H [I ' '^!!l i: Hi m! P Hi s I Hi. 'If,... iijiiiiliiiiiliiliiiii "j^^j^ .ie>2- ^ I ESMOND: A STORY OF QUEEN ANNE'S EEIGN. AV. M. THACKEEAY, AUTHOK OF "VANITY FAIR," " PENDENKIS," ETC., ETC. ISAAC HOOT LIBRARY THE HISTORY HENRY ESMOND, ESQ., A COLONEL IN THE SERVICE OF HER MAJESTY QUEEN ANNE. WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. Servetur ad imum Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet. LONDON : SMITH, ELDEE AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 1866. LIBRART UcavERsn V oi caijfornls p o aA^ TA BAliilARA Al / 9^Q TO THE RIGHT HONOUEABLE WILLIAM BINCiHAM, LORD ASHBURTON My DEAR Lord, The writer of Ji book which copies the manners and language of Queen Anne's time, must not omit the Dedication to the Patron ; and I ask leave to inscribe this volume to your Lordship, for the sake of the great kindness and friendship which I owe to you and yours. My volume will reach you when the Author is on his voyage to a country where your name is as well known as here. Where- ever I am, I shall gratefully regard you ; and shall not be the less welcomed in America because I am, Your oblised friend and servant, W. M. THACKERAY. London, October 18, 1852. PREFACE. THE ESMONDS OF VIRGINIA. The estate of Castlewood, in Virginia, which was given to our ancestors by King Charles the First, as some return for the sacri- fices made in his Majesty's cause by the Esmond family, lies in Westmoreland county, between the rivers Potomac and Eappa- hannoc, and was once as great as an English Principality, though in the early times its revenues were but small. Indeed, for near eighty years after our forefathers possessed them, our plantations were in the hands of factors, who enriched themselves one after another, though a few scores of hogsheads of tobacco were all the produce that, for long after the Eestoration, our family received from their Virginian estates. My dear and honoured fathci'. Colonel Henry Esmond, whose history, written by himself, is contained in the accompanying volume, came to Virginia in the year 1718, built his house of Castlewood, and here permanently settled. After a long stormy life in England, he passed the remainder of his many years in peace and honour in this country ; how beloved and respected by all his fellow-citizens, how inexpressibly dear to his family, I need not say. His whole life was a benefit to all who were connected with viii PREFACi-:. liiiii. He gave tlie best example, the best advice, the most boun- teous hospitality to liis friends; the tenderest care to his depen- dants; and bestowed on those of his immediate family such a blessing of fatherly love and protection as can never be thought of, by us, at least, -without veneration and thankfulness ; and my son's children, whether established here in our Eepublic, or at home in the always beloved mother country, from which our late quarrel hath separated us, may surely be proud to be descended from one who in all ways was so truly noble. Tily dear mother died in 1736, soon after our return from Eng- land, whither my parents took me for my education ; and where I made the acquaintance of ]Mr. Warrington, whom my children never saw. When it pleased Heaven, in the bloom of his jouth, and after but a few months of a most happy union, to remove him I'rom me, I owed my recovery from the grief which that calamity caused me, mainly to my dearest lather's tenderness, and then to the blessing vouchsafed to me in the birth of my two beloved boys. I know the fatal differences which separated them in politics never disunited their hearts ; and as I can love them both, whether wearing the King's colours or the Republic's, I am sure that they love me and one another, and him above all, my father and theirs, the dearest friend of their childhood, the noble gentleman who bred them from their infancy in the practice and knowledge of Truth, and Love, and Honour. My children will never forget the appearance and figure of their revered grandfather; and I wish I possessed the art of drawin"- (which my papa had in perfection), so that I could leave to our THE ESMONDS OF VIKGIMA. descendants a portrait of one who was so good and so respected. My father Avas of a dark complexion, with a very grea.t forehead and dark hazel eyes, overhung by eyebrows which remained black long after his hair was white. His nose was aquiline, his smile extraordinary sweet. How well I remember it, and how little any description I can write can recall his image ! He was of rather low stature, not being above five feet seven inclies in height; he used to laugh at my sons, whom he called his crutches, and say they were grown too tall for him to lean upon. But small as he was he had a perfect grace and majesty of deportment, such as I have never seen in this country, except perhaps in our friend JMr. Washington, and commanded respect wherever he appeared. In all bodily exercises he excelled, and showed an extraordinary quickness and agility. Of fencing he was especially fond, and made my two boys proficient in that art ; so much so, that when the French came to this country with Monsieur Rochambeau, not one of his officers was superior to my Henry, and he was not the equal of my poor George, who had taken the King's side in our lament- able but glorious war of independence. Neither my father nor my mother ever wore powder in their hair ; both their heads were as white as silver, as I can remember them. My dear mother possessed to the last an extraordinary brightness and freshness of complexion ; nor Avould people believe that she did not wear rouge. At sixty years of age she still looked young, and was quite agile. It Avas not until after that dreadful siege of our house by the Indians, which left me a widow ere I Avas a mother, that my dear mother's health broke. She never recovered X niEFACE. her terror and anxiety of those days, Avliich ended so fatally for me, tlion a bride scarce six months married, and died in my father's arms ere my own year of widowhood was over. From that day, imtil the last of his dear and honoured life, it was my delight and consolation to remain with him as his com- forter and companion; and from those little notes which my mother hath made here and there in the volume in which my father describes his adventures in Europe, I can well understand the extreme devotion with which she regarded him — a devotion so passionate and exclusive as to prevent her, I think, from loving any other person except with an inferior regard; her whole thoughts being centred on this one object of aifection and wor- ship. I know that, before her, my dear father did not show the love which he had for his daughter ; and in her last and most sacred moments, this dear and tender parent owned to me her repentance that she had not loved me enough : her jealousy even that my father should give his affection to any but herself; and in the most fond and beautiful words of affection and admonition, she bade me never to leave him, and to supply the place which she was quitting. With a clear conscience, and a heart inexpres- sibly thankful, I think I can say that I fulfilled those dying com- mands, and that until his last hour my dearest father never had to complain that his daughter's love and fidelity failed him. And it is since I knew him entu-ely, for during my mother's life he never quite opened himself to me — since I knew the value and splendour of that affection which he bestowed upon me, that I have come to understand and pardon what, I oyvn, used to anger me in THE ESMONDS OF VIEGKIA. my mother's lifetime, her jealousy respecting her husband's love. 'Twas a gift so precious, that no wonder she Avho had it was for keeping it all, and could part with none of it, even to laer daughter. Though I never heard my father use a rough word, 'twas extra- ordinary with how much awe his people regarded him ; and the servants on our plantation, both those assigned from England and the purchased negroes, obeyed him with an eagerness such as the most severe taskmasters rou.nd about us could never get from their people. He was never familiar, though perfectly simple and natural ; he was the same with the meanest man as with the greatest, and as courteous to a black slave-girl as to the governor's wife. No one ever thought of taking a liberty with him (except once a tipsy gentleman from York, and I am bound to own that my papa never forgave him) : he set the humblest people at once on their ease with him, and brought down the most arrogant by a grave satiric way, which made persons exceedingly afraid of him. His courtesy was not put on like a Sunday suit, and laid by when the company Avent away ; it was always the same ; as he was always dressed the same whether for a dinner by ourselves or for a great entertainment. They say he liked to bo the first in his company ; but what company was there in which he would not be first ? When I went to Europe for my education, and we passed a winter at London with my half-brother, my Lord Castlewood and his second lady, I saw at her Majesty's Court some of the most famous gentlemen of those days ; and I thought to myself none of these are better than my papa ; and the famous Lord Bolingbroke, who came to us from Dawley, said as much, Sa PREFACE. and that the men of that time were not like those of his youth : — '•' Were your father, Madam," he said, " to go into the woods, the Indians would elect him Sachem ; " and his lordship was pleased to call me Pocahontas. I did not see our other relative, Bishop Tusher's lady, of whom so much is said in my papa's memoirs — althcugli my mamma went to visit her in the country, I have no pride (as I showed by complying with my mothers request, and marrying a gentleman who was but the yoimger son of a Suffolk Baronet), yet I own to a decent respect for my name, and wonder liow one who ever bore it, should change it for that of Mrs. Thomas Tusher. I pass over as odious and unworthy of credit those reports (which I heard in Europe, and was then too young to understand), how this person, having left her family and fled to Paris, out of jealousy of the Pretender betrayed his secrets to mv Lord Stair, King George's Ambassador, and nearly caused the Prince's death there ; how she came to England and married this Mr. Tusher, and became a great favourite of Eling George the Second, by whom Mr. Tusher was made a Dean, and then a Bishop, I did not see the lady, who chose to remain at her palace all the time we were in London ; but after visiting her, my poor mamma said she had lost all her good looks, and warned me not to set too much store by any such gifts which nature had bestowed upon me. She grew exceedingly stout ; and I remember my brothers wife, Lady Csistlewood, saying — ■' Xo wonder she became a favourite, for the King likes them old and ugly, as his father did before him." On which papa said — " All women were alike ; that there was never one so beautiful as that THE ESMONDS OF VIRGINIA. one; and that we could forgive her every thing but her beauty." And hereupon my mamma looked vexed, and my Lord Castlewood began to laugh ; and I, of course, being a young creature, could not undtir^stand what was the subject of their conversation. Alter the circumstances narrated in the third book of these Memoirs, my father and mother both went abroad, being advised by their friends to leave the country in consequence of the trans- actions which are recounted at the close of the volume of the jMeinoirs. But my brother, hearing how the future Bishop's lady had quitted Castlewood and joined the Pretender at Paris, pursued him, and would have killed him, Prince as he was, had not the Prince managed to make his escape. On his expedition to Scotland directly after, Castlewood was so enraged against him that he asked leave to serve as a volunteer, and join the Duke of Argyle's army in Scotland, whicli the Pretender never had the courage to face ; and thenceforth my Lord was quite reconciled to the present reigning family, from Avhom he hath even received promotion. Mrs. Tusher was by this time as angry against the Pretender as any of her relations could be, and used to boast, as I have heard, that she not only brought back my Lord to the Church of England, but procured the English peerage for him, which the junior branch of our family at present enjoys. She was a great friend of Sir Eobert Walpole, and would not rest until her husband slept at Lambeth, my papa used laughing to say. However, the Bishop died of apoplexy suddenly, and his Avife erected a great monument over him ; and the pair sleep under that stone, with XIV TREFACE. ;i canopy of marble clouds and angels above them — the first Mrs. Tusher lying sixty miles off at Castlewood. But my papa's genius and education are both greater than any a -woman can be expected to have, and his adventures in Europe far more exciting than his life in this country, which was past in the tranquil offices of love and duty ; and I shall say no more by way of introduction to his Memoirs, nor keep my children from the perusal of a story which is much more interesting than that of their affectionate old mother, EACHEL ESMOJ^^) WAKEINGTON. Castlewood, VrEGisiA November 3, 1778. CONTENTS. BOOK I. THE EAKLT TOITTH OF HENET ESMOND, UP TO THE TIME OF HIS LEAVING TRINITY COLLEGE, IN CAMBRIDGE. Page Chap. I. — An Account of the Family of Esmond of Castlewood Hall 4 II. — Relates how Francis, Fourth Viscount, arrives at Castlewood 9 III. — Whither in the time of Thomas, Third Viscount, I had pre- ceded him as Page to Isabella 17 IV. — I am placed under a Popish Priest and bred to that Religion. Viscountess Castlewood 28 V. — My Superiors are engaged in Plots for the Restoration of King James II 35 VI.— The Issue of the Plots.— The Death of Thomas, Third Vis- count of Castlewood ; and the Imprisonment of his Vis- countess 4& VII. — I am left at Castlewood an Oi"phan, and find most Kind Pro- tectors there _ 6 1 VIII. — After Good Fortune comes Evil G9 IX. — I have the Small-pox, and prepare to leave Castlewood 78 X. — I go to Cambridge, and do but little Good there 97 XI. — I come Home for a Holiday to Castlewood, and find a Skeleton in the House 105 Xn. — My Lord Mohun comes among us for no Good 117 XIII. — My Lord leaves us and his Evil behind him 127 XIV.— We Ride after Ilira to London 140 xvi CONTEXTS. BOOK II. coNT.viss MR. Esmond's militahy life, and other matters appertaining TO THE ESMOND FAMILY. Page CiiAP. I. — I am in Prison, and Visited, but not Consoled there l")? n. — I come to the End of my Captivity, but not of my Trouble 167 III. — Take the Queen's pay in Quin's Eegiment 176 rv. — Recapitulations _ 185 V. — I go on the Vigo Bay Expedition, taste Salt Water, and smell Powder 1 9 1 VI.— The 29th December 202 VII. — I am made Welcome atr Walcote 209 Vni.— Family Talk 2 1 9 IX.— I make the Campaign of 1704 226 X. — An Old Story about a Fool and a Woman 23G XI. — The famous ili-. Joseph Addison 245 XII. — I get a Company in the Campaign of 1706 256 XIII. — I meet an old Acquaintance in Flanders, and find my Mother's Grave and my omti Cradle there 262 XIV.— The Campaign of 1707, 1708 274 XV. — General Webb wins the Battle of W}-nendael 282 BOOK in. CONTAINING THE END OF MR. ESMONTj's ADVENTURES IN ENGLAND. CiiAP. I. — I come to an End of my Battles and Bruises 309 n. — I go Home, and harp on the Old String 323 IIL — A Paper out of the Spectator 337 IV. — Beatrix's New Suitor 357 V. — Mohun appears for the Last Time in this History 367 VI. — Poor Beatrix 38 1 VII. — I visit Castlewood once more 387 VHL — I travel to France and bring home a Portrait of Eigaud 397 IX. — The Original of the Portrait comes to England 408 X.— We entertain a very Distinguished Guest at Kensington 422 XI. — Our Guest quits us as not being Hospitable enough 436 Xn.— A great Scheme, and who Baulked it 446 XTIT. — August 1, 1714 452 THE IISTOEY OP HENEY ESMOND. BOOK I. THE EAKLY YOUTH OF HENRY ESMOND, UP TO THE TIME OF HIS LEAVING TRINITY COLLEGE, IN CAMBRIDGE. The actors in the old tragedies, as we read, piped their iambics to a tune, .«!peaking from under a mask, and wearing stilts and a great head-dress. 'Twas thought the dignity of the Tragic Muse required these appurtenances, and that she was not to move except to a measure and cadence. So Queen Medea slew her children to a slow music : and King Agamemnon perished in a dying fall (to use Mr. Dryden's words) : the Chorus standing by in a set attitude, and rhythmically and decorously bewailing the fates of those great crowned persons. The Muse of History hath encumbered herself with ceremony as well as her Sister of the Theatre. She too wears the mask and the cothurnus, and speaks to measure. She too, in our ago, busies herself with the affairs only of kings ; waiting ou them obsequiously and stately, as if she were but a mistress of Court ceremonies, and had nothing to do with the registering of the affairs of the common people. 1 have seen in his very old age and decrepitude the old French King Lewis the Fourteenth, the type and model of king-hood — who never moved but to measure, who lived and died according to the laws of his Court-marshal, persisting in enacting through life the part of Hero ; and, divested of poetry, this was but a little wrinkled old man, pock-marked, and with B TUE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND. ;v great periwig aud red heols to make liiin look tall — a hero I'or a book if you like, or for a brass statue or a jiaintcd cciliiip:. a god in a Roman shape, but what more than a man for IMadame iNIaintenon, or the barber Avho shaved him, or Monsieur Fagon, his surgeon ? I wonder shall History ever pull oiF her periwig and cease to be court-ridden ? Shall we see something of France and England besides Versailles and "Windsor? I saAv Queen Anne at the latter place tearing down the Park slopes, after her stag-hounds, and driving her one-horse chaise — a hot, red-feced woman, not in the least resembling that statue of her ■which turns its stone back upon St. Paul's, and faces the coaches struggling up Ludgate Hill. She was neither better bred nor wiser than you and me, though we knelt to hand her a letter or a washhand basin. AVhy shall history go on kneeling to the end of time ? I am for having her rise up off her knees, and take a natural posture : not to be for ever performing cringes and congees like a Court-chamberlain, and shuffling backwards out of doors in the presence of the sove- reign. In a word, I would have History familiar rather than heroic : and think that Mr. Hogarth and Mr. Fielding will give our children a much better idea of the manners of the present age in England, than the Court Gazette and the newspapers which we get thence. There was a German officer of Webb's, with whom we used to joke, and of whom a story (whereof I myself was the author) was got to be believed in the army, that he was eldest son of the here- ditary Grand Bootjack of the Empire, and heir to that honour of which his ancestors had been very proud, having been kicked for twenty generations by one imperial foot, as they drew the boot from the other. I have heard that the old Lord Castlewood, of part of Avhose lamily these present volumes are a chronicle, though he came of quite as good blood as the Stuarts whom he served (and who as regards mere lineage are no better than a dozen English and Scottish houses I could name), Avas prouder of his post about the Court than of his ancestral honours, and valued his dignity (as Lord of the Butteries and Groom of the King's Posset) so highly, that he cheerfully ruined himself for the thankless and thriftless race who bestowed it. He pawned his plate for King Charles the OUR MOST EELIGIOUS KING. First, mortgaged his property for the same cause, and lost the greater part of it by fines and sequestration : stood a siege of his castle by Ireton, wliere his brother Thomas capitulated (aiterward making terms with the Commonwealth, for which the elder brother never forgave him), and where his second brother Edward, who had embraced the ecclesiastical profession, was slain on Castlewood tower, being engaged there both as preacher and artilleryman. This resolute old loyalist, who was with the King whilst his house was thus being battered down, escaped abroad with his only son, then a boy, to return and take a part in Worcester fight. On that fatal field Eustace Esmond was killed, and Castlewood fled from it once more into exile, and henceforward, and after the Restoration, never was away from the Court of the monarch (for whose return Ave ofler thanks in the Prayer-Book) who sold his country and who took bribes of the French king. "What spectacle is more august than that of a great king in exile ? Who is more worthy of respect than a brave man in misfortune. Mr. Addison has painted such a figure in his noble piece of Cato. But suppose fugitive Cato fuddling himself at a tavern with a wench on each knee, a dozen faithful and tipsy companions of defeat, and a landlord calling out for his bill ; and tl 3 dignity of misfortune is straightway lost. The Historical Muse turns away shamefaced from the vulgar scene, and closes the door — on which the exile's unpaid drink is scored up — upon him and his pots and his pipes, and the tavern-chorus which he and his friends are singing. Such a man as Charles should have had an Ostade or Mieris to paint him. Your Knellers and Le Bruns only deal in clumsy and impossible allegories : and it hath always seemed to me blasphemy to claim Olympus for such a wine-drabbled divinity as that. About the King's follower the Viscount Castlewood — oi-phan of his son, ruined by his fidelity, bearing many wounds and marks of braver}', old and in exile, his kinsmen I suppose should be silent ; nor if this patriarch fell down in his cups, call fie upon him, and fetch passers-by to laugh at his red face and white hairs. What ! does a stream rush out of a mountain free and pure, to roil through fair pastures, to feed and throw out bright tributaries, and to end in a village gutter ? Lives that have noble commencements have THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOXD. of^en no better endings ; it is not without a kind of awe and reve- rence that an observer should S2:)eculate upon such careers as he traces the course of thetn. I have seen too much of success in life to take off my hat and huzza to it as it passes in its gilt coach : and would do my little part with my neighbours on foot, that they should not gape with too much wonder, uor applaud too loudly. Is it the Lord IMayor going in state to mince-pies and the Mansion House ? Is it poor Jack of Xewgate's procession, with the sheriff and javelin- men, conducting him on his last journey to Tyburn ? I look into my heart and think that I am as good as my Lord Mayor, and know I am as bad as Tyburn Jack. Give me a chain and red gown and a pudding before me, and I could play the part of Alderman very well, and sentence Jack after dinner. Starve me, keep me from books and honest people, educate me to love dice, gin, and pleasure, and put me on Hounslow Heath, with a purse before me and I will take it. " And I shall be deservedly hanged," sav you, wishing to put an end to this prosing. I don't say no. I can't but accept the world as I find it, including a rope's end, as long as it is in fashion. CHAPTER I. Alf ACCOUNT OF THE FAMILY OF ESMOND OF CASTLEWOOD HALL. When Francis, fourth Viscount Castlewood, came to his title, and presently after to take possession of his house of Castlewood, county Hants, in the year 1691, almost the only tenant of the place besides the domestics was a lad of twelve years of age, of whom no one seemed to take any note until my Lady Viscountess lighted upon him, going over the house with the housekeeper on the day of her arrival. The boy was in the room known as the book-room, or yellow gallery, where the portraits of the family used to hang, that fine piece among others of Sir Antonio Van Dyck of George, second Viscount, and that by Mr. Dobson of my lord the third Viscount, just deceased, which it seems his ladv and widow did not think fit to carry away, Avhen she sent for and carried off to her house at Chelsey, near to Loudon, the picture of herself by ACCOUNT OF THE FAMILY OF ESMOND. Sir Peter Lely, in Avhich lier ladyship was represented as a huntress of Diana's court. The new and feir lady of Castlewood found the sad lonely little occupant of this gallery busy over his gi^at book, which he laid down when he was aware that a stranger was at hand. And, knowing who that person must be, the lad stood up and bowed before her, performing a shy obeisance to the mistress of his house. She stretched out her hand — indeed when was it that that hand would not stretch out to do an act of kindness, or to protect grief and ill-fortune ? " And this is our kinsman," she said ; " and what is your name, kinsman ? " " My name is Henry Esmond," said the lad, looking up at her in a sort of delight and wonder, for she had come upon him as a Dca certe, and ajipeared the most charming object he had ever looked on. Her golden hair was shining in the gold of the sun ; her complexion was of a dazzling bloom ; her hps smiling, and her eyes beaming with a kindness which made Harry Esmond's heart to beat with surprise. " His name is Henry Esmond, sure enough, my lady," says Mrs. "Worksop the housekeeper (an old tyrant whom Henry Esmond plagued more than he hated), and the old gentlewoman looked significantly towards the late lord's picture, as it now is in the family, noble and severe-looking, with his hand on his sword, and his order on his cloak, which he had from the Emperor during the war on the Danube against the Turk. Seeing the great and undeniable likeness between this portrait and the lad, the new Viscountess, who had still hold of the boy's hand as she looked at the picture, blushed and dropped the hand quickly, and walked down the gallery, followed by Mrs. Worksop. When the lady came back, Harry Esmond stood exactly in the same spot, and Avith his hand as it had fallen when he dropped it on his black coat. Her heart melted I suppose (indeed she hath since owned as much) at the notion that she should do anything unkind to any mortal, great or small ; for, when she returned, she had sent away the housekeeper upon an errand by the door at the farther end of the gallery ; and. coming back to the lad, with a look of iufmito THE HISTORY OF IIEXRY ESMOND. pity and tenderness in her eyes, she took his hand again, placing her other fair hand on his head, and saying some words to him, wliich were so kind and said in a voice so sweet, that the boy, who had never looked upon sme at evening made a great cawing. At the foot of the hill was a river with a steep ancient bridge crossing it ; and beyond that a large pleasant green flat, where the village of Castlewood stood and stands, with the church in the midst, the parsonage hard by it, the inn with the blacksmith's forge beside it, and the sign of the Three Castles on the elm. The London road stretched away towards the rising sun, and to the west Avere swelling hills and peaks, behind which many a time Harry Esmond saw the same sun setting, that he now looks on thousands of miles away across the great ocean — in a new Castlewood, by another stream, that bears, like the new country of wandering iEneas, the Ibnd names of the land of his youth. The Hall of Castlewood was built with two courts, whereof one j only, the fountain court, was now inhabited, the other having been j battered down in the Cromwellian wars. In the fountain court, siiil in good repair, was the great hall, near to the kitchen and butteries. A dozen of living-rooms looking to the north, and com- municating with the little chapel that faced eastwards and the buildings stretching from that to the main gate, and with the hall Cwhicli looked to the west) into the court now dismantled. This 26 THE HISTORY OF HEXEY ES5I0KD. court had been the most magnificent of the t\vo,imtil the Protector's cannon tore down one side of it before the place was taken and stormed. The besiegers entered at the terrace under the clock- tower, slaying every man of the garrison, and at their head my lord's brother, Francis Esmond. The Restoration did not bring enough money to the Lord Castle- Avood to restore this ruined part of his house ; where were the morning parlours, above them the long music-gallery, and before which stretched the garden-terrace, where, however, the flowers grew again, which the boots of the Koundheads had trodden in their assault, and which was restored without much cost, and only a little care, by both ladies who succeeded the second viscount in the govern- ment of this mansion. Eound the terrace-garden was a low wall with a wicket leading to the wooded height beyond, that is called Cromwell's battery to this day. Young Harry Esmond learned the domestic part of his duty, which was easy enough, from the groom of her ladyship's chamber : serving the Countess, as the custom commonly was in his boyhood, as page, waiting at her chair, bringing her scented water and the silver basin after dinner — sitting on her carriage step on state occasions, or on public days introducing her company to her. This Avas chiefly of the Catholic gentry, of whom there Avere a pretty many in the country and neighbouring city ; and who rode not seldom to Castlewood to partake of the hospitalities there. In the second year of their residence the company seemed especially to increase. My lord and my lady Avere seldom Avithout visitors, in Avhose society it Avas curious to contrast the difference of behaviour be- tAveen Father Holt, the director of the family, and Doctor Tusher, the rector of the parish — ]Mr. Holt moving amongst the A-ery highest as quite their equal, and as commanding them all ; Avhile poor Doctor Tusher, Avhose position Avas indeed a difHcnlt one, having been chaplain once to the Hall, and still to the Protestant servants there, seemed more like an usher than an equal, and always rose to go aAvay after the first course. Also there came in these times to Father Holt many private visitors, Avhom after a little, Henry Esmond had little difficulty in recognizing as ecclesiastics of the Father's persuasion; Avhatever I BEGIN TO HAVE A VOCATION. 27 their dresses (and they adopted all) might be. These were closeted with the Father constantly, and often came and rode away Avithout paying their devoirs to my lord and lady — to the lady and lord rather — his lordship being little more than a cypher in the house, and entirely under his domineering partner. A little fowling, a little hunting, a great deal of sleep, and a long time at cards and .able, carried through one day after another with his lordship. When meetings took place in this second year, which often would happen with closed doors, the page found my lord's sheet of paper scribbled over with dogs and horses, and 'twas said he had much ado to keep himself awake at these councils: the Countess ruling over them, and he acting as little more than her secretary. Father Holt began speedily to be so much occupied with these meetings as rather to neglect the education of the little lad who so gladly put himself under the kind priest's orders. At first they read much and regularly, both in Latin and French ; the Father not neglecting in any thing to impress his faith upon his pupil, but not forcing him violently, and treating him with a delicacy and kindness which surprised and attached the child ; always more easily won by these methods than by any severe exercise of authority. And his delight in our walks was to tell Harry of the glories of his order, of its martyrs and heroes, of its brethren converting the lieathen by myriads, traversing the desert, facing the stake, ruling the courts and councils, or braving the tortures of kings ; so that Harry Esmond thought that to belong to the Jesuits was the greatest prize of life and bravest end of ambition ; the greatest career here, and in heaven the surest reward ; and began to long jfor the day, not only when he should enter into the one church ■and receive his first communion, but when he might join that fwondiirful brotherhood, which Avas present throughout all the jworld, and which numbered the wisest, the bravest, the highest Iborn, the most eloquent of men among its members. Father Holt Ibade him keep his views secret, and to hide them as a great treasure whicli would escape him if it was revealed ; and proud of this confidence and secret vested in him, the lad became fondly attached to the master who initiated him into a m3'stery so Avonder- ful and awful. 3\.nd Avhen little Tom Tuslier, his neighbour, came 28 THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND. Ironi school for his holiday, and said how he, too, was to be bred up for an English priest, and would get what he called an exhibition from his school, and then a college scholarship and fellowship, and then a good living — it tasked young Harry Esmond's powers of reticence not to say to his young companion, " Church ! priesthood I fat living ! My dear Tommy, do you call yours a church and a priesthood ? AYhat is a fat living compared to converting a hundred thousand heathens by a single sermon ? What is a scholarship at Trinity by the side of a cro'i^'n of martyrdom, with angels awaiting you as your head is taken oiF? Could your master at school sail over the Thames on his gown ? Have you statues in your church that can bleed, speak, walk, and cry ? My good Tommy, in dear Father Holt's church these things take place every day. You know Saint Philip of the Willows appeared to Lord Castlewood and caused him to turn to the one true church. No saints ever come to you." And Harry Esmond, because of his promise to Father Holt, hiding away these treasures of faith from T. Tusher, delivered himself of them nevertheless simply to Father Holt, who stroked his head, smiled at him with his inscrutable look, and told him that he did well to meditate on these great things, and not to talk of them except under direction. CHAPTER IV. I All PLACED UNDER A POPISH PKIEST AND BRED TO THAT RELIGION. VISCOUNTESS CASTLEWOOD. Had time enoiigh been given, and his childish inclinations been properly nurtured, Harry Esmond, had. been a Jesuit priest ere he was a dozen years older, and might have finished his days a martyr in China or a victim on Tower Hill : for, in the few months they spent together at Castlewood, Mr. Holt obtained an entire^ mastery over the boy's intellect and affections ; and had brought him to think, as indeed Father Holt thought with all his heart too, that no life was so noble, no death so desirable, as that which many brethren of his iamous order were ready to undergo. By love, by a brightness of wit and good-humour that charmed all, by an MR. HOLT IS CALLED AWAY. 29 autliority which he knew how to fissuiiie, by a mystery and silence about him Avhich increased the child's reverence for him, he won Harry's absolute fealty, and would have kept it, doubtless, if schemes greater and more important than a poor little boy's admission into orders had not called him away. After being at home for a few months in tranquillity (if tlieirs might be called tranquillity, Avhich was, in truth, a constant bicker- ing), my lord and lady left the country for London, taking their director with them : and his little pupil scarce ever shed more bitter tears in his life than he did for nights after the first parting with his dear friend, as he lay in the lonely chamber next to that Avhich the Father used to occupy. He and a few domes- tics Avere left as the only tenants of the great houce : and, though Harry sedulously did all the tasks Avhich the Father set him, he had many hours unoccupied, and read in the library, and bewildered his little brains Avith the great books he found there. After a while the little lad grew accustomed to the loneliness of the place; and in after days remembered this part of his life as a period not unhappy. When the family Avas at London the Avhole of the establishment travelled thither Avith the exception of the porter, Avho Avas, moreover, brewer, gardener, and Avoodman, and his Avife and children. These had their lodghig in the gate-house hard by, Avith a door into the court ; and a AvindoAv looking out on the green Avas the Chaplain's room ; and next to this a small chamber Avhere Father Holt had his books, and Harry Esmond his sleepino- jcloset. The side of the house facing the East had escaped the guns jof the CromAvellians, Avhose battery was on the height facing the 'Avestern court ; so that this eastern end bore few marks of demoli- tion, save in the chapel, Avhere the painted AvindoAvs surviving Edward the Sixth had been broke by the Commonwealthmen. In Father Holt's time little Harry Esmond acted as his familiar, xnd faithful little servitor; beating his clothes, folding his vcst- pents, fetching his Avater from the Avell long before daylight. I'eady to run anyAvhere for the service of his beloved priest. When the Father Avas aAvay he locked his private chamber; but he room Avhere the books Avere Avas Jeft to little Harry, who, but 30 THE HISTOKY OF HEXRY ESilOXD. for the society of this gentleman, was little less solitary when Lord Castlewood was at home. The French wit saith that a hero is none to his valet-de-cliamhre, and it required less quick eyes than my lady's little page was naturally endowed with, to see that she had many qualities by no means heroic, however much !Mrs. Tusher might flatter and coax her. "When Father Holt was not by, who exercised an entire authority over the pair, my lord and my lady quarrelled and abused each other so as to make the servants laugh, and to frighten the little page on duty. The poor boy trembled before his mistress, who called him by a hundred ugly names, who made nothing of boxing his ears — and tilting the silver basin in his face Avhich it was his business to present to her after dinner. She hath repaired, by subsequent kindness to him, these severities, which it must be owned made his childhood very unhappy. She was but unhappy herself at this time, poor soul, and I suppose made her dependants lead her own sad life. I think my lord Avas as much afraid of her as her page was, and the only person of the household who mastered her was Mr. Holt. Harry was only too glad when the Father dined at table, and to slink away and prattle with him after- wards, or read with him, or walk with him. Luckily my Lady Viscountess did not rise till noon. Heaven help the poor waiting- woman who had charge of her toilet ! I have often seen the j^oor wretch come out witli red eyes from the closet, where those long and mysterious rites of her ladyship's dress were performed, and the backgammon-box locked up with a rap on Mrs. Tusher's fingers when she jilayed ill or the game was going the wrong way. Blei5sed be the king who introduced cards, and the kind inven- tors of piquet and cribbage, for they employed six hours at least of her ladyship's day, during Avhich her family was pretty easy. Without this occupation my lady frequently declared she should die. Her dependants one after another relieved guard — 'twas rather a dangerous post to play with her ladyship — and took the cards turn about. Mr. Holt would sit Avith her at piquet during hours together, at which time she behaved herself properly ; and, as for Dr. Tusher, I beheve he would have left a parishioner's dying bed, if summoned to play a rubber with his patroness at Castle- I PEEP INTO PROHIBITED BOOKS. 31 wood. Sometimes, when they were in-ettj comfortable together, my lord took a hand. Besides these my lady had her faithful poor Tusher, and one, two, three gentlewomen whom Harry Esmond could recollect in his time. They could not bear that genteel service very long ; one after another tried and failed at it. These and the housekeeper, and little Harry Esmond, had a table of their own. Poor ladies ! their life was far harder than the page's. He was found asleep tucked up in his little bed, Avhilst they were sitting by her ladyship reading her to sleep, with the News Letter or the Grand Cyrus. My lady used to have boxes of new plays from London, and Harry was forbidden, under the pain of a whipping, to look into them. I am afraid he deserved the penalty pretty often, and got it sometimes. Father Holt applied it twice or thrice, when he caught the young scapegrace with a delightful wicked comedy of I\rr. Shadwell's or Mr. Wycherley's under his pillow. These, when he took any, were my lord's favourite readincr. But he was averse to much study, and, as his little page fancied, tc much occujiation of any sort. ^ It always seemed to young Harry Esmond that my lord treated him with more kindness when his lady was not present, and Lord Castlewood would take the lad sometimes on his little journeys a- hunting or a-birding ; he loved to play at cards and tric-trac with him, which games the boy learned to pleasure his lord : and was growing to like him better daily, showing a special pleasure if Father Holt gave a good report of him, patting him on the head, and promising that he would provide for the boy. However, in my ilady's presence, my lord showed no such marks of kindness, and iiffected to treat the lad roughl}^, and rebuked him sharply for 'little ifaults, for which he in a manner asked pardon of young Esmond jwhen they were private, saying if he did not speak roughly, she jwould, and his tongue was not such a bad one as his lady's— a point whereof the boy, young as he was, was very well assured. Great public events were happening all this Avhilc, of which the iimple young page took little count. But one day, riding into the lieighbouring town on the step of my lady's coach, his lordship and |.he and Father Holt being inside, a great mob of people came 32 THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND. hooting and jeering round the coacli, bawling out " The Bishops for ever ! " " Down with the Pope ! " " No Popery ! no Popery ! Jezebel, Jezebel ! " so that my lord began to laugh, my lady's eyes 'to roll with anger, for she was as bold as a lioness, and feared no- body ; whilst ^Ir. Holt, as Esmond saw from his place on the step, sank back with rather an alarmed face, crying out to her ladyship, " For God's sake, madam, do not speak or look out of window, sit still." But she did not obey this prudent injunction of the Father; slie thrust her head out of the coach window, and screamed out to the coachman, " Flog your way through them, the brutes, James, and use your whip !" The mob answered Avith a roaring jeer of laughter, and fresh cries of " Jezebel ! Jezebel ! " My lord only laughed the more : he was a languid gentleman : nothing seemed to excite him commonly, though I have seen him cheer and halloo the hounds very briskly, and his face (which was generally very yellow and calm) grow quite red and cheerful during a burst over the Downs after a hare, and laugh, and swear, and huzzah at a cockfight, of which sport he was very fond. And now, when the mob began to hoot his lady, he laughed with something of a mischievous look, as though he expected sport, and thought that she and they were a match. James the coachman was more afraid of his mistress than the mob, probably, for he whipped on his horses as he was bidden, and the post-boy that rode with the first pair (my lady always went Avith her coach and six,) gave a cut of his thong over the shoulders of one fellow who put his hand out towards the leading horse's rein. It was a market-day, and the country-people were all assembled ■with their baskets of poultry, eggs, and such things ; the postilion had no sooner lashed the man who would have taken hold of his horse, but a great cabbage came whirling like a bombshell into tlie carriage, at which my lord laughed more, for it knocked my lady's fan out of her hand, and plumped into Father Holt's stomach. Then came a shower of carrots and potatoes. " For Heaven's sake be still ! " says Mr. Holt ; " we are not ten paces from the Bell arcliAvay, where they can shut the gates on us, and keep out this canaille." I AM ASSAILED BY THE MOB. 33 The little page was outside the coach on the step, and a fellow ia the crowd aimed a potato at him, and hit him in the eye, at which the poor little wretch set up a shout ; the man laughed, a great big saddler's apprentice of the town. " Ah ! you d little yelling Popish bastard," he said, and stopped to pick up another; the crowd had gathered quite between the horses and in the inn door by this time, and the coach was brought to a dead stand-still. My lord jumped as briskly as a boy out of the door on his side of the coach, squeezing little Harry behind it ; had hold of the potato-thrower's collar in an instant, and the next moment the brute's heels were in the air, and he fell on the stones with a tliumj^. " You hulking coward !" says he ; " you pack of screaming black- guards ! how dare you attack children, and insult women ? Fling another shot at that carriage, you sneaking pigskin cobbler, and by the Lord I'll send my rapier through you ! " Some of the mob cried, " Huzza, my lord ! " for they knew him, and the saddler's man was a known bruiser, near twice as big as my Lord Viscount. "Make way there," says he (he spoke in a high shrill voice, but with a great air of authority). " Make way, and let her ladj'ship's carriage pass." The men that were between the coach and the gate of the Bell actually did make way, and the horses Avent in, my lonl walking after them with his hat on his head. As lie was going in at the gate, through which the coach had just rolled, another cry begins, of " No Popery — no Papists ! " my lord turns round and faces them once more. " God save the King !" says he at the highest pitch of his voice. " Who dares abuse the King's religion ? You, you d d psalm- singing cobbler, as sure as I'm a magistrate of this county I'll commit you ! " The fellow shrunk back, and my lord retreated with all the honours of the day. But Avhen the little flurry caused by the scene was over, and the flush passed olF his face, he relapsed into his usual languor, trifled with his little dog, and yawned when my lady spoke to him. This mob was one of many thousands that were going about the country at that time, huzzaing for the acquittal of the seven bishops Avho had been tried just then, and about whom little Harry Esmond 34 THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESilOND. at that time knew scarce any thing. It was assizes at Hexton, and there was a great meeting of the gentry at the Bell ; and my lord's people had their new liveries on, and Harry a little suit of blue and silver, Avhich he wore upon occasions of state ; and the gentlefolks came round and talked to my lord: and a judge in a red gown, who seemed a very great personage, especially complimented him and my lady, who was mighty grand. Harrj'' remembers her train borne up by her gentlewoman. There was an assembly and ball at the great room at the Bell, and other young gentlemen of the county families looked on as he did. One of them jeered him for his black eye, which was swelled by the potato, and another called him a bastard, on Avhich he and Harry fell to fisticuffs. My lord's cousin, Colonel Esmond of Walcote, was there, and separated the two lads, a great tall gentleman with a handsome, good-natured face. The boy did not know how nearly in after-life he should be allied to Colonel Esmond, and how much kindness he should have to owe him. There Avas little love between the two families. My lady used not to spare Colonel Esmond in talking of him, for reasons which have been hinted already ; biit about which, at his tender age, Henry Esmond could be expected to know nothing. Very soon afterwards my lord and lady went to London with Mr. Holt, leaving, however, the page behind them. The little man had the great house of Castlewood to himself; or between him and the housekeeper, Mrs. Worksop, an old lady who was a kinswoman of the family in some distant way, and a Protestant, but a stanch Tory and king's-man, as all the Esmonds were. He used to go to school to Dr. Tusher when he was at home, though the Doctor was much occupied too. There Avas a great stir and commotion everywhere, even in the little quiet village of Castle- wood, whither a party of people came from the town, who would have broken Castlewood Chapel windows, but the village people turned out, and even old Sieveright, the republican blacksmith, along with ihem : for my lady, though she was a Papist, and had many odd ways, was kind to the tenantry, and there was always a plenty of beef, and blankets, and medicine for the poor at Castle- wood Hall. FATHER HOLT PAYS A VISIT. 35 A kingdom was changing hands whilst my lord and lady were away. King James was flying, the Dutchmen were coming ; awful stories about them and the Prince of Orange used old Mrs. Worksop to tell to the idle little page. He liked the solitude of the great house very well ; he had all the play-books to read, and no Father Holt to whip him, and a hundred childish pursuits and pastimes, without doors and within, which made this time very pleasant. CHAPTER V. JIY SLTERIORS ARE ENGAGED IN PLOTS FOR THE RESTORATION OF KING JAMES II. Not having been able to sleep, for thinking of some hnes for eels which he had placed the night before, the lad was lying in his little bed, waiting for the hour when the gate would be open, and he and his comrade. Job Lockwood, the portei-'s son, might go to the pond and see what fortune had brought them. At daybreak Job was to awaken him, but his own eagerness for the sport had served as a reveillez long since — so long, that it seemed to him as if the day never would come. It might have been four o'clock when he heard the door of the opposite chamber, the Chaplain's room, open, and the voice of a man coughing in the passage. Harry jumped up, thinking for certain it was a robber, or hoping perhaps for a ghost, and, flingino- open his own door, saw before him the Chaplain's door open, and a light inside, and a figure standing in the doorway, in the midst of a great smoke which issued from the room. " Who's there ? " cried out the boy, who was of a good spirit. I " Silentium ! " whispered the other ; " 'tis I, my boy ! " and, (holding his hand out, Harry had no difficulty in recognising his master and friend, Father Holt. A curtain was over the window !of the Chaplain's room that looked to the court, and Harry saw Ithat the smoke came from a great flame of papers which were Ijburning in a brazier when he entered the Chaplain's room. After 36 THE HISTORY OF HENIIY ESMOND. giving a habty greeting and blessing to the lad, who was charmed to see his tutor, the Father continued the burning of his papers, drawing them from a cupboard over the mantel-piece wall, which Harry had never seen before. Father Holt laughed, seeing the lad's attention fixed at once on this hole. " That is right, Harry," he said ; " faithful little famuli see all and say nothing. You are faithful, I know," " I know I would go to the stake for you," said Harry. "I don't want your head," said the father, patting it kindly ; " all you have to do is to hold your tongue. Let us burn these papers, and say nothing to any body. Should you like to read them ? " Harry Esmond blushed, and held down his head ; he had looked as the fact was, and without thinking, at the paper before him ; and though he had seen it, could not understand a word of it, the letters being quite clear enough, but quite without meaning. They burned the papers, beating down the ashes in a brazier, so that scarce any traces of them remained. Harry had been accustomed to see Father Holt in more dresses than one ; it not being safe, or worth the danger, for Popish eccle- siastics to wear their proper dress ; and he was, in consequence, in no wise astonished that the priest should now appear before him in a riding dress, with large buff leather boots, and a feather to his hat, plain, but such as gentlemen wore. " You know the secret of the cupboard," said he, laughing, "and must be prepared for other mysteries ; and he opened — but not a secret cupboard this time — only a Avardrobe, which he usually kept locked, and from which he now took out two or three dresses and perruques of different colours, and a couple of swords of a pretty make (Father Holt was an expert practitioner with the small sword, and every day, whilst he was at home, he and his pupil practised this exercise, in which the lad became a very great proficient), a military coat and cloak, and a farmer's smock, and placed them in the large hole over the mantel-piece from Avhich the papers had been taken. " If they miss the cupboard," he said, " they will not find these ; if they find them, they'll tell no tales, except that Father Holt THE CHAPLAINS WINDOW. o/ •wore more suits ot" clothes than one. All Jesuits do. You know Avhat deceivers Ave are, Hai-ry." Harry Avas alarmed at the notion that his friend Avas about to leave him ; but " No," the priest said ; " I may very likely come back Avith my lord in a fcAV days. We are to be tolerated ; Ave are not to be persecuted. But they may take a fancy to pay a visit at CastleAvood ere our return ; and, as gentlemen of my cloth are suspected, they might choose to examine my papers, Avhich concern nobody — at least not them." And to this day, Avhether the papers in cypher related to politics, or to the affairs of that mysterious society Avhereof Father Holt Avas a member, his pupil, Harry Esmond, remains in entire ignorance. The rest of his goods, his small Avardrobe, &c.. Holt left un- touched on his shelves and in his cupboard, taking down — Avith a laugh, hoAvever — and flinging into the brazier, Avhere he only half burned them, some theological treatise which he had been Avriting against the English divines. " And noA\'," said he, " Henry, my son, you may testify, with a safe conscience, that you saAV me burning Latin sermons the last time I was here before I Avent away to London ; and it Avill be daybreak directly, and I must be aAvay before LockAvood is stirring." '' Will not LockAvood let j-ou out, sir ? " Esmond asked. Holt laughed ; he Avas never more gay or good-humoured than Avhen in the midst of action or danger. " LockAvood knoAvs nothing of my being here, mind you," he said ; " nor Avould you, you little Avretch, had you slept better. You must forget that I have been here ; and noAv farcAvell. Close the door, and go to your own room, and don't come out till — -stay, AA'hy should you not knoAv one secret more ? I knoAv you Avill never betray me." In the Chaplain's room Avcre two AvindoAvs ; the one looking into I the court facing Avestwards to the fountain ; the other, a small I casement strongly barred, and looking on to the green in front of ihe Hall. The AvindoAv Avas too high to reach from the ground ; jbut, mounting on a buffet whicli stood beneath it. Father Holt jshowed me how, by pressing on the base of the AvindoAv, the Avhole ;lr.imework of lead, glass, and iron stauncliions descended into a 38 THE HISTORY OF IIC^'nY ESilOXD. cavity Avorked below, irom Avhich it could be drawn and restored to its usual place from without ; a broken pane being purposely open to admit the hand which was to work upon tbe spring of the machine. " When I am gone," Father Holt said, " you may push away tlie buffet, so that no one may fancy that an exit has been made that way ; lock the door ; place the key — where shall we put the key ? — under Chrysostom on the book-sheLf; and if any ask for it, say I keep it there, and told you where to find it, if you had need to go to my room. The descent is easy down the wall into the ditch ; and so, once more farewell, tmtil I see thee again, my dear son." And witb this the intrepid Father mounted the buffet with, great agility and briskness, stepped across the window, lifting up the bars and fi-amework again from the otlier side, and only leaving room for Harry Esmond to stand on tiptoe and kiss his hand before the casement closed, the bars fixing as firm as ever- seemingly in the stone arcli overhead. When Father Holt next arrived at Castlewood, it was by the public gate on horseback ; and lie never so mucli as alluded to the existence of the private issue to Harry, except when he had need of a private messenger from within, for which end, no doubt, he had instructed his young pupil in the means of quitting the HaU. Esmond, young as he was, would have died sooner than betray his friend and master, as Mr. Holt well knew; for he had tried the boy more than once, putting temptations in his way, to see whether he would yield to them and confess afterwards, or whether he would resist them, as he did sometimes, or whether he would lie, which he never did. Holt instructing the boy on this point, however, that if to keep silence is not to lie, as it certainly is not, yet silence is, after all, equivalent to a negation — and therefore a downright No, in the interest of justice or your friend, and in reply to a question that may be prejudicial to either, is not criminal, but, on the con- trary, praiseworthy ; and as lawful a way as the other of eluding a wrongful demand. For instance (says he), suppose a good citizen, who had seen his Majesty take refuge there, had been asked, " Is King Charles up that oak-tree ? " His duty would have been not to say. Yes — so that the Cromwellians should seize the kiucr and TOM TUSHER. 39 murder him like Lis father — but No ; his Majesty being private in the tree, and therefore not to be seen there by loyal eyes : all which instruction, in religion and morals, as well as in the rudiments of the tongues and sciences, the boy took eagerly and with gratitude from his tutor. When, then, Holt Avas gone, and told Harry not to see him, it was as if he had never been. And he had this answer pat when he came to be questioned a few days after. The Prince of Orange was then at Salisbury, as young Esmond learned from seeing Doctor Tusher in his best cassock (though the roads were muddy, and he never was known to wear his silk, only his stuff one, a-horseback), Avith a great orange cockade in his broad- leafed hat, and Nahum, his clerk, ornamented with a like decoration. The Doctor was walking up and down, in front of his parsonage, when little Esmond saw him, and heard him say he was going to pay his duty to his Higlmess the Prince, as he mounted his pad and rode away with Nahum behind. The village people had oran"-e cockades too, and his friend the blacksmith's laughing dau