing the poor people by acts as well as by an
unbroken word, of security for life, for
property, and for freedom P
The army of Gustavus was in all respects
the exact reverse of the armies of his
96 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
enemy. No oath was heard, or drunkenness
or gambling seen in the Swedish camp, and
no wolfish camp-followers were permitted
to prowl after the army for plunder and
murder.
The dress of the Swedish nobleman was
as simple as that of the peasant. Schools
and religious services were carried on as
regularly in the camp as they had been in
the Swedish towns before the war.
Discipline, frugality, and industry made
small means to last long, so that it was
said of the Swedes that they could live and
thrive where the Imperialists, apart from
cruel plunder, would have starved. The
confidence of the men in their King was
unbounded. If they failed in any en-
terprise, they accepted the failure in the
full belief that they would next day succeed.
3f they could not take an enemy in front,
Progress of Gustavus. 97
they rested satisfied that when he least
expected it he would be taken on the flank
or in the rear, and in any case beaten.
This was the spirit of the invincible army
which was the model for that of Cromwell.
The victorious King, the liberator of
Pomerania and Saxony, now marched from
city to city, receiving from some a willing
submission, reducing others by arms,
assuring liberty of worship and supremacy
of law alike to Catholic and Protestant
wherever he went. Entering Bavaria,
where every city threw open its gates to
him, he was advised to revenge on Munich
the massacres at Heidelburg and Magde-
burg, and in particular to destroy the
magnificent palace of the Elector. He
unhesitatingly refused. “No,” he said,
“let us not imitate the barbarity of the
Goths, our ancestors, who have rendered
VOI,. II. 7
98 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
their memory detestable by abusing the
rights of conquest, in doing violence to
humanity, and destroying the precious
monuments of art.” The noble Ring !
Franconia, Swabia, and the Palatinate fell.
A Duke who had ostentatiously crossed the
frontier from France as an Imperialist
volunteer was utterly defeated. Then,
Gustavus marched towards the Rhine, to
drive the Spaniards from German soil.
Tilly, down to the day at Leipsic “the in-
vincible in war,” saw nearly all Germany
subjected by the arms, or won by the good
conduct and address of the Swedes. At the
end of March he resolved to risk another
battle.
Entrenching himself on an arc formed by
a bend of the river Lech, and sparing no
pains to render his position impregnable, he
awaited the approach of Gustavus Adolphus.
Passage of the Leeſ, Deat/, of Th/y. 99
The position was so strong, that the officers
of Gustavus advised him not to attempt the
passage of the river. Their advice was
fruitless. The King threw hesitation to the
winds; and on the 3rd of April, 1632, the
river was crossed triumphantly in the face
of the enemy. Another crushing and
complete victory was won, and all the more
complete because Tilly was among the mor-
tally wounded. Struck in the leg by a
heavy shot, the beaten general was taken
hastily from the field a very short time
before his army was in full retreat. A few
days later he died in extreme mental as well
as physical torture. He had lived long
enough to see Gustavus master of Germany,
to know that the empire had no escape from
entire subjugation, save in the genius of
Wallenstein being once more called to the
head of affairs. This was the last bitter
7—2
100 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
drop in the cup of the half-maddened old
marshal. He died not merely under the
dark shadow of Magdeburg, and with the
Swedish cries of victory in his ears, but
with the certainty that his rival and bitter
personal enemy was called upon to save the
Empire, which was all but lost. Rarely in
the world’s history did punishment fall
more heavily upon a cruel and merciless
Iſlall. -
The intelligence which Richard Inger-
stein had been able to send to Tuondon of
Eldred's safety, had reached him by means
of an officer who had deserted to the
Swedish army, and who testified to the fact
that he saw Lieutenant Mohan and Colonel
Chadwick leave the city, and knew the
latter well, in spite of his disguise. More-
over, he added, if any doubt had remained
in his mind as to the fact, it had been
*"--------->
Fate of Father Simeon. 10||
removed by the report to Tilly that two
infantry officers, names unknown, had
crossed the lines, and that Lieutenant
Mohan was reported missing. A month
after the battle of the Lech, another de-
serter, an officer who had been at Tilly's
side in the fight, carried intelligence, which
Bichard succeeded in conveying to Mon-
kerton, of a final scene in the life of Father
Simeon. Richard wrote—“On him, too,
our deserter said, rested the shadow of
Magdeburg, and his nervous gloom in-
creased when it became clear that Tilly
would make a stand at the Lech. He tried
hard to be sent on a journey to Vienna,
which Tilly seemed to take a grim pleasure
in refusing. ‘No, Father Simeon,’ he is
reported to have said, ‘I may need spiri-
tual consolation—you, at least, must be
with me ;’ and the two went together to
102 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
the front. When the Marshal was struck,
Father Simeon was nowhere to be found, and
he was seen no more by Tilly. He had
fallen badly wounded into our hands, and he
died, on the day after our victory, raving mad.
I did not see him, or know of his fate till
too late to be of any use to him, or I should
have tried to do him some good at the last.
But I heard from a very reliable soldier,
that so far from repenting his share in
Niagdeburg, he gloried in it, and seemed
to trust to it as one of the wings on which
he believed he would rise to heaven.” This
letter was read at the Rise, and was passed
over in mournful silence. -
During the months that had elapsed from
the landing in Pomerania to the passage of
the Lech, the army of Gustavus Adolphus
had never been long out of action, and in
those months men of acute sensibility had
Jeffers for Harry Waye and Tom Prim. 103
lived years of ordinary life. Richard In-
gerstein and Harry Waye, though they had
written many letters, never once after
leaving the Baltic had heard from home.
Tom Prim, however, had been fortunate
enough to receive two letters by way of
France ; and by this means the three
friends learned some particulars of the
events that had passed on the Thames
since Richard had left London. One of
these letters contained the scrap of infor-
mation from Susan already referred to,
and Tom and Harry pondered over it
long. To the former, as the reader has
already seen, it was worse than high Dutch
—far worse, for Tom was now a linguist.
It also puzzled Harry for a time, but he
at last began to see a little daylight,
and though he kept it religiously to him-
self, it lightened for him many a dark
104 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
night of war. All the three friends had
been wounded, and Tom Prim twice; for
Tom, though an envoy, was not forbidden
to fight, and he had been as eager to serve
the Protestant cause as the King had been
ready to employ him.
With the passage of the Lech, Captain
Prim's position became somewhat altered.
At the end of April he received an order
from Cardinal Richelieu to report himself
at Paris. This was the more vexatious,
because the King of Sweden was now on
the eve of grappling with a new and more
formidable adversary in Count Wallenstein,
whose name and well-known license to his
men brought armies as from the vasty
deep. At first, Wallenstein had hesitated;
he could not help showing that he remem-
bered the ill-usage to which, he had been
subjected. Perhaps, also, the stars, or the
Wallenstein Implored to Save the Empire. 105
sun and moon, were to this strangely reli-
gious believer in astrology in some position
which forbade an immediate decision. When,
however, the die had been cast, there was
no longer any delay. The dread moves on
the chess-board were skilful and fearful.
Fresh men, too, were constantly allured by
the magic of the mighty name ; and as
Wallenstein had no hesitation, at any
time, in sacrificing a few thousands of men
in military experiments the war was re-
newed in terrible earnest. To be recalled
at such a time seemed to Tom Prim so
hard a fate, that, for the moment, he
was inclined to disobey the order ; but
after consulting with Richard and Harry,
he agreed to refer the difficulty to the
King.
“I am glad you did not take the rash
step of refusing to return to France,”
106 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Gustavus said ; “you are the servant of
Bichelieu.”
“Your Majesty does not forget the
peculiarity of my position P I am under no
moral obligation to return, and I positively
declined to serve Cardinal Richelieu in any
capacity but one ; and that was one, your
Majesty, in which I could also serve the
Protestant cause and the cause of freedom.”
“I know. Yet you must return. If it
will be any satisfaction to your mind, I tell
you candidly I never sent any one away
with more regret, even apart from the fact
that the loss of your services will be to me
a greater loss than perhaps you imagine.
To remain, however, in defiance of Richelieu
might be productive of the worst results.
I may tell you, as a friend, that although I
believed from the first that you were
perfectly correct in your view as to
Tom Prim Reca//ed to France. | 07
Tichelieu’s good wishes for our success up
to a certain point—and on this, as you
know, I have had other evidence than yours
—I never have had any doubt that he
would first hesitate, and then strike against
me, before the Empire was supplanted by a
Protestant power. He could not allow us.
to succeed without his interposition. It is
not in the man, or in his training, or in the
traditions of his life. He is simply waiting
for an opportunity to interpose a fresh
policy to check our progress. We must
meet him by a policy which will at least
gain time. We must be wise as serpents,
Master ‘Tom’ Prim”—and the King
smiled;—“if we defeat the madman Wal-
lenstein, we can then, with a great Ger-
many, welded together on a better basis
than Ferdinand ever knew, and by an
army that never would be the conquerer of
108 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Germany, set Richelieu at defiance. If the
JKing of England knew his true interest,
and united with us in the spirit in which
Bngland did her work for freedom at one
period in the reign of Elizabeth, we could
set France, Spain, and Austria all at de-
fiance. Ayl and succeed. At present you
must leave us, Captain Prim, or you may
be the means of drawing on us earlier
than would be convenient, a fresh League
beaded by France.”
“I shall obey your Majesty, but I should
not have obeyed Richelieu. I shall go to
JParis, but only to tell Cardinal Richelieu
that my trust is ended, and that I serve
him no more.”
“He may throw you into prison. Let
me tell you that imprisonment, when made
bitterest, is not to be looked upon lightly.
It may mean a living death, in some damp
Farewell to Gustavus Ado/p/us. 109
cell below the level of the sea, with loath-
some food, and with rats and other vermin
for your companions. Be careful, for the
sake of your friends, if not for your own.”
“The Cardinal was not revengeful when
I before refused to serve him. He set me
free to do a certain work, which he now
tells me is done. I am not, your Majesty,
in any sense Richelieu’s prisoner.”
“No, you are not that. He fixed his
eye on you for this service, for which a
Catholic was hardly suitable, and the duties
of which you have done with rare ability,
and with a conscientiousness beyond praise.
You might honourably refuse to return, but
you must not—for our sakes. I am exacting
a great sacrifice from you; but speak care-
fully to the Cardinal. I should not now
like to answer for him, that he may not be
revengeful.”
110 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“I thank your Majesty most sincerely.”
“You should leave the army to-morrow.
To-night you will wish to spend with your
friends. But see me at four in the morning
to say good-bye.”
Next day Captain Prim left for France,
with the Order of Gustavus Vasa on his
breast, and the warm farewell of Gustavus
Adolphus treasured in his heart. The new
policy and temper of the French Court had
already changed ; and Louis XIII. had
acknowledged the change to the Venetian
Ambassador in an assertion that the Powers
interested in the reduction of Austria were
quite satisfied with what had been done,
and that some “ means must now be found
to check the victorious Visigoth,” whose
career no human being could have foreseen.
Gustavus did not, perhaps, know of the
words spoken, but he knew the fact they
Tom’s Farewell to Harry Waye. ill
represented, and though his courage failed
not for a moment, he perceived that fresh
exigencies and complications might at any
moment arise.
25
“Ours is a strange lot, Tom,” Harry
said, as he and Richard Ingerstein saw
their friend seated in a special conveyance
he had hired. “God knows what is before
us, but we have the one comfort so far, that
we have never yet disowned our faith, or
in any way disgraced our country and our
friends.” Tom replied:—
“Yes, there is real comfort, Harry,
in what you say, but is it not a curious
coincidence that I should be again thrown
into France, where I can do nothing for
Protestantism and freedom, while you, from
first to last, have been at the forefront of
the battle. I think my father made an error
when he was so resolute about Rochelle.”
112 Ingerstein Hall and C/adwick Rise.
“I am not so sure of that,” Richard
Ingerstein said, very seriously; “I question
whether any two men in the Swedish army,
always excepting the King, have done more
for the good cause than you have.”
“Ah, Richard, you are partial, and not a *
fair critic.”
“I am partial ; yet I nevertheless am a
fair critic.” In this fashion Tom Prim.
parted once more from his early friends.
Tom was in his most sombre humour,
and that was very sombre. He saw, but
scarcely knew that he saw, the wooded hills
and purling streams of a beautiful mountain
district; the children at play in villages
over which the relentless tide of war had
recently swept ; the once happy homes that
had been made desolate. Six years earlier,
Tom Prim could not have easily passed
amid scenes like these without intensely
A Desert made ày War. 113
agonised feelings, perceptible to every eye.
The same feelings he had now, but he was
unconscious of them. Danger and the ruin
of homes had become so familiar to him
that he was at times scarcely aware of the
presence of dread forms of suffering which
he had partly, but far from entirely, schooled
himself to feel he could not possibly relieve.
This was brought home to his mind by a
group of cottagers, male and female, old
and young, who crowded together in
pitiable helplessness by the roadside. Tom
had only a few hundred rix-dollars, and
knew not what money he might require,
but he could not pass those wretched people
without relieving them. stopping his con-
veyance, he sat down by the wayside and
began to divide his money and the stock of
food he had provided for his journey. A
large bottle of milk, in particular, was a
WOIA. II. 8
114 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
long undreamt-of prize to the children,
who clung around him wistfully. He had
a little girl on his knee, and half a dozen
other children at his side, when a detach-
ment of Walloons cantered up, and dis-
mounting on the instant, made Tom a
prisoner. The poor people wept, and the
soldiers laughed, while the latter appro-
priated what was left of the food and wine.
The few dollars which Tom had reserved
after the distribution disappeared as by
magic, and he was thankful when he
thought of the happy chance which had
secured to his poor friends what would
otherwise have fallen to the marauders, who
seized upon all he had—conveyance, driver,
and all—but never thought of searching
the wretched peasants. -
“God bless you, sir!” the poor people
called after him in their native patois.
Tom Prim again a Prisoner. Ilº,
“And you too, my friends,” he replied,
“ and send you more peaceful times.”
“None of that l” said the Walloon officer,
fiercely; “war times are good times, you
Zamy.”
“Are they P” Tom replied, with marked
scorn and contempt. “They are not so to
any one with human feeling.”
The officer looked at him ferociously, and
though he made no further reply, he ever
afterwards, while he had the power, proved
very annoying to his prisoner.

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CHAPTER V.
CAPTAIN PRIM BEFORE WALLENSTEIN AND RICHELIEU-HE
t OBTAINS HIS FREEDOM.
ſº HE detachment into whose hands
* * * * * * * Captain Prim had fallen was part
of a flying column which had been ravaging
Bavaria. On the morrow after the capture,
the column was met by a smaller body of
Saxon troops, and was roughly handled. It
escaped, however, with the greater part of a
vast quantity of booty it had collected.
In a few weeks Tom, after considerable
suffering, was taken before Count Wal-
lenstein, in the city of Prague.
“I see by your papers,” Wallenstein said,
“ that you, an Englishman, are a French
officer, appointed to report on—yes, on






Tom Prim before Wallenstein. 117
‘ certain matters.’ Have you any objection
to tell me to whom you were to report, and
what those matters are P’’
“I have, sir; the business is not my
own.”
“Your papers are of such a nature that I
cannot doubt you have had them prepared
for any eventuality.”
“I burned every paper that I thought
would throw the least light upon either my
doings or my instructions.”
“A very proper answer for peaceful
times. Are you aware, though, that in war
men are made to say or do what other men.
please ?—eh P’’
“I am aware, your Excellency, that men
can in war do what they please with other
men, but men cannot easily be made to say
what they are resolved not to say.”
“Your Excellency,” said an officer of
118 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
Wallenstein's staff, in a low but eager
tone—the words Tom could not catch—
“Captain Prim and I never have met, but
nevertheless he is an old friend. Would
you hear me say a word or two in his favour
in private?”
“As you please, Werner. Meanwhile.”
—to the guard— take the fellow to prison,
and keep him under safe guard. He is
impertinent. He ought to pay the
penalty.”
In “private” Count Werner reminded
Wallenstein of the romantic circumstance
of his acquaintance with Captain Waye,
and then in a few words told of Tom's
relation to Captain Waye's sister. “I have
no doubt,” he said, “Captain Prim has been
employed by Richelieu. May I venture
to suggest to your Excellency whether
it would not be well to conciliate the
Count Werner again in War. | 19
Cardinal by giving him back his envoy P
I know enough of Captain Prim to answer
for it that his representation of the facts
would be fair and honourable.”
“You wish to serve your friend, Werner,
that is the fact, is it not ? Well, you
deserve more than that for your prompt
answer to my call to arms. See the
prisoner if you like ; learn what you can
of his business, and—well, dispose of him
as you please.”
“Thank you, Count Wallenstein.”
Wallenstein had not overstated the fact
, when he spoke of Count Werner's prompt.
answer to his call to arms. One of the first
men to whom Wallenstein looked when
again placed in command was Count
Werner, who on receiving his old general's
call to arms, left Werner immediately and
reported himself to Wallenstein some days
120 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
before the messenger sent for him had
returned. The great man, though not sur-
prised, had been pleased. Count Werner,
on receiving this reward for his prompti-
tude, sought out Tom Prim, and found him,
in a strong dark room used as a prison in
the Palace at Prague, puzzling his brain as
to what the interruption of Wallenstein's
questions meant. While he was so en-
gaged, the prison door was opened, and a
genial voice said—
“So I am at last, then, face to face with
Tom Prim Pardon me the familiarity,
Captain Prim, some strange thoughts are
crowding on me with the mention of your
name. What, I wonder, would Mistress.
Susan Waye think if she saw us now from
the little cottage by the smithy door?” and
Count Werner smiled mysteriously.
“Give it up, Count Werner,” said Tom,
Coz//7% Werner and/ 79mm Prêm. 12]
laughing; “I thought you a wizard at first,
but you forget the mumbo-jumbo, the
fee-fo-fum, without which the best tricks go.
for nothing in magic. You are too solid in
your facts to deceive an old soldier.”
The two shook hands cordially, and like
old friends. Then Count Werner, after
acquainting Tom with the state of affairs so
far as they were personally concerned, in-
quired what step he would next wish to
take.
Tom replied that he had almost rejoiced
when taken prisoner, for he scarcely knew
to what fate he was going.
“Do not at present tell me anything you
do not wish repeated, Captain Prim. I am
on duty. Perhaps we may afterwards.
arrange a private meeting before I see you
away for France, whither I fear you must
make up your mind to go. Meanwhile, it
122 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
shall, if you please, be immediately notified
to the French Government that you are a
prisoner. I will myself make the notifi-
cation, and mention you carefully as “Cap-
tain Prim—supposed to be a French envoy,
but who refuses to state his business, and
who has destroyed his papers.’”
“That would be excellent, Count Wer-
ner, as a means of saving me from the
suspicion of treason, and for another
purpose. Besides, it is the exact truth. I
fear, however, that you exaggerate my
merits as a diplomatist when you put it in
this light.”
The notification was duly forwarded to
Baris. Next day Count Werner, who had
not forgotten his prisoner's comfort in the
meantime, again appeared, and told Tom he
was free, and would be at once sent with a
safe conduct to France.
Jēelease of Tom Prim. 123
“You will,” he said, “represent your
release as a compliment from Count Wal-
lenstein to Cardinal Richelieu.”
“Certainly. But you had better state
in your papers that I have not mentioned
Cardinal Richelieu’s name P’’
“Yes; and since you are now free, we
will go to my rooms, the privacy of which
I can answer for. We can then speak as
friends.”
On arriving at the rooms of Count
Werner, the two friends were soon talking
of subjects far removed from that of the war.
Continuing the conversation, which had
skipped from topic to topic, Count Werner
said—
“Lieutenant Mohan left us early in Sep-
tember, and arrived safely in France.
JEldred Chadwick—he declines now his
military rank—remained a month longer.
124 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Then he went to Geneva, where I have
since learned that Mohan has joined him.
Eldred has been directing his attention to
knotty points of theology, and Mohan, I
fancy, is inclined to accompany him in
search after a new faith.”
“You indeed surprise me now,” said
Tom. “Of all Catholics, Eldred seemed
the most decided.”
“We change, Captain Prim. I was once
very nearly in danger of thinking that of all
famatics of whom I ever had heard, you must
be one of the worst. I judged you from
your father; but I found that there was a
soft place even in the old man's heart, and
that Mistress Susan Waye had a method of
reaching it ; and though I know,” he added,
with a grave smile, “that she has no such
method of reaching your heart, still I have
of late given up thinking you a fanatic.”
Farewell to Count Werner. 125
“My poor old father Did you really
find out his true character, Count Werner,
where so many people fail?”
“I learned enough, at all events, to
guard me against hasty judgment. I found
him to be the reverse of what I had
thought. Tell me more, though, of Sir
Richard Ingerstein and Colonel Waye.”
“I am afraid I can tell you little that
you do not know. Harry has his regiment;
but that is no news to you, for I find
you term him colonel. I should say that
JRichard and he are hardly a day out of
action, more or less severe. You know, too,
that we had George Waye, Harry's brother,
in the Baltic P”
“Yes; I have had several letters from
London.”
“It is more than Harry and Richard
have had. I believe that, but for two
126 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
letters that have reached me through
France, our friends would have had no
idea whether or no the Thames had not
been carried off by some of the new colo-
mists to New England.”
“Does not Colonel Waye know, then,
that I am the bearer of a present to him P”
“I am satisfied that he does not, or did
not a very short time ago.”
“Pſe knows, of course, of the engagement
with which Mistress Agnes Chadwick has
honoured me P’’
“Why, yes, he knows that, and took it
so coolly, that I had some difficulty in
resisting the temptation to throw a book at
his head.”
“Why, Captain Prim P” said Count
Werner, laughing till his sides shook.
“Why? Because I never thought he
could look as he did when—But stay, I
Fareweſ/ to Coz/// Werner. 12
7
really must say no more. Harry is as good
as gold, and as true as steel, and he would
have been worthy even of Mistress Agnes
Chadwick, which is not saying little.”
“Thank you for Mistress Agnes, Captain
Prim. But how if Harry did not wish to
win Mistress Agnes P’’
“Ah! how P Well, I suppose he did
not. At all events, if he did, he seems
resolved, I assure you, not to wear the
willow. But what are you laughing at,
Count Werner P Am I in some unac-
countable maze of bewilderment P Harry
laughed when I named the subject to him ;
Susan calls me an old goose. Now you
laugh as heartily as Harry.”
“You ask me a question, Captain Prim.
I reply that you are in no “unaccountable
maze;’ still you are in a maze, out of which
I regret to say I cannot help you—at
128 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
present. I know you will be glad to hear,
though, that Mohan has been able to turn
his property into money, with which he is
about to remove to England, and that my
sister Alice is to go too, in a year if
possible, to join him. So, you perceive, we
too are to lose a sunbeam from our home.”
“I am indeed very glad. It will give
you the double bond to Old England.”
“You seemed sorry, though, that Agnes
was to leave you?”
“Yes; chastise me well—I deserve it
richly ſ”
In the course of the day Tom left
Prague, with the means of travelling
supplied by Count Wallenstein. In due
time he arrived at Paris, and presented
himself to the great Cardinal.
“I am abundantly satisfied with you,
sir,” Richelieu said, “but as I am not now
Tom Prim received by Richelieu. 129
likely to need the services of a Calvinist
who objects to be a spy, I am quite
agreeable for you to go where you will.”
“Thank your Excellency.” And Tom,
having bowed gratefully, moved towards
the door. The Cardinal waved his hand,
and said—
“Is that all P-have you, then, no pay to
claim P” tº
“None, sir; I think I served King
Gustavus quite as much as I served your
Excellency.”
“I think you did ; perhaps a little more.
Still, you served me too, and in some very
difficult operations in which, for once,”--
here the Cardinal smiled grimly—“I re-
Quired a thoroughly upright and downright
honest man—though a heretic, and as
such doomed to perdition. I reckon your
services from the time when I first made
VOL. II. 9
130 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
your acquaintance at Rochelle. Your pay
shall be that of a French captain. Here
you will find a draft on the Treasury for the
amount.”
“I cannot take it, your Excellency,
without first telling you that I hesitated,
and all but refused, to obey your order of
recall. The King himself commanded me
to obey.”
“Oh you wished to desert? Well, I
shall not accept you as evidence against
yourself. Take the draft and go. I advise
you to leave France. Huguenots, and espe-
cially La Rochellers, are not safe in Paris.”
Tom expressed his thanks in a voice
faltering with emotion, which this great
judge of human nature perfectly understood.
Before finally dismissing his prisoner, the
Cardinal, fixing those lynx eyes upon him,
said—
Fareweſ/ ſo Ric/e/iew. 13|
“By the way, you have told me nothing
of the King of Sweden—is he clever?”
“I consider him very able, your Ex-
cellency.”
“Not clever, eh? What, pray, is the
difference P”
“I think, sir, no one would apply the
term clever to King Gustavus Adolphus.
He is what in England we should term a
four-square man—an able man on all sides.
Whatever he does is well done. By clever-
ness we do not in England mean creative
genius, or the power to do great things.”
“Well, you are perhaps right. The
Swedes, you have told me, are attached to
the King?”
“He is the father of his army, as of his
people, your Excellency.”
“Now, in what direction, may I ask, will
you be likely to look for a livelihood if you
9—2
132 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
return to England? I am simply curious
as to your insular habits. You are a
strange race.”
“Possibly I may go to America as a
colonist, your Excellency.”
“You have thought of that P’’
“Yes, sir.”
“I wish you well, Master Prim, go where
you may ; and I again tell you I am
satisfied with your service.”
In due time Tom Prim left. France for
Geneva, where he sought out and found the
lodgings of Eldred Chadwick. Eldred was
out for his mid-day stroll, and Tom strolled
away also in the direction in which his
friend was presumed to have gone. They
met in the public street, and grasped each
other's hands undemonstratively — these
men, who had parted from each other, and
from England, as boys six years before,
Tom Prim /eaves France. 133
Eldred to fight for the Pope and a despotic
Empire, Tom to throw away a life in the
trenches or batteries of Rochelle. They
now stood together once again, two men,
without occupation in peace or war—two
men who had seen life on many sides, and
whose views of life had undergone a mighty
change, but whose views of duty were as
simple as ever, and whose characters had
passed unstained and unshaken through
fiery ordeals. How they talked together
that evening and night, and till far into the
following day, no pen of man could tell.

CHAIPTER VI.
£LDRED CHADWICK AND TOM PRIM LAY DOWN PLANS-
AN EARLY BANK–AND SOMETHING MORE.
;: O the heir of Chadwick Rise it was
of little importance that his occu-
pation was gone, though it was not what
such a man might have expected after the
service he had seen, and the dangers he had
faced. In Tom Prim’s case it was very
different. To return to the wheelwright's
shop at Monkerton was not easy to the
“natural man,” though it would be grandly
honourable, Tom said, while to be shuttle-
cocked backward and forward at the will of
men like Richelieu was not honourable.
Could he but have served King Gustavus
Adolphus he had been happy, but to


Eldred and Tom lay down Plans. 135
Gustavus it was evident that his presence
would be an injury rather than a benefit in
the existing state of affairs. All this had
been passing through Tom’s mind during
his journey to Geneva. It came out readily
also in conversation as Eldred and he walked
to the lodgings of the former. They Were
the two gravest of the four men who had
grown out of the four bright lads whom
Monkerton had sent to the wars in 1625.
Richard Ingerstein and Harry Waye, in spite
of their many troubles, had still in them a
love of fun. Eldred and Tom seemed to
have no faculty whatever for fun. Young
as they were, they had all the gravity
of old men bowed beneath a weight of
• Cal'é.
“In the morning we will talk over the
subject of your views with Ernest Mohan,”
said Eldred; “he is one of the shrewdest
136 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
men in Geneva. I shall remain here for
a few months, engaged in studies under
some grave doctors; then I shall return
home. My work in war, I think, is done,
unless Old England should need me. I am
no longer an advocate, Tom, for service in
foreign armies.”
“Nor I. It is mostly galling, and never
really satisfactory. Indeed, I hate war.”
“And so do T-God knoweth !”
Next morning Tom met Ernest Mohan,
who, in the course of a long conversation,
said—
“There is one thing I can see clearly
enough. You must throw in your lot with
Master Henry Ingerstein and myself as
another tyro in banking. Henry—whom I
seem to know as well as if I had seen him
—has already engaged for us a house in
Lombard Street, where, by favour of his.
An AEarly Ban/. I 37
gracious Majesty and the city of London,
we shall, before this year is much older, open
a set of books with white leaves, whereon
to record transactions which I think are
now more than ordinarily needed.”
“I have no experience, Master Mohan.
Besides, of money I possess only a mere
trifle.”
“The money is nothing. The experience
you have—and it ought to be worth some-
thing, since it satisfied Richelieu.”
Tom shook his head gravely.
“I cannot,” he said, “see daylight on
the subject. You propose to lend money
to any one who has reasonable prospects of
paying you principal and interest P’’
“No, no; that we do not. I see whither
your thoughts are running. We propose
never to prop up an iniquity. Still, you
know, we could not make bad debts on
138 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
behalf of even good causes. As a man, for
instance, I would give money readily to
support Gustavus Adolphus; as a banker
I would not lend money to Gustavus
Adolphus if I did not see that there was a
reasonable prospect of the loan being re-
paid. That is, what I gave I should give
as a man, not as a banker.
“I quite understand you, and I also un-
derstand that on no other principle is
banking possible. But if Ferdinand or
Richelieu sought a loan, and asked you to
negotiate it P”
“We would decline. We have already
considered that point, as I shall show you
by our correspondence. Our transactions
will in the main be commercial ones, and I
should say you need not fear any complica-
tions with crowned heads.”
|Eldred Chadwick had sat silently listen-
An Early Bank. | 39
ing to this conversation, so all-important to
his friend Tom Prim. He interrupted it
at last to say—
“You must know, Tom, that Mr. Mohan
inherits a great trading connexion in Paris,
Rouen, Lyons, Marseilles, and some other
places in France, including Nantes.”
“Yes,” said Tom, “I know Mr.
Mohan's house very well. I have had
drafts on it, and I thank you for remember-
ing Nantes, and my friend M. Clairville,
whom I have found Mr. Mohan knows. Give
me a month to look at the subject in all its
bearings. I have no right to become a
partner with you, and I could not, I fear,
very easily become a clerk, though I could
easily enough become a wheelwright again.
I could enjoy the ring of the hammer and
the curling of the shavings as I never have
enjoyed this work on the Continent. In
140 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
fact, my heart is becoming strangely drawn
to the old shop.”
“Ay, ay, I know,” said Eldred, “but do
not deceive yourself; there is no going back
to the ‘old shop.” Once a man finds his
way into the great intellectual struggle of
such a life as you have known, there is no
return to the wheelwright's shop.”
“And pray, Master Prim,” Ernest
Mohan said, “do not suppose that I would
dream of asking you to be a clerk, or that
you have not real capital. You would have
a right to be one of us by the power of
mind you would bring to bear on the in-
tricate affairs of trade. As for the old shop”
—and Mr. Mohan laughed—“why, have a
bench in it if you like, and go over, on Saints'
days and holidays, and make carts. Your
father will not care for the Saints' days?”
“No,” said Tom, laughing heartily, “he.
The Bank and the W/ee/wri/t's S/op. 141
would rather enjoy seeing me put a spoke
in a felloe on St. Chrysostom's Day—if
there is such a day. He would exhibit the
spoke in a glass case to all who came near
him as a triumph over the Pope ; and he
should have the triumph, too, as far as my
will went.”
“Do not reject the offer, Tom,” said
Lldred; “I could not have conceived any-
thing more opportune. Having discovered
that you can stand among the rulers of
the earth and cause them to respect you,
I fear there is no path, rugged or smooth,
by which you can return to carts and mill-
dams.”
“I fear not, though why not I hardly can
say. Why is it P. What is there more
honourable than honest labour P”
“Nothing. It is not from any lack of dig-
mity in labour, but simply that you have drunk
142 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
from a cup which changes the character of a
man, and fastens him to a new destiny.”
“Well, give me a month, Master Mohan,
and leave me meanwhile to think out your
kindness in silence, and during a course of
reading which I am about to ask Eldred to
afford me.”
“A course of reading P−in what subjects,
Tom P’’
“In the old and the new Divines,
Eldred, such as you appear to have chosen
for your own studies. It will be quite time
enough to think of banking when I have
settled the key-question. A month of
theology will do me good after these six
years of cruel war. I should like to know
a little of the views of men who profess at
least to tell us of a merciful and gracious
God who maketh His rain to fall on the
just and the unjust.”
Studies at Geneva. | 4:3
“Agreed,” said both Eldred and Master
Mohan.
“Then,” continued Tom, “I have
another favour to ask from you, Eldred.
Give me pens, ink, and paper, to write to
the old homes on the Thames.”
Tom received his pens, ink, and paper, and
was left in solitude to write. He wrote at
great length to his friends on the Thames.
Then he had his full and unmolested month
of solitary reflection and theology. The
reader of the chronicles of the early part of
the seventeenth century will have already
divined, however, that from this con-
versation sprung the celebrated banking
firm of Mohan, Ingerstein, and Prim, to
which Cromwell himself owed more than
money debts; whose transactions in the
course of a few years extended over many
lands, and whose stability was at one time
144 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
acknowledged and admired when nearly
every banking house in Europe was more or .
less questioned. There was one eventful
year, indeed, after the establishment of
the Bank of England in 1694, when the
famous Bank of Venice itself had to face the
dread calamity of a “run upon the tills.”
Even then the firm of Mohan, Ingerstein,
and Prim enjoyed public confidence. The
'causes of this confidence are not such as can
be readily stated in so many words. If a
Tuondon merchant had been asked to say
why he relied upon this bank in particular,
it is possible he would have been at a loss
for a reply. All the same, however, he
would have known that Mohan, Inger-
stein, and Prim were frugal and unosten-
tatious in their manner of living, cautious
to a proverb in their engagements, but
resolute in meeting those engagements,
“After many Rowing Years.” 145.
involve what privation and loss they
might.
On the second anniversary of the landing
of Gustavus Adolphus in Pomerania—that
is, in June, 1632—Tom Prim was once
more on the banks of the Thames, where he
assisted to keep high festival at Ingerstein
Hall in honour of the great event. Tom's
desire on landing in England had been to ap-
proach his early home unexpected and on foot.
One night, therefore, a fortnight before this
anniversary, he had lodged and put up his
light luggage at the “Maiden Queen,” and,
unrecognised by any one, had made
inquiries respecting affairs in Monkerton.
Next morning he was afoot by daybreak, to
the surprise of the ploughmen and stable-
boys of the “Maiden Queen.” By half.
past five he was in Monkerton churchyard,
making his first visit, as he had made his
WOIA. II. 10
146 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
last farewell, to his mother’s grave.
Several of his old friends, whom he had
passed on the way, had observed him, but
had known him not, though he knew them ;
and one had told the sexton of the church
that a gentleman, a stranger, had climbed
the walls of the churchyard ; information
which brought the sexton to his duty
and his charge. He met Tom on the
footpath, and politely offered to show him
the church.
“Thank you, no,” Tom said, “I have
seen the church before ; please take this for
your trouble,” giving him a coin. Then,
without waiting for thanks, he strode on,
with a subdued but kind “Good morning.”
“Who can he be P” said the old man,
looking after him, “He says he has seen
the church before.”
“Poor old William Marvel,” Tom said to
Early Morning: 7%e Wheelwri/É's S/op. 147
himself, “how he has failed since I saw
bim last. But now for my father, and—the
smithy.” Brave as Tom was, his heart at
this time beat quicker than its wont.
First he strolled towards the wheel-
wright's shop. It was ten minutes to six
by the church clock—for Monkerton, by
the munificence of Sir John Ingerstein, had
a church clock. It was Peter Prim’s usual
time for opening his shop-door in summer,
that he might lift his tools at six to the
moment. A fine fancy of some good old
workmen then and now. -
“Ah! here he is,” said Tom ; “and I,
like a child, begin to wish that I had pre-
pared him for the meeting. How old, and
bent, and feeble ! Poor old father l’’
Tom passed the old man on the road, and
they exchanged a good morning, and Peter
Prim looked sharply, and said to himself,
10––2
148 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“I ought to know that gentleman, but it
must be fancy.” Then he went on, and
opened his shop-door, and put back a
window-shutter, and began to brush down
his bench for the day's work, as in earlier
days. The morning was beautiful. The
cuckoo and the lark told their sweet story
of a gladsome English summer morning.
A ploughman passed with a team of
horses, and in giving Peter Prim the
usual greeting, inquired for Tom ; but
E’eter, as Tom heard, had no fresh news
from his son. “I cannot do it,” Tom said,
bitterly; “I must go to Susan first. Master
Waye must break the news. What a fool
I was to come in this fashion " He went
on to the smithy, and his father looked
after him—wistfully he thought. On he
went, past his father's cottage, towards the
smithy of Harry Waye.
Early Morning : The Smithy. 149
The blacksmith was already at his anvil
—he, too, had a fancy for beginning
work before the sound of six o'clock had
left the bell in the morning; as he had
another fancy for staying at work till
the sound was well out of the bell at
night. A couple of wheels, Tom's own
father's work, stood against the Smithy wall
ready for the hooping. Tom heaved a
big sigh, and wiped his eyes, as if dust had
been blown into them, as perhaps it had.
Then he rushed on with an impetuous step
to the door of the cottage, passing the
window at which he saw Susan watering
her plants. He put his hand on the latch,
and opened the door at a bound. Susan
gave a little cry, but her instinct told her
who it was that had entered the cottage;
and her head on that early morning found
a resting-place as if for all future years.
150 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“T)ear old Tom l’ she said, and before she
could say very much more the latch was
again raised, and her father entered.
Barry Waye had from the first watched
the stranger narrowly, and when the latch.
was lifted he said, “It is Tom, as I live l’’
When he opened the door, Susan met him,
half laughing, half crying, with the glad-
SOme news.
“Nay, nay, my dear,” he said, “I knew
it all when I saw Tom open the door. No
stranger could have found out how to do.
it. Well, my lad, welcome back to Old
England l’’ The old blacksmith and the
young diplomatist shook hands with a will.
“Wait a bit,” said Susan, “tell mother—
while I run to your father. Det me be the
bearer of the news l’ and off she ran, her
feet, as Tom said, hardly touching the
ground.
Tom Prim’s Welcome Home. 151
“Susan is right in going to my father,
Master Waye. I could not speak to him,
so I passed the door and came here.”
“Why, Tom l’’ said a cheerie voice from
an inner room, and Mistress Waye came out
as blithe as a young girl, and shook Tom's
hand with a heartiness little known out of
England. Then she, too, cried a little, but
not for long.
Susan, as we have seen, ran from the
cottage, but if we could follow her we should
see her quick steps become restrained.
She had not gone far before she saw Peter
Prim coming towards her, and she began
now to think how the news ought to be
told. Peter looked at her lovingly as he
greeted her, and told her that he was on
his way to the smithy to see his wheels
hooped.
“Father is engaged with a stranger,” she
152 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
said, “and indeed mother too. And Oh!
father”—and she kissed the old man—“he
has brought us news. Come back to your
shop and I will tell you all.” Peter Prim
allowed himself to be led back like a child.
“Now sit down,” Susan said; and he sat
down on a stool, made from the forked arms
of an ash tree, and Susan sat before him,
and with nervous eagerness, twirled arti-
ficial curls from the heap of ash-shavings
at her feet, after her manner when a child.
“News of Tom, father,” she said, “ and
he is coming home.”
“Coming home, my dear?”
“Yes, and soon—think of that, poor old
lonely father l’ -
“Nay, I am not lonely, my dear, thank
you, after God, for it. But”—and his voice
trembled—“ do not keep me in suspense.
Is it Tom P Do not think I cannot bear it.
Tom Prim's Welcome Home. 153
What, my dear, I am not old yet !” and he
laughed at the bare idea that he was old.
“Then,” and Susan whispered in his ear,
“it is—Tom. He came purposely to catch
you opening your shop in the morning, but
when he saw you he was afraid of the
shock to you, so he sent me. I shall not
shock you, old daddy l’
“He sent an angel, my dear. I see now
what William Marvel meant. He has just
been telling me of a stranger climbing the
churchyard walls, but I did not dream of
Tom being here yet. Must I come to him P
I wish I had been with him at—her—
’ and Peter Prim now broke
grave
down in earnest, and so did Susan.
“We are to go to your own house,
daddy. Tom is there.”
And they went ; and Susan, having seen
the old man enter, closed the door and ran
154 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
away home. Perhaps it would be as well
if we ran away with her, and listened to good.
Mistress Waye talking in gladness of heart,
as she prepared breakfast, of what a wonder-
ful fellow Tom had grown, and how proud
every one ought to be of him. Stili, we
cannot quite leave the other cottage.
“Tom l’ “Father l’’ was all that passed
for the first moment or two between Peter
Prim and his son ; but once speech began
to flow in the place of tears, it went on
amain, and before long Tom had shown his
father that those years on the Continent
had not been spent in the service of the
“enemy of men.”
“Now we must go to Mistress Waye's to
breakfast, father,” Tom said.
“Yes; I thought that would be Susan's
arrangement—bless her Let us go, my
27
boy.” Tom pressed his father's hānd, and
An Anniversary and an Evenſ. 155
they went, arm-in-arm. The news ran
through Monkerton that Tom Prim had
come home from the wars, and old neigh-
bours stopped Tom at every step, for now,
in company with his father, they knew him,
and he had no longer any reason to remain
unknown. At breakfast Peter Prim was
almost silent, while Mistress Waye, sighing
in silence for her own absent son, made
jokes, and laughed, and bustled about like
what she was—a genuine English housewife.
Passing over the welcomes at the Hall,
the Rise, and elsewhere, let us return to that
second anniversary of the landing in Pome-
rania, when a great réunion, which Mabel
Ingerstein had made her own business and
had arranged charmingly, was held at Inger-
stein Hall. Mr. Chadwick and his two daugh-
ters, Harry Waye and Mistress Waye, and
Susan, and Peter Prim, and Commodore,
156 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
and Mistress and Eliza Mordaunt were
there, to do honour to the hero of freedom,
and perhaps also to Tom Prim. Sir John
and Lady Ingerstein and Mabel made a
bright and beautiful presence to rest that
day on every portion of a varied and cheer-
ful scene, chastened by the recollection of
the past, and of friends still in the midst of
great perils in a foreign land. Of Eldred,
Tom had told the good news that he would
very soon return to Monkerton. Of Richard
and Harry he could only tell that they were
in the midst of great danger and difficulty,
where honour was confined to the very few,
and where murder and crime of every kind
were the rule of life in God’s sacred name.
Two months later a little company, with
the addition of Eldred Chadwick, assembled
in the cottage of Harry Waye, where, in
spite of all Mistress Waye's good manage-
Fresh Footsteps in Life. 157
ment, it was difficult to find standing room,
so numerous were the guests. It was only
for a short time, however. Then there was
a sort of procession to the parish church,
where, with the help of Master Baldwin,
Susan Waye was made to disappear from
this history, and where a Mistress Susan
Prim appeared for the first time. Peter
Prim, while the day was yet distant, had
pleaded a little, but half-heartedly, for the
claims of the Anabaptist chapel. “The
man,” he said, “is the head of the woman,”
and the woman ought to “leave father and
mother and cleave unto her husband.”
Indeed, Peter had texts innumerable to
prove what he wished to maintain, and he
even appealed to Susan, who laughed, and
said, “Anywhere, daddy!” but all the same,
the ceremony was performed in the church
according to law.
158 Ingerstein Hall and C/adwick Rise.
As the day approached, a strange mellow
change came over the old man, and his
crotchets seemed to pass away. It was a
notable festive day in Monkerton, a general
holiday; and people even said that several
of the “gallants,” so called, from White-
hall were present, and saw the rustic
paths strewn with flowers, and heard those
hearty, musical cheers which no wealth
could have purchased. Mabel Ingerstein
and Eldred were greatly noticed, and all the
more because more than others they seemed
to shrink from notice, and because Eldred
appeared so grave and self-possessed, and at
the same time so gentle and kind. He
listened to the marriage ceremony like one
in a dream, though Mabel could have told,
if she had wished to tell, how tenderly, yet
tightly, he held her hand through it all.
Many persons noticed Eldred's serious face;
Gentle and Solemn Words. | 59
but no one, not even Mabel, or Sir John
Ingerstein, or Lady Ingerstein, noticed it
as closely or with such anguish as did
Henry Ingerstein. The kind friend was
appalled at the change, and though he lived
to see in it the Master Hand of all in the
universe, he did not see that very readily or
very soon.
At breakfast afterwards, in the fine old
hall, where a score of the ancient Inger-
steins of Ingerstein looked down from their
canvas upon the unwonted scene, Sir John
Ingerstein proposed a toast. Turning to
Susan, he said—
“My dear, you have long and truly been
the Rose of Monkerton, and you deserved
the name, and became it well. You must
now, I fear, be content to step down in one
sense, while you rise to a higher place in
another sense; you must henceforth be our
l60 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
e-ºr-e-
Prim-rose of Monkerton, and considering
Tom’s change of occupation, perhaps you
and your young friends present may be
spared to see a bank of prim-roses in days
to come. May God be with you, and bless
you with an everlasting spring.”
“Peter Prim, whose eyes were wet, and
whose voice trembled almost beyond his
control, said, with a hard attempt to
smile—
“That is not quite new, Sir John.
Thirty-five long years ago, on an occasion
like unto, and yet unlike this, I heard the
same allusion to the Rose that had become
a Prim-rose. We had no prospective bank,
it is true, to supply us with the double
joke, which single, however, I prized highly
in those bright spring days. We had the
primroses, but the Taord who gave took
away—blessed be His holy name !—and
A Cup of Blessings Ful/. 16]
at last, of all that we had from Him one
only remained, and that one—I fear in the
pride of my heart—I transplanted to a
foreign soil. Instead of the punishment
which I perhaps deserved, I have a cup of
blessings very full. The goodness of the
Lord hath followed me all my life—and—
and—unmeritedly; for I have sinned. Sir
John has been so kind as to ask me to give
the only other toast which he says he can
permit to-day, and I think he means me to
propose it to you as a toast and something
more. It is a prayer. Join me, then, in
pledging ‘Our Absent Friends---and may
God bless them l’.”
The simple dignity of the old man sur-
prised every one but Tom and Susan, who
had seen him when the love of wrangling
was subdued by sorrow and affliction.
“Our Absent Friends—and may God
WOIL. II. 11
l62 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
bless them l’ arose from every lip—“a toast
and a prayer.”
Wonderful letters—wonderful in length
and graphic power—were written and sent
off to Harry and Richard and Count
Werner. There was no newspaper in those
days to interpose with, “the happy couple”
did this or that, and so to mar with unreality
the most real and solemn of all the scenes
of human life. The warm words that went
away were as true as they were genial, and
when the writer said—“Tom and Susan, I
rejoice to tell you, remain here in a new
house within a stone's throw from their
parents,” why, there was no reason to doubt
that the words of gratification that such a
decision had been come to represented the
deep feeling of true friends. Tittle was
said for years after this of Father Simeon
at Magdeburg and at the Lech. Father
The Faitſ, Miſſ/ſier than Churches. 163
Altona even avoided the subject as too pain-
ful for talk. But the subject had neverthe-
less a mighty influence on all the house-
holds.
A little later, when the sere and yellow
leaves were on the ground, there was
another marriage with almost, though not
quite, the same guests. The sweet daughter
of Sir John and Tady Ingerstein became
the wife of Eldred Chadwick. The marriage
was Protestant, and Mr. Baldwin, for whom
Eldred had no especial admiration, read the
service, but the Catholic priest blessed it
also, saying, as a Pope said at a much later
date—“You will at all events esteem the
blessing of an old man.” And they did
esteem it highly. Eldred had built a house
on his father's estate, and at about an equal
distance from the Hall and the Rise, and
one more home was added to the united
11—2
164 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
families of Monkerton. By this time, how-
ever, the meaning conveyed in the pledge
of “Our Absent Friends,” had become in-
tensified as the events of war had become
narrowed into a smaller area, and as the
horrors of the war had become increased.
And the bank in Lombard Street went
on bravely, establishing its agencies and
winning its credit. Its transactions were
so varied that Tom Prim, Ernest Mohan,
and Henry Ingerstein had plenty of scope
for their varied abilities, in three very
distinct and yet cordially united depart-
ments. Tom managed the political rela-
tions abroad and at home, Ernest the
trading correspondence, and Henry the
general transactions which rested in the
home office. One morning Tom received
at Monkerton a packet of letters from the
Continent, and on opening one, he said,
Old Friends from France. 165
with glad surprise, and a gleam of his old
boyishness, “Why, Susan, who do you
think is coming to England?”
“Am I to guess, Tom P”
“Of course l’’
“Well, then, knowing how ready you are
to make guesses, and especially how fond
you are of being made to guess, I will—
Gustavus Adolphus.-There now !”
“Pshaw be reasonable, my dear little
wife.”
“Am I not reasonable? Let me try
again. Give me three tries more ”—and
Susan pursed up her mouth comically—
“Wallenstein P”
Tom laughed, and said “Nonsense ſ”
C & There, then, goes one of my tries.’
Now for the second—Michael Romanoff,
whom you call the first Czar of his name.
A very likely person, indeed.”
166 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Now, Susan, do, I say, be reasonable,
like the dear little 2.5
“Goose–Tom ; you mean it. Is the
person a he or a she P and is he or she
coming to Whitehall or to Monkerton?”
“To Monkerton—to this very house,
and it is more than a person—it is both a
he and a she.”
“Ah, then I can guess. It is Monsieur
and Madame Clairville.’’
Tom looked up admiringly, and said—
“You are a witch, Susan. It is, indeed.
How did you guess?”
“By a sure sign, Tom. To you know
you have about six different kinds of faces?
There is the Gustavus Adolphus face; the
Magdeburg face; the old, old wheel-
making face; the Nantes face, and the—
but never mind the others—this was the
Nantes face. You looked as if you wanted
Tom Prim's Uncancelled Dečf. 167
to pay a debt, dear old Tom | So we are
to see your Nantes friends at last P. They
shall have a hearty welcome.”
“That's like my dear Susan!” and he kissed
her, not by any means a common exhibi-
tion of feeling with Tom, “in work hours.”
And the noble advocate and Madame
Clairville arrived, and though it was their
first, it was not their last visit to Monker-
5
ton. They had “a hearty welcome ;” and so
at a later period had they and their children.
And Tom, though he never himself could
see that it was so, at last paid back with
interest the debt he had contracted at Nantes
in 1625.

CHAPTER VII.
MONKERTON AND NUREMBURG-RICHARD INGERSTEIN AND
HARRY WAYE AFTER THE BATTLE–PRESENTIMENTS OF
THE GREAT KING—THE NIGHT BEFORE LüTZEN.
Fººd ATURALLY, also, the arrival at
º Monkerton of Tom Prim and
Eldred Chadwick had led to certain revela-
tions for Eliza Mordaunt, whose position
had been more trying than her friends
supposed. From the time that her father's
wall of reserve had been broken down, after
Count Werner’s departure from the Thames,
she had been cross-examined by Margaret
and Agnes Chadwick and Mabel Ingerstein
as to the bull-fight, and incidentally as to
much besides. Susan was charitably silent,
save in private. Eliza learned, in intercourse


E/za Mordaunt's Misſivings. | 69
with her friends, that there was nothing so
uncommon in Harry's reticence as to the
bull-fight. His heroic venture to save the two
men at Mortlake had, in like manner, been
unspoken of, and perhaps, though it is impos-
sible to say, she had thought the one case of
reticence might mean as little as the other.
Still, no general fact could well apply to the
rose-bud, which, even before Harry had
written as he had to Susan, and before Tom
Prim and George Waye had supplemented
Harry’s clumsily diplomatic allusions, Eliza
felt certain must be her own gift.
After the appearance of Tom Prim at
Monkerton, suspicion had gradually been
converted into certainty. Eliza felt satisfied
that the brave lad to whom she knew that
she had been strangely drawn from their
first meeting, had been quite as surely drawn
to her. Sitting on one occasion with Mabel,
170 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Margaret, Agnes, and Susan, Eliza was
utterly confounded by an assault made by
her friend Agnes, first on Eldred, and then
also on Tom, both of whom had a minute or
so earlier entered the room on their return
from London.
“And so you gentlemen thought—you
two clever gentlemen, who had seen great
wars and served masters in diplomacy—that
IHarry Waye was over head and ears in love
with poor me P” And the young lady's
eyes literally danced with amusement and
mischief, while Eliza Mordaunt blushed,
became confused, and busied herself, as was
natural, with two vases of flowers, which
needed nothing of the readjustment which
she nervously gave to them.
“Nonsense, Agnes,” Eldred said, a little
severely ; “ you must not talk in this
fashion.”
Comp/caſions in Mon/erſon. 171
Tom looked from one to another of the
fair faces, and then to the room door, as if
he meditated an escape.
“And did Harry actually laugh aloud,
Tom P’’ said the tormenting young lady,
“ and did he call you a sly dog, when you
told him you had discovered his secret P”
It was now Susan's turn to appear confused,
especially when Tom looked at her with his
large eyes, which said, as plainly as eyes
could say, that she had betrayed him.
Susan had revealed nothing to Agnes that
she would not as readily have said to Tom
himself; but still, as it chanced, she had
not said this to him, and now that her
words came back to her and to Tom in this
friendly badimage, she for the moment felt a
little condemned. Yet she hardly knew
wherein she had done wrong. From all,
save Eliza Mordaunt, she had preserved the
172 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
secret of Harry's list of inquiries, though
with the exception of that list, nearly all
the letters from the seat of war had been
common property in cottage and hall.
Remembering this, Susan brushed up her
courage, and said—
“You need not look at me in that fashion,
Tom ; there was nothing wrong or treason-
able, I hope, when I knew that you were in
error, in having a laugh, not at Harry's
presumed secret, you know, but at your
blunder P”
“Well, no,” Tom admitted he could not say
that there was. “But I thought,” he added,
“that Harry had some sort of a secret. Now
I see I was mistaken”—blundering again.
“We were all mistaken,” said Eldred ;
“we ought to learn from this to mind
our own affairs in such matters.”
“ Not at all, Eldie,” said Mabel; “it is
Complications in Monkerſon. 173
pleasant to meddle with the affairs of our
friends—is it not, Eliza P”
In a low voice Eliza replied that she
thought it perhaps was—sometimes.
“I do not in the least understand it,”
Eldred said afterwards to Tom.
“Nor I,” Tom replied; “but Count
Werner knows something of which we are
ignorant. We must hope the best for
Harry, that is all.”
“Do you know, Tom, I should not be in
the least surprised to find that Eliza
Mordaunt is the original of Harry's ideal of
life.”
“If she is so, Harry had no need to
idealise her, I am sure; she is sweet as a
lily of the valley, or a hawthorn blossom.”
“Yes, but none the less would Harry
idealise her. He has a poetic temperament
keener and deeper than any of us supposed.
174 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
I should have been ashamed to pry into his
secret, if it had not been with the single
object of smoothing away any difficulties,
if I could, in our family. Harry was
remarkably attached to Agnes when she
was a child; he never, indeed, seemed tired
of trying to give her pleasure.”
This conversation passed while Tom and
Eldred were walking along the banks of the
Thames, at some little distance behind
Susan and Eliza, and at some little distance
before Mabel and Margaret, after the
informal manner of the friendly families.
Eliza and Susan were deep in the same
subject that was uppermost in the minds of
Eldred and Tom.
“It is annoying,” Susan said, “but it is
all Tom’s own fault. He is remarkably
clever in affairs far off, and as stupid and
blind as a bat about things under his very
Susan Pleads for Harry. 175
eyes. He looked at me as if I had broken
some great confidence—just as if I had not
more interest in Harry than any one else
can have. May I try once more to send
to Harry a letter, Eliza, and give him a
little bit of hope—the least scrap would
make me happy—that if he is spared by
God to come back, he may—may—well,
have another rose-bud?”
“I told you so much, dear Susan, long
ago, that I think you should not ask me for
more. Supposing it is all another mistake,
and that we are as far from the fact as
Eldred and Tom have been. (Susan shook
her pretty head gravely.) I sent that
other rose-bud, you know, Susan, by Count
Werner, and I have since had many a bitter
hour with respect to my unmaidenly act. I
do not think that any foolish girl ever did so
supremely foolish a thing before.”
176 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Neither do I. Foolish girls do not un-
derstand a deep heart's love ; but girls with
true hearts have done such things before, dear
Eliza. How hard it is that my letters have
never reached Harry. Give me one word.”
“Do not distress me, Susan. You know
all I could say. Tell Harry that I sent
him the fresh rose-bud. Will that do?”
“Yes ; and thank you, Eliza, most sin-
cerely.”
Erom this conversation some opinion may
be formed of the order of life in the four
homes in which we are interested in
Monkerton and the neighbourhood; the
order of life, at least, for some weeks prior
to the 24th August, 1632, when Mistress
Susan Waye became Mistress Susan Prim.
Tiet us see now in what manner the “absent
friends” were spending the momentous day
of Tom’s and Susan’s wedding.
Wurembury: The Tempest of Battle. 177
It was the terrible day of Nuremburg,
when Gustavus Adolphus, for ten long
hours, attempted to force Wallenstein’s
entrenchments, and failed. Every regiment
in the Swedish army, even to the reserves,
were, it is said, engaged; and hand-to-hand
fights with the Austrian cavalry were
events of every hour of the day, and along
the entire line. Sheltered by the intrench-
ments, the Imperial cavalry sallied out here
and there, when and where they were least
expected, and the slaughter was frightful.
The regiment of Colonel Waye suffered
severely, and was in danger of being cut to
pieces, when Richard Ingerstein came to
the rescue, and drove back the enemy.
“Thank you, Richard,” said Harry, as
the two friends passed each other in the
fight. The words had barely passed
his lips when a shot from the intrench-
VOI. II. 12
178 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Jºse.
ments took away Richard Ingerstein's
bridle-arm, and at that very moment
Colonel Hepburn, a Scotch officer who
had stood aloof from the action, dissatis-
fied with some injustice which he con-
ceived done to him by the great King,
but who now gave his services at the
critical moment of the battle, arrived with
the order to retire, and took charge of the
movements. Colonel Ingerstein had fallen
from his horse, and the enemy pressed
fiercely towards the spot where he lay,
supposing, as was afterwards ascertained,
that he was the King. Harry Waye, wild,
and altogether reckless of consequences to
himself, put forth superhuman efforts to
save his friend or recover his remains, and
in one of the fiercest struggles known in
the war, brought off the apparently lifeless
body, but not without himself receiving a
Wounded Comrades : A Truce. 179
severe wound. The Swedes remained
masters of the field.
Next day there was a truce of four hours
to remove the wounded and bury the dead,
and Count Werner took advantage of the
truce, by Wallenstein’s permission, to ask
from the King of Sweden the privilege of a
few private words with Colonel Waye ; a
boon which Gustavus, who knew well the .*
history of the debt that the gallant German
owed to Harry, granted unhesitatingly.
Count Werner found his friend Waye dis-
abled, and Richard Ingerstein with only one
arm—the other had been cut into proper
shape after the surgical manner of the time.
Richard was scarcely conscious, and at
times was quite unconscious of what was
passing around him, but Harry, whose
wound had been dressed by one of the
chaplains—there were two to each Swedish
12–2
180 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
regiment at salaries of 40/. a year each—
was perfectly master of his faculties. The
meeting was a sad one, yet with bright rays
of sunshine too.
“Colonel Waye,” Count Werner said,
after some whispered conversation, “I
must be very brief; our time is short.
Eldred is safe in Geneva, and I had the
pleasure of sending Captain Prim to France.
He informed me that you had had no letters
from England.” *
“Not a line—have you? George, of
course, told us all the news up to the date
of his departure from England. Tell me
the rest, my dear friend, and quickly, that I
may lose nothing. From George, and the
letters he brought, we learned all about
your visit to Monkerton.”
“Yes, but your friends did not know
much, any of them, Harry—pray, let me
Comfort for a Wounded Man. 181
call you Harry, and call me Fritz—they
did not at least know some facts which I
am sure you will be pleased to hear.”
“IDid they not?—what else is there,
then P’’ and Harry opened his eyes wide, and
tried to raise himself on his elbow, but
failed, and fell back again.
“Do not attempt to sit up, my friend; I
shall not keep you a moment in suspense if
you will try to lie still.”
“Yes, I will do that.”
“And if you will first answer me one
honest question honestly. Remember, our
time is short.”
“I will do that, Fritz, be it what it
may.”
“It is a trying question, Harry.”
“Never mind; I am a wreck—say on.”
“Who gave you that rose-bud?”
“What are you, then, deceived?—are
182 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
you jealous, Fritz P” and Harry laughed in
spite of his pain. The laugh sounded
strangely in that dismal tent. “Why,
surely,” he went on to say, “ you have not
fallen into the same error as Eldred and
Tom, and fancied me in love with dear little
Agnes?”
“No, I know better; but again, re-
member, our time is short, and my infor-
mation depends upon your directness—we
must have no beating round the bush. Is
it the rose-bud you had from Mistress Eliza
on the day you tripped up the bull?”
Harry hesitated for a moment, and his
pale cheek flushed red. Then rousing
himself, as for a great effort, he said, almost
fiercely—
“Yes, it is ; and I do not care who
knows it, or who knows that I love Eliza
Mordaunt.”
Comfort for a Wounded Man. 183
“Then, Harry, I have a ray of real
sunshine for you this dark dismal day.”
“Do not play with me, my friend, I am
really in pain.”
“Mistress Eliza gave me this other
rose-bud, freshly plucked, and said, ‘Give it
to Captain Waye, and tell him that we
shall never forget him.’ Take it, Harry.”
“Count Werner–Fritz, or whatever I
am to call you, my friend—this is too
much ſ” Then he continued, passionately,
“And I cannot write a line, and cannot get
a line sent away safely if it is written.”
“I shall write for you, Harry, this very
day, if your King gives us so long a rest;
and I think I can have the letter sent
safely to England. We are not now very
far from the Werner estates. I wish
Richard could be conveyed there; but it
is hopeless. The bitter and rancorous spirit
184 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
*-*----—
in the two armies is beyond the conception
of ordinary people.”
“We are going off, one by one, Fritz.
What a fate that was of the priest's I’’
“Ay, it haunts one.”
“Haunts one P” said Richard, sharply,
Opening his eyes. “I am haunted, I think.
Who are you?—What, Werner —where
are we ? T–T-think I have been asleep,
and in a dream of home. There were my
father and mother, and Mabel, and Maggie,
and Agnes, and pretty Susan, and—but
where are we now, Werner P And
ay, ay ; there is no mistake about the arm ;
but I care not for that, since it has gone for
the gallant King, and for freedom. News
from home, Werner?—anything P Tell me,
slowly and quietly.”
“There is no time, Ingerstein, to talk
slowly. We have had a four hours' truce ;
Jęic/ard Ingerstein Helpless. 185
three of the four hours are gone, and I
have duties on the field. But all were
well when I last heard from England.
Eldred is safe, and Tom Prim, too, I believe.
Harry must tell you the rest after I have
gone. Can you think of anything you
would like to ask me specially P’’ -
“No, I cannot think at all. I had a
nasty fall, and my head feels like a head
cloven in two. I cannot make up my
thoughts into a question, but tell me—
everything.”
For a quarter of an hour Count Werner
poured into the ear of the wounded soldier
as much of “everything” as he could com-
press into the time in an arranged form.
Then, bidding him a kindly good-bye, he
turned to Harry to repeat the formula, very
solemn and affecting in a case like this—
though soldiers are compelled to put on
186 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
cheerful faces amid it all. “God bless
you for the rose-bud,” Harry said. “Tell
her—her, you know—that I shall carry it
with me to the grave.”
“Fifty years hence, I hope, Harry. Now,
good-bye. Cheer up, we shall meet again.”
Side by side lay the two wounded men;
in the tent, as in the baggage waggon, they
were not separated. Such was the order of
the King, whose mind took in the most
trivial as well as the most momentous cir-
cumstances in his army, the comfort of the
private as well as of the prince. Before
nightfall Harry was once more in a raging
fever. Richard had perhaps been preserved
from fever by loss of blood.
On a dark night, in a pelting snowstorm,
which whizzed through the waggon and
the top-coats of the wounded men within,
and made brave men cower together for
The Wounded after Wi/ffa/. 187
protection against the cold, Harry Waye,
utterly unconscious of what he was saying,
told the secret of years of affection. Men
whose teeth were chattering, through whose
bodies ran those cold shivers which must be
so near an approach to the feeling of death,
whose wounds were opened afresh with the
jolting of the waggon, took little note of
Harry's delirium—knew little of what was
meant by Susan and Eliza, nor caught, as
Richard Ingerstein’s quick ear did, the soft
and mellow tone, the low and gentle voice
in which both names were breathed, but the
latter the oftener of the two. With the
morning came warmth, refreshing food, and
wine, and cheerful words from the gracious
King—gracious in the truth of an exceeding
and a right royal graciousness.
In a few days Harry, whose wounds were
more acutely painful than dangerous to life,
188 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
was sufficiently recovered to mount his
horse and ride by the side of his friend, who
sank daily, till at last his life was despaired
of, and hung, the surgeon said, upon a fine
thread which might snap at any moment.
Happily the army had halted at this time
for a couple of days, and before the march
was recommenced the crisis had passed, and
|Bichard Ingerstein was once more fairly
within the category of living men, though
very weak and ill, and useless now for war.
At the end of September he was sent on by
easy marches to Rotterdam for England. The
Ring in a parting visit spent a full hour with
him in kindly and genial conversation, and
fastened on his breast the Order of the North
Star, and of Gustavus Vasa. He was also
about to confer on him a high grade of
mobility, but when this was mentioned,
Richard earnestly said—
A Douſſe Knighthood. 189
“I)o not think of it, Sire. Your
Majesty has quite enough to do with am-
bitious cravings for title and honour, and
many would be dissatisfied. Tiet me
carry to England the memory of your
Majesty’s great kindness, and one title
which no one can grudge me. Will your
Majesty’—and Richard bent his knee—
“be pleased to make me a knight P I
covet, and have long coveted, that honour.”
“But you are alreadya knight, Ingerstein.”
“I cannot think so, your Majesty. King
Christian’s title is worthless to me, and will
have no meaning in Monkerton. My father
would always shudder, as he did shudder
when I was at home, to hear me addressed
as Sir Richard. But if your Majesty will
knight me there will be no shuddering
anywhere among my friends.”
The King's eye became moist, and he
190 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
-- paused, deeply affected. “Let me,” he
said, “give you the highest title in my
possession, Ingerstein. It is contrary to all
rule to be twice knighted.”
“So much the better, my sovereign. It
will remind me that your Majesty will be
famous to all time as the breaker of rules—
of any rule but that of honour.”
“Well, well, my friend, be it so, in God’s
name. Rise, the second time, Sir Richard
Ingerstein.”
When Richard left the army Harry
Waye was permitted to accompany him
some miles, and enjoined to insure his
comfort as far as comfort could be secured
in war, by relays of conveyance. Thus
ended Richard Ingerstein’s direct relation
to the hero King.
The time was now fast approaching for
the last scene of the mighty drama of the
Before Ziffzen : The King's Legacy. 191
life of Gustavus Adolphus. Wallenstein,
master of Bohemia, threatened Saxony.
Gustavus hastened to the Elector's assist-
ance, determined, if possible, to force his
wily enemy to a battle. He found that
Wallenstein had moved his camp from
Weissenfels to Lützen, where he had cast
up formidable intrenchments. Gustavus
seemed to have a presentiment that his
career was drawing to an end, and a few
days before the battle of Lützen he wrote
to Oxenstiern—
“Though the cause in which I am
engaged is just and good, yet the event
of war, because of the vicissitudes of
human affairs, must ever be deemed
doubtful. Uncertain also is the duration
of mortal life; I therefore require and
beseech you, in the name of our blessed
Redeemer, to preserve your fortitude of
192 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
spirit, though events should not proceed in
perfect conformity to my wishes. Re-
member, likewise, how I should comfort
myself in regard to you, if by Divine
permission I might live till that period
when you should have occasion for my
assistance of any kind. Consider me as a
man, the guardian of a Kingdom, who has
struggled with difficulties for twenty years,
and passed through them with reputation,
by the protection and mercy of Heaven ; as
a man who loved and honoured his rela-
tions, and who neglected life, riches, and
happy days, for the preservation and glory
of his country and faithful subjects; ex-
pecting no other recompense than to be
declared ‘ the Prince who fulfilled the
duties of that station which Providence had
assigned him in this world.” They who
survive me—for T, like others must expect to
Before Lüßen : The King's Legacy. 193
feel the stroke of mortality—are on my
account, and for many other reasons, real
objects of your commiseration. They are
of the tender and defenceless sex—a helpless
mother who wants a guide, and an infant
daughter who needs a protector. Natural
affection forces these lines from the hand of
a husband and a parent.”
Nothing more touching or more grand
ever was written or spoken by any hero
about to seal with his blood the liberties of
men. The modesty, the rare tenderness
and simplicity, the beautiful consciousness
of the grandeur of sacrifice, and the humble
reliance on the mercy of God, stand almost
if not entirely alone and unapproached in
the history of kings. Now the last stern
duty began.
The distance from where the Swedes lay
to Wallenstein's camp was estimated at five
WOTA. II. | 3
194 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
miles, but was found to be eight, mostly
through soft ploughed land, in which the
men sank at every step. At the end of
this there was a swamp, or stagnant brook,
spanned by a bridge over which only two
men could pass abreast. The sun was
setting on a weary day before this obstacle
was passed; and Gustavus, having now
reached his enemy, resolved to begin the
battle two hours before daylight next
morning. Meanwhile Wallenstein had
been fortifying, and adopting every means
that his genius could devise to place all
manner of obstacles in the way of the
impetuous valour of the Swedish army. It
was a might of unremitting labour, and in
the Swedish army of prayer. Gustavus
and Wallenstein had often spoken slight-
ingly of each other in many respects, but
neither underrated his antagonist's genius
The Wight before Ziffzen. I95
for war. Wallenstein consulted his as-
trologer ; Gustavus bowed the knee to his
God. Neither lost one hour of the neces-
sary preparation for a day destined to be
among the most memorable and dismal in
history; a day which freemen might well
keep as a day of fasting and humiliation
for evermore.

13—2
CHAPTER VIII.
VICTORY OF LüTZEN–DEATH OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS—
AN ARRIVAL ON THE THAMES-A FRESH EXPEDI-
TION.
was a night of pitch-darkness
around Lützen, and no movement of war
was practicable till day-dawn. A night it
was of omens and dread uncertainty in both
armies, when brave men felt the chill of the
grave. It was Gustavus the hero, against
TVWallenstein the wizard. With the break
of day came the discovery for the Swedes
of a deep ditch which had been cut across
the direct line by which the advance was
to be made. A considerable detour, there-
fore, was needed before the enemy could


Jäffeem : The Affacé. 197
be reached. This was effected between
nine and ten o’clock in the morning. Then
the King ordered two hymns to be sung,
and himself, after his manner, knelt down
in front of his army and prayed. Then,
riding along the line, he addressed in brief
but stirring terms first his Swedes and then
his German allies. Then, drawing his
sword and putting himself at the head of
his right wing the battle began at all
points.
The great difficulty of the Swedes was to
pass the ditches which Wallenstein had
made and filled with musketeers, and here
even the best troops in the army wavered.
Gustavus rushed to the point of danger,
and addressing his discouraged troops re-
proachfully, essayed to cross the ditch alone.
His men, stung to the quick, with loud
cries begged him to forbear, and the ditch
198 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
should be crossed at whatever cost. It was
crossed gallantly, and the enemy in front
were swept away. The King himself, at
the head of his right wing, was speedily
engaged, hand to hand and foot to foot,
a general and a soldier that day.
“Jesu Marial” cried the Imperialists, as
horse and foot grappled together in the
death-struggle. “God with us !” was again
the battle-cry of the Swedes. About eleven
o'clock Gustavus was informed that his
infantry had been beaten at a certain point,
and advancing at the head of a body of
cavalry he again led them to the attack.
In his impetuosity, and owing, it was be-
lieved, to his shortness of sight, he advanced
too near to the enemy, and a musketeer taking
deliberate aim at him shattered his arm.
“It is nothing,” said the lion-heart,
“ follow me!” and he again advanced with
Lützen : The King Wounded. I99
his men. But it was something. The
King grew faint, and still more faint ; and
at last he requested to be taken quietly
from the field unseen by his soldiers. His
wishes were about to be obeyed, when an
Imperialist colonel, who had approached
unobserved, cried aloud—“ Ha! is it thou?
Tuong have I sought thee ſ” and as he spoke
he shot the King through the body. The
colonel was immediately served in the same
way by, it was said, the Duke of Lauen-
burg. The battle now raged terrifically at
this part of the field, and men and horses
mingled in one very thunderstorm of war.
The King was held up for a time in his
saddle, striving hard to remain at the point
of danger, but at last he fell from his horse,
which was also wounded. At this moment
the enemy in great force drove back the
Swedes, and began after their wont to
200 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
pillage the wounded and dead. They came
to Gustavus Adolphus; and some of them
inquiring his name, received the reply—pro-
bably thrilling even to them, as it is to
history—“I am the King of Sweden, and
seal with my blood the liberties of Ger-
many l’ A pistol-shot in the head and
several sword-thrusts in the body were the
response, and with a last exclamation—
“My God, my God! alas, my poor Queen I’
the noblest hero of the age died.
The Imperial cuirassiers made furious
efforts to capture the body. The Swedes
fought like lions to prevent the capture.
The Yellow Guard of Gustavus was entirely
destroyed, fighting to the last on the spot
where their King fell. A strong body of
their allies fled. A fresh body of seven
thousand Imperial troops under one of the
ablest of the Imperial generals arrived on
Lifeen : The King Slain. 20] -.”
the field, sweeping all before them as they
came. The cuirassiers made attack after
attack; but the Swedes fought with a spirit
that neither numbers nor the blight of
their lost hero could quell, and victory
could not be wrenched from their grasp.
The Duke of Saxe-Weimar and General
Rniphausen, now successors of the King,
continued the battle with unabated fierce-
ness; and after many hours of such fighting
as few men then living ever had seen before,
Wallenstein was beaten.
The hero's body was carried from the
field for burial in Sweden; but it was so
frightfully mutilated that it was only recog-
nised by its great size and by certain well-
known scars, which had remained after the
awful crash of battle had again and again
passed over the spot where the King fell.
It was a grand death following a grand
202 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
life—only thirty-eight years long if
reckoned by the span of years, but of an
immense period if judged by vastness of
incident, and by the loftiness and duration
of the work achieved. From the 29th
June, 1629, to the 6th November, 1632,
what had not been done ! The power of
the Papacy had been shaken to its very
foundation. The rights of the human con-
science had been asserted with a majesty
hardly ever before known. Germany had
been shown by what means the cruelties of
a hateful despotism could be defied. Eng-
land had an example which would be a
model for the Ironsides of Cromwell. Eng-
land would learn, some day in the far future,
when her history came to be written by true
men, that but for Leipsic, and the passage
of the Tech, and Lützen, there might
possibly have been no victories at Naseby
7%e Zesson of /ü/zen : Chrisſina. 203
and Worcester, and assuredly would learn
that Leipsic, and the Lech, and Lützen, were
the example to which the heroes of Naseby
and Worcester looked for encouragement
when the people of England, like the
Swedes, had risen in defence of law and
human rights against arbitrary power.
Sweden accepted the child-daughter of
Gustavus Adolphus as Queen, with the Re-
gency of Chancellor Oxenstiern, and in a
little time Christina became as unmiti-
gated a despot in her way as King James
of England had been in his—as despotic
and imperious as Queen Elizabeth Tudor
and as popular with the Swedes as
Elizabeth had been with the English. As
yet, however, she was merely seen as the
six-year old Queen. Her mother, Maria-
Pleonora, celebrated at once for beauty and
amiability, as well as for her place in the
204 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
dying thoughts and words of her husband,
was fated to find, by slow degrees, but quite
speedily enough, that she had given birth
to and nursed an unmitigated autocrat.
What Protestant Europe beheld in the firm
filling-up of the vacant throne was the
rescue of Sweden from anarchy, and the
salvation of the Protestant cause in that its
dark night of well-nigh despair. Gustavus
little dreamt, in his proud championship of
Protestantism, that there was to be re-
enacted, in his own family, and in the
person of his masculine daughter—woman,
however, after all—the drama which he
scorned so deeply when enacted by the
conqueror of Ivry.
About the time the battle of Tützen was
being fought, Richard Ingerstein was sail-
ing quietly up the Thames in a small vessel
which he had been fortunate enough to
Movember on the 7%ames. 205
engage at a high rate at Rotterdam.
Letters, even Count Werner's, had again
miscarried. When, therefore, the vessel
came to an anchorage below London Bridge,
the good people of Monkerton, a few of
whom were on the road returning from
market, had no idea that she contained any
one for Ingerstein Hall. Richard was
unable to bear much fatigue, but it was
most of all painful to be compelled to wait
till a message could be sent to the Hall.
Dngaging,therefore, a hackney coach—sedan
chairs were yet a couple of years in the future
—and accompanied by the master of the
vessel from which he had landed, he was
driven slowly along the river's bank towards
the home he had at one time never expected
to see again.
It was evening—a chill November
evening—the snow lying deeply on the
206 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
ground, and a sharp north-easterly wind
cutting to the bone. The roads were bad,
and the deep ruts, filled with snow, jolted
the coach as no vehicle is jolted now, but as
all vehicles were in those days in England.
At last the Hall was reached, and Richard
Ingerstein could see through the window
by the light of a blazing fire that his friends,
whom he could not, however, distinguish,
were assembled round a table, the homely
charms of which had often come to him in
dreams in foreign lands.
There were but two guests present—
Eldred and Mabel Chadwick, scarcely *
guests either in Ingerstein Hall. Lady
Ingerstein had poured out a second time
her infinitesimal cups of tea, a choice
beverage in those days, when Eldred Chad-
said, peering out from the window into the
now dark night—
An Arrival at Ingerstein Hall. 207
“Surely this is a coach coming up the
avenue from the Monkerton Road. What
a night for any one to be out ! Shall I
meet it, Lady Ingerstein P’’
“It will be at the door soon, Eldred. I
almost dread to know the fact. Let us wait.”
But Lady Ingerstein did not look very
like a monument of patience. In a few
moments the doors were thrown open, and
an all but breathless servant said, “Sir
Richard—my lady!” and then ran out again.
Yes, Sir Richard, a wreck of war, a waif from
the great sea of struggling humanity which
had been lashed into fury, and lust, and
cruelty, in the name of the Most High
God. Richard was borne carefully into the
room ; the cold had, as it were, glued his
wounds together, and stiffened his joints, so
that bad as his state was, it seemed much
worse. For a moment no word was spoken,
208 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
save to the master of the vessel, but then
the silence was broken to Richard himself.
“Oh, Dick, Dick l’” said Sir John—“Oh,
my poor boy l’ at the same moment sobbed,
rather than said, Tady Ingerstein, while
Mabel wept bitter tears, and assisted Henry
and Eldred to find for the wounded soldier
the resting-place he so much needed. It
was a sad night at Ingerstein Hall. Yet it
was a night of that strange peace which
only, those who have suffered ever know.
The master of the vessel had a great wel-
come. Messages were speedily sent to the
IRise, and to Mr. Thomas Prim the banker,
in Monkerton; and when Squire Chadwick,
Margaret, Agnes, Susan Prim and Ernest
Mohan arrived, a gleam of satisfaction
passed over Richard’s careworn face.
“I am not so ill,” he said, “ so do not
think it. I am only tired. But Maggie,
Richard Ingerstein at Home. 209
dear,” he added, in a low whisper, “you see
I have lost an arm ; given it to the enemies
of your faith.”
“Not so, dear Dick”—in a like whisper
—“ you have given it to the cause of
humanity, and I shall honour you for it as
long as I live. But now let me tell you”—
and here her voice rose—“that we have
at last given up even our attendance at
|Mass ; and the enemies of your faith are
the enemies of mine. Tuet us not talk,
though, on such subjects to-night. Let us
all look at you in peace, and win you back
to the dear old thoughts and paths that you
never will quit any more.”
It was a solemn night. But how solemn
had it been if the little party had known
that the body of Gustavus Adolphus was at
that time lying a shapeless mass of lifeless
clay, rescued at an appalling cost from the
VOL. II. 14
210 Ingers/ein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
enemy by his victorious but heart-broken
army. There was no telegraph in those
days, and only a nominal service of occa-
sional mails. It needed time for the
mournful news to arrive; but the tidings
came at last, and mowhere was the
mourning deeper, or more loyal to a great
name, than in Monkerton.
While Gustavus was being borne from
the field of Lützen, the village of
Monkerton was rejoicing with a great joy
for the return of the heir of Tngerstein
Hall. Not merely the tenants of both the
Eſall and the Rise, but also the villagers of
Monkerton, met, as they had met on the
return of Tom Prim and Eldred Chadwick,
and they merrily drank the health of the
wounded soldier. The sadness for Richard
was not allowed to reach them.
Weeks passed away; Christmas came ;
Richard Ingers/ein ał Home. 2II
the New Year opened; the primroses began
to appear Once again in the beautiful lanes
of Surrey. Richard Ingerstein, sitting at
home, or walking or riding abroad, had
always some kind friend at hand to relieve,
by cheerful conversation, the tedium of the
long hours of an illness which was difficult
to overcome. His father and mother,
Margaret, Mabel, and Agnes, and at times
Eliza Mordaunt, were ready to accompany
him anywhere, or to read or talk to him,
and so to win him back to the life of by-
gone days. Commodore Mordaunt, also,
found his way occasionally to the Hall,
with his stories of the sea, and Eldred
Chadwick and Tom Prim carried their
eagerly-sought-for news of the war, as the
news arrived in England, and Henry
Ingerstein and Ernest Mohan added to the
general stock of information their facts of
14–2
212 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
London and Continental trade ; and Susan
Prim contributed her sharp wit and lively
spirits, and old Harry Waye and Peter
Prim their reminiscences of the Monkerton
of old times. Under all these influences
Richard Ingerstein revived. The fever in
the blood fought hard on behalf of the
grave. Friends, with cheerful affection,
fought equally hard for life and hope, a
fresh spring-time of existence. It was a
battle in its way not unlike Lützen, every
inch of the ground contested. At last
affection carried the day. Once the corner
had been turned, the wounded and broken
soldier recovered apace, and speedily became
something like the Richard Ingerstein of old,
with a healthy flush on his face and a bright
light in his eye. Speaking one day to his
father and mother, in the presence of a
group of friends, Richard said—
A Sacrifice to Heaven for Men. 213
“Did it ever occur to you, when you
observed all the trouble and pain I have
given you, and the difficulty you have had
in saving me from the grave, what a sad
lot theirs must have been who were thrown
aside to perish in a like condition to
that in which I was sent to you? With
every care—and what care you have given
me—the chances that all would be in vain
were as five to one, the doctor is now good
enough to say. What I was, thousands
were and perished. What I was, other
thousands now are. It was a custom of old
to offer up a sacrifice to God for any great
mercy—could not we offer up, with a sweet-
smelling savour, one such sacrifice P’’
“I have often thought of it, TXick,” said
his father, “and I almost anticipate what
you would say. Put it for me, however, into
words, my boy—what shall the sacrifice be?”
214 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“I would endeavour, in some way, father,
to relieve the suffering of this war.”
“How could the relief be sent P”
“I would not send it.”
“What then P” said Lady Ingerstein, in
terror.
“I would take it, mother.”
“What I go back to the wars, my son P”
“Yes, but with mercy. Who knoweth
but by this time Harry Waye or Frederick
Werner may need help quite as much as I
have needed it, and may be abandoned.”
“Dick,” said Sir John, “I did not stand
in the way of your honourable impulse to
fight for freedom. I shall not now stand
in the way of your wish to do some little
to heal up the wounds of war. What shall
we do ; and how shall it be done P”
“I have thought of a plan. Happily T
can now think a little once again, and I
A Sacrifice to Heaven for Men. 215
have gone so far as to talk of it with Com-
modore Mordaunt and Eldred, and with my
dear Margaret.”
“Right, Dick; your mother and I will
not be jealous that it has not come to us
first.”
“The Mabel Ingerstein, Commodore
Mordaunt tells me, is expected daily from
New England. I would fit her out with a
cargo, which we can well afford, of neces-
saries for the wounded.”
“It is a large investment, Dick.”
“Yes, a sacrifice, father. King David
said, ‘I would not sacrifice to the Lord of
that which cost me nothing.’ Commodore
Mordaunt wishes to go with me.”
“Why that, Dick, will be a far greater
sacrifice than your own.”
“Nonsense !” said Commodore Mor-
daunt.
216 Ingerstein Ha/Z and Chadwick Rise.
“Oh, but it will, though,” replied Sir
John. -
“ Yes, and Eldred goes too,” said Richard;
“but all will be as mere drops in the
bucket compared with the sacrifice made
by the Swedes of their noble King.”
“My son,” said Lady Ingerstein, tremu-
lously, “you were to have been married.”
“Yes, my dear mother, but Maggie and
I have put it off—haven’t we, Maggie P"
“Yes, dear Dick, for a time. We intend
to wait, mother,” and Margaret smiled,
but sobbed a little, silently, at the same
time.
The news of the dread day at Lützen
had long before this been made known to
all civilised nations, to the unrestrained joy
of all the enemies of freedom, while the
friends of freedom mourned as for one of
those dread calamities which seem to strike
“The Maffel Ingerstein” on the Thames. 217
at the great heart of humanity, and which
remain as landmarks in history. The news
also had come, however, that the Swedes
under the great Chancellor, and led by men
like Generals Bannier, and Horn, and the
Duke of Saxe-Weimar, more than held their
own on the Oder, the Danube, and the
Rhine, while the Elector of Saxony was
encroaching on Wallenstein's favourite
ground in Bohemia: in fact, that the spirit of
the dead King seemed to have entered in a
double measure into his army, and that the
JProtestant cause still prevailed.
The Maffel Ingerstein duly arrived, and
was again made ready for sea. In the
autumn of 1633, she sailed down the
Thames, amid the cheers of vast numbers
of people, both Catholic and Protestant,
who knew that the voyage was one of
mercy, and that the relief would be given
218 Ingerstein Ha// and C/adwick Rise.
to all sufferers without a question as to
their creed. King Charles, with his de-
spotic vagaries, was at the same time
raising money by illegal taxes, and by ini-
quitous monopolies; and Laud, now Arch-
bishop of Canterbury, was driving expa-
triated French Protestants to Holland, by
his hated efforts for uniformity. In the
Court all that met the eye was as of a
painted sepulchre. 7%e Mabel Ingerstein,
laden with medicine, wine, and food, and
carrying five experienced young surgeons,
under the direction of Richard Ingerstein,
Commodore Mordaunt, and Eldred Chad-
wick, had been visited at her moorings by
men of all opinions in the State; and
among others by Mr. Oliver Cromwell and
Mr. Robert Blake, the former a member of
the House of Commons, the latter en-
deavouring to become one. Here was
O/ºver Cromwel/ and Roberff B/a/.e. 219
formed a friendship which lasted long
between George Waye and the man who
was destined to become one of England's
greatest sea-kings.
“You go on a noble errand, Master
Waye,” said sturdy Robert Blake; “we
may want you at home some day if the
tide of events which seems beginning to
flow is allowed by God to rise to its
natural height. Now, tell me, when you
were with Raleigh, what—” &c. &c. -
The reader will perceive that Mr. Blake,
destined first to be tried on land, and not
tried without a glorious result in war, had
his attention already turned to the sea, the
scene of his subsequent great fame. At the
same time Mr. Oliver Cromwell was ques-
tioning Richard, Eldred, and Tom as to
Gustavus Adolphus, and the other actors in
the war.
220 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“You saw the great King kneel in front
of his lines before the God of Heaven, Sir
Richard Ingerstein P”
“Yes, Master Cromwell, King Gustavus
Adolphus knelt—like a little child at its
mother's knee 5 2
“As we all ought to kneel, Sir Richard.”
“Assuredly; as we all ought to kneel.
That duty performed, he was the lion-
heart in war.”
“Tell me of the Lech, and how the
general of the Jesuits died.”
Richard told of the Lech and of Tilly.
Then he was questioned as to Wallenstein;
and then Tom Prim told this inquisitive
|Master Oliver Cromwell of Richelieu and
Rochelle. An hour was passed in this
manner, after which most of the company,
including Oliver Cromwell, left the vessel,
but Robert Blake remained on board, and
Jeofferſ Blake's Stature. 221
dimed with George Waye and Commodore
Mordaunt. While at dinner he said—
“I heard Master Cromwell talking to
Sir Richard of the King of Sweden's
great stature, and it made me almost
despair of ever being of any use to
England. About thirteen years ago,
when I stood for a fellowship in
Merton College, Oxford, I was rejected
on the ground that I was not of suffi-
cient stature for an academical distinc-
tion.”
“Is that a fact or a joke, Master Blake?”
inquired the Commodore.
“A fact, I assure you,” laughing heartily;
“I am no adept at sea-yarns. I was
rejected by Sir Henry Saville.”
“I dare say,” said George, with uncon-
scious humour, “that Sir Henry Saville
would, in a like spirit, have rejected
222 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Gustavus Adolphus as too tall for an
academical distinction.”
“You throw a new light on the subject,
Master Waye,” said Robert Blake, laughing
again; “ but, now that you name it, I
almost think he would.”
This was the last night 7%e Maffe/
17.7erstein was at her moorings. Next day
she went down the Thames amid the cheers
already referred to.
Mabel Chadwick, and Margaret and
Agnes Chadwick, and Susan Prim, and Eliza
Mordaunt formed a beautiful picture that
day on the deck of George Waye's barque—
a picture long remembered by the talkative
and inquisitive people of London. And old
Harry Waye, now somewhat infirm, was
there, and Peter Prim, talking mournfully
of poor Harry the younger, of whom
nothing had been heard since Richard Inger-
“7%e Mabel /n/erstein.” Discharged. 223
stein's return, though Lützen and other
fierce struggles had since taken place. In
this manner George Waye began his voyage,
and when his visitors left him at Gravesend
the duties of the voyage were earnestly
entered upon.
By the influence of the firm of Mohan,
Ingerstein, and Prim, 7%e Maffel Ingerstein
was allowed access to Rotterdam free of all
charges, and exempted from dangers arising
from the quarrels of statesmen or the ever-
changing warlike features of the time.
Once at Rotterdam, conveyance was found
by land and water to the Rhine. The vessel
was gradually discharged, with all necessary
caution against robbery and spoliation. It
had been agreed that the head-quarters of
the relief operations should be fixed at
Frankfort-on-the-Maine ; and at Frankfort,
very near the end of the year 1633, Com-
224 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
modore Mordaunt and Eldred Chadwick
arranged their plan and began their work,
while Richard Ingerstein pushed on to the
seat of war. The news was already oozing
out that France had renewed her treaty
with Oxenstiern. It was also becoming
noteworthy that Wallenstein had not been
so uniformly victorious as his admirers had
expected, and that when victorious he had
not been able to make his victory the
stepping-stone to the desired subjugation of
the enemies of the Emperor. The Snow
King, it was said, even in death was
causing the genius of the Papal generals
and the success of the Papal armies to melt
away.
Some days after the notable event just
recorded, Mr. Oliver Cromwell walked into
the bank of Mohan, Ingerstein, and Prim,
where he evidently was expected, and he
—º
A Strange Visitor to the Bank. 225
was shown to an inner office. The three part-
ners were present. The visitor said, looking
to Ernest Mohan and Henry Ingerstein—
“Mr. Prim has made you acquainted
with the tenor of our conversation in the
vessel? I repeat what I then said, that I
see no escape—no possible escape—from a
struggle which will try England to the
very core and withers of her being. I do
not ask you now what course you would take
if Parliament called upon you for money;
for the present Parliament is utterly incom-
petent to the great duty imposed upon the
nation. But there will be a Parliament”—
and the three bankers long remembered the
grimness with which it was said—“ that
will make root and branch work of these
breakers of our laws. I merely tell you
that if the worst comes to the worst—or the
best to the best—more than five or ten—ay !
VOIL. II. 15
£26 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
OY" fifty—determined men who trust in God
will look at once to you for duty to England.
We know your history, and we shall, I
say, look to you to provide some at least of
the sinews of war.”
“As I told you, however, Master Crom-
well,” said Tom Prim, “we are no admirers
of your Sectaries.”
Cromwell replied fiercely—
“And, as I asked you, Master Prim, and
now ask you again, do you admire the
hellish Star Chamber P Do you admire
this inane King P−you, who have seen
Gustavus—can you admire the man who
talks, as his silly father talked before him,
of his prerogative dating from the Norman
Conquest, and of all our rights as English-
men resolving themselves into the one
right, to live subject to an imbecile worse
than a Turk? You do not? No; you have
Cromwel/’s Men. 227
seen the lion-hearted King, who carried his
schools and chaplains to the camp with him,
and who dared—dared, I say, for it requires
daring—to pray to the God of all ages in
this false age. You do not admire the
traitors to our liberties. Then let me tell
you that you must at least endure—I wish,
when the time comes, you may do more
than endure—the only men who are in
earnest to cut up the treason by the roots.
T, for one, believe in freedom because I
believe in God; and I tell you, gentlemen, as
a man to men, that when the day comes,
I, as an Englishman, will look to the
Sectaries, as you call them. Have you a
rector, or vicar, or whatever it is, at Mon-
kerton P”
“Yes, and a very worthy man, Master
Cromwell, a man of peace,” Henry Inger-
stein replied.
15–2
228 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Then he has been born before his time !
Eirst pure, then peaceful, is a law older than
even Magna Charta. Does he pray to
God, fervently, in the night-watches, to save
IEngland in this her day of tribulation P”
“You have reminded me,” said Tom, “that
I have seen the army of Gustavus. Let me
remind you that the religion of Gustavus
was an essentially broad religion. He had
no enmity to the Roman Catholics, as you
2 3
seem to have. He
“I/—enmity to Romanists | You mis-
take ; I hate Romanism, but I hate no man,
be his views what they may.”
“It often comes to the same thing in
practice.”
“it does. There you
“Well”—musingly
are right. But all the same, a time has come
when England will be saved so as by fire,
or will be burned up like chaff. I warn
Cromweſ/’s Fażff. 229
you, as worthy Englishmen, not to make
the error of refusing to be saved by what
you call the Sectaries.”
Altogether the interview lasted two full
hours, and Mr. Cromwell did not again enter
the banking house of Mohan, Ingerstein,
and Prim till his name had become a house-
hold word in all civilised lands.

CHAPTER IX.
RELIEF FOR THE WOUNDED–WALLENSTEIN IN THE TOILS
\
—THE WRECK OF COUNT WIERNER AND OF HARRY
WAYE—WALLENSTEIN ESCAPES. -
fºLARLY in January, 1684, Eldred
sº Chadwick arrived at the head-
arters of the Elector of Saxony, then at
º:Sº
Qu
Potsdam. He had previously learned from
the Duke of Saxe-Weimar that Colonel
Waye's regiment had been ordered to the
relief of the Elector, at Or around Potsdam
or Berlin. “Colonel Waye,” the Duke
said, “ did himself and his country immortal
honour by his courage and capacity at
Tititzen.” -
At Potsdam Eldred, who was furnished
with the necessary safe conduct and certi-



Relief for ſhe Wounded. 23).
ficates, found that his friend was absent on
an expedition which might occupy a day or
a month; no one could say more.
“Has Colonel Waye been wounded?” he
asked of an officer, who appeared of a
friendly and communicative disposition.
“Nothing to speak of since Lützen,” was
the reply.
“Was he then wounded at Lützen P”
“He had a sabre-cut on the cheek and
lost his left eye.”
“Poor Harry P
“Yes ; Colonel Waye is a very different
man from the Captain Waye who landed
with us at Rugen in 1629. Good heavens !
it seems like a lifetime since then. What
has become of Waye's brother, the sailor,
Colonel Chadwick? He, too, was a fine
fellow.”
Eldred replied by stating briefly the
232 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
nature of the expedition for which The
Mabel Ingerstein had been freighted. The
friendly officer warmly commended the
enterprise as the only green spot he had
known for a long time in the desert of those
apparently unending cruel wars.
While Eldred waited for Harry’s arrival,
Richard Ingerstein, with a similar safe con-
duct signed by the son of the Emperor, the
young King of Hungary, had arrived at the
camp of Wallenstein, then at Prague, where
he was at once seized and thrown into
prison. The haughty and implacable Count
was now at all but declared war with the
Bmperor, his master, whose orders to him
to winter in Lower Saxony he had daringly
disobeyed. He knew, and was not disposed
to underrate, his services to the Empire.
He could not forget that he, a disgraced
man, had been the only man to whom
Wa//ems/ein 7m f/e Tož/s. 233
Ferdinand could look in the dire need that
had come with Gustavus Adolphus, and
how the moment the need was passed, the
same intrigues that had formerly driven
him to Bohemia, had again broken out to
work his ruin.
He was not this time inclined to be
ruined so readily. Foreseeing the danger,
he set his great mind to counteract
it. He used all the art and address of
which he was so great a master to win the
confidence of the soldiers. Yet he only
partially succeeded. His manner was too
cold, his contempt for what he termed “ the
common herd,” too marked to awaken
enthusiasm. His plans, as every intelligent
soldier knew, were exceedingly able, and his
resources in military affairs all but inex-
haustible. But the soldiers also knew, by
that instinct that seldom errs, that he cared
234 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
no more for the lives of his own men than
for those of the enemy; and while they
admired they never loved the fierce man.
He gave them plunder ; he never won their
gratitude. Wallenstein was the master of
his soldiers; Gustavus had been the father
of his.
At the time when Richard arrived the
dreaded chief was in one of his fiercest
moods. He had a presentiment, which,
however, he buried in his own breast, that
his renowned career was fast coming to an
end, and a shadow as of the grave rested on
his proud spirit. It had been his fancy for
some time to sleep in his tent. On
the previous night he had sat the night
through at that tent door, with a lamp and
writing material on a small table before him.
He had even drank deeply, and his powerful
brain was clouded, as Tilly's had been before
Wa//enstein in the To?/s. 235
the passage of the Lech. Now he dashed
his hand furiously against his massive
forehead, without a word of speech. Now
he rose from his seat, a camp stool,
and strode silently backward and forward
before his tent. Now he muttered in a
fierce tone, incoherent words which made
the blood of a few officers, who stood at a
distance awaiting his orders, to curdle. He
would revolt. No, he would resign. He
would drive Ferdinand from Vienna. No,
he would once more retire to Bohemia, and
let the commonplace men again enact
commonplace events. The tempest of the
soul never was more markedly exhibited.
Tilly had had his presentiments, and had
become coward. Gustavus had had his, and
had sought refuge in prayer. Wallenstein
had his, and seemed to his officers to com-
mune with the devil.
236 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
And who in the midst of this tempest
and torrent of passion was this fellow who
presumed to come, with a safe conduct
from the King of Hungary—the stripling
soldier, the Kaiser in embryo—and ask
for Count Werner P. Where was Count
Werner P
“Ah let us bring the two face to face,”
said the trapped tiger. “Let them see each
other. Seel Bring in this protegée of the
JKing of Hungary, and bring in the traitor
Werner l’’
Richard Ingerstein was brought into the
presence of Wallenstein, who eyed him
ferociously, and said—
“FIO ! ho ! an envoy without an arm, eh?
With whom did you serve P”
“With King Gustavus Adolphus.”
“The fool P”
“The hero.”
Richard Ingerstein meets Count Werner. 237
Wallenstein made no reply, but his face
became demoniacal. Richard Ingerstein,
however, saw him not. His eyes were fixed
with fearful intensity on the doorway, and
on a man who was entering, led by two
soldiers. His clothing was soiled and torn,
his face pale and unwashed, his hair dis-
ordered, his beard long, and—
“Oh, God l’’ said Richard, “he is sight-
less l—it is the wreck of Count Werner l’’
“Such be the fate of all traitors I” yelled
Wallenstein, hoarsely, and fixing his eyes
on Richard Ingerstein.
“If your words refer to me, Count
Wallenstein,” replied the sightless man, in
a low voice, “they are but a continuation of
your error. I served you faithfully and
loyally. I cannot think that you can bring
success to your standard by torturing an old
friend.”
238 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Who tortured you? Did I take away
your sight?”
“Not directly, perhaps not intentionally ;
but you sent me to the prison of a fever
hospital. That you have told me was
intentional. There a film, which nothing
now ever will remove, closed from me
for ever the blessed light of day. Count
Wallenstein, there is a day—a dark night,
rather—at hand for you ; a night of grim
despair, when you will curse the day wherein
you were born ; when the cries of the
widows you
“Hold ! I say”—fiercely—“ did you not
assist me to make widows and orphans ?”
“I assisted you to make war. I never
assisted you in the cruelties which will
for ever attach to your name.”
“Stop his accursed tongue ! Tear it out
by the roots if he is not silent l Away with
Wreck of Count Werner. 239
them both to prison. Tiet them be united
for a time in the same dungeon—the deepest
and dampest in Prague !”
Richard Ingerstein had not uttered a
word. Indeed, his tongue had cloven to the
roof of his mouth while this fearful scene
was being enacted. Once away from
Wallenstein’s presence, he said to the officer
in charge, and who seemed to look on Count
Werner pityingly—
“May I speak to my friend?”
“Freely; and let me say that from my
heart I am sorry for both him and you.
Do not make any demonstration, though, in
the streets, or you may prevent me doing
you good.” -
“Perhaps I had better remain silent, good
friend, till we have reached the prison?”
“I think you had better do so. I shall
venture to disobey Count Wallenstein as to
240 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
the quality of your cell. We leave Prague
to-morrow. You will then be safe—I think
you will, at all events, from this—demon.”
Instead of a deep, damp cell, the officer ---
took his prisoners to a dry and not alto-
gether comfortless room, overlooking the
Moldau. There with a few courteous words,
and with food the quality of which Wallen-
stein would have deemed criminal complicity
with treason, he left them alone.
The scene in which Richard Ingerstein
now made himself known to his once bright
and cheerful friend, was too fearful for the
dark colours ever to be reproduced in written
words.
“Werner,” said Richard, sorrowfully,
taking his friend's hand, “it is I, Richard
Ingerstein. Try to be calm, and hearken
to me.”
Count Werner trembled from head to
Revelations of Count Werner. 241
foot. The start had brought on a return of
ague, from which he had suffered greatly,
and for a time he could not speak.
“Richard Ingerstein P” he said at last.
“Oh my friend, are you too, then, a
prisoner?”
Richard explained as briefly as he could.
Count Werner found great difficulty in
mastering his ague and fever sufficiently to
tell his sad story, but at last he succeeded
in making it sufficiently intelligible. He
had, he said, been imprisoned, owing to a
letter sent to him without a name, but
clearly enough from the King of Hungary,
having been intercepted by Wallenstein.
“Nothing of mine,” the poor prisoner
continued, “ had led to that letter. It was
simply a trial of my loyalty—an overture
to me from the Emperor. Wallenstein at
once, without a word of explanation,
WOL. II. | 6
242 Ingerstein Hal/ and C/adwick Rise.
Ordered me to a prison in the swamps,
where I was almost immediately seized with
!”
fever, and—oh, Ingerstein—I am blind
“The accursed cur !”
“ Nay, let us not curse him. And,
believe me, he is not a cur. A tiger, a
leopard, a panther, he may be ; not exactly
a cur.” **
“He is a devil l’’
i. Yes, he is that. It is, however, all
over now—the hope of my life is gone.
5 5
My beautiful Agnes—mine no longer
“To not say so, Werner; Agnes is the
same as ever, save that your misfortune may
cause her to speak more plainly of what she
feels.”
“But I shall not permit her to be so
sacrificed. What Agnes Chadwick marry
an old blind man P. No, no l’
“She will esteem you all the better, dear
JDeeper Darkness for Count Werner. 243
Fritz—I heard you ask Harry, who has
more claim to your friendship, to call you
Fritz, and if you do not mind, I shall call
you Fritz also. I, you know, am Dick.”
“That is good, Dick, and I like it.
Agnes, however, shall not be sacrificed.
Now, my friend, for your news. I have
been blind since the 15th January (now, I
think about a year ago), and two months and
some days, as I reckon it, after that terrible
day at Lützen, when Wallenstein himself
commended me for action in the field.”
“Almost at the very time, Fritz, that
you were fighting at Lützen, I was sailing
up the Thames, broken in spirit and in
health, and with only one arm.”
“One arm P-you did not tell me of that,
Dick.”
“No, why should I? What is that
compared with your sad fate P’’
16—2
244 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
“Well, I can imagine that there may be
compensation even for blindness. If Wal-
lenstein falls and I live, I may, in the
company of my mother and sisters, find
peace, when happiness and all the dreams
of it are gone. But you have much to
tell me—of Ernest Mohan, of Eldred,
and above all, of my dear Agnes—T must
call her by her name once or twice more.
And pretty Susan and Tom are married ?
Well, the ways of God are indeed wonderful,
and past finding out.”
In this way the conversation went on for
hours. Count Wallenstein left Prague on
the following day, and his prisoners found
that they were not now in the hands of
enemies. What it meant they knew not
exactly, but they were conscious that some-
thing unusual was astir.
On the 1st February, Eldred Chadwick,
Waiting for Colonel Waye. 245
standing with four or five Saxon officers on
a hillock outside Potsdam, watched the
return, not to the army, for the head-
quarters had been removed, but to the town
of a column of cavalry, and of Colonel
Waye's regiment as a part of it. Eldred
beheld with sorrow and surprise the sunken
cheeks and stern mutilated face of his
friend. Harry at the same moment caught
sight of Eldred, and putting his horse to a
canter, was soon on the hill-top ; and the
Saxons looked on with interest while the
Englishmen met and greeted each other
after their island manner. The officer
whom Eldred had already found so cordial
said—
“Your friend has been awaiting you
nearly a month, Waye ; make the most of
him.”
“That I will,” Harry replied, “but I
246 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
must now overtake my regiment. Come
after us, Eldred, as quickly as you can.”
Lldred did follow as quickly as he could ;
and that night the two friends talked as
men with but one soul.
“Ah, Eldred l’’ said Harry, breaking off
in the midst of a conversation about absent
friends, “when Count Werner gave me
that rose-bud, of which, I dare say, Dick has
told you, he gave me such hope as only
comes to a man once in his life. It is all
over now. . . . Yet I have had a long letter
from Sue, and some kind messages. It is
hard, Eldred.”
“What is hard, Harry?”
“Why, you know what I mean. Don’t
force me to put it in plain terms. I never
shall see Eliza Mordaunt again.”
“Why, Harry P−in the name of common
sense, why? Eliza Mordaunt will receive
Colonel Waye’s “U/iness.” 247
you all the more proudly for your wounds,
if that is what you mean.”
“Perhaps ; but I shall not put her to
the trial. I shall die now in this ser-
vice.”
“Do you like it, then?”
“Since the King was killed I hate it—
hate the thought of it, though I respect the
cause and the gallant Swedes. I shall
not return to England. Mistress Eliza
Mordaunt shall remember me as I once
was—never handsome, but not quite ugly.
I shall preserve her image as when she
gave me the first moss-rose bud at Mon-
kerton.”
“You outwitted us all, Harry.”
“Not intentionally, Eldred. Indeed, I
never supposed I was the subject of your
thoughts in that way; but I confess I
laughed a little when I found, to my surprise,
248 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
that you were all at sea. I am quite cured
of laughing now, am I not P’’
“Not in the least, I should say. But
you have not yet asked me for the origin of
the expedition that has brought me here.”
“I have not—pardon me, I am a selfish
fellow. Tell me all about it. I fear I shall
question you all night. Tom's great wed-
ding will require at least three hours.”
Then Eldred told the story of the fitting
out of 7%e Maffel Ingerstein, of “Tom’s great
wedding,” and of a thousand things besides;
and ended by saying that he had already
sent long letters home, and to Frankfort
and Rotterdam, and that he expected Com-
modore Mordaunt at Potsdam every day.
“Do you, indeed P” Harry said, starting
from his seat. “Then I shall take care to
be absent.”
“Harry, be reasonable !”
*—
Colonel Waye and Commodore Mordaunt. 249
“Eldred l—I tell you, on my honour as
an Englishman, I shall do all in my power
not to see Commodore Mordaunt.”
“Vanity "
“No ; if I had been vain T had long
before this fancied that I could win Eliza
Mordaunt. No such fancy entered my
head; but I do not want to be thought as
hard as a millstone. I tell you I have, as
the old proverb says, made my bed, and I
shall lie on it. I shall see nobody belong-
ing to—to–Frobisher Cottage.”
But Harry was mistaken. Commodore
Mordaunt came suddenly into Potsdam and
surprised the two friends together. Harry,
who saw at once that he was not recognised
by his old friend, who simply bowed to him,
signalled to Eldred to connive at his escape
unobserved from the room. Eldred nodded
significantly, and said—
250 Angerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“My friend here wishes to leave us,
Commodore Mordaunt.”—Harry looked
vastly pleased—“ and when I tell you that
he has not long returned from an expedi-
tion of an exacting nature, I am sure you
will excuse him—especially when I add that
he is the gentleman whom you once knew
as Harry Waye. It is no use you grima-
cing there, Harry. Do you think I'm a
fool? The fact is, he is ashamed of his
wounds, Commodore Mordaunt, and declares
that he never will go to England again.”
Commodore Mordaunt tried to laugh.
“Ashamed of his wounds ! Wounds in
the face, too !” said the old sailor, trying
his best to shake Harry's arm out of joint.
“We shall see whether or no he goes back
to England.”
“I do not know when,” said poor Harry,
piteously.
Colonel Waye's Fived Resolution. 251
“Is there no-one you care for, then P”
“Oh dear, no l’—and a big tear stood in
each eye—“no-one, I assure you. I’—
with a little gulp—“always cared too
much for myself to have any thought for
any one else.”
Eldred laughed a little laugh, and
Commodore Mordaunt looked so quizzically,
that Harry smiled for the first time since
he had met Eldred.
“Of Count Werner,” Harry said, “I
have been able to learn nothing, and I have
spared no effort to find him.”
“I hope Dick will have better fortune,”
said Eldred. “He has at all events gone
direct to the camp.”
“What is that you say, Eldred?—Dick
has gone to Wallenstein's camp P Oh, this
is terrible ! Why, he never will leave it
again. Oh, dear—oh, dear!”
252 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Be patient, Harry ; he had a safe
conduct from the King of Hungary.”
“Worse and worse, Eldred. The Em-
peror and Wallenstein are in reality at
drawn daggers, though appearances are
kept up. Whatever could possess you all
to take a step like that P”
The result of the conversation was that
Harry and Eldred determined to make a
desperate effort to save Richard and find
Count Werner. When, however, Harry
asked for leave it was refused. He found,
as he said, “once more” that he was “not
now dealing with Gustavus Adolphus.” The
Elector said he could not at such a time
spare any one from the army, and he smiled
superciliously at the idea of an officer think-
ing of seeking out one man when so many
men were dying daily. Harry made no
reply, but went his way biting his lip.
Colonel Waye is Refused Leave. 253
To Eldred and Commodore Mordaunt he
said—
“Finish your work as speedily as you
can, and leave this place. If it were not
that the army is in a precarious position,
and my brave men likely to suffer, I would
resign my commission.”
“You would P” said Commodore Mor-
daunt, buoyantly.
“Yes, and go to New France. My father
and mother are all right now. They shall
not be distressed by the sight of me. .
Do you think you have done any good with
this cargo, Eldred P”
“We must have done some good, Harry,
if we only have relieved suffering a little;
and five good and true men are now
engaged, by our means, among the poor
people of the towns that have suffered
most. We have also ourselves seen some eyes
254 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
brighten at our approach. But the expedi-
tion altogether is a thank-offering of Dick's—
an offering to God.”
“At what a sacrifice, Eldred l’’
Eldred was preparing, by the indispens-
able steps of procuring a safe conduct and
Other necessary papers, for a journey to
"Wallenstein’s camp, when news of a con-
spiracy in that camp caused him to pause.
The army, it was said, was ready to support
the Emperor's authority against that of the
great master in war.
On the 25th February the conspiracy
came to a head. It was said afterwards,
and is still believed, that Wallenstein,
finding himself in the toils, strove to resign,
but was prevented by the wiles of his
enemies; that he demanded a trial which the
Emperor found it impossible to grant; that he
chafed against his fate like a lion in the
Wa//ems/ei/2 in the 707/s. 255
snare. Every gate but one was closed
against his escape, and that one was opened
wide on this 25th February, 1634, by
mercenary daggers. They were borne
and used “by foreigners, Scotchmen and
Irishmen chiefly,” German writers after-
wards said, but the truth is, that there were
Germans as ready as any foreigners to kill
Wallenstein ; and the assertion is but
another illustration of the common habit of
throwing the guilt of a great man's death
from his own nation upon strangers. Who
the murderers were we have now little
interest in inquiring, where no power of
man ever can lay bare the real truth. But
one great indelible fact in history is, that
Wallenstein was assassinated. Placed by
the Emperor under the ban of the Empire,
and convinced that the Emperor's soldiers,
Counts Gallas and Piccolomini were com-
256 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
missioned to capture or to kill him, the hunted
lion had made feints in every direction with
a view to escape. He had protested his
innocence; he had appealed for protection
even to the Swedes, and had been refused.
There seemed no way of escape. He fled to
the Castle of Eger. There the drama
ended. On that day the Emperor was
freed from the sight of that other and more
brilliant sun which had shone in the firma-
ment of the Empire of Austria. There were
now but one Sun and one Sovereign. The
words went from lip to lip in dread
whispers—“Wallenstein is dead!”
Twice he had been called from his soli-
tude to save the Empire ; twice he had
saved the Empire. He had for many long
years saturated the soil of Germany with
innocent as well as guilty blood. He had
lived without remorse, or pity, for age or
“Wallenstein is Dead /* 257
youth, for man or woman. His treason,
however, probably consisted merely in the
pride which made him scorn to receive the
law of political life from a monarch so vastly
his inferior in intellect. That he had
dreams of Empire vested in his own person
is certain, and that he looked to his army
as his last resource against his enemies is
equally certain. To this point the charges
against him have been justified by history.
The cry of vengeance raised against him
was a cry born of the terror of little and
far from noble men against a bad man of
vast and extraordinary powers. That he
deserved his fate no reader of history will
doubt. That he did not deserve it at the
hands of Ferdinand has been a favourite
theme with poets and historians during the
two hundred and forty years that have
passed since his death, though it should
VOL. II. 17
258 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
not be forgotten that Ferdinand and he
were all but rival Sovereigns. He shed
blood as ruthlessly as Tilly did ; but pro-
bably, unlike Tilly, he did not shed blood
in mere wantonness, but simply shed it
mercilessly to serve his own purposes. He
was by far the mightier man of the two,
but in being mightier he was not better.
Nor did he any the less deserve his igno-
minious doom, or the curse that rests on his
name. To praise him would be to take
away from the praise of better men. There
can be no true nobleness in patriotism, and
in devotion to the interests of mankind, if
there was true nobleness in the career of
Wallenstein.

CHAPTER X.
RESULTS OF THE FALL OF WALLENSTEIN–A REUNION AT
MUNICH-LETTERS FOR ENGLAND-A FINAL RETURN
TO MONEERTON.
perial armies. The young King of Hun-
gary, son of the Emperor, assumed com-
mand in the field, assisted by General Gallas
and General Von Werth. The administra-
tive system of Wallenstein passed away.
Among other orders at once issued was one
for a military commission to investigate the
nature of the crimes alleged against the
prisoners of Wallenstein. In consequence
of this order, Count Werner and Richard
Ingerstein, among others, were instantly


17—2
260 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
set free. The King also said some kind
words to them both, and in particular ex-
pressed his sympathy with Count Werner,
whom he sent away with honour to Bavaria.
“I give you, Werner,” he said, “this
Order of St. Randolph. Long may you
live to wear it ; and when you can wear it
no longer may you hand it down to children
as true and noble as yourself.”
“Ah, my Prince, I cannot say one word
of thanks. Your Majesty has tied my
tongue.”
“My friend, you will thank me best by
making a happy home, and when I visit
Bavaria you shall receive me as you would
receive one who has long understood your
character and esteemed your services. You
were loyal to both the Emperor and
Wallenstein. You will be loyal to the
Emperor alone. To you, sir,” the King
Balm for a Wounded Spirit. 261
said, turning to Richard Ingerstein, “I can
only say that I should wish in my day of
trouble to have such a friend. Good-bye.
You will have neither let nor hindrance on
your way to that beautiful mountain-bound
estate which I once saw with great delight
as a boy, and which I never shall forget.”
The King then departed.
Count Werner seemed transfixed to the
spot, with his head bent towards where
Ring Ferdinand had stood. Richard said—
“The King has gone, Werner. We are
alone.”
“Oh, my friend, this is too much for me.
It is assuredly the hand of God. If I had
retained my sight”—here the Count lowered
his voice—“I had almost certainly fallen
with Wallenstein, for in the final crisis he
would have recurred to me as to a friend,
and my mother and sisters had become
262 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
paupers. I stand in awe and trembling.
It is sad to think that I may live to be
thankful even that I was struck blind.
Could we by any speedy means send intelli-
gence to Eldred and Commodore Mordaunt?”
“We shall try. I have the permission
of General Gallas. We must, however, be
careful. Harry Waye, for instance, has
made his name too well known for him to
be lightly admitted to an enemy's camp,
and it is doubtful that we can at present see
him elsewhere, though I certainly shall not
leave the Continent without seeing him.”
“Seeing him Ah, Ingerstein, may you
never know what it is to feel that you never
again can see any one for ever !”
Some days later Harry Waye, having
received the good news, presented himself to
the Elector of Saxony, and said, firmly—
“I have friends who have come from
Colonel Waye and the E/ector of Sanony. 263
England, and another who has lost his
sight. By one of two methods I must see
them on their way to Bavaria. Your
Highness must accord me the permission I
asked for, or I must resign my commission
to General Bannier.”
The Elector, who a few months later
deserted the Protestant cause after the
battle of Nördlingen, affected great surprise,
and even indignation, at the request.
“I informed you, Colonel Waye,” he
said, “ that the exigencies of the service
precluded your leaving at this time.”
“I never till now have asked for leave
during eight years.”
“And now it cannot be granted.”
“You will be good enough, then, sir, to
appoint an officer to my regiment ; I shall
leave immediately for the head-quarters of
the Duke of Saxe-Weimar.”
264 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
This startled the Elector a little.
Several difficulties had of late arisen be-
tween him and the Duke who commanded
the German armies. He was indisposed to
have one more added to the list of com-
plications, especially since he was already
suspected, and with truth, of a leaning
towards the desertion he afterwards effected.
Harry returned to his friends and reported
the state of affairs, but the report had
hardly been made when a messenger re-
called him to the Elector, who inquired
peevishly what length of leave he asked for.
“It is now the 12th March,” Harry
replied; “I shall require till the 12th May,
unless in case of impending action.”
35
“And you go to
“The estate of Count Werner, in Ba-
varia.”
“Count Werner—the Imperialist officer º’’
An Assemåly af Munic/. 265
“Yes.”
“You will, of course, think it necessary
to have my authorisation endorsed by the
Duke of Saxe-Weimar P”
“Certainly, sir, I shall. His Highness
represents General Bannier.”
“Take the leave. But do not blame me
if your regiment is attacked in your
absence.”
“I have been too long and closely en-
gaged, sir, not to know the portents of a
storm. There are no such portents at this
moment.”
The five Englishmen, having arranged
their plans in advance, met at Munich,
which had been captured by Gustavus in
1632, and had since been spared the horrors
of war. What a country it was that was
traversed by Richard Ingerstein and Count
Werner on the one hand, and by Eldred
266 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Chadwick, Commodore Mordaunt, and
Harry Waye on the other. Towns and vil-
lages in ashes, or otherwise in ruin, peopled
in some cases by miserable beings too
old or too young for the devouring maw of
dreadful war, and now subsisting on vermin
and worse, in other cases entirely de-
populated, save that here or there a wan,
worn, female or childish or aged face
peeped out fearfully from a hole such as a
fox would probably have abandoned in
despair of the means of life. Fields un-
cultivated, industries abandoned, every
crime perpetrated with impunity. A writer
says—“The burghers by thousands had
been chased into the water, hunted to death
in the woods, cut open and their hearts
torn out, their ears, noses, and tongues cut
off, the soles of their feet opened, straps cut
Out of their backs, women and children so
The Men of Religious Wars. 267
shamefully and barbarously used, that it is
not to be conceived.”
This, the friends said, mournfully, is
religious war. It was war fostered by
kings, nobles, and priests; by blatant
vulgar men—with titles in some cases, in
others with what purported to be the
commission of the Most High God. In
some respects it presented the common
features of all war, but it possessed also
features all its own, and characteristic of
essential barbarism. -
What a meeting that was in Munich l—
in a large upper room of a house which
commanded a view, in four different direc-
tions, of the Great Square, at a subsequent
period so beautiful, then chiefly notable for
the scene presented of famishing people
who had come in from the country around.
IHere met three of the four young men who
268 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
had left England in the flush of health and
strength in 1625. Eldred and Harry
looked in silent horror at Count Werner,
and Richard with deep sorrowfulness at
Barry. The words came very slowly—
very. The hands for a time were grasped
as by men dumb.
“It is a strange meeting, Commodore
Mordaunt,” Count Werner said, “ different
from that bright one which you and your
dear wife and daughter and I had at
Frobisher Cottage—I never shall forget the
name.”
“Not the last such meeting, I hope,”
replied Commodore Mordaunt, clearing his
voice with a great effort.
“Ah, yes! do you not observe that I am
blind P”
“We are a mutilated company, Count
Werner,” said Harry.
Jęem???scences and Fres/, P/ans. 269
“Fritz, Fritz, Harry —do not call me
Count. Yes, I suppose you, too, are a little
changed, my friend, from what you were on
that day when—well, let me whisper in
your ear—when I caught you saying your
prayers to a withered rose-bud. Have you
letters from London, Harry P’’
“Yes, at last I have.”
“From your father and Mistress Susan
JPrim, of course P T like those well-knitted
family ties. Did you acknowledge the
present I brought you ?”
“I did.—Pray, how do you intend to
move towards home P”
“This is not the first time I have had
experience of your flank movements, Master
Harry Waye, but I shall not change my line.”
“Harry talks of quitting the service and
emigrating to New France,” said Com-
modore Mordaunt.
270 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
“So some one whispered to me—to
Tichelieu’s colony P That would indeed be
a brilliant idea. Why, Mistress 52
“Spare me, Werner ; you really are un-
consciously paining me. If you only saw
how hideous I am.”
“Well, them, I propose that we go away
at once. Are we ready ?”
Not quite ready. Letters must first be
sent to George Waye, to the English
surgeons, and by such agency as George can
find to England. The most important of
these letters were one which Count Werner
dictated to Richard Ingerstein for Agnes
(he could not, he said, endure the interrup-
tions Eldred would attempt); one from Com-
modore Mordaunt to his daughter, and one
doleful letter from Harry Waye to the same
young lady. Harry had, in a previous
letter, while hale and strong, told to Eliza
Leffers ſo Mon/erſon. 27|
Mordaunt the old story that some one has
said is ever new, and his heart had been
gladdened by finding that he had not
written in vain. Since Lützen his letters
had become different in tone. When he
was quite recovered from his wounds, and
fully understood what he deemed his
ugliness, he had, in one stern letter which
did not reach the Thames till after the
departure of The Maffel Ingerstein, given
back to Eliza Mordaunt her then plighted
faith. “I should frighten you,” he wrote,
“I am the ugliest man in all the army,” a
letter which caused great surprise in
Frobisher Cottage, at the Hall and the
Rise, and in the infant bank in Lombard
Street. Not a word was said on the
subject to Harry Waye the elder, or to
Susan, or to Peter Prim. But Eliza wrote
to Harry in reply a letter which, if it had
272 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
reached him at this time, as it had not, would
have caused him to take a less gloomy view
of life ; a letter which, when it did reach
him, he made much of when alone and un-
observed. Now he was attempting in
sadness of heart to once more convey his
thoughts to Eliza Mordaunt. He wrote—
“Your father, my dear sister, for I
think you will allow me to be your brother
—talks he knows not what ; but he shall
not cause me to bury you alive. You must
have at least a husband not positively ugly.
Perhaps, too, when I can leave these de-
testable wars, I may find a home in
America, and in some way assist to make
your home happy. To not say a word to
my father and mother, or to Susan, and do
not heed a word your dear good father may
say to the contrary of my letter in one he is
tº a tº 22
now writin 3.
To E/iza and Agnes. 273
Commodore Mordaunt’s letter contained
this passage—
“Harry is a fool, but an estimable
and gallant fool, of the stuff—the insane
stuff—of which heroes are made. Think
nothing of his letter, whatever it contains.
He has suffered enough to make any mere
crotchet endurable. As for his nonsense
about his ugliness, why, do not believe a
word of it. The cut on his cheek must
have been a severe one, and I do not pre-
tend to say that the scar looks well, but
neither that nor the loss of an eye could
make Harry Waye ugly even to me, and I
am sure it will not do so to you, my dear
daughter. When the face does not mirror
bad passions there cannot well be ugliness.”
Count Werner dictated, and Richard
Ingerstein wrote—
“My dear Agnes—(now, faithfully Inger-
WOL. II. 1S
274 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
stein, every word as I say it)—I mean
exactly what the words mean when I
solemnly, and as if I stood in the presence of
my Maker, give you back the plighted troth
of the bright day when you made my sore
heart to leap for joy. When I came to you
that day, dear Agnes, I thought I was the
most unhappy man in the world; I
wondered, indeed, if there was one person
anywhere more unhappy. When I left you
I felt that there was no happiness like mine,
and that no freak of fortune could rob me
of my joy. Alas! my own lost love, I was
wrong in both respects. I have lived to
learn that the unhappiness of that day was
a trifle to what human hearts may suffer,
and I have had forced on my mind the
awful fact, that in our joy, as well as our
sorrow, we are in the hands of God. My
joy has been turned aside, and for ever. In
Cown'ſ Werner dictaſes a Leffer. 275
the solitude of my woods and fields I shall
roam undisturbed; and perhaps, years hence,
Agnes, you and your husband may visit the
poor and prematurely old blind man who in
happier days won your affection. Tiet me
say one more word. Do not think that
anything can alter my resolution. I am as
firm in my determination as Mont Blanc is
firm in its foundations in the solid earth.
You would still become my wife, I know ;
but if you did, if I permitted the sacrifice,
I never should smile again.” A few words
of tender farewell followed. Then Count
Werner said—
“Is every word as I spoke it, Ingerstein P’
“It is.”
“Then one life-drama is closed.”
So far Richard had done his duty, but in
a long, loving letter to Margaret he said—
“Tell Agnes I was bound in honour to
18–2
276 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
write as I did for Werner, but that she
must follow the dictates of her own heart
regardless of his words.”
A week later the five friends were
seated with the mother and sisters of Count
Werner, in the ancient mansion that bore
the family name. The distress of the first hour
was less apparent than had been expected.
The Countess Werner did not, till she had
entered her own room, shed one tear, and
her daughters made no demonstration of
grief. Indeed, the grief of the stricken.
family required time to grow. At the end
of a month, though mother and daughters
alike were hearty in their welcomes to
their friends, and unwearied in efforts to
make them happy, there rested on them
a settled sadness, a deep melancholy,
which pervaded every act of life. Count
Werner noticed this in spite of the assumed
Count Werner's 7%ank-offering. 277
cheerfulness which met him on all hands,
and one day when his mother and sisters
and their guests were seated together, he
startled them by saying—
“Mother, I suppose we believe in
God?”
“I hope so, Fritz; what has put that
question into your head P’’
“This, mother. Of old you had a merry
laugh, and so had Frederika ; so had
Alice; so had Louise. Those laughs have
gone because I am sightless. I want you
to see one truth. I well know that talking
will not make you cheerful. But think of
this—no sorrowing ever can bring back my
sight. That is gone. It is God’s will, and
therefore it is right. What we want to
attain now is the compensation which the
Almighty provides for every sufferer on
earth. The compensation offered to us—
278 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwic/ Rise.
and what a compensation it is l—are a
bright and cheerful home, and true and
unchanging affection. Think, my dear
mother—my dear sisters—whether that or
continued sadness is the most perfect
bowing of the head to the storm which God
has sent. We have a thousand blessings—
we are surrounded with blessings. More-
over, our English friends have taught us
One lesson among many ; and this one, I
think, we may reduce to practical work.
Tiet their friends the surgeons come here
and be friends of ours. Let us try to
provide them with a temporary hospital,
and let us labour together, so that the
wounded and perishing may be brought in,
and provided with comfort, even if life
cannot be saved.”
“There are some dreadful characters—
perfect savages—among the men on both
Coz/2} //erner's 7%an/-offering. 279
sides,” said Harry, starting at the very
idea.
“I know ; but all men are humbled when
sickness falls upon them. I have no fear
even for my mother and sisters.”
“It is a noble thought !” Richard Inger-
stein said.
“It shall be our thank-offering—our
sacrifice to God,” Count Werner replied.
“Then we shall continue to provide the
surgeons,” said Richard.
“Very well, Ingerstein; we will not rob
you of that pleasure. It shall be a united
thank-offering. You provide the surgeons;
we will do the rest.”
Harry Waye's holiday came to an end,
as the longest holidays do, and he and
his friends closed their happy visit to
Castle Werner. Eldred, and Richard,
and Commodore Mordaunt returned to
280 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
England, and told to their friends, but with
some special reserves, the story of their
expedition. The hospital was founded.
Wounded, hungered, and dying men were
brought in from the fields of war, and
ministered to with tender care, and many a
hard heart was softened. Catholic and Pro-
testant chaplains were carefully selected, and
though the former murmured a little at first
at the presumed intrusion of the latter, they
were made to understand that the resolution
of the Werner family was on that point fixed
and unalterable. The Huguenots were
ministered to by their own teachers and the
Catholics by theirs; one of the few whole-
some lessons of the Thirty Years' War.
On the 6th November, 1684—two years
to the very day after Lützen, the Swedes
were defeated at Nördlingen by the King
of Hungary, and the Swedish General
The Swedes Deserfed. 28]
Horn, who had united his army with that
of the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, was taken
prisoner. The princes of Germany now
began to fall away from their brave allies
and deliverers. The Elector of Saxony first
made peace at Vienna; others followed.
On May 30th, 1635, a treaty between the
Emperor and several States was signed at
Prague, securing to the Protestants certain
liberties, and effecting a general restoration
of conquered territories. Hesse-Cassel,
Wurtemburg, and Baden, stood aloof from
the treaty, but the Swedes were to all
intents and purposes deserted by the men
whose cause they had so gallantly served.
The sum of two millions and a half of
florins were offered them as indemni-
fication, and was scornfully rejected by
Oxenstiern.
Richelieu, however, now came into the
282 Ingerstein Hall and C/adwick Rise.
struggle openly, and began what has been
termed the French—or the fourth—period
of the Thirty Years' War. There was no
longer even a shadow of reason for terming
the war one between Catholic and Pro-
testant. It was now a war purely between
Erance, Sweden, and Holland on the one
hand, and the Empire and Spain on the
other.
The Swedes and their allies girded
themselves for their final effort. The Prince
of Orange would operate in the Low
Countries ; the Duke of Saxe-Weimar on
the Rhine. The genius of Richelieu called
four armies into existence, and sent the one
into the Low Countries, the other into
into
Italy and the Walteline, and the fourth to
the Rhine. The tide of war again turned
Torraine, the third—in two parts
in favour of the Swedes, and the prospects
Colonel Waye resigns /is Commission. 283
of the Empire were only less dark than the
principles of the war.
Harry Waye, after the Swedish victory
at Wittstock, in October, 1636, in which
he had a share, resigned his commission
and retired from the army, after more than
ten years of hard fighting, for what, he now
confessed, he was utterly at a loss to
understand. From Monkerton and Werner
many an anxious thought had followed
him, and many an earnest conversation and
prayer had related to him and his doings
and sufferings. Margaret Chadwick had
long remained mistress at the Rise, to the
surprise of persons who did not know how
much her father depended upon her for his
comfort, and how bravely Sir Richard
Ingerstein sacrificed his own pleasure to
the filial affection of his heart's true love.
Sarah Waye, and Peter Prim, and Harry
284 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
Waye the elder, however, understood it all,
as one portion of a conversation they had
in the gloaming of a winter evening in
1634 will show. They were sitting toge-
ther in the smithy, talking of some of the
great affairs with which they were so in-
timately concerned, when Richard and
Margaret, passing from Mr. Waye's cot-
tage, stopped to exchange with them kindly
greetings. When they had gone again,
ETarry Waye said—
“Peter, my friend, one is apt to think
that self-sacrifice belongs only to saints and
poor people, but we might go far before we
found truer sacrifice than Sir Richard
Ingerstein's. Squire Chadwick, clever as he
is, has little idea what he owes to Richard.”
While Harry Waye was speaking, Mis-
tress Waye came to the Smithy to suggest
that it was more than leaving-off time, and
The Thoughts of Two Old Men. 285
to say that supper was ready for them both.
She heard what her husband had said, and
took up the conversation in this way where
he had left off—
“You are mistaken there, Harry, as I
have before told you. Squire Chadwick
does know it, and so does Mistress
Margaret, and so does every one with
common sense”—but there she was wrong—
“save and except one person, and that is
Richard. He fancies himself a thoroughly
selfish person if he allures Mistress Mar-
garet for a few hours over the Thames.
It would be difficult to find a man like
Richard.” -
“It is very beautiful,” Peter Prim said;
“and I think with you, Sarah, that Richard
has no idea that he is not living a mere
humdrum life, like Squire Moxon down the
water, or a useless life, like the puerile
286 Ingerstein Ha// and Chadwick Rise.
people who throng the corridors of White-
hall.”
“Do you think,” said Harry, “that if we
sought all England through we could match
the public spirit of the Ingersteins and
Chadwicks P”
“Yes,” Peter replied, “I hope we could ;
but I doubt that we could find the same
domestic virtues united in two families,
differing in so much, yet united in so much
more.”
Then they closed the smithy and went
away home, where Tom and Susan joined
them and assisted them to eat a wonderful
game-pie, one of Mistress Waye's great feats
in cookery, and to drink a pitcher of home-
brewed ale, one of Mistress Waye's greater
feats in successful brewing. It was espe-
cially observed that evening, however, that
Beter Prim was fast breaking up, like an
TWe 7/ou/ſs of Two Old Men. 287
old ship consigned to the harbour, in view
of the final end which comes alike to all the
creations of Time. This, the reader will
have seen, was the picture presented on a
winter evening in 1634.
END OF WOL. II.
LONIO O N :
SAVILL, EDWARDS AND Co., PRINTERS, CHANDos STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
INGERSTEIN HALL
AND
CHAIDWICK RISE,

IN (; ER, STEIN HALL
ANTD
()HAI) WICK RISE,
A story of the Čbirty years' &lar.
BY
J. A. M. E S R O U T L E D G E.
IN THEREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON :
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND,
1878. -
[Right of Translation reserved.]
LONDON :
SAWILL, RDWARDS AND Co., PRINTERS, CHANDoS STRBET,
COVENT GARDEN.
CONTENTS
OF
T H E T H I R. D. W. O L U M E.
CHAPTER I.
LEGACY OF PETER PRIM—ANOTHER VISIT TO BAVARIA, AND.
WHAT FOLLOWED–HARRY WAYE's FIXED RESOLUTION
pp. 1–46.
CHAPTER II.
HARRY WAYE RESOLVES TO ONCE MORE VISIT MONRERTON
AND THEN EMIGRATE–HE IS AGAIN ENTRAPPED-A-
NEW SMITHY BUILT . . . . . . . pp. 47–76
CHAPTER III.
GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUs To CROMWELL . . . pp. 77-112
CHAPTER IV.
TOM PIRIM ONCE MORE BEFORE A PRINCE—ELDRED.
CHADWICK AND HARRY WAYE IN ARMS pp. 113–132
vi Contents.
CHAPTER V.
IMORE WRECKS OF WAR.—THE SHADOW ON THE KING OF
ENGLAND . . . . . . . . . pp. 133–166
CHAPTER VI.
END of TH+ THIRTY YEARs' war—whiteHALL AND
MONKERTON . . . . . . . . pp. 167–190
CHAPTER VII.
THE AUTUMN OF LIFE IN MONKERTON, AND THE FRESH
SPRING—CROMWELL VISITS THE BANK pp. 191-231
CHAPTER VIII.
'CLOSING GLIMPSES . . . . . . . . pp. 282-287
INGERSTEIN HALL
AND
CHADWICK RISE,
CHAPTER I.
LEGACY OF PETER PRIM—ANOTHER VISIT TO BAVARIA,
AND WHAT FOLLOWED–HARRY WAYE's FIXED RESO-
LUTION. -
RºPIEN Harry Waye left the Swedish
service in October, 1636, he was
almost as ignorant of what had passed in his
native place during the two years and five
months since his parting from his friends at
Werner as if he and Monkerton had been
on different planets. His correspondence
had been almost cut off, and the changes in
his friends would, as those friends them-
"VOL. III. 1


2 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
selves said, surprise him, if in God’s mercy
it fell to his lot to return home. His sister
Susan was now the mother of three children,
and Mabel Chadwick the mother of one
infant boy. Peter Prim had been laid at
rest in Monkerton churchyard, on the last
day but one of the year 1634, three weeks
or so after the return of The Mabel Inger-
stein, barque, from her first voyage of mercy
to the seat of war. If he had been without
property in the parish churchyard, Peter
Brim would have selected for his last resting-
place an unconsecrated plot of ground be-
longing to the Calvinists—God’s Acre as
truly as if all the Bishops in the land or
elsewhere had consecrated it. But his
dearly-loved wife had been laid in the
churchyard, before the unconsecrated ground
was opened; and as he had, as he piously
said, “been by God’s mercy privileged to die
Deaff, and Legacy of Peter Prim. 3
where she had died, so with her he would
be buried.”
The last hours of the old man’s life were
solemn. Taud was then in the height of
his glory. Prynne and others had been
barbarously mutilated. The nation was
being tossed about like a ship in a storm.
Peter Prim, drawing very near to the Valley
of the Shadow of Death, heard scrap after
scrap of the news of how despotic power
was acting, and his eye brightened, and his
voice grew stronger, as he predicted that a
struggle as noble as that at Rochelle, or as
that under the banners of Gustavus Adol-
phus was at hand. “Tom,” the old man
said, “I do not again ask you to go to war.
Indeed, unless some cause arise which I
cannot foresee, I enjoin upon you not to do
so, but never by word or deed add one
feather's weight to the power of any de-
1—2
4. Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
spotism that ever Satan created. Look not
upon their splendour or their pride. Look
upon this dear Old England—upon her little
children, growing up to God only knows
what, and let your every word and every
act be for freedom. Be loyal to England,
and to your Conscience—and, Tom, to God.”
After this the old man lay for a consider-
able time in a state of apparent unconscious-
ness, but as the day was wearing to a close,
he again opened his eyes, and seeing the
Vicar of Monkerton among others at his
bedside, he said, with a faint smile—
“Master Baldwin, we are—are—nearly
akin now. Take an old workman’s advice
in the hour of his death, and if you must
have a National Church, let it be a Church
in which the preachers have an earnest
aim, and are capable of self-sacrifice. All
clergy have great privileges, but yours seem
Deaff, and Legacy of Peter Prim. 5
to want all the privileges without accepting
any of the penalties. You cannot do it,
Master Baldwin. Even the Pope's priests
accepted the privations of their office.
There is a terrible sifting-day for your
Church—God help you when it comes |
Good-bye, sir, I never could do with your
prayers and priestliness, but—shake hands
at the last.”
Old Harry Waye, and Tom and Susan
|Prim stood at the head of the bed, and
Sarah Waye, and Mabel Chadwick, and
Richard Ingerstein at the foot, while these
solemn words were spoken. Catching
Harry's eye, Peter said—“Good-bye, old
friend, we shall hoop no more wheels
together. Good-bye, Susan ; take my hand,
my dear, and hold it at the last. God
bless you—the dearest and best daughter
that ever came to cheer and bless the last
6 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
years of a stupid ill-tempered old man.”
These were very nearly the last words of
Peter Prim. Susan held his hand “at the
last.” When all was over, Tom said to
Master Waye, in a voice choked with
emotion—
“Father, can you say a short prayer?”
“I do not know, Tom—I am afraid I
cannot.”
“Try, if only a few words.”
“Yes, try, father,” said Susan—and they
knelt by the bedside.
Harry Waye bowed his head, and said a
very short prayer, ending—“Tuet us die the
death of the righteous, and let our last end
be like his. Amen.”
There was a deep fervent response to
Harry Waye's first and last “public” prayer.
When the time of burial came, Tom
Prim said to the Vicar—
Z%e Buria/ Service. 7
“Must you of necessity read the Burial
Service over my father, Master Baldwin P"
“I think I must ; but surely you cannot
object to that?”
“Not in the least for myself; but he did,
and I would have dispensed with it if
possible.”
“It is very solemn and solemnising to
the mind, Master Prim.”
“It is so, but it was connected in my
dear father's mind with an ecclesiasticism
which he abhorred.”
The solemn service was read, and when
the minister of Mr. Prim's religious com-
munity was about to follow with an ex-
tempore prayer, which the Vicar did not
know either how to prevent or allow, Tom
said, in a low and an earnest voice—
“T)o not, for our sakes, persist in this
request, Master Methune ; but come and
8 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
teach us at our home how to bear all our
afflictions as sent by God.” In this way
ended the life and burial of Peter Prim.
In the month of February, 1635, The
Mabel Ingerstein, barque, was chartered with
a light cargo for her second voyage of
mercy. She had also as passengers Ernest
Mohan, Eldred and Mabel Chadwick, and
Agnes. The four passengers arrived in due
time at Munich, from whence they passed
to Werner. The visit was expected, but
not for some days, and one of the visitors
was not expected at all. They drove slowly
towards the hospital, where three of the
five surgeons were still busily engaged in
their sad but blessed work. Two had
volunteered to the seat of war. Count
Werner, seated within the Operating room,
first caught the sound of wheels, and he
said joyously—“It is our friends from
A /?sit to Werner. - 9
England.” He was speedily at the door,
where in a moment one of his hands was
grasped by Mr. Mohan and the other by
Mabel. Eldred, who had been warmly
greeting his friends the surgeons, came up
in time to take the first hand that was re-
leased. Then he gently led Count Werner
away, without telling him that there were
more than three arrivals.
Agnes, Mabel, and Ernest lingered be-
hind with the doctors, the ladies walking
on in silence. When they overtook Count
Werner and Eldred, the former was saying
in a tremulous voice—
“And how are they all at home, Eldred?
—your father and Mistress Margaret, and Sir
John and Lady Ingerstein P # * * Where—
where—is Mabel ?”
“Here, Count Werner.”
“Come nearer, my dear. * * * Mabel—do
10 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
you think you could take my hand P−and
would Eldred not object P There, that will
do ; I thank you. Tell me of home—of
—every one. Eldred, you see, hesitates to
talk, and suffers me to go on myself
talking too much. * * * I want you to talk.”
“Well, then, let me see ; where shall I
begin? My father Chadwick, and Maggie,
are both well; and Master Waye is well,
but feeble. Peter”—in a low voice—“ is—
with God, whom he served. Tom and
Susan”—more brightly—“ are exceedingly
well; and so are their children. Commodore
Mordaunt and Mistress Mordaunt, and
Bliza, are well. Father and mother and
Dick are well, and—do you know, Count
Werner—I have a strong suspicion that
Dick and Maggie intend being married in
our absence—would it not be a capital
joke?”
Count Werner asks Quesſions. II.
“It would, indeed, be a rare joke. But
* * * go on, Mabel.”
“Well, let me see. You do not want to
know anything about people who are here P”
“No, my dear Mabel. Do not tease me
to-day. Tell me more. * * * Tell me all.”
They had now arrived at one of several
pretty summer-houses for which the Werner
estate was notable, and Mabel, on a sign
from Eldred said—
“Shall we rest here, Count Werner P”
“Certainly, my dear.” Mabel opened
the door gently and allowed Count Werner
to enter. A moment later she closed it as
gently, leaving Count Werner and Agnes
Chadwick alone.
“Mabel,” he said, “there is a name you
have not mentioned—do not keep me in
suspense. I am not so vigorous as I once
was, my dear, though I am growing strong
12 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
again, you see, quite. * * * Are you silent?
Have I been rude, Mabel, that you do not
speak P Nay, do not weep. * * * Speak to
me. Oh what is it, P # * * Tell me—it
is—it is Agnes!”
There was for some moments a deep
silence—a silence so deep that the frolic of
a tiny field-mouse on the floor startled
Count Werner and Agnes as a peal of
thunder would not have startled either at
another time and in another place. Then
in a low voice, like soft, sweet music in the
ear of the blind soldier came the words—
“Yes ; it is not Mabel; it is Agnes,
Fritz.” # * *
A low cry, a deep sob, and a deeper
and a deeper still followed. Over that
scene we shall draw the veil—upon the
bright loving maiden and the blind helpless
soldier.
Count Werner Entrapped. 13
“You would not come to me, Fritz,” she
said, in a low whisper, broken by sobs;
“I have come to you, to tell you that I
love you dearer than ever. Now, let us
55
go. -
“Not yet, Agnes—not yet, unless you
need refreshment or rest. Yes, of course
2 3
you do
“No, I do not. Det us stay.”
They stayed for more than an hour un-
disturbed, till at last, after a timid knock,
Louise, and then Frederika and then Alice
entered, and—as the beautiful words run—
“fell upon the neck” of the sister they had
so long heard of, and of late as of one lost,
but whom they now had found.
“And my mother P-where is my
mother P” said Fritz, eagerly. She was
not far distant, but she dreaded the meeting
for which she longed. “Mother l’
14 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
—La
“Yes, Fritz.”
** This is 35
Here the curtain may well fall finally
upon this part of the drama of Count
Werner's life. His heart was at last in a
great calm.
Ernest Mohan and Alice Werner were
married, first by a Catholic priest, then by a
IProtestant chaplain, late of the Swedish
army. Count Werner, with his high
gentlemanliness, declined to be married
anywhere but in England. “No, no,” he
said, “I will not have it. I shall go back
with my love—my Agnes—to the banks of
the Thames, and bring her here myself.”
So there was a general return to England,
and Louise Werner went with them, and
Agnes and Count Werner were made one
by both Father Altona and Master Baldwin
the Vicar.
“It is the Priestly Assumption.” 15
“The same God is in both churches,
Agnes,” whispered her husband.
“Yes, Fritz, and as we have worshipped
in both to-day, we may, perhaps, be able to
worship in both to the end.” They did so,
too, but after a fashion that Peter Prim
would have roundly condemned, and which
no Catholic priest ever approved; but they
never joined in a Te Deum in the one place
of worship or the other for the cruel vic-
tories of any of the remaining belligerents
in the Thirty Years' War, or of any
belligerents like them.
In Ernest Mohan's case the double
marriage had been a mere form. Alice
Werner had seen Magdeburg from her lover's
point of view, and she saw some vital ques-
tions of faith from her husband's point of
view. For the doctrinal differences Ernest
cared little, “It is,” he said, “the priestly
16 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
assumption I hate ; and the same spirit
that reigns like a spirit of Moloch in the
Church of Rome, has crept, in a bland and
insinuating form, into the Church of
England as established by law.”
Ernest and Alice Werner became—never
mind what in faith. They at all events
founded families which never had a Vicar of
Bray among them, or listened to the teach-
ings of one, at least as far as the present
writer has been able to trace them, far into
the reign of George the Second, King of
England.
While Ernest and Alice, and Fritz and
Agnes were busied at Werner, a little
after the marriage of the former, and of
course before the marriage of the latter,
there had been in Monkerton parish church
a quieter, and perhaps a more solemn,
union than any we have seen—a marriage
Richard Ingerstein's Marriage. 17
which made Margaret Chadwick and
Richard Ingerstein one by English law, as
they had long been so by that deeper law
without which all other law is in vain.
No one out of the united households knew
of it till the ceremony was at an end. But
after that, while Sir Richard and Lady
Margaret Ingerstein went away to a quiet
village—since a notable resort of fashion—
by the sea-side, the tenants of the Hall and
the Rise, and the villagers of Monkerton
held high festival, to the great delight of
Sir John and Lady Ingerstein and Eldred
Chadwick, Squire, and of Harry and
Sarah Waye, not to speak of two or three
younger people whose generous hearts were
full. -
Somewhat of this was brought out by the
irrepressible humour of Count Werner on
his own marriage-day. Peering with his
VOI, III, 2
I 8 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
sightless eyes, as if he saw all the people
assembled, he said, comically—
“Mabel was strictly right, then, about
Sir Richard and Lady Margaret stealing
a march upon us in our absence. Ah! Sir
Tichard Ingerstein, you—you—impostor l’’
“Fritz,” Richard replied, in the same
spirit, “I plead guilty to a little imposture,
but I also plead justification. Margaret
and I hate show—you and Agnes love
55
show
“I)ick l’” said Agnes, while Richard con-
tinued—
“Margaret did not like the idea of going
openly to church with a man who had only
OIſle al’Iſl 22
“Dick l’’ The exclamation this time was
from Margaret.
“And my father and mother, I assure
you, had the same feeling, in common with
Sºrewing Flowers. 19
Susan and Tom, and Eliza, and Henry, and
every one
Here there was a universal cry of
“Dick l’’—
“And so, Fritz, we went away one
morning with our friend Eliza and with
Henry for a pleasant walk—four of us there
were when we went—three when we returned,
for two the Vicar said he had made one. No
flowers, you see, were strewn over our path,
as for Tom and Susan, or Eldred and
Mabel, or since for Ernest and Alice, and for
Agnes and you ; so we resolved to strew
some for ourselves, and we have been so
engaged ever since. We are becoming old
people, but each new spring I hope will
cause us to renew our youth. This is the
story of the one-armed man.” The speech,
which began in jest, ended, though the
form of jest was maintained, in a low
2—2
20 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
tone, the pathos of which went to every
heart.
“But is there not another secret?” in-
quired the still as ever persistent Count
Werner, disinclined to be solemn. “Tell
us, Richard—is it not the fact, as everybody
says, that Margaret refused to keep her
engagement to marry you when she saw
that you had only one arm P” -
“Count Werner,” said Margaret, “I
think your old spirits are returning.” .
“Nay, they have returned Take no note
of Margaret, though, Dick; but tell us, as an
old, reasonable friend, is not my story true 3’’
“Margaret shall reply for me, that it is
all true to the letter.”
“ Dick l’’
“Strange,” said Count Werner, “ that one
old fellow now present dreaded marriage
because he was blind—that is a fair knock at
“Our Absent Friend.” 21
myself, is it not?—another because he had
only one arm ; and another because * * *
Ah Commodore Mordaunt, let me drink
your very good health, and wish you, and
all dear to you, many happy days l’’ The
allusion was not to be misunderstood, and
Bliza Mordaunt blushed till her cheeks were
like a red rose.
Tom and Susan Prim were great people
at the marriage of Agnes and Count
Werner, as they had been great people at
what followed the marriage of Richard and
Margaret. Susan was blithe among the
blithest and gayest of the gay. But when
Mr. Chadwick the elder proposed the toast
of “Our absent friend l’ the plural noun,
which might have been properly enough
used, being intentionally omitted, so that
ITarry might stand alone, Susan fairly broke
down, and wept as she had wept as a little
22 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
child. Her father and mother both
hastened to her side, while Tom stood
apart, feeling, as he said, that there always
were three shares, as there had once, while
Peter Prim lived, been four shares in Susan
when she shed a tear.
It was a toast that went also direct to the
hearts of Harry and Sarah Waye, the father
and mother of the “absent friend,” and of
Commodore and Mistress Mordaunt, and of
George Waye, and a kind, good wife whom
George had lately taken to himself; and of
Eldred and Mabel Chadwick, and of Richard
and Margaret Ingerstein, and of Count
Werner and the gentle Agnes of Harry
Waye the younger's early days. But there
was one beating trembling heart to which it
went most surely of all, and which throbbed
as if about to burst in twain. There were
many kind and sympathising people there
7%e Count and Countess Werner. 23
that day, but only one person, and that a
mother, knew the real feeling of Eliza
Mordaunt when she saw pictured before her
the mournful fact that but one of many
friends was excluded from the great general
joy, and was far away in the midst of
strangers, and where death in war and
pestilence was borne on every breeze.
In the evening, when the candles were
lit, George Waye retold the story, often
told to lesser numbers of friends, of how
Chancellor Oxenstiern, in May, 1633, had
redeemed, for the child Christina, the ring
of Gustavus Adolphus by the Star of
Gustavus Vasa, which George then wore
in honour of that marriage day. It was a
pretty story, when related in simple, sailor-
like terms. And it was not an inappro-
priate feature of a scene which had so close
a relation to the chivalrous expedition of
24 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
the Swedish King. It was the spring of
1636, before Count Werner and Agnes and
Louise returned to Bavaria, leaving behind
them a memory as sweet as newly-mown
hay, or as the hawthorn that blossomed at
that time on the hedges of Monkerton.
Louise had won her way to every heart by
her winning beauty and goodness. In her
gentle person, also, there were ties formed
which even the grave itself would for a
long time fail to impair.
Having seen now somewhat of the doings
in Monkerton and elsewhere from the date
of the departure of Colonel Harry Waye
from Werner in May, 1634, we may pass
on to the adventures of that one absent
friend who had by general consent been
allowed to stand alone in Master Chadwick's
toast.
The month of October, 1636, came, and
How Colonel Waye Resigned. 25
the battle of Wittstock. The month of
November came also, and the resignation
of the trust of Harry Waye. He left the
service very little richer in money than he
had entered it. He had scorned plunder,
and as pay was for the most part out of the
question, he was poor. For his immediate
wants he had enough. His pay, while there
had been pay, he had carefully hoarded,
and when the time came that money was
no longer to be had, he steadily refused to
draw upon his store, but compelled at least
provision for the necessities of the passing
day. He had his horse also, a fine animal
that had carried him over many battle-
fields. That he resolved not to part with,
and he did not.
General Bannier, in bidding Harry good-
bye made some inquiries, as Richelieu had
made from Tom Prim, as to his aims for the
26 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
future, and hearing that he intended to
emigrate, said— -
“It is a noble ambition, Waye ; the time
must come when the American people, now
so obscure, will prove a torment to the
despotic powers of Europe. If, however, I
were an Englishman, I would remain one of
the workers in the great arsenal which is
so well walled in by the sea.”
“What would you do though, General
Eannier, in a case like mine P”
“It would depend upon what I could do
best. You, I know, are well acquainted
with iron P”
“Yes, Ifancy I could make anything that
can be made on an anvil by one pair of hands.
In America—New France or New England
—I shall again begin the old trade.”
“What, as a working blacksmith ?” and
General Bannier laughed.
General Bannier and Colonel Waye. 27
“Well, yes, in some form. But I have
an old father and mother whom I should
first like to see. At one time, and while
the need for decision was distant, I almost
preferred to go away without seeing them,
or grieving them with the sight of my
scarred countenance. Now that I am face
to face with the fact of my discharge, I
cannot carry out my resolution.”
“Good Heavens ! Do you actually mean
that you are ashamed of your scars? Is it
possible P and you a soldier | If it is, I
fancy there must be some one besides father
and mother in question.”
“Can you send me conveniently to Count
Werner's, general?”
“Yes, very conveniently ; we have
waggons going to-morrow. You shall
command the escort, if you please.”
“Thank you, I would like nothing better.”
28 Jnyers#ein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
The Werner family now numbered five,
but one was an infant boy. Frederika was
married in Italy to the head of a mercantile
house with which the firm of Mohan, In-
gerstein, and Prim had a close business
alliance. The venerable head of the house-
hold, and Count Werner, and Agnes, and
Louise remained. Fritz, as he loved to be
called, was happy even in his misfortunes,
for he at last knew that his wife, too,
had a part compensation for his blindness
in her little child, as he had long had the
great all-absorbing compensation in her
love. The severe trials of the Dowager
Lady Werner had saddened her spirit and
her countenance ; but her son seemed to
have had a. return of the spirits of his youth.
Of the five surgeons three had returned to
England sick, and the two who remained
were assisted, in the hospital and in the
Colonel Waye's Zast Duffy to the Swedes. 29
towns, by a small staff of French and
German surgeons.
When the waggons under Harry Waye's
command arrived at the hospitals, Count
Werner and Agnes were passing in their
coach, and they stopped to inquire what
new wrecks of men had been sent to them,
though they deemed the arrival an ordinary
one, such as they were well used to as a
feature of daily life. Agnes, Harry thought,
was more beautiful than ever—that dear
little Agnes for whom he had worked out
all manner of curiosities in iron, and wood,
and paper, and stone, and what not. When
she addressed him, Harry did not dare to
raise his eyes. When he replied he dis-
guised his voice. He had still the old
IEnglish hatred of a scene.
“Will you kindly tell Count Werner.”
he said, to a French surgeon, “that I wish
30 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
to speak with him in private. If he has
any place at hand where we could speak,
I could go on thither, or follow him. Will
you announce me as Captain Campbell?”
The surgeon returned and inquired if
the lady's presence at the interview would
be contrary to Captain Campbell's wishes.
IHarry hesitated, but at last said—
“Not in the least.”
“In that case, Count Werner would
thank you, Captain Campbell, to walk on
with the Countess Werner. He has some
business communications to make to me,
and will follow.”
To Agnes, who heard what was said, and
who at once waiked on by Harry's side, the
conversation and the sight of the scarred
officer recalled she knew not what, but
something of long bygone times.
“You are English P’’ she said, looking
Colonel Waye meets witſ, Agnes Werner. 31
sharply in his face; “ you have seen much
service P”
“Yes”—still in a thick and unnatural
voice—“I am English, and I have seen
some service; but I am now on my way
home to England. This is my last duty to
the Swedes.”
“You stay some time at Werner to rest,
I hope?”
“Yes, I came for that purpose, if you
will permit me.” Agnes said afterwards
that she thought this last reply was re-
markably cool; but Captain Campbell
continued—“I made Count Werner's ac-
quaintance many years ago under strange
circumstances. He does not know me again, .
though.”
“He will be so glad, Captain Campbell.
You see his misfortune?”
“Yes ; but I knew of it before.”
32 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
“May I ask where you first met him P”
“It was—let me see—on a fiercely COOl-
tested field, not very long before we were
driven by Wallenstein and Tilly into Den-
mark. What a time it seems ago!”
“Indeed l’’
“Yes, it was rather a hot day; but “* *
Count Werner and I have met since then.”
“Permit me to call my husband, sir.
Or—stay a moment—I think this is Louise
coming towards us over the lawn. Pray see
her first. How long Fritz is 1 * * * You do
not know Count Werner's family, Captain
Campbell?”
“Yes”—smiling a little—“I think the
Lady Louise will recognise me, * * * though
some people do not.”
Agnes started, and her cheek flushed.
“Have I known you, sir?—yes?—where,
Captain Campbell ?”
Colonel Waye and Agnes Werner. 33
“Well, let me try again to remember”—
and a grim smile passed over his face. “I
łżin/, it was at a village in someway con-
nected with the church—Monk—something
or other; Monkbarton, was it P’’
“Monkerton P”
“Yes! that is it—Monkerton; a very
pretty village. I remember well the black-
smith's shop.” -
“Ah! I see, you remember Susan Waye P”
. “Susan Waye P Yes, I think I remember
her—an ugly little girl with large teeth,
25
and prominent eyeballs, and
“Stop, sir,” said Agnes, laughing heartily,
and in the sweetest music Harry had heard
for many a day, yet as if half offended,
“why, she was the loveliest girl in all Eng-
land!—the very loveliest, not even excepting
Mabel or Eliza Mordaunt, who were and
are very beautiful, as perhaps you know.”
WOIA. III. 3
34 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
“Is the old blacksmith living?”
“Yes, but he is infirm. His friend, Peter
Prim, is dead. To you know anything of
Colonel Waye?”
“ Peter Prim dead and I’—but this was
to himself—“a stranger!”
“Did you speak, Captain Campbell?”
“I remember me now,” he said, “that I
have left some papers in my saddle-bags.
Will you please to pardon me, and excuse
me to Count Werner P”
“Certainly, Captain Campbell; but pray
let me speak to my husband before you go
for your papers. I am sorry he has de-
tained you so long. You will not meet
him, I fear, in the way you are going. He
has, I see, turned aside with our friend.”
“It is important, madam; I am sure
you will pardon me.” And Harry somewhat
rudely strode back towards the hospital,
Agnes Werner Puzzled. 35
while Agnes hastened to her husband, who
had meanwhile been joined by Louise, with
whom he was in conversation.
“Captain Campbell knows you, Fritz,”
she said. “He is an Englishman, and first
met you, he says, on a hotly-contested field
before the King of Denmark was driven
to his own country.”
“Ah, I’’
“He has left the service.”
“ Ah l’”
“And he knows Monkerton, but not
much, I should say, for he spoke of Susan
Waye as an ugly girl with large teeth, and
I know not what.”
“Where is he, Agnes?”
Agnes saw that her husband was un-
usually agitated.
“He all at once remembered some papers
he had left in his saddle-bags, and begged
3–2
36 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
me to excuse him to you for a short
time.”
“Do you remember what you spoke of
before he thought of the papers P”
“Yes, of Mr. Waye, and I told him of
the death of Peter Prim, and he muttered
something, and—remembered the papers.”
“You dear little goose !”
“What, then, have I done, Fritz P”
“Has Captain Campbell only one eye?”
“Yes—oh, Fritz I see it all now—It
is Harry l’’
“Yes, and as sure as you are here, the
shadow fell on him, after its incomprehen-
sible manner, when he saw that you did not
know him, and he intends to mount his
horse and ride away into goodness knows
what—to goodness knows where. You
have one chance—just one, for if we lose
him now we lose him for ever—depend on
Colonel Waye Intercepted. 37
it. Take the Poplar Ridge Avenue, and
run your fastest to be at the gate before
him. Would you kindly go also, Dr.
Gratz P I shall sit here. I could have
done it easily once. You gain more than a
quarter of a mile, and Harry will require
time to say farewell to his comrades, and to
mount.”
Away they ran, and Dr. Gratz arriving
first at the gate, locked it, and put the key
in his pocket. The three conspirators then
took refuge in the Lodge. Harry appeared
almost the moment afterwards, at first
riding rapidly, but as he came near he
dropped the bridle on his horse's neck, and
approached slowly. Arriving at the gate,
he called for the lodge-keeper, and a buxom
dame who remembered him well from the
time of his former visit, appeared, made
him a low curtsey, and asked him, with
38 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
well-assumed surprise, if he was going
away P
“I do wish to go outside, Dame Mant-
forde. Please take this”—a bright gold
coin–“ and open me the gate.”
“I have no key, sir.”
“No key?”
“Some one has taken it, Colonel Waye ;
what shall I do? But”—and her face
brightened—“the Countess is here.”
“The Countess?—what do you mean? I
left the Countess a short time ago midway
between the hospital and the Star Summer-
house P”
“Yes, but you have forgotten the Poplar
Ridge Avenue. Her Ladyship has walked
on here, and is now resting.”
“Oh, Captain Campbell !” said Agnes,
appearing at the door, “ have you found
your papers safe?”
Colonel Waye Out-generalled. 39
“Yes, madam, quite right ; but the gate
is locked, and the key has been taken away,
Dame Mantforde tells me.”
“You know Dame Mantforde, then P”
Harry bit his lip, and said—
“I am at a loss what to do. I must
leave the grounds for a time, and at once.”
“I thought you had come to stay with
us. Dear me, how capricious you gentlemen
are l’’
“I came purposely, as I said before; but
duty is first, you know, madam.”
“I have picklocks,” said Dame Mant-
forde, who had been well instructed; “if
the gentleman will step inside the cottage,
he can see my store.”
Harry hesitated. It was not, he felt, a
nice thing to pick the lock of his friend's
gate.
“I am sure, though, Count Werner will
40 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
pardon me,” he at last said, and he went
boldly into the cottage.
“I am equally sure he will not,” said
Louise Werner, meeting him at the door.
“Oh, incorrigible Colonel Waye l’’
“Now what am I to understand about all
this, Harry P’’ said Agnes, after the first
warm greeting was over.
“It means that I am a born fool. I am
the sport of fortune.”
“You are not,” Agnes said, slyly, “the
first man who has been entrapped by a
daughter of Eve, Harry P”
“No, nor, I fear, will I be the last.”
“Do you really want the key, though,
IIarry P−very badly, I mean? Because, if
you could dowithout it for a little time—a day
or two—I was about to ask you to make little
Fritz a spade, such as you made for me in
the old times, which you may not remember.
Colonel Waye under Surveillance. 4]
We have tools, and an anvil, and a lathe,
and all manner of curious articles, of which
you may partly have forgotten the use,
though perhaps I can help you. Now,
come back, Harry, and be a good boy, as
you were when you—saved Eliza from the
bull.”
“I am beaten,” he said sadly. “I think
I shall soon have no will of my own in the
least.”
“You have had a will of your own quite
long enough, Harry. We shall put you
under surveillance now.”
“There are no other means of keeping so
erratic a gentleman,” said Louise.
“Erratic Yet of the four boys who left
Monkerton more than eleven years ago, I
was the most staid and commonplace—the
least given to romance.”
“And the least given to burying his
42 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
thoughts, as Tom Prim says, ten fathoms
deep in his heart—eh, Harry P*
“Well, Countess 5 5
“Say Agnes, dear old Harry. It is
pleasanter to me.”
“I can say no more. I acknowledge
myself beaten, Agnes. Tiet us go to Fritz.
But is the key really lost P”
“Yes, in the pocket of Dr. Gratz.” The
worthy surgeon was by this time standing
behind, amused, yet also more than a little
affected, by the scene.
“Yes, I have the key,” Dr. Gratz said,
“but I am only a subaltern. The Countess
Werner and the Countess Louise are my
superior officers. Am I to give Colonel
Waye the key, Lady Werner P’’ .
“Nay, Dr. Gratz,” Harry replied, “I am
a prisoner of war. Send me to a cell below
the Château, if you please.”
More G/impses of Home. 43
The welcome of Harry by his friend, who
shortly met them on the way, led by a little
child of Dame Mantforde's, was such as he
was not ashamed to at last confess he had
long given up all thoughts of ever receiving
from any one again.
Seated at home with the family of Count
Werner, Harry told, in his matter-of-fact
manner, the story of his last two years'
service, sadder, his friends perceived, than
all the other years put together since 1625.
Eſe had been sent to Denmark and Sweden,
and even to Russia, on diplomatic errands,
fettered by all manner of conditions which
he found it impossible to fulfil. He had
suffered from wounds and sickness among
men who were fast relapsing into bar-
barism.
“And yet,” he said, “the one bright hope
exists that both sides appear at last to be
44 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
sick of the war. If Richelieu had not
appeared with the fresh blood, treasure, and
spirit of France, there would have been an
attempt to make peace, and though in that
case the Empire and the principles of the
Empire would have prevailed, it could only
have been for a time. Fair terms might, I
think, have been obtained.”
“Then nearly all your letters have mis-
carried?” the Dowager Lady Werner in-
quired.
“I think I may say, dear Lady Werner,
that with the single exception of one letter
from Fritz in the autumn of 1634, and one
a few days before Wittstock from Henry
Ingerstein, not a letter has reached me for
two years. The news of my dear old friend's
death—which they naturally would suppose
I knew all about
cannon-ball. Peter Prim was a grand man,
came upon me like a
More G/impses of Home. 45
proud of his word and his honour as few
princes ever have been. Tell me, please,
what you can of home?”
“Well, who will you have for story-
teller P” said Louise.
Harry tried hard to smile. The principal
part of the story was told by Agnes, but
not all in one evening, or in two or three
evenings. Harry remained at Werner more
than a month, and it was a month of un-
speakable peace and comfort. Nothing,
However, appeared to alter his determina-
tion to emigrate. Christmas was fast ap-
proaching, and Agnes asked him if he
thought he would not again like one
glimpse of the yule logs at Monkerton.
IHe thought he would, he said, if he could
have the glimpse in his own way, but he
feared it was impossible. Agnes and Count
Werner spoke of his parents, of Susan, of
46 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise
Eliza Mordaunt—of the welcome he would
receive, but he seemed merely to see beyond
the welcome to the subsequent parting.
At last he agreed that he would go to
IEngland, provided no intelligence was sent
before him. His friends gladly acceded
to this on the counter-condition that he
should not leave Europe without once more
coming to Werner.

CHAPTER II.
HARRY WAYE RESOLVES TO ONCE MORE VISIT MONEERTON
AND THEN EMIGRATE–HE IS AGAIN ENTRAPPED–A
NEW SMITHY BUILT.
gº'ſ was the 19th December when Harry
º * landed at Dover; the 22nd when he
arrived at Monkerton—the 22nd, a little
after noon, a stiff north-east breeze blowing
the while, with sleet which cut almost to
the bone. He put up his horse at the
Ingerstein Arms, and wrapped up to the chin
walked through the village till he came
near to the woodbine-clad cottage and the
blacksmith's shop. No one knew him.
The landlord of the Ingerstein Arms was a
new occupant of the well-known old inn,
and there was nothing in Harry's appear-


48 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
*—
ance to attract attention save his scarred
face, which bespoke a man from the wars.
He passed the cottage slowly. He saw his
father and mother seated one on each side
of a bright wood fire. The old man had
been reading after dinner, but his spectacles
were now pushed back on his forehead, and
he was taking the “ forty winks” of sleep
so dear to old people, whose active days
are ended. Mistress Waye was knitting.
Harry fancied he could hear the click of the
needles, which he saw moving in her fingers.
It was now nearly dark, and he ventured
to stop for a moment and look into the
window—the self-same window into which
he had looked, and from which he had seen
Susan look, so many long years ago. An
old neighbour observing this, went straight-
way to the door of Susan Prim, and told
the servant, who opened it, that there was a
Colonel Waye at Monkerton. 49
tall soldierly-looking man gazing through
the window of Master Harry Waye's cottage.
Susan heard what the old neighbour said,
and springing from her chair, she called out
vigorously for Tom, who had not many
minutes previously returned from the Bank.
“Tom l—come at once ; I am sure it is
Harry tº
“What is Harry, Susan P” said Tom,
running downstairs. -
“Oh, you did not hear what Robin
Maber said; but give me my shawl, and
come with me quickly.”
It was the work of a moment to do as
Susan wished. But they found no “tall
soldierly-looking man” gazing into the
window of the cottage of Harry and Sarah
Waye. Tom and Susan walked rapidly.
The respectable banker had no sense of
a foolish respectability to cause him to
WOL. III, 4.
50 Jagerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
restrain the impatience of his affectionate
wife. -
“Tlet us look in the window, Tom,” said
Susan, in a voice tremulous with she knew
not what. Yes, look in ; and look long,
and let Tom look too, for there is a sight
among the most beautiful this world pre-
sents—an aged father and mother re-united
to a long-lost child. -
Harry was standing between his father
and mother, with one of his hands in
charge of each of the old people, who were
laughing and crying at One time.
“Tet us go away for a little while,”
Susan whispered. But she was too late.
IHarry, whose own delinquency at the
window had made him quick in detecting
the delinquencies of others, caught sight of
his sister's face, and there was no more talk
of Susan and Tom going away.
Colonel Waye at Monkerſon. 51
The news ran through Monkerton that
Harry Waye had come home from the great
wars, with a scarred cheek, and but one eye,
and that he was then in the cottage of his
father and mother. Yet there was no
intrusion among those kind, honourable
neighbours, till Harry and Susan went out
together in eager haste to see Susan's chil-
dren, the aged parents following with their
other son, called their son-in-law. Then
there was a run to the door of this cottage
and that, and a running volley of hand-
shakings, till a refuge was found in the
homely but somewhat distinguished house
of Thomas and Susan Prim. What children
they were—those boys and girls of Susan’s
and Tom's How they climbed on uncle
Harry’s knee, and pulled his beard, and did
all manner of mischief to his well-ordered
attire. , Harry never in all his life had
4–2
52 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
seen such children. In fact, there never
were such children to uncle Harry.
“You must not leave us again, Harry, till
we are laid under the green sods,” said the
aged mother, whose eyes were as bright as
Sunbeams. -
“No, no—never again; Harry will go
away no more,” the old man continued, as
if the twain had been thinking together, and
had together made one sentence of their
thoughts; “there is the old smithy ready
for him, and if Tom had been content to
take to the wheelwright's shop, the two old
names could have gone on as before.”
Tom laughed like a big boy. Harry was
silent.
“Art silent, my boy P” his father said.
“Well, father, I intend to emigrate, and
I do not want to cause you to set your
minds on me staying here. You have Susan
He will Emigrate. 53
and Tom, and George and Jane”—he had
learned from Susan that George was married
to their once pretty little playmate, Jenny
JBligh, “and more grandchildren than I can
count.” .
“You must not go, Harry,” his father
said, solemnly, “or you will break our hearts.”
“Yes, that you will, Harry,” said his
mother, tearfully; “the first news you re-
ceive in the place you go to will be that
your father and I are in our graves.”
Poor Harry ! He had again been fairly
entrapped. No one had mentioned Eliza,
but that he could understand. He chafed,
however, at the fact that no one, not
even his mother, had referred to his lost
eye and his disfigured cheek.
“You none of you mention my face,” he
at last said; “I suppose the subject is too
painful to you?”
54 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Painful?” Susan replied, with a genuine
laugh, but a downright earnest face. “Yes,
it is that, but only because we have
heard of your fastidious folly about it,
dear Harry. Why, I hardly regret your
loss, and that is the sober truth, for you
carry your marks of duty. As for the
marks being ugly, I cannot see it in the
least.”
And Harry believed his homest, truth-
speaking sister, and did not by any means
take her words as a mere compliment.
Calling him aside, Susan said—
“It is now seven o’clock, and we have
work to do to-night. Tom and I will go to
the Rise, (Eldred and Mabel live there now,)
and to the Hall, where Richard and Mar-
garet have lived since their marriage ; and
to George and Jane—did I tell you that
7%e Maffel Ingerstein is in port?—No P
Susan Prim a Diplomatist. 55
Well, she is ; and George has a little Harry,
the very picture of what you were, and a
little Jenny, as like as you can imagine to
our old playmate. George met Jenny
strangely at Dover, where her father had
settled years before, and they were married
within a month. Now, as I have said’—and
Susan seemed to become business-like in
tone—“Tom and I will call on all I have
named, and on Ernest and Alice Mohan
—they live close to the Rise. You can call
on all to-morrow.”
“I can call on all to-night, Susan, my
dear girl—go with you, in fact. I long to
see our old friends. Father and mother will
excuse me now, I know.”
“You can do nothing of the kind, Harry,”
and Susan looked as if another word would
make her cry. “You will send for your
horse—I want to see it, too—and you will
56 Ingerstein Hau and Chadwick Rise.
ride off at once to Frobisher Cottage, or—
or—I will disown you, that I will!” and
she did cry now, amain.
“Susan, I did not expect a scene like
this on first coming home !”
“Do you”—she spoke quite fiercely—
“care for Eliza Mordaunt, or do you not?
Tell me that. If you say you do not, I
never shall mention the subject to you
again. But you do—I can see it in your
eyes.”
“My eye, you mean, Susan.” This was
bitterly said.
“I want none of your nonsense, Harry !”
and the impetuous lady stamped her little
foot indignantly. -
“A minute ago, Susan, you said George's
little Harry was like what I once was. I
did not want to interrupt you, my dear
sister, but look at me now.”
Susan Prim a Diplomatist. 57
“I begin to think, Harry, that you are
a fool—that you are foolish or mad.”
“I am both, Sue.”
“Very well; then go and do what you
please. Here the kindest, truest girl I ever
knew, has loved you, as she has thought you
loved her, for years and years—how many
is it?—thirty, I should say—and Il OWſ
you coolly tell me you do not love her.
You will break her heart, that you will;
and you are not the Harry I once knew!”
This was not strategy on Susan’s part,
but if Richelieu had had such a negotia-
tion in hand he could not have hit upon
a better stratagem than this direct charge,
that Harry had acknowledged that he no
longer cared for Eliza Mordaunt. He was
aghast at the bare idea. He declared he
never said any such thing or dreamt
of any such thing. Nay, in his indig-
58 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
nation he even went so far as to say
that he never had loved, nor ever would
love any one else.
To this Susan asked bitterly—
“Then do you desire your love to cause
misery, and nothing but misery P—tell
me that if you can—or dare—to cause
distress to Eliza and to every one P”
When Susan emerged from this con-
ference, she told her father and mother
that Harry had a call to make, and that
she and Tom had several others—if father
and mother would stay with the children.
Ay, that they would, and right happy they
would be. So Harry went for his good
horse, and rode away from Monkerton.
“He is going to the Hall,” said one
kindly villager. *
“No, to the Rise,” said another, while
a third maintained, and at last with general
Colone/ Waye pays a Visit. 59
concurrence, that he could not be going to
the one or the other in that direction.
“Depend upon it,” at last said one, wiser
than all, “he is going to Whitehall to see
the King.”
Harry went on slowly—too slowly, Susan
would have said if she had seen him. At
last he knocked at the door of Frobisher
Cottage, the inside of which he never yet
had seen ; the outside of which he had
seen many a time, unknown to any human.
being. Commodore Mordaunt himself
opened the door, and seeing who his
visitor was, drew Harry, with a grasp
of the hand, into a private room, stop-
ping a moment, however, to tell his wife
and daughter that he would be engaged
for a short time. Then, giving Harry a
hearty welcome, he said—
“But, my friend, the time has come
60 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
when we must have a clear understand-
ing. I must know, before you see Eliza,
what it is you would say to her—for, on
my honour, I do not understand you.”
“There are three points, Commodore
Mordaunt”—Harry, it will be seen, could
talk bravely to a man—“I wish you to
understand : I am as poor as when I went
out in 1625, I am dreadfully disfigured,
2 2
and
“I suppose you are about to add, that
you no longer care for Eliza P"
“No, sir, I was about to say that I
do not know what I can do for a liveli-
hood, unless I take to the Smithy.”
“But my question is not answered. I
asked you if you still cared for Eliza P”
“I cared, as you put it, Commodore
Mordaunt, for Mistress Eliza the first day
I saw her—I loved her deeply ; I love
“What do you Intend ?” 6]
her still, and I never loved, or affected
to love, any other person in the sense in
which a man loves the one person he would
make his wife.” -
“You must excuse me, though; I am an
old blunt sailor—what do you now intend?”
... “I do not know.”
“Then, much as I respect you, Colonel
Waye, I beg you will not attempt to see
my daughter.”
“Thank you, Commodore Mordaunt, I
shall obey you to the letter,” and Harry
rose gloomily to leave the house.
“I let us understand each other, sir, and
not part with a misconception where the
subject is of such vast importance. What
am I to take you as meaning in the words
you have now spoken, viewed by the light
of what you say you have felt for my
daughter during these many years?”
62 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“I can say nothing more than that I
left England with the firm conviction that
I was unworthy of your daughter's love,
even if I could, as I never believed I could,
obtain it.” * - -
“Yet you did obtain it, as you have
known.” §
“I did not think so, I say, at the
time, and I determined to go away with
my secret and bury it for ever. It was
discovered by chance, when I was not
myself. Then, sir, I had hope. Then,
sir, came Lützen, and I was left as you
see me.” -
“Are you a more than ordinarily vain
man, Colonel Waye P’’
“I hope not, sir. I never thought that
that was my cardinal failing.” -
“Then what does this extraordinary
infatuation about your personal appear-
“What do you Intend?” 63
ance spring from P Do you think Eliza,
on that day when she gave you a rose-
bud, was impressed with the conviction
that you were the most handsome of men?
Remember, she had seen Buckingham
before his collapse at Rochelle.”
“I never had such a thought. I had no
thought but that I was not fit to mate with
Mistress Eliza.” - -
“And what do you now fear P”
“I fear that I might be accepted in pity,
and that I might bind one I love to a cruel
fate.” - -
“With what object did you come here
to-night P’’ • *
“I have been asking myself the question
ever since I came.”
“Preposterous ! I give it up ; but you
shall not be lost without one more chance.
—Anne !”
64 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
Mistress Mordaunt answered the call, and
her husband said—
“Listen to me for a moment, quietly,
in this strange gentleman's presence ;
and mind, now, Eliza must not know of
it. I shall go to her, and leave you
here to see if you can make either out-
side or inside of Colonel Harry Waye.
Yes, my dear, it is Colonel Waye, alive,
but whether he is fish, flesh, or fowl I do
not know.”
Commodore Mordaunt then went to his
daughter. -
“Oh, Colonel Waye,” said the good old
lady, shaking his hand warmly, “this is
a glad surprise. But why is Eliza not to
see you?”
“Because I have said that I dare not ask
her to be my wife.”
“Be—cause
you have said WHAT P!
A Mother's Wisdom. 65
Why, did you not write to ask her to be
your wife P”
“Yes, but—”
“But what, Colonel Waye P. Have you
ceased to love Eliza P”
g “Ah, no, dear Mistress Mordaunt ; but
I am disfigured—”
“Eliza l——”
“No, no pray do not—Commodore
Mordaunt forbad it—he did, indeed I’
“You are a couple of I really
do not know what to call you
you and
my husband. Do you love Eliza or
not P”
“That was Susan’s question—almost in
the very words.”
“And what did you reply?”
“I replied that I loved her dearer than
light or life; but—”
“Eliza l——”
WOIL. III.
5
66 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Yes, mother;-but father says T am not
to come. What can it mean?”
Mistress Mordaunt left Harry, and re-
turning with Eliza, said—
“There, my dear, this is Colonel Harry
Waye, whom the Imperialists have made
the ugliest man in the world. Tell him that
you disown him for ever. It is my wish
and your father’s.” -
Mistress Mordaunt went out and shut the
door, but not before she had seen enough
and heard enough, in a stifled sob which
broke up for Harry Waye the fountains of
many years, to satisfy her mother's heart
and set many an anxious thought at rest.
There was no longer dry discussion or ques-
tioning ; but if Commodore Mordaunt, who
was chafing all the time like a caged lion,
had seen how naturally at that moment his
daughter's head had found its way to the
A Mother’s Victory. 67
shoulder of “the ugliest man in the world,”
and how naturally Harry Waye's head had
found a corresponding resting-place, he might
have been convinced that there is a mightier
Imagician in the world than human reason,
and a mightier healer, too, of the wounds of
WàI’.
When Mistress Mordaunt opened the door
again—very long after she had closed it—she
knew that her daughter had for her defence
an arm that never would fail her in the
future battle of life. It was a gladsome even-
ing to Commodore and Mistress Mordaunt.
To Harry and Eliza it was as the first green
spot after a long dreary desert of which it
was difficult for a stranger to form any con-
ception. The laugh and joke and tale ran
free till Mistress Mordaunt reminded Harry
that it was past one o'clock, and told him she
hoped he would live to see another day.
5–2
68 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“But if you had sent me away, Commo-
dore Mordaunt P” Harry whispered, as his
horse was being brought out of the stable.
“It would have been a dismal night for
me, Harry, as I trust it would for you.”
All else was easy to Harry Waye. He
made his visits next morning to the Hall,
and the Rise, and elsewhere in a new spirit.
Eſe was no longer the sad, uncertain man,
but bright, vigorous, and capable of meeting
whatever fate might befall him. A few
days later, he informed Eliza and her
father and mother that he had agreed to
reopen the Smithy, only on a larger scale,
and in a different place, not far, however,
from Monkerton. The firm of Mohan,
Ingerstein, and Prim, he said, would take
one share, and Mr. Chadwick another,
while Sir Richard Ingerstein and George
TWaye would undertake the sale abroad of
A Joint-Stock Company. 69
at least part of the work that might be
produced.
“What all this settled in less than a
week, Harry P’’ said the Commodore,
laughing. “Yet but as yesterday you
saw no way in which you could earn bread
and water | Think of it, and put your trust
in God. I suppose I must have another
share in the anvils and bellows. I have
always wished to be a merchant, but never
till now could see clearly how to become
2 3
O]] 62. - -
And so was laid the foundations of the
great Mortlake firm of “Henry Waye and
5
Company, Workers in Iron ; ” a firm
whose business transactions were in the
course of years important enough to attract
the attention of merchants all over Europe,
and in the Colonies—French as well as
English—in America. The experience
70 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Harry had gained and the friends he had
made abroad stood him in good stead. He
had friendly purchasers in France, Den-
mark, Sweden, Germany, Holland, Switzer-
land, and Italy; and pushing his trade with
the same vigour that he had pushed his
way to the forefront of danger for Gustavus
Adolphus, he very soon had a world of
honourable and legitimate work all his own.
IEliza Mordaunt looked with bright, if at
times wondering, eyes on the new “ smithy.”
and certainly she did not look with less
interest on the walls of a new house fast
rising into shape within sight of Frobisher
Cottage. The state of affairs was thus
stated in long letters to Agnes and Count
Werner—
“If you saw Eliza at present, dear
Agnes, you would not know her,” Mabel
wrote. “Her ever-musical laugh is much
Jeffers to Werner. 71
more musical ; her ever-lightsome step has
a new spring. Harry never gives an
evening to anybody else in any other place,
and Frobisher Cottage is very pleasant to
all of us. Of course we all go to them,
and I cannot quite say that Eliza does not
come to us; but where she is, after the
day’s work is done, there also is Harry, like
a man bewitched.”
Susan wrote—“I was out walking with
Lliza and Harry the other day, and Harry
led us down a long lane to the river side.
All at once he stood still and waved his hat
round his head in a remarkable way, while
Eliza blushed her prettiest—and you know
how pretty that is. “What does it mean?'
I asked. Eliza whispered, ‘It is where
Harry saved me from the bull.’ I told the
whole story to Sir John and Lady Inger-
stein next day, and you should have heard
72 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
how heartily they laughed, and how eagerly -
they re-told the story to Mr. Chadwick, and
Eldred, and Mabel.”
Margaret wrote—
“The great event with us is the return
of Harry . . . . He is already hard at work
with his new shop, and Dick never seems
tired of being with him. Nobody can well
know the utter unselfishness of my dear
husband. I never once, I think, caught him
in the act of thinking of himself—always of
some one else, and always so kindly that I
could often run and kiss him for his good-
ness if I were not afraid of shocking his
modesty. Sir John and Lady Ingerstein,
and father, too, are almost incapable of any
exertion, and Dick and Eldie are already
the veritable heads of the two families.
Benry, I think, never will marry—why, I
do not know, but he seems wedded to his
Leffers from Werner. 73
bank. Eldred has become a close student,
though he never neglects his estate, or
the practical well-being of his tenants.
Susan and Tom are very happy, and Ernest
and Alice have as sweet a home and as
sweet a life as I think ever falls to the lot
of any human beings. I have left them to
the last, or very nearly so, but only that
you may have them as the closing impres-
sion of my letter. I wished to tell you
something of the good old Wayes, but I
shall leave them for another letter ; or per-
haps you may learn all about them from
Susan.”
In due time there came a letter from
Count Werner, written by Agnes, and be-
ginning—“My dear Waye, I am looking
long for a letter from you with details of
your preparations for New England or New
IFrance—or was it Timbuctoo P I have
74 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
heard with great pleasure that you have had
nothing to say to that ugly person with the
large teeth, &c.; to Eliza Mordaunt, or to
that old curmudgeon her father. You are
quite right, my boy, and I wish you all
success in America, where I am sure you
will find a handsome Red Indian wife quite
to your mind. Tell me what they have
done with that poor unfortunate girl, Susan,
who, we must remember, cannot help her
ugliness, and in particular tell me when
you leave England.”
Much more followed—irony throughout.
Harry read all this to Eliza and her father
and mother, and said it was characteristic
of one of the best men in the world.
“What a dreadful affliction his blindness
is,” Mistress Mordaunt said. -
“I do not know that,” Harry replied;
“he thinks the contrary himself, and I have
Elders Pass Away. 75
often tried, but have been unable to see
how else he could have escaped falling in
utter ruin with Wallenstein.”
The eighth anniversary of the landing of
Gustavus Adolphus in Pomerania was kept
at Monkerton by the marriage of Harry
Waye and Eliza Mordaunt ; and on that
day Chancellor Oxenstiern received, as he
had received annually for the last four
years, for the young Christina, a present
of all English and foreign fruits then
in season, and a similar present for his
own family, one of whom, his son, would
live to almost rival in diplomacy the
chancellor's own great fame. Every year
the presents were accompanied by a
short pleasant letter, bearing the signature
of all the members, male and female, of the
united families. The letter on this occasion,
1637, concluded—“We are this year keeping
76 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
the anniversary by the marriage of one
of our sweetest English flowers, Eliza Mor-
daunt, to one of the favourite officers of
Gustavus Adolphus—our friend Colonel
Harry Waye.”
This was the last anniversary letter ever
signed by Tady Ingerstein or Mr. Chadwick,
or the elder Harry Waye. Before another
24th June they were all three laid in the
burial places of their families, and Mistress
Waye did not long survive them. Happy
were they all in death, as they had been
throughout life, in the untiring affection
of their children; their last words were
treasured up as a precious heirloom, and
with the consciousness as of a united living
presence inherent in the words through the
storms of more than two generations, and
their memory remained as a sweet savour
for still more distant times.
CHAPTER III.
GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS TO CROMWELL.
ºHE years from 1637, when the last
§§ link that connected Monkerton
directly with the Thirty Years' War had
been withdrawn by the return of Harry
Waye to England, to 1648, when the fear-
ful war ended, will always be counted years
of dread and awful solemnity in the his-
tory of men. Almost every Saturday
evening during these dreary years there
was a meeting at the Hall, or the Rise,
or somewhere, of some of the old friends
with whom we are chiefly concerned,
and often of all of them who were still
living.


78 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
In the second week in January, 1642,
the Saturday evening meeting was held at
the Hall, and it was a solemn, as it became
a landmark meeting. Sir John Ingerstein
had been dead a few weeks ; a deep shadow
rested on the group of friends who had
known how his great heart had throbbed
with love to all. There were present,
Richard and Henry Ingerstein, Eldred
Chadwick, Harry Waye, Tom Prim, Ernest
Mohan, Commodore Mordaunt, and Father
Altona. The ladies of the several families
had at first been talking in a room adjoin-
ing the one in which their male friends were
assembled, but gradually they strolled to
that in which it was understood that a
serious and perhaps momentous subject was
being discussed. The attention of all was
arrested by Tom Prim, now a grave,
thoughtful man, whose face betokened his
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 79
sense of the responsibility that might follow
his words.
“I am, it is true, a Nonconformist,” he
said, “yet I am no leveller, Father Altona.
I am speaking merely of what I have my-
self recently witnessed of the King’s folly—
nay, folly is not the word—of the King's
wicked attempt to throw down our sacred
laws, and I can tell you that the spirit
with which the Commons stood by Speaker
Lenthall, while he asserted the Privilege
of Parliament, the spirit with which the
Common Council of London protected the
five obnoxious members of Parliament, and
above all the stern resolution with which
the sheriffs, backed by the Train Bands,
have escorted the members to their places
in Parliament, presage the downfall of the
ancient monarchy of England.”
“Remember, Master Prim,” the aged
80 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
priest replied, “what an amount of suffering
the dreadful war on the Continent of Europe
has caused.” **
“I do remember it, Father Altona; and
I remember, also, that amid a vast amount
of evil we had one example of heroism and
self-sacrifice. That example, you may de-
pend upon it, will not be lost in the
struggle which only Omnipotent Power
can now turn away from England. We
must break to splinters the sword of this
Stuart King, or he will break that which
is worth ten thousand times—nay, ten mil-
lion of times—more than all his race, living
or dead—the free life of England.”
Eldred Chadwick continued the conver-
sation in the same grave tone, and with a
like sense of responsibility. “There can-
not,” he said, “be a doubt of what you say.
That scrap of paper thrown into the King's
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 8 |
coach in the City by the daring iron-
monger, recorded the decision of the nation
– To your tents, O Israel!" Strafford
beheaded—justly; Laud impeached—justly;
the votes of the Bishops in Parliament
taken away—deservedly; Prynne and the
other victims of the Star Chamber set free,
the Star Chamber itself abolished, ship-
money declared illegal, the uprising in
Scotland, and the arming of the people by
order of the Commons—all acts of justice—
signify, as Tom phrases it, the downfall of
this noble and renowned monarchy; but
not the downfall of England. I feel thank-
ful—yes, thankful to God—that in the
question before us, we have wives, and our
children mothers, who can understand our
feelings and principles. What, then, ought
we to do in this national need P I do not
hide from myself, nor would I attempt to
VOIL. III. 6
82 ~ Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Jºse.
hide from you, my friends, that we have
all something to lose in civil war. We
have nothing of selfish interest in any war,
civil or otherwise. We have, too, had our
share of war, and we all loathe the name
of that war of which we have known too
much. I, for one, would give my right
arm, Dick, as you gave your arm in a
noble cause—to see the King retrace his
steps; but he will not ; and, though it
goes to my heart to say so, we must
compel him.”
“It is hard,” Richard Ingerstein said,
after a pause, “to find ourselves compelled
to enrol ourselves on the side of the fana-
tics, English and Scotch; but I see no help
for it, unless we are to sink under arbitrary
power.”
“Yes,” Henry Ingerstein said, “we must
forget the fanaticism, and remember only
Gustavus Ado/p/us to Cromwell. S3
that which is of so much weightier import-
ance—the liberties of the nation. What is
your view, Eliza P”
“I would prefer to be silent, Henry. I
do not know why, but my heart sinks
within me at the thought of this new war.”
“And mine too, dear Eliza,” said Mabel
Chadwick. And so said they all.
“Yet,” Harry Waye said, in a low voice,
“we must take sides ; and I feel thankful
that we shall not again be brothers in Oppo-
sition, but shall stand shoulder to shoulder
for the right and just cause. I venture,
my dear love”—turning to Eliza, and speak-
ing in a low voice – “to repeat Henry's
question to you. I do not like to throw
responsibility on you in this manner, but
some one must take responsibility, and
Henry has kindly put it first to you. Do
we owe any loyalty to this wretched King?”
6–2
84 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“No, Harry, we owe loyalty to Old Eng-
land. While the King is loyal to England
we are loyal to the King.”
“Amen l’ and “amen dear Eliza,” came
from several lips, like a breathed prayer.
“But,” Eliza continued, “I feel, Harry”
—and all saw that her eyes were filled to
overflowing—“that all this indicates the
end of our happiness.”
“Not so I Not so, in God’s name ! It
is hardly likely that the war will end
without some of us following Gustavus to a
patriot's grave. But even in that case we
shall only be parted in name. Are we parted
from Tady Ingerstein and Sir John—from
IPeter Prim and from your mother, Tom—
from Mr. Chadwick and Mistress Chadwick—
from my father and mother? I do not feel so.
Nor will Eliza feel so if the lot to follow them
be mine. Nor will she allow our little ones
Gustavus Ado/p/ºus to Cromwell. 85
to think that their father has done other than
simply gone before. We may be thankful,
at any rate, that this will not be a religious
war, but a war for freedom.”
“Why so, my son?” said gentle Father
Altona; “is not religion beyond all other
human blessings P’’
“Yes, dear friend, but one lesson of war
and of faith became woven, I think, into
the very fibres of my being during the twelve
long years I spent on the Continent ; and
that is, that while swords have been again
and again blessed by God—I say it most
reverentially—in the cause of freedom, no
sword ever was blessed by God for a religious
war. Two sayings of our Divine Master
ever stand before me now, as they stood
before me at the passage of the Lech, and at
Lützen— He that taketh the sword shall
perish with the sword, is the one; ‘If ye love
86 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
me, ye will take up your cross and follow me,’
is the other. I was years before I saw the
meaning of these two remarkable utterances.
Assuredly our Lord did not mean that the
sword was not to be used against evil-doers.
Eſe did mean, I think, that the sword was
not to be used to propagate the Gospel of
Peace.”
“That is it, Harry,” said Tom Prim.
“I found this out finally, Tom, after
Tiitzen. I threw my mind back into all my
readings, and I saw the sword blunted and
shivered again and again in the hands of
those who held it for the faith of Christ;
while the Cross—indicating self-sacrifice
and the great law of obedience—never failed.
The meaning of the two sayings is, that
the weapon of the Christian for Chris-
tianity is trust in God, and, if need be,
suffering ; while the sword of the patriot
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 87
will ever carry God’s blessing in a righteous
cause.”
“You would, I know, all the same,
fight for freedom of worship, Harry,” said
Henry Ingerstein. “What you mean--and
words are important to us now—is, that
you would not propagate any faith by the
sword P”
“Exactly; to fight for freedom of worship
is to fight for freedom. I would fight to
the death these puling, childish, and yet
merciless defenders of arbitrary power l’’
The friends supped together on this occa-
sion with a mournful feeling, but with no
misgiving as to the right or wrong of the
course they had resolved upon. That
course, after a long conversation, in which
every one present had expressed a decided
opinion, had taken this form ; that the
friends should separate for the purpose of
88 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
testing by individual investigation the
feeling of the country.
Eſenry Ingerstein, Ernest Mohan, and a
few friends on whom they could rely, were
to watch and influence the doings in
London; Harry Waye, in Yorkshire and the
northern English counties; Tom Prim was
to proceed to Scotland by ship; and Richard
Ingerstein and Eldred Chadwick, it was
resolved, should remain in Monkerton, to
give to the intelligence sent, and other
intelligence for which provision was made,
such consistency, in agreement or disagree-
ment, as the momentous nature of the issue
deserved. The private affairs of the united
families were the charge of all. The meet-
ings, also, were altered from weekly to twice
in each week; and the female portion of the
families met much more frequently. In
April Harry Waye wrote from Hull—
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 89
“The King has attempted to seize this
important seaport. I arrived in time to see
Sir John Hotham oppose to him a stern
front, which I trust Parliament will support
as it deserves.”
“As Parliament has,” Ernest Mohan
said. Harry's letter continued—
“The spirit in Yorkshire is difficult to
analyse. I believe that some of the best
men in the county are as reluctant to fight
as we are ; but that like ourselves, they see
no escape from fighting. The popular feeling
is intense against the King, but there is
in it a sense of responsibility of which
Englishmen may well be proud, and
especially Englishmen who have seen the
wars of Wallenstein and Tilly. My
principal news, however—I have taken care
to send it by my surest hand—has reference
to the member for Cambridge in the House
90 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
of Commons, of whom we first heard and
have sometimes talked as ‘King of the
Fens’—Master Oliver Cromwell. If the
King five years ago had been wise, this able
and resolute man had now been in America.
It was an unfortunate Royal Proclamation
that stopped the emigration of Cromwell.
He is now raising a troop of horse for the
Parliament. I saw him on my way hither
and I left him with the conviction that
either the King or he must fall. We talked
long of Gustavus, of whom he spoke
warmly—though, I should say, he is not
a man to follow, but to create examples—of
Wallenstein and Tilly, for whom he enter-
tains such an abhorrence as one might feel
for a deadly serpent ; of Richelieu, of whom
he said with slow and sententious gravity
— He is an enemy to God and men; a
5 5.5
man to be smitten to the overthrowing.
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 91
From Tom Prim, to the great consterna-
tion of more than his loving wife, there was
no news till the following year, when it
was found that no fewer than four letters
must have miscarried. Meanwhile, Harry's
correspondence had been uniformly success-
ful in reaching Monkerton. He had
managed to see the setting up of the
King's standard at Nottingham—the stan-
dard with the inscription “Give to Caesar
his due !” and he recorded the stern remark
of an aged Puritan, also a witness of the
ceremony—“Yes, his due; and he will get it.
when the time comes—the due of one who
has claimed the due of God, and trampled
on the rights of God’s children ſ” -
Tom Prim’s letter, when it arrived, was
found to be of weighty meaning.
“I shall not,” he wrote, “remain long in
Scotland if I can secure a vessel to any of
92 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
the eastern ports of England. Everything
here hinges on religion and intense bigotry.
I believe that if the Scotch had their will
they would make the war against the King
a war for the establishment and supremacy
of Presbyterianism. There is already a
strong feeling against even the Indepen-
dents and Anabaptists, whose allies the
IPresbyterians avowedly are. Pray find
means of bringing this fact to the notice
of some prominent men in Parliament.
The Scotch will send many more indo-
mitable men over the border; but those
men will have no fair-play from, as they
will have no consideration for, Englishmen.
TJnless some extraordinarily strong man can
grasp the helm of the affairs of both nations
we shall have one of the fiercest wars ever
known in these islands. Parliament re-
quires a man who will not hesitate, but will
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 93
go right to the heart of the duties before
him.”
“Yes,” said Eldred Chadwick as he read
this, “ and the man will not be far to seek.”
“In Hampden, Eldred P’’
“No, Maggie dear, in Cromwell. Do
not you think so, Mabel?” i
“I knew to whom you referred, Eldie;
but he, too, is a fanatic.”
“Perhaps” — very slowly — “perhaps,
Mabel, my love, but he is too great a man
to allow the nation to drift into a purely
religious war. Religious war, as we know,
means an attempt to compel one man to
accept the views and religious practices of
another man. That Cromwell would not
attempt. He is fighting against people
who claim the right to make the religion of
the people uniform, and in fighting them
he may come in time to also seem the
94 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
friend of uniformity of some other kind. I
have spoken to him, however, and have
heard him speak, and no one living has
clearer views of what is meant by the rights
of conscience being God’s prerogative alone.
You shake your head, Father Altona P’’
“Yes, my son ; my voice has little
weight or influence now, but I can still
shake my old head, you see.”
“Your views have weight with all of
us,” said Eldred; and “Yes, yes!” came
from all other lips present.
“What I mean, my friends, is, that my
beliefs are in a terribly declining scale. I
shook my head at your talk of the rights of
conscience being God’s prerogative. Bless
your hearts, my children, the Sectaries, with
their legion of names and creeds, will be
prouder and more exacting than Hilde-
brand or Richelieu, and they will enter into
Gustavus Ado/p/us to Cromwell. 95
the marrow of our lives. A day may come
when the English people may understand
what you now say, but assuredly that day
is distant. Perhaps, too, a day may come
when my Church may fall, but that day
must be even more distant still.”
“I have thought so, too, Father Altona,”
said Mabel; “it is an old-world organiza-
tion for old-world ends, which after all are
ever new, and it is bound up with so many -
and such varied interests, to which no
modern Organization could be adapted. I
know this was my dear father's view.”
“It was,” said Richard, solemnly, “ and
it was also Mr. Chadwick’s. The more free
and civilised men become, the more difficult
it will be to create any organization like the
Papacy. The Church of England is an utter
failure, because it is an attempt to secure
uniformity on the basis of a defiance of the
96 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
only authority in faith that has any claim
to be called a direct succession from the
Apostles—stupid though the claim in any
case may or may not be, Father Altona.
It never again will be possible to create
anything at once so imposing and despotic,
so thoroughly representative of the poverty
of the first followers of Christ, and so ready
for the hand and service of earthly power
which accepts Papal aid on the Papacy’s
own terms. Therefore the Papacy will not
readily fall in ruin; but pardon me saying,
B'ather Altona, that it may undergo such
changes, that in centuries to come we should
not know it. The idea of a Universal
Church, governed from an acknowledged
centre, is a grand idea, but I think we are
all limited enough in vision to prefer the
freedom of the human mind to the grandeur
of any Church, and in success or adver-
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 97
sity, ours or its, we shall hardly support
Bome.” -
From this time reports began to come in
of trained bands raised in all parts of the
kingdom; of surprises here and there, now
by the King, now by the Parliament; of the
whole nation girt up for war. A few days
after the arrival of Tom's letter—March,
1643—there came a long and interesting
letter from Count Werner, and his family,
in the well-loved lines of Agnes. After
the usual words of private affection, Alice
Mohan, to whom the pleasant duty was
committed, read—
“We still carry on our hospital work,
now so many years old that it has become
a part of our daily life, but we have time
and privacy amid it all to observe the shifting
scenes of this awful war. The death of the
Duke of Rohan, as a simple volunteer, tell
WOI. III, 7
98 Ingerstein Ha// and Chadwick Rise.
Tom Prim, was very melancholy. I learned
the facts lately from one who was wounded
on the same day at Rhinefeld. The Duke
seemed to enter the battle, my informant
said, with a conviction that it would be his
last, as it was. It is curious how many
of the chiefs of this fell war had foreshadow-
ings of their doom. The leader of the Cal-
vinists and the conqueror of the Walteline
died like an undistinguished pikeman. I
have from time to time gathered many
details, too, of the last illness of the Duke
of Saxe-Weimar, and how, away from battle
in a raging fever, his ambition came to an
end. Maria de Medici, the Queen-Mother
passed her last hours in great poverty
at Cologne. But the one event of all others
was the death of Richelieu, whose last
agony was witnessed and derided by the
Ring whom the mighty man had served.
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 99
e—
* See,” Louis is reported to have exclaimed,
‘how politic is death !’ alluding to the great
power gone. I write this with pain. I never
was a friend or an admirer of Richelieu, but
the ingratitude of the King is appalling. It
is not necessary to pity the Cardinal as an
adjunct to one’s scorn for the King. What
changes they are to us, who see them gra-
dually What changes they must be to
you ! There is scarcely one of the notable
men who came to the front when you left
England seventeen years ago now living.
Terdinand and his pride, and Richelieu and
his, are but types of a host of persons, the
shadows of whom appear to us at times in the
evening hours like the phantoms in Shak-
speare's Scotch play. It is, I know, so in all
wars. Men who in the course of nature would
live for years, drop off as leaves drop from
the trees in autumn ; but in this war we, as
7—2
100 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
individuals, see that which we only have
read of, and it appears very fearful. We
must pause here, my dear wife and I, to
think for some time of the scenes of war
which seem to have been transferred to
your own shores.”
EIere the letter broke off with a stroke
of the pen, and Agnes wrote—“This is
from myself. The “pause ’ which Fritz
asked for has been one of three hours,
during two of which we have been sitting
in that same little summer-house where
Eritz and I were reunited in bygone days.
We often go there, and often William
Gratz and Louise join us; and tell Harry
we never pass therefrom to the Lodge
without laughing and thinking of pick-
locks and high strategy, and wondering
whether we could not escape into the hard
noisy world and make ourselves miserable.
Gustavus Ado/p/us to Cromwel/. 101
Willie—we call Dr. Gratz Willie now—says,
that when the war is over he and Louise
and their little Mabel will visit England—
but that, alas! may be many years in the
future.
“I have several stories to tell you of
interruptions in our quiet life. Three times
during a period of nine months our
peaceful home has been invaded, twice by
the Catholics, so-called, and once by the
Protestants, so-called, and in all three cases
we seemed for a time in greater danger
than ever before of our home being sacked;
but God, as in all past cases of these in-
roads upon us, was again with us, and
when the men knew who we were, and
to what we were devoted, every spear was
dropped; and they said that it was a maxim
in all the wild armies, that no one visiting
Werner by any chance of war should, when
102 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
he knew the real fact, accept anything more
than a drink of water, and a blessing at our
hands. In the last case this was so
touchingly stated that Louise and I both
burst into tears—less, dear friends, because
of our good fortune than at the evidence
given us that the wildest hearts may be
touched with mercy and kindness. The
poor fellows drank, but declined a bite of
food, though we knew they needed it.
Then after a low “God bless you, and make
you merciful to man and beast !” which Fritz
requested our dear mother to pronounce,
they went away, while our mother said, in
a low voice—‘You see, my children, an
investment for humanity has for its banker
One who never errs, and never sleeps.’”
And so Agnes wrote, in her womanly way,
of the venerable Countess, and of Louise, who
seemed happy in the work of love to which
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 103
the great Father of love had directed her
and her family. The reader has perceived
that Frederika had found a different destiny;
that it was a happy one their friends at
Monkerton had known long before the date
of this letter. Having written on all these
topics, Agnes said—“Now I pause for
Fritz; ” and then, after a line of * * * *’s,
“I again descend from the author to the
amanuensis. Fritz says—
“‘We are very uneasy about you. Our
society at the hospital is at times one in
which remarkably shrewd views are ex-
pressed by men whom suffering has sobered
and chastened, and the conversation often
turns on England. We were startled one
day by an opinion, strongly expressed, to
the effect that some of the despots of the
Continent will almost surely turn their
armies on you, and attempt your sub-
104 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
jugation; but Agnes laughed in the
speaker's face, (rudely, I fear, Agnes added
On her own account), and said—‘ I should
like to see them try it !” We have, how-
ever, great dread as to what may befall
you.’”
Bere it was the turn of Alice to pause
in her reading and look to her friends, some
of whom were moving a little restlessly on
their chairs. Looking up, she said—
“You think Fritz is unnecessarily fearful,
Eldred?”
“Yes, Alice, as to the interference of
foreign despots. England has been weak
and puerile while dukes like Buckingham,
and kings like James and Charles, have
been playing with her great spirit. Once
let that spirit have fair-play, and I should
Iike to see the power or union of powers
that would invade her l’
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 105
Mistress Alice then continued her reading,
but the letter, though full of interest, con-
tained nothing more of a nature to carry on
our history in any leading particulars which
illustrate the great facts of this momentous
time. When supper had been laid and the
servants dismissed, as the habit of the
families was at this friendly meal, Henry
Ingerstein referred to some matters con-
nected with the private interests of the
families, and to an offer that had been made
to Eldred to become a member of the House
of Commons.
“I must ask your pardon,” Eldred replied,
with grave feeling, “but I have consulted
Mabel, and I have taken command of a
regiment of militia.”
“That ought not to be, brother,” said
Henry. “If you go, I go too ; and we
cannot both be spared.”
106 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“You are right, Henry ; we cannot both
be spared. I know war; you do not. It is
not your field of duty. Mabel was quite as
Obstinate as you are, but Mabel sees reason ;
and my arguments were reasonable, were
they not, my dear wife?”
“Yes, my husband;” but the voice was
low and tremulous.
“Oh, it is hard,” Richard Ingerstein
whispered, as in a half moan; “and I with
only one arm l’
Ernest Mohan spoke with like earnestness.
IIe had from the first evinced a strong
reluctance to being drawn personally into
the war unless the duty was forced upon
him; for he, in common with the young
men who had left England in 1625 for the
Continental wars, had come to the conclusion
that a foreigner in a civil war—as the war
on the Continent had partly been, and as
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 107
this was in a double sense—was nearly
always in a false position, and sometimes
did more harm than good to the side to
which his support was given. That a more
decided course would before long be taken
by Eldred Chadwick, Tom Prim, Harry
Waye, Henry Ingerstein, and Ernest Mohan,
never had been doubted by their wives and
friends, though the gentle ladies had spoken
of it to each other in whispers only, and in
dread of each day bringing the issue that
might break up their fair homes.
One other subject was referred to on that
long-to-be-remembered night. It was
mooted by Sir Richard Ingerstein in a
manner into which he had of late fallen, as
of half musing and half talking to himself;
but as he warmed with his subject his voice
became more decided.
“Among all the subjects with which we
108 . Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
RA
have been concerned,” he said, “there are
few that have been of more interest to me
than that of the Elector Palatine and his
sons. All of us have had cause to remember,
and all, save you, dear Eliza, and you, friend
Ernest, do, I think, remember that day in
February, 1613—the 14th of February, St.
Valentine's day, it was—when the Elector
Palatine took away as his wife Elizabeth,
daughter of King James, after that wild
scattering of his largesse broadcast among
the people. Five years later the war to
place the Elector on the throne of Bohemia
began ; and that war has now continued
twenty-four years, till every blade of grass
has been eaten up over vast and once
beautiful countries. From first to last, rape,
murder, plunder, and destruction of all that
made life happy, have been characteristic of
the war. Three of us, then young and
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 109
easily led by fine phrases, went out to help
the Elector, who had been spending his time
hunting and merry-making in England.
We thought him a hero, and found him a
very ordinary man. A fourth of us became
the enemy of the Elector. I am aiming to
put the facts as in a story, you see. We
left England early in 1625, the snow upon
the ground. It is now the spring of 1643;
we are eighteen years older, and a little less
presentable to the eye than we were on that
day. Now, what do we find P. The Elector
Palatine was the representative of freedom
against arbitrary power. His two sons,
Tupert and Maurice, are here, foremost in a
war for arbitrary power—Rupert, in fact,
last year began what history will call the
Bnglish Civil War. Let us bear this
astounding fact in view if we would rightly
connect the war that is now beginning with
110 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
that which has continued so long. We
went out for the liberties of Germany.
These princelings are here—have purposely
come here—to crush the liberties of
England.
“Look also, dear friends, at another phase
of the solemn subject. The poor titular
Queen of Bohemia, whom the Elector Pala-
tine took away as his wife, has been, we
may say, sixteen years an exile, and eleven
years a widow. She has suffered much,
and she may, I fear, suffer more. We shall
not be callous to her sufferings, but let us,
while remembering her, not forget the poor
who have died. I fear the Princess has not
a good and amiable family of children,
taking them as a whole, though some are
rather clever. It seems to me perfectly
horrible that we should see any of these
young men on the side of arbitrary power
Gustavus Adolphus to Cromwell. 111
in England, considering how ardently Eng-
land felt towards the cause of freedom with
which their father's name was identified.
I am not without apprehension, either, as to
what Christina of Sweden may do on her
coming to age next year. She has a fiercely
wayward spirit, and if she takes a wrong
course the calamity may be great. Pro-
testantism and freedom are in greater peril
at this time than at any previous period
since I can remember.”
“Perhaps, Dick, they may this time be
saved in England,” said Eldred Chadwick,
gravely; and Richard replied as gravely,
and with the simple dignity that sat so
well on him—
“Perhaps they may, Eldie.”
Eldred now set his affairs in order, and
one morning in May, 1643, he rode forth
from London at the head of his regiment
112 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
for the North. Two months later news
arrived that Tom Prim had fallen into the
hands of the Elector's son—into the hands
of Prince Rupert.

CHAPTER IV.
TOM PRIM ONCE MORE BEFORE A PRINCE—ELDRED
CHADWICK AND HARRY WAYE IN ARMS.
§
§§§
Twº
£ººl at Hull, where the popular feeling
º,0M PRIM had landed from Scotland
against the King was not to be misunder-
stood; but after a very few days he re-
solved to push on to London, by such
conveyance as could be had in the uncertain
state of the roads. He obtained, by pur-
chasing, a horse and a rough home-made
“gig,” sufficient for two people. Then,
taking the road over the Wolds, he had
proceeded as far as a little beyond Malton,
when a small detachment of Royalist
troopers swooped down upon him, and he
and a servant whom he had engaged at
WOL. III. 8






114 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Hull were made prisoners. Three days
later Tom was taken before Prince Rupert,
afterwards termed the “robber,” or “free-
booter,” and who was credited with the
invention of the word “plunder.” Under
Ordinary circumstances the capture might
have signified little, but at the moment
when the prisoner seemed to have esta-
|blished, before the men who seized him, his
right to move about the country on his
proper and legitimate affairs, an old trooper
who had seen service in the Palatinate
remembered the uncommon name of Thomas
Prim, and it was resolved that Tom should
go before the arrogant young Prince, then
at York.
Tupert received his prisoner haughtily,
and demanded his name and occupation in
life, and his business in the North. Tom
demanded in return, what right the troopers
Before Prince Ruperſ. ll 5
—”
of Prince Rupert had to apprehend him,
an unarmed man, on his lawful business.
Prince Rupert replied, with a marked sneer,
that there were other weapons besides
swords and guns, and that a man who
acknowledged that he had come from Scot-
land and landed at Hull—both hotbeds of
treason—must give some better account of
himself, or take his fate. He continued,
ironically—
“I have advices with respect to you,
Master Prim ; you are one of the new
Sectaries, who deny the Supremacy of God
and the King P’’ -
“Your Highness must have some clever
informants.”
“Yes, very clever. Is the charge true,
sirrah?”
“I fear God always; I honour the King
in all just things.”
8—2
116 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“The cant of all your tribe I am told
that you have stood in the presence of some
renowned men—Richelieu P-(‘Yes’); Gus-
tavus Adolphus P−(‘Yes — that free-born
TSing'); Wallenstein P−(‘Yes’); and that
you served my father in the Palatinate?”
“No, never one day, unless I served your
father in serving the King of Sweden. I
went especially to Rochelle.”
“Perhaps you will tell me why?”
“Certainly. I went to Rochelle because
there was in the struggle a principle in-
volved. A clearer eye than mine saw it
first ; but I, too, saw it in the end. May I
again ask why I, an Englishman, am appre-
hended in this manner while travelling
peacefully on the public highway?”
“The King's highway, sirrah!”
“I said the public highway ; call it as
you please.”
Before Prince Ruperſ. | 17
“Is it not the King's highway P’’
“I did not say it was not, sir,” sternly
spoken.
“You are a banker—a money-lender P”
“I am a banker—a money-lender.”
“Have you lent money to the King?”
“No, save on compulsion.”
“And I suppose would not P*
“It would depend on what the King
wanted the money for.”
“He wants it now, to put down armed
rebellion P”
“For that, in the present condition of
Lngland, I lend no money.”
“Will you take arms for the King P”
“I will not.”
“For his enemies?”
“I have as yet taken no arms for either
side.”
“You evade.”
118 /ngerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“I do not evade. I deny your claim—I
deny your right—to question me. I am an
Englishman, as you are not l”
“You shall to prison, sirrah! You are at
least worth a ransom.”
“I am in your power; but I warn you,
that my imprisonment will not serve the
Ring. Not one coin of ransom will you
wring from me or mine.”
The Prince stamped with suppressed rage,
and Tom Prim was sent a prisoner to
Oxford, the Prince desiring that great care
should be taken to reserve him for condign
punishment.
He was taken to Oxford on the first of
July. On the 13th, looking from a lofty
window of his prison house, he saw
Ring Charles and Queen Henrietta enter
the city in state. Next day he under-
went an examination by the King him-
Before King Charles. 119
self, to whom the banking-house was well
known.
“There can be no half ways when treason
is afloat, Master Prim,” the King said, with
his now unchanging sad smile ; “surely a
man who fought for the Palatinate must be
loyal?”
“I some days ago informed Prince
Rupert, your Majesty, that I never fought
for the Palatinate. My military services
were all at Rochelle. My friends Inger-
stein and Waye fought for the Palatinate.”
“Ah ! Ingerstein—yes, I remember; he
came to us, as an envoy from the King of
Sweden, did he not P What, then, is he
doing in these days of treason P’’
“He returned home, your Majesty, a
wreck of war; his bridle-arm has gone.”
“Is he loyal *
“I do not think England has any one
120 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
more loyal. But when I last saw Sir
Bichard Ingerstein, neither he nor I could
see that your Majesty is authorised to set
aside our ancient laws.”
“It seems to me that you have traitor's
blood in you, Master Prim. I will speak
to you again some other day. Tell me,
though, among the great men whom you
saw on the Continent—you saw Bucking-
ham, I perceive, from this paper, and Wallen-
stein and Richelieu-to which did you as
a—well, a loyal man feel most drawn P
The Elector Palatine, you will remember,
and the Electress, the Queen of Bohemia,
have suffered—and suffering, all divines
tell us, underlies a high law of regality,
when the sufferer is royal and represents
a Divine right.”
Tom did not smile as he replied—“If I
had been drawn in loyalty to the Elector
Before King Charles. 12]
Palatine, your Majesty, I fear Prince Rupert
had driven my loyalty away. Your Ma-
jesty is badly served in these evil times. A
statesman—if your Majesty will forgive me
the liberty—like Oxenstiern would have
saved the kingdom from civil war.”
- “By conceding everything, in the cowardly
spirit of the time P”
“Oxenstiern and his sovereign surely
never were cowards, sire. I fear Oxen-
stiern's great fault is his persistence in this
war. King Gustavus never was asked to
concede.”
“Therein, you perceive, Sweden and
England differ.”
“Ah, sire, if your Majesty would even
now seek an Oxenstiern in place of a Straf-
ford, all might be well.”
“It cannot be, Master Prim ; the time
has gone. I am glad for your sake the
122 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Queen has not heard your free and daring
speech. We will speak to you another day.”
Tom Prim was then sent back to prison,
but his capture was by this time known in
London, and Parliament had already
threatened severe reprisals in case the
prisoners of the King were put to death.
The intelligence of Tom's capture reached
Bldred Chadwick and Harry Waye, both of
whom had now joined the Parliamentary
army, and the facts were carried as on the
wings of the wind to Monkerton. -
Affairs began to look gloomy at the Hall
and the Rise. In the depth of the winter
of 1643 the new smithy—the great iron-
works of Harry Waye and his friends—at
Mortlake was utterly destroyed by a
detachment of Royal troops; and so evident
was it that there had been unfaithfulness on
the part of some of certain men employed in
Marsſon Moor : 7%e Ironsides. 123
the works that Susan Prim, Eliza Waye,
Commodore and Mistress Mordaunt, and
Ernest and Alice Mohan were induced
to remove their household goods to the
Hall and the Rise, both of which were
strongly fortified and guarded by the men
of Monkerton. In July, 1644, came news
of the battle of Marston Moor, in which the
regiments of Eldred and Harry had been
engaged, and had done good service. The
names of Cromwell and his Ironsides were
now on every lip all England through, and
on many lips in other lands. In the midst
of the Continental wars men paused to ask
about this new untrained soldier, who bade
fair to sweep away monarchy from England.
On the evening of January 10th, 1645,
the united families, with the exception of
the two absent in the field, the one believed
to be in prison, and Henry Ingerstein, who
124 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
had not yet arrived from the City, met at
Ingerstein Hall. It was quite dark when
JHenry arrived. He brought intelligence of
the execution of Archbishop Laud, then
more than seventy years of age.
“I do not,” he said, sadly, “like the
course the Parliament is adopting. I have
no sympathy with the people who talk of
Laud as a martyr. He deserves his fate.
But where is it to end if these executions
are to continue P If Laud was a traitor in
the views of the men whose prisoner he was
this morning, as so many good and virtuous
persons were traitors in his eyes, why, we
are simply beginning a play of reprisals. I
felt the air of the City oppressive to-day. I
wished sincerely that the Parliament to
which we owe so much could have taken
higher ground. On that now taken they
elevate nothing in the national character
Archöishop / aud. I 25
and habits. Our whole history is one of
executions by each successive King who has
risen to power by war.”
“I am glad you take this view, Henry,”
said Mabel; “Peoples ought to show to
Rings a nobler example than cutting up
danger by executions. That a man who
believes the nation to be his hereditary
possession should deem it a crime to dispute
his title is more easily understood than that
the elected representatives of the nation
should take that course.”
Richard Ingerstein sat silently for some
minutes, while the conversation was con-
tinued by others of the little company. He
at length said—
“It is a difficult question. The execution
of Taud—deserved as it was on his own
principles—is one of pure retaliation, carried
out in the spirit of the old law which said,
126 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
‘ an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth ;’
and I dread that we shall have the same
order of proceedings for years to come. It
would not be fair, however, to expect the
Government to be weak and undecided at
such a time. The Parliament, entrusted
with the nation’s lives and liberties, is
bound to be righteously stern in wielding
the sword of justice. It is bad work to
which you refer, but I should not dare to
condemn. I wish sincerely, Henry, that
the seat in Parliament offered to Eldred
had been offered to you, and that you had
accepted it.”
“Tt is too late now, Richard. The
Parliament has taken a colour so essentially
sectarian that I could not breathe the atmo-
sphere. The Parliament will succeed. Then
it will disgust the nation. Then we shall
have a reaction of kingly despotism, and the
Archbishop Laud. 127
real supremacy of the nation will be pushed
off to a long distant day. The war for
freedom against prerogative has continued
since the beginning of the reign of James.
The twenty years of Charles have been
years, in fact, though not in appearance,
of Parliamentary ascendency. Yet we
have not yet found the ground of popu-
lar freedom which the really great men
of Greece knew so well when Greece was
free.”
“There I agree with you, but we must
take our English life as it is. I abhor
executions, as you know, and I certainly
would not have beheaded that miserable old
man, whose sufferings during his three
years' imprisonment must have been very
severe. But recognising, as I do, the
necessity of stern action, I should be slow,
I say, to condemn the men who are taking
128 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
such action in the face of a Government
which will be inexorable if it is victorious.
The great error of Republicans generally is
in laying down a perfect theory of govern-
ment, forgetful of the fact that one of the
chief ends to be aimed at is practical
freedom and national headship. We need
at present what has been called ‘the
fountain of honour’—the unit raised into
an ideal—that the rewards bestowed in
the nation’s name may have value. The
Tepublican says, “But the nation’s reward
is the true reward ' The reply is, ‘That the
nation requires a standing symbol,’ and the
reply would have been unanswerable if
these two last wretched kings had not
overturned everything. But you ask us
nothing of the letters that Ernest brought
this afternoon from Werner.”
“For once I had indeed forgotten even
Wiew of Affairs at Werner. 129
the letters. I shall not do so again
to-night. Will Alice please to read?”
There were letters on private affairs from
Agnes and Louise, and one on weighter
matters from Count Werner, Agnes writing.
Other changes, vast and important,
had taken place. The two years that
had passed from the death of Richelieu
seemed like an age to the quiet, yet
war-shaken house of Count Werner.
Louis XIII., who had laughed at the
dying moans of the great Cardinal, had six
months later been also borne to the grave.
Cardinal Mazarin had succeeded Richelieu ;
the boy, Louis XIV., had ascended the
throne, with his mother, known as “Anne
of Austria,” for Regent. The name of
Turenne was becoming known as that of a
man prudent and mighty in war. Christina
of Sweden had—December 18th, 1644–
VOI. III. * 9
130 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
attained her majority, and was already, for
her caprice and her marvellous self-will,
as great a puzzle to Europe as her father
had been for very different qualities. No
oath had been heard in the army of
Gustavus Adolphus. Christina “swore like
a trooper,” and commanded like a lion. In
so strange a manner do the events of
history travesty themselves from parent
to child. All the great events on the
Continent, however, seemed secondary in
the letter of Count Werner to those
of England, which, he said, were be-
ginning to attract general attention, as
they had for years received the atten-
tion of shrewd and observant persons in
Burope.
“There is a little less talk, too,” he went
on to say, “about the chances of success-
fully Invading you, and a little more ap-
View of Affairs at Werner. 131
prehension in some quarters, and a little
more hope in others, that you are on the
eve of becoming a great military power.
God grant you never may become so, unless
in defence of your liberties, and then the
moment the need is passed, may you shake
the curse of militaryism away ! You have
a glorious destiny if you can, as I feel
that you will, build up new free nations
over the Atlantic, and assert your own
freedom at home. A military power
is in the very nature of things a de-
spotism, and militaryism is an unmiti-
gated curse.”
At the time these lines were written, the
family of Count Werner had not heard of
the destruction of Harry Waye's great
Smithy, and the capture of Tom Prim.
Nor had the news of these events—trivial
in one sense but important in another—been
9—2
132 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
long known to the family of Count Werner,
when fresh letters, with new changes in
the political as well as in the domestic
kaleidoscope, left Monkerton for Bavaria.

CHAPTER V.
MORE WRECKS OF WAR–THE SHADOW ON THE KING
OF ENGLAND.
versation last recorded took place, Eliza Waye
and Susan Prim, walking together through
the still peaceful streets of Monkerton, had
their attention attracted by a group of whis-
pering people in the neighbourhood of the old
home of Susan’s parents. The cottage, still
covered with woodbine and roses, and in-
habited by an old pensioner of Harry's and
Susan's, was preserved in exactly the same
state in which we saw it at the beginning of
this history; and the same reverential rule
was observed with the cottage of Peter Prim.
*


134 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
The two friends, looking with a fearful in-
stinct into each other's eyes, read there with-
out any need of words, a mutual dread.
“Let us go, dear Susan.” “Yes, Eliza,”
were all the words that passed between
them as they pushed their way to the
cottage door. A Parliamentary soldier,
who stood by the trellised porch, stepped
aside with a grave military salute, and the
two friends, opening the door softly, were
witnesses of a sight which for the moment
seemed to freeze their blood.
A bed had been set up in the middle of
the old best parlour, and there, with his
eyes closed, and his face as haggard and
pale as death, was the wreck, living or
dead they knew not, of Harry Waye. The
cottager, an aged woman, a relative of the
Waye family, stood tearfully at the bedside,
with her hand on the forehead of the
More Wrecks for Monkerton. I 35
apparently lifeless soldier. On his knees,
and to all appearance praying mutely, but
at the same time holding his friend’s pulse,
was Tom Prim, oblivious to all else around
him. Susan and Eliza stood as if dumb-
stricken at the room door, grasping each
other's hands, and warned by the eyes and
finger of the self-appointed nurse not to
speak. They stood for a few moments,
which seemed an age, listening to the
beating of their own hearts, and to the
deep suppressed breathing of Tom Prim,
watching there on his bended knees. At
length Tom caught the eye of the nurse,
who looked significantly towards the door.
He rose slowly, and lovingly led his wife
and sister with a silent greeting into the
outer room. Eliza tried to speak, but no
words came. Susan said with a gasp more
eloquent than words—
136 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
*—
22
“Tom, is—Harry
“No, no, my dear; they ought not to
have admitted you in this manner; but
Harry lives, and if God wills, may yet be
spared to us. He is very badly wounded,
and needs rest and perfect quietness. We
have sent tidings to our friends; there is
no reason why you should not stay now that
you are here, but do not come into the room
till I call you; I expect the doctor every
moment.”
“This arrangement cannot be, Tom,”
Eliza said, in a firm whisper, and brushing
away her tears. “We will take Dame
Hammond's place this moment. We are
5
not children now, Tom ;” and Eliza quietly
prepared for her work, as Susan was also
preparing for hers on a like impulse.
“One word, then, my dear sister and wife
—you will have much to bear if you essay
More Wrecks for Monkerſon. 137
this trial. Are you quite sure that you can
submit to the hand of God?”
“Quite sure,” said they both ; “God help
us !”
“Then I must tell you that Harry has
lost a leg.” # * * *
“Oh, Tom l’’
“In honourable battle, do not forget,”
said Tom, eagerly, “for the rights and
liberties of our nation ; the leg is buried
not far from Oxford. Now, I have no
objection to your presence in the room.”
Dame Hammond was then gently re-
leased, and Eliza and Susan took her place
at the bedside, and, in turn, cooled the
fevered brow. A doctor from London
arrived, a skilful man, who examined the
amputated limb, and prescribed for the
fever—a low fever which seemed like the
ebbing-out of life. By this time Sir
138 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
Richard Ingerstein and other of Harry's
friends also had arrived at the cottage, and
were in an adjoining room, where the
doctor told them frankly that the case was
a most critical one, not so much from the
amputated limb as from a gunshot wound
in the side.
“The patient,” he said, “is in no pain
at present, and the longer you can keep
him in a state of unconsciousness the
better. But you, sir,”—turning to Tom,
who had joined them on tip-toe—“are not
fit for the duties you have undertaken.
You must, at all events, leave the room.
I see you hesitate, sir; I beg you will not
do so. You are badly wounded, and my
time is precious in these days.” Then he
added, parenthetically, and with a grim
smile, “A soldier should at least have
learned to obey; and I command here.”
More Wrecks for Monkerton. 139
“Tom,” said Mabel Chadwick, who had
come in quietly, and who now stood by
while the doctor spoke, “do come with
Susan and me to your father's cottage at
once. Margaret will take Susan’s place
here—will you not, Maggie P”
“Yes, Mabel, this moment.”
22
“I assure you
“Yes, yes,” the doctor interrupted, with
one admiring glance at the four earnest,
whispering ladies, but at the same time
walking to the door and leading Tom with
him; “I know all about it — you are an
arguer, I perceive, Master Prim; but there
is more meaning in your face than in your
words. If you wish to die, and to kill your
wounded friend also, why, take your own
course. If you have any inducement to
live, and if you wish your friend to live—
and England needs all her sons now—
140 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
follow my directions; otherwise I answer
for nothing.”
Tom bowed gravely, walked quietly back
to the room, looked once again on uncon-
scious Harry Waye, whom he thought he
would see no more, and kissed in silence
his clammy brow. Then Tom went away
slowly, with his wife and Mabel, to the
old cottage of his father. Once there,
nature almost instantly yielded to the
strain, and he fainted away. The villagers,
at a word from Margaret Ingerstein, had
Quietly dispersed, waiting, however, at a
little distance to do whatever was needed,
and to guard the cottages, to which, in the
course of the night, a military guard was
sent in the name of the Parliament.
When nothing of immediate need re-
mained to be done for the two invalids,
Sir Richard Ingerstein took aside one of
More Wrecks for Monkerton. 141
four soldiers who had been sent as guard
with the wounded men and said—
“Now, comrade, I beg you to tell me
all you can of these our friends P’’
“If you are Sir Richard Ingerstein,” the
man replied, “we ought to have somewhere
a letter for you from Colonel Chadwick.
The true bearings of the story I really
do not know, beyond the fact that about
a month ago, in April, we met a brigade
of the enemy's horse at Islip Bridge, and
smote them with great slaughter. That
man of God, Oliver Cromwell, commanded,
and did the work of the Lord bravely. At
the same time a small party of our men—
about a score, perhaps—advanced in another
direction towards the iniquitous city. After
the battle we saw them returning, fighting
their way amid a host of enemies, who
hemmed them in on every side. Colonel
142 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Chadwick was sent to the rescue, and very
nobly he did his duty. It was one of
the fiercest fights I ever saw. The enemy
were driven back, but several wounded men
were brought in, and among them your
friends. Colonel Waye's leg was cut off the
same night, and Master Prim had several
severe cuts. Beyond that, and the warm
commendation of our commander, I know
nothing.”
“Ah I did Cromwell, then, commend our
friends P’’.
“Yes, that he did ; but less to them-
selves than to others, both while the little
band approached and afterwards. During
the fight he sat his horse as immovable as
a statue, repeating in a low voice what such
of us as were near him and akin to his great
spirit, knew was a battle psalm. Once he
started a little, as if to send help, but only
“We are of Cromwell’s Men.” 143
for a moment. He soon saw that the fight
was once more ours. When all was over,
he simply said to Colonel Chadwick—‘You
have done well, Chadwick, and God has
been with you.’ But there was more in
the manner than in the words. Some time
after the amputation we came on here, by
slow stages, and with many stoppages. The
journey, which at first seemed reasonable
and right, became most difficult. I do not
know which of your friends, sir, has suffered
most, but undoubtedly Captain Waye is
now in the greater danger. Here, though”
—looking to one of his comrades who was
approaching with a paper in his hand—“ is
the letter. You will not need us any
longer now, I suppose P. We shall call
for your answer to Colonel Chadwick
to-morrow.”
“That is true. We do not now need
144 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
you, my brave countrymen ; but please take
this”—a well-filled purse—“as some slight
token of our debt of gratitude to you.”
“Not for myself, sir. I am of Crom.
well's men. My comrades will speak for
themselves.”
The answer of the other three men was
the same. “We are Cromwell's men;” and
One added, “We fear God, and love Old
England, sir. We do not fight for pay.”
“May God bless you, then ; you are well
worthy of England. May God bless you,
and send us all peaceful days.”
“Amen, and thank you for the prayer.”
Then, without eating or drinking, they went
away to their homes in London.
“Gallant hearts l’’ said Richard Inger-
stein, looking after them, “who would not be
proud of such a native land P What is this
deep resolve that has seized upon us, in all
Bichard Ingerstein again Useful. 145
our ranks and stations, to redeem ourselves,
and our generations to come, from the curse
of arbitrary power P’’
It was but the thought of a moment, a
flash of idealism, perhaps ; but Richard In-
gerstein was not given to undue reflection
when there were active duties to perform;
these few burning words appeared forced
from him as the four gallant men rode
away. He went restlessly from the one
cottage to the other, and long before night-
fall in company with his brother and Ernest
Mohan. In both cases they went to what
seemed like chambers of the dead. Doctors
were at this time actively employed by night
and day, and the surgeon of Monkerton, who
had been called away to an hospital on the
opposite bank of the river, did not return
till late at night. And now Richard Inger-
stein’s experience as a soldier stood him in
VOT!, ſII. I ()
146 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
good stead. He surprised his friends by
his aptness and forethought. Tom and
Harry were, he knew, fighting hard for life,
and he said so in whispers to Ernest and
IHenry, while he concealed his opinion from
the sorrowing wives of the wounded men,
to whom he spoke cheerfully, without, how-
ever, making any fictitiously cheerful state-
ments. It was almost day-dawn the next
morning before the letter of Eldred was
opened ; then it was read by the friends
separately, while Tom and Harry slept.
Susan and Mabel, and Margaret and
Bliza did not see it till late in the day.
Eldred wrote—
“We had for some time been keeping a
close watch upon Oxford, and one day I was
fortunate enough to arrest a man who had
|been a sentinel over Tom Prim. He was
one of those loose fellows whom Rupert
Aſ Islip Bridge. i 47
brought from the Continent, and perceiving
that I knew a little of some old scenes in
the memory of which I found that he still
lived, we had at once a pretty good basis
of familiar intercourse. He offered, for a
heavy bribe, to open up a communication
for us with some of our friends in Oxford,
but the danger from this course both to
Tom and the persons designated as our
friends seemed too great. Cromwell him-
self forbade the attempt. ‘ I have no objec-
tion whatever,’ he said, ‘to your opening up
a direct communication, if you can, with
those friends; but do not use this traitor
too readily.' We made the attempt on the
man's representations merely, without set-
ting him free, and we succeeded ; a gallant
young fellow of my own troop, and who
Knew the city, entered, disguised, with a
forage party of the enemy, and made his
10—2
148 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
way to the persons indicated by our prisoner.
I have known nothing more gallant since I
joined the army. The young soldier's life
hung upon a thread. We doubted our
prisoner; we knew nothing of the persons
referred to as friends, yet everything turned
out admirably. Our daring soldier—who
has since received a commission from Crom-
well—succeeded in arranging with Tom a
mode of breaking prison, and on the day of
the attack on Islip Bridge, Harry undertook
to cover the escape which a spy informed
us was to be attempted that day.
“The fight at the bridge had been won,
when looking anxiously on all hands—for
we knew not in what direction the escape
might be made or attempted—T saw a
few men heaving backward and forward
among a number of enemies, exactly like a
frail ship in a storm. I at once obtained
At Islip Bridge. 149
permission from our brave commander to
protect their retreat. We dashed up at a
gallop and drove off the enemy. Not a
man of the little party was lost, but only
one was unwounded, and Harry and Tom
were, as you will see, and as I lament
to send them to you. In a couple of
days, however, they seemed so greatly re-
covered, that not knowing where to leave
them for safety—Tom’s life would certainly
have been forfeited if he had been captured—
I resolved to send them home under such a
guard as I could obtain, and they leave us
within an hour. I have only been able to
ascertain further, that during our fight on
the bridge, and while the city was excited
by it, and revelling in the gaiety caused by
the presence of royalty, Tom broke prison
and made his way with the friendly officer,
both disguised, but well armed, to an
150 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
arranged rendezvous by the river. They
were already in sight of Harry’s little
party when the alarm was raised and
pursuit given ; the King himself, we have
since heard, offering a large reward for
Tom’s capture, living or dead. The
capture was not made, however, thank
God I’’ After some other remarks, Eldred
concluded—
“I am beginning to be a little super-
stitious as to our fate in war. Where is it
to end for ‘the Monkerton lads,’ as old Peter
called us? Poor Harry ! this is worse than
Tiitzen. And poor Tom, too ; for I almost
think his case equally dangerous, though it
does not seem so. Send me news, if possible.
The soldiers, most reliable men, will call a
day later for a letter. One word more.
Remember, that come what may, we are not
now fighting for the Elector Palatine, but
Rescue of Tom Prim. 15]
for England. That will cover for us many a
poignant grief.”
The soldiers called as appointed, and
received the letter, and saw that the wounded
friends were at that time able to speak cohe-
rently, but that both were still fighting hard
for life with fever and their wounds, for
even a day's lease of life. In the end, good
genial nursing and medical care had their
reward. In a few days Tom was able, with
some difficulty, to tell the story of his escape.
“Communication,” he said, “had been opened
with him by two stern Parliamentarians, in
whose house the daring young soldier sent to
effect his release had found a refuge. Two
plans seemed to offer themselves. In the ever-
sinking condition of the King's affairs an
attempt to win over a warder had at first
been thought of, but that was abandoned as
too hazardous. It was then determined to
152 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
assault the warders on the first occasion when
the King's forces seemed sufficiently excited
by the danger of an attack to forget their
prisoners for the moment. This was no light
matter in a city filled with troops andguarded
at every point ; but it succeeded, and so com-
pletely that the Oxford Parliamentarians
chiefly concerned remained at their places
unsuspected while the escape was made.”
“It was,” Tom said, with a ſaint smile,
“high strategy, since it is certain we could
not all have escaped.” The attack on the pri-
son was made by men in disguise, who secured
the warders; then Tom and his friend walked
deliberately through the streets to the corner
of a meadow, at which, as had been arranged,
they found two horses tethered, grazing
under the shelter of a thicket.
“My friend, now Captain Jervis,” Tom
continued—“I trust to see him among us
Rescue of Tom Prim. I 53
some day—had every turn of the country by
heart; but we were bound to cross the river,
and we knew that here would be our real
danger. That we would both, if captured,
be hanged before night was certain. We
had barely mounted our horses when the
alarm was given, and the pursuit was so hot
that in five minutes we were surrounded.
We held on as directly as we could, but we
should very soon have been cut down when,
at the very moment of our extremity, Harry's
gallant little band came in sight, and we
fell in among them. Harry has paid
fearfully for that gallant deed. I have
mourned, with a mourning that never can
cease but with life, that ever I attempted to
quit Oxford.”
When something of this kind was said at
a later period in Harry's hearing, he
repudiated it so sternly, and even angrily,
154 Ingerstein Ha/Z and Chadwick Rise.
that no such idea ever again was repeated
in his presence. He had, he said, simply
done what any other loyal man in the army
would have done, and what he must in
honour have done in the same case, whoever
had been the two men in peril; which indeed
was felt to be the fact.
Late in June, Tom and Harry were
removed to the Hall, the rooms of which
were better adapted for invalids, as well as
for security, and for the cheerful company
which by this time was permitted at the
bedside. News had arrived some time
previously that Parliament had won the
great victory of Naseby. Now every day
brought fresh tidings of blow succeeding
blow, with the force of sledge-hammers on
the side of Parliament, with ever-diminishing
force on that of the King.
At last, in April, 1646, it was told that
Surrender of the King. T 55
Tord Astley, attempting to join the King
at Oxford, had been entirely defeated; that
the King had escaped from Oxford in
disguise, and finally, in May, that he had
sought refuge with the Scotch army.
Then followed the fine scene of the sur-
render of Oxford to the Parliament, and the
expulsion of the Fellows and Undergraduates.
Then it was told that the Commons had
voted the Scotch army to be no longer
necessary, and had called for its accounts
with a view to settlement. Then, that the
Scotch, claiming the abolition of Episcopacy
and the punishment of the King's abettors
in the war, and Charles refusing the offered
terms, had made an arrangement with
Parliament, and, on the stern demand of
the imperious House, had given up the
Eing.
One evening, late in the year—the fatal
156 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
year to Charles, 1646–Harry Waye lay on
his stretcher, and Tom Prim lay or sat in
an inclined chair. Nearly all their friends
were present, and Susan said pleasantly and
roguishly, as of old, that it was at last not
altogether unsafe to pass a joke on their
One-legged Harry, as a set-off to the many
passed on their one-armed Richard. Harry
shook his head grimly, but he was not
angry. The question of the Scotch army
and the King, however, dominated all
others, and on that particular evening it
was unanimously agreed by these friends,
that the only course consistent with honour
On the part of the Scotch would have been
to set Charles free, and to have placed him
in as good a position for escape as when,
On the invitation of their army, he sacri-
ficed his freedom to his necessities.
“At the same time,” Ernest Mohan said,
Surrender of the King. I 57
“we must not forget that the Civil War,
involving both lives and liberties, had its
pivot in the King.”
“Yes,” Richard replied, “ and to decide
in such a case was no child's play, especially
since the Scotch army had so wholesome a
dread of the revolutionary energy of the
Barliamentary soldiers. But there was a
simple issue in the case, as there is in all
similar cases. The King gave up his
liberty on an understanding which, whether
he intended to keep it or not, the Scotch
army broke. It may be said that when
the stakes are so high the game cannot be
played on the same simple principles on
which the intercourse of our own families
has so long rested; but I deny this. The
affairs of State are never so safe as when
they rest on first principles. If Cromwell
should succeed, it will be by casting aside
158 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
State subterfuge, and resting on the in-
controvertible fact, which, with England
behind him, he may make to dominate the
national life.”
Tom raised himself in his chair and said,
“How far history will condemn the act of
the Scotch army I can hardly see, but the
responsibility of the men concerned will
be great if the King is put to death,
and—”
Mabel and Eliza, interrupting Tom, said,
in one voice, “Surely there is no fear of
that ?” and Margaret Ingerstein, Susan,
and Alice expressed the same feeling in
other words.
“The King,” Tom replied, “ has broken
not merely the law, but his own plighted
word, and his conduct has led to the loss
of many valuable lives. He has also
mutilated and executed without mercy. On
The Question for 1646. 159
the principle upon which he has claimed
the right to act he stands condemned. If
the Parliament were capable of a joke, how-
ever, it would simply pension the King off,
and let him go to where he pleased, the
Parliament, on its part, carrying on the
amount year by year in the national balance-
sheet as pension to the ex-King. It would
have a healthy moral for all future times.”
“There cannot be a doubt,” said Harry,
“ that the intense earnestness of the Par-
liamentary army will break down before
long. Individuals are capable of this great
earnestness; great bodies of men never
were so, and never will. The demand will
lead to hypocrisy, and the English people,
essential haters of hypocrisy—at least in
high professors—will rebel against even a
noble Government. There never in all the
world were braver, truer men than those by
160 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
whose side I have lately fought. Yet I
confess that I should know no more what
to do with the King at this time than I
should know how to regulate the revolu-
tions of the moon l’’
“Harry,” said Eliza, with a smile,
“ this is your first speech since you—
lost 55
“What, then, my dear wife?” and Harry
laughed as if he had asked a hard question.
“Your tongue, Harry—on the Isis, or
the Cherwell, or somewhere.”
“Ah! you meant my leg, and dared not
say it !” tº
The subject of the conversation about
the King was often renewed, and in one
case, some months later, was so under
different conditions, and in the presence of
Eldred Chadwick, who had returned to
London covered with the honours of
The King and Cromwell. 16]
patriotic war, and had been received with
open arms and unbounded joy by his family
and friends.
“Tiet us,” Eldred said, “settle in our
minds the fundamental point that no one is
more anxious than Cromwell to restore the
JKing on fair and just conditions. What,
though, is our great soldier to do in the pre-
sent state of affairs? The King is con-
spiring every day of his life. His friends are
conspiring. The Presbyterians are ready
to support his claims. The assassination of
Cromwell is openly advocated—the cowards!
I know for certain, that if there was faith in
the King or in his supporters, Cromwell
would lay down his power with thankfulness. -
|He will not, however, be entrapped and
hunted down, and I think his power will
increase—vastly.”
“Do you feel at ease, Eldie,” said
VOL. III. | 1
162 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Richard, “among the men of this un-
doubtedly gallant, God-fearing army P”
“No, Dick, I do not. I cannot preach,
or speak in a preaching tone, and so my
men preach at me, and tell me to my face,
but not disrespectfully, that I am a careless
Gallio.”
“Eldie—my dear Eldie,” said Mabel,
throwing her arms around his neck, “leave
the army and do your duty elsewhere.”
“That is not easy, my love, at present,
but the moment the nation is out of danger
I shall quit a post for which I am not fitted.
Cromwell knows of my wish, and I almost
think would not regret to see me a civilian
once more. Yet it is, I say, a glorious army.
Donot fear for me in anyway. I am notamong
traitors, my dear Mabel, but among heroes
in the main, and servants of God. We have
no midnight assassins in Cromwell's armv.”
y
Js iſ Freedom & 163
“But Cromwell, Eldred,” said Tom,
“what will he do now P’’
“That I do not know, Tom. He is
fastened to his post, and baited by all
manner of Royal knaves and Republican
famatics.”
“Do you mean as the chief of fanatics?”
said Ernest.
“No, no, Ernest; Cromwell is no fanatic,
unless it is fanatical to fear God. A fanatic
is a mad player with verities and men.
Cromwell is a same doer of same work
which no other living man could do.”
Father Altona, who had been present
during the whole conversation, but silent,
said—
“Eldred, my son, I wonder what Father
Simeon would think of you now P You are
more extreme than Tom’s father—much
more so than Tom himself.”
11—2
164 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Yes, Father Altona, life has made
havoc with what I was wont to call my
creed. But where all this time is George
Waye P I have had the question again and
again on my lips. Where is he, Susan?
In greeting Jane and the children yester-
day I dared not ask her. What fine lads
they are l’’
Susan bent her eyes on the ground, and
said sorrowfully—
“Indeed, we do not know much of George.
He left us to enter the navy, but we have
not heard from him for three years; and like
you, Eldred, we hardly dare now to talk
much on the subject to Jane. Of course
George must have written, and the letters
have been lost.” --
“Yet the navy is just where I wished
him to be,” said Eldred. “We shall before
long have stern work on sea, and I have a
J’eace and War. 165
–*
fancy that our friend, Robert Blake, will
not be far to seek when that time comes.
George, like ourselves, will feel his heart
bound within him when fighting for
England. Even Gustavus Adolphus is not
a name to conjure by, as England's name is
to an Englishman.”
“We are all growing dreadfully anti-
foreign, as far as fighting is concerned,”
said Susan, with her still arch smile.
The latter part of 1647 and the greater
part of 1648 passed with comparative
quietness at Monkerton. Harry and Tom,
and Ernest Mohan, had once more removed
with their families to their own homes.
Eldred had seen his way with honour to
quitting the company of the Saints, and
taking his place once more at the head
of the now growing family of which he
was the natural chief. The lanes of
166 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Monkerton were as bright and green as in
days of yore, and the maimed soldiers and
the sorely tried mothers found new objects
of interest in teaching their children, and
seeing them grow up in virtue, in health,
and in the love of freedom.

CHAPTER VI.
END OF THE THIRTY YEARs' WAR–WHITEHALL AND
MONKERTON.
began to present signs of that end which
comes to all earthly things. The Swedes,
part now of a curiously confederate army,
having won the great battle of Susmars-
hausen, and captured a portion of the city
of Prague, longed ardently for peace, which
Christina, at last a veritable sovereign, was
resolved to grant them. In October the
peace of Westphalia was signed—a settle-
ment which nominally continued in force
till it was overturned by the wars of
Napoleon. The map of Europe was re-


168 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
arranged; this nation receiving so-and-so,
that so-and-so—a political division in
which only the weak were disregarded.
The Protestants secured additional civil
rights; the Calvinists were placed on the
same footing as the Lutherans. Such was
one side of the great picture—the side pre-
sented to the Courts, and to such history
as Courts patronised. The other side was
horrible whole districts depopulated;
towns and cities in ruin ; rich lands
turned into desert; vast populations re-
duced to living skeletons—to skin and
bone; disease and death on the foetid air.
A blacker picture never was painted of any
Wal”.
The Princess Elizabeth, who had drained
the cup of humiliation almost to the dregs,
now found that the dregs still remained for
her. She saw the Lower Palatinate restored
Fate of the Princess Elizabet/. 169
to her family, and the Upper Palatinate
confirmed to Bavaria. She heard of a
court under her second son, Charles Louis,
in the old seat of her own glory and happi-
ness at Heidelberg ; but she had forced on
her then and from henceforth one of the
bitterest of all the pangs that can fall on a
mother's heart—her abandonment by a cruel,
churlish son. Charles Louis remembered
much, but he forgot his mother, and left
her in poverty. She never saw the Pala-
tinate any more. Her son took to himself
as wife a Princess of Hesse Cassel, and ill-
used her so that she fled from him, or was
driven away by him ; and his youngest
sister, the Princess Sophia, with whom the
world would long be concerned, became the
mistress of his house and the teacher of his
children. In time, however, he became
tired of her, too; and ten years after the
170 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Peace of Westphalia she was married by
him to Ernest Augustine, titular Bishop of
Osnaburg, who by an accident became
Elector of Hanover. All this we shall see
later. At present we have only arrived at
the Peace of Westphalia.
The news of the peace was followed, two
months later, to Monkerton by that of the
death of the Dowager Countess Werner. She
had lived to see the end of the terrible war, -
and to hear that her son’s great services to
humanity had been recognised alike by
Swede, by Frenchman, and by German as-
sembled at Westphalia. Three grandchildren
—two boys and one girl—stood by her
bedside, with her son and his wife, and
One daughter and a son-in-law, an affec-
tionate group in those last hours. She
knew also to her great joy that the here-
ditary estate of her family was preserved
Werner and Mon/erſon. 171
to her children, and, indeed, that it had
been increased in extent by the spontaneous
favour of the Emperor. After this the hos-
pitals were altogether left in charge of Dr.
Gratz, while Count Werner and Agnes, with
their children, embarked for the Thames. It
had been their ardent hope to arrive in
Bngland before Christmas, but in this
they were disappointed. The new year
found them in a storm off Folkestone, and
the month of January was half gone when
they arrived at Monkerton. Their welcome
was quiet and undemonstrative, though the
enthusiasm of the villagers could hardly be
restrained when Agnes Werner—the Agnes
Chadwick of old—appeared with her chil-
dren, and her gentle smiles for old and
young. The snow was on the ground, and
the Thames appeared bleak and cold, and
the robins hopped and chirped upon the
172 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
cottage window-sills, but the kind faces
were warm and bright that day. For the
quietness of the welcome there were solemn
reasons. The death of the Countess
Werner would of itself have been enough
to solemnise the scene; it was doubly
solemnised by a final parting nearer home;
the new year had already received into the
calm sea of eternal ages the spirit of Com-
modore Mordaunt. The noble old sailor
had not seen the end of the war in England;
indeed, there was reason to fear that he had
Only seen the beginning of the struggle ;
but he had seen the great smithy of his son
and daughter rebuilt, and he died with the
satisfaction that he left his aged wife in the
care and communion of friends. A few
days before his death the old man was
gladdened by hearing his daughter read a
long letter from George Waye, then
Counſ Werner Reca//s an Old Scene. 173
cruising in the Channel. George recounted
with all a sailor's enthusiasm the great
scene when the fleet resolved to join with
the army in defence of the nation’s
liberties.
Moreover, it was no light matter to an
Englishman that the trial of King Charles was
about to begin. Although it was certain that
the decision of the judges had been already
come to, and that before any evidence was
adduced the King's fate was fixed, it was
felt that a crucial issue was at hand, and
this, too, added to the mournfulness that
rested upon all who felt the responsibility
of that solemn hour.
“I am like one bewildered,” Count
Werner said to Sir Richard Ingerstein, as
they and Margaret, and Mabel and Agnes
rode together in the old Ingerstein chariot
to the Rise.
174 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Yes, it must be stranger to you than to
us,” said Richard ; “just as the scenes of
your great drama probably seemed stranger
to us than to you, living amid them.” *
“I seem, Richard, as if I could see,
sightless as I am—or, perhaps, because I
am sightless—that assembly at Whitehall,
when Laud, and Wentworth, and Noy
repelled me so haughtily, and when a
certain envoy of Gustavus Adolphus had
almost ruined his embassy by walking
directly to my side.”
“For any good that came of that envoy’s
mission,” Richard replied, in a low voice,
and with a faint smile, “it would have been
of little consequence if the mission had
ended at the same time as yours; though, of
course, no one in that case could have said
that the failure was not the envoy's own
fault. They mocked the Swedish King.”
Coz// Werner Reca//s an Old Scene. 175
“Ha, Richard, I can see that banqueting
room as clearly to-day as I saw it on that
day those weary years ago l—the King
talking with Laud of the restoration of St.
Paul's Cathedral as the great event that
was to distinguish his Majesty's glorious
reign ; the Queen looking her fairest to
many, and her most resentful to myself;
the array of fair women and gaily attired
men—I see it all as clearly as if it was
here before me in a glass, and I not yet a
sightless man. I can hear, too, the chime
of the Abbey clock on the morning after
my disgrace. It all comes back to me
to-day like a saddening dream.”
“It is a remarkable picture,” Richard
said, solemnly.
The assembly that night at the Rise was
very sorrowful yet interesting. The conver-
sation ran unrestrained into old times. On
176 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
both sides there were sad tales of cruelty
and of heroism to tell. On both sides there
were maimed and suffering men, mute
testimony against those years of war;
JHarry Waye, once so strong and daring,
now walked by the help of a crutch, with
his faithful wife seldom far distant from his
side; Tom Prim, pale and shaken, seemed
to look for sunshine in the eyes of his still
high-hearted Susan ; Richard with one
arm ; Count Werner blind—a scene very
saddening, yet filled with a great peace, and
a calmness which is little known where the
passions of life are wild and strong.
“Father Altona,” Count Werner said,
“will you pardon me if I ask Mabel
to read for us to-night from your
IEnglish Bible P-let me see, the chapter
that tells us of the great Deliverer who
came to break the bands of the captive, to
The Two Faiths by Wew Zight. 177
give sight to the blind, and to preach the
Gospel to the poor.” -
“Yes, my son, I readily pardon you, and
I do not object. The hours are drawing
near to me when only realities stand the
test, and these words never can be unreal.”
In the reading asked for by Count Werner
the intercourse of the families that night
came to an end. Next day Count Werner
and Agnes visited the Gottages of Monker-
ton and the churchyard, and the burial-
ground of Chadwick Rise. They also
heard a solemn Mass for the dead, and no
Protestant of all their friends refused to be
present. *
The young people of the families of
|Richard and Eldred, and Tom, and Harry,
and Ernest and Alice Mohan, also had a
thousand new objects of interest in the
arrival of the young Werners, and it was
"VOL. III. I2
178 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
beautiful to see them all gather around the
chair of Mrs. Mordaunt, or of some one of
their own honoured mothers, to learn
lessons of peace, and of bygone times.
Eliza Waye, six years of age, and Mabel
Trim, seven, one day volunteered to show
Ernest and Harry Werner where Eliza's
father saved her mother from the bull,
while Harry Waye of nine years, and
Tichard Prim of eleven, offered the greater
bribe of seeing grandfather Waye's old
smithy, and grandfather Prim’s wheel-
wright's shop, and then father's large new
smithy at Mortlake.
On the 30th J anuary, Eldred Chadwick,
Henry Ingerstein, and Ernest Mohan
crossed the Thames from London at noon,
with the dread intelligence that King
Charles had been executed. Eldred would
not allow--but his words were sorrowful—
Jºnecution of the King. 179
that the act was one open to the repro-
bation of justice, or with respect to which
Englishmen should condemn men acting, as
the leaders of Parliament were acting, in the
face of arbitrary power.
“I affirm still,” he said, calmly, but
gloomily, “that I, at all events, would not
have known what to do with a King whose
word was no bond, and whose claims, never
yet withdrawn, were to possess us and our
wives and children as a heritage and a
property; to tax us as he pleased; to send
us away to fight on any cause or ground
whatever ; to rule without Parliament, and
without law. Some one had to decide what
to do, and, I believe, most of the judges
acted under the deep conviction that there
was but one solution of the difficulty. I
lament—I mourn—the act for several
reasons, but I cannot forget that far better
12—2
180 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
men than Charles, men innocent of any
crime, have been put to death in his
name. The fiction of the constitution, that
the King can do no wrong, is probably a
fact legally, but then it demands con-
ditions. Somebody does wrong if wrong is
done, and the theory that protects the King
implies that the King acts by the law, and
by the advice of persons who are responsible
for wrong. When the King deliberately,
and in his own person, breaks the law, the
fiction is at an end.”
“Yes,” Richard Ingerstein said, “the
theory has no application in the case of a
despotism. I wish, with you, Eldie, that
the King could have been spared—pen-
sioned off, as Tom once said, but I do not
know the place on earth where he would
have found contentment, or the prison
strong enough to have held him. England
Evecution of the King. I8]
is not ready for Republican government.
Generations of education, of the influence of
printed words, of honest preaching and
teaching, must precede government in
which the people rule ; and I have a strong
conviction, that in this progress the King,
if at all a good King, may be far more on
the side of the people than either the
aristocracy or the Church would be. What
is your view, Tom P”
“I agree with you, Richard, to a certain
extent. Assuredly we are not yet prepared
for a Republic. Such a government, with
Cromwell at the head of it, would be too
good politically, and too exacting socially.
Such a government, with men like those
whom Count Werner and you saw at the
head of affairs at Whitehall some years ago,
would rot out the nation’s heart. I am
coming back to the opinion of my old
182 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
untravelled father, that there are no
enemies to either religion or freedom like the
priests. It is they who bulwark all wrong.”
“Yet that was a fine scene,” said Harry,
“when the Fellows and others of Oxford
left their homes rather than accept the
terms of the Parliament.”
“Well, it was fine in one way,” Tom
replied ; “there were among them learned
and conscientious men—and learning and
conscience would give dignity to almost
any cause—but, after all, the schoolmen
could not have done otherwise than they
did without earning the scorn of all ages.
There was no heroism in their suffering for
despotism's sake.”
“What would you have, Thomas Prim P”
said Father Altona.
“What I never shall see, Father—an un-
paid priesthood, or a priesthood so poorly
The Church and the “World,” 183
paid that the loaves and fishes, as my
father used to say, would be no inducement
to them to seek the priest's office.”
“You would lose the great men, I fear?”
“We would lose ambitious men ; we
should lose no men like Father Altona.”
“Ah, do not be so sure of that. Father
Altona is old now, and is humbled by the
fearful blank, bereft of kith and kin, that he
sees around him ; but there was a time,
Master Prim, when he too knew ambition;
and if his powers had been equal to his
desires, he never had been priest at Mon-
kerton. You are, indeed, returning to your
father's views, Master Prim.” -
“Yes, but with modifications. I do not
know that your Church is the “Scarlet
Woman,” Father Altona; and I am not
much concerned about your view of tran-
substantiation, so long as you do not force
184 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
me to say that I take the same view.
What I dread and hate is priestly assump-
tion, and there I may become very nearly a
fanatic. I have been thinking a good deal,
Father Altona, of that saying of the
Apostle, that milk is for babes, and strong
meat for strong men. Had not Judaism
become milk for babes when Our Lord
appealed to the very hearts of men, casting
off forms and ceremonies, and reaching to
the very kernels of truth P Was not your
Church supplying milk for children when
Luther came with strong meat for men P
And was not the Established Church of
England busied with milk and bibs, when
the Puritans arose in God’s name with the
strong meat, which never again will be lost
in England?”
“You are in earnest, Master Prim l’’
“I am, Father Altona, and I confess to
Responsibility of Cromwell. 185
you, that I am becoming more akin to the
old spirit of my father. But about the
King. I agree with you, Eldred, that the
difficulty was a stupendous one, and that we
have no right to censure the men who
cut the knot that no one present here to-
night can tell us that he sees there was
any method of untying. But none the
less must it be said, that executions breed
executions.”
“I am ill at ease,” said Eldred, “ that
where responsibility so vast is involved we
have no share in it—eh, brother Henry P’’
“How could you share the responsibility,
Eldred, of an act upon which you have dis-
tinctly told us you could not have formed a
satisfactory opinion P’’
“Ah, you are a Jesuit, brother | There
are cases when men must act according to
the mass of evidence. Some one, I say,
186 Ingerstein Ha/ and Chadwick Rise.
must take the responsibility, as judges do
in our courts of law.”
“The illustration, however, Eldred, is
against you. We support the judges
without being called upon to share their
responsibility. You are better out of it, my
brother—not for the coward’s reason of
escaping responsibility, but because you
might have taken a responsibility which
your conscience would some day have con-
demned. The judges of King Charles have
taken no such responsibility. They have
acted in the sight of Heaven and of
history.”
“And history will justify them. I do
not think that England will remain
Republican. There are many reasons
why she will cling to Monarchy, and
one, perhaps, that will not for generations
be acknowledged in words and deeds
7%e Fountain of Honour. 187
—the necessity of some headship to give
dignity to honours conferred for meri-
torious service.”
“I do not quite agree with you,” said
Tom. “The honour of knighthood would
have been small in my eyes if it had come
from Charles; great if from Gustavus;
as it also would be great if it came from
Cromwell. I am not, in this, evading
your position. What you mean is, that
England, having certain great offices, as
those of judges, and high persons on sea
and land, for purposes of peace and war,
requires some one office so high, so far
beyond question, that the proudest English-
man may find an addition to his honour in
receiving it from that lofty office; that is
from one in himself or herself incapable of
receiving honour from any other earthly
source.”
188 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“There cannot be a doubt of the truth of
what you say, Tom,” said Harry Waye.
“There is not one of us who would not be
prouder of Cromwell's gift of knighthood
than of the knighthood given by Charles;
but then Cromwell is a man of an age, and
what a free nation requires is a perpetual
office which represents a great dignity, and
gives dignity to other offices.”
“Is the Parliament likely to offer Crom-
well the crown?” said Eliza, timidly, and
looking to Eldred.
“I see no escape from it, Eliza; but I
should say he will refuse it, and mean what
he says.”
“As Caesar did?” inquired Count Werner.
“We have no means now, Fritz,” Eldred
replied, “ of knowing whether or no Caesar
meant to refuse the crown, though I should
say he did not. Cromwell does.”
What wi// Cromwell do 2 189
“It will ruin his cause if he either refuse
or accept,” said Henry Ingerstein.
“It will,” Harry Waye replied, “as far as
he is individually concerned, but his true
royalty will endure long after he is dead, if
no foul deed on his part obscures the glory
of his reign.” -
And so that conversation ended, and the
friends parted for the day, the elders with
very solemn thoughts of what had been
done and what was being done in England;
the elder of the children with increased
perceptions of the great truths which were
opened up to them in the simple words of
their unaffected and truth-loving parents.
The young people learned, too, what a
strong cord it was that bound their parents
and themselves to their poorer neighbours;
how the kindness and affection were mutual,
and how little the line of worldly circum-
190 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
stances was seen between the rich and the
poor of Monkerton. Beautiful was the
lesson, because beautiful was the fact, and
worthy to be held in esteem by all who
wished to see the great principles of
humanity prevail.

CHAPTER VII.
THE AUTUMN OF LIFE IN MONKERTON, AND THE FRESH
SPRING—CROMWELL VISITS THE BANK.
zº OUNT WERNER and his family
Ağ remained in England till the
ng of 1651. Cromwell meantime had
spri
subjugated Ireland, and won his victory at
Dunbar over the Scotch. He moreover
held full control of the military power of
England. One day, in the year 1650,
the following conversation was started by
Benry Ingerstein in Ingerstein Hall—
“What,” he said, “ have been the results
of the Thirty Years' War?”
Count Werner replied, straining his eyes,
as if gazing into space—









192 Ingerstein Ha// and Chadwick Rise.
“As individuals, or as a group of friends
bound together by no ordinary ties, let us
see. The world at large I shall leave to
you, Henry, and to the other politicians
whom I can almost fancy I sees around me.
First, then, Father Altona would tell us
that the year 1625 found a very zealous
Catholic family at Chadwick Rise, and that
the year 1649 found a family neither
Catholic nor Protestant—separated from
Rome for ever, yet somewhat scornful of the
new race of political priests of the Church
ealled Anglican, and revolting in heart
against the extreme fanaticism of the
Barliamentary Sectaries. In 1625, Master
Thomas Prim, a lad, was inclined to think
his stern old father in error with respect to
some points of religion. Tom had looked
into certain eyes, and had seen there that
the great Ruler of men has unwritten as
Returning to an Old Anchorage. 193
well as written creeds. Do not wince, dear
Susan; my practical application will be all
right. Master Tom Prim, a man, after
enduring something and learning some-
thing, tells us in 1649 that his mind is
returning to the old anchorage, and that he
sees beyond the transient mannerism to the
enduring principles of the sectaries. And *
part of this he owes to the same clear eyes,
. 55
which
“Yes, you are right, Fritz,” said Tom,
“quite right. Be patient dear Susan.
‘Which—’ go on, Fritz.” - .*
“Which perhaps first—am I right P−
first among all the eyes here to-day, saw
that Peter Prim was an earnest and kind
man, not a fanatic.” -
“You are not right, Count Werner l’’
Susan replied, with an impetuous yet grave
grace, which drew Tom to the back of her
VOL. III. - 13
194 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
chair; “my father and Harry, not to speak
of Eldred Chadwick and Richard Ingerstein,
knew very well that my other father”—
looking up to Tom—“ was no fanatic.”
“Yet,” said Eldred, “all the same, Fritz
is right; your good kind father became
angry at times, Susan, and I often. It was
a great error, of which I have bitterly
repented, but it was so. We may repent
errors, we never can undo them. You, dear
Susan—it is no flattery, I would scorn to
flatter you by a word—rose into the higher
law of love, and showed us first of all that
deeper than our creeds God has a law written
on human hearts. Fritz is quite right,
Susan.” And so said Richard and Margaret.
The conversation was broken off here by
some natural cause, but with an under-
standing that the subject was not exhausted.
It was not renewed again, however, with
Old and Wew Zife. 195
the same definite purpose till an evening in
1651, when the meadows were spangled
with daisies, and the river banks and the
hedgerows with primroses, and violets, and
bluebells, and till the green blades of corn
Wel’e coming into ear. It was just before
Count Werner's farewell to the Thames.
The windows of the great room at Inger-
stein Hall were open, and while the younger
children played on the lawn outside, the
elders of the families assembled together in
a pleasant cheerful group within. Mrs.
Mordaunt, the last, save Father Altona,
of the elders of 1625, sat in an easy-chair
in the bright sunshine, with her grand-
daughter, Susan, at her feet, and her
daughter Eliza on the one hand, and
Harry Waye, his face beaming with genial
humour, on the other. Tom and Susan,
Ernest and Alice, Richard and Margaret,
13—2
196 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Eldred and Mabel, Fritz and Agnes, and
Father Altona were there, with a goodly
group of the elder children. Count Werner
said—
“Well, my dear friends, now that our
réunion is coming to an end, can we resume
with a view to committing to paper our
many broken conversations on the results,
so far as the well-being of nations is con-
cerned, of the Thirty Years' War? The
subject has arisen among us so often, that
we can hardly fail now to have decided views
even if we have not clear ones.”
“Speak then, please, for the Continent,
B'ritz,” said Margaret Ingerstein. “It is,
I am sure, the wish of us all.”
“Yes, dear Margaret, I had previously
perceived so ; but I think we shall see the
fact better if we begin with England, one
of the great heritors, if I may so speak, of
Socia/ and Political Freedom. 197
the Thirty Years' War. In dealing with
that war from the English point of view,
and in relation to morality and freedom, I
would dismiss the Elector Palatine and the
Princess Elizabeth as mere lay figures in
the great tableau. That they were political
entities, from the fact that they were made
to represent a great cause, is beyond ques-
tion; but entities as a stone figure is so,
nothing more. In Gustavus and his army
you had examples; in Wallenstein and
Tilly and their armies you had warnings.
Do you, however, perceive that Englishmen
are much nearer that real and true freedom
of opinion than they were prior to the
Thirty Years' War?”
There was a pause, and then a unani-
mous look towards Richard Ingerstein, who
said—
“Politically we are now free ; socially we
198 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
are not so, if indeed we are not more pain-
fully fettered than under the Stuarts. The
arm of the Puritan reaches farther than
that of the Pope. But then the principles
of the Puritan, however long they may be
before the great end is achieved, will some
day be compelled to bend to and assert
freedom of opinion.”
“That is,” said Margaret, “that freedom
of opinion, Dick, which will not merely not
persecute those of a different opinion, but
will not affix a stigma to them or to their
views.”
“Yes, I mean that, Maggie. It will be
a long fight—a fight, for aught I know, of
generations, for priests of all names will
concur in the assertion that opinion dif-
ferent from theirs is a sin; and they will
render honest investigation, followed by
honest speech, all but impossible, save
Socia/ and Po/ifica/ Freedom. 199
under penalties. But the day will come
when their power to secure this will fail
them—yes, as surely as we live, they will
fail, and their claim die. In fact, the
Puritans even now uphold the theory of
free opinion ; they only fail in the practice.
Does this meet your Puritan views, Tom P’’.
“It is odd, Richard, that I should not
only have come to be called a Puritan by
you, but to call myself one once again.
Yes, I agree with you heartily ; but I
should dread to mingle, as Eldred mingled,
with the saintly warriors, lest the old Adam
again rose in me. Harry could not be with
them for an hour without rebelling.”
“Gently, Tom l’” said Mabel Chadwick,
laughingly, “Harry was with them a good
many hours.”
“Yes, I know ; but the men were a little
less exacting at that time—a year, even,
200 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
has made a marvellous change. Eldred,
you see, Mabel, could not brook the long
sermons, and he even revolted against the
prayers.”
“Yes,” said Eldred, somewhat gloomily,
“ there is no real freedom in the new
crusade. But since it is a blow at authority
in matters of opinion, it is so far a clear
and a mighty gain, and however despotism
may seek for and even find a reaction—as
it may find one—the struggle of which we
have been witnesses, and of which we may
be fated to see much more, tends to free-
dom. I think we are all agreed so far, or
we should not have been so unanimous last
night in resolving that if the issue of King
or Parliament is again presented, our duty
will be to stand for the Parliament and our
English Law. At present there is little
appearance of Cromwell needing help, and
Social and Po/ö/ica/ Freedom. 20 L
so long as his fervid iron men can do the
work, I should shudder to go among them
again.”
“The sum of it all is, then,” Susan said,
with mock gravity, “that three of the four
‘ Monkerton boys' who went away to fight
in 1625, one with a wallet on his shoulder,
and two in a grand army of crimped men
—who were mostly slain before the end—
still think that they were fighting for what
the Parliament men call a “great cause,”
while the fourth ‘boy’ thinks that he was
in the wrong, and that the Arch-heretic
Gustavus was in the right, as the Arch-
heretic Cromwell is now.”
5
“Susan,” said Tom, “do you know that
is a real speech—the longest you ever made
in my hearing P’’
“Is it, Tom P I am very matter of fact,
as you know, and cannot, as you often tell
202 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
me, go into deep thoughts; but I can see
that you boys, as we called you, are about
to vote yourselves right all round, for
Eldred’s confession is as good as if he never
had been wrong. But how about the
bloodshed, Tom P−Will you tell us,
Tichard P”
“Ah, my dear Susan, you have hit a key
truth. It is a fearful set-off to whatever
our gain may be. We must not, however,
hand down to our children the belief that
God does not bless the struggle for free-
dom.”
“Certainly not. I never meant that.”
“I know you did not, Susan. I am
merely following out the idea. Let us re-
member that the impulse that led to the
selection of the Elector Palatine and the
Ring of Denmark was a right one, though
the men were below the idea, while in
Cause and Effect. 203
Gustavus the men and the idea accorded.
Ring James little foresaw that the ball he
assisted against his will to set in motion, in
1625, in the Palatinate, would roll on till in
1649 it came to that dread issue at White-
hall. Whatever is before us, let us not
doubt that as Luther led to Gustavus, so
has Gustavus led to Cromwell. Let this
lesson at all events go to our children while
they care to preserve a record or memory of
what we have seen and felt in these strange
times.”
And so the conversation went on till the
shadows of night began to fall.
The Christmas of 1651 was spent by
Count Werner and his family, with Ernest
and Alice Mohan and their family as their
guests, at the mountain home at Werner.
Ernest and Alice with their children had
returned with their friends to Bavaria, and
204 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
they remained together more than a full
year. Still the years and events went
on with solemn tread. The Lord Protector
succeeded the Commonwealth, and the
second Charles, after the so-called interreg-
num of eleven years, succeeded the Lord
Protector, and the second James succeeded
Charles. Then came the Revolution of
1688, the legitimate outcome of the Com-
monwealth, and embodying as much of the
character of the Commonwealth as England
was prepared for in 1688. Many weary
struggles there must yet be before England
could return to the free principles of the
days of Cromwell, and many more struggles
there must be before those principles could
be woven into practice, as they never were
so woven when their holy origin was most
readily acknowledged in the glorious so-
called interregnum—King Oliver's reign.
Admiral Blake. 205
The Commonwealth proper had a brief
span of existence. The Protectorate proper
began in 1653, when Cromwell dismissed
the memorable Dong Parliament, in the
name of the public safety. Never again
was he able to retrace that unhappy, even
if necessary step. At the end of 1652,
the Dutch, under Van Tromp, attacked
|Blake in the Downs, with, it is recorded,
eighty ships against Blake's forty, and the
battle was terrific.
George Waye won his rank of post-
captain on that fiercely contested day. The
vessel in which he held the post of sailing-
master on the morning of the great fight sank
riddled with shot, and George swam to the
flag-ship, where he had a hearty welcome
from England’s great sailor.
“Welcome, George Waye l’ Blake said,
while the guns were belching fire and death
206 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
on every hand; “beaten we must be to-day,
but we shall win yet !”
“Yes, sir,” George replied, with his fine
sailor-politeness and loyal deference to
authority, “we shall win Shall I take this
gun, sir?”
“Do ; you shall have another post before
night, or at farthest, to-morrow, if we live.”
At night, sailing up the Thames, beaten
but not disgraced, George was made
Captain Waye under the Commonwealth.
Eſe fought again in the three days' battles
in February, 1653, and in the mighty battle
of July the same year, when the Dutch
sea-hero was killed. For his services on
this latter great day George received from
the Lord Protector himself the rank of
Commodore. It was the end of the naval
war between England and Holland, and
the seventh sea-fight between them within
Commodore George Waye. 207
$
little more than a year. What rejoicings
there were in Monkerton what triumphant-
arches, and display of “bunting,” old,"
ragged, and shot-torn—and therefore pre-
cious—when George Waye came over the
Thames, with the rank of Commodore
Sir Richard Ingerstein was master of cere-
monies, and with a host of little Wayes–
George’s and Harry's — around him, he
was the soul of the proceedings of the
great “welcome.”
“‘Commodore Waye,’ my friends,” said
Richard, as he led George and Mrs. George
Waye to Eliza; “what would our dear old
Commodore Mordaunt have said to this?”
And Eliza laughed and cried at one time,
while Harry Waye and Tom Prim were
boisterous in their joy, and Susan in her
“old days,” as she called them, as merry as
a lark on the wing.
208 Ingerstein Pła/Z and Chadwick Rise.
grº-
The news from Sweden began at this
time to have a curious interest for all
Bngland, and an especial interest for Mon-
kerton. At the end of the year, 1653,
Cromwell sent to Christina an envoy with
the object of forming a treaty with Sweden,
and the envoy was shocked with Queen
Christina’s brusque manners, her love of
dancing and her disregard for “the Lord’s
Day,” a proper prelude to the shock that
Buritan England received when a little
later the news arrived that the Queen had
induced the envoy to dance with her, and
to join in other of her amusements. Suitors
she had had, of course-dukes, princes,
kings—and she was shrewd enough to
perceive that they thought “the Crown of
Sweden a very pretty girl.” One by one
they retired, and Christina bade fair to die
a virgin “ King.”
Queen Christina Learns a Wew Faith. 209
Her endurance, alike on horseback, in
disputes with learned men, and in the
despatch of public business, was the wonder
of Europe. While but a child she had
been abandoned by her mother, Queen
Eleonora, who had retired privately to
Denmark, leaving Oxenstiern in charge of
the education of the self willed royal child;
and Oxenstiern had discharged his duty as
directed by Gustavus Adolphus, with, the
result of a will and body alike of iron on
the Swedish throne.
Christina talked with the wisest men she
could induce to visit her from all parts of
Europe, and found all their conversations
but as vanity and vexation of spirit. Then
she tried the Jesuits, and discovered, or
thought she had discovered, that they could
give her proud spirit rest. Marry she
would not ; it needed more courage, she
VOL. III. 14
210 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
said, than fighting a battle, but she nomi-
nated her cousin, Charles Augustus, Crown
Prince, and hence her successor to the
throne. In childhood she had, she said,
promised to marry him, and as she was now
resolved not to marry at all, he was her
natural heir.
In 1654 she visited her mother in Den-
mark. On returning to Sweden she pub-
licly announced her intention, already
known in private, to resign the crown to
“Cousin Karl.” In vain her best friends
pleaded that the step once taken never
could be retraced. Christina professed
to know her own will, her own strength
and weakness, and in June, 1654, the
crown was, at her command, taken from
her head, and she retired into private life
in the twenty-seventh year of her age.
Prince Charles Augustus became King.
Queen Christina Recants. 211
Christina went forth with a pension and
much hoarded treasure, and bade adieu at
once to her crown and people. Her first
notable act was to visit her mother; her
second to abjure at Brussels her Protestant
faith—the faith at once of her father and of
the noble people over whom he and she had
reigned.
“I remember, as if it were yesterday,”
said Tom Prim, “how hard Gustavus
pressed me on the point of whether I could
conceive any circumstances—such as those,
for instance, of Henry of France—which
would induce me to abjure my Protestant
faith, and how brightly he received my
negative reply. Little did he think that his
own daughter, then a little child, would
follow Henry's steps l’’
“She will regret first, the loss of power,”
Richard said, “ and next, I hope, her recan-
14—2
212 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
tation. It is not in nature and reason that
such a woman should descend from a throne
to private life and find contentment. If
there were a principle involved it might be
so, but that is out of the question. It is
caprice, and the want of proper discipline in
childhood. Oxenstiern was a grand man,
but he was not the man to develop the
graces of life in so wild-hearted a child.
Happily, though he lived to see her abdi-
cation, he was mercifully spared her recan-
tation.”*
“Yes,” said Harry, “but he knew whither
she was drifting. He saw the Jesuits in
her rooms and her favour. Did you observe,
however, in our letter from Fritz, that the
recantation was commemorated at Brussels
by plays, dinners, and masquerades P
* Chancellor Oxenstiern died a very short time
after the abdication. -
Queen Christina is Punished. 213
Mazarin, Fritz says, sent a company of
comedians specially in honour of the great
event. It was a meet commemoration of
such a wretched farcel”
Christina lived thirty-five years after her
abdication—till 1689—and she drank a cup
of bitter humiliation. After visiting France
she made her way to Rome, “the seat of
learning and holiness,” and drew to her many
learned and notable men. Ten years after
her abdication her cousin, the King, died,
and she returned to Sweden with a train of .
priests, for whom she began to build an
oratory, which the Swedes pulled down.
Alas! she was no more the darling child of
the brave nation which had followed her
father from Sweden for the rescue of the
Beformed Faith from its insidious and
envenomed foes. Her learning, and vigour
of mind were the playthings of men who
214 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
derided her in her absence, and she died in
the faith against which her father fought a
life-long war.
In 1657 George Waye was engaged
under Blake in the burning of the Spanish
fleet of galleons at the Canaries. On the
voyage home, after this service, Admiral
Blake died. George, at the time of the
admiral’s death, was confined to his cabin
badly wounded. On arriving at the
Thames he was conveyed to Monkerton,
and was ordered by his doctor to remain in
perfect rest. But the news came that
Blake was to have a public funeral at the
Tord Protector's cost; and “nothing,”
Commodore Waye said, “shall prevent me
following my old admiral and friend—
nothing, at least, unless I am altogether
stricken down by the hand of God!” It
was a grand ceremonial which even the
Cromweſ/ Wisłłs the Bank. 215
bitterness of the Restoration would not dare
to disown or dishonour. This was George
Waye's last appearance in a public capacity
as Commodore. A couple of months later
he was a lone man, whose wife, as he
piously said, had “gone before.” After
this the greater part of a year passed away
without any memorable fact to record in
the history of Monkerton. In the spring
of 1658, there occurred an event which
was held to be worthy of enduring memory
in the family records.
It was on a Saturday afternoon, at very
nearly the end of April, and also at very
nearly the closing time of the bank in
Lombard Street on that particular day.
Ernest Mohan was “passing the balanced
books” after his manner for the day, and
Tom Prim and Henry Ingerstein were busy
with certain important correspondence for
2I6 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
abroad, when a private coach drove to the
bank door. A few moments later a firm
step was heard proceeding in the direction
of the private room, and the clerks one and
all looked up from their books and began to
whisper to each other. Ernest Mohan went
on busily with his figures, though the
unusual decision of the tread had startled
him, and the whispers now began to disturb
his calculations.
“What is it, Robert P” he asked, a little
tartly, as the owner of the firm step passed
into the private room, knocking first, how-
ever, as gentlemen were used to do even in
those “barbarous days.”
“It is the Lord Protector, sir,” the clerk
replied, in a whisper. At the same moment
Henry Ingerstein beckoned Ernest to the
inner room. -
“I have taken an unusual step, gentle-
Cromwel/ in the Bank. 217
T-
men,” Cromwell was saying, “but I have a
recollection of a conversation you and I had
—it seems an age ago—in your noble
barque on the Thames. Do you remember
it P” looking to Tom Prim.
“It will have gone hard with us when we
forget it, your Highness.”
“Very good service you have done since
then, gentlemen. So good, indeed, that I
want from you an explanation, which I
would not have asked from many people,
and I want it from you here, in the midst
of your books—not at Whitehall, or I might
have asked you to see me there.” As he
said this the Lord Protector brought his
hand down fiercely on the table ; but he
saw that no cheek of those before him
blanched. He paused, and Henry Inger-
stein said—
“Does your Highness require money?”
218 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Will you find me money if I do?”
“I think I may speak for my friends, and
say that we assuredly will.”
“Have you considered the consequences
in case of my death P”
“Oh yes, often,” replied Tom Prim,
gravely; “we are bound as bankers to
consider everything, But your Highness
will not yet, we trust, nor for a long time
to come, be taken from us—from Eng-
land.”
“Dare you pray for that, Master Prim?”
“We do pray for it, sir.”
“And you will raise me a loan and trust
in God P”
“Our services in that respect are at your
Highness's command.”
“Yet you refused money—I know the
story—to the late King.”
Tom Prim bowed.
Cromwel/ in the Ba/4. * 2 19
“Then I thank you truly. I shall not,
however, at present, put you in the dan-
gerous position of lending me money. I
am simply about to put you to the test of
looking me straight in the face and
answering me a plain question.”
“Yes, your Highness;” and all three
looked Cromwell, as he had wished, straight
in the eyes. A gleam of grim pleasure
passed over his stern face as he met their
look with one as direct, and said—
“Why have all you Monkerton people,
so absolutely loyal to your friends and your
consciences, left the service of England P
You served the Parliament, as you had
served—sometimes curious masters, I must
say—but the righteous cause, on the
Continent. Why do you leave me in my
need? Do you blame me—censure me—
speak badly of me—for the death of the
220 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
King? I mean, do you condemn the
execution P / am responsible !” ~
“We grieved over it; but we did not
condemn the act, sir,” replied Ernest
Mohan. “We confessed, as friend to
friend, that we should not have known
what step to take in such a case; and—we
determined to support your Highness.”
“Then you are still, I suppose, among
those who call us fanatics P Do you know
that some of these fanatics have made the
name of England and the resolution of
England known on the Continent as it had
not been known before for ages P−and that
this has been done in a just cause, not on a
principle of military throat-cutting P Do
you know”—the fervour increasing—“that
we have made the Papal Duke of Savoy to
tremble for his cruel misdeeds, and the
Pope and Spain to make fair terms with
Cromwel/ in the Bank. w 22I
the Reformed Faith P You do P. Then
what is our fanaticism? Is it of heaven, Or
of men? My friend, John Milton, is he
fanatic P”
Tom Prim replied—
“Permit me to explain to your High-
ness.” And thereupon Tom told, in modest,
manly words, the story of the services of
the united families, of their wounds, their
devotion, and their loyalty, and of their
doubts as to the value of any services they
could then give in public affairs. Cromwell
listened without a word. When Tom had
finished, he said—
“Part of this I knew, but not all. You
are brave, noble people ; you fear God.
You have hinted, Master Prim, that I was
in the wrong in dismissing the Long Par-
liament. No P. Well, it is all the same—
that I am wrong in not allowing any
222 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
manner of persons to be sent to Parliament
—in not taking the ‘national sense,’ as the
babblers say. Do you know that there is
no such thing as national sense P. The
greater part of the nation is composed of
grown-up babies, who want toys, some of
one kind, some another. What could I do
with that big baby, Sir Harry Vane P”—
The three bankers smiled.—“Yes, you may
laugh. Supposing we had unrestrained
elections—that we threw the whole nation
in a turmoil, with enemies on every side—
what then P Surely the people are free by
the law of Parliament as it now stands.
No such freedom ever existed in England
before. My sole restriction is, that I will
not—and, by God's help, I will not l—have
a Parliament of traitors, adulterers, and
liars I”
Tom replied by asking—
Cromweſ/ in the Bank. 223
“Will your Highness allow me to speak
freely?”
“Yes, speak to me free as airl I came
to you for that purpose.”
“Then, sir, I think that although the
elections had resulted in what you say, still,
the consultation of the national will is the
only means of perpetuating righteous laws,
and no government is safe on any other
basis.”
“You would hardly have dared to say so
much to Charles Stuart P”
“I said something equally plain, your
Eſighmess, and without the reverence with
which I address you.”
“And the King replied ?—”
“‘Be thankful that Queen Henrietta has
not heard you.’”
“You do, then, deem my government
unsafe P”
224 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“I say it with the deepest sorrow and
the sincerest loyalty—I feel satisfied that
if your Highness died to-morrow you would
leave no dynasty.”
Cromwell started as if he had been stung.
After a long pause, he said—
“You speak hard things, Master Thomas
Prim; but you are a good man—of a body
of good men. I am surrounded with bad
men—assassins ; my life even is sought for,
my murder openly advocated and justified
from the Book of God. I am, however, in
God’s hands, and I shall not die before my
time I came to you to know what you
thought of me—from what point of view
you saw my policy and work. I thank
you. Come to me at Whitehall when you
have anything to say. Now”—holding out
his hand—“adieu ! Perhaps England may
find some day—perhaps, too, you may find,
The Interview Reported. 225
gentlemen—that a lost opportunity for
establishing a free and honourable govern-
ment may be long before it is again offered.
The love of tyranny never dies ſ”
A few minutes later the bank doors
closed on the Lord Protector, who drove
westward to Temple Bar, as he had driven
to the City, unobserved. The bank mean-
while was closed, but the bankers sat a full
hour afterwards in earnest conversation
before they carried their great news to
Monkerton.
“How did his Highness look?” said
Richard, when the story had been told.
“Ill and worn, vexed and tired, I thought,
but indomitable.” The answer was from
Ernest Mohan.
“You did not deem the visit one arising
from some passing weakness, such as the
bravest men may feel?”
WOL. III. 15
226 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“No,” replied Henry, slowly and sadly,
“there was no weakness, and neither was
there any uncertainty as to his own motives
and acts, but there was a great apparent
uncertainty as to how those motives and
acts were viewed. His concluding words,
like some others previously spoken, were
gloomily sad. I never shall forget the ex-
pression on his rugged face. I believe, too,
with him, that some of us may live to see
that we had the opportunity of freedom,
and lost it through our weakness.”
“Say rather,” Tom Prim replied, “through
the fact that we are not yet prepared by
education, or by the material independence
of the many when brought in contact with
the mighty influence of the all-powerful
few. The supremacy of a few men of
wealth in a village or parish is as a rule
irresistible; and it is all on the side of the
The Interview Reported. 227
ruling power, especially when that power is
bad; when it is good, purely selfish interests
are ignored. As for the trimming and
time-serving of the clergy, I loathe them as
a moral plague.”
“But Tom,” said Susan, “try for a short
time to leave these high and mighty
subjects. To not call me flippant, but tell
us what we all want to know ; or if you will
please to keep quiet, Ernest and Henry will
tell us. How did Cromwell act?–that is,
did he sit or stand? How was he dressed P
Did the buttonholes of his doublet seem as
if they needed re-working? Was his collar
awry, or were his shoe-buckles loose? Does
his Highness seem as if any one took care of
him P You see what I mean P. You have
given us no picture.”
Tom looked, with a smile, to Ernest, who
said—
lá—2
228 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“Well, let me see, Mistress Susan, now
that you name it, I think he did wear a
collar, and that the ends met somewhere
near to his right shoulder, instead of under
his chin. The buckles of his shoes—had
he buckles, though?”—looking to Henry
and Tom, who declared they did not know
—“Then I can say nothing of the buckles.
I am positive, however, as to the button-
holes. Yes, assuredly, there were button-
holes. Ah but did they appear as if they
needed re-working P. Well, that I do not
know. He was dressed decently, though,
in plain, simple attire, and he stood the
greater part of the time like a block of
granite. He first sat down when Tom
told him that his government, unless it
could exist in union with a free Parliament,
could not endure.”
“Well, we must be content, I suppose
7%e Interview Reported. 229
with this, and even be complimentary
enough to say that you have given us a
picture; but,” shaking her still beautiful
head, “it would have been a very different
one if you had been here, Ernest, and
Alice at the bank. Now you are quite at
liberty to go on your way with the
weightier matters.”
“Very well,” said Tom ; “then it was, on
the whole, a sad interview. The iron Lord
Protector for once was, I am sure, in his
heart craving for sympathy. The recent
discovery of the Royalist plot, and the
undoubted treasonable feeling of great
numbers of wealthy and influential persons,
cannot fail to have affected his great mind.”
“Can we answer his appeal to our
loyalty by once more taking active ser-
vice P” said Richard. “Tell me, silent
Harry Waye?”
230 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
“I do not think we can, Richard, and
for these reasons. The personal govern-
ment of Cromwell is at once its weakness
and its strength. To question it would be
to impair it ; yet I think none of us
would care to enter Parliament to merely
register the decisions of even so great a
man as Cromwell. I would in action sup-
port his decisions, and waive my own
views; but then he has no need now for
soldiers.”
“I acknowledge my sin,” Eldred said,
with like gravity, “but I am sure I should
cause some lamentable disturbance if I were
a member of Cromwell’s Parliament. He
means well, but he drives where he should
lead. He is a giant among pigmies, but
the pigmies have wives and families, and
the hopes of future days. When men find
that the affectation of superior goodness is
The Interview Reported. 23].
the way to distinction, I am afraid of the
supremacy of hypocrisy.”
This is the main drift and purport of the
conversation at Ingerstein Hall after Crom-
well's visit to the bank of Mohan, Ingerstein,
and Prim.

CHAPTER VIII.
CLOSING GLIMPSES.
ºHE spring and summer of 1658
§ tº passed away. The firm of Mohan,
Ingerstein, and Prim meanwhile had done
good service to the Lord Protector in
various ways; and in particular by their
accurate information, had checked and
frustrated one great plot against his person
and power. They never again spoke to the
Lord Protector after that his last visit to the
bank, but they knew of his difficulties, and
supported his kingship. They also had
sorrows all their own. At the end of
August Sir Richard Ingerstein died sud-
denly, but very peacefully, surrounded by


Deat/, of Richard Ingerstein. 233
his family and friends, and deepening in his
last moments the noble lessons of truth and .
justice, of charity and forbearance, which
he had so long inculcated by word and
deed. A fortnight before his illness, news
had come over the Thames of the death of
Cromwell's favourite daughter, Mrs. Clay-
pole, and that the Protector himself was
dangerously ill. The subject of Cromwell’s
illness had become one of thrilling interest
towards the end of the month, when all hope
of Sir Richard Ingerstein’s life had gone.
“Ah P said Richard, in a mournful tone,
“Cromwell will not long survive me. Then
you will have the Stuarts back. Oh-my
friends !”
This was about nine o’clock on the
evening of the 30th August. At ten, and as
if resuming the conversation, Richard said—
“Be careful and vigilant. Beware of
234 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
mistaking mere feeling for principle when
the new trial comes. * * * God bless you
all, and Fritz, and dear Agnes. * * * I am
weary. Maggie, my dear love, could you
lay your hand on my brow P. There ! Yes,
how blessed * * * Maggie—dearest—
farewell l’’
It was the last of Sir Richard Ingerstein.
The bank was closed, and the business
suspended. On the 3rd September the
roof of the Rise was partly carried away by
One of the most terrific storms in the
memory of man, and many cottages were
unroofed. In the lulls of the storm minute
guns were now and then heard booming
from the Tower, and Eldred Chadwick
said—
“It is the anniversary of the great
victories of Dunbar and Worcester; the
guns must be for them.”
The Last Wig/t of Cromwell. 235
“I think not,” Tom Prim replied; “the
firing announces the death of some great
person. Let us trust and pray that it may
not be Cromwell! What a fearful storm,
Eldred l’’
“Fearful indeed l’’
It was Cromwell, though, whose great
spirit had departed on the anniversary of
his victories, and in that mighty storm
which was a fit similitude of his stormy
mighty life.
Sir Richard Ingerstein was laid, without
pomp or display, in Monkerton church-
yard. Cromwell's funeral was of surpassing
grandeur, at a cost of 60,000/., and withal
with such real and general mourning as
rarely before had been known in England.
The solemn earth was afterwards compelled
to give up its dead, at the command of a
wretched Court, but the mourning was
236 /n/erstein Ha// and Chadwick Rise.
the mourning of England for her great
son, and his memory is hers for evermore.
If the reader will have the goodness to recall
our previous view of the Princess Elizabeth
of the Palatinate, we may advantageously
view her also, once again, before this scene
closes. Charles II. began to reign in June,
1660. In the same year the daughter of
Elizabeth, the Princess Sophia, gave birth
to a son, afterwards King of England. In
May, the following year, the Princess
Elizabeth landed again in England, and by
the munificence of her friend and unwearied
servant, Lord Craven, found peace in a
mansion purchased for her from Sir Robert
Drury, in a beautiful suburb of London,
now Drury Lane. She died a year later
at Leicester House. Her nephew, King
Charles II.-so often eulogised for his
“good-nature”—had abandoned her entirely
“The Glorious Restoration.” 237
till her death. Then he had her laid in
state and buried in the Abbey. Her
“nuptials had been celebrated” in the
banqueting-house at Whitehall on February
14th, 1613. She was buried in the Abbey
on the 13th February, 1662. Rarely has
such a story been told. She might have been
the wife of Gustavus and the mother of
heroes. She was—the Electress Palatine.
The year 1660 saw the dawn of the
“Glorious Restoration,” followed by the
desecration of the noble dust of Cromwell,
the disinterment of the bodies of his
mother, daughter, and others, and the
establishment of a law of immorality in
high places. One day news crossed the
water that Sir Harry Vane had been
executed; another—August, 1662—that
two thousand clergymen of the Church of
England had left their livings rather than
238 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
accept the hateful Act of Uniformity; a
sacrifice the nobleness of which caused much
rejoicing at the Hall and the Rise, where
several of the ejected clergy found homes.
In 1665 the great Plague of London
broke out, and in one year swept away more
than one hundred thousand persons, apart
from those who perished from other causes.
The Monkerton bankers had from the first
been in the habit of sleeping in turn, or
according to their taste, on the premises of
the bank, and they did not now flinch from
their duty when pandemonium seemed to
have been let loose in the city. Not
one of them shrank from his post ; nor was
there any greater flinching in the homes of
Monkerton. While the courtiers and the
fashionable clergy fled from their places in
panic, the spirit of the Hall and the Rise
at Monkerton, and of the cottages within
Monkerſon in the Great Plague. 239
their influence, rose to the need, and, like
that of the ejected clergy—the men against
whom the penal laws of this detestable reign
were made—witnessed for Humanity and
for God in that dismal night which left
Dondon a desert. Among the dead was
generous Ernest Mohan, who was cut off at
the bank midway in the year. Tom Prim and
Henry Ingerstein alone stood at his couch-
side. The clerks had nearly all fled as from
a dread judgment; and the attack was so
sudden that no other friend could be sent for.
This was the saddest bereavement that had
yet been known among the families with
which we are chiefly concerned in this his-
tory. Alice Mohan, at the solicitation of her
friends, went away towards the year's end to
her early home at Werner, but she only
remained a few months, and then returned
to mourn by the grave-side of her lost love.
240 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
The revelry at that grand “Taverne, the
Royall Oak,” in Lombard Street, was silent
by this time, but the bank was a house of
mercy, and little more, for all commercial
doings were for the time at an end.
Late in the following year the Great Fire
broke out, and in four days destroyed two-
thirds of London, and property valued at
nearly seven and a half millions sterling.
The bank of Mohan, Ingerstein, and Prim
was one of the buildings destroyed, but the
papers and property generally were rescued
and conveyed to Monkerton.
“Disasters are falling on us rapidly,”
Mabel Chadwick said, “but God will be with
us, I am persuaded, through it all;” and
she and Eliza, and Susan and Alice, and
every member of the united families, were
foremost in alleviating the sufferings of the
poor people. Wealthy men, if Pepys is to
The Dużch aſ Sheerness. 241
be trusted, refused to do anything for the
poor. One, Alderman Starling, “after our
men had saved his house, did give 2s. 6d.
among thirty of them,” while two hundred
thousand homeless people were encamped
in the fields about Islington and Highgate,
but numbers found better homes at Mon-
kerton. Through all these terrible times
the nation had been gratified with news of
victories more or less real over the Dutch.
Now to plague, fire, and famine, there was
added for England the humiliation of flying
before her enemies. On the 11th June,
1667, George Waye brought the dismal
intelligence that the Dutch had captured
Sheerness, after, as Pepys has it, “three
hours' dispute” with guns and other
weapons. “Oh, for a day of Blake and
Cromwell !” said Commodore Waye, wild
in his patriotic rage. English war-ships
WOL. III. I6
242 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
burnt, magazines destroyed, the flag
insulted, the sailors' wives at Wapping
calling out in the streets—“This comes of
not paying our husbands !” All work was at
an end. “The wretched Restoration l’’ said
George Waye. And it was wretched.
Pepys tells us that, “on the night the
Dutch burnt our ships, the King did sup
with my Tady Castlemaine at the Duchess
of Monmouth's, and they were all mad
hunting a moth.”
“Our men-of-war sunk by order of an
English Government—nine ships at Wool-
wich and four at Gravesend—to bar from
the Thames the enemy whom Blake had
defeated by the might of England's strong
arm l’’ again exclaimed Commodore Waye,
in the wildness of his heart; “ and these
contemptible courtiers all the time baiting
noble horses as well as noble bulls to death,
The Duſch aſ Sheerness. 243
and wantoning shamelessly in the sight of
the sun l’ a fact also noticed by Pepys.
“Yes,” said Tom Prim, with grim
sententiousness, “England has reaped and
now is sowing. Can anything be done,
Eldred P’’
“Nothing, Tom, yet awhile. We must
wait till the lessons sink deeply enough in
the national heart.”
“Yes,” said Harry Waye, “we must
hasten nothing. Our grand old Mother-
land has always won by waiting, and she
will do so again.”
“My curse upon them l’’ said George
Waye, with intense bitterness; and his
curse was not reproved even by the gentle
ladies who were present.
From 1625 to 1688 was a great span of
years, and at the latter date, of all the
young men and women we have known in
16—2
244 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
the former period, only three remained in
Monkerton—Commodore Waye, the head
of the great mercantile house of George
Waye and Sons; an aged lady, with a sur-
passingly sweet face, whom we once knew
as gentle, beautiful Mabel Ingerstein, and
later as Mabel Chadwick; and an old, grave
man, weighted with softened grief and care,
whom we knew of old as Tom Prim. Susan
and Margaret, Alice and Eliza, Henry and
Eldred, and Harry and Ernest, were gone,
and so also was Count Werner. But far
away from Monkerton, in that beautiful
mountain-land of Bavaria, where Count
Werner's body was laid, there lived an aged
lady, another Dowager Countess Werner,
and not unlike the venerable lady who bore
that name in the earlier chapters of this
picture of a bygone time. In that far-off
time this now aged lady was Agnes—“little
The Young Generation now Old. 245
Agnes”—Chadwick, sweet in childhood as
a rose-bud, and gentle and innocent in
womanhood as a little child. Agnes Werner
was the venerable head of a noble family
of children and grandchildren, some of
whom were in England, and some of whom
remained in the family home. Her letters
to Mabel and her letters from Mabel were
in the handwriting of two sweet girls, one
of whom wrote for grandmother Chadwick,
and the other for grandmother Werner, and
wrote in the same spirit in which Agnes
and Mabel had written for others in the now
far-off days.
Mabel Chadwick and Tom Prim had
stood together at so many death-beds, and
had so often heard together the last
words of loving farewell, that they now
at times felt, when the reminiscences of the
past crowded on them, especially when
246 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
alone together in the evening hours, before
the candles were lit, as if a deep and solemn
awe crept into their very being, and as if
unseen friends clustered around to share
their intercourse and bless the last years of
their lives. Children and grandchildren,
and the children and grandchildren of their
dead friends, came and went, with the
bright affection of youthful hearts; but the
aged friends had memories which, after all, no
other person could share, or which could in
part be shared by Commodore Waye alone.
Ernest Mohan had, as we have seen, been
dead since 1665. His wife had survived
him about six years; then, on a beautiful
spring evening, she too had passed away.
A year later Margaret Ingerstein had also
gone. To take up the story in its regular
course we must still recur to these bygone
years.
E/dred charged with Treason. 247
In the summer of 1670 Eldred Chad-
wick was apprehended on a charge of high
treason, and was committed to the Tower.
That the charge was false and vindic-
tive all Eldred’s friends knew, but they
also knew that it was, not on that account
any the less dangerous. Every member,
old and young, of the united house-
holds, therefore, was astir. Harry and
Tom and George were less calm and
restrained than Henry Ingerstein, and it
required all the prudence and watchful-
ness of Susan and Eliza to prevent their
husbands from taking some unreasonable
step, and so endangering everything. The
younger men of the several families worked
with a will, calling upon persons of in-
fluence, demanding information as to the
nature of the charges against Eldred, and
putting in operation every possible influence
248 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
that the law provided for the purpose of
hastening the trial, which they were assured
would end in an immediate acquittal. They
were destined to find, however, that the law
was not omnipotent under Charles II. The
IHabeas Corpus Act was yet some years in
the future, and the young men confessed at
last with great sorrow that they seemed
like persons beating the air. The courtiers
laughed at them, and called them. Round-
heads ; but they were brave enough to heed
not the senseless taunts. Mabel and her
friends were well-nigh in despair. Henry
Ingerstein alone among them was calm and
resolved.
The dark days near the end of November
arrived, and still Eldred was in the Tower.
“Let us,” said Harry, “Imake one more
effort to at least see our friend,” and Tom
and he, and Mabel and Susan, and Eliza,
Efforts to release Eldred. 249
crossed the Thames to Whitehall. It was
the year when the Cabal Ministry rose to
power, and the four friends were fortunate
enough to procure an audience, first with
the Duke of Buckingham, and then with
Lord Ashley of the Cabal. The Duke
laughed a little at the anxiety of what he
called “ the grave people of Monkerton,”
and assured them that all would be well
if the prisoner was not guilty. He
promised them his influence to the utmost.
Then he drove away to Charing, and they
saw him a little later with the King and
Mademoiselle Queronille, and concluded
rightly that he had not merely forgotten
his promise, but also the very existence of
JEldred Chadwick, and never would re-
member either again. Lord Ashley also
laughed when Tom Prim told him, an hour
later, of the promise of the Duke. “If
250 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
you think you can make any more of
Buckingham,” he said, “you will find him
at the Bear Garden, where there is a grand
bull-fight to-day. Would you like to see
the constable of Windsor Castle—Prince
Rupert?”
Tom Prim thought not, and asked Lord
Ashley if he himself could not help them.
He did not, he said, see how at present, but
they might call upon him again. In de-
spair they walked backward and forward to
and from Whitehall and Charing, the rain
falling in torrents, and their coach, which
had been sent for them from the bank,
nowhere to be seen. At last, after more
than an hour, the coach appeared from the
direction of a tavern; and, shivering with
cold, they drove to the bank through
streets then slowly taking form again after
the great fire. They found that Henry
Efforts ſo release //dred. 251
Ingerstein had been more successful than
they. He had by his influence in the city,
and especially with the newly sworn-in
Lord Mayor, Sir Richard Ford, pro-
cured an order from the Government for
their admission to the Tower, but he
implored Harry in particular not to go that
day.
“You are too cold, indeed, Harry,” he
said, “ and are unfit for this strain upon
your strength.”
“I have not, hard as I have tried, seen
Bldred once since his imprisonment,” Harry
replied; “you have several times, Henry.
Do not stop me, therefore, my friend.” So
they went together to the Tower.
The months of confinement had told
severely on Eldred, and he had now the
appearance of a man older than he really
was. He held Mabel in his arms long and
252 /n/erstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
tenderly, and the tears ran down his cheeks
as no one ever had seen tears run down
Eldred's cheeks before. He chafed some-
what at his weakness, but Nature had her
way. The interview was in the presence of
an officer, and beyond the words of private
affection, nothing could be said, save that
Bldred declared he had no conception what
the nature of the charges against him were.
“Be of good courage, my brother,”
Henry Ingerstein said, “we are now, I
think, on a fair way to your release.”
Then they returned sadly to Monkerton,
where Harry Waye was placed, all but in-
sensible, in bed, and long before morning
he was in a burning fever and delirious.
The days of his childhood then came
back to him—the blacksmith's shop, Peter
Prim, Susan, his father and mother, Com-
modore and Mistress Mordaunt, and the
Death of Harry Waye. 253
well-loved form of Eliza—the fight with
the bull, the darling rose-bud, the mutilated
face, the determination to go to America;
but above all, Eliza appeared like an angel
from heaven, saving him, now from death
in battle, now from destruction on a raft in
a boisterous sea, now from the human
wild beasts of the Thirty Years' War. It
was always Eliza, and that poor withered
moss-rose. For two days and nights the
struggle was terrible.
On the morning of the third day Henry
Ingerstein entered the sick-chamber, and
saw that a great change had taken place in
his friend. The fever seemed to have gone,
but with its departure life also had begun
to ebb away.
“Harry,” he said, “can you bear good
news P”
mrv’—in a low, faint voice—
“Yes, Henry’ 2
254 Ingerstein Ha/Z and Chadwick Rise.
“is Eldie free ? I dreamt he was. Is he
here P”
Eliza bent low and whispered, “Yes.”
The exertions of Henry Ingerstein, and the
fact that the King wanted money from the
City, had prevailed, and Eldred was free.
Defore the morning of the fourth day,
Harry Waye had gone from among men;
and before another winter Eliza his wife
was laid at his side. Eldred survived
them till the summer of 1672, but his con-
stitution, previously shattered in those
struggles of war, never recovered the last
shock of his cruel and relentless imprison-
ment. He slept peacefully away without a
struggle, and Mabel closed his eyes in death,
and followed him to the last home. Some
little time, however, before his death, Eldred
had said, when Mabel and Susan, and Tom
and Henry stood at his bedside—
A Resolve of Henry Ingerstein. 255
“Henry, what do you now propose to
do for England P Tom, I know, can do
nothing—eh, Tom P’’ Tom shook his head
sadly. Henry replied gravely—
“I some days ago accepted an invitation
to enter Parliament. Old as I am I will
fight these wretched Kings and Courts.”
“But, Henry,” said Eldred, in alarm, “be
careful, my brother; they are merciless.”
“Yes, I know they are, Eldie; but
is no
innocence—see your own case
security against them. I shall try my best
to counteract the lawless acts of Charles,
and to exclude James from the throne.”
“Then listen, my brother. Retire en-
tirely from the bank, and if, contrary to
your wish, and mine, the Duke of York
ascends the throne, put the sea between you
and him. There is Monmouth. Do not
be misled into supporting his claims. Ah,
256 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
my brother, I leave you at a sad time ! I)o
you remember that day, forty-seven years
ago, when we set forth for the Continent P
You remember it, Tom—eh P. Forty-seven
years ago How many of us are now left P
—Tom, one ; Susan, two ; George, three ;
Henry, four ;--is that all?—ay, five of us !”
and Eldred started as if in pain.
“Five, Eldie?” said Mabel, whose hand
was in his ; “why, you forget me?”
Eſe smiled tenderly, drew her closer to
him, and said—“ Pardon me one joke, my
dear. I never was much given to joking,
but the thought of poor Fritz came to my
mind—tell little Agnes so when you write
—and I wanted to make just one joke
before all was over. We two’—and his
voice grew lower—“are one !”
When all was over, Mabel, Susan, Tom,
and George sat together in the room of
Henry enters Parliament. 257
death, and whispered some broken words
which never can be recorded by mortal pen.
Henry retired from the bank, and almost
immediately afterwards entered Parliament.
It was, as he said, too late in life to make
his mark as a speaker, but he was the centre
and soul of a little party which stung to the
quick the Court and the trimmers-—not yet
named trimmers, but existing. He very
soon had enemies on all sides of the House,
and attempt after attempt was made to ruin
the bank, but without avail. The manage-
ment, in the hands of sons of two of the
three first partners, and sons of Richard and
Eldred, was so prudent and wary, and the
City so alive to an infringement of its
privileges, that the Court and the pseudo-
patriots alike retired defeated. They then
struck at Henry personally, and in May,
1685, on the urgent entreaty of Mabel,
WOL. III. J.7
258 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
Susan, and Tom, supported by the entire
families, Henry put the sea between him
and King James, who had then been three
months on the throne. When bidding
Mabel farewell, he said, in the presence of
Susan and Tom—
“And now, my dear sister, you may at
last learn the secret you were once so
anxious to know.”
“Well, my dear Henry P’’
“I mean—soon, not now. You shall
learn it from another.”
Mabel looked at her brother in astonish-
ment, and so did Susan and Tom.
“Are we, then, to ask nothing more, my
brother?” said Mabel, tenderly.
“Not at present; but you shall soon
know all.”
Then they said an adieu as for a tem-
porary parting, and dreamt not that it was,
Henry charged with Treason. 259
as however it was, their last meeting on
this side of the grave. The departure of
Henry had been kept a close secret, and
very fortunately, for the vessel in which he
sailed down the Thames—a sharp little
cutter of George Waye's—was still in the
Downs when a body of soldiers arrived at
Ingerstein Hall with a warrant for the
committal of Henry Ingerstein to the
Tower. Happily the wind was fair, and
pursuit, which was at once given, was with-
out avail. When this was quite certain,
and the united families could breathe freely,
Mabel said, fervently—“Thanks be to God
for this and all His mercies to us ! Another
day and Henry might have died in prison.”
And that such would have been his fate
there cannot be a doubt.
In due time letters of joy came from
Bavaria. Agnes Werner described from
17–2
260 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
her full heart her meeting with Henry, and
Benry from a heart equally full of his
meeting with Agnes and her family. His
was a letter of marvellous length, and all
about the children and grandchildren of
Agnes and Fritz. It seemed, Mabel said,
as if he had required a page for each, and
ten for “little Agnes,” as he still would call
her. Another letter of a gloomier character,
from Agnes, said that Henry was anxious to
take some active steps for the dethronement
of James, and was strongly tempted to go
to the Hague. This occasioned great
sorrow in the homes of Monkerton, but
when months passed over, and Henry was
still at Werner, Mabel and her friends con-
cluded that he had dismissed the idea from
his mind, and had remembered his great
age, and the sorrow that his death would
cause to his friends. Meetings as of old
Escape of Henry Ingerstein. 261
were still held at the Hall and the Rise;
and Ingersteins and Wayes, and Prims and
Mohans, and Chadwicks and Werners of two
later generations than those with which we
have been chiefly concerned, bound them-
selves together against arbitrary power.
In one or two cases they narrowly escaped
the clutches of Jeffreys and Kirke, but they
did escape—thanks once more to the bank.
Towards the end of 1686, there came
from Agnes a letter, the contents of which
—after a page of mere small-talk, meaning
little—Mabel, and Tom, and Susan, and
George Waye, to the surprise of the younger
members of their families, kept to them-
selves.
“It is so very unusual,” said one of the
youngest of the young Werner's of the
second generation from Fritz. To this an
ardent Thomas Waye of about the same
262 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
age replied, with the united dignity of the
old bench of the wheelwright and the anvil
of the Smith—
“It is, indeed, very unusuall”
5
“So strange, too,” said Master Werner,
“ that grandmother Mabel should have begun
to read, and then stumbled as badly as old
T)avid Manners the church clerk, and folded
up the letter. I never knew anything like
it in all my life l’’
Something of the same surprise was at
the same time existing in another room,
where Mabel was reading aloud to her three
aged friends the letter of Agnes. At the
point at which she had stumbled, as
sharp-witted young Werner put it, the
letter ran—
“And now, dear sister Mabel, I have the
strangest of all strange things to tell you,
and it must be confined while we old
Refuge of Henry Ingerstein. 263
people live to our friends Susan, Tom, and
George. I do not know how to begin; but
begin I must, for Henry, who is now walk-
ing on the lawn outside, has given me a
peremptory order to do so, and I am afraid
I must obey. You know how happy we
have been, and how darkly has loomed
before us Henry's dread threat of leaving
us for duty. All our grandchildren loved
him at once, and I assure you he also loved
them at once, with a great and holy love.
Of our third ‘little Agnes’—is it not solemn
to think of third P−he has made a little
idol, and has been so happy with her, and
appeared to receive so much pleasure from
her prattle, that I dared not, even in my
heart, disapprove the idolatry.
“Last Thursday morning we two old
people walked out after our manner, with
‘little Agnes,’ by our side, and we came at
264 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
last to the dear old summer-house, where
Fritz and I were left alone on that strangely
sad yet happy day. My son, Ernest, was
passing through the park at the time, and
Eſenry, to my surprise, took Agnes in his
arms and said, ‘Frnest, you must take
this young lady home; grandmama and I
wish to talk. Good-bye, my dear, till
dinner, and then for such fun l’.”
“What a strange idea, I thought. Then
IHenry came in, and said—‘Agnes, do you
think you can hear an old story—a story,
ha, so old?' I said I could, and would be
delighted, and he went on so gravely, and
curiously—but we old people are curious—to
say—‘Do you remember what an odd
blunder Eldred and Tom made in thinking
that the idol of Harry Waye was little
Agnes Chadwick, for whom Harry made
the spades and rakes P’ Of course, I said, I
Henry Ingerstein's Ideal. 265
remembered it all very well, but knew that
Harry had no such thought. ‘Well,” he
went on, with the utmost coolness, ‘ I also
fell into the error; I thought Harry was
deeply in love.’ ‘How stupid l’ I said.
‘Then Fritz came,’ he continued, slowly,
‘ and I said to myself that Agnes had at
least never dreamt of Harry’s love.’ ‘No, I
knew better, I replied. “And did love Fritz,'
he continued. ‘Yes, very dearly.’ ‘Did
little Agnes ever think,’ he now said, in the
sweet tender voice that we all so much
loved, ‘that any one else ever loved her?”
‘Oh, Henry !' I said, with a gulp like a little
child, “no l’ Then what a story he told
me, Mabel, of the love of years—of a whole
life; and I know that if Fritz saw us
then, and can see us now, he blessed and
blesses an affection so unselfish—so like his
53
OWIl.
266 Ingerstein Hal/ and Chadwick Rise.
At this point Mabel dropped the letter
On her knees, and wept aloud; and Susan,
and Tom, and George sobbed in company
with her. In a short time she resumed her
reading—
“We walked slowly towards home, and
Our ‘little Agnes met us. ‘Look, dear
Agnes,’ Henry said, ‘I have loved you since
you were like her’—lifting her in his arms
— and I love you still.’ I have now told you
all I can. Henry has promised me to stay
here another year. After that, I fear we
never can meet again till we meet in
heaven.”
Mabel again dropped the letter, and said,
with a sob—“And this, then, is Henry's
secret ! We have known in our lives some
of the least selfish of human hearts, the
fruit of the loving education of early days,
but none of us, I think, ever dreamt of
Henry Ingerstein's Zegacy. 267
Henry’s pure unselfish love—not even
you, dear Susan, did you?”
“Yes, I did once, but the thought passed
away, and I never mentioned it, I think,
even to Tom.”
The year 1687 was very near its close,
when a letter, sealed with black, arrived at
the bank from Bavaria, desiring the senior
partner of the bank—now, by one of the
chances of life, the son of Sir Richard
Ingerstein—to break gently to his aunt, the
Lady Mabel, that her brother Henry was
dead, and when the first tidings had been told,
to give her a note enclosed. The note ran–
“Henry died, my loved sister, with a
face bright with joy. He told me a few
moments before the end that he would
make Fritz happier—of course, that would
have been heathenish, but he did not Iſléall
happier—by telling him of their common
268 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
love, and how strangely it came to be con-
fessed in our old age. This, I fear, will be
my last letter with my own hand. It has
pained me much to write this letter.”
Such indeed was the case. Agnes never
wrote another letter with her own hand.
Mabel, and Susan, and Tom talked long
that day of the noble love of Henry, and of
what “little Agnes Chadwick” was when
she won that love, and knew not what
she had won. Happy had she been, and
happy was she to the end. When the
“ days of sorrow” for Henry were at an
end, Mabel said—
“I now remember that I have among my
treasures two packets given to me by
Henry, the one on the day when Fritz left
England a “ disgraced man,’ as he was
pleased to think himself, but a disgraced
man he never failed to remember, rich in
Henry Ingerstein's Legacy. 269
Agnes Chadwick's love ; the second at a
later period after Agnes was married. The
first contained something which Henry told
me, in his gravely boyish way, had been
written a long time previously, and the
packet is endorsed in his boldest hand, to
the effect that it should be opened on his
death by myself, if I survived him ; if not,
by Richard, or some one of our friends
whose names follow. The same is on the
second packet, which is doubtless my dear
brother's will.”
The packets were produced, and were
found to be endorsed with the names of Sir
John Ingerstein and Mr. Eldred Chadwick,
of Mabel and Margaret, of Richard and
Eldred, of Harry Waye and Tom Prim, and
of Father Altona. On a second cover,
beneath that of the earlier packet, was
written—“How solemn to wonder, as I am
270 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
wondering to-night, which of the names I
shall write outside this cover will be those
of living persons when the time comes.”
Mabel handed the packet tearfully to
Susan, and said— -
“Open it, dear Susan ; I cannot.”
Susan opened the packet, and Tom read
a brief, firm, business document, the
preamble of which stated that Henry wrote
with a full knowledge that he had no power
to make a will, and indeed had nothing to
bequeath, save a few trinkets, and the
revelation of a true love which never would
change. “I have,” he continued, “been
weak from childhood, yet there have been
times when I hoped some day to call my
little Agnes mine, as I am her’s to my life’s
end. I see now it cannot be. If, therefore,
I die with little to bequeath, let that little
belong to Agnes. If I live to possess
- Henry Ingerstein's Legacy. 27]
property, and yet have by any chance
neglected to make a will, let all go to my
dear Agnes and her family, for with that
object I shall work.”
The second packet was a will, drawn up evi-
dently on careful instructions, by an eminent
lawyer and signed on the very day when
Agnes was married. It was a careful provision
for legally carrying out the intention of the
first document, and it also was in an en-
closed cover, on which was written—“T
have made this will, not because I fear that
the expression of my wish might be in-
sufficient for any of my friends, save one—
I dread Agnes only, and it must be made
so that she cannot refuse to accept my last
wish, or if she does, that no one else can
accept it if she lives, or if she have a
husband or child living ; but that if she do
so, it will go to the Crown. No friend
272 Ingerstein JHa// and Chadwick Rise.
of ours would like that alternative.” In
case Agnes died unmarried, Henry had
directed that Mabel should take her
place.
“Read no farther, Tom,” Mabel said.
“Let us write to dear Agnes to-day, and
send the packets by special messenger.
We are all so old that a day might be too
late. I would not have Agnes die in
ignorance of these packets, which mean—
oh such a sacrifice as I hardly thought
we should know any more in life l’’
Mabel’s voice, broken with age, died away
here, and the last of these words were
faltered rather than spoken. Tom, who was
throughout equally affected, again stam-
mered out something about the example of
Sir John Ingerstein and Lady Ingerstein,
and of Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick, the elders
of the Hall and the Rise that we at first
The Lasſ of the Young People of 1625. 273
knew, and ascribed all to that example—to
the sweet savour of their unselfish, self-
sacrificing lives.
The packets were sent without a day's
delay to Bavaria, and in due time a letter
from Agnes, but written by her grand-
daughter, was received. A few words in
her own hand said—
& C Henry told me of some packets, but
fearing the injustice he might be doing you,
I would gladly have heard of them no more.
The priceless love he has given me cannot
be willed.” All the same, however, the
legacy gave two spirited grandchildren of
“little Agnes” a fine and honourable position
in London; a position of work, and of great
influence for the good of others.
George Waye had long lived in a house
he had built on the site of Frobisher
Cottage, and his evenings were mostly
WOL. III. I8
274 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
spent in telling to a whole host of young
people—grandchildren by courtesy, and in
some cases in fact—stories of the Spanish
Main and of glorious Admiral Blake. His
“work-days,” till a few months prior to this
period of our history, were mostly spent in
his shipbuilding yards at Blackwall and
TXeptford, and in the great ironworks of his
nephews at Mortlake. Of late, however—-
1689—he had been compelled to abridge
his journeys, and he now rarely wandered
farther than the Monkerton churchyard,
where he had precious graves, and where he
often met with Tom Prim and Lady
Mabel Chadwick, who had also precious
graves there, as Mabel had others in the
grounds of her own Chadwick Rise—
others claimed also by Tom. Susan had
been dead a few months. Her death was
in this wise: Mabel and she had been
“You are Just in 7%me, Tom.” 275
sitting together, talking and looking on the
lawn of Chadwick Rise, along which Tom
was approaching with the infirm steps of an
old man. Suddenly Susan complained of a
sharp spasm, and a severe pain in her head,
and before Tom reached the Rise she had
been assisted by Mabel to a couch.
“You are just in time, Tom,” Susan said,
in a low voice. “It would have distressed
me beyond all if you had not been here.”
“Nonsense !” he said, with a little of his
old impetuosity; “ you are not going to die
—you shall not die I will send for a
doctor—I will 2 7
Susan put her aged hand, even playfully,
on his lips, and said—“Tom, I am going.
It is a question of minutes now, Tom.
Good-bye, dear old fellow—good-bye! and
Mabel, my dear, good-bye, too—till we
meet again. It is too late for me to see
18–2
276 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
the dear little children, but give them—
my—”
“It is all over,” said Mabel, while Tom
Prim sobbed bitterly. And they mourned
for Susan many days. Mabel and Tom
were at last in one sense alone ; and they
seemed to grow still dearer to each other in
these latter days. George strolled almost
daily to the churchyard in a spirit of reve-
rence and love, but not exactly in the same
spirit of communion with the living spirits
that made Mabel and Tom one. Tom's
house seemed now in his lonely old age to
be hardly near enough to his father's cottage
and the cottage of Harry Waye, and Susan;
but he strolled daily from the one cottage
to the other, and then to the churchyard, to
shed a quiet tear over his father and mother,
and Harry and Sarah Waye the elder, and
Harry the younger, and Eliza, and some
Tom Prim Sleeps in the Churchyard. 277
others; and then, last of all, before turning
home, more than one, or two, or three tears
over his dearly beloved Susan.
One day, in the depth of winter, Tom had
wandered to the churchyard with his grand-
child, a little girl of about five years of age,
and as she prattled to him he sat down
by Susan’s grave. The little child ran
from grave to grave, and at last seeing
Grandmamma Mabel—as she was called by
all the children—walking slowly up the
path, she held up her little fore-finger and
said—“ Hush, Grandma!—Grandpa Prim
'sleep !” • .
Lady Chadwick started, and walked
towards the grave, and as she came near she
saw that the head of Tom Prim had fallen
on his breast. Mabel went reverently to
where her friend sat, and kissed his cold
brow. The spirit had for ever gone. She
278 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
survived him a few weeks. Before another
year George Waye had followed his friends
to the long home. The generation of 1625
was gone from the homes we have known at
Monkerton. Agnes Werner survived her
friends three years, and with her the drama
of 1625 closed.
Before the seventeenth century had gone
into eternity, there was a very tangled
and very beautiful skein—or web—of
human life woven from the warp and
woof which we have seen in the Hall
and the Rise, in the cottages of Harry
Waye and Peter Prim, on the estate in
Bavaria, and in the home established by
Ernest and Alice Mohan. The blood of the
Ingersteins, and Wayes, and Chadwicks,
and Prims, and Werners, and Mohans, had
become so intermingled that it was difficult
to determine which of several honourable
7%e End of a Century. 279
families was the Prim and which the Inger-
stein and which the Mohan, and Chadwick,
and Waye.
On an evening in September, 1714,
several of the descendants of the united
families saw a strange ceremony at Green-
wich, and saw it with uncommon interest,
from the fact that it was one of many links
in the chain of some of their most cherished
and memorable traditions. A Prince who
could not speak the English language, but
who came, as he said, to fill “ the throne of
his ancestors,” landed that evening from
Germany, and a Court among the strangest
ever known in England was thereupon held
at Greenwich. He was the son of the
Elector of Hanover, and of Sophia, fifth
and youngest daughter, and thirteenth and
youngest child, of the Elector Palatine and
his wife, Elizabeth, daughter of King
280 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
James I., and sister of King Charles I.,
called the Martyr. That this gentleman
might reign in the Protestant succession,
not merely the male line of the Stuarts—
condemned by the nation, by their own
acts, and by the stern judgment of God—
had been set aside, together with the
Bouse of Savoy, descended from Henrietta,
daughter of Charles I., but all the heirs of
the elder children of the Elector Palatine,
and the Princess Elizabeth, were also passed
over ; so that it was said that if there had
been no Law of Protestant Succession no
fewer than fifty persons in the year 1714
stood nearer to the throne of England than
the Prince who was selected to fill it, or
who had been brought to it by the force of
circumstances and the national will.
It was, we again say, a year more than a
century later than that wherein the Elector
The Story of a Century. 281
had visited the Court of King James the Wise,
had scattered money lavishly among the
people, and finally had borne away the prize
of the King's daughter. What a story had
sprung from these materials | The Elector
Palatine and his wife had been driven, as
the first marked event of the Great War,
from the hereditary possessions which
they held, as well as from the throne of
Bohemia which they held not. In due
time the name of Rupert, their son, had
become woven into English history. Later
the male descendants of their ancestor,
King James I., and of unhappy King
James II., had been banished from the
English throne. Later still, the last direct
female descendant of these illustrious
monarchs had died, extolled by the English
Church as “good Queen Anne,” and covered
with the glory of war by an English
282 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
general among the first of any age. Now
came George, with, at least, a mighty
consent of English opinion, to fill the
throne from the steps of which the young
Elizabeth had been taken in 1613. Few
persons present at Greenwich that Sep-
tember evening saw these astounding facts
more clearly than did the representatives at
that time of the homes we have known in
Monkerton.
Let us picture, without individualising,
this last of the family groups to be referred
to in these pages. There were four gentle-
men and three ladies who spoke of when
grandfathers Ingerstein, Prim, Waye, and
Chadwick went away to the wars waged in
the name of freedom and of Luther against
the Pope and slavery in 1625; and there
were nearly a dozen as sweet girls and brave
boys as ever assembled to see the landing of
7%e Woff/er /essons. 283
a King. Outside this group there was talk
in whispers of the triumph of the Whigs
and the fall of the Tories, of the shadow on
Bolingbroke and Ormond, and even on
Marlborough. Inside this group there was
conversation, not in whispers—of the tra-
ditions of a century, ending in this accession
of the Hanoverian line of English Kings.
“Yes, my dear,” a gentle lady said to a
lovely girl, “the stout gentleman whom
you have seen is the grandson of the Elector
Palatine and the Princess Elizabeth, and
whatever this Prince may be in himself, he
undoubtedly represents the triumph of
Protestantism, political and religious, in at
least State affairs in England.”
“And,” continued a gentleman spoken to
as Master Eldred Waye, “you will see,
my dear children, that of the Princess
Elizabeth’s family of thirteen, only the
284 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
descendant of the Princess Sophia could
claim the throne as a Protestant. The
fortunes of the family have been extra-
ordinary. The eldest of Elizabeth's boys
was drowned at the age of fifteen. The
second, a man whose character stands badly
in history, became Elector Palatine, but the
dynasty has since passed away. Rupert
and Maurice lived for a time, as you know,
the lives of pirates, and died undis-
tinguished and unmarried. Maurice was
drowned far from his home ; Rupert
became a sort of recluse. Some of the
thirteen died young. The Princess
Elizabeth became Superior of a Lutheran
Abbey; her sister became Superior of a
Catholic Abbey. It is needless to give you
the list further; but when the direct suc-
cession was by the death of Queen Anne
clearly at an end, the Princess Sophia,
Closing Glimpses. 285
apparently the most obscure of all the
Elector's children, came to this splendid
heritage. I mean the most obscure in her
marriage, which at the time was looked
upon in the light of a settlement rather
than a union of affection. Yet if Sophia
had lived three months longer she had been
on the roll of English Queens.”
Bere our last glimpses of the homes of
Monkerton end. The Hall and the Rise
are now in streets along which crowds of
people pass, without, save in a very few
cases, thinking of what the fine old build-
ings represent of the joys and sorrows of a
bygone time. The Ingersteins and Chad-
wicks have, by the march of trade, been
pushed farther away from London, and at
the same time woven into the very heart
of London and England. The smithy at
Mortlake has grown into great works in
286 Ingerstein Hall and Chadwick Rise.
London, Yorkshire, and over the Atlantic.
The trade that grew up from 7%e Mabel
Ingerstein, barque, in the time of Gustavus
Adolphus, was the seed from which several
great mercantile houses sprung. The
families so strangely intermingled, have,
since 1714, produced one great judge, two
distinguished, and several able members of
the House of Commons, and One notable and
learned divine. But they are still bravely
“Latitudinarian” at the basis, and are still as-
sured that there remain battles of freedom to
be fought out to the end before Englishmen
are socially and politically free. The examples
and traditions of Gustavus and Cromwell
have had glorious fruit, if only in the fact
that no Waye, or Ingerstein, or Chadwick,
or Prim, or Mohan, or Werner, who is
proud of the old stock of 1625, is ever heard
to speak a word for religious ascendency, or
Closiny G/impses. - 287
to affix a stigma to any honest opinion.
And living in the spirit of the last words of t;
Peter Prim, not one of them, we may be well
assured, ever struck a blow, or spoke a word
for any despotism, or any tyrant, “that ever
Satan created.” Some of them are Catholic,
some Protestant, some neither the one nor
the other ; but all are the inheritors of free
principles, of loyalty to conscience, and of
faith in virtue and in human kind. No
more can be said for them as we look back
upon their hopes and acts over that dark
chasm of years; and no more can be said for
them as we view them from a nearer and
very different time. Would we wish, how-
ever, to sav more for anv friend P
5 y
THE END.
LONDON: . .
sAvrBL, FDWARDS AND Co., PRINTERS, CHANDos STREET,
covenT GARDEN.
:* * *...*.*.*.*.*. . . . . . . . . . .
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
||||||||||||
5 O6249 4292



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