182. 
 B73w"a 
 
 v.l ,
 
 ^^r^-c^ibw^^t^-^
 
 WARLEIGH; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 
 
 a HecenTi of a^rtjon* 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. BRAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "FITZ OF FITZ-FORD," "THE TALBA, 
 " THE WHITE HOODS." " DE FOIX," &c. &c. 
 
 Many a tale 
 
 Traditionary round the mountains hung, 
 And many a legend peopling the dark woods 
 Nourish'd Imagination in her growth." 
 
 Excursion, Book 1. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL.1. 
 I.ONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMAN, 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 1834.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed bv A. Spori iswoode, 
 
 New'-Street-Square.
 
 V. i 
 
 TO 
 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. 
 
 POET LxlUREATE, &c. &c. 
 
 GENIUS, LEARNING, AND CHARACTER DO SO MUCH 
 HONOUR TO HIS COUNTRY, 
 
 THESE VOLUMES 
 
 ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 
 
 AS 
 
 A TRIFLING BUT SINCERE MARK 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNFEIGNED ADMIRATION, ESTEEM, AND 
 HEARTFELT GRATITUDE 
 
 OF 
 
 THEIR AUTHOR. 
 
 Vicarage, Tavistock, 
 Jan. 1. laSS.
 
 In the Press, 
 
 LETTERS TO THE LAUREATE, Historical, 
 Biographical, and Descriptive of the Vicinities of 
 the Tamar and the Tavy. By Mrs. Bray. 
 
 Preparing for the Press by the same Authoress^ 
 
 TRELAWNY OF TRELAWN; or, The Pro- 
 PHECY. A Legend of Cornwall.
 
 WARLEIGH. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I love, thus uncontroll'd, as in a dream, 
 To muse upon the course of human things ; 
 Exploring sometimes the remotest springs. 
 Far as tradition lends one guiding gleam. 
 
 Southey'5 Tale of Paraguay, 
 
 There is no county, perhaps, in England, that 
 abounds more in the traditions of old times and 
 families than that of Devon. These, however, 
 are fast falling into oblivion. The rising gener- 
 ation, who, commonly speaking, are eager to 
 follow in the march of intellect, smile at the 
 legends of their grandmothers ; and the elders 
 themselves, who are mostly the living deposi- 
 taries of this kind of lore, gradually sink into 
 their graves ; and, with them, too often dies a 
 fund of information which has no written record. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 warleigh; or, 
 
 Many of the traditions to which I have alluded 
 (no doubt, like all other tales) lose nothing of 
 their wonders by transmission from generation 
 to generation. Nevertheless, there is that of 
 simplicity and nature about them, which may be 
 considered a strong presumptive evidence that 
 they are founded in truth : in some instances, 
 also, they are confirmed by points of known 
 history, with which they are, more or less, 
 connected. For my own part, I confess that I 
 have ever felt a great delight in collecting the 
 fragments of such old stories as are nearly 
 forgotten, or in danger of becoming extinct; 
 and, whilst listening to a tale of other times, I 
 have not been so over critical as to object to 
 every thing that is told unless I could find 
 confirmation of its truth (to adopt a vulgar but 
 expressive phrase) in black and white. It may 
 be a deception, — it may be credulity to listen to 
 it ; still the illusion is harmless : nor can it fail 
 to be replete with lively associations, that engage 
 the imagination, and call up many a reflecting 
 mood on times and things long past away. 
 Living, as I do, in the midst of a most
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 3 
 
 delightful part of Devon, how much mterest is 
 conveyed to an ancient dwelling, a particular 
 rock, or a lone valley, with its bubbling stream 
 and its beautiful hanging woods, by being able 
 to fancy " This is the scene,'* or " This is the 
 spot," where such and such events are said to 
 have occurred ! Who, for instance, even though 
 he be a stranger, can look upon the narrow 
 rocky cavern, so long said to have sheltered the 
 persecuted royalist, Elford, without dwelling 
 with interest on the recollection of those times 
 when so many worthies of this county, gallantly 
 suffered, bled, and died, in the cause of loyalty 
 and religion ? This latter observation, indeed, is 
 not altogether inapplicable to the present 
 subject; since the story connected with that 
 cavern, now considered by the peasantry as a 
 pixie haunt, first excited my imagination, and 
 induced me to collect such particulars as might 
 still be gleaned from oral tradition respecting 
 the remarkable local events of the neighbourhood 
 in which I live. 
 
 This soon became with me a favourite 
 pursuit; and though I was not always success- 
 B 2
 
 4? warleigh; or, 
 
 ful in gaining as much intelligence as I desired, 
 yet the many beautiful scenes, curious old 
 houses, and antiquities, which I visited during 
 these researches, were exceedingly interesting ; 
 and, in addition to the opportunities I thus 
 gained of acquiring a knowledge of past times, I 
 had the gratification of experiencing the kind- 
 ness and goodwill of many a family, who 
 obligingly afforded me all the information they 
 were able to communicate, and sometimes, when 
 they had nothing to tell, their old family 
 pictures, their ancient dwelling, and even their 
 furniture, supplied a fund for observation. 
 Indeed, I received so many kindnesses of this 
 nature, that I should feel a grateful pleasure in 
 here naming all the benefactors to my re- 
 searches, did I not fear lest, in doing so, I 
 might be charged with being too particular on 
 a subject that cannot interest others so much as 
 it does myself. 
 
 However, I cannot wholly refrain from ex- 
 pressing my thanks to the Earl of Mount Edg- 
 cumbe, for the liberal manner in which his 
 Lordship afforded me every facility in his power
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 5 
 
 to assist my pursuits at Mount Edgcumbe.* 
 One family in particular must also be named, 
 since Warleigh is now theirs ; and I trust that 
 some slight relation of my visit to that ancient 
 baronial residence will not here be found mis- 
 placed; for the following work owes its exist- 
 ence to a circumstance of that visit, which will 
 speedily be told. 
 
 It was a beautiful day, towards the close of 
 the summer of 1830, that, in company with a 
 small party of friends, I set off in a boat from 
 Devonport, to visit the mansion, as well as the 
 family, at Warleigh. I shall not here detain 
 my reader by describing to him very minutely 
 our ever-varying progress, as we passed up the 
 Hamoaze, formed by the united waters of many 
 rivers, — that expansive estuary which unites 
 
 * The Earl of Mount Edgcumbe has not only enlarged 
 and decorated the ancient family seat in a style of the utmost 
 magnificence, but has placed within it a rare and beautiful 
 collection of paintings. His Lordship has also added some 
 costly gardens, in the style of ditFerent nations. These are 
 all worthy of admiration ; but the lover of nature, in her 
 wildest forms, will feel his obligation to the good taste of the 
 present proprietor, who so carefully preserves the venerable 
 and majestic trees of the domain. 
 
 B 3
 
 6 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 itself with the Sound ; nor shall I detail to him 
 the number of men-of-war that, in this " piping 
 time of peace," are constantly kept floating on 
 its surface, where a thousand little boats, all 
 day in motion, add to the life and animation 
 of the scene. I shall only tell him, that if he 
 be an antiquary, and should ever make the 
 same excursion, he will look with an eye of 
 interest on Saltash — though it is not at all 
 a beautiful place — as he sees it lying on the 
 slope of a steep hill ; for Saltash will afford 
 him a theme for debate, whether it was, or was 
 not, the Tamare of Antoninus. The learned 
 differ in opinion; some fixing it at the town 
 just named, and others declaring Tamerton 
 (so very germane in sound) to have been the 
 site of that ancient Roman station.* 
 
 On passing Saltash, a most lovely scene pre- 
 sents itself; for the river becomes so broad 
 that it looks not unlike a lake: villages, each 
 
 * The writer of these pages has been assured, that some 
 thirty or forty years ago, a Roman altar, various fragments of 
 pottery, and several coins, were dug up at Tamerton. If this 
 be true, it would go far to settle the dispute in favour of the 
 Devonshire village.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 7 
 
 with the tower of its ancient church, arise in 
 succession amid thick woods or verdant slopes ; 
 and the mouths of the many rivers present to 
 the eye a vast variety of objects replete with 
 interest. And scarcely had we ceased to ad- 
 mire these than we came in sight of the oak- 
 crowned point of Warleigh, that boldly projects 
 itself at the entrance of the Tavy. Immediately 
 beyond it arose gently-swelling hills, beautifully 
 wooded, and now seen rich in their liveries of 
 green and russet. On one of these was Ma- 
 ristow, the seat of Sir M. Lopez ; whilst Dart- 
 moor, which ever affords the finest backgrounds 
 in Devonshire scenery, stood towering in the 
 distance, showing its heights, composed of gra- 
 nite tors, glittering in the sun. The varying 
 effects of light and shade upon these eminences 
 were exceedingly striking. The glow of the 
 horizon was of a dazzling brightness ; but a 
 mass of dark clouds, that sailed slowly onward, 
 soon cast their shadows upon the lower de- 
 clivities, and showed distinctly the bold and 
 picturesque outlines of the extensive moor. 
 There was a charm also in the calmness of 
 B 4
 
 8 warleigh; or, 
 
 the day, and in the deep repose of the scene : 
 for the waters — bound up, as it were, in slum- 
 ber — lay spread around like a clear mirror, 
 in whose silvery surface, distinctly reflected, 
 appeared the clouds and the feathering woods, 
 as they hung gracefully bending over the shelv- 
 ing shores. There was something, too, of inter- 
 est in watching the silent and gentle motion 
 with which we now glided down Tamerton 
 Creek, towards the town of that name ; for a 
 visit to the church had been determined upon 
 before we proceeded to Warleigh House. The 
 creek is skirted by the woods, and a fine bald 
 rock, of a considerable elevation, that bears the 
 name of Warleigh Tor, gives a character of 
 grandeur even to this small inlet of the majestic 
 Tavy. 
 
 The little village of Tamerton is sequestered 
 and picturesque, presenting many such com- 
 binations as a Prout or a Hitchins * would 
 
 * An artist of the highest merit, bred and living in Tavi- 
 stock, who, could his friends prevail with hini to exert his 
 talents professionally, would become an honour to the arts of 
 his country.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 9 
 
 treat with a skill in which few have yet been 
 their rivals. Tamerton might almost be called 
 " the meeting of the vallies," for three of them 
 there unite together; and, in the midst, on a 
 gentle swell of a hill, stands the beautiful wea- 
 ther-beaten old church, that has beheld many 
 a century bring beneath its venerable roof the 
 generations of the village in succession, at their 
 baptisms, weddings, and funerals, and with the 
 self-same bells has rung out a peal for their 
 bridals, or a solemn knell at their departure. 
 
 We ascended a flight of steps, hewn out of 
 the living rock, which led from the village to 
 the church, where, on entering, we listened to 
 the good old sexton, who told us many a tale 
 about the parish ; and who, havnig got hold of 
 what he fancied to be a finer word than is 
 usually found to mingle itself in village collo- 
 quies, repeated it to us about fifty times over, 
 as he sat, leaning on his staff, on the pulpit 
 stairs. " The poplation of Tamerton was," he 
 said, " very much increased ; for, when he was a 
 boy, he remembered wo poplation at all in com- 
 parison to it ; but all poplations were so, since 
 B 5
 
 10 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 Bonaparte and the wars had been put down by 
 the Duke of Wellington." 
 
 Our conductor pointed out to us one or two 
 monuments that he deemed of importance. We 
 looked also at the ancient tombs of the Foliots 
 and the Copplestones, and the white-washed 
 effigies of Roger de Gorges and his lady; 
 which the good sexton assured us a young gen- 
 tleman, who made drawings and maps of old 
 figures, had come all the way from London for 
 the purpose of cleaning: and surely, if such 
 were the case, it was an act much wanted ; and 
 for which the noble knight, who never contem- 
 plated such a surcoat of white-wash for his mo- 
 numental armour, would, doubtless, have been 
 thankful. We quitted the old church, and its 
 sombre cemetery, surrounded by tall and sha- 
 dowy trees, in a mood accordant with serious 
 thoughts and feelings, in order to look upon 
 what is called " the Copplestone Oak," after 
 having just looked upon the " Copplestone 
 Tomb," and listened to the legend respecting its 
 long-remembered tenant; when — how shall I 
 speak our surprise at a scene, so much in con-
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 11 
 
 trast, that now bui'st upon our sight ? — on the 
 village green, close without the churchyard, 
 and full in view of this celebrated tree, a group, 
 the gayest and the most attractive, surprised us 
 into a feeling of cheerfulness and pleasure, 
 almost before we were conscious of the change. 
 The village green was tastefully festooned 
 and garlanded with flowers, laurels, and myrtle. 
 Tables of the choicest fruits were spread in 
 gay and inviting luxuriance ; whilst, on " the 
 smooth shaven turf" appeared, with all the 
 joyous and mirthful character of a village fair, 
 not merely the " neat-handed " Phillises of the 
 cottage or the farm, but a "bevy of ladies," 
 distinguished by elegance and rank; and, to 
 their praise be it spoken, by benevolence also. 
 It was, in fact, on this day, and at this place, 
 that the Tamerton festival was held, for the be- 
 nefit of the village school. Youth, beauty, and 
 elegance are at all times attractive ; but, when 
 thus seen grouped amidst trees and flowers, 
 glittering in the sun, and canopied by the blue 
 arch of a summer sky, the effect produced by 
 such objects became so heightened, so engag- 
 B 6
 
 12 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 ing, that not even the gloom of the dark }ews, 
 nor the sombre tints of the old church tower, 
 which stood, like a monitor to mirth and beauty, 
 in the background, could create other than de- 
 lighted feelings. 
 
 It was here that the amiable and accom- 
 plished conductress of the festival, the mistress 
 of Warleigh, received us : and, after having 
 paid our respects to one so justly entitled to 
 the universal regard in which she is held : 
 having gazed on the Copplestone Oak, and heard 
 the often-told tale once more repeated, we set 
 
 off in company with Mr. R , the worthy 
 
 proprietor of Warleigh, to visit that ancient 
 mansion. We were much gratified by the 
 
 kind attention of our guide. Mr. R is of 
 
 a character, now, alas ! getting too much out of 
 fashion. He retains the plain, open sincerity 
 of old English manners ; looks as if he meant 
 what he says, and saj's nothing but what he 
 feels ; pays no compliment, but that which is 
 the most honest of all compliments, and shows 
 good nature as well as good manners, — a ready 
 attention to oblige, or to do any act of kind-
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 13 
 
 ness that may be acceptable to the feelings of 
 another ; and who is both old-fashioned and 
 warm-hearted enough to give a friend a hearty 
 shake by the hand, and to drink a health to him 
 at table. 
 
 Mr. R conducted us through a consi- 
 derable part of his domain, and took us to the 
 summit of a hill which commands an extensive 
 prospect of the surrounding country. The 
 rivers Tavy and Tamar, the Lake, Saltash, 
 the Hamoaze, with the high lands of Cornwall 
 and Devon, clothed with wood and verdure, and 
 finely contrasted by the rugged and sterile cha- 
 racter of Dartmoor, the pretty village of Ta- 
 merton, the church, with the farms and cottages 
 around, all combined to produce one of those 
 successions of interesting objects so well suited 
 to panoramic painting. 
 
 We continued our way across some fields, 
 where, on gaining a particular spot on the side 
 of a hill, not far distant from the river, the fine 
 baronial residence of Warleigh, its avenues of 
 noble trees, gardens, and plantations ; the whole 
 backed by the clear blue waters of the Tavy, at
 
 14 warleigh; or, 
 
 once burst upon our sight; and, as we descended 
 towards the house, every step presented a new 
 combination of scenic and beautiful effects. 
 
 Whilst we passed along, the situation of 
 Warleigh, the families to which it had suc- 
 cessively belonged during so many generations, 
 and the ancient name by which it was distin- 
 guished, became a theme of discourse. Nor 
 
 can I forbear mentioning that Mr. R (who 
 
 stated also that his uncle, a well-known antiquary, 
 had carefully investigated the subject, and come 
 to the same conclusion) gave it as his opinion, 
 that the woods of Warleigh had been the scene of 
 Ethelwold*s murder, whilst hunting, by the hand 
 of Edgar. The following few, but strong reasons, 
 may be stated in support of this opinion : — 
 
 Qrgar, Earl of Devon, who founded its 
 abbey, resided in Tavistock ; and it was there 
 that his daughter, the beautiful Elfrida, was 
 visited by Ethelwold ; who, being sent by Edgar 
 as an emissary of love, abused the confidence 
 reposed in him, and wooed and wedded her 
 himself. And there, too, again influenced by 
 the renovated fame of her beauty, the king
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 15 
 
 came in person to visit her, under the pretext 
 of enjoying a hunting match in the neighbour- 
 hood. Captivated by her charms, he determined 
 on the death of her husband ; who, whilst 
 hunting "in a wood at Warewell," says Malmes- 
 bury, ** was slain by a javelin." Some anti- 
 quaries have placed the scene of this event on 
 the opposite side of the river Tamar, at Hare- 
 wood*, in Cornwall; a most improbable con- 
 jecture; since, in order to reach it, Edgar must 
 have encountered the most formidable difficulties 
 — those of riding many miles about, through 
 forests vast and intricate, and rendered dan- 
 gerous of access by a river so broad and deep 
 as the Tamar : for no bridge could at any time 
 have existed nearer than Newbridge, which is 
 of a much later period ; whilst, on the other 
 hand, Warleigh, or Warwell woods, asMalmes- 
 bury calls them, were situated but ten or twelve 
 miles from Tavistock, and no river intervened, 
 to render access to them either difficult or dan- 
 gerous. Besides, they were in all respects 
 
 * Mason has done so, likewise, in his tragedy of " El- 
 frida."
 
 16 WARLEIGH; ORj 
 
 fitted for the pleasures of the chase. If, how- 
 ever, it was improbable that Edgar should cross 
 the river into Cornwall to commit the murder, 
 still less likely is it (as some antiquaries aver) 
 that he should ride so far as into Dorsetshire for 
 that purpose. The historian Malmesbury pos- 
 sibly might have been mistaken when he says 
 that Elfrida built a nunnery at Harewood, 
 on the spot where her husband was slain. 
 After the death of Edgar, who killed him, 
 she retired to Corfe Castle, where she caused 
 his unfortunate son, the issue of a former 
 marriage, to be stabbed in the back, whilst at 
 her own gate. He rode off, mortally wounded, 
 and, at length, dropping dead from his horse, 
 the body was found in a wood. Might it not, 
 therefore, have been in consequence of this, 
 that, after she was awakened to repentance, she 
 erected the nunnery in expiation of so atrocious 
 a crime? The death of Ethelwold probably 
 cost her no remorse, since there is no evidence 
 that she had any share in that murder. 
 
 To return, however, from this digression. — 
 We proceeded on to Warleigh ; but, as in the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 17 
 
 following pages I shall have occasion to speak 
 more at large respecting this venerable mansion, 
 I shall here only observe that we found it a 
 substantial and noble piece of architecture; 
 originally built in the reign of king Stephen, 
 but altered and enlarged in the times of Henry 
 the Seventh and Henry the Eighth, and having 
 very recently received the addition of a rich 
 doorway, quite in character with the original 
 building. 
 
 After showing us the hall, and the greater 
 
 part of the interior, Mr. R led the way to a 
 
 small apartment adjoining the hall, and looking 
 towards the gardens in front of the house. 
 Here were many books ; in fact, it was the 
 
 library. The ^\)lumes it contained, Mr. R 
 
 told us, had been chiefly collected by an uncle 
 of his, since dead, who was partial to literature : 
 and being also somewhat of an antiquary, had 
 been a careful preserver of all the old family 
 deeds, leases, letters, parchments, records, &c. 
 &c. The books spoke at once the character 
 of their late proprietor ; they were full of mar- 
 ginal notes, in his own handwriting; some of
 
 18 Warleigh; or, 
 
 which, connected with the family, I was allowed 
 
 to copy in my note book. Mr. R , anxious 
 
 to afford us all the information we could desire 
 respecting the former inhabitants of Warleigh, 
 produced a bundle of old brown dusty parch- 
 ments, containing records as far back as the 
 reign of King Stephen. Most of them were in 
 Latin, and in a character cramped, worn, and 
 almost illegible in many places. These were 
 far beyond my antiquarian skill to decypher; 
 and, like one who travels in a country with the 
 language of which he is unacquainted, I could 
 only admire, without understanding, the very 
 things that lay before my sight. On some of 
 the parchments there were curious seals, in a 
 high state of preservation. Here and there I 
 could make out a word or a line that rather 
 piqued than gratified curiosity, till I was, at 
 length, obliged to give up the investigation, and 
 could only regret how much information I must 
 lose by not being able to read old writings and 
 monkish Latin. 
 
 However, though I failed here, I was suc- 
 cessful in reading the plain fair hand of the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 19 
 
 deceased antiquary ; and, on carelessly looking 
 over a bundle of papers — having permission to 
 open any I pleased — my attention v^'as at once 
 arrested by seeing a nery small packet, carefully 
 tied up with pink tape. It would be needless, 
 perhaps, to tell the reader, that this was a packet 
 of exciting interest. I was allowed to gratify 
 my curiosity ; and, though I confess the inform- 
 ation it contained might be less full than could 
 have been desired, still was it sufficient to excite 
 and stimulate imagination. The following pages 
 owe their existence to the few, but remarkable, 
 facts connected with the tradition of the Copple- 
 stone Oak, which thus became known to me: 
 and as, in all works of fiction, nothing adds so 
 much to their interest as a knowledge of their 
 being founded on truth, I thought it better to 
 relate the above particulars for the satisfaction 
 of my readers. Man seems born with an in- 
 nate love of truth ; it is natural to him : for, if 
 you relate a tale but to a child, the first remark 
 that passes his lips, as he stands looking with 
 wonder in your face, will be — " Is it all 
 true?"
 
 20 warleigh; OU, 
 
 I have but one more observation to make 
 respecting the traditionary lore on which some 
 parts of the following narrative are founded ; 
 and that is, to tell the reader that I am aware 
 one circumstance of the tale borders on the 
 marvellous : nor do I pretend to argue the 
 point of its truth with any critic who may feel 
 disposed to be sceptical on the subject. It ap- 
 pears to have been communicated, like other 
 legends, to the intelligent antiquary of War- 
 leigh, by one who had received it from his 
 grandfather, as an accredited and undoubted 
 fact ; and whose venerable progenitor, possibly 
 in like manner, might have traced it up to the 
 fountain head, through successive generations. 
 Be it false or true, it was an oral tradition, and, 
 as such, was sufficient for my purpose, espe- 
 cially as it will be found connected with the 
 spirit of former manners and times. 
 
 The following narrative, however, I ought to 
 remark, is but little concerned with events of a 
 public nature ; not more so than must ever be 
 the case in the history of every family, who 
 may have the misfortune to live in troublesome
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 21 
 
 times, and to learn the truth of an observation 
 which avers, that private happiness cannot hope 
 for security during public dissensions and ca- 
 lamity. 
 
 A. E. B. 
 
 Vicarage, Tavistock, 
 Nov. 1. 1830.
 
 22 warleigh; or, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 'Tis pleasant, by the cheerful hearth, to hear 
 Of tempests, and the dangers of the deep. 
 And pause at times, and feel that we are safe ; 
 Then listen to the perilous tale again. 
 And with an eager and suspended soul 
 Woo terror to delight us. 
 
 Southey'5 Madoc, 
 
 The Eddystone Light-house has long been 
 celebrated, not only as the most remarkable 
 structure of the kind in this kingdom, but, per- 
 haps, in the whole world. The dangerous reef of 
 rocks on which it stands, surrounded and, in a 
 storm, covered, by roaring breakers, is supposed 
 to derive its name from the number of contrary 
 eddies that here meet, and strive amidst their 
 deep and dark abysses. These rocks are dis- 
 tant at least twelve miles from the coast of 
 Devon, entirely insulated, and lying directly in 
 the way of such vessels as may chance to coast 
 the Channel.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 23 
 
 To have approached them at any time, unless 
 under the guidance of an experienced pilot, 
 must have been hazardous ; but during a dark 
 night, or in a gale of wind, no other than cer- 
 tain destruction ; nay, seldom in former times 
 could any vessel, during a storm, escape the 
 fatal reef, did she attempt to reach Plymouth 
 harbour amid the hours of darkness. Danger- 
 ous, toilsome, and almost impracticable as it 
 seemed, yet the genius of man triumphed over 
 the difficulties presented by the Eddystone ; for 
 in the year 3 696, Winstanley, the JVTerlin of his 
 age, erected upon it a light-house, which, hav- 
 ing withstood several tremendous assaults from 
 the tempestuous ocean — that once, it is said, 
 hurled its, waves more than a hundred feet above 
 the fabric, cresting with foam its burning top — 
 the founder deemed was as capable of endurance 
 as the rocks on which it stood. With too 
 much presumption, perhaps, on his own skill, 
 and too little thought of God's power to over- 
 throw the strongest works of man at his plea- 
 sure, he even expressed a wish, that the first 
 time he visited the light-house, the greatest
 
 24; WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 Storm might blow that ever shook the heavens. 
 The wish, rashly formed, was too soon, and too 
 fatally gratified ; for the floods arose, and *•' the 
 Most High uttered his voice, and the channels 
 of the sea appeared," and the strong walls and 
 their unfortunate founder were swept away to- 
 gether ; so that, when the sun arose, nothing was 
 to be seen but a few black specks amid the 
 breakers ; even the rocks, which remained firm 
 and unshaken, and, alas ! as destructive as ever. 
 The light-house which now stands on the reef, 
 was erected by Smeaton, on a better planned 
 foundation, at a subsequent period : and in here 
 adverting either to the one or the other building, 
 we certainly have been guilty of digressing, since 
 what we have to detail, respecting the dangers 
 of the Eddystone rocks, refers to a period before 
 Winstanley achieved his bold and surprising 
 work, — when not a year passed without fearful 
 and multiplied losses of ships, cargoes, and hu- 
 man lives, on the most fatal reef that skirted 
 the western coast. 
 
 It was during the vernal equinox of the year 
 164:7, that two English merchant vessels, the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 25 
 
 one called the Virginia, and the other the Old 
 James, heavily laden, and homeward bound 
 from the western Indies, were making their w^ay 
 through a stormy sea in a very distressed con- 
 dition. The Virginia, however, was, to use a 
 nautical phrase, more " seaworthy" than her 
 companion ; and it is with the fortunes of the 
 Old James that we are here principally con- 
 cerned. The latter ship had already suffered 
 by a tempest, and it seemed but too probable 
 that she was destined still to suffer more (per- 
 haps complete wreck) near that very coast to 
 which she had looked with an eye of longing 
 and of hope. 
 
 The particulars that, at this distant period, 
 have reached us respecting the distresses of the 
 Old James are but few, yet sufficiently fearful ; 
 and, according to the credulity of the times, 
 have not been forgotten the various signs and 
 bad omens (some of them being nothing more 
 than natural phenomena observed at sea) which 
 were considered as indicative of what was to 
 happen. First, then, the vessel had set sail on 
 a Friday, and without taking the precaution of 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 warleigh; or, 
 
 nailing a horse-shoe on the foremast, to keep 
 off the witches, who soon profited by the omis- 
 sion ; and giving their imps and familiars pos- 
 session of the masts and rigging, they speedily 
 capered about, and played up what was called 
 "a devil's mass" on board the ship. For se- 
 veral nights together strange and sweet sounds 
 were heard about the sides of the vessel ; yet 
 no mermaid, no sea minstrel appeared seated on 
 a dolphin's back, chanting her wild melodies 
 as she combed down her long locks of silken 
 hair. But though the musicians were invisible, 
 there was seen an unknown aquatic bird, that 
 settled on the mast head, or hovered round the 
 ship during many days : the seamen attempted, 
 by more than once firing at it, to get rid of so 
 singular a visitant ; but the bird, as if proof 
 against danger, seemed neither hurt nor dis- 
 mayed by these hostile attempts upon her life. 
 
 There was also seen playing about the vessel 
 a light, like that of a small star, which would 
 appear and tremble, and anon disappear, and 
 then would come again and stream with a bril- 
 liant flame along the mast, shooting from
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 27 
 
 " shroud to shroud," darting, flaring, or blazing 
 like Ariel in the Tempest, and, like that " dainty 
 spirit," might be said sometimes 
 
 " To flame amazement ; sometimes to divide, 
 And burn in many places." 
 
 Setting aside the credulity of the age, we 
 presume these lights to have been nothing 
 more than a " sea fire," not unfrequently wit- 
 nessed before, as well as during, a violent 
 storm ; certainly ominous of any thing but 
 calm seas and hopeful weather. In the present 
 instance, these prognostics had been followed 
 by a formidable tempest, that had dreadfully 
 distressed the ship. For many days she had 
 laboured in a hollow sea, partly dismasted; 
 and, at the time she neared land, remained 
 little better than a hulk, at the mercy of those 
 winds and waves that seldom exert their full 
 powers in angry conjunction but for destruc- 
 tion. During the last twenty-four hours, the 
 storm had been so violent, that it seemed to 
 the minds of the unfortunate crew as if it 
 c 2
 
 28 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 could scarcely be worse ; yet worse it was, and 
 that speedily : for the tempest, which hitherto 
 had made itself felt by sudden bursts and 
 squalls, now became more constant in its ter- 
 rors, as the winds rose higher and higher in 
 their fury. Though it was noonday, yet was 
 there darkness ; a " thick darkness," like that 
 of Egypt, which could be felt as well as seen. 
 
 In the extreme distance, a red etreaky line 
 of light, as of blood, gave a distinguishing 
 character of horror to the horizon. The clouds, 
 vast, black, and spreading, seemed in that state 
 of agitation which made them resemble the 
 stormy sea, over which they cast their awful 
 shadows, as a worker of wicked spells and foul 
 enchantments is said to cast the shadow of his 
 body over the creature whom he destines to 
 perform his destructive will. Onward they 
 came, rolling from the west, in volumes of 
 darkness, yet surcharged with the electric ele- 
 ments of light. At one moment they were 
 black as midnight, at the next a sheet of fire, 
 as the redoubling thunder burst at intervals In
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 29 
 
 fearful combination with the roar of ocean and 
 of the wind that, loud, steady, and appalling, 
 howled along the deep. The sea seemed to 
 rise and dash its waves against the sky, whilst 
 the rain poured down in such a flood, as if 
 " the windows of heaven were opened, and the 
 fountains of the great deep were broken up." 
 By the sudden gleams of lightning, shot from 
 east to west, the boiling surges might be seen 
 afar off in the distance, so that there was no 
 circumstance of the tempest but what disclosed 
 a scene of terror even to the brave. Some- 
 times the vivid flashes were followed by utter 
 darkness, when the ear alone conveyed to the 
 mind those awful impressions, to which the eye, 
 but a moment before, had also borne fearful 
 witness. 
 
 The ship was now in a most perilous state ; 
 but one mast left, and that in such a condition 
 that if the seamen attempted but to hoist a bol- 
 lock to guide her before the seas, " truly it 
 required," says the record I have consulted, 
 " ten men to hold the whipstafFe in order to 
 keep it right ; so terrible was the power of 
 c 3
 
 30 warleigh; or, 
 
 those angry waters." Labouring and rolling, 
 gunwale to, for want of sufficient sail to render 
 her steady, the only mast left speedily came by 
 the board, and the fate of the Old James 
 seemed inevitable. The scene which now pre- 
 sented itself was truly dreadful. No hope of 
 safety remained ; for, as if no circumstance of 
 calamity that can befall a vessel should be 
 wanting to complete her ruin, at this moment 
 it was discovered she had sprung a leak, and 
 was four feet deep in water above her ballast. 
 Despair, with its companion distraction, seized 
 on most who were on board. In the midst of 
 the hurry and confusion of the moment, shrieks 
 and prayers, such as despair alone could utter, 
 mingled fearfully with the screaming of the 
 tempest. The shouts, too, of the captain and 
 his mates might be heard, as, even in these last 
 moments, they attempted to give orders to 
 such of the crew as would yet hear and obey 
 their commands. And as the sea rolled its 
 mountain waves, (now lifting the vessel upon 
 their summits, and then, as they rushed back, 
 leaving her little more than a log floating in
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 31 
 
 the hollow trouffh thus formed bv their re- 
 tiring,) those few merchants or traffickers who 
 were on board, fearing the next plunge would 
 be the last, might be seen, eagerly and readily 
 helping, with their own hands, to cast over- 
 board those very bales of goods on which, but 
 a little while before, they deemed their fortunes 
 depended. But now, death being at hand, 
 they parted from them to enrich the ocean 
 caves, as readily as did ever a trembling sup- 
 pliant cast down rich gifts to appease the 
 anger of some haughty tyrant from whose 
 power there is no escaping. 
 
 The water still increasing in the hold, many 
 hardy fellows stripped themselves almost naked, 
 and, though spent and worn with suffering, 
 toiled at the pumps with incessant exertion, as 
 if a few hours of life (for more than a few 
 hours the vessel could not struggle against so 
 many evils) were to be purchased with as much 
 earnestness and zeal as the eternity that lay 
 before them, and to which they might so soon 
 find entrance. The sea now dashed over the 
 decks in huge breakers, and covered the ship 
 c 4
 
 32 warleigh; or, 
 
 from stem to stern, washing away the helmsman, 
 who had in vain attempted to keep her from a 
 direction towards the reef. 
 
 At this moment some few persons, bent on 
 self-preservation, determined to take their chance 
 in the long boat ; though, in such a sea, it was 
 little better than madness to hope it could live. 
 Of the two, indeed, it seemed most probable 
 that the long boat would founder before the 
 ship. Not more than eight persons were hardy 
 enough to venture the experiment. One of 
 these was an elderly man, who, though he had 
 determined on taking his own risk, was never- 
 theless desirous to persuade a young person, 
 who seemed to be his companion, to remain on 
 board. The youth expressed his determination 
 to follow ; and, having ejaculated a short prayer 
 for mercy and protection, was the last who 
 leaped on board the boat, as a seaman let go 
 the rope by which she had been lowered from 
 the vessel ; for there was great danger, lest, on 
 the return of the wave, the boat should be 
 upset by dashing against the side of the ship. 
 
 The vessel, after the boat had quitted her,
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 33 
 
 continued her course ; but scarcely had a quar- 
 ter of an hour elapsed than a shrill cry was 
 heard of, — " Breakers ahead ! " All rushed 
 on deck, and in less than five minutes the ship 
 struck on the Eddystone reef. So tremendous 
 was the shock, that it opened her stern; and 
 the waves, like so many howling dogs, when 
 the game is hunted down, rushed in upon the 
 miserable vessel, as if eager to devour their 
 prey. There was no hope; and all now saw 
 their fate was inevitable, yet not immediate. 
 What an interval for the sufferers ! The thun- 
 der, " that deep and dreadful organ pipe," 
 seemed in mockery to return the groans and 
 cries of agony that rose and mingled with the 
 roar of the waves, as they came rolling on, 
 raising on all sides their towering heads, as 
 executioners who advance to do their office; 
 whilst the heavens, that appeared " all on fire " 
 with sheets of lightning, only dispelled the 
 darkness of that fatal hour to show a dreadful 
 §cene — a boundless and devouring deep. 
 
 Amongst the sufferers, many on board were 
 of the puritanic sect of the times. These, 
 c 5
 
 34f warleigh; or, 
 
 thinking it their duty to die rejoicing in defiance 
 of the pangs of nature, and the terror of the 
 tempest, were determined to depart, as the swan 
 is said to do, with melody on their lips. With 
 bitter tears and quavering voices they com- 
 menced the old hymn of — 
 
 *' Help, Lord, for us, thy godly men," 
 
 whilst the not less sincere, but more mutely re* 
 solute, breathed their parting prayer in silence 
 to Him, who, in the midst of the wildest tem- 
 pest, hears the whisper of repentance in the 
 secret soul, as heedfully as a mother who 
 listens to the breathings of her infant's rest. 
 But not all died thus. There were those on 
 board to whom death was indeed " a snare,'' as 
 the " sorrows of hell " compassed them about. 
 In those dread moments the sinner quailed, 
 and the flashes of the terrific lightning that shot 
 before his sight were less terrible than the 
 flashes of his own conscience, which now showed 
 distinctly every dark and damning spot of 
 crime. And some poor sea-boy on board, now 
 shed, perhaps, a bitter tear, as the thoughts
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 35 
 
 of his mother's care, of his father's cot and 
 field, his labours of the plough and harrow, 
 crossed his mind. And then came self-reproach, 
 that told him he had left them all to run away 
 to sea; and God, may be, thus punished him 
 for his disobedience ; for the dying seldom fail 
 to find Providence a just accountant. And who 
 shall say but on the borders of eternity the 
 mind may have an opening, some faint discern- 
 ment of those ways of the Almighty, which, so 
 long as w^e are here, are, indeed, past finding 
 out ? Many a poor mariner, who was a husband, 
 thought upon his wife, and called on God to 
 bless her and his children, to preserve the de- 
 solate and the fatherless. 
 
 A few desperate persons cast themselves 
 overboard on hen-coops, oars, spars, or any 
 thhig that came in their way. These were the 
 first to meet their fate ; for such as, being able 
 swimmers, the waters did not instantly drown, 
 were dashed upon the re^f. In a few minutes 
 .the ship that had been battered by the rocks, 
 as the breakers rolled over her their foaming 
 eddies, split and went to pieces, 
 c 6
 
 36 warleigh; or. 
 
 The Virginia, that narrowly escaped the 
 clangers of the Eddystone, and lived through 
 the tempest, now heard a wild and fearful 
 shriek as of a hundred souls — it was the death- 
 cry of the crew. In another minute nothing 
 was to be seen but the black rocks and the 
 foaming breakers that indicated the fatal reef. 
 The roaring eddy had closed over that spot, 
 where so many had breathed their last. A few 
 days after a shattered stern-post that was washed 
 on shore, and supposed by its make and fashion 
 to have been that of a West Indian merchant- 
 man, was all that ever came to land of the 
 wreck of the Old James.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 37 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 But, alas, for his country ! her pride is gone by, 
 
 And that spirit is broken which never would bend : 
 O'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh ; 
 
 For 'tis treason to love her, and death to defend. 
 Unprized are her sons, till they 've learn'd to betray ; 
 
 Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame not their sires ; 
 And the torch that would light them through dignity's way 
 
 Must be caught from the pile where their country expires. 
 Moore'5 Irish Melodies. 
 
 The course of our narrative now obliges us to 
 shift the scene of action from sea to land ; and 
 to conduct the reader to a spot so enchanthig, 
 so variedly beautiful, that it is traditionally 
 averred, that when the Spanish admiral, Medina 
 Sidonia, who saw it but from a distance, led to 
 our shores the Armada, in the hope of conquest, 
 he had anticipatively appropriated to his own 
 share of the spoil the matchless domain of 
 Mount Edgcumbe. 
 
 Indeed, so great is its beauty, that though it 
 becomes necessary to our loarrative that we
 
 38 warleigh; or, 
 
 should here say something of its localities, yet 
 we feel our weakness in undertaking the task; 
 and fear our attempt, brief as it must be, will 
 but appear as so many words of praise, without 
 conveying any adequate idea of scenes so far 
 beyond our power to delineate. We fear we 
 may be like a certain pupil of Apelles, who, 
 when he painted a Helen, loaded her with 
 jewels ; a circumstance which drew from his 
 celebrated master the remark, " to make her as 
 beautiful as she ought to be was beyond thy 
 skill, and therefore hast thou made her fine." 
 
 Having said this by way of apology to our 
 reader, we shall now proceed to tell him, that 
 the peninsula of Mount Edgcumbe stretches 
 out its majestic heights, crowned by the noblest 
 woods, into the ocean ; where the waves break 
 over reefs of black rock that lie at the base of 
 the cragged cliffs, as they stand, to use the 
 lively figure of Carrington, " crowned by groups 
 of pines that start wildly up, tossing their dark 
 hair on the breeze of the night." Here beauty 
 and grandeur, pleasant woods and sunny glades, 
 deep hollows and hanging rocks, the wild path
 
 THE FATAL OAK. S9 
 
 midst precipice and chasm, the lofty pine, un- 
 shaken by a thousand storms, the roar of 
 ocean, the lengthened pomp of avenues and 
 groves, with their deep recesses of shadow and 
 repose, all, all combine to form scenes such as 
 would raise to ecstasy a mind imbued with the 
 love of nature, and would give, even to the 
 sluggish and the dull, feelings before unknown 
 of wonder and delight. At the date of our nar- 
 rative, the mansion at Mount Edgcumbe was 
 inferior in size and magnificence to what it has 
 now become, under the directing taste of the 
 present noble and talented representative of the 
 Edgcumbe family. It was, at the time we de- 
 scribe it, a somewhat heavy building, square in 
 form, having a round battlemented turret at 
 each corner, and a handsome entrance in the 
 centre, which led into the hall, the largest and 
 best apartment, " yielding," as old Prince says, 
 " a stately sound as you enter the same." The 
 house stood on a rising ground of considerable 
 elevation, that swept down in a lawn of the 
 finest turf to the water's edge on the north, or, 
 as it might be called, inland side of the penin-
 
 10 warleigh; or, 
 
 sula, as it was there only separated from the 
 opposite towns of Stonehouse and Plymouth by 
 the waters of the Tamar. On either side of the 
 lawn, that was spacious in extent, an avenue of 
 stately elms led up to the house from the 
 landing-place by the river. In the immediate 
 vicinity of the dwelling might be seen groves 
 of the loftiest trees, composed of the oak, the 
 beech, the pine, with chestnuts and cedars, noble 
 and spreading in their forms, venerable with 
 antiquity. Having thus briefly sketched the 
 situation of the house and its vicinity, we pro- 
 ceed to say a word or two about the owner of 
 this delightful spot at the time of our tale. 
 
 Sir Piers Edgcumbe was one of those royalists 
 who in the west of England had been the first 
 to take up arms, and almost the last to lay them 
 down, in the service of King Charles. He was 
 a middle-aged gentleman of great estimation ; 
 high in honour, resolute in conduct, patient in 
 suffering innumerable hardships and afflictions, 
 and of a courage and devotion so absolute in 
 the cause he sej^ved, that it obtained for him the 
 title of a desperate malignant, and the consequent
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 41 
 
 reward of being persecuted and heavily fined 
 after the parliament had got the upper hand in 
 the west. Though his estate was diminished by 
 these exactions, yet as it had been originally 
 very large, he still retained a considerable pro- 
 perty, far more than usually fell to the lot of a 
 royalist who had undergone what was called "a 
 merciful settlement of his delinquency." 
 
 Such had been the conduct and suffering of 
 Sir Piers. He well knew how many had fared 
 worse ; some being stripped of all they had, like 
 the greater part of the sequestered clergy, who 
 were sent to roam about the wide world with 
 nothing but the gown upon their backs, and 
 their starving families by their side, to live or 
 die, as it might happen, in the open fields : 
 whilst others were crammed into the suffocating 
 dens of prison ships, or gaols as wretched on 
 shore ; and not a few kidnapped abroad or sold 
 into Turkish slavery; or sometimes hanged, if 
 no other way remained of getting rid of them. 
 
 Sir Piers well knew these things ; for many 
 a friend had he lost in one or each of these 
 miserable ways during the triumph of the par-
 
 42 warleigh; or, 
 
 liament for having so happily opened the path, 
 and set the example, to England's liberty. Sir 
 Piers was grateful, therefore, for his own com- 
 paratively good fortune; and as nothing softens 
 the human heart to the sufFerin<Ts of others so 
 much as having ourselves tasted of affliction, 
 even so did the persecution of the good knight 
 greatly improve not only his Christian patience 
 but his temper. We have somewhere seen the 
 improvement of an afflicted soul beautifully 
 compared to a diamond that has passed through 
 the process of cutting and polishing. Every 
 cut was a wound to the precious stone; but 
 without them, where would have been its lustre? 
 One of the chief failings in the character of Sir 
 Piers had been, perhaps, too much pride in 
 himself, and too little value for those beneath 
 him. But this original defect was wisely chas- 
 tened; and, like a good Christian, who, on being 
 conscious of a fault, conceives it is not enough to 
 condemn without struggling to overcome it. Sir 
 Piers had so practically dealt by his own be- 
 setting sin as to have much subdued it. And 
 though he was chary of his dignity, so as not to
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 43 
 
 admit the freedom of bold or low-bred persons, 
 yet to the loyal, the unfortunate, who had private 
 worth, as well as public principle, to recommend 
 them, he was a most generous friend and liberal 
 benefactor, whatever might be their degree. 
 But for his bounty many a poor royalist must 
 have perished from want ; and even those who 
 only suffered by reduced worldly means found 
 so much comfort, such a cheering relief to 
 their feelings, and such a supply of the little 
 luxuries of life, that habit had rendered almost 
 necessary, at his table, that to be admitted as a 
 social guest, an occasional companion, at Mount 
 Edgcumbe, was an indulgence felt even as a 
 blessing in such times. Indeed, Sir Piers had 
 always been a friendly man, being peculiarly 
 well adapted by nature to become that excellent 
 character, since he was not a selfish man. There 
 could not be a stronger proof of this, than the 
 fact, that high or low, rich or poor, rejoiced to 
 live near him ; so that if a house or a farm was 
 to be sold or let, in the vicinity of Sir Piers, the 
 proprietor had only to follow the example of 
 Themistocles, (who, it is recorded, when intend-^
 
 44 warleigh; or, 
 
 ing to sell a farm to advantage, caused it to be 
 proclaimed that it had a good neighbour,) and 
 he was sure to meet a willing purchaser. 
 
 To one friend, indeed, Sir Piers was remark- 
 ably kind, from motives of compassion mingled 
 with the highest esteem and regard. This more 
 than ordinarily favoured friend was no less a 
 person than the famous loyalist of the west, Sir 
 Hugh Piper ; to whose tomb, in the bea atiful 
 church of St. Magdalen at Launceston, wi once 
 made a pilgrimage; and where the worthy 
 knight, with his Dame Sibylla, may be seen in 
 monumental pomp ; the one in armour, and the 
 other in brocade, " very livelily represented," to 
 use a phrase of the time, " all in marble," and, 
 like godly souls, as they were, kneeling and 
 praying opposite to each other ; perhaps in 
 thankfulness for that restoration, which, it is re- 
 corded, they both lived to witness in their old 
 age. To return from this digression respecting 
 the knight's effigies to the knight himself. 
 
 Sir Hugh Piper in early life had been bred 
 to commerce, and became a great Plymouth 
 merchant, dealing largely in the commodities of
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 45 
 
 the West Indies, where he held property ex- 
 clusively his own. By these means he acquired 
 wealth and consequence sufficient to wed his 
 Dame Sibylla, who was of a family superior to 
 his ; indeed, so ancient, that they could boast of 
 having had grandfathers so long back as the 
 Conquest ; and, by an inter-marriage with the 
 noble house of Courtenay, of Devon, claimed 
 affinity even with the emperors of Constantinople. 
 The English merchant, at all times a respect- 
 able character, rose into gi'eat importance during 
 the successive reigns of Elizabeth, James, and 
 Charles I.; a more convincing proof of the 
 opulence of his class could not be given than 
 by that erection, equally useful and munificent, 
 — the Royal Exchange of Sir Thomas Gresham, 
 built at his sole cost, during the reign of the 
 maiden queen. 
 
 Sir Hugh Piper felt the impoi:tance of his 
 character, and supported the consequence he 
 had thus acquired, without giving umbrage to 
 those towards whom he ascended, in the scale 
 of equality, by the influence of his growing 
 wealth ; for he never assumed the bustling airs
 
 46 warleigh; or, 
 
 new gentlemen are apt to put on. He always 
 remembered the time when he w^as apprenticed 
 to his old master, and sat on a high stool in a 
 little back counting-house, pricking down items, 
 as the phrase then went, in a calves-skin ledger 
 book, from Monday morning till Saturday 
 night. This recollection sobered him, if, for a 
 moment, he felt some natural exultation at hear- 
 ing it said, as he often did, that he was consi- 
 dered rich enough to buy half the families in 
 the county, out and out, if it came to a point of 
 money. Neither did he offend his inferiors ; 
 for he was ever kind and civil to those of his 
 own degree, who, less fortunate, or less prudent 
 than himself, were left behind him on the 
 ground spoke of Fortune's wheel. He had 
 been amongst those who suffered by, and loudly 
 complained of, the several oppressive and arbi- 
 trary acts concerning duties on merchandise, 
 tonnage, poundage, and ship-money ; all acts 
 that had been enforced, though certainly con- 
 trary to law, and unsanctioned by the parlia- 
 ment. 
 
 But when he found that the complaints made
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 47 
 
 against these things, and other abuses of the 
 government, were to be carried on as an ex- 
 cuse, or cover, for the worst designs of the 
 most artful men ; that the destruction of mo- 
 narchy was aimed at, and that all order in 
 church and state was to give place to the 
 wild schemes of fanaticism, violence, and am- 
 bition, Sir Hugh Piper changed at once his 
 sad-coloured russet suit for a goodly case of 
 armour; turned his office into a guard-room ; 
 named his head clerk cornet elect ; threw aside 
 his steeple-crowned hat for a morion of steel, 
 and raised a troop of horse for King Charles 
 at his own and sole cost ; heading the same 
 himself, with a leading staff in hand, and a 
 sword by his side, as if he had been burn and 
 bred a soldier ; and few learned the art of war 
 more vigorously, and none practised it more 
 bravely, than did this truly honest merchant. 
 
 Great were his successes, and as great were 
 his honours ; for, though the siege of Plymouth 
 gave him a wound in the neck, the king created 
 him captain of the royal castle at Exeter, 
 where he might, in those days, overlook the
 
 48 warleigh; or, 
 
 whole town, without the trouble of stretching 
 it. And though at Stratton heights a brace of 
 bullets whizzed through his thigh, yet being 
 appointed constable of Launceston Castle was 
 (as this good soldier would say, when playing 
 upon the word,) an elevation to a height 
 greater than that on which he had received his 
 wound ; and, though lastly, a severe cut from 
 the godly sword of a psalm-singing knave at 
 Lansdown fight had made his shoulders smart 
 for it, yet this third blow Charles himself con- 
 descended to heal, by giving him another, 
 which carried with it a halm to cure its own 
 smart, and made of a very gallant soldier a 
 very worshipful knight. 
 
 For all these repeated and high honours, Sir 
 Hugh was not ungrateful ; and as gratitude at 
 any court is seldom declined when it comes in 
 a substantial form, so, in that of the unfortu- 
 nate Charles, it was often all he had to depend 
 upon to supply his immediate wants. Thus, 
 when affairs stood still, or drooped, in the west, 
 for want of money to raise and fit out a company 
 of men. Sir Hugh Piper's West India cottons,
 
 THET FATAL OAK. 49 
 
 sugars, and rums, soon clothed the half-ragged 
 recruits, and enabled them to drink healths, 
 pottle deep, to the King. And when the beau- 
 tiful Queen, Henrietta Maria, was fearful for 
 want of that rare thing — gold, she should bring 
 a royal infant into the world, with a state and 
 ceremony as bare as its own nakedness, Sir 
 Hugh Piper's silver dishes, plates, caudle 
 drinking cups, and ladles, all went to the melt- 
 ing-pot, to furnish forth royal bedding and baby 
 clothes, fees for wise women, possets for nurses, 
 and spoons for godmothers and gossips, at the 
 royal Exeter lying-in of the queen. 
 
 But these were the halcyon days of Sir Hugh ; 
 for, so long as he had gold, who was more 
 welcome at court, or who more active in the 
 field ? But, when thai failed, there came " a 
 long farewell to all his greatness." The court, 
 lords, and ladies, looked coldly upon the West 
 India cotton dealer; and the gay Lord St. 
 Jermyn (who made up in smiles for what he 
 wanted in wit) hesitated not to smile our gal- 
 lant merchant out of countenance, when he 
 honestly complained that his welcome had de- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 dined in proportion to his purse. Sometimes, 
 also, Sir Hugh had supplied the means to fur- 
 nish forth the court revelry, to prevent its 
 growing dull in these melancholy times, lest 
 there should be no sports to cheer men's 
 fainting spirits. But now, alas ! it vras found, 
 to Sir Hughes cost (and, to use a pun of his 
 own, when adverting to the circumstance), that 
 though the court had danced, there was no one 
 to pay the piper. Even Charles himself, whose 
 kind-heartedness could not bear the sisht of 
 the distress he had occasioned, and had no 
 power to relieve, felt so much vexation at the 
 long melancholy face, the worn doublet, and 
 altered appearance of honest Sir Hugh, ^hat his 
 f/resence became painful to him. And the sove- 
 reign likewise recollectinfr how much he owed 
 to this good subject (and how impossible it was, 
 in the present state of his affairs, to command 
 one shilling to repay him), could now never even 
 see the poor man without thinking of a debt; a 
 kmd of recollection, from the family improvi- 
 dence of the Stuarts towards their friends, so 
 very disagreeable, that it became exceedingly
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 51 
 
 distressing to Sir Hugh himself; so that, rather 
 than vex the king by remaining in his sight, he 
 turned upon his heel, left Oxford and the court 
 behind him, and determined, if he could no 
 more serve Charles, except by dealing out hard 
 blows, there should be no lack of them, so long 
 as he could find a Nollite willing to exchange 
 such rough wares with him, either in public or 
 in private traffic. 
 
 But here, alas ! he was again disappointed. 
 Few were the men, amongst the common sort, 
 whose loyalty could stand by him, or could warm 
 their own hearts when there was no sack nor 
 strong ale to keep up the fire in the blood. His 
 troop of horse murmured for want of pay ; and 
 though Sir Hugh sold all he had left that was 
 immediately marketable, by way of giving them 
 something in hand, and talked to them inces- 
 santly about " devotion to the royal cause," 
 " love of the church," his own zeal, and stores 
 forthcoming from the western Indies, yet the 
 rogues were unsatisfied, grew mutinous ; and 
 whilst they were clamouring for " filthy lucre," 
 some cunning agitator, or independent (usually 
 D 2 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■x^»''
 
 52 warleigh; or, 
 
 employed on such occasions to step in and stir 
 np strife), whispered in their ears, that a bird in 
 the liand was worth two in the bush ; and that 
 good pay and free quarters were awaiting them 
 under the blue flag of the parliament: so that, 
 before twelve hours were past, the agents of old 
 Noll had them, body and soul, in his service; 
 and by the rigour of his discipline, held them 
 there, as fast bound as a certain dark person- 
 age is said to do by the luckless spirit of some 
 wizard, w4io makes a compact with him to an- 
 swer his present purposes of evil. 
 
 All these things were enough ^* to weigh a 
 royal merchant down ;'* and not long did the 
 brave Sir Hugh resist the torrent so as to hold 
 his head above water. He was thus shamefully 
 deserted by his troop, by that very troop, which, 
 like the work of an alchymist, had grown out 
 of his own art and labour; for by his unremitting 
 skill and pains, he had converted them from a 
 ragged rascally set of clowns into a good 
 company of well-armed, able-bodied, and dis- 
 ciplined men. But the evil did not stop with 
 their desertion, and Sir Hugh soon after paid
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 53 
 
 the penalty for his own- loyalty and the base 
 treachery by which it was rendered unavailing. 
 He was seized, imprisoned, and reviled, his 
 remaining estates confiscated, and not till the 
 private interest of a friend, on the opposite side, 
 had exerted itself to get him off for a fine that 
 amounted to nearly all his property abroad as 
 well as at home, did he once more see the 
 blessed sun, saving by the peep he might obtain 
 of it, through the narrow slit and iron bars of 
 the walls of his prison. 
 
 At length he was once more his own master ; 
 and still possessed a few things he could call his 
 own ; namely, his liberty, his wdfe, a daughter, 
 grown to woman's estate, and a degree of 
 poverty he had not only never before known, 
 but never even anticipated. His pride was 
 wounded Vv'hen he saw himself, after all his 
 industry, reduced to beggary ; and oh ! stern 
 and unrelenting fortune, to what degradation 
 may not those who experience thy frowns be 
 reduced 1 since at the time we open this chapter, 
 Sir Hugh Piper, the once rich merchant, the 
 noble constable, the gallant soldier, the liberal 
 D 3
 
 54 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 friend and benefactor of princes, was so reduced, 
 so humbled, as to have begun the world again, 
 on the verge of age, and in the effort to raise a 
 second fortune, in no higher a mercantile 
 employment than that of keeper of a store, to 
 supply the shipping with necessaries at Ply- 
 mouth. In plain English, the poor knight was 
 become nothing more than a common ship 
 chandler, and that in a very small way. 
 Esteem for his character, respect for his past 
 gallant services, and pity for his misfortunes? 
 made this so humbled gentleman to be selected 
 as the favoured friend and frequent companion 
 of the o^enerous Sir Piers Edo^cumbe. After 
 havinfT thus given our reader some insifjht into 
 the disposition and history of this worthy, we 
 shall finish by a sketch of his outward figure. 
 In order to render this task the more easy, we 
 would entreat him if he possesses Lodge's 
 splendid work on the biography of England, to 
 turn to the portrait of the unfortunate Lord 
 Capel by Anthony Vandyke. Sir Hugh Piper 
 strongly resembled that nobleman. He was 
 the same tall, thin, Don Quixote-like figure ;
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 55 
 
 he had the same goggle-eyed, long-visaged, 
 lantern-jawed appearance; the same horizontal 
 mustachios projecting on either side the mouth, 
 not unlike the whiskers of a cat. In fine, there 
 was in his tout ense?nble the identical same 
 expression of something out of the common 
 way, that on first sight gave rise, in the stranger, 
 to an inclination to laughter ; till it was soon 
 checked, and exchanged for a feeling of respect, 
 by observing the free, open, kind, and honest 
 character of his countenance, that won con- 
 fidence and esteem. 
 
 His friend and patron (for so indeed he 
 might be called), Sir Piers Edgcumbe, was a 
 comely man ; had a martial air, with chestnut- 
 coloured mustachios, and pointed beard: wore 
 his own hair, with two high peaks, one on 
 either side the forehead, that gave it a most 
 ample height, and was of the court fashion. 
 An eye of clear blue, and open in its expres- 
 sion ; a ruddy complexion, and an aquiline 
 nose, completed that head which was, taken 
 altogether, exactly such as showed to the utmost 
 advantage in the richly laced, full, and flowing 
 D 4>
 
 56 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 dress that characterised the days of Charles I., 
 and which, treated by the tasteful pencil of Van- 
 dyke, has been made of all costumes the most 
 elegant and graceful ; or, when seen with a 
 steel corslet, to add dignity to its gracefulness, 
 the most imposing that ever canvass lianded 
 down to the admiration of posterity. 
 
 These worthy friends, at tlie time we intro- 
 duce them to the reader, were seated in an 
 apartment of Mount Edgcumbe house, known 
 by the name of the Watchet Chamber, on 
 account of its being hung with damask, or a 
 sort of changeable silk in waving lines, that in 
 our day is called watered, and applied to ar- 
 ticles of dress more than of furniture. An 
 old vast fireplace, with a settle on either side 
 of it, was piled with blazing logs that burnt 
 merrily on andirons, or dogs, and sent their 
 smoke up the huge tunnel, and sometimes into 
 the room, as the eddies of the wind (for it was 
 a very stormy day) blew them back again down 
 the chimney. A number of high-backed ebony 
 chairs, a cabinet, and sundry stools and cushions, 
 constituted the chief furniture of the apartment ;
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 57 
 
 saving that it was also distinguished by a beau- 
 tiful picture of a female washing her hand under 
 a garden fountain. This portrait represented 
 the deceased Lady Edgcumbe, and was exe- 
 cuted by Vandyke. 
 
 A few other pictures of merit hung, likewise, 
 in this chamber; and there was a closet, whose 
 door, now open, showed its contents : they 
 spoke the character and principles of their 
 owner; and that Sir Piers Edgcumbe was an 
 Oxford man of the true loyal character of that 
 distinguished university. For there might be 
 seen, amidst hawks' bells and other nick-nacks, 
 sundry works of too dangerous a nature to be 
 exhibited openly on the shelves of a library — 
 such as the " Mercurius Academicus," of the 
 loyal Doctor Swadlin of St. John's; "the Flying- 
 Horse from Oxon," and " Pegasus taught to 
 dance to the Tune of Lachrymae ;" " the Owl at 
 Athens" in doggrel Latin verse ; " the Lord 
 have Mercy upon us," and many other political 
 books of the day, that, originally printed at 
 Oxford, had all been prohibited by an ordi- 
 nance of Parliament ; and were now only har- 
 D 5
 
 58 warleigh; or, 
 
 boured by such malignants as thought no or- 
 dinance so valid as that of their own conscience, 
 which taught them to run all risks rather than 
 give up the cause of God and the King; feeling 
 that duty to the one demanded obedience to 
 the other. 
 
 Sir Piers and Sir Hugh had each the happi- 
 ness of being a father ; and each had an only 
 daughter about the same age, who were as in- 
 timate friends in their way as were their fathers 
 before them. That is to say, they were both 
 loyalists : condoled together over the misfor- 
 tunes of the cavaliers ; knew who were tlie 
 handsomest and bravest ; prayed for King 
 Charles every night and morning ; wandered 
 over Mount Edgcumbe in company ; read, 
 sang, or played the lute together as constantly 
 as if they had been twin born, and were seldom 
 apart but on necessity. 
 
 Sir Piers sat with his friend. Sir Hugh, after 
 dinner; and at the time we opened this chapter 
 both were silent. They had played one game 
 of chess, but neither of them feeling much in 
 the mood for that most noble and intellectual
 
 THE FATAL OAK. fQ 
 
 of all games, the pieces were left standing on 
 the board without being called again into 
 action : and whilst Sir Piers sat leaning his 
 elbow on the table and looking intently at the 
 fire, Sir Hugh, who relished much the choice 
 tobacco he had in better days been accustomed 
 to import from the West Indies, now reclined 
 in his chair, enjoying its fumes in long columns 
 of smoke, as at intervals he whiffed, and then 
 quaffed, from a small silver cup, some spiced 
 wine of excellent flavour that stood near him on 
 the hospitable board. He had called on Sir Piers 
 in the morning to ask after his health, as it was 
 often his practice to do so, when the growin<r 
 storm occasioned that good knight to insist on 
 his remaining to dinner; an invitation that 
 had been readily and gladly accepted by his 
 honest-hearted and humble friend Sir Huah. 
 
 D 6
 
 60 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 He 's truly valiant that can wisely suffer 
 
 The worst that man can breathe ; and make his wrongs 
 
 His outsides ; to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, 
 
 And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, 
 
 To bring it into danger. Shakspeare. 
 
 As the two friends thus sat, sometimes con- 
 versing on public matters, and at others on 
 their own, the pelting of the rain against the 
 windows, the shrill piping of the wind, the roar 
 of Ocean, and, now and then, a clap of thunder, 
 like the discharge of ordnance at a distance, 
 gave them (whilst they very naturally told each 
 other, it was a stormy afternoon) that inde- 
 finable feeling of comfort, and self-congratula- 
 tion, which all men are apt to experience 
 whilst sitting over a warm fire, well housed and 
 free from danger, as the pitiless storm with- 
 out, tells them what their fellow-creatures must 
 suffer who are exposed to it.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 61 
 
 Sir Hugh talked much about it ; and told 
 tales of the hurriances in the " still vexed 
 Bermudas" Islands, which were then consi- 
 dered, on account of their frequent storms, 
 as being literally given up to devils, so far as 
 air, wind, and water, were concerned. To all 
 this Sir Piers listened ; but not as if he felt an 
 interest in the discourse, for his eye was still 
 fixed on the fire, his head supported on one 
 hand, and his foot beating upon the large square 
 block of marble that had been dug out of one 
 of his own quarries in Devon, and was now 
 converted into a hearth. At length he spoke, 
 and abruptly. 
 
 " I have been thinking. Sir Hugh Piper," 
 said he to his friend, " that I have at last 
 fathomed the cause of this sad failure in Kent. 
 Hales, and those noble gentlemen who dared 
 in the very teeth of the Parliament to as- 
 semble themselves together, to issue commis- 
 sions in his Majesty's name, and finally awaited 
 but the hour when to strike a blow for the 
 deliverance of our sovereign, w^ould never thus 
 have failed, but that they wanted prudence
 
 62 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 to temper their zeal. Their plan was good ; 
 but their execution of it hasty and imjieifect ; 
 they should have watched till other counties 
 were ready to join them, and then have struck 
 the blow. I know not where this will end. 
 To my thinking it is check mate with the king 
 (he took up the royal piece from the board as 
 he spoke), unless something is done, and that 
 suddenly. What think you of these matters ?" 
 
 " What do I think ?" replied Sir Hugh, " as 
 I have long thought, that, like the great hurri- 
 cane, which, in the year forty-two, destroyed 
 all my crop of canes, such evils come not by 
 chance : for the sins of the kingdom are we 
 visited with these woes ; it is no otherwise ; 
 and yet am I no Puritan who speak it. We 
 say the Parliament did that, or the Parliament 
 undid this ; but I say the devil did it, who, like 
 as he had empire given to try the patience of 
 faithful Job by sore afflictions and calamities, 
 even so now has he the spirit of the Parliament 
 given to him to try the patience of our suffering 
 King." 
 
 " It is too true," said Sir Piers.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 63 
 
 " We see a fellow like Cromwell busy to do 
 evil, and call it good," continued Sir Hugh ; 
 " but what is he more than a " Jack in the 
 clock house,' that strikes when the hour 
 comes ? but the devil is in the wheel that moves 
 the machinery. I have no patience with the 
 times ; and that men should thus sit down 
 quietly, even as we do now, when such things 
 are acting. Where is honour ? Where is 
 place ? Wliy if Lucifer himself were in heaven, 
 he would not dare to sit on the throne of the 
 Most High ; but verily do I think that he is in 
 the parliament ; and there sits he on the King's 
 throne, with no more reverence than if it were 
 an ale bench." 
 
 " In the parliament I " exclaimed Sir Piers, 
 who caught the warm tone with which his com- 
 panion had concluded his last speech, " rather 
 say in the army ; for what now is the Parliament 
 better than a pack of hounds, that have hunted 
 down the royal game at the cry of their leader, 
 ^nd are speedily whipped off like curs when no 
 longer wanted for his profit ! I tell thee, the 
 Parliament played the part of an old wizard.
 
 64 warleigh; or, 
 
 raised a devil, whose name is Legion : but not 
 all the artof all the parliaments combined could 
 lay him, so long as he leads an army at his beck. 
 What a man is Cromwell ! I could almost find 
 it in my heart to applaud him for his very 
 daring, and the power with which he carried 
 on rebellion, usurpation, tyranny ! for doth 
 not the poet say — respect for his great place, 
 and let the devil be sometimes honoured for 
 his burning throne?" 
 
 " Oliver Cromwell," said Sir Hugh, " always 
 reminds me of a pirate ship, that rides the high 
 seas under false colours to draw in the unwary, 
 till a royal merchantman comes in sight ; then 
 your pirate pounces upon her at once, boards, 
 or makes conditions, as if he carried the law of 
 the high seas in his own bottom ; and often 
 does he sink the ship, after rifling her of all her 
 wealth. Thus has Cromwell done by the good 
 bark of Britain's sovereignty ; and I wish that 
 he may spare the captain, who so long stood at 
 the helm and defied the storm. But he, alas, 
 is now captive ! — a prisoner in Carisbrook 
 Castle, whilst a kingdom looks on, and make
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 65 
 
 an idol of him who has turned on the very 
 prince in whose behalf he affected to take up 
 arms ! " 
 
 " Nay, for the matter of that," said Sir 
 Piers, " he is more feared than loved ; for, trust 
 me, there are those of his own party who would 
 never thus submit to be ruled by him, were it 
 not for his army, his agitators, his levellers, 
 and his psalm-singing swash-bucklers, whom he 
 has so clad in iron, that they are called his 
 lobsters to express their casing ! I say again, 
 it is fear that rules men's minds as they look 
 on Cromwell. It is fear which has caused the 
 late calm ; but as a learned and ejected pastor 
 said to me but last week — ' like those of the 
 dead sea, such calms are a curse.' Oh, Eng- 
 land ! England ! when I look on thee, I could 
 weep for the madness of thy people. Thou 
 hadst a sovereign, mild, good, and righteous ; 
 some faults, the faults of humanity, and of his 
 great state, were his. But what were these, 
 arbitrary though they might be, when com- 
 pared to the arbitrary acts of his predecessors?
 
 66 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 Yet not satisfied, you have plucked down this 
 
 sweet lovely rose, and planted there " 
 
 " A bottle-nosed old roundhead, said Sir 
 Hugh, interrupting the elegant quotation oF his 
 friend, *' who is as cunning as a fox and as 
 fierce as a tiger. Why there would be no end 
 to the catalogue did I rehearse his qualities. 
 Imprimis, he hath no birth nor elevation to re- 
 commend him ; but then he is full willing to 
 raise others, therefore is he a friend to the 
 gallows, for many an honest cavalier hath he 
 hanged, as high as Haman, for no sin but that 
 of loyalty. Secondly, he loves not to see men 
 exalt themselves ; therefore doth he trample on 
 all his betters. He would have freedom for all 
 men : no doubt freedom in spirit ; for the 
 bodies of such as would be troublesome to him 
 are fast locked by him in prison. He would 
 have no arbitrary taxes; no monopolies by 
 kings ; and, to prevent the possibility of this sin, 
 hath he hurled down the king, laid the strong 
 hand on all estates, whilst your committee 
 men and sequestrators act as jackalls to the 
 lion."
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 67 
 
 " And bring all flesh to his den," said Sir 
 Piers. 
 
 " And then for quarrelling, who is like him ?" 
 continued the vehement Sir Hugh : " why he 
 quarrelled with all the bishops ,- ay and with 
 the judges to boot, for the loss of Pryn's ears ; 
 and so in requital he strikes you off a score or 
 two of heads, and says his prayers for it before 
 breakfast. And then the King, the King would 
 have an army of papists to make poor England 
 bleed ! and he, forsooth, to prevent this evil, 
 calls up an army of his own, that would tear 
 out her very heart, and open her in every vein 
 at the call of his ambition : whilst, in order to 
 reform religion, and out of love to God's 
 church, he has made it poor, and suffering, and 
 naked ; turned out her learned men and holy 
 ministers, to let in a rascal-crew of schismatics 
 and heretics, composed of tailors, weavers, 
 tinkers, cobblers, and hedge-ranters, who deem 
 the ravings of ignorance prophetic ! call a 
 turning of God's word to vile purposes — ex- 
 pounding the truth ! fancy every bewildering 
 imagination raised by the fumes of ale and
 
 68 warleigh; or, 
 
 tobacco to be — an outpouring of the spirit ! 
 and tell God Almighty the news from their 
 pulpits, for fear he should not know fast enough 
 the work they had been doing for their 
 masters." 
 
 " It is too true," said Sir Piers, " the word 
 of God has been perverted to the worst pur- 
 poses, not only by the civil but by the military 
 religionists." 
 
 " Did not that military rascal, that agitator, 
 independent, what do ye call him — Captain 
 Butler, at his last holding forth, did not even 
 he dare ask the King of heaven and earth, in 
 the presence of his congregation, if a godly 
 sacrifice, and an acceptable one, was not bound 
 to the horns of the altar, inasmuch as his pre- 
 cious saints held in bonds the blood-thirsty 
 Dagon, Charles Stuart, in the castle of Caris- 
 brook ? My blood boils while I but think of it," 
 continued Sir Hugh, striking one hand on tlie 
 table, as he flourished his pipe in the other ; 
 " and if there could be but found a dozen of 
 honest fellows, who would join me, I would 
 even once again draw my sword, and venture a
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 69 
 
 bold stroke to get the King out of their clutches 
 before it is too late." 
 
 *' Say you so, neighbour?" cried Sir Piers, 
 with an air of triumph, " why then will 1 even 
 take you at your word ; for know there are 
 those in the west who watch as well as pray for 
 the safety of the King ; and who, even now, are 
 silently, secretly, and, I trust, surely carrying 
 on a scheme for his deliverance. Thou know- 
 est Captain John Barley, of the Burley family 
 in the South Hams?" 
 
 '' I know him," said Sir Hugh, " a gallant 
 gentleman : he fought at Landsdown with Sir 
 Bevil Grenville, that jewel of the west, that 
 glory of Devon, who bit the dust with many 
 a brave man in that day's field. I know him : 
 Burley nearly lost his own life in attempting to 
 be avenged for the loss of his friend and fellow- 
 countryman. What of him ?" 
 
 " His loyalty lost him his estate and his 
 commission : he retired into the Isle of Wight, 
 and there he lives like a poor gentleman, 
 having more respect than means : he lives nigh 
 to Carisbrook Castle."
 
 70 warleigh; or, 
 
 ** So near the captive King!" replied Sir 
 Hugh, " then has Charles one friend at least 
 in that island of durance." 
 
 " I trust his Majesty has many," said Sir 
 Piers, " and Captain Burley purposes, on a 
 fitting moment, to make trial of them ; that is, 
 if we in the west will hold ourselves in readiness 
 to receive the royal fugitive, should it be found 
 impossible, or highly dangerous to attempt his 
 passage across the water into France ; for so 
 great is the apprehension of his enemies that 
 he may venture such a thing, that not a fisher's 
 boat can put over towards the French coast 
 but it is boarded and searched. The west of 
 Enoland once more in combination to restore 
 the King to his rights, might, on his Majesty's 
 sudden arrival in these parts, rouse all hearts, 
 all arms in his cause : all might flock round his 
 banner. Cornwall and Devon, ever true in 
 loyalty, the first to shed their blood, and the 
 last to retreat from death, or a good cause, 
 Cornwall and Devon might have the glory of 
 saving " 
 
 " The King ! the King ! " cried Sir Hugh,
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 71 
 
 as he struck his pipe against the table in his 
 ecstasy ; the bowl of it snapt short. " A plague 
 on it," he said, looking on the broken tube with 
 a vexed expression of countenance, '* some 
 roundhead made thee, or else thou wouldst 
 never have snapt short when I did but strike 
 with thee on this senseless table, a blow for 
 King Charles, as I would strike his worst foe 
 with cold iron, would he give me a fair field. — 
 I am a fool, but I like not the omen. Small 
 things show weightier matters ; and I have not 
 forgot those evil signs that attended the first 
 setting up of the King's standard at Nottingham. 
 It was a stormy evening — ^justsuch a blustering 
 gloomy evening as this is — and Varney, the 
 knight-marshal, rode beside the king himself to 
 the Castle Hill. And there, mingling with the 
 kettle-drums of the horse, the trumpets blew up 
 a blast louder than the tempest, as Varney struck 
 the standard into the ground, exclaiming, * I 
 plant thee for God and King Charles ; and ac- 
 cursed be the hand that moves thee from thy 
 place.' But it would not do: no hand touched it, 
 yet the first wind that wandered by blew it down
 
 72 warleigh; or, 
 
 — down to the ground; and there were those 
 who said that God himself had thus marked out 
 the monarchy of Old England as a prey to the 
 spoiler; since by no mortal hand, but by his 
 breath the standard had fallen, to show how 
 vain it was, that the banner of a hundred kings, 
 which floated on the fields of victory at Cressy, 
 Poitiers, and Agincourt in the old times, and 
 over the Spaniard at sea, and Frenchman on 
 shore, in these latter days, should hope to stand, 
 if he forbore to hold it up. I have never 
 laughed at an ill omen since Varney told the 
 tale I now repeat, as we sat prisoners together 
 in the Tower of London ; before I recovered my 
 liberty and lost my estate. And look you now, 
 when once again I talk of King Charles and 
 my sword, my old comforter, the cheerer of 
 my prison, the companion of my musings, my 
 tobacco-pipe snaps as I hold it in my hand." 
 
 Sir Hugh closed his narrative of the standard 
 with much emotion ; indeed with more emotion 
 than the incident of the broken pipe could 
 warrant, were not his great and repeated mis- 
 fortunes considered. These had weakened his
 
 THE FATAL OAK. YS 
 
 spirits, though not his principles; for the ha- 
 bitually unfortunate often become the habitually 
 timid; they start at shadows, and see evils 
 when they do but fear them. Sir Piers ob- 
 served this foolish accident had awakened, like 
 a spark on a train of gunpowder, all the slum- 
 bering painful recollections of Sir Hugh's past 
 calamities ; and, ever kind and thoughtful, he 
 now spoke with much feeling. 
 
 *' Sir Hugh, I have done wrong, I fear, in 
 hinting to you a plan, a mad plan, may be, 
 which some gentlemen are not unwilling to 
 undertake, as a last effort to rescue the King 
 from his hard bondage. But you have suffered 
 much, too much, already ; you have escaped 
 these tempestuous times, after having manfully 
 struggled with them, like a shipwrecked ma- 
 riner, who saves nothing but life. You are a 
 married man, and a father; once again are you 
 endeavouring to provide for your family a better 
 fortune. I do you wrong to put it in hazard.'* 
 
 " You do me no wrong, no wrong in the 
 world. Sir Piers," cried his friend, *^ no more 
 wrong than when the merchants of Exeter 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 T4 warleigh; or, 
 
 offered me a share in the gaUiasse that was to 
 go forth on venture to the Bermudas. I ac- 
 cepted it, and the ship foundered ; but I have 
 ever held myself indebted to their kindness in 
 making me a sharer of the benefit, had there 
 been benefit, in their schemes. I have, Sir 
 Piers, — and I hope I may be pardoned thus 
 speaking in my own commendation, considering 
 the occasion — but I have, Sir, once had the 
 honour of ruining myself and family, for the 
 King : and if I feel it a duty to do so again, I 
 would wish to know who shall say me nay?" 
 
 " Not I, my dear Sir Hugh," said his friend, 
 " if such is your resolution, since I offer you 
 no venture in which I do not share myself, to 
 the full, the same peril. But your wife and 
 daughter ! " 
 
 " Must not be thought of, must not be 
 named : and yet I love them both, Sir Piers, as 
 dearly as I love the light of day, or the blood 
 that warms my heart. But if they, too, must 
 suffer in the cause, why. Heaven's will be done ; 
 and if the husband and father die to serve God's 
 church and the King, I think not He will leave
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 75 
 
 the widow and the fatherless without comfort. 
 So I will even trust them to Him, and not look 
 back ; but fix my eye on my duty, as the pilot 
 does on the card, certain that it will guide him 
 better than he could guide himself without it. 
 But soft ! we are interrupted." 
 
 " Who comes hither?" said Sir Piers, hastily 
 rising up, as if he feared any part of their dis- 
 course should have been overheard by an eves- 
 dropper. 
 
 " 'Tis I, your honour, Cornet Davy," said a 
 voice that spoke without the door; and imme- 
 diately after. Cornet Davy followed this an- 
 nouncement of his own name, which he had sent 
 before him, into the room. 
 
 £ 2
 
 76" warleigh; or, 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
 Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away ; 
 Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, 
 Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. 
 Goldsmith's Deserted Village. 
 
 The person who announced himself as Cornet 
 Davy, was somewhat advanced in years ; had a 
 grave and respectable appearance, a head white 
 as wool, and a countenance as long and as do- 
 lorous as that of an undertaker. The Cornet 
 (elevated to that station when Sir Hugh raised 
 his troop of horse at the beginning of the Re- 
 belHon) was originally that worthy man's head 
 clerk ; and one who, as well as presiding over 
 the ledger, could also, in the absence of his 
 master, bargain with foreign merchants, or with 
 home and retail dealers. In his more noble 
 and military capacity, Richard Davy had not 
 entirely forgotten the habits of his original call- 
 ing ; so that, notwithstanding he had displayed
 
 THE FATAL OAK. ' 77 
 
 much spirit and aptitude as a soldier, on jthe 
 desertion of the troop (soon after the taking of 
 Exeter by Fairfax), he very naturally and very 
 quietly fell into his old place; not only as head, 
 but now, alas ! as sole clerk to his beloved pa- 
 tron, whom he still faithfully attended in his more 
 humble and reduced traffic of a ship-chandler. 
 
 A fondness for distinction, a feeling ot ho- 
 nour, not to be condemned, which caused him 
 to entertain some little pride for his past brave 
 deeds, made honest Davy still ambitious of 
 being designated by the title of Cornet ; though 
 his military appellative not unfrequently led him 
 into trouble, as he had borne it on the losing 
 side of the question. An old sword and a brace 
 of petronels, that had been the companions of 
 his military career, were still cherished, as 
 trophies of honour in a fallen cause. Like the 
 spirit of their owner, they were ever held rfeady 
 for action at the call of duty to God, the King, 
 ^nd Sir Hugh Piper, of loyal and noted 
 bravery. If wishing well, and praying earnestly 
 and watching incessantly for the welfare of 
 King Charles, could have set him free, the zeal 
 E 3
 
 78 warleigh; or, 
 
 alone of Cornet Davy would have done the 
 business; and such an index was the honest 
 man's face to the feelings of his mind, that when 
 he daily appeared, with the Diurnal* in one 
 hand, and a pipe in the other, to sit an hour or 
 so after dinner with his beloved and conde- 
 scending master. Sir Hugh knew exactly how 
 afTairs stood with the King, by only looking at 
 old Davy's face. He needed not to read a 
 single paragraph of the Diurnal, to ascertain 
 when the royalists had made a stir, had risen 
 in arms, or were beaten by their adversaries; 
 for Cornet Davy's looks told it all. 
 
 If any thing good happened, or only the hope 
 of good, he seldom staid, after his gentle rap at 
 the door, the order for its opening ; but would 
 enter the room confidently, and with a flourish 
 of the hand in which he held the Diurnal, in 
 the same manner he used to flourish his pike, 
 he would exclaim (as his little grey eyes 
 sparkled with delight, and every feature shone 
 with the brightness of joy), " There ! Sir Hugh, 
 there is news worth the bringing ; the Round- 
 
 * A newspaper of the time.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 79 
 
 head rascals will have their deserts at last ; and 
 we shall once more write C. R. in our banners 
 without the fear of its being called a prohibited 
 entry." But if, on the contrary, the Cornet 
 brought bad intelligence with him, he thought 
 it made itself known fast enough, and, there- 
 fore, was in the less haste to speak it. On such 
 occasions he was usually silent, or would only 
 answer Sir Hugh's enquiry of " What news, 
 Cornet?" with a shake of the head or a long- 
 drawn sigh, and some ejaculatory " Alack ! 
 alack ! " and " Who would have thought it ; 
 but God's will be done ; this world is not a 
 place for honest men, I trow," &c. &c. 
 
 It was somewhat unusual to see the Cornet 
 had quitted his snug nook in his master's house, 
 to find his way to Mount Edgcumbe, uncalled 
 for, in so stormy an afternoon; though he was 
 by no means a stranger to the generous hospi- 
 tality of Sir Piers. But no sooner had he now 
 opened the door, and showed a face in which 
 every feature bore the most marked expression 
 of dismay, than Sir Hugh involuntarily started 
 up, and asked, in the tone of one who expects 
 E 4
 
 80 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 to hear bad tidings, " For God's sake, what's 
 the matter, Davy? What brings you here ?" 
 
 " The heaviest news," replied the Cornet, as 
 he made an eflPort to speak with resolution, 
 '^ that ever I had to tell, since I told your ho- 
 nour of the loss of the Double Rose and all her 
 cargo; or that Sir Bevil Grenville was down 
 when he charged at the head of the King's 
 horse. I came through hail and rain, wind and 
 storm — for I could not bide home with a burst- 
 ing heart — I came on purpose, noble Sirs, to 
 tell you both that Colchester had yielded I " 
 
 " Colchester yielded 1 " exclaimed Sir Piers 
 and Sir Hugh in one breath. 
 
 " Ay, Colchester has yielded," repeated the 
 old Cornet, '' and Sir Charles Lucas and Sir 
 George Lisle are both dead men." 
 
 " Dead !" said Sir Hugh ; " I grieve to hear 
 it. Why, they would stand at their post till 
 the bullets flew about their ears like bail : and 
 every Roundhead would light a match and fire 
 his harquebuss to try which could bring down 
 one or other of the boldest cavaliers that ever 
 followed Prince Rupert or Prince Maurice m
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 81 
 
 these wars. As I have heard, they valiantly 
 defended Colchester, and against odds. No 
 doubt they fell before the post of honour." 
 
 " No, Sir Hugh," said Cornet Davy, " that 
 they did not; they fell before a wooden post 
 in a vile ale-yard at Colchester; where they 
 were shot to death by order of — of that cold- 
 blooded villain, Ireton." 
 
 " Shot to death ! murdered ! by Ireton's 
 command ! By Ireton, the most heartless, cruel, 
 revengeful Roundhead of them all ! Davy, 
 this is bad news indeed: I would rather have 
 lost my right arm, than that the King should 
 have lost such men as these. The one famous 
 for foresight, and the other for action to do 
 him service. But tell thy tale, Davy; I will 
 take patience to hear it, seeing that dead, dead, 
 is the end of all men ; for in peace or in war it 
 comes to that at last." 
 
 " Ay, that it does. Sir Hugh," said the 
 Cornet. " Death closes every man's account, 
 and strikes the balance whether he will or not ; 
 and woe be to him if there is a deficit, as your 
 honour says, of the yearly summing up. Death, 
 E 5
 
 82 warleigh; or, 
 
 Sir Hugh, always puts me in mind of a bond 
 debt ; it cannot be shifted, there is no vouching 
 by security, and the principal must answer for 
 himself." 
 
 " In truth must he, honest Davy," said Sir 
 Hugh ; " and well is it for him when all his 
 outstanding debts have been honestly called in 
 and discharged. But to thy tale, man; yet 
 tell it not dry. Though thou hast too much 
 of moisture about thee to fear that already ; for 
 the rain has not spared thy old doublet, nor 
 sorrow thy old eyes, so that both drop tears : 
 yet drink a cup. Cornet ; 'twill help thee to get 
 through thy tale. You said Colchester had 
 yielded, and that those gallant gentlemen were 
 slain." 
 
 " Ay," replied the Cornet," they were slain ; 
 and if it had but been in action, it would have 
 been a pleasure to weep for them ; but one 
 can't do so for the murdered, for somehow 
 one's blood boils up against the murderer ; and 
 a man is not cool enough for crying, like a 
 woman, when he would show a better resent- 
 ment of the crime. Colchester hath yielded ;
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 83 
 
 Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle be- 
 came prisoners to Ireton ; and in cold blood 
 were they shot to death, by order of that Round- 
 head captain of psalm-singing cut-throats and 
 thieves.'* 
 
 " To die thus ! " said Sir Hugh ; " alas ! it is 
 grievous to think upon it ! Noble gentlemen, 
 they shall not die without vengeance. In faith, 
 this tale would be as a spur to a fiery horse, to 
 set him off in madness, did we need it to rouse 
 our blood to action. Cornet, hast thou forgot 
 thy old vocation? Could'st thou once more 
 lay down thy quill as clerk to the broken-down 
 Plymouth merchant, and take up thy pike, and 
 once more follow to the field Sir Hugh Piper, 
 the soldier and knight, did occasion offer to do 
 service to King Charles ?" 
 
 " Would I follow ! '* exclaimed old Davy ; 
 " ay, marry ; I would follow such a master, 
 and in such a cause, to the end of the world." 
 
 " Bethink you, Sir Hugh," said Sir Piers ; 
 " what 1 mentioned but now is, though in 
 agitation, yet uncertain, unshaped. Prudence, 
 E 6
 
 S4 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 therefore, is necessary; and should this good 
 
 man 
 
 " Fear him not, Sir Piers; my life for it, 
 Cornet Davy is as true as oak; ay, and as 
 close, too, if occasion demands it. Besides, I 
 cannot act without his assistance. Davy is to 
 me as necessary as a scout is to a general, or 
 a covered way to a beleaguered fortress. For, 
 look you, Sir Piers, did I show my head too 
 much abroad in these matters, it would breed 
 suspicion. One would ask, ' What does the 
 old malignant in such a place, or at such a 
 time ? There is something in the wind for the 
 King's cause, or the old piper would not play 
 up such a tune.' But Davy, my invoice man, 
 my keeper of stores and collector of monies, 
 my servant, clerk, and friend, my very right 
 hand, as I may say; to see him stir abroad 
 excites no wonder ; and he shall come and go 
 between me and the king's friends with no more 
 suspicion than did Duke Hamilton, when he 
 played at bo-peep, as Scout, or Double-face, 
 between the Kino^ and the Scots."
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 85 
 
 " I am satisfied Cornet Davy may be trust- 
 ed," said Sir Piers ; " and ere the present week 
 expires, I hope to receive sucli advices from 
 many friends, some distant, some near, as may 
 bring matter full of import for our consider- 
 ation. Then we will talk further on this bu- 
 siness; at present, the chief difficulty to be 
 apprehended is that of obtaining in secret a 
 sufficient supply of arms." 
 
 " Never despair of it," cried Sir Hugh, 
 " worse difficulties than that hath wit and pa- 
 tience overcome; though not without the aid 
 of money. Let me see : I can still do some- 
 thing in that way myself; for when my rascally 
 troop deserted, because pay-day depended on 
 trade winds, and it had its date with certain 
 cargoes of rum and sugar (the landing of which 
 never found a place in my calendar), why then 
 Davy and I contrived to secure and conceal 
 a certain quantity of arms, both for horse and 
 man ; and, though rusted for want of use, the 
 scowering of a day would be all that is needed. 
 Cornet, hast thou the item of our armoury 
 about thee?"
 
 86 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 " May it please your honour," said the Cor- 
 net, " I pricked down the same on the back 
 of the old muster-roll, and it is ever in my 
 pocket in my book of sundries : here will it be 
 found." And fumbling within a huge pocket, 
 that, like a well, seemed to have a far and deep 
 bottom, the military accountant produced a 
 fair calfskin book with silver clasps. " Ay, 
 here is the old muster-roll, sure enough," said 
 Davy, " with the names of killed, wounded, 
 and missing, as a closing item of the account : 
 at the head of the latter stands one who was 
 never found — Thomas Lighthead, I see." 
 
 " 'T was a misnomer, Davy," said Sir Hugh ; 
 " that fellow's heels were ever lighter than his 
 head ; he was the first to run away, and turn 
 tail like a cur, at the sight of the Roundheads : 
 but give us not the names of my old troop, but 
 rather let us hear what we have left of their 
 harness." 
 
 " Marry," said the Cornet, " for horse de- 
 fensive armour, there is pricked down six backs 
 and three breast-pieces, and one pot, pistol 
 proof."
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 87 
 
 " I would the back-pieces had been fewer, 
 and the breast of greater number ; seeing that 
 your back-piece is most fitted to one of Light* 
 head's valour ; its chief use being for those who 
 run away. As to the pot, it is solitary : and 
 though it can cover but one trooper's head, it 
 may, if needs must, stand cook for a regiment 
 of stomachs. I would the meat, though, were 
 as certain as the pot ; for how, alas ! without 
 money, shall I feed another troop? But go 
 on." 
 
 " Ten swords and five cases of pistols ; their 
 barrels not under fourteen inches in length. Of 
 horse furniture, one great saddle, or pad, with 
 bars, and straps to affix the holsters." 
 
 " That is my own, Davy," said Sir Hugh, 
 " my own furniture for old Hector, who bore 
 me through many a hard day's toil. He is of 
 little use now ; wounded in the shoulder, 
 cracked in the wind, and parcel-blind with age ; 
 a worn -down old war-horse, fit, may be, for an 
 old soldier. What muskets have we, Davy?" 
 
 " Somewhere about a dozen ; six collars of 
 bandeliers, with store of match, some sixty
 
 88 warleigh; or, 
 
 yards or so, and a sufficient complement of 
 bullets/' 
 
 " Good: what more?" said Sir Hugh. 
 
 " I have bethought me," replied the provi- 
 dent store-keeper, " that some of the commo- 
 dities in which we traffic with the captains of 
 the ships, may be pressed into his Majesty's 
 service ; such as the tumbrels we ship for Hol- 
 land." 
 
 " They will serve us as baggage carts, though 
 small," said Sir Hugh, " and wheel off the 
 wounded. What more?" 
 
 ** Logs, and pitch, and rope, are things often 
 wanted in storming a town, your honour," said 
 Davy. 
 
 " The logs and the pitch," cried Sir Hugh, 
 as his eyes sparkled with delight, at thus hear- 
 ing his own stores catalogued out for the King's 
 service ; " the pitch and the logs shall serve to 
 smoke old Fairfax out of his close hiding at 
 Exeter, as they smoke a fox out of his hole, if 
 nothing else will do it, to make him come on 
 for a tussel ; and as for the rope, the Round- 
 heads shall have it, gratis, at their hanging."
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 89 
 
 " And store of canvass and blue lights yet 
 remain to be entered in this present account/' 
 continued Davy. 
 
 " The canvass," cried Sir Hugh, " may help 
 clothe the ragged royalists in doublets and 
 shirts ; for the blue lights, Davy, they are sig- 
 nals of distress, and, I trust, his Majesty will 
 not need them ; though, in faith, this seems an 
 evening like enough to exhibit many such a 
 candle of sorrow on the high seas ; for the wind 
 blows and howls like a fury, and the sea roars 
 like a wild bear. Many a mast will go' by the 
 board to night. Is thy account of arms and 
 ammunition, in my store-house, at an end ? 
 What more have I, that may be useful in the 
 King's service?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied Davy, " but your honour's 
 own worthy person, and one Richard Davy, 
 your poor clerk and servitor, who, under your 
 favour, and the King's commission, once wrote 
 himself Cornet in the great current account of 
 his Majesty's faithful friends." 
 
 " Thou shalt write Captain-Lieutenant an we
 
 90 warleigh; on, 
 
 once more take the field ; and that will be pro- 
 motion for you, Davy," said Sir Hugh." 
 
 " I will get me some half dozen trusty fol- 
 lowers ; and then, Sir Piers, say but the time 
 and the place, and honest Davy once more 
 shoulders his pike ; and I, as the brave royalist 
 said to the rebel parliament, on quitting their 
 house, as they jeeringly bade him go home and 
 arm himself, — I will find me a good sword, 
 and take good heart, and I doubt not to find 
 a good cause in which to exercise both." 
 
 " And successfully, I trust," said Sir Piers, 
 " if all goes well. Why, Sir Hugh, nothing 
 seems to subdue your resolution ; you look as 
 cheerful and speak with as much spirit now, 
 as you did whilst you stood before the siege of 
 Plymouth, when that compound of folly, vice, 
 and bravery. Sir Richard Grenville, led you 
 on." 
 
 " Ay," replied Sir Hugh,' with a sigh, 
 " had Sir Richard been but like his noble bro- 
 ther, Sir Bevil Grenville, never would the King 
 have now been a prisoner in Carisbrook Gastle. 
 But the licence, the misrule, the violence of
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 91 
 
 that Sir Richard, and the debauched, reckless 
 conduct of Goring, ruined the King's affairs in 
 the West. Drunken and swaggering cavaliers 
 were no match for the fierce, determined, inde- 
 pendents, and the cool, sober, psalm-singing 
 knaves of the parliament. But Sir Bevil Gren- 
 ville ! he was, indeed, a leader : a nobler cou- 
 rage, or a gentler mind, were never wedded to 
 make a sweeter union in the Christian or the 
 man. Thou hast not forgot Sir Bevil, Davy, 
 I trow ? " 
 
 " No, your honour, nor Stratton Heights ; 
 where Sir Hugh Piper, with Sir Ralph Hopton, 
 Grenville, and the gallant Slanning by his side, 
 scaled the hill, in spite of a raking fire from a 
 couple of minion drakes, that swept off the 
 men, whole ranks at a time, just as a sickle 
 crops the harvest of the mower.'* 
 
 " And the Earl of Stamford and all his horse 
 fled," cried Sir Hugh, " and Stratton Heights 
 that day bore the banner of King Charles as 
 proudly as did ever the Tower of London : and 
 though we went to battle neither with a Bible in
 
 92 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 one hand nor with rebellion in the other* ; though 
 we sang not God's praises through the nose, 
 and broke his laws in the heart, yet we cavaliers 
 forgot not to say our prayers for the victory. 
 Stratton Heights stood for our high altars, the 
 banner of our King for their canopy, as, with 
 unwashed hands from the contest, bleeding,- 
 wounded, dying, or safe in life and limb, with 
 one voice we blessed the God of battles for 
 the victory ! Thou hast not forgot the day, 
 Cornet?" 
 
 " No, nor Lansdowne fight either," cried the 
 Cornet ; " but that victory came like the for- 
 tunes of a new gentlemen, one made rich by 
 inheritance ; all in black for the very cause of 
 his rejoicing, the old honour being just de- 
 parted. Sir Bevil Grenville fell ; and his loss 
 outweighed all the victory : yet was it a proud 
 day, Sir Hugh, when you rushed up to the 
 iron saker, that swept down your men as they 
 ascended, and spiked it, though loaded to the 
 mouth ; as I, with my pole-axe, felled the gun- 
 ner to the earth."
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 93 
 
 " And then the men shouted," said Sir Hugh, 
 " Lansdowne and victory ! " 
 
 " And King Charles ! " exclaimed old Davy, 
 raising his voice, as if again partaking the en- 
 thusiasm of victory. 
 
 " And again may that glad shout be re- 
 peated," cried St. Piers, who caught the fire 
 of enthusiasm from his friend and old follower, 
 " again may that become the joyful shout of 
 all the West. Join me, friends, — fill up to 
 the brim ! I pledge this cup to the success of 
 our enterprise and the deliverance of the King, 
 whom God preserve, and set free in all happi- 
 ness." > 
 
 " And may his enemies fall, never to rise 
 again. The very hope of our enterprise warms 
 my old heartwith joy," said Sir Hugh. " I 
 could dance, leap, and sing, at the thoughts of 
 once more turning out for the good old cause. 
 Thou hast not forgot. Sir Piers, that song of 
 Alexander Brome (the poet of loyalists — the 
 very Magnus Apollo, as I may call him, of the 
 cavaliers), which thus goes, though a better 
 voice than mine should troll the tune : —
 
 94f warleigh; or, 
 
 " Come, pass about the bowl to me ; * 
 
 A health to our distressed king ; 
 Though we 're in hold, let cups go free ; 
 Birds in a cage may freely sing. 
 
 *' The ground doth tipple healths apace. 
 
 When storms do fall, and shall not we ? 
 A sorrow dares not show his face, 
 
 When we are ships, and sack's the sea." 
 
 " Come, pass about the bowl to me." Here 
 Sir Piers and the Cornet caught the spirit of the 
 chorus, even as they had before caught from 
 each other the all-prevailing spirit of loyalty, 
 so ardent in the breasts of the old cavaliers. 
 All sorrow was for the moment forgotten in 
 that sea of sack, the theme of song; and they 
 now all three joined in a full and loud chorus, 
 that certainly made itself heard through the 
 sundry doors and pannellings, by which they 
 were fenced, to a very distant part of the 
 house. 
 
 Ere the chorus was ended, and whilst those 
 words, " Birds in a cage may freely sing,''* yet 
 quavered from the lips of old Davy and Sir 
 Hugh, a side door was softly opened, and a 
 couple of heads, one as bright as that of a
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 95 
 
 laughing Hebe, and the other no bad represent- 
 ative of a companion goddess in beauty and 
 vivacity, thrust themselves in between an open- 
 ing in the hanging arras that concealed this 
 door of the apartment. The beautiful heads 
 thus displayed were each covered with a quan- 
 tity of hair, smooth on the crown, but felling 
 full about the neck, in a thousand small ringlets 
 of clustering curls, straying and twining like the 
 tendrils of the vine. A single drop pearl that 
 hung from either ear, peeped forth amid all this 
 redundance of tresses ; a style of ornament, and 
 of wearing the hair, that Vandyke has rendered 
 matchless in taste and elegance by his picture 
 of Sacharissa, Dorothy Sydney, or in that of the 
 beautiful queen of the unfortunate Charles. 
 
 The laughing Hebe was the first of these 
 twins in beauty who now spoke : — " What," 
 cried she, as she came forward, with an air of 
 playful ease, — ' Birds in a cage may freely 
 si?ig.'* Ay, marry, but not songs that would 
 endanger their necks, I fancy, if the pretty 
 foolish warblers knew how much consequence is 
 now^a-days attached to a song. In good sooth,
 
 96 warleigh; or, 
 
 gentlemen, I trust you have no eves-droppers ; 
 else would your carol be literally fulfilled, and 
 a dungeon in Plymouth Castle, or the town 
 cage, would furnish one for such royal birds as 
 you are. Nay, an singing be your sport, I see 
 not how your burthen could go roundly with 
 the tune, without my aid. I would sing solo 
 for less than a cup of sack ; and not all minstrels 
 would be thus easily satisfied, since music came 
 begging into the halls of the great." 
 
 " What ! my pretty blossom of the mount, 
 my heath-bell of Devon, my fair Robina," said 
 Sir Hugh Piper, " I will give thee a better 
 payment than a sack posset for thy melody ; I 
 will kiss thy sweet lips, an thou wilt sing to 
 me. 
 
 " Nay, Sir Hugh," replied Robina Edg- 
 cumbe, — for it was the daughter of Sir Piers 
 who now spoke, — " that may not be; kissing, 
 they say, goes by favour ; and here stands one 
 who has a better right to yours than I can have, 
 — your own dear child, Mistress Agnes Piper, 
 to whom you have not spoken this fair day." 
 
 " In faith, pretty Mistress Robina," said Sir
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 97 
 
 Hugh, " thy words, like a Roundhead's con- 
 science, speak true and false at the same time : 
 true, inasmuch as I have not seen nor spoken 
 with Agnes since I came hither ; and false, in- 
 asmuch as the day is too foul to merit the fair 
 term which but even now you gave to it. Agnes, 
 my child, God bless thee ! Kiss thy old father, 
 Agnes, and then fill him up another cup of 
 sack. Why, Agnes, so great is the love of thy 
 friends here to thee, thou dost almost live at 
 Mount Edgcumbe. I fear thou dost tarry too 
 long, and art cumbersome." 
 
 " No, Sir Hugh," said Sir Piers Edgcumbe, 
 " you speak two wrong things in one sentence : 
 for you wrong our love to this young lady to 
 fancy she could weary us, and again you injure 
 her, by underrating the value of her compan}-. 
 My pretty goddaughter. Mistress Agnes Piper, 
 I trust will ever look upon the child of her god- 
 father, Robina, here, as a sister, and on Mount 
 Edgcumbe as her home, whenever she chooses 
 to make it such." 
 
 " And how dost pass thy hours and days, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 Agnes?" said her fond father, as he took the 
 cup she now handed to him, and gazed in her 
 face with a look of the most perfect satisfaction. 
 " Why, girl, the air of this sweet mount breathes 
 health to thee ; for the roses that used to be seen 
 at thy breast-knot have strayed to thy cheeks, 
 and there they glow as if full blown in June. 
 Thou art a loving guest, I hope, to thy friends, 
 and a kind, a useful, and obliging—" 
 
 " Mistress Agnes is all that a father could 
 wish. Sir Hugh, I do assure you," said Sir 
 Piers. 
 
 " But not all that your goodness merits, my 
 kind godfather," replied Mistress Agnes, blush- 
 ing ; and turning to her father, she added, " we 
 are not idle, dear sir. At morn, we are up with 
 the lark, to hear him sit and sing on the old 
 white-blossomed thorn in the park; and then 
 we pluck wild flowers, and learn their names ; 
 or ramble among the paths in the cliffs, and 
 wander down to the beach, and look at that 
 noble sight, the ocean, as it sends its billows, 
 foaming and breaking, to the shore. And
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 99 
 
 above all, we love to gaze on some tall ship, as 
 she keeps on her way without effort, steady and 
 silent in her motion, to see her gently rise and 
 fall, in- regular succession, to the solemn un- 
 dulation of the waves, like one who marches to 
 well-timed music. Oh, it is a sight to inspire the 
 dullest fancy, to warm the coldest heart, to — —." 
 
 " Why, how now, Agnes, girl ? " said Sir 
 Hugh : " thou art at thy old flights, I see, talk- 
 ing poetry in prose as fast as thought can supply 
 the fancy with words ; thou wilt become mazed 
 with poetry, girl." 
 
 " Nay, she is so already, my dear Sir Hugh,'* 
 cried Robina, the Hebe, " Mistress Agnes Piper 
 is all poetry; head, heart, and soul, she is com- 
 pacted of nothing but bright thoughts, pure feel- 
 ings, and elevated hopes. She cannot look on a 
 rolling cloud, but she will compare it to the 
 Alps and Apennines, that is, if it be fleecy; or 
 to caverns and chaos, if it looks black and 
 dismal. The sea supplies her with images 
 of grandeur, and the stars with fancies about 
 unknown worlds, that she will stand and 
 F 2
 
 100 warleigh; or, 
 
 parcel out as if she had explored them. And 
 the moon ! I must not talk of the moon, for 
 her influences are too much akin to the bane of 
 poetry — madness. I will rather speak of the 
 world terrestrial, where my friend Agnes cannot 
 look on a cock-robin, but it supplies her with 
 matter for a sonnet. And then she has a fancy 
 for music — in that respect she is almost as bad 
 as myself; so that her prick-song book and her 
 lute are almost the companions of her pillow." 
 
 " Is it so?" said Sir Hugh; " then, prithee, 
 girls, sing to us instead of prattling thus fast 
 about it, and then leave us ; for you have broken 
 in on a most solemn hour of business between 
 Sir Piers and myself and yonder honest fellow, 
 who will not sit down in your presence till you 
 bid him." 
 
 " Stand not for us," said Mistress Robina ; 
 " pray sit, good Master Davy, pray sit." 
 
 " Cornet Davy, at your ladyship's pleasure, 
 sweet young madam," said Davy, as he bowed 
 and took a seat. 
 
 " We have all some title, and like not to
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 101 
 
 lose it," said Sir Hugh ; " songstress is thine, 
 and prithee, damsels, prove it is deserved. 
 What wilt thou sing?" 
 
 " Anything you please," replied Robina. " I 
 will but fetch my lute;" and away she went with 
 the step of a bounding fawn. 
 
 " And what will you have me sing, Sir ? " 
 said Agnes; " shall it be Cowley's Hymn to 
 Light, a poem full of exquisite thought, or 
 something from his Davideis, or a sprightly 
 catch of Sir John Denham's, or a stanza of 
 Davenant's Gondibert to a melody of Rimani's ? 
 I know I must not talk of love's gentle flame to 
 you, who think of nothing but the wars, else 
 would I sing you Habington's sweet verses to 
 his Castara, upon Cupid's death and burial in 
 her cheek." 
 
 " What ! " cried Sir Hugh, '* can thy poets do 
 nothing better than make the god of love bring 
 with him thoughts of death and a churchyard ? 
 Such rhyming is not worth a rush ! " 
 
 " An you like it not," said Agnes, " I have 
 many a sweet ditty of Suckling's, or Music's Duel 
 F 3
 
 102 warleigh; or, 
 
 by Crashavv, or his Steps to Time's Temple, or 
 Cartwright's Lesbia's Sparrow, or " 
 
 " Hold ! enough," cried Sir Hugh, " as old 
 Will Shakspeare says, who is worth all your 
 new-fangled poets in a bunch. Why, girl, thou 
 hast given me such a volley of them, that they 
 came about my ears like a scattering fire of in- 
 fantry in a retreat. Sing something of thine 
 own, Agnes : if I must hear poetry, I would 
 rather hear what is thine than another's, since a 
 father may be better pleased than a critic with 
 such matters, and I know thy fancy. Thou 
 wilt write verses as fast as either poet of them 
 nil." 
 
 By this time Mistress Robina had returned 
 with the lute : the two friends were soon seated, 
 and the fond fathers of both, Sir Hugh and Sir 
 Piers, forgot for awhile their plots, their politics, 
 and almost their loyalty, in the delighted feelings 
 called up by seeing two lovely beings, so near 
 and dear to them, in all the gracefulness of 
 youth, innocence, and beauty, breathing notes 
 of sweetness to the soft concord of the melodious 
 lute, —
 
 THE FATAL OAK. lOS 
 
 THE ARTIFICE OF LOVE.* 
 
 'Tis said that Love 's a naked boy : 
 
 Rather, he 's dress'd in close disguise ; 
 He's boldest when he seems most coy ; 
 
 And wholly on his art relies. 
 
 As Proteus, such his subtle frame, 
 
 He 's ever changing, ne'er at rest : 
 Sometimes like ice, and now like flame. 
 
 He spreads his influence o'er the breast. 
 
 With Friendship's confidential air 
 
 He wins your unsuspecting heart; 
 Then, tangled in his wily snare, 
 
 He wounds it with his hidden dart. 
 
 With sobs of grief, and tears of woe, 
 
 He comes in Pity's sad attire : 
 But, ah ! those tears, that treacherous flow, 
 
 Quench not, but rouse his dreaded fire. 
 
 Then, caution 'd of his arts, beware, 
 
 Beware to take him to thy breast ; 
 Or never canst thou hope to share 
 
 A moment's peace, a moment's rest. 
 
 * For this copy of Mistress Agnes Piper's verses, we are 
 indebted to an antiquarian friend and poet of Devon, Edward 
 A. Bray. 
 
 F 4
 
 104 warleigh; ob, 
 
 CHAR V. 
 
 a piteous, fearful sight. 
 
 A noble vessel labouring with the storm. 
 
 Maturin'5 Bertram* 
 
 As Agnes concluded her song, she sighed, 
 and said, " I know not how it is, but I feel this 
 afternoon so little in harmony with my lute, 
 that I could weep instead of sing, did I indulge 
 the spirit of melancholy that seems disposed to 
 creep upon me ; and yet 1 know not wherefore 
 it should be so." 
 
 " Why, the dull weather affects you, may be, 
 girl," said Sir Hugh ; " for, sooth to say, to hear 
 the wind and sea roar so in concert together, 
 and to look on yonder clouds, as black as mid- 
 night, that seem to be bringing up a fresh 
 supply of thunder, lightning, hail, and rain, for 
 the old witches who deal in storms, were enough 
 to affect fanciful minds and weak spirits like 
 thine. Here, girl, taste the sack in my cup, it
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 105 
 
 will dispel megrims ; it ever does so with your 
 mother, when she has such low affections. Nay, 
 do not turn away ; do but sip the sack. I see 
 how it is; you will not taste it, because you 
 fancy it not poetical; and no lover writes an 
 ode on his mistress tippling Sherries sack. Yet, 
 girl, you should remember there was a great 
 heathen poet, as I have heard tell — one Ana- 
 creon by name, who wrote such verses on the 
 juice of the grape, that it were enough to make 
 a hermit a toper." 
 
 " Look !" exclaimed Robina, who stood near 
 the window, " only look ; if there is not master 
 Hezekiah Hornbuckle coming up to the house 
 all through the storm ; and the wind blows so 
 hard that he can scarcely keep on hat or cloak : 
 only see how he turns and stops, and turns 
 again to battle with the gust that nearly carries 
 him off his legs." 
 
 " And who is Hezekiah, my pretty sweet- 
 heart?" said Sir Hugh. 
 
 " He is the new minister that I mentioned 
 the other day to you," said Sir Piers, replying 
 for his daughter ; " he is a Presbyterian puritan, 
 F 5
 
 106 warleigh; or, 
 
 lately appointed to succeed that reverend divine 
 of the Church of England, Master John Newte, 
 who was turned out of his living, and has since 
 suffered such hardships as few persons, not an 
 eye-witness to them, would credit in the re- 
 lation." 
 
 " The crop-eared hypocrite ! " said Sir Hugh : 
 " how dares he approach your house?*' 
 
 " To be plain with you, Sir Hugh, he is not 
 the worst of his class, though a puritan and a 
 preacher. He is somewhat of an honest middle- 
 man ; and on this account it is that we have 
 him here." 
 
 " Let me tell you all about him. Sir Hugh," 
 said Robina : " it will never be other than re- 
 membered, that when this wildfire spirit of 
 fanaticism and rebellion was so furiously kindled 
 by the godly in the I'arliament, that, like able 
 smiths, who heat a furnace to hammer out the 
 red-hot iron for their purpose, they wanted 
 hands to blow the coals to keep the fire alive; 
 and so they called in to their aid a set of half 
 instructed and whole mad preachers, who turned 
 out all the sober and orthodox clergy, and
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 107 
 
 harangued the people from one end of the 
 kingdom to the other on the danger of having 
 popery restored, on the sinfulness of doing other 
 than to hear or preach sedition of a Sunday, 
 on liberty of conscience to rail against the king, 
 on the malignancy of loyalty, on the useless- 
 ness of bibhops and lawn sleeves— seeing that 
 they could never hope to wear such themselves, 
 on the profaneness and idolatry of railed altars, 
 the book of sports. Maypoles, and Christmas 
 puddings ; and the utter abomination of saying 
 one's prayers in the language of piety and Scrip- 
 ture, and standing up at the Gloria Patri." 
 
 " Why, my prattling Robina," said Sir Hugh, 
 *' you promised to give me a character of this 
 Hezekiah, and instead of the individual you 
 picture for me the species." 
 
 " Patience, and you shall hear," said Robina. 
 " This Hezekiah was a hound whose name was 
 Good-dog, for he would come and go at a 
 >vord ; and though he had a bark, yet it was not 
 loud enough; for Cromwell, or Ireton, or 
 Fairfax, wishing to lead astray the poor silly 
 people of Exeter, as they called them, from 
 F 6
 
 108 warleigh; or, 
 
 their loyalty, sent down some half dozen of these 
 mad preachers to repeat to them all that had 
 ever been uttered by the prophets themselves 
 against profane and wicked kings; charging 
 them to expound all such texts as immediately 
 pointing at the person of Charles Stuart. Now 
 this Hezekiah was amongst the chosen for the 
 work; but he proving what is called an honest 
 middle-man — though he can cant as well as any 
 of them — and not being zealous enough in the 
 kindhng of his coals, was turned out of that 
 vineyard, and sent down here to a more retired 
 village, where it was not thought of much conse- 
 quence if he did good or harm. And so ends my 
 picture of Hezekiah : you will find it a likeness." 
 " But not a finished one, Robina," said 
 Agnes ; " for all the finer touches are forgotten. 
 You are like those painters who catch nothing 
 but the marked features and hard lines; who 
 can paint hooked noses and long chins, but have 
 no eye for a delicate expression, or a look, or 
 a minute beauty, whose grace must be felt to be 
 depicted. You have only half painted Hezekiah; 
 and though I am no Vandyke to supply the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 109 
 
 graces which you do not seem to feel in his 
 character, yet I will tell you that, though a 
 puritan, he is sincere, a rare virtue, I grant 
 you, in these times ; and though he cant, as 
 you call it, yet has he a rich and poetic fancy, 
 that often rises to eloquence in his discourse, if 
 he would not, now and then, mar all by a fond- 
 ness for circumlocution, and render it stiff, 
 formal, and even ridiculous at times, by an ap- 
 plication of the sacred language of the Scrip- 
 tures to the purposes of common life. I like 
 Hezekiah so well, that if he were but a loyalist, 
 I should think him a wise and a good man." 
 
 Scarcely had Mistress Agnes concluded the 
 last sentence, when the subject of her remarks 
 appeared in the room, and presented to the 
 little party at Mount Edgcumbe the person of a 
 plain elderly man, in whose countenance there 
 was a deep, rather than a stern expression, with 
 brilliant grey eyes, whose glance could be kind 
 as well as penetrating. Like all the puritan 
 ministers of his time, he had his hair cut close 
 round his head, with so many little peaks that 
 it bordered on the ridiculous, and lessened, at
 
 110 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 first sight, the reverence which such a counte- 
 nance was well calculated to inspire. A suit 
 of russet, the Geneva cloak of blue (the well- 
 known garment of a disciple of Calvin), a pair 
 of falling bands, with a little close black silk 
 cap, formed his attire : and the figure of the 
 wearer, as it moved with a slow and somewhat 
 stately pace — as a religionist whose very steps, 
 like his thoughts, should have in them a con- 
 templative character — was not without dignity, 
 nor altogether devoid of that easy motion which 
 shows the gentleman even in the management 
 of his limbs. 
 
 As Hornbuckle entered, every one saw that 
 he must have been for some time exposed to the 
 storm ; since his steeple-crowned hat, which he 
 wore over his scull cap, and did not offer to 
 remove from his head, dripped like the eaves of 
 a roof; and his cloak, " heavy with its drink," 
 imparted it, in.no small quantities, to the po- 
 lished oak floor and the carpets over wliich he 
 passed. 
 
 Sir Piers and Robina exclaimed, almost in 
 one breath, " How wet you are ! What will you
 
 THE FATAL OAK. Ill 
 
 have ? How came you hither through such a 
 storm ?" and Agnes offered to help him off 
 with his dripping cloak : but Hezekiah, who 
 looked greatly agitated, waved his hand, as if 
 he were beginning the exordium of a sermon, 
 and refusing all assistance, exclaimed in a loud 
 voice, like one addressing a congregation, " Out 
 of the belly of hell will I make my cry, and 
 thou shalt hear me ! Good lack ! I heard it 
 myself, I heard the guns with my own ears, as 
 I went down to the bottoms of the high cliffs ; 
 and the earth wdth her bars was about me for 
 my security ; and I looked out on the great 
 deep, in the midst of the seas ; and I saw it, 
 and my heart waxed faint within me, and I 
 turned away for fear, for I would not see their 
 end." 
 
 " Good lack ! Master Hezekiah/' said Robina, 
 " nor will vou let us see the ben-innino; if vou 
 go on thus. Bo leave exclaiming, and tell us 
 what has chanced." 
 
 " And take a cup of sack," said Sir Piers, 
 " to keep your heart warm ; for you are vret to 
 the skin, and will fall sick of a great cold."
 
 il2 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 " Talk not of cold, nor of sack, nor of such 
 as I, who am as a nursling, or a lamb in the 
 fold, or a garnered fowl — safe in all comfort ; 
 but think of the poor perishing wretches out 
 yonder, and fly to their aid : and if it be God's 
 will there mav be a saving of the fugitives from 
 Tarshish — the sea ! the sea ! " 
 
 " What of the sea ?" said Sir Piers. 
 
 " You shall hear," replied Hezekiah. '* I 
 had been to a cottage close to the sea- shore, to 
 visit a pious, reverend, and dear brother, one 
 sick of an imposthume, and very near his glory 
 — ungutted chickens, warm, with the feathers 
 on, having been applied to the soles of his feet, 
 but in vain — and I had harangued him on the 
 remedying law, or the law of grace, which hath 
 its own special threatenings — and the new man 
 seemed to rejoice as the old man was going 
 out — when, lo ! whilst I was yet letting my 
 lights burn. I heard signals of distress at sea; 
 and by and by the sounds came again, and I 
 went to the window, and I saw " 
 
 " Blue lights, I suppose," said Cornet Davy, 
 who was amongst the eager listeners to this
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 113 
 
 tale, " we supply the ships with them, for their 
 cases of need in a storm. Your reverence's 
 own lights, may be, are something of the same 
 sort, seeing that you let them burn for souls in 
 the last distress." 
 
 " Alas ! " said Hezekiah, " I see you do not 
 comprehend, for the darkness of your under- 
 standing : I spoke of instruction ; for the com- 
 mandment is a lamp, and the law is light, and 
 the reproofs of instruction are the way of life. 
 But let me say my say without interruption ; 
 for remember, friend, a man of understanding 
 holdeth his peace. I looked out on the sea, 
 and there was a mighty tempest, and a ship 
 labouring and giving signals of distress, as if 
 she would make known to the land her affliction, 
 in this her hour of visitation. And as I looked and 
 watched from the window, I prayed she might 
 ride out the storm better than she expected, for 
 she seemed to be runnino: towards the rocks ; 
 and her signals increased in number, even as her 
 danger became more and more apparent. At 
 one moment she looked as a dark spot on the 
 waters ; at another, she was seen dashed on the
 
 Il4f warleigh; or, 
 
 foaming tops of the waves, and again became 
 lost to sight in the hollow of the deep seas. 
 O ! it was a sight to make sinful man pitiful 
 and trembling for his brother ! The clouds 
 were dark as a garment of blackness ; the 
 welkin like sheeted fire ; and the ocean came 
 bounding and striving towards the shore, roar- 
 ing louder than the winds." 
 
 " And the ship?" said Robina, turning pale 
 with alarm. 
 
 " The ship was in great distress as she 
 laboured in the trough of the sea ; and was far 
 off shore, struggling with the increasing tem- 
 pest," replied Hezekiah (his eye kindling and 
 every muscle of his countenance in action as 
 his feelings became elevated with the interest of 
 the scene he so forcibly described), " for the 
 winds rose higher and higher — the winds, 
 those restless and invisible spirits, that drive 
 before tliem die swift clouds, which they curb, 
 impel, or make to stand motionless, like the 
 racer checked by the bridle of him who rides 
 and rules the gallant creature." 
 
 " Did I not tell vou he had a fine vein of
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 115 
 
 poetic feeling when he could forget his for- 
 mality in his subject?" whispered Agnes to 
 Robina ; " but we must cut short this tale if 
 any thing is to be done. Hezekiah would talk 
 to old death as he stands at the door, and let 
 him enter rather than give over parleying, 
 unless you stopped him." And coming for- 
 ward, she added, " What must be done ? Can 
 any help be given to the sufferers ? Possibly, 
 the vessel, like Sir Hugh Piper^s Double Rose, 
 may be drifted and wrecked on the breakers 
 near the coast. What can be done ? How 
 long is it since you left the beach ?" 
 
 " I did but look upon the ship, and came up 
 hither as fast as my legs could carry me, to 
 make known this case of distress to the worthy 
 Sir Piers, whose humanity extends to the suf- 
 fering on sea as well as on land." 
 
 "1 fear," said Sir Piers, "little can be 
 done : but that little we will attempt willingly. 
 I will instantly give the necessary instructions 
 to my people, who aie ever ready for such like 
 cases of distress ; and then we v;ill down to tlie 
 shore."
 
 Il6 warleigh; or, 
 
 " Let me go with you," said Sir Hugh. 
 
 " And me ! " cried the Cornet, " I may be 
 of use ; I have seen such perils before now." 
 
 " And take your cloak, my dear father," said 
 Agnes to Sir Hugh, who rose to prepare for 
 his departure. 
 
 " And take your great water-dog, old Orgar, 
 with you, my dear sir," said Robina to Sir 
 Piers. 
 
 " And ropes and torches," said Sir Hugh, 
 " in one hand, and a bottle of brandy in the 
 other." 
 
 " And the Bible in the other, you mean," 
 said Hezekiah Hornbuckle. 
 
 " Every thing in its place, honest crop-ears," 
 said Sir Hugh : " men do not preach in a 
 tempest, to need a text from the Bible ; and if a 
 glass of brandy, and a helping hand, can save 
 a fellow-creature after a wreck, I hold it no 
 bad preparation for saying one's prayers." 
 
 Hezekiah groaned at what he deemed a too 
 familiar and irreverent consideration of the 
 Bible, but made ready as eagerly as the rest 
 to set out, in order to accompany them to
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 117 
 
 the spot whence he had witnessed the distress 
 of the ship. 
 
 In a very few minutes Sir Piers had given 
 all necessary directions, and returned to the 
 watchet chamber for Sir Hugh and his com- 
 panions. The two girls hung about their fa- 
 thers with a thousand caresses and adieus, and 
 many cautions as to what they were to do, and 
 what to avoid, lest they should fall into danger 
 themselves. Sir Piers shook off Robina, as he 
 said, " Away with you ! I will lack no prudent 
 caution. And do you make ready beds and 
 warm blankets ; and look out dry clothes from 
 my wardrobe ; and see fires lighted in the 
 chambers, and all things comfortable and 
 ready ; and let there be spiced possets, and all 
 needful, both for those who go out to help, and 
 for those, who, I trust, may be helped in this 
 peril, on our return." 
 
 ** We will do all you order ; and take care 
 of yourselves, and God bless you, and preserve 
 the poor mariners," were the words repeated 
 again and again by the young ladies, as the 
 party set out in the midst of the tempest to go
 
 118 warleigh; or, 
 
 towards the shore. Hezekiah lingered last, 
 and slipping out of a side pocket in his cloak 
 his little clasped Bible, he said to Robina, who 
 expressed her surprise at his loitering behind 
 his friends — " I will but try a lot, and straight 
 go forward." 
 
 She well knew what he meant ; since in her 
 day it was a very general custom with the 
 sectaries to " try lots" as they called it : that 
 was, to learn the will of Providence, in respect 
 to any important enterprize, by turning, hap 
 hazard, to the first passage which presented 
 itself in the Bible or the New Testament. 
 Hezekiah did so on the present occasion, and 
 apparently with satisfaction to himself; for 
 opening the book at a part where he knew 
 tolerably well he should be certain to stumble 
 upon something about shipwreck, in the Acts 
 of the Apostles, his eye caught the following 
 verse, — " Howbeit, we must be cast upon a 
 certain island." 
 
 " That must mean," said the learned minister, 
 " in this instance, the peninsula of Mount 
 Edgcumbe, which most truly resembleth an
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 119 
 
 island : it can be no other in this lot. I will 
 straight down to the beach ; and who knows 
 but the wreck of bodies may turn to a saving 
 of souls, if I am there to catch at the poor pe- 
 rishing sinners, and to throw^ them out the 
 hope of the word, as an anchor against all peril. 
 I will about the good work, and trust to my 
 Master for the heavenly wages of the toil." 
 And so saying, he caught up his staff, restored 
 the little Bible to his cloak pocket, and set off 
 with hasty strides after those who were gone on 
 before him.
 
 120 warleigh; or, 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Wave high your torches on each crag and ch'ff ; 
 
 Let many lights blaze on our battlements ; 
 
 Shout to them in the pauses of the storm, 
 
 And tell them there is hope I Matcrin's Bertram. 
 
 The way the party pursued from the house 
 towards the back of Mount Edgcumbe, though 
 then obscured by a stormy sky and the mists 
 of a thick rain, was one, which, when seen 
 under other circumstances, afforded scenes re- 
 plete with beauty in its most varied forms. Not 
 far distant from the mansion, after winding up 
 the side of a hill, amidst the over-arching sha- 
 dow of the woods, the wanderer in those wild 
 haunts might enjoy a scene truly magnificent 
 that presented itself to his view at an open 
 space upon the summit. 
 
 Looking thence to the west, the Hamoaze 
 appeared, with that animated character which 
 shipping never fails to give to the river where
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 121 
 
 it is found. Beyond arose the blue and distant 
 hills of Cornwall, extending in a line, till they 
 might be said to become united with those of 
 Devon by the bold eminence of Brent Tor, 
 that stood towering above both counties, like 
 a king who keeps in subjection the nations as 
 they lie prostrate at his feet. In the middle 
 distance arose the towns of Stoke, Stonehouse, 
 and Plymouth, with its ancient castle, then in 
 full strength and grandeur. The buildings 
 that formed these towns were of granite and 
 marble, such costly materials being native to 
 the county. On a fine evening, as they stood 
 glittering and sparkling in the sun, they pre- 
 sented the most brilliant appearance, charac- 
 terised as they were by the uniformity of their 
 architecture and the beauty of their situation. 
 
 Viewed from this particular spot, Plymouth 
 Sound, with the little fortified island of St. 
 Nicholas, or Drake's Island, was seen extended 
 like a map, whilst beyond appeared the deep 
 blue waters of Mill Bay, and in its immediate 
 vicinity, to the right of the Hoe (the Hoe itself 
 being a place so celebrated by Spenser, as to be 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 considered classic ground), was discerned the 
 dismally-named port of Deadman's Bay. The 
 eye, ranging still beyond, looked on the reach, 
 or bold sweep of the Lara flowing at the foot of 
 Saltram woods. By a second reach, the banks 
 of which were studded with cottages and the 
 little village of Oreston, the river continued its 
 course, and disembogued itself into the Cat- 
 water, behind Mount Batten. To this scene, 
 looking to the south, the lofty heights of Stad- 
 don formed a side-screen, whilst the view was 
 beautifully intersected by the massive and um- 
 brageous woods of Mount Edgcumbe in the 
 foreground. Beyond Staddon Heights arose, 
 surrounded by the sea, though not far distant 
 from the land, the insulated and solitary Mew- 
 stone (probably deriving its name from the 
 quantity of gulls or sea-mews that shelter within 
 its hollows), a rock that looked out on the wide 
 deep, as its waves rolled in tumult towards the 
 shore. From the Mewstone to Penlee Point, 
 on the opposite extremity of the scene, the eye 
 ranged over an horizon formed by the broad 
 and majestic expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 123 
 
 Such, and many such, scenes of beauty are 
 found in the matchless peninsula of Mount 
 Edgcumbe. 
 
 At the time Sir Piers and his little company 
 traversed the grounds in their way towards 
 that part of the beach whence Hezekiah had 
 descried the ship, a sky black, lowering, and 
 surcharged with storm, gave a dark and awful 
 character to the whole. As they passed on, it 
 was melancholy to hear the wind howl through 
 the old trees, that groaned as if in accompa- 
 niment to the horrors of the tempest; and to 
 those sufferings which, on land as well as sea, 
 are its frequent attendants. 
 
 Shocking as it may be, it is nevertheless 
 true, that at the date of our narrative, and 
 many years after, the shipwrecks on the western 
 coast of Devon and Cornwall were called, by 
 the lower orders residing near the shore, 
 " Ggd' s gifts ;" for whatever the sea sent, in its 
 fury, towards the land, was seized, under this 
 name, as lawful spoil; and many were the cir- 
 cumstances of the most inhuman barbarities 
 committed by these desperadoes on the miser- 
 G 2
 
 124 warleigh; or, 
 
 able sufferers who thus fell within their power ; 
 escaping the fury of a merciless element, to fall 
 into the hands of human beings all as pitiless: 
 and instances were recorded, when, in order to 
 secure a spoil of value acquired by such means, 
 many shipwrecked persons had actually been 
 murdered by these hardened traffickers in mi- 
 sery and guilt. 
 
 It had been amongst the many meritorious 
 exertions of Sir Piers Edgcumbe's life, that he 
 had adopted every possible means on the coast 
 within and near his own domain, not only to 
 prevent these crimes, but to afford every pos- 
 sible assistance to the unfortunate who, in his 
 day, from the want of a light-house on the 
 Eddystone rocks, were so frequently ship- 
 wrecked either on that fatal reef or still nearer 
 to the coast. All things necessary on such 
 occasions were ever held in readiness, and 
 now had been brought out by his people on 
 the call of humanity towards the distressed. 
 
 After some time spent in toiling up the hill 
 against the wind and storm that blew directly 
 in their faces, the party gained the back of the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 125 
 
 peninsula, and gradually began to descend to- 
 wards the beach ; passing through a little valley 
 (in the direction of Cawsand Bay), surrounded 
 on either side by bold and abrupt heights. A 
 cottage stood in the bottom, about a hundred 
 yards from the sea.* Two lofty elms, un- 
 injured by their proximity to such a tempest- 
 uous neighbour, being so well sheltered on 
 either side, marked the little garden of the 
 dwelling, which stood thus embosomed in soli- 
 tude and beauty. Rocks of ebon blackness 
 skirted the shore, and the ocean rolled its 
 majestic waves above them, bursting and break- 
 ing into sheets of foam : whilst the surrounding 
 heights presented the wildest combinations of 
 broken and cragged cliffs, red in colour, and 
 here and there hung with dark pines, or with 
 woods that grew feathering down to the very 
 water's edge. 
 
 The party now looked with anxious eyes to- 
 wards the sea; but, so thick was the haze, so 
 
 * A beautiful cottage, lately built, now stands on the same 
 spot. 
 
 G 3
 
 126 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 heavy the swell, that nothing of the ship could 
 be seen. 
 
 At length Sir Piers expressed his determin- 
 ation to ascend a certain point which he well 
 knew^ amid the cliffs; where, from its com- 
 manding height, he should in all probability 
 discern the vessel, if she still lived or was 
 drifting towards the more westerly point of the 
 shore. In the mean time, as every instant grew 
 more dark and hazy, he commanded torches to 
 be lighted and carried along the coast, so as to 
 make signals, that the ship might avoid those 
 tremendous rocks on which she would inevitably 
 be dashed to pieces if she came but near them. 
 
 Sir Piers himself then took a torch, and, 
 accompanied by a servant, who bore another, 
 set off for the cliifs, leaving Hezekiah and Sir 
 Hugh busied in directing the movements of his 
 people on the beach. With some difficulty he 
 drove back Orgar, the famous water-dog, that 
 seemed bent on following his master's steps. 
 
 Sir Piers, bold in heart, quick in eye, and 
 accustomed from a boy to scale the heights and
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 127 
 
 crags of Mount Edgcumbe, before any thing 
 like regular paths were formed to facilitate such 
 a purpose, now ascended them, though not 
 without considerable hazard. Several of these 
 cliffs were also hung with tall and gloomy pines, 
 that creaked and almost screamed as the wind 
 assailed them on every side. Others lay torn 
 up by the roots, shattered and overhanging 
 some precipitous heights, as the dizzy and 
 uncertain track wound by the side of their 
 abyss : sometimes a cliff appeared rising above 
 the rolling vapours or thin clouds, that seemed 
 to float from the sea to the shore ; whilst anon 
 the face of a giant rock, dark as the hour, would 
 become illumined by the vivid flashes of 
 lightning that now again began to play athwart 
 the heavens ; showing distinctly the scathed 
 tops of many a bald oak that had already 
 suffered by similar shocks of the tempest. 
 
 Then followed a peal of thunder, so reverbe- 
 rated amid the cliffs that even the stout heart of 
 Sir Piers was for a moment assailed bv terror ; 
 he stopped and acknowledged, by a feeling of 
 involuntary reverence and awe, the irresistible 
 G 4
 
 128 warleigh; or, 
 
 power of Him who " bowed the heavens and 
 came down, whilst darkness was under his feet." 
 Another peal was followed by deep silence ; for 
 the tempest seemed to pause in its fury, as the 
 thunder rolled away among the far-extending 
 heights. Yet the pause was momentary, for, the 
 storm rising again, the roar of ocean was heard 
 contending with that of the winds, which rushed 
 in furious gusts amid the hollows and the rocks. 
 The red flame of the torches cast an unearthly 
 hue on the sides of the dark cliffs, as Sir Piers 
 now struggled forward, resolute to gain that 
 point whence he might command the whole 
 extent of sea beyond the mouth of the harbour, 
 and, should the vessel yet live, hold out the 
 signal which he had prepared for her guidance. 
 After incessant toil and difficulty, that no 
 person but one perfectly well acquainted with 
 the track could have undertaken with any 
 probability of success. Sir Piers at length gained 
 a bold eminence that stood out from amid the 
 wooded cliflPs.* Lower down, and at its base, lay 
 
 * A summer-house, with four seats, each looking to a point 
 of the compass, now stands on this spot.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 129 
 
 reefs of rock ; where, on the very verge of many 
 a point, started up more than one aged pine that 
 had defied alike storms and winds, though not 
 without signs of the elemental contest, for above 
 a century. Beyond was stretched out the main 
 ocean; the spray of whose billows, as they 
 burst with fury against the shore, dashed itself 
 nearly as high as the lofty stand on which Sir 
 Piers was now stationed, commandinor at one 
 view the whole expanse of the sea from the Mew- 
 stone to Penlee Point, and within the range of 
 which, on a clear day, was seen the Eddystone. 
 Sir Piers, as he thus stood, holding fast by a 
 pine with one hand, whilst the torch was 
 extended in the other, distinctly perceived, 
 drifting towards the shore, what at first appeared 
 a dark speck on the agitated waters. As he 
 attentively looked upon this object, he became 
 convinced that it was a hoat driving on to the 
 beach, and apparently governed by no power 
 but that of the winds and waves. The sea, to 
 use an old phrase, ran " mountains high ;" at 
 one moment raising the boat on their curling 
 tops, and at the next burying her within the 
 G o
 
 130 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 hollow of the waves, as if she would never rise 
 again . 
 
 In this manner Sir Piers perceived her rapidly 
 driving before the wind towards that part of the 
 beach where he had left Sir Hugh Piper and 
 Hezekiah. There could be no doubt she must 
 be upset in the surf that broke with such fury 
 on the shore : and, should such a mischance 
 befall near the reef of rocks, not a soul within 
 her could be saved ! 
 
 No doubt the same conviction was felt by the 
 party on the beach, for, though it was impossible 
 they could be of the least assistance to the boat, 
 as it came rolling onward with every wave, yet 
 Sir Piers saw them running, by a natural 
 impulse, towards that part of the shore where 
 there was less hazard from the rocks than in 
 the station they had just quitted, and where it 
 might be truly designated as iron-bound and 
 fatal to the mariner. 
 
 Sir Piers looked again, on turning an angle of 
 the cliiFs, and now perceived his people collected 
 together as near as possible to the raging sea, 
 so as to give aid, if it might be practicable, and
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 131 
 
 yet to preserve themselves from being washed 
 away by the retiring billows. He saw a wave 
 carry the boat withni a few yards of the shore. 
 Her fate was no longer doubtful; the only 
 remaining hope was with God, that he would 
 give strength to the poor wretches within her to 
 combat the surf, and enable Sir Piers' people 
 to rush forward with safety to their assistance. 
 Sir Piers staid to see no more, but in all haste 
 hurried from his lofty stand, and made his way 
 towards the beach. In his retreat the wind, 
 which had before been directly in his face, was 
 now at his back, so that he returned in less than 
 half the time he had employed in gaining the 
 cliffs.- 
 
 When Sir Piers reached the shore, the first 
 thing he saw was his own people carrying along 
 two bodies, which, no doubt, they had rescued 
 from the all-devouring sea : if dead or alive he 
 did not know. It seemed to him, even before 
 he could join them to learn the particulars, that 
 Orgar had borne some part in the work of 
 deliverance ; for the dog, as they carried along 
 the foremost body, kept close beside it, wagging 
 G 6
 
 132 warleigh; or, 
 
 his tail and looking up wistfully, as if he felt an 
 interest in the apparently lifeless being thus 
 transported from the shore. 
 
 The enquiries of Sir Piers were speedily 
 satisfied; and he did not pause to enter into 
 more minute particulars. The younger man, 
 who it seemed had been either too feeble or too 
 amazed to do much for himself, must have 
 perished, but for the bold exertions of the 
 minister, Hornbuckle, and the Cornet Davy, 
 assisted by one of the men, who, at the hazard 
 of their own lives, had contrived to rush forward 
 and to throw him a rope, which he caught at 
 the very moment when the boat was dashed for- 
 ward and upset close in-shore. But even then 
 he was too feeble to profit, as fully as might 
 have been expected, by this assistance; and 
 would have perished in the surf by the force of 
 the retiring wave, had not Orgar lent his aid, 
 and held him fast by the collar of his doublet, 
 tugging and dragging him forward with all the 
 energy which the noble animal was proud to 
 display in the service of man. 
 
 The other person, though considerably older^
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 133 
 
 had in a great degree effected his own escape by 
 extraordinary efforts at self-preservation. Like 
 Robinson Crusoe, he had been repeatedly washed 
 on shore and carried back again by the waves, 
 as he combated them with the strength and 
 address of the most able swimmer: and, like 
 that adventurer, he had also at last been cast on 
 shore, though not ultimately with the same good 
 fortune. The last wave threw him with so 
 much fury on a rock that showed its bare top 
 above the flowing waters, that he received a 
 blow so violent on the head and chest, as to 
 deprive him of all sense and motion. He lay 
 like one devoid of life upon the rock ; and there 
 he would have perished, but for the humane 
 exertions of the men on the beach, who, at no 
 small risk, brought him from his dangerous 
 situation. 
 
 The younger man had fainted ; probably from 
 cold and exhaustion (for he had received no 
 severe blows), soon after Orgar had so ably 
 rendered his assistance in dragging him beyond 
 the reach of the surf. 
 
 Sir Piers, without pausing, since no further
 
 134? warleigh; or, 
 
 assistance could be giveiij for the rest of the 
 luckless passengers had inevitably perished on 
 the upset of the boat, now ordered his people to 
 carry the rescued persons, as fast as they could 
 convey such burthens, to the house, where every 
 possible help might be afforded, without delay, 
 that their unfortunate state required. These 
 orders were instantly obeyed, and it was with 
 a feeling of great delight that Sir Piers, as he 
 quitted the beach, saw a vessel (that very vessel, 
 the Vtrgifiia, which, escaping the Eddystone 
 herself, had heard the death- cry of the crew of 
 the Old James, and whose signals had first given 
 the alarm to Hezekiah) drift before the wind 
 into a safe anchorage in Cawsand Bay. 
 
 Sir Piers, with his friends and followers, soon 
 reached the house ; for their humanity prompted 
 their speed ; and every known means being used 
 to restore animation, the two unfortunate persons 
 for whose benefit they were employed rewarded 
 their generous assistants by showing signs of 
 life. In half an hour they were perfectly restored 
 to animation. 
 
 The younger man appeared only weak and
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 'i3B 
 
 feeble from his late sufferings ; but the elder was 
 in a state of so much danger from the contusions 
 he had received on his head and chest, that it 
 was deemed advisable to call in a surgeon. Sir 
 Piers despatched a servant to procure such as- 
 sistance, and, in the interval, both the ship- 
 wrecked persons were put to bed, with all care. 
 But little past; for the young man was too weak 
 to do more than thank his deliverers in a few 
 words ; and the other was too ill and too suffer- 
 ing to do even that. 
 
 Sir Piers saw all done that humanity required 
 at his hands ; and having seen the strangers de- 
 posited in bed for the night, he next turned his 
 thoughts to his friends and followers: these 
 were relieved by dry clothes and sack-possets, 
 and soon lost all sense of their late toils in the 
 sound sleep that was their consequence. Sir 
 Piers had now nothing left to do but to go to 
 bed himself; but this he could not think of till 
 one more friend, and that, though the last, not 
 the least, was taken care of, — Orgar the water- 
 dog ; whom, with his own hands, he that night 
 fed with the remains of a stewed capon from his
 
 ]S6 warleigh; or, 
 
 own table; and, having patted and caressed 
 him with many kind and encouraging words, 
 did not chide him back, as the dog rose to follow 
 his master in his retreat, but suffered him to 
 sleep on the red velvet cushion of the great 
 chair, in Sir Piers' own chamber. There both 
 dog and master slept as sound as such worthies 
 deserved to do, after a day spent in acts of so 
 much humanity and exertion.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 137 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 She said, and raised her skinny hand, 
 As in defiance to high Heaven, 
 And stretch'd her long lean finger forth, 
 And spake aloud the words of power. 
 
 Southey's Thalaba, book ii. 
 
 No one who had seen the sunset on the evening 
 of that day whose busy events have supplied us 
 with matter for the foregoing chapters, would 
 have conjectured with how different an aspect 
 that glorious luminary, at his next rising, would 
 look upon the world. The wind had fallen 
 during the night; the rain had ceased, and the 
 very violence of the storm seemed to have occa- 
 sioned its dispersion ; even as great griefs or 
 tempests of sorrow, if they do not kill during 
 their progress, generally consume their own 
 bitterness, and are far less hurtful than a slow, 
 steady, and cankering affliction, that, " like a 
 worm in the bud," makes little show till the
 
 2 38 warleigh; or, 
 
 flower is withered altogether, and drops into the 
 dust. 
 
 It was surprising, indeed, at early dawn, to 
 witness the change that had taken place — a 
 change such as few persons not resident in the 
 west of England are at all accustomed to witness: 
 where rain and sunshine, like the tears and 
 smiles of infancy, succeed each other, often un- 
 expectedly, and with little or no apparent cause. 
 The fatigue, anxiety, and alarm experienced by 
 the family and guests at Mount Edgcumbe, 
 made all, excepting those appointed to watch 
 the bed of the wounded stranger, sleep heavily 
 and soundly throughout the house ; so that the 
 domestics, usually such early stirrers, were some- 
 what behind time, and slept what was called a 
 good round with the clock. 
 
 One inmate, however, must be excepted ; and 
 that was the pretty mistress Agnes Piper ; whose 
 lively imagination, enthusiasm, admiration of 
 nature, and fondness for indulging her own 
 poetic vein in solitary rambles, made her, like 
 every true daughter of genius, who is unsophis- 
 ticated by the habits of a town life, an early
 
 THE FATAL OAK!. 159 
 
 riser. On the present occasion, Agnes was 
 more early than usual ; for, not having slept so 
 well as the rest, and thinking of all the distress- 
 ing events related to her of the boat and the 
 storm, on the previous evening, she had lain 
 awake in bed, forming the pictures of her fancy 
 into rhyme, and giving vent to her feelings in 
 the Spenserian stanza. 
 
 Agnes was busied among foaming billowsy 
 and curled clouds, and crested seas, mariners 
 and mermaids, shipwrecks and Neptune, till, 
 like Ariel, she longed to make his dread trident 
 shake in a powerful description of a storm of the 
 water-ffod's own raising at the back of Mount 
 Edgcumbe. Now, thinking of a storm, brought 
 to her mind the sea; and, by a very natural 
 train of reasoning, the sea brought to her re- 
 membrance that she was not far from it, and 
 might as well go and observe how it looked 
 after the tempest; and who could tell but that 
 the muse, who now seemed a little drowsy or 
 coy, whilst consulted by her votary on the 
 pillow, might become more animated and pro- 
 pitious if wooed in sight of the broad ocean
 
 140 warleigh; or, 
 
 itself. She might as well go and try; and 
 up started Agnes with the thought, dressed 
 herself with all speed, and without staying to 
 disturb her companion. Mistress Robina, she 
 determined to sally out, with the purpose of 
 visiting the very spot where she had heard the 
 poor man was so knocked about by the rocks, 
 and rescued, on the previous night. 
 
 Agnes was subject to such flights, such fits 
 and starts of an ungoverned fancy ; for she had 
 been from her infancy an indulged — and, but 
 for the natural sweetness of her temper, would 
 inevitably have become a spoilt — child, in the 
 fullest sense of the word. As it was, she was 
 headstrong, did things by impulse, and seldom 
 consulted advice till she had made up her mind. 
 Yet, with all these faults, for we like her too well 
 to under-rate her, it must be acknowledged she 
 had many excellent qualities — a warm heart, 
 the most unwearied good-nature, high prin- 
 ciples, and, as the sheet-anchor of all her per- 
 fections, a deep, sincere, and practical reverence 
 for the word of God. 
 
 Her very faults arose from the exuberance of
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 141 
 
 her good qualities, faults that were those of 
 neglect, since, like weeds that spring up from a 
 rich soil, for want of rooting out, they had 
 gained strength and growth. Thus, her ardent 
 feelings, amiable in themselves, yet not having 
 been checked or regulated by early discipline 
 and control, often led her into the commission 
 of great follies, not to say errors ; and, like all 
 imaginative minds when untempered with judg- 
 ment, she shaped her conduct by her own wild 
 fancies and strong feelings, instead of submitting 
 it to those becoming and useful forms of order 
 and reserve, which are as barriers to virtue, set 
 up to prevent the intrusion of what is wrong 
 within the precincts of those decorums that 
 should surround her on every side. Agnes 
 seldom took a whim into her head but she 
 gratified it, without pausing for reflection ; and 
 as these thoughtless acts were reproved but 
 with a good-humoured expostulation, generally 
 ending with a kiss, which her poor father called 
 scolding her, she was as daring in her freaks as 
 any petted squirrel that escapes its cage. 
 
 Agnes arose, as we have said, with the lark.
 
 14^ warleigh; or, 
 
 In the east, through a thin veil of clouds, broke 
 the early dawn, which the young enthusiast con- 
 templated with delight, as she softly opened her 
 casement, and looked abroad to hail the open- 
 ing day. There she remained for some time ; 
 listened, and no longer heard the hooting of 
 the owls that often made themselves audible 
 from amid the old oaks and elms near the house 
 at Mount Edgcumbe. But in its stead the 
 shrill crow of chanticleer came upon her ear, 
 like the cry of a sentinel on his post, to pro- 
 claim the approach of day. Gradually broke the 
 light, now faint and uncertain, trembling on the 
 distant heights, till they appeared to glow bright 
 as gold ; whilst the vallies and deep hollows of 
 the surrounding scene were still wrapped in 
 dun obscurity, or shrouded in misty wTeaths 
 like scudding clouds. 
 
 Agnes sallied forth, and commenced her 
 ramble amid the varied beauties of Mount Edg- 
 cumbe ; now pausing to contemplate them with 
 delight, and again renewing slowly her walk, as 
 images of poetry, derived from nature, suggested 
 themselves to her mind; and not the most
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 143 
 
 minute object escaped her observant eye. She 
 looked with rapture on all around her, as the 
 cheerful beams of the morning sun darted over 
 hill and dale, touched the woods, gilded tower, 
 and town, or sparkled on the gurgling stream, 
 as it strayed trickling down the side of some 
 bank that was seen tangled with weeds and 
 creeping plants. All nature seemed to gain re- 
 newed life and animation, as that world, so 
 lately silenced and obscured by the dull and 
 drowsy night, started into the consciousness of 
 action and of joy. 
 
 A thousand birds sprang from their covert, 
 and warbled in the wildest melody their notes 
 of welcome to the early day. Some soared on 
 their little wings to mount the free blue sky, or 
 to wheel among the clouds ; whilst others sat 
 chirping and pruning their plumage on the 
 boughs of a sweet-scented thorn, or an antique 
 elm ; and the fall of many a little rivulet and 
 stream murmured musically in concert to the 
 feathered tribes of air, whilst every delicate 
 herb or flower amid the grass sparkled with
 
 144 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 dew, as if some fairy spirit of the hour had 
 hung sportively a jewel on each opening bell. 
 
 All these circumstances of nature highly 
 charmed Agnes in her morning walk ; she 
 rambled down to the sea beach, looked with a 
 fearful interest on that dread ocean, which, 
 though the storm was past, had not yet settled 
 itself into tranquillity, but still rolled its mul- 
 titudinous billows with a heavy swell towards 
 the shore. She saw and felt its grandeur ; yet 
 somehow or other the muse did not come : dis- 
 appointed, therefore, for the present, she gave 
 over the attempt to finish her verses, and 
 thought that, as she returned to the house, she 
 would pass by a favourite spot which was, on 
 more accounts than one, somewhat noted at the 
 date of our narrative. Thither Agnes bent her 
 steps ; and thither must we bear her company. 
 
 The spot she so much admired was one, in- 
 deed, replete with beauty. Within a little 
 lonely dell there stood a cottage, thatched, and 
 covered with many a wild rose, honeysuckle, 
 and creeping plant, that grew so thickly as to
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 145 
 
 encroach even upon the latticed windows, and 
 somewhat to obscure their light* It stood shel- 
 tered from the rude breath of the wind, or the 
 too ardent gaze of the sun, by some venerable 
 and spreading oaks growing close to the house 
 and within the little garden, that was surrounded 
 in part by a quickset hedge ; where, in due 
 season, there appeared a gay display of roses, 
 paeonies, pinks, and gilliflowers. 
 
 Apart from the cottage, yet being also shel- 
 tered by high trees, with a thicket behind them, 
 was found that which gave celebrity to the spot, 
 The Holy Well. It was a clear still pool, 
 whose source was in the earth, whence it sprang; 
 and finding its way through a narrow outlet at 
 some little distance from the dark silent well, 
 it assumed another character, and trickled down 
 the side of a bank, losing itself in the valley that 
 was ever verdant from its refreshing streams. 
 
 By those acquainted with the superstitions of 
 the West, it will be remembered, that the Pixy 
 race, having their origin with the fairies of the 
 Saxon times, are still held as the guardians of 
 all wells and fountains, whose wondrous powers, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 warleigh; or, 
 
 we have been informed, are to this day held 
 infallible by the peasantry, in some parts of 
 Devon and Cornwall. At the date of our nar- 
 rative, the practice also of witchcraft — even 
 no'w holding sway in the West — was likewise 
 credited, not merely by the vulgar, but by the 
 educated, the talented, and, above all, by the 
 godly; who, as Butler has not forgotten to 
 record, made such a stir to root out old 
 witches. 
 
 At that time seldom was there a holy or 
 wonder-working well seen, but what was found 
 to be under the immediate superintendance of 
 one of these priestesses of Beelzebub, who were 
 resorted to, by all persons desiring information, 
 as to an interpretess of the oracular powers 
 of the well. To be brief, many a shrewd and 
 cunning old woman made such an office the 
 means by which, in a great degree, she gained 
 support; and as the credulous and superstitious 
 love not to lose the power of gratifying their 
 favourite propensities, these old creatures, who 
 sometimes did them the kindness to terrify 
 them out of their lives in return for their
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 147 
 
 money, were always winked at, and seldom in- 
 formed against, notwithstanding the desire of 
 the Parliament 
 
 " To find revolted witches out." 
 
 The holy well within the precincts of Mount 
 Edgcumbe could boast such a priestess; and 
 though we cannot say Dame Gee (for such 
 was her name) was a favourite with Sir Piers> 
 yet her having, some thirty years before, lived 
 as a waiting-maid with his grandmother, her 
 being an excellent village doctress, both for 
 man and beast, having shrewd sense, apt and 
 forcible expressions in her discourse, and a 
 good deal of cunning (so that she put the best 
 face on things before Sir Piers), altogether pro- 
 cured from him the indulgence of living within 
 the beautiful little cottage we have described ; 
 certainly no suitable habitation for " a hag 
 with age grown double," such as every witch 
 ought to be, to accord with the character of her 
 profession. Another circumstance, also, may 
 help to account for this indulgence towards her 
 on the part of Sir Piers: she had assuredly 
 H 2
 
 148 warleigh; or, 
 
 once cured him of a most dangerous inflam- 
 mation of the eyes, by a preparation of herbs, 
 to whose merits alone, he, like a man of sense, 
 ascribed the cure ; though the country people 
 insisted it arose from the charm pronounced 
 over the decoction. 
 
 As Agnes approached the holy well, she 
 paused a moment to look upon Dame Gee, 
 who now stood bending over it like an ancient 
 sibj'l, with her thin gray locks straying from 
 under a coif covered by a high-crowned hat, 
 such as would have suited Mother Shipton, 
 that queen of witches, who is said to have 
 attracted the notice of so many wise fools in 
 the reign of King Henry VIII. Dame Gee 
 was a person not to be held in contempt, if but 
 half the things reported of her were founded 
 in truth. The following sketch of one incident 
 of her life, still the theme of tradition, we give 
 as it has been handed down to posterity by 
 those elders who love to tell such tales over a 
 Christmas fire, in our good town of Tavistock. 
 
 Dame Gee had an only son, who was a fair 
 and promising youth, being in all things very
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 149 
 
 unlike Caliban, the offspring of the hag Sy- 
 corax. This boy quarrelled with one of his 
 companions, a lad about his own age, whose 
 mother interfered ; and thinking Dame Gee's 
 darling teased her own, she struck him a blow, 
 and sent him crying home. The witch, enraged 
 by this blow bestowed on her son, determined 
 on a bitter revenge ; and having consulted the 
 dark power of evil, she is said to have dravvn 
 a circle^ near the cottage of her offending neigh- 
 bour, with such potent and such hellish arts, 
 that on any person stepping within it, he would 
 instantly become an idiot, full of spite and mis- 
 chief. 
 
 Dame Gee so contrived the accomplishment 
 of her charmed circle, that it might be ready 
 to entrap her hated neighbour's child as he 
 returned home from school. But who shall 
 speak the fury and the punishment of the witch, 
 when, by some unforeseen casualty, the first 
 person who stepped within the accursed ring 
 was her own son I From that hour he became 
 almost less than human ; a diing of " mops 
 and mows;" ugly in body, miserable in mind, 
 H 3
 
 150 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 and terrible to all about him : but to none 
 so shocking as to his incensed mother, to whom 
 the very sight of the boy became as gall to 
 bitterness. From that time forward Dame Gee 
 is said to have become the most cruel, unrelent- 
 ing, yet cunning of her tribe, doing evil by 
 means less open, yet more deadly in their 
 secret effects. So went the tale; it was ge- 
 nerally believed at the time, nor is it to this 
 day wholly discredited even by posterity, as 
 they turn pale at the relation of a deed so full 
 of horror. 
 
 Agnes had heard this story; and to one of 
 her turn of mind, though full of terror, there 
 was something of a deep dread interest at- 
 tached to the character of Dame Gee, that 
 excited her imagination. She had seen the 
 idiot boy, yet she doubted if she ought to be- 
 lieve, or disbelieve, the story of his mother's 
 cruelty having reduced him to such a pass; 
 since in her village kindness amongst the poor, 
 Agnes had often heard of the excellent nursing, 
 and the wonderful cures performed by this 
 woman, in cases where the doctors had wholly
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 151 
 
 failed; and she also knew that even Sir Piers 
 himself had no objection to wink at her being 
 called in to try what she could do when the 
 more regular practitioners were at fault. The 
 well, too, and the old woman's powers in ex- 
 pounding its fearful signs, were things remem- 
 bered, and, if not wholly credited, were at 
 least not positively rejected, and always spoken 
 of with awe by the lively and enthusiastic 
 Agnes. 
 
 As she now, therefore, saw the ancient sibyl 
 bending over the dread pool, she felt like one 
 who fears, yet who expects, and almost hopes, 
 to have an excited imagination gratified by 
 some supernatural sign or wonder, yet without 
 exactly knowing what to expect or what to 
 desire might appear. She advanced, however, 
 towards the holy well ; and as the old woman 
 looked upon her young visitant drawing near, 
 Agnes had a full view of her dark and ill- 
 omened countenance, whose expression was at 
 once indicative of sense and cunning; and, 
 even in its most composed state, had a quick or 
 haughty glance at command, with a supercilious 
 H 4
 
 152 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 air, that seemed to declare to every one with 
 whom she spoke how much she was their su- 
 perior in the proud possession of natural in- 
 tellectual powers. 
 
 " Good day, Dame," said Agnes ; " you are 
 busy at the well, I see, this morning : have any 
 of the villagers been to consult you, or to learn 
 who stole a horn spoon?" She added, endea- 
 vouring to talk cheerfully to the old woman, 
 and as if she was not afraid of her, " These, 
 and a thousand more wonders, people say you 
 can determine by the bubbles the water makes 
 in answer to your questions." 
 
 " You would seem to doubt, young lady," 
 said Dame Gee, " the truth of these things ; 
 but your belief in the powers of the well is too 
 firm to be shaken by doubts, though your 
 priest should start them. For once, however, 
 you are mistaken ; no villager has made token 
 by the holy well this morning. I came, as you 
 see, to dip this pitcher of water for a special 
 purpose : at cock-crow this day, the surly old 
 groom, Ralph, brought me a message from the 
 housekeeper at Mount Edgcumbe."
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 153 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Agnes ; " I left Mount Edg- 
 cumbe to take an early walk down to the beach, 
 to see how the ocean looked after the storm; 
 and, as I thought, I left my chamber before the 
 housekeeper was stirring." 
 
 " She has not been in bed all night, so Ralph 
 said," replied Dame Gee ; " for one of the men, 
 whom, it seems. Sir Piers saved from death on 
 the sea, is like enough to find it on land. He 
 is dangerously hurt, and 1 am sent for privately, 
 by the old housekeeper, to come up, and try a 
 charm upon him this morning." 
 
 " Nay, now, good dame, try something better 
 than that," said Agnes; " I should have more 
 faith in one of your herb plasters for a hurt, 
 or a mess of featherfew and orguns drink to 
 compose him to sleep." 
 
 The witch answered the first part of this 
 bold speech with a scowl not at all pleasant to 
 Agnes, who feared she might have said too 
 much. 
 
 " What ! Lady," exclaimed Dame Gee, " do 
 you scoff at my art? whilst, at the very moment 
 H 5
 
 154 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 you do so, you are burning with curiosity to call 
 it into action for your own service ? I know 
 where your thoughts are ; and that you would 
 learn tidings of the absent. Wherefore not say 
 so at once, when there is none to hear you, but 
 her who could satisfy your desires ? Away with 
 this ! there needs no masking with me. Do not 
 I know, that whilst you lived for two years with 
 your grandam at Exeter, there were fine doings 
 unknown to your father ? " 
 
 Agnes w^as perfectly confounded : she had not 
 a word to answer ; for she was conscience struck, 
 though from such a quarter. She turned pale, 
 but could not command presence of mind 
 enough to know what to say. 
 
 Dame Gee saw her confusion. " Come," 
 she said, " young lady, I will spare you pain : I 
 will do your bidding without waiting your 
 commands. Do you stand there, and be silent ; 
 and when I wave this ashen bough thrice" (she 
 took up a short staff, or wand, that lay beside 
 the pitcher she had been filling), " ay, thrice 
 over the well, the spirit of the spring shall make 
 known his answer. Look on this dark pool !
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 155 
 
 It is black, yet clear as the chamber mirror that 
 reflects thy beauty. Look into it !" 
 
 Agnes did so, and saw with surprise how 
 well it would have served her as a glass, did she 
 need it, to bind up her flowing locks. 
 
 " It is a deep and fearful pool," said Dame 
 Gee; " for truth lies within it; and makes known 
 the hidden secrets of things to those who desire 
 to lift the veil. Mark me, maiden. If the man 
 or woman enquired after by me, as I stand thus 
 and make sign, be well, the water will instantly 
 bubble up ; if sick, it changes colour fast as an 
 evening cloud ; but if dead ! there comes no 
 change. Dost thou mark me ?" 
 
 " I do," said Agnes, as her heart beat quick, 
 and in spite of herself she became nearly over- 
 powered by the terrors in part excited by the 
 demeanour of the witch, and in part by the 
 vivacity of her own imagination. 
 
 " Place a silver tester, if thou hast one, on 
 yonder dark stone by the water's brink," said 
 the hag ; " it is the token to the spirit : it must 
 be silver." 
 
 Agnes, trembling, obeyed. 
 H 6
 
 156 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 " Now stand up, and fear not," continued 
 Dame Gee: " thou art not the first maiden whom 
 I have seen look like the sheeted dead, as she 
 has paused on the brink of this holy well. Not 
 long since, there came to me one who was a 
 wife; who would know if her husband, then in 
 durance to the Parliament, for he was a 
 sequestered churchman, might be alive or dead. 
 I saw her eager eye, her breathless anxiety, as I 
 called his name. The water made no change; but 
 when I looked on her again, she was changed, 
 and fearfully. Black confusion was in her 
 mind ; anguish and the bitter passion of speech- 
 less woe. She went home, when straight came 
 the tidings that her husband had been murdered ! 
 The widow lives ; but so lives that not an hour 
 passes, but she thinks death comes but slow to 
 her, though he came so fast to him she still 
 most laments. Now shall the pool speak of thy 
 fortunes and thy friend." 
 
 " I will not look on it," exclaimed Agnes, in 
 a tone of horror ; " I dare not." 
 
 " Nay, you must not flinch," said the hag, 
 who seemed to delight in the terrors she had
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 157 
 
 excited in the mind of the young lady. " You 
 shall look on it;" and seizing Agnes by the 
 arm, she said, as she held her fast, " Be silent ; 
 speak not till I have made the sign ! Now tell 
 me, spirit of the waters, and tell me true, if 
 Reginald Elford yet lives or not : — 
 
 In health or in wealth, 
 
 In weal or in woe, 
 
 If dead or alive, tell me so ! 
 
 Thrice the hag waved her wand ; and looking 
 herself upon the well, at the moment she made 
 the terrified Agnes do so likewise, she uttered 
 an exclamation of surprise. Agnes screamed ; 
 and Dame Gee was astonished at her own work, 
 like one of those wizards who may be supposed 
 to feel surprised by the actual appearance of the 
 devil, whilst only pretending to raise him up ; 
 for what could equal her astonishment, or the 
 affright of Agnes, when they beheld a human 
 head, wearing a large slouched hat, reflected 
 distinctly in the dark pool ; the appearance 
 being immediately followed by a young man 
 catching Agnes in his arms as, from terror, she 
 was falling to the earth.
 
 158 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 CHAR VIII. 
 
 Farewell ! God knows when we shall meet again ; 
 I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins 
 That almost freezes up the heat of life. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! whence come you ? " 
 enquired Agnes. 
 
 " From the thicket hard by. I saw you as I 
 was advancing under cover of the trees ; I heard 
 my name called, and suddenly coming forward, 
 I " 
 
 Agnes scarcely heard him, and she looked as 
 if about to lose all consciousness of his presence, 
 or of her late alarm. He held her up ; as 
 Dame Gee, who seemed to enjoy the scene of 
 terror her own devilry had helped to bring 
 about, lifted up the pitcher and threw some 
 water in the young lady's face. The sudden 
 chill prevented her fainting away; but she 
 trembled so she could no longer stand ; and the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 159 
 
 intruder helped her to a large stone that formed 
 a natural seat near the holy well. He then 
 seated hhnself beside her, and paid her all those 
 little soothing attentions that he thought might 
 restore her spirits and dispel her agitation ; as 
 Dame Gee officiously chafed her temples, and 
 her hands, that were cold as death. And though 
 it was most likely that, at such a moment, 
 nothing was so much desired as her absence, yet, 
 nevertheless, under pretext of giving aid to 
 Agnes, lest she should faint away again, she 
 seemed resolved to stay where she was, for no 
 other real purpose than that of tormenting. 
 
 Agnes spoke only a few broken, agitated 
 sentences ; but the young man, who was well 
 looking, and though poorly dressed had that 
 appearance which ever distinguishes a gentle- 
 man, even if clothed in rags, observed great 
 caution in what he spoke, and seemed vexed 
 that in the surprise and alarm of the moment, 
 he had acknowledged his name to be Elford 
 before Dame Gee, by so suddenly appearing 
 from the thicket (where he had been lurking for 
 some time) in answer to it. He now made an
 
 160 warleigh; or," 
 
 attempt to shift the subject, whilst he addressed 
 some words of soothing courtesy to Agnes ; but 
 more in the manner of a stranger than in that 
 of a familiar friend. Suddenly, however, he 
 stopped, hesitated, was confused, and seemed to 
 know not what to say next. 
 
 The acute observation of Dame Gee would 
 have detected a much better attempt to deceive 
 her than this, so slovenly executed ; and as she 
 possessed an uncommon boldness of character, 
 seldom found in one so artful — for cunning 
 and timidity generally go together — she now 
 looked him full in the face, and said, "Do you 
 think, young Sir, to deceive me? or that I, 
 who was born on the very estate so lately 
 lost by your father, do not know an Elford? 
 I know the family features as well as I 
 know my own face. Let me see but one of 
 their kindred in the most distant corner of the 
 globe; and their air of pride, their haughty, 
 unbending brow, their eye that, in the soberest 
 / them all, has in it a glance of the family 
 madness (so fatal to more than one of their 
 house), could not be mistaken. I could tell an
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 161 
 
 Elford, even if I looked upon him as he lay 
 coffined in the earth, by the very form and size 
 of his bones." 
 
 " If you know so well who I am, good 
 dame," said the young man, " you cannot be 
 ignorant that I have no desire to make my name 
 so public, as you would seem to think, by thus 
 loudly repeating it. Take this, and be silent." 
 
 He offered Dame Gee a piece of silver, which 
 she did not refuse ; but, looking on it a moment, 
 she said, " You are the first of your name, I 
 will warrant, that ever gave less than gold to 
 reward a faithful friend or a silent tongue ; but 
 I will keep peace with mine." 
 
 The young gentleman seemed to feel this 
 reproach on his liberality ; for he blushed as 
 he said, " These times have been fatal to 
 our house, and they have brought down our 
 wealth." 
 
 " But not your pride," said Dame Gee, 
 sharply. " Hark ye ! Master Elford, I will 
 deal fairly by you, and tell you I know more 
 of your affiiirs than you may think I do. I tell 
 you this to show you I can be trusted, notwith-
 
 162 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 standing the bad name some people give me. 
 Take my advice, and do not linger here about 
 Mount Edgcumbe; for though you are a roy- 
 alist, that circumstance would not alone make 
 Sir Hugh Piper allow you to talk in private to 
 his daughter, under the greenwood tree, with 
 whole bones in your skin." 
 
 Agnes, on hearing this, looked greatly dis- 
 tressed, and young Elford seemed vexed be- 
 yond measure at the rude, impertinent freedom 
 of the old woman ; yet she appeared to know 
 so much more than he could wish about his 
 affairs, that he feared to provoke her by show- 
 ing his resentment. He bit his lip with vex- 
 ation, and, smothering his anger as well as he 
 could, civilly desired her to be gone. 
 
 " I will be gone," she said ; " and though I 
 go straight to Mount Edgcumbe House, to 
 visit a sick man there, yet will I say nothing 
 about Mistress Agnes and the shadow in the 
 well ; for shadows, you know, ought not to 
 affright a steady mind. I will but say one word 
 and be gone; and that word is of advice to you. 
 Mistress Agnes. In the face of this young gen-
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 163 
 
 tleman, I would counsel you not to listen to 
 him, for he is an Elford. His father, Sir Mar- 
 maduke, despised your alliance at a time when 
 your own father was the richest merchant of 
 the West. All the country rang with it ; and 
 every body knew that Sir Piers Edgcumbe in- 
 terfered to make up the match, if it might be, 
 out of regard to his old friend Sir Hugh. But 
 that failed ; and I was at the Mount when he 
 offered to go himself and bring you away from 
 Exeter, where your granddam had suffered 
 Master Elford to woo you, unknown to both 
 fathers, till Sir Marmaduke found it out and 
 raved about it. Think you, therefore, if Sir 
 Marmaduke would not bow his pride to receive 
 you when you were a rich merchant's daughter, 
 that he would now bend it when your father is 
 so reduced as to become the keeper of a com- 
 mon store ? Away ! and learn wisdom before it 
 is too late." 
 
 " Woman ! " exclaimed young Elford in an 
 angry voice, " this freedom surpasses all bounds. 
 You have disti-essed the young lady — I desire 
 you to leave us. Go, I beseech you, go ; ob-
 
 164 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 serve prudence, and I will find a way to reward 
 yon." 
 
 " Find first the means," said Dame Gee ; 
 '• for yours are now at a low ebb, if report 
 speaks truth. And for you. Mistress Agnes, 
 let the times go as they will, can you so humble 
 your spirit as to steal into a family, or be re- 
 ceived into it by sufferance — certain you will 
 be looked upon with contempt, as an interloper, 
 an intruder — one who is beneath the honour 
 she shares. ? Would you be held as the branch 
 that grafts itself on a great stock only to dis- 
 grace it ? To meet cold looks, pointing fingers, 
 and wagging heads, as you sit alone, shunned 
 by all ; or to see the backs of your new relatives 
 turned towards you instead of their faces ? I 
 wish you joy of such a marriage, if yonder 
 young gentleman becomes your bridegroom." 
 And so saying, the hag (who had only given 
 this advice for the sake of showing she pos- 
 sessed the importance of being perfectly well 
 acquainted with what they hoped had been more 
 secret) took up her staff, and suddenly re- 
 treated from the well, leaving Agnes seated on
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 165 
 
 the Stone, weeping bitterly, with Reginald El- 
 ford by her side. As he held her hand, and 
 looked upon her with a countenance, in which 
 resentment for the insolence of Dame Gee 
 was mingled with tenderness towards herself, 
 " Agnes," he said, " dear Agnes, be com- 
 forted. This distress embitters the few mo- 
 ments chance has given me to see you. Do 
 not add to my suffering the sight of your dis- 
 tress ! " 
 
 " Leave me," replied Agnes, " Reginald, 
 I beseech you, leave me. That wicked woman 
 spoke truth, though in bitter words. Besides 
 which, my father urged me " 
 
 " Not to forget me, not for ever to cast me 
 off," said Reginald Elford, " Sir Hugh, the 
 kindest of men, the best of fathers, could not 
 do this violence to a daughter's feelings, how- 
 ever little he might regard mine." 
 
 ^' Not with the intent to injure either of us, 
 believe me," said Agnes : " but, oh ! Elford, 
 you do not know my father. There lives not, 
 it is true, a kinder heart, or a more generous 
 mind; yet has he one quality even stronger
 
 166 warleigh; or, 
 
 than these — he is the most honest of men ; 
 and to sanction your affection for me contrary 
 to the will of Sir Marmaduke Elford, he would 
 deem an act of such dishonesty, that on no con- 
 sideration would he be brought to listen to it. 
 He never will sanction your affection till it is 
 confirmed by your father's approval of your 
 choice." 
 
 " Alas ! Agnes," said young Elford, " do 
 not speak of my father : he is in no condition to 
 be asked for such consent ; and I am in none 
 to seek you as a wife. No, Agnes," he conti- 
 nued, as he started up and paced up and down 
 by the side of the well, " I cannot, I must not, 
 I ought not, to seek your hand — we are beg- 
 gared — all, all is lost — a price set on my dear 
 father's head ! Whilst he has no place in which 
 to hide it, saving by the mercy, the charity, 
 or the danger of some friend, who may, at his 
 own peril, venture to give him shelter — whilst, 
 with agony unutterable I speak it, his many 
 hardships, his disgraces, his long-suffering and 
 sorrows, have awakened in him some touch of 
 that dreadful malady to which the hag but now
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 167 
 
 alluded. He has escaped the care of his son, 
 who now seeks him sorrowing, yet uncertain 
 where to find him. It is said he is somewhere 
 concealed in this neighbourhood — to seek him 
 is my principal motive for being here ; yet not 
 the only one. There is a matter of deep im- 
 port — but I will not speak of it. Rather let 
 me hail these moments that are given to you ; 
 yet I confess, Agnes, it was not to seek you 
 that brought me this morning to Mount Edg- 
 cumbe." 
 
 " What brought you then?" said Agnes. 
 " Do not ask," replied Reginald : " if it con- 
 cerned myself alone, be assured you should 
 know it ; but a life of more worth than a thou- 
 sand such as mine, an interest vital in itself, 
 and sacred to my best feelings, puts a seal upon 
 my lips even to you. Rest satisfied that no- 
 thing which Reginald Elford calls his, but you 
 may command it. His honour is not his alone 
 — since it belongs to his father, to his country, 
 a thing never to be betrayed or lost but with 
 life — honour keeps me silent, Agnes ; ask me 
 nothing."
 
 168 warleigh; or, 
 
 " I will ask nothing," replied Agnes ; " yet 
 I would you could see my father. You look so 
 distressed, so ill; it breaks my heart to see you. 
 You have never met my father, for he never 
 came to Exeter whilst I lived under the roof 
 of old Lady Parr. 1 would you could see 
 him." 
 
 " I must not now, Agnes," replied Elford ; 
 " for he, as your father, would have a right to 
 question me concerning mine — and I could 
 not answer him ; I could not, Agnes," he 
 added, in a voice that expressed the bitterest 
 feelings, " I could not find courage to tell 
 him that after having won his daughter's affec- 
 tions without his leave, I fear I must resign her 
 for ever." 
 
 " Oh ! say not so," cried Agnes, as the tears 
 she took no pains to hide fast trickled down 
 the cheeks of the affectionate girl. " Do not 
 go from me; time is always passing on, and 
 things may change. You are, you say, ruined 
 in fortune, and your father also: surely that 
 circumstance will conquer his pride and his ob- 
 jections ; and if our fortune improve in the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 169 
 
 world, we may do you service. My father 
 never saw you, but he knows your character, 
 and honours it, and never had any objection to 
 our engagement, but what he thought honour 
 demanded ; that he should not sanction it till 
 Sir Marmadiike, more nobly born than him- 
 self, and of higher degree, should first give his 
 consent. Stay, and see what time may do for 
 us." 
 
 " For me, Agnes, I fear it can do nothing. 
 I have lost all in these wars but my honour, 
 and my life. I could not be the villain, even 
 if my father were sufficiently himself to yield his 
 consent to my wishes, to make you, tenderly 
 nurtured and bred, the sharer of my misery — 
 poor, exiled, my life held forfeited by those 
 who now cut off whomsoever they proscribe as 
 obnoxious to their measures. Thus circum- 
 stanced, what a lot should I have to offer to 
 the woman I most love ! No, Agnes ; once let 
 me but rescue my father, let me but see him in 
 safety, and the beggared Elford, with nothing 
 left but his sword and a broken heart, must 
 seek some employ in a foreign land. No 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 warleigh; or, 
 
 matter how brief may be his date of life, when 
 he has lived to see his dearest hopes die before 
 him." 
 
 *' Do not talk so," said Agnes, all her enthu- 
 siasm returning at the sight of his distress. 
 '' Do not think so meanly of me. I gave you 
 the most solemn pledge of faith and truth, 
 when you were far above me in fortune ; and 
 do you think I would now desert you, now 
 when you are poorer than myself? No ! El- 
 ford, I will not recall my vow, though cir- 
 cumstances may for ever forbid its fulfilment. 
 Whilst I live, it is for you, and for my father." 
 
 " The very gentleness, the very affection 
 that would brave all evils for my sake," said 
 Elford, " ought to teach me not to take ad- 
 vantage of it, not to betray it. OIi ! Agnes, 
 had I but a hope left to give you comfort, you 
 know not with how much joy I could embrace 
 it, as renewed life is hailed by the sick man 
 ready to yield his breath. But there is a 
 cause, a fatal cause : I must not injure you so 
 much as to — I will not risk your safety, I 
 speak darkly, I know I do; yet I must not
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 17 1 
 
 speak more plainly. I am care-worn and 
 broken-hearted, and quite unfit to name as 
 gently as I would do a subject so painful to a 
 being, kind, good, and tender like yourself. — • 
 Agnes, forget me ; forget one whose path leads 
 to anxious toils, to danger, perhaps to death ; 
 and no matter how soon it comes when he shall 
 have spoken to thee that last bitter word — 
 farewell ! " 
 
 Agnes could no longer suppress her feel- 
 ings ; her imagination pictured to her a thou- 
 sand terrors, a thousand fearful circumstances, 
 suggested by those dark hints Elford had so 
 mysteriously thrown out : and, unaccustomed 
 as she was to control any strong impulse of 
 her mind, she cried aloud, in the bitterness of 
 her heart, " Danger or death, I care not ; both 
 would be welcome, so we may not for ever part 
 — and to part thus ! " 
 
 Her tears continued to flow, as Reginald 
 Elford endeavoured to calm and soothe her 
 feelings ; till softened by those unaffected ex- 
 pressions of her constancy and affection, the 
 high spirit of honour which had dictated to his 
 I 2
 
 172 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 mind that he ought to leave her free, and even 
 resign her for ever, rather than involve her in 
 those perils with which he was surrounded, was 
 fearfully shaken ; and after having in vain at- 
 tempted to recall his expiring purpose, he 
 ended by receiving and giving, with fond de- 
 light, every renewed token and promise of 
 affection ; referring all the rest to time and 
 chance, those two most uncertain of all friends, 
 to whom lovers in extremity are apt to trust, 
 as drowning men catch at straws for safety. 
 
 Time flew on, the sun rose higher and 
 higher, and the morning was advanced before 
 Agnes remembered how long she had been 
 seated by the side of the holy well ; nor is it 
 likely the discourse would even then have 
 terminated, had not her ear been suddenly 
 assailed by hearing her name called aloud in 
 the neighbouring wood. Agnes started up. 
 " I am called," she exclaimed, " my father has 
 sent some one out to seek me. Adieu ! Regi- 
 nald — be prudent, be happy, avoid all unneces- 
 sary danger ; and remember, though our af- 
 fections are plighted, our hands never must
 
 THE FATAL OAK. l73 
 
 be joined till Sir Marmaduke Elford and my 
 dear father sanction our choice. Adieu ! 
 Adieu!" 
 
 And with this last feeble attempt to preserve 
 unbroken the obedience due to her parent, Agnes 
 set off to join those who were sent to seek her. 
 She left Elford distressed by many complicated 
 causes of anxiety, the most urgent of which he 
 had not mentioned to her, from a sense of 
 honour, which forbade him to reveal, even to 
 the woman he most loved, a confidence the 
 most sacred that had ever been committed to 
 his keeping. 
 
 I ^
 
 174 warleigh; or, 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 appearances deceive ; 
 
 And this one maxim is a standing rule, 
 Men are not what they seem. 
 
 Havard'5 Scanderbeg. 
 
 It appeared as if this morning had been pre- 
 destined to be full of trials and emotions to 
 poor Agnes ; for another, and scarcely a less 
 agitating scene, awaited her on her return to 
 the house. On entering the parlour where the 
 family partook of their morning meal, the 
 signs of universal disturbance and anxiety were 
 apparent ; and her father. Sir Hugh, contrary 
 to his usual manner, even when she had most 
 offended, spoke to her snappishly, on the sub- 
 ject of her early rambles and long stay in the 
 grounds. It was evident something had oc- 
 curred to disturb the equanimity of the whole 
 party. 
 
 Near the breakfast table sat Sir Piers Edg- 
 cumbe ; a packet of papers was before him ; an
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 175 
 
 Open letter in his hand, which he read again 
 and again, refolded, and at length placed it 
 carefully in his pocket, observing the most pro- 
 found silence, whilst every line of his intelligent 
 countenance expressed a thoughtful, almost a 
 solemn, mood ; and there was, every now and 
 then, a little irritability of manner about him, 
 that showed itself notwithstanding the efforts 
 he made to conceal his vexation ; for on tasting 
 the eggs and muscadine set before him, in 
 order to finish his repast, he pshawed and 
 pished in a way Agnes had never before ob- 
 served in a man of his equal temper, and not 
 usually moved to pettishness by any such trifle 
 as a breakfast not exactly suiting his relish. 
 And what was more remarkable, he suffered 
 poor Orgar to sit with his two fore-legs erect, 
 looking him steadfastly in the face, and every 
 now and then giving an impatient whine to 
 attract attention, without the least regard being 
 paid to these intimations of wished-for kind- 
 ness on the part of an old and faithful servant ; 
 till, by reiterated complaints, Orgar obtained, 
 though carelessly given, a slice from the chine 
 I 4
 
 3 76 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 of beef that stood in the middle of the boards 
 as the soHd foundation of the meal. 
 
 Sir Hugh Piper paced up and down the 
 room, his right hand in the pocket of his hose, 
 and holding in the other that long tube, in 
 whose fumes, and the exercise of inhaling and 
 exhaling them, he found a certain resource on 
 all occasions of emotion ; for if overjoyed, he 
 took a pipe to sober his raptures ; if held in 
 suspense, or doubt, he was wont to say it passed 
 away the hours till he knew the worst, or the 
 best, of what was coming ; and if vexed or dis- 
 appointed, he held there was no philosophy like 
 that of smoking Barbadoes tobacco. Sir Hugh 
 Piper certainly looked serious, even after his 
 daughter had entered the room, and the little 
 scolding was over; and Cornet Davy, whose 
 manners, emotions, and countenance were ever 
 in exact conformity with those of his master, sat 
 in the chimney-corner, looking grave for com- 
 pany, and seeking no other consolation than 
 that of tempering his breakfast, which he was 
 eating with much deliberation, by sipping in a 
 very modest way, from time to time, a cup of
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 1/7 
 
 strong waters of most excellent quality and 
 flavour. 
 
 Agnes felt very uncomfortable ; she was con- 
 scious that her morning ramble was not quite 
 one of which she was anxious to give an account, 
 unless, indeed, her father questioned her in 
 private. Should he do so, she satisfied her 
 conscience (that told her she ought to commu- 
 nicate all unasked) with the resolution to speak 
 the whole truth, and nothing else, using neither 
 shift nor excuse to palliate her offence. She sat 
 down in silence ; and in order to be busied in 
 doing something, to relieve herself from that 
 painful sensation of sitting still, and fearing to 
 meet the eye of others (a fear which most young 
 people experience when they have been engaged 
 in what they feel to be wrong, and dread to have 
 known), she helped herself to some of the good 
 things that were upon the table, though she 
 had no relish for them, as it may well be sup- 
 posed, her recent distress of mind having pre- 
 vented the beneficial effect which the mornino; 
 air would otherwise have produced on her 
 appetite. 
 
 I 5
 
 178 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 Friends, when suffering under painful cir- 
 cumstances that they do not communicate to 
 each other, always feel silence to be a most 
 awkward and embarrassing thing; and so was 
 it at this moment : every body, perhaps, longed 
 for relief, yet no one had the courage to break 
 this portentous silence ; till, on the door open- 
 ing, Mistress Robina Edgcumbe appeared. In 
 a moment her quick eye and shrewd glance 
 perceived the unusual gloom that reigned 
 around ; and looking on her friends with sur- 
 prise, she said, " Why, what ails you all ? what 
 has happened? No new calamity, I hope; you 
 all look as solemn and are as dumb as a set of 
 quakers, or as some tinkering preacher, who 
 fancies himself under inspiration, before the 
 opening of a sermon. Nay, my dearest father, 
 my dear Sir Hugh, do let me see one of you 
 smile, if it were only out of opposition to the 
 puritans, who think godliness must be graced 
 by sour looks." 
 
 " We have no cause to smile this morning, 
 my dear Robina," said Sir Piers. " I have 
 received letters from some friends, respecting an
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 17^ 
 
 affair we have at heart, that have something 
 vexed me. Besides which, we have, I fear, a 
 dying man in the house." 
 
 "And a Uving one," said Sir Hugh, who 
 stopped short in his walk up and down the room, 
 and intermitted the exercise of his pipe ; " and 
 a living one, who, I think, from a word or two 
 that has been dropped, would be much better 
 out of it." 
 
 " Hush ! " said Sir Piers ; " he is up ; I have 
 sent to bid him to breakfast; and, I think, I 
 hear him coming." 
 
 It was even so ; for the door again opened, 
 and a young man entered the room. The 
 clothes he wore did not fit him, for they be- 
 longed to Sir Piers; they did not, therefore, 
 show his person to advantage ; nevertheless, it 
 was apparent that he was well formed, and of 
 superior height. The features of his face were 
 handsome, though an air of deep thoughtful- 
 ness, almost of melancholy, added, in appear- 
 ance, four or five years at least to his age. His 
 complexion, naturally fair, looked wan and 
 I 6
 
 180 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 sickly ; and it was evident, that he still felt 
 feeble and suffering from the hardships he had 
 experienced on the previous night. In his 
 countenance there was none of the animation of 
 youth, none of that buoyancy of spirit which 
 creates hopes out of desires, and expectations 
 as soon as these are formed. Yet in his dark 
 eye, full and lucid, there was what, indeed, is 
 seldom seen in dark eyes, a character of pecu- 
 liar sweetness that more than counterbalanced 
 the want of the usual vivacity found in those, 
 who, like himself, were young and handsome. 
 
 As this gentleman entered the room. Sir Piers 
 rose and saluted him : he bow ed in return, and 
 looking round to notice in a respectful manner 
 the rest of the company, his eye caught a view 
 of Mistress Agnes Piper : no sooner had he 
 seen her, than his pallid cheek became still more 
 so, whilst hers, on the contrary, was dyed of 
 the deepest crimson. A slight bow, and a con- 
 fused expression of recognition, passed between 
 them ; as Sir Hugh, who observed it, said, in 
 his abrupt manner, to his daughter, *' It should 
 seem, Agnes, that you know this young gentle-
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 181 
 
 man ; but there needs not to blush about it, I 
 trow." 
 
 Mistress Agnes said, she had frequently seen 
 the young gentleman whilst she resided with 
 Lady Parr, her maternal grandmother, at Exe- 
 ter ; " indeed, he often visited at her house." 
 
 " Thou hadst many acquaintances there, 
 Agnes, that I knew little about, I take it," said 
 Sir Hugh, without any particular meaning in 
 the remark, though the conscience of Agnes 
 gave it one that sent yet a deeper crimson to 
 her cheek. " That old grandmother of thine," 
 continued Sir Hugh (who was very apt to give 
 vent to his thoughts, without considering if his 
 doing so in company was at all times quite cor- 
 rect or prudent), " that Lady Parr, I say, loved 
 the young sparks something too well, and liked 
 to see the house full of them. For myself, I 
 was never much disposed for a daughter of mine 
 living with her; but Dame Piper thought it 
 would be a good thing, and that out of sight 
 out of mind was likely enough to happen when 
 a will miffht be makinor ; and so Agnes was let 
 be with her for a couple of years ; and whilst
 
 182 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 there came, 1 believe, half the young fellows in 
 the county, dangling about her, just as moths 
 buzz about a light ; there was too many of them, 
 by far too many — enough to turn a girPs head ; 
 but old Lady Parr liked to see her chairs and 
 setdes filled by a set of insignificant gallants, 
 with their clinquant hose and their lace bands, 
 and to see them prune themselves, and make 
 their legs, in her presence, like a set of jays or 
 monkeys/* 
 
 Sir Piers Edgcumbe, who saw how exceed- 
 ingly painful this thoughtless speech of Sir 
 Hugh was to Mistress Agnes, turned it off as 
 fast as he could, by adverting to another sub- 
 ject ; and asked the young gentleman how he 
 did, hoping that he found himself as well as 
 could be expected after his late perils and pro- 
 vidential escape. 
 
 The young man answered these enquiries 
 with the utmost propriety and gentleness of 
 manner; thanked his deliverers in the most 
 grateful and warm terms ; and, in fact, left no- 
 thing unsaid that ought to be said on such an 
 occasion.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 183 
 
 These kind thanks and enquiries made 
 and answered, Sir Piers next expressed his 
 concern for the state of the other person who 
 had been saved from shipwreck, and asked 
 how he did. To this the young gentleman re- 
 plied, with a shake of the head, " I fear he is in 
 much danger. During the night, I understand, 
 he has not slept ; and showed many symptoms 
 of delirium, talking confusedly, and fancying 
 himself, at times, at sea. This morning, how- 
 ever, he seems to have lucid intervals ; for he 
 knew me when I went to him, and asked when 
 the Doctor would return." 
 
 " And when will he return?" enquired Sir 
 Piers, looking at Robina as he spoke. 
 
 " I fear not till late in the evening," she re- 
 plied ; " for, on quitting the house last night. 
 Doctor Hartshorn told me he was obliged to 
 ride many miles to visit a patient, not so sick 
 as the poor stranger, but one who was a person 
 of consequence in the country." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said Sir Hugh ; " that man who 
 is most sick ought to be of most consequence to
 
 184 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 the doctor; he ought to have seen him again 
 this morninoc." 
 
 " So thought the good housekeeper, it seems, 
 your honour," said the Cornet, venturing on 
 the first words he had spoken that morning; 
 '* for she told me herself that owing to his ab- 
 sence, and her own alarm, she had sent for an 
 old woman, held to have a curious hand in 
 treating diseases or hurts, to look at the suf- 
 ferer." 
 
 " An old woman !" said Sir Hugh ; " what 
 old woman ?" 
 
 " I will vouch for it she has sent for that hor- 
 rid old witch. Dame Gee," said Robina, " by 
 whom, if ill looks could frighten away a disease 
 as hers do young children, the cure would soon 
 be effected. What think you, my dear father, 
 of this, if it be Dame Gee that the housekeeper 
 has sent for? Shall I go and enquire?" 
 
 " I think," replied Sir Piers, " that Dame 
 Gee is an excellent nurse, and a bad-tempered 
 woman. That she has some powerful remedies 
 decocted from simples and herbs, I can myself
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 185 
 
 attest, having experienced their efficacy in my 
 own person. She has had also more education 
 than falls to the lot of many in her sphere: 
 this, united with her shrewd sense, ill-humour, 
 and a love, as I think, of playing on the cre- 
 dulity of the vulgar, in order to gain greater 
 credit that she may really do them good, has 
 obtained for this singular woman the character 
 of a witch. The people also tell strange tales 
 about her playing tricks at the holy well ; but 
 I will warrant she never yet raised the devil 
 there, nor could show his face, if he came up, in 
 the surface of the water." 
 
 This was another random shaft, that hit where 
 no aim was taken: it sadly distressed poor 
 Agnes: and her observant friend Robina, who 
 without knowing what had chanced, saw she 
 was embarrassed, now came to her assistance, 
 but without guessing in what quarter it was 
 most needed to ward off the blow. 
 
 " We will not waste time," she said, " in talk- 
 ing about Dame Gee ; we all know her to be 
 the best nurse in the country. Her stay here, 
 therefore, at such a moment, will be useful ; but
 
 186 Warleigh ; on, 
 
 I will tell you what I think ought to be done. 
 The unfortunate man, who is so much hurt, 
 and has been delirious all night, ought to be 
 bled; for Doctor Hartshorn told me so last 
 night, before he went away. ' If the patient,' 
 said the Doctor, in his formal way, ' is not 
 very much better, after the sedative potion I 
 have just given him, in the morning let him 
 be bled before the turn of the tide ; and then 
 give him a small quantity of extract of pearl in 
 a stoup of compound waters.* And when I 
 said. Doctor, who is to bleed him, if you are 
 away ? what shall we do in such a case ? he an- 
 swered, * Send for Trim Foretop, the bone- 
 setter and barber surgeon; for he can bleed 
 man or horse as well as any one in the 
 country.' " 
 
 " By all means," said Sir Piers ; " let some- 
 body go instantly for Trim Foretop; I know 
 him well, he is a very honest man, and one 
 who has kept my hair and beard in order these 
 ten years. Let him be sought for." 
 
 " Please your honour, and Sir Hugh," said 
 Cornet Davy, rising and bowing respectfully to
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 1^7 
 
 his master, " I will go for him with all my 
 heart ; and as news is ever stirring at the bar- 
 ber's shop, I doubt not I shall pick up some- 
 thing that will keep your honour in ammunition 
 of that sort till the Diurnal comes in with the 
 account." 
 
 " Do so, Davy," said Sir Hugh, " and there 
 needed not, Davy, to ask my leave ; for whilst 
 you are at Mount Edgcumbe, sharing the 
 bounty of Sir Piers, I hold you to be as much 
 his man as my own. And, hark ye, Davy ; when 
 you are about it, after doing your errand to 
 Trim Foretop, just step home and see how 
 all things are going on in the way of trade; 
 and if the 'prentices have not been idle ; and 
 tell my wife, Dame Sibella, all that has chanced 
 here, and that, possibly, I may not be able to 
 leave Sir Piers Edgcumbe till to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " I will do your honour's bidding," replied 
 the Cornet, " without forgetting an item of the 
 order ; and I hope to be there and back again 
 as fast as one of your honour's old scouts at 
 the siege of Plymouth.'*
 
 188 warleigh; or, 
 
 " I doubt it not, Davy," said Sir Hugh. " Go 
 thy ways, Davy," he added, as the Cornet closed 
 the door after him, " thou honest compound of 
 summing and serving, of double entry at an 
 account, and single file at mounting a breach. 
 Thou wast ever excellent in handling a calfskin 
 ledger, or a leather gun; for the like of thee 
 never have I seen, nor can hope to see again 
 in a poor clerk, for courage and fidelity." 
 
 Sir Piers now addressed the stranger, pressed 
 him to take refreshment, and showed him every 
 attention kindness could suggest. The young 
 gentleman declined partaking of the morning 
 meal, and declared that the housekeeper had 
 long since supplied his wants before she had 
 attended to the family. 
 
 *' You must, I fear, still feel almost unfit to 
 leave your chamber," said Sir Piers, "after 
 such perils as those you last night encountered 
 May I ask," he added, in a manner that showed 
 a kind feeling of interest, and that not merely 
 idle curiosity prompted the question, " may 
 I ask, if the relation is not too painful at this 
 moment, by what means you came into the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 189 
 
 boat, whose upset so near the shore enabled 
 us, under Providence, to have the satisfaction 
 of being of some service to you." 
 
 " You have a right, the most undoubted 
 right, to know all," replied the young man, 
 " since you have bought it at the price of your 
 own danger, in a generous effort to save me. 
 Blessed be the Lord of mercy, it was crowned 
 with success ! You, sir, have received me and 
 my wounded and suffering attendant, with the 
 same charity with which Publius received the 
 shipwrecked Paul and the crew in the Island 
 of Melita; but I have no power, as did that 
 guest and holy apostle, to do you any act of 
 service in requital for your generosity ; but my 
 gratitude and thanks to you, to your friends, 
 and, above all, to yonder gentleman (pointing 
 to Sir Hugh), can never cease but with life." 
 
 Sir Hugh Piper, though he acknowledged 
 this speech by a bow, nevertheless winked at 
 Sir Piers, and touched his forehead as he did 
 so, as if bidding him observe that the young 
 man wore his hair cropped; and, somewhat 
 rashly, thinking his quoting Scripture was ^
 
 190 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 sure sign that the stranger could not belong to 
 the right church (for it must be confessed the 
 generality of the cavaliers were not at all too 
 familiar with their Bibles), he at once, in his 
 own mind, dubbed him a Roundhead and a 
 Puritan to boot. If right or wrong in his con- 
 jecture remains to be seen. 
 
 " I was returning from Barbadoes," continued 
 the young gentleman, " whither I had been 
 sent (and I confess to you much against my 
 inclination) by my godfather and guardian, to 
 take upon me the management of some pro- 
 perty in that island, that would be mine on my 
 coming of age. The Old James, the vessel in 
 which I was embarked, and the Virginia, quitted 
 the port of Barbadoes about the same time. 
 We met on the high seas ; and both ships en- 
 countered a fearful storm for many days. Yes- 
 terday, about noon, both were in distress ; and 
 so great was our danger that, seeing the ship 
 we were on board must founder, my attendant 
 and a few other persons determined to attempt 
 saving themselves in the boat; I followed. It 
 was fortunate we took this resolution : for, alas !
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 191 
 
 we soon after beheld a dismal sight — the Old 
 James dashed to pieces on the Eddystone reef. 
 The Virginia kept off the rocks ; but we heard 
 her firing, continually, signals of distress amidst 
 the roar of the wind and the ocean ; and some- 
 times we saw the flashes of her guns, when we 
 could not hear their report." 
 
 " Those signals," said Sir Piers, " first drew 
 attention to the vessel ; we were warned of it 
 by Hezekiah : and, in going down to the beach 
 to see what could be done, I first perceived the 
 boat. The vessel drove safe, though I doubt 
 not without being much strained, into Cawsand 
 Bay; and though the luckless boat upset and 
 many were lost, yet, I thank God, that you, who 
 are so young, and seem to be so promising, are 
 saved, I trust, for many years of happiness." 
 
 A sigh, a melancholy look, and a glance (as 
 the quick-eyed Robina observed) stolen at her 
 friend Agnes, as she sat looking down with 
 unmoved gravity, were the only answers that 
 the young gentleman gave to this speech. 
 
 Sir Piers now continued, " Much as I lament 
 that this attendant of yours should be so dan-
 
 192 WARLEIGH ; OIL, 
 
 gerously hurt; yet, considering how rocky it is 
 on the shore where the boat swamped, I rather 
 wonder both were not killed, than feel sur- 
 prised one should have received an injury likely 
 to be fatal." 
 
 " My fear it may be so," said the young 
 gentleman, " would induce me to trespass on 
 your charity, and to request that you would suffer 
 this unfortunate man to have the attendance of 
 some godly minister of his own persuasion. 
 He is a Presbyterian ; and as he has intervals 
 of perfect reason, I conceive it would be the 
 fulfilment of a Christian duty, which we owe to 
 each other, however much we may differ on 
 more minute points of doctrine, to see that the 
 sick bed of this man — it may soon become the 
 bed of death — is not left without spiritual ad- 
 vice and comfort." 
 
 " Certainly," said Sir Hugh, " I am so far 
 an advocate for liberty of conscience — though 
 I hold no man has any right to dissent from 
 the established Church that was, and that now 
 is no more, let him think what he will — as to 
 vote for what you propose. I say let the devil
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 193 
 
 have his own, if he will. Let Mahomet have 
 his Turks, if they will be Turks; and the old 
 Adam, as the Puritans call whatever they think 
 wicked, take the Jews, if they will be Jews ; 
 and let Beelzebub have the pope at his depart- 
 ing, as the king of them all ; and as to your 
 man, I think Sir Piers can fit him with a shep- 
 herd of his own flock without sending a hun- 
 dred miles for him." 
 
 " There is in this house," said Sir Piers, 
 " a minister of the Presbyterian persuasion, 
 who was last night most instrumental in saving 
 you. He is an honest man, and I will have 
 him warned of your desire. I doubt not he 
 will most gladly offer any ghostly comfort on 
 the present occasion. What may be the name 
 of your attendant ?'* 
 
 " Gabriel," replied the young gentleman, 
 " that is the name by which I call hirn ; though 
 when he is perfectly himself, he is somewhat 
 jealous of a title he has assumed since what he 
 deems his conversion. He has ever since 
 called himself Grace-on-High Gabriel." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 3 94 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 '^ And if his creed be true," said Sir Hugh 
 Piper, " he seems in a fair way to take a 
 cruise to try the efficacy of his name. I wish 
 him a safe voyage, though he sails not in the 
 right-freighted ship under the King's colours 
 in the good Church of England ; but in a 
 contraband trader, or, as I may say, a pri- 
 vateer, called the Sectary, that roams the high 
 seas, picking up prizes, and making spoil of the 
 ancient rights of a lawful and established found' 
 ation. And pray, young gentleman, having 
 heard your servant's name, if it is not an im- 
 pertinent question, what may be your own?" 
 
 There w^as a moment's pause, and a slight 
 blush passed over the stranger's cheeks be- 
 fore he said " Amias RadclifFe is my name." 
 
 No word or spell pronounced by an old 
 witch in the working of her charm ever pro- 
 duced a more sudden effect than did these few 
 words on all present, saving on Mistress Agnes, 
 who still continued to look grave as she pur- 
 sued some feminine work at a little table to 
 which she had retired after her hasty and com- 
 fortless meal.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 195 
 
 Sir Hugh Piper drew suddenly up as he was 
 pacing the room ; a favourite exercise with him 
 ever since he had been accustomed to walk the 
 deck in some of his voyages to the West Indies. 
 Again he intermitted the exercise of his pipe, 
 and stared with both eyes on the vouno- 
 stranger, something in the same way as a man 
 would stare at a great offender or malefactor 
 who is going to be hanged, and who excites 
 curiosity unmingled with respect. 
 
 A more decided though less broadly marked 
 change appeared in Sir Piers Edgcumbe ; for 
 lie stepped some paces back on hearing tt//o was 
 his guest; and though he did not fix upon him 
 an eye of wonder, yet a gravity, amounting al- 
 most to austerity, settled on every feature of his 
 face, as the single word " Indeed ! " passed 
 his lips. 
 
 Robina also looked grave, though she had 
 not done so till now since the day she heard of 
 King Charles having been seized by the ruf- 
 fian. Cornet Joice, at Holmby. Even Orgar 
 seemed to understand that all was not riorht : 
 for on seeing his master draw back from the 
 K 2
 
 196 warleigh; or, 
 
 stranger, he raised his head, though not his 
 body, curled up his nose, showed his white 
 fangs, and uttered a low and somewhat savage 
 growl. " Peace, Orgar ; be hushed, fool," said 
 Sir Piers; " silence, I say." 
 
 The young man resumed his narration, and 
 with something of more confidence, as if his 
 spirit rallied at the sight of the internal repug- 
 nance or displeasure, thus silently but evidently 
 evinced towards him by his auditors. " I am 
 Amias Radcliffe, and an orphan," he said : 
 " my godfather and guardian is a gentleman 
 too well known in these parts for his name to 
 be new to you, Sir Piers. Sir John Copple- 
 stone of Warleigh is the person to whom I owe 
 obedience, till having completed my twenty- 
 first year shall put me in possession of my 
 liberty, and a fair estate, held for me in trust by 
 my guardian during a long minority. I am 
 Amias, the only son of the late Sir Walter 
 Radcliffe — possibly you may already have 
 heard my name?" 
 
 " I have, indeed, young man," said Sir Piers, 
 sternly, " and I have heard it coupled with
 
 'the fatal oak. 197 
 
 bloodshed and rebellion. Young as you are, 
 if report speaks truth. Sir Shilton Calmady, 
 the royalist, fell by your hand at the siege 
 of Ford House. I would you had borne an- 
 other name." 
 
 '' He did so," exclaimed the young man 
 with spirit, " but it was in the heat of battle. 
 I led on a party of volunteers in Waller's de- 
 tachment to the siege of Ford House. We 
 had passed the grafF that surrounded it at ex- 
 treme peril. Sir Shilton Calmady headed a 
 sally made by the besieged, and as he rushed 
 forward, sword in hand, cried aloud to his 
 followers, ' Give the roundhead villains no 
 quarter.* " 
 
 " Did I not say last night he was a round- 
 head rascal by the cut of his hair, even before 
 he came to his senses?" whispered Sir Hugh 
 Piper to Robina. 
 
 The stranger meanwhile pursued his tale 
 with an animation that sent no small quan- 
 tity of blood into his pale cheeks, and lighted 
 up an eye capable of the most varied expres- 
 sion. "No sooner was the order given, than 
 K 3
 
 198 warleigh; or, ^ 
 
 Sir Shilton Calmady rushed upon me to fell 
 me to the earth : we encountered manfully, 
 and fought a fair fight, till both were wounded 
 and dripping with our blood; at length Cal- 
 mady fell. As a brave foe, to this hour do I 
 lament him ; and I doubt not he would have 
 done the like for me, had I fallen by his 
 sword as he did by mine, in a just cause of 
 quarrel." 
 
 " A just cause of quarrel !" cried Sir Piers. 
 " Young man, do you call that quarrel just 
 which has its basis in rebellion ? Upsetting 
 the venerable constitution of our laws, the 
 union of Church and State ; a thing till now 
 held sacred as the marriage bond — a union 
 not to be sundered but by an act of violence 
 and treason, by trampling o nail old insti- 
 tutions, venerable, if but for age, and, like 
 most aged things, therefore, become the scoff 
 of fools ; to tear down the ancient monarchy 
 of England, to imprison her King — a King 
 whose concessions have but opened the door 
 for higher and more impudent demands — a 
 King whose goodness was of more than mortal
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 199 
 
 mould, whose heart was with his people, 
 whose hopes are now in Heaven ! — This is 
 your cause; and for this did you shed the 
 blood of a gallant man, of my beloved friend, 
 Sir Shilton Calmady, at Ford House." 
 
 " I did it from no private enmity," said 
 young RadclifFe. " Calmady and myself were 
 both volunteers ; he on the side of the King 
 and of arbitrary power, whilst I was on that of 
 the people and of liberty." 
 
 " Ay, that is it, my brave fellow," said Sir 
 Hugh Piper, " that's the cry with you all ! 
 You Roundheads start up, and would lay violent 
 hands on the father who gave you life, to show 
 the liberty of fanaticism and rebellion : you cut 
 your fellow-countrymen's throats, and cry it is 
 all for the good of the people ! and whilst 
 hewing and hacking at an honourable gentle- 
 man, because his zeal was hateful to your 
 heart, you knock him down stone dead, and 
 say it was from no private enmity ! Whip me, 
 such nice distinctions, I say, with a cat-and 
 nine-tails. Why, Orgar, the water-dog there, 
 tvould teach you better principles ; since he 
 K 4
 
 200 warleigh; or, 
 
 deems himself bound to be faithful to his master 
 at all times and under all circumstances, and 
 does not turn iipon him, as you did upon the 
 King, your master, on the first yelping of the 
 ill-mannered dogs of the Parliament." 
 
 " The King abused his power," said Rad- 
 clifFe : " he was arbitrary, oppressive, and led 
 away by evil counsellors." 
 
 " It is false ! " said Sir Hugh : " he was too 
 meek, too condescending, too yielding to daring 
 claimants." 
 
 " From the very beginning of his reign," 
 cried the young republican, " there was a ma- 
 lignant and pernicious design to subvert all 
 law, to make the prerogative of the crown 
 overbear the rights of the Parliament, to destroy 
 those of the people, and to bring in papacy." 
 
 '' To bring in the devil and all his family, 
 you mean," said Sir Hugh, " in the shape of 
 Muggletonians, Arminians, Antinomians, Soci- 
 nians, Puritans, Presbyterians, Ranters, Brown- 
 ists, Independents, Seekers, Separatists, Wait- 
 ers upon Providence, and a precious crew of 
 the Family of Love ! Satan, we know, is the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 201 
 
 father of many families ; but his religious pro- 
 geny, in variety and kind, out numbers all the 
 r«st." 
 
 " The King and his evil counsellors," said 
 RadclifFe, " lost Rochelle, and betrayed the 
 cause of the unfortunate Huguenots — a cause he 
 ought to have espoused ; but he betrayed it by 
 leaning to popery. He was eager after mono- 
 polies and ship-money, whilst he left the high 
 seas so ill-guarded, that the merchant vessels 
 became a prey to Turkish pirates." 
 
 " I lost a vessel," cried Sir Hugh, " by the 
 turbaned thieves myself; but I was never, 
 therefore, unjust enough to lay the blame of it 
 on the King's shoulders ; and I do not see what 
 right you have, young gentleman — you, who 
 never owned nor floated a carrack on your own 
 bottom, to bring this charge against his Ma- 
 jesty. I think, in this case, at least, I am the 
 best judge, whatever you may be concerning 
 the liberties of the people !" 
 
 The ironical sneer with which this was said 
 seemed calculated to keep up the heat of the 
 argument; and Sir Piers Edgcumbe, who had 
 K 5
 
 202 warleigh; or, 
 
 far more consideration and prudence than Sir 
 Hugh, having subdued the first shock he felt 
 on hearing the name of the young volunteer 
 by whom his friend Calmady was slain, some- 
 what recovered himself, and spoke in a milder 
 manner, though still with distance and gravity. 
 " Master Amias Radcliffe," he said, " since 
 it has pleased Providence to make me, in some 
 sort, the instrument of your preservation, when 
 you were shipwrecked, in returning to your 
 guardian, so near your native coast, and that 
 you are now under my roof in the privileged 
 character of a guest, and in the yet more sacred 
 character of the unfortunate; I say, since it 
 has pleased Providence these things should 
 happen, whatever natural reluctance I must feel 
 at the sight of one who fought against my royal 
 master and killed my friend, I nevertheless 
 submit to a will wiser and higher than my own. 
 Under my roof, Master Radcliffe, you are safe, 
 and shall be respected; since in your person 
 I respect the bond of hospitality. Rest you 
 here, therefore, and welcome, till such time as 
 you can journey with comfort to your guardian's
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 203 
 
 house. I will furnish you with all needful aid : 
 and as I see you act the part of a kind master 
 to your attendant, who is so grievously hurt, 
 and, possibly, now on his death-bed, do not let 
 any thing that may have this day passed, on the 
 difference of our opinions, hasten your de- 
 parture from my roof one moment before you 
 have done all that humanity and Christian 
 charity demand. Stay by your attendant, if 
 you will, and see the result. This ascertained, 
 your servant, better or dead, — and his death, 
 perhaps, will ensue — I need not point out to 
 you that the opposition of our feelings and situ- 
 ations make us but bad companions in one 
 house, though that be my own. His danger de- 
 termined, the sooner we part the better." 
 
 This speech was delivered with the utmost 
 gravity ; yet there was a frankness in the man- 
 ner of the speaker that showed him to be sin- 
 cere. The young man answered with some 
 haughtiness : — " I thank you. Sir Piers, for all 
 your kindness ; but I trust I shall not long in- 
 trude upon it. The situation of this wounded 
 man, an old and favoured servant of my 
 K 6
 
 204' warleigh; or, 
 
 guardian, renders it impossible I should leave 
 him till I hear the surgeon's opinion of his 
 danger — that ascertained, I take my leave ; 
 and though conscious I quit the presence of 
 one who scruples not to declare his enmity to- 
 wards me, my gratitude for the worthless life 
 which he, by the Lord's will, has been the 
 means of preserving, can cease but with that 
 life. I wish we might part on other terms ; for 
 I fear I must never hope to call Sir Piers 
 Edgcumbe my friend, however deeply I may 
 feel he has been such to me." 
 
 " You may truly say that," said Sir Hugh 
 Piper, " since a friend in need is a fi'iend in- 
 deed, and that has Sir Piers been to you." 
 
 Here the conversation dropped into cold 
 formality; and soon after Hezekiah being sum- 
 moned, Radcliffe went forward to visit his sick 
 servant.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 205 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Dire was the tossing, deep the groans ; despair 
 Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch ; 
 And over them triumphant death his dart 
 Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invoked 
 With vows, as their chief good, and final hope. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 It was the lively Robina who left the parlour, 
 during the late painftil scene, to call Hezekiah 
 to do his duty to one of his own persuasion in 
 the hour of distress. Robina had two motives 
 for hastening her errand : the first arose from 
 pity towards the sufferer, and the second from 
 a hope that the presence of the minister, on so 
 solemn an occasion, would put an end to the 
 political disputes by calling off Radcliffe's at- 
 tention to his servant ; as, in fact, it did most 
 effectually. Gay as she was, both by nature 
 and habit, yet Robina, as she passed along to 
 summon the minister, sighed deeply, and felt 
 that depression of spirits, which every well-
 
 206 warleigh; or, 
 
 constituted mind cannot but experience when a 
 fellow-creature lies in the same house, expecting 
 each hour his final dismissal from mortality. 
 
 " Death," said Robina gravely to Hezekiah, 
 for she had no w^ant of proper sense or feeling 
 on suitable occasions, " Death brings serious 
 thoughts in its visitation. It is that cloud 
 which, however bright our sun, will cast a 
 shadow upon it, as it passes on before our 
 view." 
 
 " True, young lady," replied Hezekiah, who 
 looked somewhat surprised at hearing the very 
 gravest speech he had ever known pass the 
 lips of Robina. '' True, death is the ultimum 
 terribilium ; and what are we but a little breath- 
 ing dust ? for even when I look on your fair 
 cheeks. Mistress Robina, I always endeavour 
 to think of a churchyard, as a necessary keeping 
 under of the spirit, that is apt to delight itself in 
 such a fading toy. The evils of beauty. Mistress 
 Robina, are manifold and manifest. First, 
 beauty maketh womankind care little for the 
 deformity of the soul, so long as the body do 
 not partake of it. Secondly, it is a snare —
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 207 
 
 a snare to the pride of the heart and the desire 
 of the eyes. Thirdly, it is a flower withered by 
 a thousand chances, and hath no continuing 
 in one place. Fourthly, it is the great Vanity 
 Fair of outward adornments ; a tempting to 
 creature follies, and a dressing up of that poor 
 silly flesh and blood, that must shortly become 
 a prey to worms. I am sorry for you, Mistress 
 Robina ; and for your souPs sake, and the sake 
 of the good-will I bear to you, I could wish to 
 see you, if it might be so, with no more beauty 
 than the most homely wench that ever found in 
 her homeliness a weaning from the world, and 
 a saving among the saints." 
 
 Robina, who probably would have considered 
 such a circumstance in the change of her beauty 
 as a very great evil instead of a very desired 
 good, and had no mind to hear the ^'Jifthl?/" of 
 the sermon which Hezekiah seemed about to 
 commence on the subject, cut him short in his 
 discourse; and, leading the way, conducted him 
 at once into the httle ante-room, next to the 
 sick man's chamber, where he was joined by 
 , RadclifFe ; and both now passed into a long
 
 W^MUEKMl 

 
 TSE FATAL OAX. 
 
 909
 
 210 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 The enquiries of the new comers were an- 
 swered by a shake of the head from the house- 
 keeper, as she said, " Alas ! 'tis like enough to 
 be his ending; for he's been wandering all the 
 morning, though he has his lucid intervals now 
 and then, when he would call sometimes for a 
 minister, and at others for strong waters. And 
 then his wanderings would come again ; and 
 then there was nothing but about the sea and 
 the ship, and you, sir (addressing Radcliife), 
 and another gentleman of these parts that he 
 called upon by name, one Sir John Copple- 
 stone." 
 
 " Hush," said RadclifFe, " speak not so loud, 
 he will hear you ; it may disturb him. I will 
 speak to him." 
 
 " No," said Hezekiah, '' that will I ; for it is 
 my duty to go to him ; and in this sickness the 
 Lord and I will make his bed together." So 
 saying, he advanced to the bed where lay 
 Grace-on-High Gabriel. 
 
 He was a man between forty and fifty years 
 old, of a stongly marked countenance, as brown 
 as a piece of mahogany, with eyes large and
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 211 
 
 black, that in health had in them a character 
 of fierceness, and now from want of sleep and 
 fever stared nearly out of their sockets, and 
 partook of the wild restlessness of delirium. 
 His head was bound up with linen, and his jet- 
 coloured hair, that peeped forth from under the 
 bandages, appeared clotted with blood. His 
 arms lay extended on the outside of the bed 
 clothes : the old housekeeper had irritated him 
 by a contest to make him keep his hands under 
 them during half the night. He looked dread- 
 fully ill ; haggard, black round the eyes ; and, 
 though he moved with pain, was restless. 
 Hezekiah touched the sick man's hand ; it was 
 burning with fever : having addressed some 
 words to the patient, and no answer being given, 
 RadclifFe approached the bed, and spoke. " Do 
 you know me, Gabriel?" he said, in a soft 
 voice : " Do you know where you are ?" 
 
 "Burning bricks in Egypt," answered Gabriel, 
 " and not able to come within the promised land, 
 
 because of I will not speak his name. 
 
 Because of one who has seared his conscience
 
 212 warleigh; or, 
 
 with a red-hot iron, and keeps mine fast locked 
 within the red velvet cabinet." 
 
 " The what?" said Hezekiah. "Alas! how 
 he wanders. What is he talking about ?" 
 
 " He seems to be thinking of Warleigh," 
 said young RadchiFe, " and of the red velvet 
 cabinet that stands in my guardian's own 
 chamber." 
 
 *' Do not open it," cried Gabriel, who caught 
 these words. " Do not open it for worlds ; or a 
 spirit will come up like that of Samuel to Saul. 
 For an old man will come up, covered with no 
 mantle but with his sins ; and will make quick 
 work with us all, because I have delayed to 
 execute his fierce wrath on this Amalek." 
 
 " Of whom speaks he, think you ? " said 
 Hezekiah. " Alas ! this is a fearful sight. How 
 long has he been thus ? " 
 
 *' All the night long," said the housekeeper, 
 " rovino^ at intervals all the nioht lonof ; and 
 saying terrible things at odd whiles, and talking 
 about the sea and the ship." 
 
 " The ship ! " cried Gabriel ; " the ship had 
 never been saved if I had done all the business."
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 213 
 
 ** Did you hear that ? " said Hezekiah, 
 groaning, as he turned to RadclifFe. " I do not 
 like it ; there must be some sad burthen on the 
 poor soul, that the terrors of death should make 
 such wild work in the brain and conscience. I 
 would his reason might return, that I might 
 talk to him ; for loth were I to think him one 
 of the sons of perdition, knowing that God doth 
 devise means that his banished be not expelled 
 from him. I will watch, and presently awaken 
 him, and pour out fearful threatenings." 
 
 " Into the pan, or kettle, or caldron, or pot," 
 cried the sick man, who seemed to catch at all 
 he heard, and to connect it with some strange 
 subject that was uppermost in his thoughts : 
 " all the flesh-hook brings up let Sir John 
 Copplestone take to himself, for so they did in 
 Sliiloh to all the Israelites that came thither. 
 And bid Master Amias RadclifFe never go home 
 again. Oh ! my head — my head ! " 
 
 " Now begins his pain again," said the house- 
 keeper, " he has talked himself worse. See how 
 he turns about, and moves his lips, that look as 
 dry and as parched and as black "
 
 214 warleigh; or, 
 
 " Water ! water ! give me water ; drink, 
 some drink," cried the patient. 
 
 " I will give it him,*' said RadclifFe. 
 
 " Not for worlds," said the housekeeper : " he 
 has called for it all night, but I would not let 
 hun have it; for Doctor Hartshorn said, if he 
 calls for drink, give him nothing but my potion, 
 and only that at the proper hours. He must 
 not have cold water in such a fever as this is 
 for all the world." 
 
 " He shall have it ; and I will answer it to 
 Doctor Hartshorn," said Dame Gee, who 
 rose up with an air of authority, and held a 
 iToblet of water to the sick man, which he drank 
 off with the eagerness of one famished. At the 
 interference of a person so much held in respect 
 for her high talents in doctoring, charming, and 
 nursing as was Dame Gee, the housekeeper 
 submitted; and no longer opposed even a 
 second glass of the same cooling beverage, which 
 was both called for and granted with the 
 same eagerness as the first. After this, the 
 sick man lay down in his bed, and became 
 quiet, whilst the housekeeper declared he
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 215 
 
 would soon have an interval of reason, as his 
 delirium had hitherto come on by fits and 
 starts, and that after he had been quiet a 
 little while, he would know what he was about. 
 Hezekiah heard this with attention, and re- 
 solving to watch for such an opportunity, he 
 begged all to leave the room, and to suffer him 
 to remain alone by the side of the sick man's 
 bed. All instantly agreed to do so, except 
 Dame Gee, who obstinately insisted on main- 
 taining her post, as she whispered the house- 
 keeper in the ear, that unless she stayed, the 
 charm she had set up (the power of which 
 would not begin to show itself till a certain hour 
 of the clock) would altogether fail. The house- 
 keeper winked her acquiescence, and stating 
 very civilly how wrong it was that all the nurses 
 should leave the poor creature in such a state 
 as he was in, obtained permission that Dame 
 Gee should remain, if she consented to sit at 
 the lower end of the room, where Hezekiah 
 thought she would not hear the feeble words of 
 the sick man in case he spoke. 
 
 The mistress of charms and spells consented
 
 216 warleigh; or, 
 
 to this arrangement; and having placed herself 
 in a good easy chair not far from the fire, she 
 sat quietly down. Now, whether she really felt 
 desirous to take this opportunity of gaining re- 
 pose, or whether, to use a Devonshire phrase, 
 she only " made wise" to do so, in the hope 
 to listen to any word that might be spoken, we 
 cannot say ; certain it is, she threw her apron 
 over her head, leant it against the high back of 
 the chair, crossed her arms, and had soon the 
 appearance of one who would compose herself 
 for the enjoyment of a sound nap. 
 
 Hezekiah, who was neither the most pene- 
 trating nor suspicious of men, and who was too 
 lately come into the neighbourhood to know 
 much of the real character of Dame Gee, never 
 suspected any artifice, if any there was worthy 
 of suspicion ; and having satisfied himself that 
 the nurse, with the customary privilege of one 
 who knew well her calling, was gone fast 
 asleep, he took out his little clasped Bible, sat 
 down by the bedside, and whilst ever and 
 anon giving a look to the patient, (to watch for 
 some symptoms of returning reason, or to see
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 217 
 
 if he inclined to rest,) instructed himself between 
 whiles, in reading the twelfth chapter of the se- 
 cond book of Samuel ; and so studied it, that at 
 last the worthy man (whose suspicions of the 
 bad state of Grace-on-High Gabriel's conscience 
 had been raised by the confused words dropped 
 by the sufferer in his delirium) read himself into 
 the conviction, that he was, like a second Na- 
 than, now called upon to awaken and reprove 
 another David, for some foul blot on his pre- 
 tensions to being a son after God's own heart ; 
 an adoption to which most of the sectaries of 
 the day laid a very strong and particular claim. 
 For some time he read without perceiving 
 any change in the quiet attitude of the exhausted 
 patient ; but at length he observed him stir, as 
 his eye made the circuit of the room, as if he 
 looked for some one he expected to see in it. 
 A sigh, soft and low, escaped his lips; he placed 
 his hand upon his forehead, and again looked 
 anxiously around him. Hezekiah observed him 
 attentively ; and being convinced, by the steadi- 
 ness of his eye, that he was now restored to 
 reason, in one of those lucid intervals the house- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 warleigh; or, 
 
 keeper had mentioned, he determined not to 
 lose the opportunity ; and with a gentle hand 
 drew back the bed curtain, as he said, " Brother, 
 do you know me, or do you guess who I am ?" 
 
 " No," replied the sick man, in a weak but 
 steady voice, " I saw something here just now 
 — a shadow, may be — but I thought it was 
 like young Master Amias Radcliffe." 
 
 *' It was no shadow, but himself," said the 
 minister. *' How feel you now, friend ?" 
 
 " Alas ! weary, because of the daughters of 
 Heth," said Grace-on-High Gabriel : '' they have 
 sore tormented me all night, and especially one 
 old woman, who denied me drink;" and turning 
 in bed as he looked languidly at his comforter, 
 added, in a weak voice, " Who art thou, and 
 what is thy name ?" 
 
 ** Hezekiah," answered the minister. 
 
 " Hezekiah ! " re-echoed Gabriel : " if thou 
 art as the good Hezekiah, bid the shadow of 
 the dial go backward ten degrees like that of 
 Ahaz, that I may have space given me to 
 repent of this evil, and not go down into hell 
 alive."
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 219 
 
 " To repent ! " exclaimed Hezekiah. " Oh ! 
 delay it not. I am, brother of sin and dust," he 
 continued, in a solemn and impressive tono, " I 
 am, though all unworthy, one of God's chosen 
 servants : set up, like the prophet Ezekiel, to 
 cry aloud and spare not; to be as a watchman 
 to the house of Israel. And here do I perceive 
 my call. For when I behold the man of sin, 
 and see guilt in all its terrors shake to the very 
 centre his departing soul; if I forbear to say 
 unto the wicked, ' thou shalt surely die,' he 
 shall die in his sin, but his blood shall be re- 
 quired at my hand. Even so w^ill I call on thee; 
 for full well do I perceive by these wild flights 
 of a distempered brain, the up- castings of a 
 foul and filthy conscience. Go to ! disburthen 
 it, make it a clean work, and let the man and 
 the house be new altogether." 
 
 Grace-on-High Gabriel answered this address 
 with a deep groan. 
 
 " I see it," continued Hezekiah, " I see it: 
 
 some deep and foul blots, whitened over like a 
 
 whited wall, now come out in their true colours. 
 
 Hitherto the devil has been busy, as he ever is, 
 
 L 2
 
 220 warleigh; or, 
 
 in his sreat work as a deceiver. But harken 
 not to him; he was a murderer from the be- 
 ginning. It is he who inspires furious thoughts, 
 inflames the blood, fires the brain, pours out 
 strivino^s and wrath, makes man as a raging: 
 lion eager for the slaughter." 
 
 Another groan from the patient answered to 
 this description of the foul fiend. 
 
 " He is," continued Hezekiah, as his voice, 
 manner, and eye became elevated with the 
 energy of his own feelings, " he is the terrible 
 one, when a greater than he makes him, like 
 hi? creatures of thunder, of hail, and of the fiery 
 ?*onn, an instrument to punish a rebellious 
 sinner. It is Satan who sets the brand to the 
 slumbering embers of an evil conscience, flames 
 them, makes death come armed from hell ; and 
 having been the tempter of man, now becomes 
 the stern accuser of him to God and to his own 
 so'ul. But turn again, turn ye: for why should 
 ye die? Resist Satan: I will \\Tes tie with him 
 for you, and together we will beat him back, 
 and his horn shall be broken, and his hinder 
 part set towards the utmost sea. Oh ! repent,
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 221 
 
 repent, and sweet shall be thy sleep, though 
 the grave becomes thy bed ; for the breast of 
 the reconciled of God is as the temple of 
 peace ! " 
 
 Whilst Hezekiah made this speech, or, if 
 the reader pleases, this sermon, in which there 
 was so much of truth blended with the wild 
 zeal and language of the fanatics of his day, his 
 whole countenance and demeanour changed ; 
 for his strong-marked features had in them an 
 expression of that high enthusiasm, which (if it 
 be not profane to use such a comparison) made 
 them shine something in the way, we may sup- 
 pose, as did the face of Moses, as it became 
 radiant under his strong sense of the divine 
 presence in which he stood, when he received 
 and gave forth the law to awe and to direct 
 mankind. 
 
 In the brow of Hezekiah there was a solemn 
 elevation : sincerity gave feeling as well as 
 energy to his words ; and he stood by the side 
 of the sick bed, his tall figure full of dignity 
 and command, exhorting, counselling, and per- 
 suading the wounded, alike in body and in soul, 
 L 3
 
 222 warleigh; or, 
 
 to redeem the time that yet remained, however 
 brief it might be. Gabriel Hstened, uttering 
 every now and then a stifled groan : at length 
 he m^ade an effort to rise up : Hezekiah assisted 
 him, and ably (for he was strong and powerful 
 whenever he exerted himself to put forth his 
 strength). Gabriel sat up in bed, propped by 
 pillows, and looking as ghastly as some of the 
 old gothic pictures of Lazarus, bound hand and 
 foot in the garments of the grave. Gabriel 
 looked at the minister, and then slowly round 
 the room ; and finally cast a speaking eye on 
 Hezekiah, as he pointed with his finger to 
 Dame Gee, who was dosing in the chair, as 
 much as to say, " She is in the room." 
 
 " She sleeps," said Hezekiah. " Notwith- 
 standing, if it is thy wish, I will awaken and dis- 
 miss her." 
 
 ** Do so," said Grace-on-High, " and bid 
 her get me the doublet I wore before I was laid 
 in this bed. In the close pocket there is a 
 small horn case, well secured, containing some 
 letters, that ere I die — if I must die — I will 
 put into Master Amias Radcliffe's hands ; and
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 223 
 
 they will tell him all — all. I have not strength 
 nor memory clear enough to speak at this hour 
 — only get me the doublet." 
 
 Hezekiah looked round the room, and saw- 
 no doublet : it instantly occurred to him, that 
 as it must have been wet when Gabriel, on the 
 previous night, had been put to bed, most likely 
 his clothes had been removed, for the purpose of 
 getting them dried by the fire. He now deter- 
 mined to ask for the doublet (but without say- 
 ing for what purpose) ; and thinking to kill two 
 birds with one stone, to get rid of Dame Gee, 
 and to make her bear his message to the house- 
 keeper (whilst he hastened to receive the con- 
 fession of the sick man ere the return of delirium, 
 should prevent its being made), he walked up 
 to her, and giving her no very gentle shake, 
 disturbed her slumbers, either real or pre- 
 tended, and desired her to go and enquire for 
 the doublet of the shipwrecked man. 
 
 Dame Gee seemed hard to awaken ; but 
 when awake, strange to say, she made no ob- 
 jection to quitting the room, though she had 
 before been adverse to it, and instantly set off' 
 L 4
 
 224- warleigh; or, 
 
 to do as she was required. In a short time she 
 returned, bringing the doublet with her, which 
 was but half dry. She would then have re- 
 sumed her station, but Hezekiah forbade her in 
 a tone of authority ; and desiring her to go and 
 send in Master RadclifFe, as the wounded man 
 desired to see him, he shut the door upon her, 
 and secured it with a bolt. 
 
 He now brought the doublet to the bed : 
 Gabriel looked eagerly upon it; and Hezekiah 
 examining a closely contrived and secure pocket 
 in the breast, that the sick man pointed out, 
 found it open, and nothing in it. 
 
 The minister, who conceived the case with 
 the letters was of importance, from the manner 
 of the sick man when he spoke of them, in- 
 stantly acquainted the housekeeper with the 
 loss : she bustled, and made every enquiry, but 
 nobody knew any thing about the matter, and 
 least of all Dame Gee, who declared she had 
 been disturbed from a sound sleep to go and 
 fetch the doublet, and executed her commission 
 in no time at all. The housekeeper. Dame 
 Gee, and all the servants, agreed in the opinion,
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 22S 
 
 that the horn box must have been lost when 
 the sick man was tossed and tumbled about in 
 the waves ; for they did not see but if the 
 rocks and the water could knock a man of the 
 head, so as nearly to kill him, why they should 
 not be able to unfasten an inside pocket, that 
 was secured by no lock and key, and only by 
 an old button. Whether this mode of reason- 
 ing on the subject might be false or true, He- 
 zekiah could do no other than submit to it ; 
 and Gabriel, on hearing the horn case had been 
 lost in the sea, begged very earnestly that 
 Master RadclifFe would not delay to come to 
 him. Hezekiah sent a swifter messenger than 
 the old housekeeper, who had stayed to gossip 
 about the doublet and the loss on the road; 
 and Radcliffe soon appeared. 
 
 L 5
 
 226 WARLEIGH ; OK, 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 A fox, full fraught with seeming sanctity, 
 That fear'd an oath ; but, like the devil, would lie : 
 Who look'd like lent, and had the holy leer, 
 And durst not sin before he said a prayer. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 As RadclifFe approached the bed, it struck 
 him that there was a very great change in his 
 servant; and calling Hezekiah aside, he said 
 in a whisper, *' Reverend man, have you never 
 heard that when any one, dangerously sick, has 
 been for many hours deprived of reason, the 
 return of it is generally the forerunner of 
 death ? I am much deceived if yonder man is 
 not fast approaching his last moments. Look 
 at his eye, it is watery and glazed. See how 
 he seems to shiver, and catches at the sheets, 
 whilst his cheeks are shrunk and his lips are 
 livid. I am sure this change is more than com- 
 mon. How I wish the doctor would come ! " 
 " If you think so," said Hezekiah, " for the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 227 
 
 sake of Him who saith ' How oft is the candle 
 of the wicked put out/ delay not thou to speak 
 with him ; for truly his soul could not pass in 
 peace till he saw you ; and he said he had 
 much to tell you, of woful consequence. There 
 is no one here but ourselves." 
 
 " I will give him his potion first," said 
 Amias RadclifFe : " the housekeeper told me, 
 as I came in, that it was the hour. Perhaps 
 the medicine may help him to speak with mere 
 ease." 
 
 RadclifFe gave it ; and as Gabriel, who swal- 
 lowed it with extreme difficulty, returned the 
 cup to his young master's hand, he looked 
 wistfully in his face, sighed, and said, " Come 
 near me, Master Amias, and listen ; for I am 
 sure I am a dying man : and since I felt so, 
 all my former life seems changed. All I thought 
 good before, all I wanted to gain, now is no- 
 thing. • I w^ould give all, like Dives, for a drop 
 of water to cool my tongue ; or, what is better, 
 for that pool which should wash away my sins." 
 
 " Gabriel," said Hezekiah, jumping up from 
 the bed-side, where he had been quietly sit- 
 L 6
 
 228 WARLEIGH ; OK5 
 
 ting ; " Gabriel, do not entertain such an un- 
 profitable wish ; do not sigh for the waters of 
 Bethlehem, as did David out of a vain spirit. 
 Do not become a dipper or anabaptist, 'tis 
 as foolish as a paedobaptist ; and I will argue 
 with you respecting the unprofitableness of it 
 in every point, as well as could Baxter himself 
 in his answer to " 
 
 " Peace," said RadclifFe, " he is in no case 
 for disputations; let us hear what he would 
 say." 
 
 " I would say," continued Gabriel, " that 
 whilst I thought myself in the liberty of the 
 promise, I find I have been but in the house of 
 bondage all my life long, making bricks with- 
 out straw^, under a hard taskmaster. Come 
 near, for oh ! I am very sick, and I feel cold ; 
 and the room seems to go round with me, and 
 — and — where are you?" 
 
 " Here," said Radcliffe : " he is worse, He- 
 zekiah — call for help !" 
 
 " No, no," cried Gabriel, in a broken voice, 
 " it is all in vain ; death knocks at the door, 
 he knocks hard : trembling takes hold of my
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 229 
 
 flesh : in a minute I come. Yet, oh ! mer- 
 ciful Father, give me breath to warn you, 
 Master Amias " 
 
 "Of what? Of whom?" said the astonished 
 RadclifFe. 
 
 " Of your guardian, whom you have fear- 
 fully offended — in a way, I fear, not to be for- 
 given." 
 
 " Not to be forgiven ! " repeated Radcliffe 
 with amazement : " this is incomprehensible ; 
 surely my refusing to " 
 
 " Let me speak all I have to tell," said 
 Gabriel, faintly. " He sent you to Barbadoes 
 under my care, at a time when you were in 
 wretched health. He charged me to keep you 
 there, let you be never so much worse. I did all 
 I could, but you would not stay. The rest of 
 his orders about you were written to me in 
 letters ; I kept them, with one important paper 
 that concerned you, in the horn case, next my 
 bosom. 1 kept them thus carefully, that if any 
 thing unexpectedly should come of it, I might 
 have the means to show him his own com-
 
 230 warleigh; or, 
 
 mands for what I did ^- and — worse than 
 
 this " 
 
 Gabriel paused ; for he spoke with extreme 
 pain, and some marks of blood appeared upon 
 his lips. He had, in fact, bled so much inter- 
 nally (since the chief injury he had received 
 was in the chest), that it struck RadclifFe this 
 return of the bleeding was, perhaps, a fatal 
 symptom. Shocked at what he had already 
 heard about his guardian, though in some 
 measure it did but confirm his own suspicions, 
 he eagerly listened, in the hope to gain farther 
 intelligence before Gabriel might become too 
 weak or too lost in mind to tell it all col- 
 lectedly. 
 
 " Beware of him," said the dying man : 
 " do not go home — that is, not till you are 
 
 full twenty-one years old; and then " 
 
 Gabriel paused ; RadclifFe hung over him, 
 scarcely drawing breath while he listened ; 
 ' and then go suddenly to Warleigh, and in- 
 sist " Again Gabriel paused ; and seemed 
 
 so faint and exhausted, that RadclifFe snatched
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 231 
 
 up a bottle of essence which stood upon the 
 table. The strong pungent power of the es- 
 sence for a moment had its effects, and once 
 more the sufferer ejaculated a few broken ac- 
 cents, though it should seem the clearness 
 of his faculties was again overcast; and that 
 though he did not wholly forget the subject 
 of his discourse, his memory and perception 
 were too much affected for it any longer to 
 be connected. " He is a dreadful man," 
 said Gabriel, " and hath many devices in 
 his heart ; and, like the grave, he never has 
 enough." 
 
 " Of whom speak you ? " said Hezekiah. 
 " Beware what you say; beware, sinful man, 
 how you accuse another — that you put not your 
 own burthen on another man's back. The 
 tongue is a little fire, soon kindled and very 
 deadly in its strife." 
 
 " Peace, I pray you," said Radcliffe : " I 
 know well of whom he speaks. Gabriel, go on. 
 Can you tell me any thing of my father's death — 
 any particulars ? for I was a child when it hap-
 
 232 warleigh; or, 
 
 pened, and my guardian never speaks on that 
 subject." 
 
 " There is a cause for it," said Gabriel, in a 
 low hollow voice; and, looking wildly round 
 the room as his eye, though dull and watery, 
 seemed to seek for some object it feared to 
 meet, he added, in an agitated manner, " Do 
 not let Sir John Copplestone come in, and I 
 will tell you all." 
 
 " He is not near you, Gabriel," replied Rad- 
 cliflPe ; " he does not know but that we are still 
 at Barbadoes." 
 
 " Does he not?" said Gabriel, as a ghastly 
 smile stole over his features ; " but the devil 
 does, and he may tell him ; for they are close 
 as brothers when there is any thing to be got; 
 and he will have all when your godfather dies." 
 
 " This is dreadful ! " exclaimed RadclifFe. 
 " Gabriel, if you have sense enough left to 
 understand my words ; I solemnly adjure you, 
 as you must answer to Him who can pardon 
 and can save at the dreadful day of judgment, 
 tell me all you know. Tell me of those in- 
 juries my guardian may have done, or may
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 233 
 
 meditate to do, against me : Speak ! What have 
 been his wicked acts — what yours?" 
 
 " Mine ! " cried Gabriel, in a tone that had 
 in it an accent of horror ; " it was not mine : 
 I did but put my hand as a witness to it. Will, 
 him they call Black Will, beware of him ! But 
 wherefore do the wicked live, and become old, 
 and are mighty in power?" 
 
 " He wanders sadly," said RadclifFe ; *' is 
 there no way to fix his attention?" 
 
 " I feel it," said Gabriel, shuddering ; " his 
 hand is all cold — death freezes up my blood ! 
 But there is heat enough, they say, in hell. I 
 wonder how Korah and his company bore it; 
 for as for us we are many, and can put it out : 
 all but one may — all but one; since nothing can 
 quench the fierce flame kindled for him. Yet 
 your guardian did nothing but feed it with a 
 few papers; and there they burn, the flame 
 never dying, to consume himself. What o*clock 
 is it?" 
 
 " This distracts me !" said Radcliffe. " What 
 do you mean by papers ? Gabriel, what papers 
 h^ve been all thus burnt?"
 
 234 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 " All ! I did not say all," exclaimed the mi- 
 serable man; " one he dares not burn — for his 
 own sake, he dares not — and he keeps that sealed 
 to his own condemnation." Again he stopped, 
 and a slight convulsion passed over his face, as he 
 caught and grasped RadclifFe's hand. His touch 
 was shuddering; it was cold and clammy as 
 that of a corpse. 
 
 " What paper does my guardian keep, and 
 where?" said Radcliffe, in an eager manner. 
 
 " In the red velvet cabinet," replied Gabriel, 
 with a groan ; " there is kept the fatal secret 
 
 of 3^our — your "he fainted as he spoke 
 
 the last v/ord. 
 
 Radcliffe was now compelled to call for as- 
 sistance ; and the old housekeeper, with many 
 other servants, came running into the room. 
 By strong applications the wretched man was 
 once more restored to consciousness ; but he 
 could swallow nothing that was attempted to 
 be poured down his throat. His eye became 
 more watery, a cold sweat bathed his temples, 
 and stood in large drops on his brow, as the 
 convulsed twitchiiigs of his hands and the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 235 
 
 muscles of his face, together with the coldness 
 of the extremities, showed that he was dying. 
 
 Hezekiah saw his condition, and felt shocked 
 that he should die without uttering a prayer 
 for God's mercy, though the confession of his 
 sins was, perhaps, in these moments as ac- 
 ceptable, considering the wandering state of 
 his mind. Hezekiah prayed by him and for 
 him, in a deep and emphatic manner, and con- 
 jured the sufferer, if he had but the power to 
 utter one word, to let it be a call for mercy on 
 his soul. 
 
 " Thou wilt not die thus," he said ; " thou 
 must not die thus, and go before the Lord of 
 heaven and earth — He who stretcheth out the 
 north over the empty place, and hangeth the 
 earth upon nothing — and yet say not so much 
 as Lord have mercy on me ! " 
 
 Whether Hezekiah had ever heard or not of 
 the celebrated scene representing the death of 
 Cardinal Beaufort, we cannot tell : possibly he 
 might; though certainly had he considered that 
 so fine a lesson to the dying sinner was to be 
 found in what he deemed an abomination — a
 
 ^36 warleigh; or, 
 
 stage play — he would hardly, as he actually 
 did, desire Grace-on-High Gabriel to make 
 some such sign as Henry did the Cardinal, to 
 show his trust in God. 
 
 Gabriel's lips were seen to move : he strug- 
 gled — he strove — but no sound came ; for all 
 power of speech was denied him, so great was 
 his exhaustion. " Put thy hands together,'* 
 said Hezekiah with great earnestness : " let me 
 but see thou has so much of understanding left 
 as to show the outward mark or sign of prayer, 
 and my soul will be comforted for thine." 
 
 " He cannot," said RadclifFe : " look how he 
 shrinks and shudders, as if the air blew cold 
 upon him, yet is there none." 
 
 " The air ! " exclaimed Hezekiah : " is not 
 the thin air the minister through which comes 
 the sightless, yet sight-conveying, light ? Even 
 so is the Spirit unseen, but piercing, the mi- 
 nister of God's truth. Oh ! that it might pass 
 to yonder sinful man !" 
 
 A faint cry, as of extreme agony, followed 
 soon after by that death rattle of the throat 
 that so often attends dissolution, now convinced
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 237 
 
 all present the last moments of Gabriel were 
 at hand. Hezekiah continued to pray for him, 
 even when all sense was gone to enable him to 
 join in the petition. Whilst dcing so, he raised 
 his eyes from the sight of agonised nature to 
 lift them up to heaven; but when Hezekiah 
 again fixed them upon mortality and earth, all 
 was over ; and that frame, which had so lately 
 contained a spirit, active, capable of weal or woe, 
 alive to the influence of hope or to the terrible 
 alarm of conscience, was a lifeless corpse ! 
 
 Radcliffe looked on in silence, shuddering 
 with internal horror at the terrible scene of 
 death he had witnessed in one who was appa- 
 rently so ill fitted to meet the last enemy of 
 mankind. 
 
 Hezekiah, with Christian charity, closed down 
 his eyes; and for the edification of those who 
 stood about the bed, he thus addressed them : 
 — " Gabriel is gone," said the worthy man 
 with a sigh ; " it is not for us to say whither. 
 Let us hope that some internal sign of repent- 
 ance — seen but by Him whom the smallest 
 thing doth not escape for mercy — may have
 
 238 warleigh; or, 
 
 found grace and acceptance even for this sinner. 
 No, my brethren, let us not scan the ways of 
 God, but rather our own ways; and so make 
 this bed of death as an example to us all. 
 Death to most men differs in its consequences, 
 but as men differ in their preparation. To the 
 good soldier of our Lord, a swift summons is 
 but as a swift victory. It is when the flaming 
 sword of God cuts off the wicked, that there is 
 captivity and conquest ; even as the sons of Eli 
 were suddenly cut off because of their trans- 
 gressions. Many are the ways of death, but 
 one to that of life ; and truly is it found in the 
 path of God ; for let the terrible ones of the 
 earth, in the greatness of their state, bow down 
 millions before them, yet when the appointed 
 hour is come, neither death nor conscience, as 
 ye have lately seen, will be stayed. I have 
 said ye are gods, but ye shall die like men. 
 Remember this, friends, and profit by it." 
 
 The awful scene that had just passed, the 
 solemn tone of admonition in which Hezekiah 
 concluded this address, with the sight of the 
 lifeless corpse, deeply affected all present ; and
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 239 
 
 the old housekeeper sobbed audibly, as on Rad- 
 cliffe and Hezekiah leaving the chamber, she 
 proceeded to direct the performance of those 
 last offices paid to the bed of death.
 
 240 warleigh; or, 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 His pole with pewter basins hung, 
 
 Black rotten teeth in order strung, 
 
 Ranged cups, that in the window stood, 
 
 Lined with red rags to look like blood, 
 
 Did well his threefold trade explain, 
 
 Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein. 
 
 Gay. 
 
 Our readers will recollect, that before the sud- 
 den and fatal change appeared in Gabriel, 
 Cornet Davy had been despatched to the house 
 of Trim Foretop, the barber surgeon, to fetch 
 him, that Grace-on-High might be bled, agree- 
 ably to the orders of Doctor Hartshorn, in case 
 he should not be better in the morning. Now, 
 as Davy had set off to do his errand as soon as 
 commanded, he could not possibly know how 
 unavailing it would be ; and that grim death, 
 who often steps in to take his turn with the 
 doctor, should in this instance have so speedily 
 settled the matter, quite contrary to the wor-
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 241 
 
 thy practitioner's prognostics respecting the re- 
 sult of his own skill, or the housekeeper's in 
 favour of the noted Dame Gee, whose charms 
 and spells had been so vigorously employed in 
 aid of the medicaments — charms and spells 
 hitherto considered infallible, and very likely to 
 be so considered again — since the failure of a 
 witch, fortune-teller, or empiric, was never yet 
 known to open the eyes of the credulous, deter- 
 mined, as they are, to keep them shut to their 
 own folly; and thus do they verify the ob- 
 servation of Butler, which avers — 
 
 The pleasure is as great, 
 In being cheated as to cheat. 
 
 To return to Cornet Davy. He continued 
 his way to the barber's shop, amusing himself, 
 as he did so, with calculating how much would 
 be the return of profit Sir Hugh Piper might 
 expect to receive on certain goods committed 
 on speculation to the West Indies ; how best 
 to turn the same profit to account in service 
 for the King : since it was one of the peculiari- 
 ties of the mercantile Cornet's character, that 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 2i2 warleigh; or, 
 
 he might be said to think in conformity with his 
 master. Davy was, indeed, in all things honest 
 and disinterested. He had ever preferred his 
 master's benefit to his own ; and now, with the 
 same HberaUty of principle, he followed the 
 worthy knight's example, and preferred the 
 interests of the imprisoned Charles Stuart to 
 those of Sir Hugh Piper. 
 
 Whilst the Cornet is thus entertaining his 
 own mind with such lively ideas, and (like- Al- 
 naschar, whilst calculating the future conse- 
 quences of the product of his basket of glass,) is 
 busied in speculating on how many plots, 
 battles, armies, victories, &c. &c. must neces- 
 sarily follow on Sir Hugh's devoting his whole 
 substance to the service of the King — till the 
 good Cornet, in his pleasant fancy, had fairly 
 beaten old Noll, hanged the Parliament, burnt 
 the covenant, restored episcopacy, and reseated 
 the King in safety upon his throne — we must 
 beg to leave him and his castles in the air, and 
 step on before him to the barber's shop — a 
 place of so much consequence, and so very dif- 
 ferent to what it has become in these degenerate
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 243 
 
 days, that it deserves our notice somewhat at 
 large. 
 
 Now, alas ! the lack of periwigs, the no- 
 fashion of wearing beards with pointed peaks, 
 and the more simple mode of wearing the hair 
 in its natural state, have altogether so much re- 
 duced this once distinguished craft of barberiug, 
 that the very character of the English barber 
 himself is changed. No longer a man of 
 science, all the importance of his calling is 
 fallen to rise no more, and he is now sunk into 
 some poor miserable shaveling, whose utmost 
 attempt at complicated art is that of uniting the 
 practice of making ladies' curls and headdi esses 
 (for we were once informed by an artisan of no 
 small celebrity, that the word wig was become 
 vulgar, and never used hy gentlemen in the trade), 
 with the manufacture of whiskers, and the 
 snipping of locks so close and so short, as if all 
 the young men of England of the present day 
 had determined to revive the close-shearing 
 fashion of the puritanic Roundheads in the times 
 of King Charles. 
 
 The dwelling that formed a habitation for 
 M 2
 
 244' warleigh; or, 
 
 Trim Foretop, of barbering fame, was a long 
 low building, or rather cluster of buildings ; for 
 it seemed as if many of the apartments had been 
 added at various periods, something in the way 
 of patching ; and, like all pieces of such work, 
 the one part did not very well correspond with 
 the other. It was situated in the suburbs of 
 the good town of Pl\ mouth, where it had un- 
 dergone no small damage (a circumstance suffi- 
 cient in itself to render patching necessary), 
 during the time of the sieoje : when that fierce 
 royalist of the West, Sir Richard Grenville, of 
 topering memory, had sat down before the 
 walls, to smoke out, as he said, the Lord Ro- 
 berts and Sir Andrew Carew, who had both 
 united to maintain the town for the Parliament. 
 Now\ though Sir Richard certainlv loved his 
 pipe, and smoked it with much more success 
 than he achieved in the endeavour to execute 
 his threat on tiie defenders of Plymouth, yet he 
 did not suffer his leather guns*, to whose exerr. 
 cise he was partial, to stand still; for he fired 
 and blazed, and battered awa}^, till the suburbs 
 
 * Guns made of leather were used in the siege of Plymouth,
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 245 
 
 were sadly damaged, and in many parts reduced 
 to ashes. 
 
 One of these shattered dwellings Trim Fore- 
 top had contrived to occupy, after the siege, at 
 a low rent, on the express condition that he 
 should repair it ; and this he did at the very 
 cheapest rate, helping himself from the ruins of 
 the old and battered buildings around him to 
 any such materials as first came to hand ; and 
 as the house had many apartments, running side 
 by side (not unlike hutches for rabbits), the 
 provident Mistress Foretop conceived her do- 
 micile might be made useful in more ways than 
 one, and therefore determined on the letting: 
 of lodgings. The door was sheltered by a pro- 
 jecting porch, accommodated on either side 
 with substantial stone benches, which, though 
 not the most soft or inviting for the gossips, 
 nevertheless frequently found occupants, when 
 the little shop was as full as it could possibly 
 be with idlers or customers — two sorts of visit- 
 ants that left honest Trim very little leisure on 
 his hands; since, in his more regular hours of 
 business, he had no lack of it ; and if he were 
 M 3
 
 21:6 warleigh; or, 
 
 busied in doing nothing, he had plenty of neigh- 
 bours willing to help him. 
 
 Above the doorway projected that well-known 
 cognisance of a barber, namely, a pole proper, 
 having its origin in the most remote antiquity ; 
 for some refer it to the Norman, and others 
 even to the Saxon times ; though we something 
 doubt the very existence of the craft during the 
 latter named period, since it is an established 
 fact that the Saxons wore their hair long and 
 uncut, as well as their beards. The pole over 
 Trim's door was jjarnished with a red twisted 
 riband, to denote that bleeding at the arm 
 might be had within, as well as at the chin, 
 when, by an unlucky slip of the hand, a thing 
 that not unfrequently happened, blood chanced 
 to be drawn in the operation of the razor. 
 
 Like all shavers, from the days of the famous 
 barber of the Arabian tales down to the present 
 times, Trim was noted for talking. How could 
 he be otherwise ? for, indeed, we conceive a silent 
 barber to be a thing so much out of nature, that 
 wherever found he would infallibly be looked 
 upon with curiosity and wonder; the same as
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 24? 
 
 any other phenomenon that is seen to act con- 
 trary to regular and customary laws. Many 
 reasons may be assigned to account for this 
 propensity to talking in the knights of the razor ; 
 the rapid circulation of news, brought in by 
 every customer, and retailed to the next oc- 
 cupant of the shaving bench or chair, begets 
 in the barber a habit of chattering ; and not the 
 least temptation to talking on the part of such 
 a practitioner, may result from the absolute 
 command he has over his antagonist, especially 
 should such antagonist be disposed to dispute 
 or to contradiction, or to make assertion supply 
 the place of truth, and popular opinion that of 
 sound judgment — things of frequent occurrence 
 in political debates, where the disputants are, 
 generally speaking, inclined to hear no one so 
 much as themselves, having long since deter- 
 mined, that no one else can be heard to equal 
 profit and advantage. Now in all such debates, 
 yoar barber unquestionably holds the upper 
 hand ; tor whilst under operation, his antagonist 
 can scarcely be said to be in talking order ; and 
 if he venture on a word too much, so completely 
 M 4^
 
 248 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 has his opponent the command of his chin, he 
 can suddenly overwhelm, or cut short the ar- 
 gument, by lathering him with soap, by twitch- 
 ing a hair awry, or by fairly letting blood from 
 those very lips that are offending. Such sum- 
 mary measures effectually silence an opponent, 
 and leave an open field for the triumph of his 
 unfettered adversary, who, like all great talkers, 
 at length gets so much accustomed to the use 
 of the tongue, that he is apt to fall into the 
 mistake of thinking it necessary he should find 
 a supply of it for the rest of the company, till 
 finally he lets no one be heard but himself. 
 
 The interior of Trim's shop was hardly less 
 curious than its exterior, and displayed as many 
 varieties in trade, as did the dwelling in archi- 
 tecture. In the windows might be seen, placed 
 to the greatest advantage to regale the eyes of 
 the passengers as they went along the street, 
 a couple of crossed arm bones, like the memento 
 mori of a tombstone. This singular ornament 
 of a barber's shop had, we believe, its origin 
 in the civil wars, when broken limbs and broken 
 heads being more plenty than sound ones, the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 249 
 
 barbers took upon themselves, in a regular way, 
 the trade of what was called bone-setters ; a de- 
 nomination by which many were alone distin- 
 guished, and in which they frequently dropped 
 the less noble title of barber, though they still 
 flourished the razor in a dignified way. A 
 choice set of old teeth, strung like a cherry- 
 stone chain, showed Trim operated about the 
 mouth in more ways than one, and could ex- 
 tract a tooth as well as curl a mustachio. 
 Combs, scissors, and razors were but the more 
 ordinary adornments of his shop windows; 
 since first and foremost appeared sundry phials, 
 boxes, and round-bellied bottles, each contain- 
 ing some precious drug or elixir pertaining to 
 the healing craft, and set forth with all the 
 consequence and conspicuousness such things 
 required. There might be seen extract of 
 pearl, aurum potabile, confection of amber, 
 pearl in boxes, bezoar stone, rosa solis, and 
 compound waters, 8ic. &c. with many other 
 precious and costly drugs then held as essential 
 in the practice of medicine, but which have long 
 since disappeared from our more improved and 
 M 5
 
 250 warleigh; or, 
 
 modern pharmacopeia. A table, a smooth-worn 
 high-backed chair, with two or three stools, 
 and a settle in the chimney nook, constituted 
 the furniture of the apartment; not forgetting 
 a birding gun and a brace of old petronels 
 that hung above the heavy stone chimney piece, 
 more, perhaps, for ostentation than profit; for 
 the gun was without a lock, and both the pistols 
 were hors de combat, not having been repaired 
 since some old trooper had exercised them so 
 well as to render them useless by hard service 
 in the late civil broils. 
 
 But one thing more demands our notice in 
 this curious medley; it was a certain dark, 
 dingy, corner-cupboard : this, if report spoke 
 truth, was said to contain many things pertain- 
 ing to the black art, in which it was shrewdly 
 suspected Trim had been a dabbler ; for now 
 and then, on the door being left a-jar, some 
 curious eyes would peep in, and beheld, it was 
 averred, sundry parchment books, brown, and 
 worn in the covers; certain scrawled papers, 
 whose signs looked like those of the zodiac in 
 caricature; several large-bellied glass bottles,
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 251 
 
 with a child in pickle in one of them, a knot 
 of twisted snakes in another, and the body of 
 a young alligator in a third. Few of Trim's 
 customers, who had ever once seen these things, 
 felt disposed for a second peep ; and some ma- 
 licious persons were wicked enough to say, that 
 he rather winked at than discouraged this cu- 
 rious spirit of prying into his secrets, from a 
 consciousness that such evidence of his beinij a 
 proficient in the occult sciences could not fail 
 to increase the reverence in which he was 
 already held by all admiring gossips and 
 friends. 
 
 A man's pursuits generally convey a pretty 
 good idea of his character, except in those 
 cases where nature and habit are determined to 
 be at variance, and the latter refuses to consult 
 or to improve the former. In Trim Foretop 
 the one did not contradict the other ; and we 
 have said so much of his business, his dwelling, 
 and its appurtenances, that little remains to be 
 said of himself. He was a light, thin, active 
 person, not juvenile nor yet old; had a busy 
 bustling air, that seemed to put every body 
 M 6
 
 252 warleigh: or, 
 
 about him into motion, and to make ten 
 times as much fuss about doing the slight- 
 est, or the greatest thhig, as it required. He 
 busied himself for all his .friends, and with 
 every body's affairs, except his own ; and those, 
 with the true regal mode of government, he left 
 to be managed by his prime minister; or, in 
 other words, by his wife, who, like most mi- 
 nisters in office, felt no inclination to resign, 
 and kept the reins, when she had them, with a 
 tight managing hand, though not without oc- 
 casional murmurings that her husband would 
 sometimes start wide away from her control. 
 
 In one thing, however, Trim and his wife 
 perfectly agreed, and that was in thinking them- 
 selves to be great politicians, though they did not 
 exactly adopt the same line in their political con- 
 duct to the customers. The lady, for example, 
 was a most uncompromising royalist; whilst 
 Trim, though he had a leaning that way in his 
 heart, used more prudence in his behaviour ; 
 for, wisely considering that if cavaliers must 
 have their beards peaked, and their locks 
 curled. Roundheads must be close cropped and
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 253 
 
 shaved, he could mannge, without any violent 
 opposition of conscience, to keep on civil terms 
 with both parties ; since, most truly, did Trim 
 observe, that loyalty, though a very excellent 
 thing, would neither make his pot boil, nor put 
 on his ears again, if he chanced to lose them in 
 the pillory by meddling, though but in con- 
 versation, as did many a brother of his faternity, 
 with the powers that were uppermost in those 
 dangerous times. 
 
 Let not our readers suppose, because we say 
 this, that Trim was, therefore, hard upon, or 
 even shy of, the cavaliers. Far from it : he was 
 shy of none but publicly suspected persons; 
 and any body. King's man or Parliament- 
 arian, who came to his shop in a civil way 
 to get shaved, was welcome to hear the news ; 
 to a seat under the stone porch, or on the 
 settle in the chimney corner, or even to a 
 cup of ale on extraordinary occasions ; and so 
 long as there was present no sharking attorney 
 (on the look out for malignants), he might talk 
 politics, if he liked it, till he could adjust the 
 affairs of the nation, or re-establish the church ;
 
 254 warleigh; or, 
 
 and Trim would never say a word about it, nor 
 check the freedom of debate, of which he was a 
 great admirer, so long as no person contradicted 
 him ; and his wife did not fail to show him she 
 was a friend to the same liberty, by exercising 
 upon himself the unbridled licence of her 
 tongue. An apprentice boy, and a little parish 
 girl, completed Trim's family, saving the lodger, 
 who must not here be forgotten, as he will be 
 found a person of some importance in the pro- 
 gress of our drama. 
 
 Captain Coleman, for such was his name, 
 answered exceedingly well, in his outward ap- 
 pearance, to that description which FalstafF, the 
 merry wag, gives of Justice Shallow — " He was, 
 for all the world, like a man made after supper 
 of a cheese-paring, or like a forked radish, 
 with a head fantastically carved upon it with a 
 knife." The Captain was exceedingly thin, 
 and his limbs appeared modelled by no skilful 
 hand ; for his legs were so curiously curved as 
 to resemble a bow or half circle in their inward 
 line : in short, most people would have fancied 
 the Captain to be bandy-legged ; but that he
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 255 
 
 (who had a frank way of referring all things, 
 even his very defects, to his military career,) 
 declared that the constant habit for many years 
 of sticking fast to the saddle, and managing a 
 high-spirited charger by the pressure of his 
 knees, had at last produced this form of line, 
 which he considered to be one most advan- 
 tageous, and much to be desired, by all riders 
 in a troop. 
 
 His arms, when he moved, swung about like 
 the sails of a windmill; and he walked and ma- 
 naged his cloak with a ruffling air, like one not 
 unacquainted with the swaggering gait prac- 
 tised by the gallants of the day, who haunted 
 TurnbuU Street, or the Garden of Piccadilly.* 
 His nose was hawked, and of considerable di- 
 mensions ; a long chin, lank cheeks, black hair, 
 a fierce glance, with upturned mustachios, and 
 a pair of eyebrows that at a little distance looked 
 as if they were made with a burnt cork ; a 
 drunkard's eye, red, watery, and given to blink- 
 
 * In the times of Charles the Firsts Piccadilly was a house 
 noted for gambling, having gardens used for games of an ille- 
 gal and disreputable nature.
 
 256 warleigh; or, 
 
 ing, all helped to render remarkable the out- 
 ward figure of the gallant Captain Coleman. 
 He had held the King's commission in the dis- 
 solute and abandoned troop of Sir Richard 
 Grenville ; a leader in every way worthy of his 
 men. To account for the Captain's being at 
 liberty after his General, Sir Richard, had de- 
 camped to France, we have only to state, that 
 all the world said he had taken the covenant. 
 Now, though we, in our capacity of biographer 
 of this valiant personage, beg leave to disavow 
 all intentions to misrepresent him, or to become 
 the promulgator of scandal ; yet we felt bound 
 to repeat a statement so generally averred and 
 believed concerning him, though possibly it 
 might not be true, as he still talked big respect- 
 ing his loyalty ; and more especially in mo- 
 ments when there was no great fear that doing 
 so would turn to his own prejudice ; and, it must 
 be confessed, that of the two, he really liked 
 the King better than the Parliament. 
 
 He remembered, with sincere pleasure, the 
 service he had seen in Grenville's army, with 
 all its charming licence and adventures; such
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 257 
 
 as knocking Roundheads on the head, storm- 
 ing and pillaging towns, exacting fines and 
 free quarters, and other such petty benefits 
 of war as "jumped with his humour." The 
 Captain, who ever retained, like the noted 
 Captain in the play, a great value for his title, 
 thinking, perhaps, as did that worthy, that it 
 was an excellent " travelling name," felt ever 
 jealous of being called by any other appel- 
 lation. 
 
 For his dress, it was slovenly, and not over 
 clean ; yet it retained a touch of finery that 
 spoke some vanity in the wearer. His cloak 
 was scarlet, dingy, and full of stains ; yet laden 
 with faded lace ; and his coat was so covered 
 with clinquante (a sort of tinsel imitating a 
 more costly ornament) that scarce could the 
 ground of it be seen. All his clothes smelt of 
 tobacco ; so that he wafted along with him 
 a gale of that perfume wherever he came ; and 
 for his mouth, it breathed forth fumes of old 
 sack and Jamaica rum, as fast as he opened his 
 lips. His jack boots, with iron-shod heels, 
 gave a noisy consequence to his step ; a thing
 
 258 warleigh; or, 
 
 of some value to men who, like our Captain, 
 feel their own importance to be of doubtful atl- 
 mission, and who would therefore consider no- 
 thing as insignificant which helped to give an 
 air to that personal audacity they would en- 
 deavour to make pass current for the bold 
 bearing of brave and daring men. A long 
 tuck hung by his side ; a collar of Flanders 
 lace, many times darned, yet still ragged, showed, 
 as the Captain thought, something courtly; and 
 a black velvet bonnet (with a single white 
 plume, that nodded over the left shoulder), set 
 knowingly on the head, gave the finishing air 
 of consequence to the whole and entire man 
 designated by the name of Captain ; and who, 
 whilst in command, was so zealous in his duty, 
 that if his men were false or true, royalists or 
 ragamuffins, he was nothing nice about them, 
 so long as they knew well how to pillage a 
 town after a siege, and to let a good share of 
 the spoil find its way to his quarters. 
 
 Having said thus much of Mistress Foretop's 
 lodger, we shall at present only add that at the 
 time we introduce him to our reader. Captain
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 2Z9 
 
 Coleman had walked out of his own particular 
 little cabin into the shop ; that being the place 
 of general rendezvous for news, company, and 
 customers, in Trim's house. His coming, like 
 that of many other great personages, sent forth 
 a fragrant announcement before him, though 
 not one of musk or roses; but the rolling 
 vapours of a new-lighted pipe, that scented all 
 the house, first made Mistress Foretop sensible 
 of the approach of her lodger. 
 
 She had her own particular reasons for 
 being most exceedingly civil ; as, on this morn- 
 ing, the Captain had promised to pay her a 
 certain account of moneys due some time ago ; 
 and though he had hitherto been pretty regular 
 in such matters, yet in the present instance he 
 was very much behind- hand. How the Cap- 
 tain lived (that is to say, whence arose his 
 means) was a circumstance Mistress Foretop 
 could not exactly tell, not being wholly ad- 
 mitted to his confidence. But as she very 
 justly observed to any gossiping neighbour 
 who might be curious on the subject, so long 
 as he paid her as an honest man ought to do,
 
 260 warleigh; or, 
 
 it was no business of hers ; the Captain might 
 have his own reasons for beins: silent about his 
 means ; and, perhaps, no unHkely thing, might 
 not at all times know exactly what they were 
 himself. 
 
 As he now advanced into the shop, it struck 
 Mistress Foretop that he did not come quite 
 so well prepared as she had expected; since 
 the consciousness of being about to loay a bill, 
 generally gives a man a certain air of conse- 
 quence, which makes him, for the time being at 
 least, feel superior to the person he is to oblige. 
 There was in the Captain, on the contrary, 
 which Mistress Foretop in a moment detected, 
 a certain shuffling air; a desire to evade the 
 subjeci, and more civility in his manner than 
 was usual with a gentleman of so much im- 
 portance. Quite convinced by these signs, that 
 no money was forthcoming. Mistress Foretop 
 felt that she had now the right to play the dig- 
 nified character, and might be as uncivil as she 
 pleased without the fear of offending. To a 
 very kind question, therefore, as to where her 
 husband might be gone this morning, she an-
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 261 
 
 swered in a manner full of meaning — " Gone ! 
 why in good sooth gone out, to attend some 
 small matters of business in the way of his 
 craft; where, I trow, he is like to get paid for 
 it ; and not to receive promises instead of pence, 
 as some people do ; and who, may be, are like 
 enough to get paid after the fashion your 
 old general. Sir Richard Grenville, observed 
 when he paid his dues to the Keeper of the 
 Fleet." 
 
 " Why, how say you, did he pay, good 
 woman?" said the Captain, sulkily. 
 
 '• How did he pay ! " re-echoed Mistress 
 Foretop : " why, marry, in the same way that, 
 very likely, you intend to pay me if I let you — 
 by giving leg bail, and showing a good pair of 
 lieels on the first opportunity. He ran clean 
 away;" 
 
 The Captain took his pipe out of his mouth, 
 and smiled, as well as his black visage would 
 admit of such an illumination, as he said in a 
 tone of cajolery, " You do but jest, I see, this 
 morning: for well do you know that my sin- 
 gular good affection to you and to your hus-
 
 262 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 band would not suffer me, as a gentleman of 
 honour, to show cutter's law in your house. 
 Nay. cheer up, my good dame ! Hang me, if 
 such a buxom face as thine was made for 
 scolding, — it lacks vinegar ; and looks as hand- 
 some as the Queen's, when her Majesty is in her 
 sweetest humour. Come, Dame, never flout 
 for a matter of some twenty shillings, seeing 
 that death and quarter day are the only two 
 things certain in this world; and my quarter 
 day depends upon contingencies, and comes not 
 always, I grant you, with the almanac: — but 
 come, it must. Look up then, good Dame, and 
 I swear by all that is most dear to honour — 
 my reputation as a soldier — that I will pay thee 
 as soon as my Irish remittances come in ; and 
 give thee the cherry-coloured gown thou didst 
 so much covet in old Abraham, the pedlar's, 
 pack.'' 
 
 *' Thy Irish remittances!" cried Mistress 
 Foretop : " Good lack ! I never thought thou 
 hadst any estate over seas." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said the Captain, " all my es- 
 tates are over seas ; and thence comes it, that in
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 263 
 
 coiisequence of these unruly times, with the 
 uncertainty of winds and frequent loss of ship- 
 ping, my supplies are noi; always so regular as 
 my wants ; for a man must eat, drink, and 
 sleep, you know, if the means to do so come 
 to him or not." 
 
 " But not at an honest woman's cost, I trow," 
 said Mistress Foretop, who, though somewhat 
 smoothed by the Captain's manner, had still a 
 longing eye after the payment of his bill ; " thou 
 didst promise I should have my own on this very 
 blessed morning, or I am no true woman." 
 
 '• A true woman thou art, Mistress Foretop," 
 said the Captain ; " for thou dost never lack 
 wit; though some, less just to thy merits, will 
 say thou dost best prove thy womanhood by 
 never lacking tongue. But a true woman thou 
 art, and a fair woman, and a kind woman, 
 and thou wilt lend me a crown this very blessed 
 morning, till I can pay all in a lump, if it were 
 only out of remembrance to my misfortunes ; 
 knowing that my somewhat diminished means 
 are the consequence of my sufferings in the
 
 264 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 cause of the King of England, France, Scotland, 
 and Ireland to boot." 
 
 " In the cause of the King of hearts, clubs, 
 diamonds, and spades to boot, you mean," said 
 Mistress Foretop, '' till a spade will at last be 
 bandied for you ; for a churchyard or a gal- 
 lows will be the end of it, and of all such 
 ways as you follow : for if you dice it, and card 
 it, and racket it, and rufHe it, as I have heard 
 tell you do, what will it all come to, but to 
 bring down yourself to debt, beggary, and 
 starving, and an early old age, and a quick 
 jioinir out, like a candle that is burnt at both 
 ends, as I may say . There 's no trusting to 
 your word ; and I '11 have some better as- 
 surance for my security before I lend you 
 another crown." 
 
 " Thou shalt, sweetheart," said the Captain, 
 "and such assurance as cannot be doubted; 
 for I will call in no security but thyself, and 
 sign and seal on thy own red lips, that are more 
 precious than rubies, and more sweet than sugar 
 or sugared sack." And, so saying, the Captain 
 very heartily saluted his landladv.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 265 
 
 " Well now, I declare," said Mistress Fore- 
 top, wiping her mouth with her apron, and 
 pulling straight her cap that was somewhat 
 disordered by this kiss of peace, " you are a 
 strange man, and have such taking ways with 
 you, that if my husband didn't know he had the 
 best of wives, it were enough to put tantrums 
 into his head. But it 's the w^ay with all you 
 captains of troop-horse, when you get about us 
 women ; there 's no being honest for you without 
 one 's as old and as ugly as a witch." 
 
 " Then art thou the greatest of rogues," said 
 the Captain in a wheedling tone; " for if a good 
 buxom presence, with a blithe eye and a 
 merry song, be as rocks and shoals to make 
 shipwreck of woman's honesty, thou art lost, 
 good dame, already, were it only for the sin of 
 thy temptations. Thou wilt lend me a crown ? 
 a crown for the sake of pity and of thy blue eye, 
 that pity so becomes ; a crown for the sake of 
 him who loves thee ; a crow^n to warm his heart, 
 though in affliction, for a good cause ; a crown 
 for the honour of England's King, that a cup 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 warleigh; or, 
 
 may not be lacking to drink a health to our 
 Charles?" 
 
 " I'll give a crown to supply such a cup with 
 all my heart," said a voice ; and looking round, 
 the wheedling captain beheld Cornet Davy, who 
 had that moment stepped into the shop. 
 
 " A fair offer should never be refused," said 
 the captain: " honest friend, lend me the money, 
 and we'll crush a cup together this morning 
 with as light a heart as if we were kings." 
 
 '' Nay, with a much lighter, I trust, than one 
 king hath at least," said the Cornet with a sigh. 
 " Take a crown : here it is, for I scorn to be 
 worse than my word ; though words are some- 
 times hastily set down, like random guesses at 
 an account, but I must not stay to take shares 
 now in the cup, for my business is very solemn 
 and very pressing." 
 
 " I dare say it is," said the Captain, " some- 
 thing like my own this morning ; the early part 
 of the day being ever the best for settling 
 accounts, or giving securities. But sit you 
 down, honest friend, and I will order the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 267 
 
 'prentice lad to run and bring us a cup of 
 muscadine from the King's Head ; that is, the 
 King's Head that was; for, as I hear, the Round- 
 heads have pulled down the sign and set up old 
 Noll's in its place." 
 
 Cornet Davy shook his head at the hearing 
 of so ill an omen. " I trust it may never go 
 farther than a sign," he said : " but this dis- 
 respect to the royal image of his Majesty, that 
 used to hang out as an invitation to gladden the 
 hearts of his subjects within, is no good sign 
 how the original may be treated if the worst 
 comes of it to the royalists ; for those who are 
 so ready to pull down but the semblance of a 
 king's head would not scruple to take off the 
 head itself on the first opportunity." 
 
 Captain Coleman soon obtained the musca- 
 dine; as the Cornet made known his errand, 
 and was informed he must wait till the barber 
 surgeon, whose attendance was required, might 
 be returned from his morning duties out of 
 doors. Mistress Foretop, the Captain, and 
 Davy sat down very lovingly together to partake 
 of the cheering cup, seasoned by the remains of 
 N 2
 
 268 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 a pasty that the liberality of the landlady had 
 supplied as a morning repast for the company. 
 
 Politics (that favourite theme of the day, and 
 of all Englishmen, for they are a thinking and 
 therefore a political nation,) supplied a subject 
 for discourse ; and though each party considered 
 himself or hei'self as fully competent to guide 
 the council of state, yet possibly our readers 
 might hold their opinions in less estimation : we 
 shall, therefore, pass in silence their discourse 
 on these topics, and merely observe that Cornet 
 Davy, on hearing the Captain's name, seemed 
 suddenly to recollect him ; and said in a very 
 grave tone of voice, " I believe, Captain, not- 
 v^ithstanding >vhat 1 have this morning both 
 seen and heard to make me think well of your 
 loyalty, that I am mistaken. I rather suspect 
 that you are one of those who, wishing to escape 
 all pains and penalties for having borne arms 
 for King Charles, took the covenant so soon as 
 the parliament and Fairfax turned the balance in 
 their own favour in the west." 
 
 " Worthy brother in arms," said the Cap- 
 tain, " you do me wrong, exceeding wrong ;
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 269 
 
 and, rather trusting to envious report, which 
 ever slanders merit, than to the credit due to 
 a gentleman of honour, you have sv^^allowed 
 greedily the first tale circulated to my disad- 
 vantage, and to the manifest injury of those 
 principles of loyalty, for vrhich I have suffered 
 both in body, mind, and estate." 
 
 " You did not take the covenant then?" said 
 Cornet Davy. 
 
 " You shall hear," replied Coleman. " After 
 Fairfax beat us by numbers, nothing but by 
 numbers — foryouknov^^ there's no withstanding 
 odds, though one be as valiant as Hercules — I 
 was held in durance ; and being considered a 
 very dangerous and determined man, from my 
 many acts of singular loyalty and valour — I 
 claim no merit in them, valour being but my 
 nature, not at all a thing of choice ; for it is 
 choice which constitutes the merit of any action 
 — I was, as I may say, become, even in name, 
 very terrible to the enemy ; so that in order to 
 confine the red dragon, for so I think the pu- 
 ritan rascals called me " 
 
 " Very like," said the Cornet ; " the red 
 N 3
 
 270 warleigh; or, 
 
 dragon means the devil, and is talked of in 
 Revelations. Grenville's troopers were often 
 thought to merit the name." 
 
 " I say," continued the Captain, " that Fair- 
 fax and Waller became jealous of my fame, as 
 well as of my principles ; and so it was deter- 
 mined to send me on board the ships, or into 
 Turkish slavery, unless I w^ould take the cove- 
 nant, which I, of course, most resolutely re- 
 fused." 
 
 " And how came it, then, that you got off at 
 last?" said the Cornet. 
 
 " Why, a certain friend of mine, who knew I 
 was not to be wrought upon, but would die a 
 martyr to the cause, happened to be one of the 
 sequestrators or committee-men : so he came 
 to me, under pretence, as it were, that we might 
 sit together, and crush an honest cup, as a 
 cheering to my captivity ; and whilst we did so, 
 he gave a paper into my hands, and bade me 
 put it into my pocket, and take charge of it for 
 him till his return, some sudden affair of busi- 
 ness obliging him to leave me. I complied 
 ■with his request without examining the paper.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 27 1 
 
 In the mean while he went to the proper autho- 
 rities, and having solemnly attested he had seen 
 me take the covenant, I was presently dis- 
 charged, and never suspected the trick till 
 liberty was my own. I own to you that then I 
 thought virtue did not require me to step for- 
 ward and contradict the good effects of so 
 friendly an artifice ; not doubting that the day 
 would come when I should be sought for by 
 some of our old cavaliers, in the same way that 
 seamen look for the polar star to guide them in 
 safety through perils." 
 
 Scarcely had the Captain finished this ac- 
 count of his taking the covenant, which, true or 
 false, was his usual apology with royalists for 
 having taken it at all, when a new comer, of a 
 very different order, arrived; and Mistress 
 Foretop hastened to greet her new guest, who 
 was one of her own sex, with much kindness, 
 bidding her a hearty welcome, and calling her 
 by the name of Widow Raleigh. 
 
 N 4
 
 272 WARLEIGK ; OR, 
 
 CHAP. XIIL 
 
 But still his tongue ran on, the less 
 Of weight it bore, with greater ease ; 
 And with its everlasting clack 
 Set all men's ears upon the rack. 
 
 Butler's Hudibras. 
 
 TilE Widow Raleigh was in her appearance a 
 most interesting woman. She was not young, 
 being more than forty years old ; and though 
 she had never, probably, possessed much beauty, 
 still there was that expression of sense, of be- 
 nevolence, of quiet and subdued feeling about 
 her countenance, which created respect as well 
 as good will in all worthy people who beheld 
 her. She was attired in widow's weeds, neatly 
 put on ; with a cap so white, that in contrast 
 with the more gay but less nice attire of Mistress 
 Foretop it looked liked driven snow. Yet 
 with all her attention to propriety, it was evi- 
 dent by the threadbare state of her clothes, and 
 a certain pale, lean look, with a hoUowness
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 273 
 
 about the eyes (sure indications of necessity), 
 that the Widow Raleigh was very poor. She 
 apologised to Mistress Foretop for calling in to 
 rest herself, as she complained of being fa- 
 tigued, and of having to walk home as far as 
 Tamerton by herself, unless she should be so 
 fortunate as to meet some neighbour returning 
 from market, who would give her a lift behind 
 him on his horse. 
 
 " And that's what I hope you may, with all 
 my heart," replied Mistress Foretop ; " for it 's 
 no safe thing for a lone woman, and a gentle- 
 woman, too, like you. Mistress Raleigh, to be 
 going about the country by yourself in these 
 times : and I have heard tell, you were to be 
 sure to come this morning into Plymouth, to 
 receive forty shillings so long owing to you from 
 James Gray the hellier, owing even in your 
 late husband, honest gentleman's time, as I 
 may say; and so I hope you've got the 
 money." 
 
 Mistress Raleigh, though less communicative 
 than Mistress Foretop, had no apprehension in 
 N 5
 
 274? warleigh; or, 
 
 answering the question, and therefore allowed 
 she had received it. 
 
 " Well, now," exclaimed the barber's wife, 
 " that is as it should be : promise and pay is 
 all fair play, and that's giving a smooth word 
 and keeping it ; for call me cousin but cozen 
 me not, as the proverb goes, is what I like 
 well, and not such palavering and giving of 
 promises, as if, like pie-crust, they were only 
 made to be broken." Here Mistress Foretop 
 gave a side glance at the Captain ; but he was 
 one of those who never understood a hint, 
 unless it suited his convenience so to do. Re- 
 plenishing, therefore, his pipe from a huge 
 box which he carried about him, that was as 
 full of tobacco as a modern dandy's would be 
 of snufF, he whiffed on, nothing abashed by 
 these petty sallies of irritability, in consequence 
 of his failure in paying his bill. 
 
 Now whether he was struck with compassion 
 by observing the melancholy countenance and 
 the helpless condition of Mistress Raleigh, or 
 whether he had an " itching palm" to appro- 
 priate to himself any part of the forty shillings
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 275 
 
 just mentioned, we cannot say; but certain it 
 is, that a very gallant project at this moment 
 entered his head, which he thus hastened to 
 communicate: — 
 
 " I have been thinking, Master Davy," he 
 said, taking the pipe out of his mouth, and 
 turning round to the Cornet, " that it would be 
 a pity this honest gentlewoman should, at the 
 risk of much bodily fatigue, and probable loss 
 of her charge, have to walk home all the way to 
 Tamerton. I have heard that Sir Hugh Piper 
 keeps an old, but stout, troop-horse, that he 
 rode whilst under command of Sir Bevil Gren- 
 ville, at Landsdown fight. The horse is called 
 Hector, I believe. Now would Sir Hugh lend 
 him for such a purpose, we could speedily 
 equip the old charger with a saddle and pillion, 
 and I would gladly take the gentlewoman 
 home, and return safely with the horse before 
 the moon is up to night; and as for thieves, 
 footpads, discarded soldiers, liberated prison- 
 ers, highwaymen, or cut-purses, let them come 
 — one and all — the widow is under my guard, 
 and she shall see how we captains of horse 
 N 6
 
 
 "*■ Ni^T^W JS 
 
 
 ^i:n 
 
 V- 
 
 \f ^
 
 TJOMK. ClL^K. 
 
 :c^-j
 
 278 warleigh; or, 
 
 all relished by poor Mistress Raleigh ; who, 
 anxious to turn the conversation, and yet not 
 to give offence where real kindness might be 
 intended, however vulgarly or coarsely ex- 
 pressed, said, " she was much obliged, but she 
 could not think of taking Sir Hugh Piper's 
 horse for her service, without going to ask his 
 leave, and she could not be so bold as to do 
 that." 
 
 Cornet Davy heard this; and as the good 
 man knew nothing of that refined practice of 
 gentlemen and ladies, in expressing a negative 
 by excuses only, he took the widow's objections 
 in their most literal sense. Unwilling, there- 
 fore, to pain Mistress Raleigh, he thought 
 to do her a service by saying, " Honoured 
 madam, I can save you that trouble ; for my 
 worthy master's old horse, Hector, is at all 
 times at my command ; and if I neglected 
 such an opportunity as this offers, to use the 
 beast for the help of the widow, and, as I may 
 say, of the fatherless also (for I think 1 have 
 heard you have a pretty little puppet of a 
 girl), why, I repeat, my master would never
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 279 
 
 forgive me ; since he says it is always one part 
 of my duty, as his managing clerk, not to let 
 any thing stand still : I must not, therefore, 
 let his horse stand still, when there is reason 
 good to put him in motion. I 'm going home, 
 to Dame Sibella's, on a message, the moment 
 after I 've seen Master Barber ; for my master, 
 Sir Hugh, stays to-day at Mount Edgcumbe. 
 And I '11 bring down the horse for you as soon 
 as the boy gets him in from the field." 
 
 Exceedingly vexed at this arrangement, the 
 Widow Raleigh was going to put forth her 
 plain and positive denial, when a circum- 
 stance arose which induced her to alter her 
 mind. 
 
 At this moment a person entered the shop, 
 to enquire if " Master Barber might yet be re- 
 turned home," who was, both in appearance and 
 character, very different from any of the other 
 gossips now assembled. This new comer was 
 a little, pale-faced, meagre mechanic, a leather- 
 cutter and glove-maker by trade. He had a 
 small pair of sharp, piercing eyes ; wore a suit 
 of coarse drab and an apron ; had his hair close 
 cut, with an old black cap on the crown of his
 
 280 warleigh; or, 
 
 head, and affected that stiff, solemn, lack-a- 
 daisical air so much in fashion with the godly. 
 
 Tim Glover, for such was his name, ex- 
 pressed himself in no haste to take his imme- 
 diate departure, as he wanted to see the barber, 
 and did not, therefore, altogether refuse Mis- 
 tress Foretop's invitation that he would sit down 
 and sip a cup of small beer, which she had set 
 upon the table, as a humble companion to the 
 more costly muscadine; for she well remembered 
 that she was cautioned to be civil to every 
 body by her husband ; and though her tongue 
 would sometimes go beyond bounds in the 
 emotions excited by her loyalty, yet she could, 
 on most occasions, keep on pretty smooth 
 terms even with her political adversaries. 
 
 Scarcely had Tim Glover dropt into his 
 chair, when the Captain, who, being tall him- 
 self, held all little people in contempt, (and un- 
 fortunately for little people, they can seldom 
 possess much dignity, so entirely does dignity 
 depend on magnitude of body as well as of 
 mind,) turned about, and said, with an insolent 
 air, " What news, my great man of little com- 
 pass ? What news may be stirring this morn-
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 281 
 
 ing ? You look as if you had found out it is 
 wit to steal a horse, or pick a lock, but it is 
 wisdom to let it alone. What news? How 
 wags the world ? Are the godly turned honest, 
 or are halters become dear, that so many of 
 them go abroad unhanged ? And where is 
 your Mars of the day. General Cromwell ?" 
 
 " Working wonders in the land of Ham," 
 replied the little glover. 
 
 " In the land of beef and pudding, you 
 mean," said the Captain : " why, what sort of 
 a land would your psalm-singing generals make 
 of Old England ? where, to the amusement of 
 all our neighbours, you would set up even an 
 army of troopers, call a muster-roll, or regulate 
 a drill, as if, forsooth, all things were to be 
 done after the fashion of wanderers in the land 
 of Egypt ! I marvel where this will end, and 
 when a gentleman may hope again to get into 
 commission." 
 
 " There's good opportunity," replied the 
 little man, '' both for gentle and simple, who 
 are well disposed ; for, as I hear, the trained 
 bands are to be called out again to do the Lord's
 
 282 warleigh; or, 
 
 service, and the possee committees for the safety 
 of the nation." 
 
 " The posse co7)iitatus^ you mean," said the 
 Captain ; " for your posse of committees are, as 
 far as the good they do may be in question, 
 beings of a very doubtful nature ; like a griffin 
 or a dragon are they, only that most men feel 
 for certain that they have claws : for what with 
 fine, tax, or writ of warrant, there is no man's 
 bag from which they do not take toll, like the 
 miller for his dish." 
 
 " But there are those abroad," said Tim 
 Glover, " who will levy toll more than they do. 
 Sons of Belial they are, who have fled to tHfe 
 wilderness from the face of wrath ; and there 
 have set up their abominable altars, to build 
 anew the old Babel, becoming as the open 
 enemy to all men, and very terrible to the vir- 
 gins of Shiloh, who are afraid for their life to 
 pass in their way." 
 
 "Who the devil do you mean?" said the 
 Captain ; and he added, with a fiercer oath than 
 we choose to repeat, " I don't understand jest- 
 ing; who do you mean ?"
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 283 
 
 " The Gubbins's are out again," said Tim 
 Glover, " and have drove and stolen six cows, 
 ten sheep, and a dozen or two hens, from the 
 largest farm near Tamerton, last night ; for, 'tis 
 said, the Gubbins's it must be who did this, 
 sure enough, and no other bodies." 
 
 " The Gubbins's ! " exclaimed Mistress Fore- 
 top ; "then 'tis well. Mistress Raleigh, that 
 you've got so valorous a man as the Captain to 
 see you home, or, my life for it, you 'd leave 
 both your head and your purse by the way- 
 side." 
 
 "And who are the Gubbins's?" enquired 
 ^Mistress Raleigh : " I have heard something 
 of them, but more in generals than in parti- 
 culars." 
 
 " There 's no generals among them. Widow 
 Raleigh, I do assure you," answered Mistress 
 Foretop ; " but a vile, rascally captain as leads 
 them on ; one that they call Roger Rowle ; and 
 his men are a set of ragamuffin blackguards, 
 as bad as ever cried ' Stand' on the King's 
 , highway." 
 
 " A set of papists and outlawed thieves and
 
 284« warleigh; or, 
 
 murderers," said Tim Glover, " who defied 
 both King and Parliament, and would have 
 Baal's priests and none other for their rulers." 
 
 " A very Scythian race of savages," said the 
 Captain. " The leaders among them, my old 
 commander, Sir Richard Grenville, once caught 
 and laid in limbo in Lydford Castle for being 
 papists and suspected persons ; and for the good 
 of the country, and in order to preserve the 
 peace, he kept the chief of them for a couple of 
 years chained in a dungeon without light. But the 
 fellow was a very Goliath — him they call Roger 
 Rowle I mean — and so he broke loose, headed 
 his savages, received all comers, (fugitives from^ 
 law, Cavaliers, or Roundheads, no matter 
 which,) and lives as great a man among them, 
 in his own way, as if he were King of England ; 
 stops passengers, imprisons them, drives cattle, 
 steals sheep, commits robbery, theft, and, some 
 say, murder; and yet snaps his fingers at the 
 law, defies all pursuit, and lets his pursuers 
 trace nothing but his foot-prints, and those not 
 so far as his den." 
 
 " Sir," said Mistress Raleigh, on hearing this
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 285 
 
 account, " I will thankfully accept your offer to 
 carry nie home on the horse this worthy person 
 is so willing to lend me ; for I have a poor 
 fatherless girl, and if any thing happened to 
 me '' 
 
 " Widow," cried the Captain, interrupting 
 her, " I am at your service : and if Roger 
 Rowle himself should think fit to attack us 
 whilst this pretty bit of steel hangs by my side, 
 body and soul of me, but you shall go snacks ; 
 we will halve the rogue's head between us, and 
 a hundred gold nobles are set as a price upon 
 it." 
 
 Whilst the Captain pronounced these words, 
 a sudden burst into the shop, and a good deal 
 of bustle, announced the return of the master 
 of the house. Trim Foretop was in the very 
 ecstacy of occupation, having so much to do, he 
 did not know what to do first. Add to which, he 
 came in laden with news — such a budget of 
 news, he longed to tell it; yet what with hearing 
 the errand on which Cornet Davy came, the story 
 of the Gubbins's being out again, attending to 
 a new customer who wanted something for a
 
 286 warleigh; or, 
 
 sick child (for Trim dabbled a little in physic), 
 and though last not least, the din of his wife's 
 tongue, which rung in his ears like the hand 
 bell of a town crier ; verily, with all these 
 things together. Trim scarcely knew what he 
 was about, nor in what manner to slip in his 
 own piece of intelligence, and he was bursting 
 with the desire to communicate it. 
 
 At length he ran on, when he could begin to 
 talk, in something of the following manner : — 
 " Certainly, Master Davy, I '11 attend you di- 
 rectly — Sir Hugh Piper, that is, I mean, Sir 
 Piers Edgcumbe's order: a most w^orthy gen- 
 tleman, there cannot be a better:- — pity he 
 wasn't taken up and hanged; as great a thief 
 as ever stretched hemp is that Roger Rowle 
 you are telling about. I know it, my dear Mis- 
 tress Foretop, you want to speak to me, but 
 you see I 'm in haste : a case of necessity, for 
 necessity has no law, as the proverb goes. 
 Shipwrecked you said, Cornet Davy, there 
 cannot be a worse ; yes, letting blood for fever, 
 and a broken head — you 're come to the right 
 barber-surgeon to mend it. A broken head 's
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 287 
 
 no uncommon thing in the way of practice now- 
 a-days ; when every body fights for the sake of 
 peace, liberty of conscience, or the old laws, 
 new making by the Commons of England as 
 fast as they can. But it's all very right, all 
 very right, and a great help to trade : for the 
 civil wars have been the making of barber- 
 surgeons and otherwise ; likewise of gaol-keep- 
 ers, lawyers, and gentlemen of the committees. 
 What, Captain, going to see Mistress Raleigh 
 home ! on the back of an old troop-horse ! Ha, 
 ha, well, well, better she be made to ride that 
 way than riding to water; but Mistress Raleigh 
 need not fear the latter, since it is reserved for 
 a scold.* I'm coming, I'm coming, in the 
 prick of a lancet, or the flourish of a razor. 
 Can't stay to shave you, Master Glover; can't, 
 upon my veracity ; my wife will do it for you 
 quite as well; for she can cut close. Master 
 Glover; sharp and close as any razor when 
 
 * Riding to water, a custom practised within the memory 
 of some now living in Devonshire, was the same thing as 
 riding the sUmmington, noticed in Hudibras.
 
 288 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 she uses her tongue : and yet — oh, yes, I 
 know it, my dear Mistress Foretop ; I under- 
 stand what you would say ; you 're as sweet as 
 a May morning when you are pleased and in 
 good humour. And now you're all satisfied, 
 hear my news !" 
 
 The Cornet showed signs of impatience. 
 
 " You can't stay for it? Oh, yes, you can; 
 for I must just look out some necessary things 
 to take with me to Mount Edgcumbe. Just a 
 small matter of confection of amber, some rosa 
 soils, and a little aurmn potahile ; and my best 
 lancet, and my sharpest razor ; for as you say 
 that the shipwrecked man is dangerously hurt, 
 very like I may want both — my lancet to 
 breathe a vein in him, if he lives ; or my razor 
 for shaving the corpse, if he be dead : that 's 
 what I call doing business ; always being ready 
 for occasion and any possible opportunity. 
 That 's the way half the great men rise in the 
 world; for none but General Cromwell can 
 hope to get on by a self-denying ordinance; 
 ha, ha, ha ; excuse my wit ; but a good joke is
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 289 
 
 half my stock in trade — always keeps cus- 
 tomers pleasant, and in good hmiiour — and 
 now for my news ! " 
 
 " Let it be brief, I beg of you," said the 
 Cornet: "give us the sura total without the 
 items, else will Sir Hugh think I delay. I pray, 
 be brief." 
 
 " Ay, brief as a sentence of Sir Richard 
 Grenville's," replied the barber, " who used to 
 say to a prisoner, * Go hang,' and it was done 
 at once, and then he took note for the trial; 
 whence comes the saying of Lydford law. — 
 You 've heard Master Browne, the Devonshire 
 pcet*s lines about the Gubbins's and Lydford 
 law, I dare say. Master Cornet ? else could I 
 repeat them to you. But let me see, now for 
 my news ; and first of all I must sharpen this 
 razor, and tell you the whole story about 
 Browne the poet, and Lydford law, as I do it." 
 
 There never was barber since the days of the 
 noted chattering barber in the story of little 
 Hunchback so tormenting as this was: for, 
 whereas the Arabian barber took out his astro- 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 warleigh; or, 
 
 labe to see what it was o'clock, and both sung 
 the song, and danced the dance of Zantout, 
 when he should have been shaving an im- 
 patient lover, even so did our barber take out 
 no astrolabe (when he should have been wait- 
 ing on Cornet Davy), but some half dozen of 
 razors more than necessary, and would sharpen 
 them, and spend his time in useless bustle 
 and preparation; and would tell (with all 
 its windings and digressions) the story about 
 the wild race of the Gubbins's, the origin of 
 the saying of Lydford law, and, finally, reverted 
 to telling his own news, whilst the old Cornet 
 sat upon thorns to get him off to do his errand 
 at Mount Edgcumbe. 
 
 *^ I'm going, I'm going directly," said the 
 barber. " I have only one thing more to tell, 
 and that shall be in five words -^ we shall have 
 the devil to pay next Sunday." 
 
 Tim Glover groaned. " Pay not Satan's hire 
 on the seventh day," he said, " or the ground 
 Vv ill open and swallow you up alive ; for if to 
 pick sticks on the Sabbath was a sin worthy
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 291 
 
 death under the old law, what must he incur 
 who pays deviPs wages on that self-same day 
 under the new law ? " 
 
 " Why for the matter of that,'* cried the 
 Captain, " I am so far a theologian as to say 
 that to give the devil his due at any time is fair 
 play and good doctrine. But come Trim, thy 
 news ; and as the king says to the stage player 
 in Hamlet, leave thy damnable faces and 
 begin." 
 
 " I will," said Trim, « I will. Know all 
 men — for such are the very words, I saw it in 
 a printed bill with my own eyes — know all men 
 that our Sovereign Lord the King, Charles, of 
 blessed memory — no, that wasn't it, for King 
 Charles is still alive in this world — may he be 
 so for ever." 
 
 " What ! like the wandering Jew ? " said the 
 Captain. 
 
 " No, no, not that, don't put me out," said 
 
 Trim, — " that our Sovereign Lord the King, as 
 
 well as his late father, of blessed memory — ay, 
 
 there I 'm right — his late father, of blessed 
 
 o 2
 
 292 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 memory — published a declaration authorising 
 lawful sports and pastimes on the Sabbath day, 
 the same being much opposed and discounte- 
 nanced altogether, and forbidden by the par- 
 liament. Sundry knights, gentlemen, yeomen, 
 freemen, and others of this county are de- 
 termined, for the good of their bodies as well as 
 of their souls, and to maintain the ancient, manly 
 sports, exercises, and pastimes of this kingdom, 
 to revive the same ; and, for such purpose, on 
 Sunday next, at Tamerton Foliot, it is the 
 intention of all such as shall be well, merrily, 
 and peaceably disposed to come armed with 
 bats, clubs, sticks, bludgeons, and what not, to 
 keep in all its ancient honours, rights, and 
 nsages Revel Sunday, to wrestle, frolic, pitch 
 the bar, play nine men's morrice, shittlecock, 
 and draw a good bow, such as can ; and to 
 dance and wrestle, sing and drink a cup of 
 brown ale, as Englishmen ought to do, in spite 
 of all the Cromwells and Iretons, and all the 
 preachers and parliaments that have, may, can, 
 or shall attempt to oppose them — and, I say,
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 293 
 
 the day ends to my profit, and I must be stirring, 
 for broken heads will roll about as plenty as 
 nine pins." 
 
 Tim Glover groaned and turned up his eyes. 
 
 " Well, I declare I'll go," said Mistress Fore- 
 top ; " for 1 like to see a little pleasure, now and 
 then, in a decent way.'' 
 
 " And if there is like to be danger I must be 
 there; or Bellona would not know her own 
 field," said the Captain. " Mistress Foretop, 
 I 'm at your service for the day." 
 
 " 'T is thought," said Trim, " that Ruthen's 
 troopers will attempt to stop the revel ; but 
 there 's the King's command to bear them out in 
 the lawfulness of the sports, and as long as 
 England has a king I have heard that is good 
 law." 
 
 " His kingdom is past away," said Tim 
 Glover, " for he is in bondage, and his crown is 
 like to be given over as a spoil." 
 
 " Is it ? " said Mistress Foretop, reddening 
 
 with fury: " then I say, and I don't care who 
 
 hears me, that I hope to live to see the day he 
 
 may have his own again, and be seen walking in 
 
 o 3
 
 294: warleigh; or, 
 
 Windsor Castle with a lion on one side of him, 
 and a unicorn on the other, as a great king of 
 England ought to do in his own palace, and 
 among his own people." 
 
 And so saying, with an air of great dignity 
 Mistress Foretop flounced out of the shop to 
 attend to some household duty, and the Cornet 
 promising to send the horse for Mistress 
 Raleigh set off for Dame Sibella's as Trim did 
 for Mount Edgcumbe.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 295 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 And after all came life, and lastly death — 
 Death with most grim and griesley visage seen ; 
 Yet he is nought but parting of the breath, 
 He ought to see, but like a shade to weene. 
 Unbodied, unsoul'd, unheard, unseen. 
 
 Spenser's Faery Queote* 
 
 The death of Grace-on-High Gabriel, which 
 took place soon after Cornet Davy had set out in 
 quest of Trim Foretop to bleed the sick man, 
 changed the nature of the honest barber's visit to 
 Mount Edgcumbe; who, instead of letting blood 
 on a living subject, now shaved a dead one, 
 received the customary fee, and having drunk 
 what was called a " dole cup" of excellent 
 waters, returned home, well satisfied with his 
 labours and their reward. Trim, having thus 
 performed his duty to the defunct, left the 
 ground free for the more active agency of the 
 women, who were at all times the privileged 
 attendants of the dead. 
 
 o 4?
 
 296 warleigh; or, 
 
 "Whilst these things were going forward, 
 young RadcliiFe made all necessary preparation 
 for quitting the house that had given him such 
 timely shelter in the hour of distress. And 
 having requested the steward of Sir Piers to 
 give orders respecting the funeral of his late 
 servant — which was to take place on the third 
 day after his death — Radcliffe fixed his own 
 departure for the following morning. He de- 
 termined to go at once to Warleigh ; for even 
 if no other motive existed to lead him thither, 
 he fancied Gabriel's death obliged him to re- 
 turn ; since that unfortunate man having lived 
 for more than twenty years with RadclifFe's 
 godfather and guardian, Sir John Copplestone, 
 and having, he believed, no other friend or 
 connection in the world, it was right Sir John 
 should know what had passed. These arrange- 
 ments being made, we must leave him for 
 awhile, whilst we return to the chamber of 
 death. 
 
 It was towards the evening of the day on 
 which Gabriel died that Dame Gee, whose 
 vocation led her much to scenes of gloom and
 
 THE FATAL OAK. ^97 
 
 awe, was busied about the body; aided by 
 Nanny Raffles, the old woman we noticed in a 
 former chapter, as acting the part of an inferior 
 nurse under the high rule of the dame. This 
 great mistress of arts, (both visible and invisible, 
 useful and terrific,) with her assistant, at the 
 time we open this chapter, were, according to 
 the customs of Devon (to this day not entirely 
 extinct), occupied in what was called " dressing 
 the clay'''' — that is, decking the corpse; which 
 was laid out on the bed with various flowers, 
 rosemary, &c. The following conversation took 
 place between the two women : — 
 
 " Nanny," said Dame Gee, " this is watching 
 night; has the housekeeper sent up the stou}) 
 of juniper waters and the horn spoon ?" 
 
 " The juniper and the horn spoon are both 
 here," replied the old crone ; " but sure you '11 
 not be so bold as to stir the powdered elder 
 leaves with it, till the dogs begin to how), 
 and the dead man is done dressing? It's no 
 good charm, dame, I take it, without you 
 mind such signs ; and if you miss one of them, 
 o 5
 
 298 warleigh; or, 
 
 the browny* will come up, and scat you with 
 your own stick though it be of shrew ash, for 
 a half-done charm is the death of him : it will 
 let him have no peace, and gives him as great 
 pains as he does us when we offend him, and 
 he sends us the rheumatics.'^ 
 
 " The browny, you old fool !" replied Dame 
 Gee in a very unceremonious manner; "what 
 talk you of the browny ! he fears me more 
 than I do him ; for if he fails me at a pinch, I 
 can split an elm tree, and wedge him in, as 
 closely as they do, in the north of Devon, a 
 field mouse that has run over a sheep's back, 
 and made the animal paralytic. Give me those 
 bundles of rosemary, and the ivy twigs, and the 
 bay." 
 
 Old Nanny Raffles obeyed ; and as Dame 
 Gee continued her death service of decoration, 
 her companion observed, " Well now, I de- 
 clare that's well done. There's nobody be- 
 
 * The browny is a western spirit as well as a Scotch one. 
 Borlase says, that in Cornwall, even in his day, the country 
 people invoked the assistance of the browny at the swarming 
 of bees.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 299 
 
 tween this and Brent-tor that can stretch and 
 dress a body like you. He looks as pretty a 
 corpse as Tom Nightshade ; young Night- 
 shade's old father, that you dressed, dame, 
 after he was hanged, and as I have heard tell, 
 you lopt off his right hand to make a hand ot 
 glory of it." 
 
 " Hush," said Dame Gee, " let not the 
 walls hear of that matter. The Gubbins's have 
 the hand now, and a fine hand for them it is. 
 It was dried in the dog days, and it's a candle- 
 stick fit to hold a light to the fiend himself, did 
 he need any other than the fire that glimmers 
 forth from his own horns." 
 
 " That hand of glory is a fearful thing, as I 
 have heard tell," said Nanny Raffles, her old, 
 grey, and envious eyes twinkling with pleasure 
 as she looked on Dame Gee, whose powers she 
 beheld with emulous admiration. " I would 
 give a crown, if a crown I had to give, to know 
 what it 's good for ; what 's its worth." 
 
 " The hand of glory," replied Dame Gee, 
 " is potent as the touch of the ungraved dead. 
 Its worth is to those who are night-breakers of 
 o 6
 
 SOO WARIXIGU ; OR, 
 
 straog doors and rich ineo's houses. For if a 
 candle be placed in it, made with charmed 
 things, when fighiied and suddenly held out, all 
 who behold that band and that flame diaD 
 straigbl sdhnifc dwrnsdres in siknce to the bold 
 man wbo beats before him such a torch ; they 
 shall bfffnie stn|Md, modonless, dull, roid of 
 all spick; tbe Uood in their bodies shall be 
 turned to ice, and their Tital functions become 
 heaiier dian lead. Now to our business. 
 Have Tou locked up all the cats in the house, 
 and cof^ored all the lookii^-^asses ? "^ 
 
 ^ The maidens hate done it," replied Xannv : 
 ^ tor not one of dion woold stay in the hoose 
 with a dead man in it, nnles^ they had been 
 ifiiwAJ to keep off die derils that long both for 
 the sold and body ofthe departed. As I came up 
 kere just now, befc»e you did^ I found the old 
 gamdceeper and his wife making a moan for 
 file dead as kmd as that of Rizpah, when she 
 was waidm^ the bodies of the slain, as wcnthy 
 Magfgi- TfpgAialB Hombockle said at the Sab- 
 badi pEeadiing/* Nanny pronounced these last 
 words with a sigh : for amongst the other quali*
 
 THE FATAL OAK. SOI 
 
 ties of this gossip was that of an inclination to 
 attend the holding-forths of the Tarious secta- 
 ries of the time : she had a good memory, and, 
 though so old, could repeat, chapter and verse, 
 after the minister : it was shrewdlv thouffht she 
 would haTe become a zealous religionist, only 
 that in order to be such, possibly she might be 
 required to leave off some of those very sins she 
 had ** most a mind to," namely, the sins of 
 witchcraft and de\ilry, in the cultivation of 
 which she seemed to be in a fair way under the 
 auspices of Dame Gee. 
 
 '* And what did the gamekeeper lament for?" 
 enquired the priestess of the ceremonies. 
 
 " He lamented," said Nanny, " that the par- 
 liament had put down the soul-bell, as a perish 
 and super-righteous thing ; for, said the game- 
 ke^)er to me, it is a hard case for a dying 
 sinner, since every body knows the devil can't 
 abide bells, and the sound of the soul-bell kept 
 him off: so the spirit, being let out first, was 
 sure to gain the start, and got by it what sports- 
 men call law ; but now the parliament have put 
 it down by acclamation."
 
 302 warleigh; or, 
 
 " Proclamation, you mean, you poor ignorant 
 body," said Dame Gee. 
 
 " Well, acclamation or proclamation, it's all 
 one and the same thing in these days. But 
 now, said the gamekeeper to me," continued 
 Nanny, — " now that they have put down the soul- 
 bell, I have read in a book, that a man has no 
 more chance than a hare with the dogs at her 
 throat; for the devil will stand at the bed's 
 head ready to catch a sinner's spirit the moment 
 he gets loose." 
 
 " Leave thy prating about the soul-bell," 
 said Dame Gee, " and light the candles that I 
 have placed on yonder table, that all things 
 may be done decently before the housekeeper 
 comes up ; for this night does she come to be 
 touched under my directions." 
 
 " Good lack ! " exclaimed Nanny Raffles, 
 " for what ill? Hath she a wart, or a tumour, 
 or a wen?" 
 
 " She hath some swelling in the throat," 
 said Dame Gee ; " but a dead man's hand will 
 cure it, when properly touched under my spe- 
 cial directions, or I know no leech-craft. And
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 303 
 
 now light yonder tapers at the end of the 
 room." 
 
 " There are seven of them," said Nanny, 
 " an odd number, and a lucky one. For, as 
 the minister said, * there is much in numbers.' 
 The seventh day was for rest after making 
 the world : and then there were seven altars 
 built by Balaam, and seven oxen, and seven 
 rams were sacrificed upon them ; and seven 
 times about the walls of Jericho seven trum- 
 pets were blown. And there were seven gol- 
 den candlesticks, and seven churches in Asia, 
 and " 
 
 " Seven devils are in thee, woman," said 
 Dame Gee in an angry voice, " that thou stand- 
 est there preaching instead of doing my bid- 
 ding. Stay a moment, however; one thing I 
 had forgot. Do not light the candles yet, but 
 come hither, and help me to tie down his 
 thumbs." 
 
 The two women now proceeded to perform 
 a rite, which we have heard was practised in 
 some remote parts of the west of England 
 even so recently as during the last century.
 
 304? warleigh; or, 
 
 This was to fold the thumbs of the dead man 
 within the hand ; a superstitious rite, supposed 
 to have originated with the Jews ; as the thumb, 
 in this position, resembles a character in the 
 Hebrew alphabet, that was anciently used to 
 signify the name of the Almighty; and the 
 thumb, when bearing this similitude, was held to 
 be capable of keeping aloof the power wicked 
 spirits were at all times so determined to exer- 
 cise over the dead. 
 
 Having accomplished this purpose. Dame 
 Gee said to her assistant, " Now give me the 
 salt, and the dead man's candle." 
 
 Old Nanny Raffles immediately brought for- 
 ward a pewter plate, upon which was piled a 
 heap of salt and a candle. Dame Gee placed 
 the plate upon that side the breast of the de- 
 ceased containing the heart, and the candle 
 close to his head. It threw upon the latter a 
 strong light, and showed distinctly all the 
 ghastliness of death. The bandage was still 
 round his brows, as it had been left by the sur- 
 geon after dressing the wounds that occasioned 
 his decease.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 305 
 
 Old Nanny gazed upon him. " Now I look 
 on his face by this light," she said, " he re- 
 minds me, with that bloody head of his, broken 
 as it is by the hard rocks that knocked the 
 spirit out of him, — I say he reminds me of a 
 corpse that I dressed some twenty years agon, 
 when Sir Walter RadclifFe came so strangely 
 by his death. I remember the night when I 
 was sent for by the housekeeper at Warleigh 
 to come up, with as little noise as might be, to 
 stretch a dead man, and make him decent for 
 the pit; and I went, and there was a clutter of 
 business in the house; and I had just made 
 him nice with flowers and rosemary, and had 
 put the pewter dish with the salt on Sir Walter's 
 heart, and a fine corpse he was to see, when 
 old Sir John Copplestone came in ; but he was 
 not old then, and he looked " 
 
 "And how did he look?" said Dame Gee, 
 for the old crone made a pause in her tale. 
 
 " Looked ! " exclaimed Nanny Raffles, " hke 
 the dead man's shroud; and so I tokl him. 
 * Do I,' said Sir John ? ' why 'tis like enough, 
 for Sir Walter was my friend, and took his hurt
 
 306 warleigh; or, 
 
 in my cause. I wish to know what wounds he 
 has upon him, for to-morrow he will be 
 crowned/ — * Wounds ! ' quoth I, ' why, wounds 
 that will cry out, and tell ugly tales at the judg- 
 ment day. He has wounds enough upon him 
 for one man's death, and maybe for two, if all 
 comes to light.* With that Sir John Copple- 
 stone sighed, and took up a sprig of rosemary, 
 as if he didn't know what he was about ; and 
 then he questioned me somewhat, but I didn't 
 hear it plainly, and when I asked him what he 
 said, he made answer with another question, — 
 * What's that salt for ; what are you doing with 
 it ?' — ' Lord, Sir John,' says I, ' don't you know 
 it's the soul salt, that every one puts on a Chris- 
 tian body, to show that he did not die like the 
 beasts that perish, but has a spirit to be saved 
 as well as to be damned ; ' and with the hear- 
 ing of that, Sir John Copplestone fetched 
 another sigh, very like a groan. So I, seeing 
 his grief, said, to cheer him up amain, ' Never 
 fret for the dead. Sir, for the dead won't fret for 
 you ; and glad should you be to see Sir Walter 
 thus, for there was a hard parting between the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 307 
 
 body and the spirit ; though I, who sat up with 
 him the night afore he died, drew away the 
 pillows from under his head; for I knew if there 
 should happen to be pigeons' feathers in them 
 he would die in strong agonies ; and so he did, 
 for all my care : and long before his hour came, 
 well did I know which way he was going ; for 
 as I sat up all night, I heard how hard he 
 breathed, and, as if the death-watch told time 
 to it, it ticked as loud all night as if it had been 
 a mortal dial, agoing and agoing with never a 
 stop. And some do say that old Molly the 
 cook saw his fetch, and that a bay tree in the 
 garden suddenly withered: it was one he had 
 planted when a boy. And as I was a nursing 
 and a watching, as I might be now, there came 
 three distinct raps at the bed*s head, so we all 
 knew there was a summons.'" 
 
 Whilst Nanny spoke, a clear, solemn, and 
 loud rap made her start up : " Lord have mercy 
 upon us !" she exclaimed, " What is that?" 
 
 "What is that, you old fool!" said Dame 
 Qee ; " why go and open the door, and see ; I 
 will be sworn it is the housekeeper come to be
 
 308 warleigh; or, 
 
 touched ; but she is come before her time ; we 
 can do nothing till the moon is up and full, and 
 shining as bright as silver. Open the door, I 
 say." 
 
 Nanny, somewhat recovered from the startling 
 effects lately produced on her nerves by a rap 
 so mal-a-propos, or rather so truly a-propos to 
 the subject in debate, went and opened the door 
 as she was ordered ; and in doing so forgot to 
 conclude the story she had commenced about 
 watching the body of Sir Walter Radcliffe, who 
 had come so fearfully by his death nearly twenty 
 years before.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 309 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 These midnight hags, 
 By force of potent spells, of bloody characters. 
 And conjurations, horrible to hear, 
 Call fiends and spectres from the yawning deep, 
 And set the ministers of hell at work. 
 
 RowE'a Jane Shore. 
 
 It was the housekeeper who now ventured to 
 enter the dismal chamber of death. She felt some 
 reluctance to join in the unhallowed rites to be 
 performed ; and much feared, in her own mind, 
 Sir Piers would not quite approve the method 
 of cure she was about to try for her disease. 
 Sir Piers had recommended to her another 
 mode of treatment far more simple, and far 
 less injurious both to body and soul; namely, 
 that she should hang three spiders about her 
 neck, and take a certain elixir three mornings 
 fasting; a mode of cure highly approved by 
 Sir Piers for all glandular swellings, and one 
 ^et down in his diary by the famous Sir Wil-
 
 SIO warleigh; or, 
 
 liam Ashmole, as having been tried on himself 
 for an ague with the happiest effects. 
 
 Now the housekeeper, who considered her 
 master's knowledge, and that of Sir William 
 Ashmole's into the bargain, as nothing at all 
 in comparison with the profound skill of Dame 
 Gee, determined to take her own course, though 
 in a quiet way ; and so, notwithstanding she 
 kept three ready bottled spiders (the finest and 
 the fattest the housemaids could sweep down 
 from their snug birth amongst the old hangings 
 at Mount Edgcumbe) in order that she might 
 apply them as so many pendant amulets, should 
 occasion, or rather her master, absolutely re- 
 quire its being done, yet she now had stolen 
 up, full of terror and full of faith, to be touched 
 by the dead man as a certain mode of cure 
 under the auspices of the mistress of charms, 
 spells, and all manner of witchcrafts. 
 
 Nothing, however, was to be done till the 
 moon was quite risen and shining in the hea- 
 vens. But Dame Gee recommended her to sit 
 still, and not to be running about the house at 
 that hour of the evening. So down they all
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 311 
 
 sat together by the embers of a very small fire ; 
 for they would not keep a large one on account 
 of the corpse : and the housekeeper thinkino- a 
 cup of strong waters would be absolutely ne- 
 cessary to raise the spirits of all parties on such 
 an occasion, she produced from her capacious 
 pocket a little, long-necked, basket-bound bot- 
 tle, filled up three small drinking horns, and 
 turning her back towards that part of the 
 chamber where stood the bed, that she might 
 not see the body, sipped her liquor in a mo- 
 dest way, for she was temperate even in the 
 midst of her terrors, and waited patiently the 
 expected hour. 
 
 The other two, who had each a professional 
 love of death-beds and charnel-houses, were far 
 less nice in their feelings and stronger in their 
 nerves ; and they now solaced themselves from 
 the wicker-worked bottle, not at all discom- 
 moded, though the dead man, as it were, was 
 staring them full in the face ; and, maybe, they 
 would not have relinquished the cup, even had 
 he started up to take shares with them. The 
 awe of funeral decorations did not so far affect
 
 312 warleigh; or, 
 
 their spirits as to tie up their tongues, though 
 it naturally suggested a theme for discourse; 
 and all the various modes of stretching, and 
 dressing, and making handsome the dead, as 
 old Nanny called it, was entered upon, or dis- 
 cussed with the utmost critical nicety such topics 
 would admit. At last it became a question 
 whether a person who died of a gunshot or 
 of a sword wound made the prettiest corpse. 
 Dame Gee contended for the former, Nanny 
 Raffles for the latter, and at last old Nanny 
 ajopealed to the housekeeper to settle the debate, 
 by asking her if she remembered the body that 
 lay at Plymouth Castle whilst Sir Piers Edg- 
 cumbe was held prisoner there, and what a 
 handsome one it was. 
 
 The housekeeper shook her head, and said, 
 with a sigh, " I never think of that time with- 
 out its bringing to my mind one who was a 
 great sufferer, and who I heard of but this 
 morning ; for Trim Foretop told me, the Widow 
 Raleigh had set up her rest at last in a poor 
 mean cottage at Tamerton Foliot." 
 
 « The Widow Raleigh ! ?' said Dame Gee : " I
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 313 
 
 have heard something about her; but I scarce 
 know who she is ; yet I think 1 saw her once, 
 and told her more than she wished to hear. 
 Was she not the wife of one of the King's 
 chaplains ? " 
 
 " Ah, truly," said the housekeeper : " he was 
 Doctor Raleigh, the nephew of the famous Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, who lost his head to please 
 the Spaniards, as every body said, in the time 
 of King James." 
 
 " The more fool he," said old Nanny, " to 
 lose his head to please any body but his-self." 
 
 " He couldn't help it," replied the house- 
 keeper ; " for in those days, the same as they 
 do in ours, they never ask a man whether he 's 
 pleased or no before they take off his head. 
 But it 's away with him ! Tower-Hill, and a 
 sharp axe, and off it goes : and I often sit and 
 think, when I hear of these things, how much 
 easier it is to take off a head than it is to put it 
 on again. Heigho ! it 's a wisht thing, after 
 all, to be bloody-minded, as poor Mistress Ra- 
 leigh did witness, and none more so." 
 
 " I wish you would tell us the story about 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 warleigh; or, 
 
 Mistress Raleigh," said Dame Gee; "for 
 though I know well enough what was the end 
 of it, yet I never heard all the particulars." 
 
 *' I '11 tell them to you with all my heart," 
 replied the housekeeper, " for I like to make 
 myself pleasant among friends. Doctor Ra- 
 leigh married a gentlewoman born and bred. 
 Widow Raleigh, that now is, and that nobody 
 takes count of. Well, you must know, he 
 stood up for the King, as good cause he had, 
 for King Charles had been a bountiful master 
 to him ; and when the rebellion broke out, he 
 was sequestered and hurried from prison to 
 prison, suiFering all manner of barbarities. At 
 length he escaped and went to attend upon his 
 royal master at Oxford. During this time 
 poor Mistress Raleigh was turned out of house 
 and home, till she was so distressed that for 
 two nights she lay in the open fields, and none 
 durst take her in, for it was a parliament and 
 a hanging matter to deal with her ; though it 
 had been only for the good uf one's own soul 
 out of charity." 
 
 " But how did Doctor Raleigh get into
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 315 
 
 trouble again after his escape to Oxford ?" en- 
 quired Dame Gee. 
 
 " You shall hear," said the housekeeper ; 
 " his great friend was Sir Marmaduke Elford, 
 who heard of poor Mistress Raleigh's terrible 
 distress ; and her husband having been put in 
 a prison where there was the plague, had suf- 
 fered so much before his escape, that he was 
 too weak to go in search of her himself. Sir 
 Marmaduke, therefore, kindly did it for him, 
 and, as I have heard, at the risk of his own life 
 he preserved Mistress Raleigh and her infant 
 girl ; who, but for him, must have perished on 
 the open moors : but he searched day and 
 night, till he found and saved her. Sir Mar- 
 maduke took her home with her poor baby, 
 and treated both as if they had been his own 
 flesh and blood. The good doctor soon after 
 joined his wife and child, for the King's forces 
 getting the day in the west, enabled him once 
 more to go back to his living ; but it did not 
 last long, for my Lord Goring being defeated, 
 and as many thought by his own fault, for he 
 p 2
 
 316 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 was a very swearing, wicked man, the rebels 
 again got the upper hand." 
 
 " I remember Lord Goring very well," said 
 Nanny Raffles, " as well as I do Sir Richard 
 Grenville, for they had both red noses, and 
 would sit and sot over a drum-head when they 
 had no other table." 
 
 " Ay, that they would," said the house- 
 keeper : " they ruined the King's affairs in the 
 west ; and though I don't like to use ill words, 
 yet I say the devil take both of them." 
 
 " I dare say he will in time," said Dame 
 Gee, " for he never loses his own : but go on." 
 
 " Doctor Raleigh was with his wife," con- 
 tinued the housekeeper, " when he found him- 
 self obliged once more to fly for his life. He 
 sheltered himself in Bridgewater, where he did 
 his duty manfully for the King. He was taken 
 prisoner when the town yielded, and then came 
 sorrow indeed ! Confined in Plymouth Castle, 
 a brutal fellow named Barret, became his 
 keeper ; and this man would, for money, some- 
 times let the prisoners out for a while, un- 
 known to the committee under whose direction
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 317 
 
 he acted. Doctor Raleigh gave him no money, 
 may be he had none to give. Yet wanting to 
 see his wife, who he heard lay grievously sick, 
 the Doctor applied to the committee for leave 
 to see her." 
 
 " And did they deny him ?" said Dame Gee. 
 
 " They did,'* replied the housekeeper, " for 
 they feared he was busied in a plot for the 
 King. The unhappy man was, on this denial, 
 imprudent enough to complain, that it was 
 hard he could not go out who asked permis- 
 sion of the committee to do it, when so many 
 of the other prisoners who did so asked leave 
 of no one but Barret, and paid him for gaining 
 it. That villain, on hearing this, vowed he 
 would be the Doctor's ruin ; and too soon did 
 he keep his word." 
 
 " It is as I have heard, then," said Dame 
 Gee, — " Barret acted from motives of revenge ; 
 because the committee, after this discovery, de- 
 prived him of these bribes, and took them 
 themselves." 
 
 " It was so," replied the housekeeper ; " for 
 one day the wretch entered the Doctor's cham- 
 p 3
 
 318 warleigh; or, 
 
 ber, as he was writing to his wife, and would 
 see the letter. The Doctor refused, and high 
 words rose between them ; till Barret, drawing 
 suddenly his sword, he passed it through the 
 body of the unfortune Raleigh. To tell all the 
 sorrow his death occasioned would be vain ; his 
 very enemies looked aghast when they heard of 
 it. But his poor widow, who shall speak her 
 distress?" 
 
 " 1 will," said Dame Gee, " for I witnessed 
 it, and before she heard the worst, as she stood 
 by the holy well, and, in her agony, for she 
 was half frantic with suspense and fear, en- 
 quired of the spirit of the water if her husband 
 might be living or not. I saw her look like 
 yonder corpse, as she cast her eyes upon the 
 deep, still pool, that gave no sign, that showed 
 no change, like the death it thus told." 
 
 " But her grief after a while gave her a bold 
 spirit to demand justice for the deed," said the 
 housekeeper. " She prosecuted Barret for the 
 murder : but the villain's sister swore that 
 Doctor Raleigh struck his murderer first ; and 
 so the fellow was acquitted, on the ground of
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 319 
 
 its being an act of self-defence. Yet that false 
 swearer was fearfully punished." 
 
 «' How punished ?" enquired old Nanny. 
 
 " Not by the hand of man," said the house- 
 keeper, " for God dealt alone with her. He 
 visited her with a terrible judgment. She was 
 struck in a moment, and became a palsied, 
 miserable creature ; and as I have heard from 
 those who saw her, her face was so drawn that 
 it was dreadful to look upon her. She died 
 trembling, railing, and cursing her brother; 
 exclaiming, in her last agony, that Barret had 
 made her damn her own soul, by false swearing 
 before the judges, to save his worthless life. But 
 it's no use being wicked, for bad things will 
 come to light, do what one may to hide them." 
 
 " See ! " cried Dame Gee rising, " the moon 
 appears unclouded: look how she shines out 
 from amidst her fleecy clouds, like a bride in 
 white and silver. Now is the hour : we must 
 put out the lights, and then you shall be 
 touched," she continued, turning to the house- 
 keeper : " only have faith, and the cure is 
 certain." 
 
 p 4
 
 320 warleigh; or, 
 
 " Must the lights be put out ?" said the 
 housekeeper, in a tremulous voice. *' I had 
 hoped there was no need for that. I am timorous, 
 and have had the headache all the evening." 
 
 " Fear not," said Dame Gee, " no spirit 
 will trouble you whilst I am here ; though by 
 the angry look yonder man's brow wears even 
 in death, I doubt not he will walk for'^^many a 
 night after he has been laid in the pit." 
 
 '^ Good heavens!" exclaimed the house- 
 keeper, " don't say such a thing, or I shall 
 never abide coming near him, let alone his 
 touching." 
 
 " I tell you once again," said Dame Gee, 
 " that so long as I hold in my hand this wand 
 of shrew ash there is nothing to fear. You are 
 as safe from the spirit in this chamber as you 
 would be if you were now floating out at sea 
 in one of yonder ships on this fine night." 
 
 " And if the worst comes of it," said Nanny 
 Raffles, " and the dead man should walk, two 
 clergymen, (that is, provided they are real bishop's 
 clergymen, and not gifted tinkers, and such 
 like godly souls as are preachers, now-a-days, 
 under the parliament,) why two clergymen, I
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 3^1 
 
 say, as I have heard tell, can at any time lay a 
 ghost in the Red Sea, by only talking Latin to 
 it; a tongue your ghost cannot abide for the 
 life of him, no more than he can the Red Sea.'* 
 
 " Peace," said Dame Gee ; " what we do, 
 we must do before the clouds cross over the 
 moon. Now mark me, mistress," she added, 
 addressing herself to the housekeeper, ** you 
 must stand by the side of that bed and wash 
 your hands thrice in the moonlight, whilst I 
 say something ; and then strike the dead man's 
 hand three times over your neck, and you are 
 cured. You may then quit the chamber ; but 
 after this is done, for your life speak not, till 
 you shall have past the threshold of the door, 
 where I am now going to cast down this sprig 
 of rosemary." 
 
 Dame Gee performed this preparatory move- 
 ment with much solemnity : she returned, like 
 one of the witches in Macbeth, pressing her 
 finger upon her skinny lip in token of silence. 
 The scene was one that would have niade no bad 
 subject for the singular and imaginative genius 
 of Egerton, delighting, as it does, in embodying 
 p 5
 
 322 warleigh; or, 
 
 spirits of a visionary world. The corpse was 
 dressed with a variety of flowers, — those beau- 
 tiful objects in creation that seem so well 
 adapted for man in all the stages of his being. 
 In his infancy, they become the sweetest toys of 
 his innocence ; in youth, they image his beauty 
 and his bloom, and in death they are as em- 
 blems of his fragile and quickly fading ex- 
 istence ; whilst strewn on his grave, by the 
 hand of affection, they become as fresh tokens 
 that the memory of the just is ever sweet and 
 lovely to the soul : how appropriately, there- 
 fore, were sprigs of ivy, laurel, rosemary, and 
 bay, placed about the body of the deceased, as 
 signs and symbols of eternity, lest the careless 
 or the thoughtless should be tempted to con- 
 found the decay of the spirit with that of its 
 earthly house. 
 
 Thus decorated with flowers and evergreens 
 lay Grace-on-High Gabriel ; his ashy coun- 
 tenance still showing by its expression the ter- 
 rified state in which the soul had quitted the 
 body ; though every feature, fixed and rigid, 
 declared the spirit of life was extinct and gone.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 323 
 
 As Dame Gee extinguished the candles, the 
 moon, whose beams shone directly on the dead 
 man's face, for the bed stood opposite the window, 
 touched each stern feature with a cold and sil- 
 very light, and gave to the head, thus imper- 
 fectly seen, a shadowy and terrific character, 
 which curdled the very blood of the old house- 
 keeper, as she stood and looked upon it. Her 
 first sensation was extreme fear, and a strong 
 inclination to cry out ; but Dame Gee, who 
 probably expected such an alarm, again pressed 
 her finger on her lip to betoken silence. 
 
 She now extended her left hand to the 
 trembling housekeeper, holding in the right the 
 formidable ashen wand ; and having placed her 
 patient in a proper attitude, as a long stream of 
 moonlight fell upon that part of the bed near 
 which she stood, thrice, by signs, the mistress 
 of spells motioned to her to use the action 
 of washing her hands in the brilliant but im- 
 palpable element of light. She obeyed ; when 
 Dame Gee, seizing hold of one of Gabriel's 
 hands, said in a low, hollow tone, as if mut- 
 tering to herself, " The joints are not stiff: 
 p 6
 
 324- WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 another — near to him in kindred or in kind — 
 another will go soon ;" and, taking up the dead 
 hand, thrice with its cold and clammy fingers 
 she touched the trembling housekeeper, as the 
 witch repeated these lines : — 
 
 Thrice I touch, and thrice I chill, 
 Thrice to cbarm away thy ill ; 
 'T is done — depart hence free from pain. 
 Ere the moon grows dark again. 
 
 The housekeeper, whose terrors had risen to 
 such a height during the operation of touching, 
 assisted as they had been by the effect of the 
 deep, solemn, and measured tone in which 
 Dame Gee uttered her doggerel, required the 
 assistance of that worthy and her sub-priestess 
 to lead her out of the room. No sooner had 
 she crossed the threshold, than the use of her 
 tongue returning, she employed it to declare, 
 " that not for worlds would she go back again," 
 and appeared in such a state of nervous excite- 
 ment and alarm, that old Nanny Raffles was 
 obliged to accompany her to her own room, and 
 to procure help to prevent her fainting, which 
 the housekeeper declared she was about to
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 325 
 
 do in a tolerably articulate voice, for one in such 
 a predicament. 
 
 From this circumstance, Dame Gee became 
 installed as the sole watcher of the dead ; and 
 having locked the door inside, so as to prevent 
 old Nanny's sudden return, the next thing the 
 artful woman did was to light one of the tapers 
 by the embers of the mouldering fire; and 
 having placed it on a little, ugly, crooked-legged 
 table, (that an imaginative person might have 
 looked upon it, till it was fancied into the re- 
 semblance of some uncouth elfin attendant, now 
 offering his back to hold a light for the con- 
 venience of his mistress,) she set about employ- 
 ing herself in the way we shall relate. 
 
 She first raised her head, and took one careful 
 survey round the room, not even forgetting the 
 bed, where lay the corpse ; and having satisfied 
 her mind that herself and the dead man w^ere the 
 sole occupants of the chamber, whilst the locked 
 door secured her from all intrusion, she snuffed 
 the candle with her fingers; and then, slowly 
 drawing from her pocket a horn case, proceeded
 
 326 warleigh; or, 
 
 to examine its contents, and drew forth several 
 papers. Dame Gee had been in early life a 
 petted attendant of Sir Piers Edgcumbe's mother, 
 who, on account of her quick parts, instructed 
 her favourite in the rare accomplishments among 
 the poor (for such they were in her day) of 
 reading and writing. Whatever might have 
 been the contents of these papers, they com- 
 pletely absorbed her attention, though, now and 
 then, she raised up her head as she was reading, 
 and gave a glance at the dead man, with some- 
 thing Hke a look of malicious triumph. She 
 read on undisturbed for some time, till fancy- 
 ing she heard a noise, with considerable caution 
 she put the papers once more together, and re- 
 stored them to her own pocket. She now lis- 
 tened attentively, and thought she heard a door 
 softly moved that opened upon a terrace, situated 
 under the window of the chamber where she 
 was watching. 
 
 Curiosity on all occasions, whether they might 
 concern herself or not, was no small stimulus in 
 the active nature of Dame Gee: blowing out
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 327 
 
 the light, therefore, she stole to the window, 
 opened the casement as gently as possible, and 
 determined to be satisfied. 
 
 The night was still and beautiful, whilst every 
 surrounding object slept, as it were, in the 
 silvery silence of the moonlight ; not a breath 
 of air stirred the leaves of the old trees, nor 
 rippled the vast deep. The soft illumination 
 showed distinctly every object in the distance, 
 and a long stream of light trembled upon the 
 waters of the bay, where floated many an an- 
 choring bark. 
 
 As Dame Gee stood listening at the case- 
 ment, she saw advance from the shade cast by 
 a clump of thick and tall laurel trees, growing 
 near the house, the figure of a man wrapped in 
 a cloak, who seemed to steal cautiously along, 
 as if to avoid observation. At the same time a 
 female form, clothed in white, advanced from 
 the house, and went to meet him. The hour, 
 the place, the apparent caution, the mystery, 
 were all things calculated to raise to its utmost 
 pitch the curiosity of Dame Gee ; and, stretch- 
 ing her head as forward as she dared do (though
 
 328 warleigh; or, 
 
 from having extinguished the candle there was 
 no danger of her being seen), she scarcely 
 breathed as she listened, so eager was she 
 not to lose the slightest word that might be 
 spoken. 
 
 She was, however, doomed to suffer con- 
 siderable disappointment ; for after a few words, 
 probably of greeting, spoken in so low a tone 
 that she heard not one of them, the figures 
 moved slowly off to a part of the terrace far 
 beyond earshot; and where, being within the 
 shadow cast by the spreading branches of the 
 trees that there overhung it, they were less 
 liable to be seen. Some time elapsed ere they 
 again moved ; and during this interval Dame 
 Gee maintained her post in patient determination 
 to watch the result. At length they once more 
 approached, and it seemed as if they were about 
 ta part, for they paused under the window near 
 a door that led into the house. Only a few 
 words of a broken sentence could be heard, so 
 as to be understood by Dame Gee, yet she was 
 perfectly well convinced that the discourse was 
 one of deep interest to the parties concerned.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 329 
 
 The moon shone so bright that though she 
 did not see the face, yet, nevertheless. Dame 
 Gee felt quite certain the Jemale she now beheld 
 was no other than Mistress Agnes Piper, whose 
 adventures at the fountain, in the morning, with 
 young Elford, she had not forgotten. At first, 
 therefore, she concluded that the male figure 
 who stood talking to her in the moonlight was 
 Elford. But a closer observation of his person, 
 and the tones of his voice, which she now and 
 then caught as they became raised in discourse, 
 soon convinced her it was not Elford. He was 
 of unusual height : this young man was not near 
 so tall ; and on looking at him again she strongly 
 suspected, from his size and air, that he was no 
 other than Amias RadcHfFe, the young gende- 
 man she had seen but that very morning at the 
 bedside of Gabriel before his death. 
 
 The circumstance was most extraordinary, 
 and to her mind unaccountable ; for whilst she 
 had been gossiping in the kitchen with the 
 house maidens, who talked of nothing but the 
 shipwrecked gentleman and his attendant, Dame 
 Gee had heard them remark, " how very shy
 
 330 warleigh; or, 
 
 Sir Piers and Sir Hugh seemed to be of the 
 former ; and that Mistress Agnes and Mistress 
 Robina did not appear to like him much better, 
 which they rather wondered at, as he was as 
 likely a young man to look upon as they would 
 wish to see on a summer's day." 
 
 Now therefore to find RadclifFe in close 
 conference, by moonlight, and in a stolen 
 interview, for every thing proclaimed it to be 
 such, with Agnes — Agnes, the beloved, the 
 betrothed of Reginald Elford — was a thing so 
 provokingly exciting to curiosity, that Dame 
 Gee would have given the world could she but 
 really have commanded one of those spirits, with 
 whom she bore the character of being so 
 familiar, to discover and unveil to her this 
 mystery. But there was no help for it ; she or 
 any one, as Harry Percy says, might call the 
 devil, but always with a shrewd doubt of his 
 appearing in obedience to such a summons : so, 
 therefore, on the present occasion, she very 
 much preferred the more simple agency of her 
 own sharp ears; and listened accordingly as 
 attentively as possible to catch the least sound
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 331 
 
 that might be spoken by either party loud 
 enough to be heard. 
 
 She now saw, with astonishment, that RadclifFe 
 had caught the hand of Agnes, who appeared 
 not angrily to resent the freedom, though she 
 motioned to draw it back. Her head was bent ; 
 and by his action, the vehement and continued 
 sound of his voice, it seemed as if he was 
 expostulating with her in a manner of con- 
 siderable energy. There was a moment's pause ; 
 and a few low tones, like those of sorrow, came 
 from the lips of Agnes, and Dame Gee saw her 
 put her handkerchief to her eyes. What 
 RadclifFe had said to her, or what the young 
 lady replied, she could not tell ; but the listener 
 observed that he left her for a moment, paced 
 up and down the terrace with long and hasty 
 strides, then stopped, and at length returned to 
 Agnes, who drew nearer the house, and made an 
 evident motion as if she were about to enter it. 
 
 Again RadclifFe caught her hand, and the 
 following hurried, broken, and almost unintelli- 
 gible sentences met her ear : — " Good heavens ! 
 you will not, then ? "
 
 332 warleigh; or, 
 
 The answer of Agnes was spoken so low 
 it could not be heard, excepting the last words : 
 — " I tell you once again, my father would never 
 pardon it — I rely wholly upon your honour 
 to " 
 
 RadclifFe spoke again, and these few sentences 
 were distinctly heard : — "I have solemnly 
 sworn it, Agnes; and let what will be the event, 
 you shall see I respect truth." His voice sunk : 
 again it became audible. " Do not fear : I v^^ill 
 act as 1 have said : can you doubt my sincerity 
 after what I have this night spoken, after what 
 I have promised ? Have I not bound my own 
 
 soul by the awful solemnity of " The rest 
 
 was lost. 
 
 Agnes answered in a deep, low tone ; and 
 RadclifFe's reply to what she said was made in 
 a gentle, soothing, kind voice, yet too gentle for 
 one word to reach the listener's ear. Dame Gee 
 saw him at length press the hand of Agnes to his 
 lips in a hurried manner ; and immediately after 
 she retreated into the house, and closed the 
 door as sofdy as she had opened it. 
 
 RadclifFe for some time paced up and down
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 333 
 
 with folded arms, airing himself in the moon- 
 light, and now stopping and looking at the 
 door through which Agnes had retreated ; then 
 again renewing his pensive walk, till, at last, he 
 turned into a path that led round the house 
 towards the hall entry. Dame Gee quitted the 
 window, her head filled with a fine and busy 
 subject for speculation, curiosity, and, perhaps, 
 mischief.
 
 334* WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 Here 's a large mouth, indeed, 
 That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas ; 
 Talks as familiarly of roaring lions 
 As maids of thirteen do of puppy dogs. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 It now becomes necessary we should revert to 
 the valiant Captain Coleman, who so gallantly 
 offered to squire home Mistress Raleigh. That 
 unfortunate gentlewoman felt herself consider- 
 ably distressed, that she should be obliged to 
 accept the offer of a person, whose mind, man- 
 ners, and conversation, were so ill suited to her 
 own. But the remembrance of her poor little 
 girl, a child about eight years old, and who, 
 if any thing happened to herself, would be left 
 friendless in the world, overcame all her scru- 
 ples, and she resolved to set out with him as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 Many vexatious delays, however, arose : — 
 first, the old horse, that loved the freedom of
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 335 
 
 the field, led the boy an hour's dance in catch- 
 ing him ; and, secondly, though there was a 
 saddle, the pillion had been lent, and had to be 
 sent for ; and though last, not least, the Cap- 
 tain, on strolling down to the nearest public- 
 house to borrow, if possible, for the nonce, a 
 pair of pistols he had there left in pawn for cer- 
 tain scores of rum and old sack, chanced to 
 meet an acquaintance just arrived from the 
 country, somewhat flush of money, and who was 
 a greenhorn to' boot. The Captain, amongst 
 his many other natural gifts, had one which re- 
 sembled the instinct of an old cat, namely, to 
 be ever on the watch for prey, and never to let 
 slip a mortal creature, like a poor mouse, if 
 there was a chance of his being caught. 
 
 The Captain, following in this respect the 
 strong propensity of his nature, had now a sharp 
 eye upon his friend; and accepting, as he imme- 
 diately did, an invitation to partake of a cool 
 tankard and a pipe, he drunk only as much as 
 Mistress Foretop used to say was enough to 
 make him pleasant ; and then proposed, as an 
 amicable method of whiling away the time, that
 
 336 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 he and bis friend should just, for some small 
 matter, take a game at shovel-board, or throw a 
 cast with a pair of dice, or cut the cards for 
 knaves and kings ; or, if he preferred it, to try a 
 shut up at fox and geese, or even a round at shit- 
 tlecock^ as it was then both called and spelt ; 
 a pastime so fashionable in the days of James 
 and Charles the First as to be played at court. 
 The Captain having managed, by these social 
 and pleasing arts, to lighten his friend's pockets 
 of as much of his money as he could possibly 
 prevail upon him to lose, began to turn his 
 thoughts on Mistress Raleigh ; so that (not- 
 withstanding the temptation of a fresh black 
 jack standing but half emptied on the table) 
 he soon obliged his steps to take the same di- 
 rection, and set oflP, tolerably well armed with a 
 formidable brace of pistols, redeemed by his 
 successful gambling from the thraldom to which 
 they had been consigned ; and by no means 
 deficient in that sort of courage, which is very 
 generally ascribed to the Dutch, and is not un- 
 frequently circulated in this country, in more 
 modern times, under the name of Hollands gin.
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 337 
 
 In the days of Captain Coleman, however, it 
 was more politely distinguished by the appel- 
 lation of strong waters. 
 
 All these circumstances very much delayed 
 the setting out of Mistress Raleigh ; so that it 
 was towards evening when she found herself 
 mounted high on a pillion, behind Captain 
 Coleman, on the back of old Hector, and trot- 
 ting down a narrow, dark, and muddy lane, 
 fenced on either side by one of those tall and 
 tree-grown hedges so common in the county of 
 Devon. It was exactly that hour when every 
 thing becomes imperfect to the sight, a dark 
 uniformity of tint pervading all around, whilst 
 the general outline of any object might be seen, 
 though its detail is obscured: at such a time 
 the eye may be often deceived, and mistakes in- 
 animate things for those that have life and 
 being ; thus giving an alarm to the timid mind 
 when no cause exists for apprehension. Mistress 
 Raleigh now suffered a good deal from these 
 terrors, as she looked about her, and fancied 
 every old stump of a tree, that appeared at a 
 short distance, into a man and a robber. Not 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 338 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 so Captain Coleman, who vaunted his valour 
 and talked big, without showing the least sign 
 of alarm of any kind or description ; and, in- 
 deed, if his own account of himself was worthy 
 of credit, he had, on many occasions, proved as 
 valiant as that Hector, after whom the old 
 horse he rode had been so honourably named. 
 
 Mistress Raleigh did not, maybe, so en- 
 tirely rely upon the valour of her escort as to 
 feel perfectly at ease, since he perceived her 
 terrors; and on her saying something about 
 the men who so beset travellers, &c. the Cap- 
 tain endeavoured to encourage her with such 
 assurances as the following : — 
 
 " Never fear, dame, whilst I am with you ; 
 for if the devil himself should start up in the 
 shape of Roger Rowle, I have a more effectual 
 way of laying him than could ever be found by 
 the best black cassoc of them all. My pistols 
 that hang here ready loaded in the holsters of 
 this saddle — my pistols, I say, discourse an ar- 
 gument that carries with it more weight than 
 one of Latin ; for it is composed of lead and 
 brimstone, something like the sermons of the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 339 
 
 chaplain of Grenville's troop. He was turned 
 out of the regiment by Sir Richard because he 
 preached not orthodox on the Scripture use of 
 the vine-press ; and kept himself sober whilst 
 the General and captains got drunk. Gren- 
 ville's chaplain dealt in heavy discourses, two 
 hours long, and would talk to his Majesty's 
 officers of the burning lake ; and, therefore, do 
 I compare him to lead and brimstone ; the 
 one showing the dulness of his discourse, and 
 the other the Scripture comfort of his doc- 
 trine." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " exclaimed Mistress Ra- 
 leigh, not heeding the Captain's commentary 
 on his army chaplain, " what is that lurking 
 yonder under the hedge, as if to surprise us ? 
 I am sure it is a man — only look ! What can 
 it be?" 
 
 " What can it be ! A — a — I — I do see 
 something," said the Captain ; " but, pshaw, 
 don't be a fool : it 's nothing after all but the 
 stump of an old tree ; or, maybe, of a mile- 
 stone. It 's nothing ; so fear not." And giving 
 a good spur to old Hector's sides, to spirit him
 
 340 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 on at a hand gallop, he added, " I fear not, 
 and I say, fear not ; for I would knock down 
 the best man in England with only the but- 
 end of my riding rod, who should dare start 
 up and say, ' Stand,' to us." 
 
 The Captain's challenge was given in a high, 
 bold tone of defiance, that was most unexpect- 
 edly answered, as the supposed stump of a tree 
 suddenly started up, and became, to visible 
 perception, a tall, large, and powerful man, 
 wrapped up in a cloak, with a slouched hat on 
 his head, and a piece of crape over his face : 
 he started forward, seized the horse by the 
 rein, crying stand to Captain Coleman. 
 
 Mrs. Raleigh screamed aloud : the Captain 
 uttered an exclamation of terror and surprise, 
 his hands trembled, his teeth chattered, and he 
 fumbled at the holster, and drew out a pistol. 
 But ere he could do any execution with it, if 
 any he meditated, his sudden assailant wrenched 
 the pistol out of his hand ; and using it as the 
 young warrior, David, did the sword of the 
 giant he had overcome in battle, turned it 
 against its master. He presented it to Cole^
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 34-1 
 
 man's head, and threatened to blow out his 
 brains, unless he instantly gave up his money. 
 
 " There is no fighting without arms," said 
 the Captain, as he drew forth an old leathern 
 purse, and yielded it to the highwayman. The 
 robber took it with much deliberation ; gave it 
 a toss in his hand, ere he passed it into his own 
 pocket, and swore it was very light. Light 
 certainly it w^as, for the Captain was too cau- 
 tious a man to carry about with him the whole of 
 his morning's winnings. During this time, so 
 completely was the man of war overcome by 
 surprise, or some other feeling, that he actually 
 remained as quiet as old Hector, who stood 
 stock still, like a well-disciplined trooper, wait- 
 ing further orders. His rider never once at- 
 tempted to spur him on, or to make any resist- 
 ance ; and Mistress Raleigh afterwards was 
 heard to declare, that he trembled more than 
 herself, though he contradicted this, and said it 
 was the horse that shook under the weight of 
 his double riders. 
 
 The robber now advanced to the widow, 
 and demanded her money also : she prepared
 
 342 warleigh; or, 
 
 to yield it, but not quite so readily as the Cap- 
 tain had done ; for though she offered no re- 
 sistance, she nevertheless ventured on a mild 
 and gentle expostulation. " Sir," said Mis- 
 tress Raleigh, " I am ready to obey your de- 
 mands, since life is a thing more precious than 
 silver, or even than gold, though gold I have 
 none to give you. Yet I must tell you — and 
 you shall hear me, for if you insist I yield — 
 that if you take this purse, you do in some sort 
 take my life. Maybe you are not entirely 
 hard of heart ; I will hope you are not. Dis- 
 tress may have driven you to desperate courses, 
 for many, alas ! in these days, have fallen from 
 sorrow into sin. I am a widow, sir, the widow 
 of Doctor Raleigh, who, as all the country 
 knows, was so cruelly murdered in his prison. 
 I have a child, a poor orphan child : God knows 
 we live hard enough, and I toil like the meanest 
 to get us bread. This purse contains the pay- 
 ment of a small sum of money that was lent 
 by my poor husband, just before his misfor- 
 tunes, to assist an honest tradesman who wanted 
 help ; for never was the hand, the heart, or the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 343 
 
 door of my unhappy husband closed on the 
 unfortunate. If you take this small store, you 
 take our all, and reduce the widow and the 
 fatherless to the lowest state of misery." 
 
 " If that purse," said the robber, with en- 
 ergyj for he had paid the utmost attention to 
 all she said, — " if that purse contained a thou- 
 sand crowns I would not touch one of them 
 without you gave it me freely. The widow of 
 Doctor Raleigh is safe from all danger from 
 me or mine. What I am, or who I am, it 
 boots not to say, except it be to tell you thus 
 much. In the troublesome year before the 
 last, during the siege of a certain town, your 
 husband was the means of saving my life. I 
 was a prisoner, and should have been most un- 
 justly hanged as a spy, but for his pleading for 
 me." 
 
 " You are like, friend, to hang for a thing of 
 no less moment," said Coleman, whose courage 
 somewhat returned on finding the highwayman 
 so sensible to generous feelings towards Mistress 
 Raleigh. " I am guarding this good gendewoman 
 home, and so as you will not touch her purse, 
 Q 4
 
 344 WARLEiGH ; oa, 
 
 I will thank you to give me mine back again ; 
 for I am not the richest man in the world any 
 more than yourself." 
 
 " Peace, fellow," said the robber, " and rest 
 satisfied whilst you have whole bones in your 
 skin, for they are not so easily mended when 
 once broken as a gambler's purse may be. 
 You rob the simple and the ignorant at no risk 
 at all ; and I do but rob a stabcast, a pick- 
 thank, and a loaded-dice-man by the wayside, 
 at the risk of my own neck. I will give thee 
 nothing but a broken head, if thou darest to 
 swagger here with me. So silence, and let me 
 speak a word to this worthy gentlewoman ; and 
 then you may pass on your way, for I have 
 done with you." 
 
 Mistress Raleigh would have spoken, but the 
 robber would not suffer her : he thus continued : 
 -— " I am not so bad, though, perhaps, bad 
 enough, as you may think me. But that is not 
 to the purpose ; for what I would say concerns 
 not myself alone, but you and your poor child. 
 These are evil times ; and I can tell you, Mis- 
 tress Raleigh, that harmless as you are, yet you
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 345 
 
 are not without enemies. Barret will never 
 forgive you for having prosecuted him for your 
 husband's death ; though he was, to the shame 
 of justice be it spoken, acquitted. Now mark 
 my counsel, and it shall not fail you, and may- 
 be the hour may arrive, sooner than you think 
 for, when you may be driven to follow it. 
 Should you need shelter from danger, or should 
 you be driven by any distress from your own 
 home, ^ to the glen of Lydfoi^d ,- fear not, for 
 there shall you meet a friend. Bring with you 
 no one but your poor child ; for if a third 
 person is seen, your friend will not appear to 
 receive you. Remember this, and come alone. 
 Give me no answer, but recollect that the man 
 who was rendered desperate by all that can 
 goad on a man to madness or to crime, who 
 dared rob a villain worse than himself, yet, ne- 
 vertheless, would not wrong the widow and her 
 child — such a man, I say, may be trusted, 
 may be relied on. Farewell; beware of the 
 fellow who is with you ; I know him, and that 
 he is a trap by trade." 
 
 So saying, this extraordinary highwayman 
 Q 5
 
 346 WARLEIGH; OKj 
 
 wrapped his cloak close round him, made for b 
 part of the hedge, where by an aperture he 
 had so suddenly passed into the road on hear- 
 ing the approach of travellers, and carrying off 
 the noble captain^s pistol and purse, as trophies 
 of victory, disappeared as speedily as he came^ 
 The Captain growing valiant so soon as danger 
 was removed from his path, struck his spurs 
 into old Hector's sides, and muttering a few 
 oaths, threats^ (and also declaring what great 
 things he would have done, had not the ma- 
 nagement of his horse, and his embarrassment 
 about Mistress Raleigh, deprived him, for the 
 moment, of all power, so that he lost his pistol^ 
 and could do nothing,) he set off at a round 
 trot, and soon cleared the narrow and dark 
 lane where he had sustained so notable s 
 defeat. Nothing else worthy record occurred 
 during the journey, and it finally ended in a 
 safe arrival at the widow's door. 
 
 Mistress Raleigh's cottage stood not far dis- 
 tant from the church of Tamerton Foliot; we 
 do not here say more about it, because we shall 
 have occasion to revert to it hereafter in a more
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 347 
 
 important part of our narrative. It was now 
 dark, and on entering the house Mistress Ra- 
 leigh found her litde girl sitting alone, over a 
 small fire, anxiously waiting the return of her 
 mother, whose delay had cost her many tears. 
 The widow procured a light ; and though the 
 cowardly conduct of her guide, and the warning 
 given respecting him by the robber, had made 
 an impression on her mind by no means fa- 
 vourable to the Captain, yet, nevertheless, she 
 considered herself bound to show him such 
 civilities as she could, in return for his having 
 escorted her home. 
 
 She produced, therefore, such scanty refresh- 
 ments as her house contained. These were poor 
 and homely enough, but the Captain did not 
 refuse them ; and having satisfied his appetite, 
 the widow, who had been engaged with her 
 dear little girl whilst he supped, now looked 
 anxiously for his departure. He declared his 
 intentions to be those of returning immediately 
 to Plymouth, where he talked of knocking up 
 constables and magistrates that very night, in 
 order that he might lay an information, and 
 Q 6
 
 348 warleigh; or, 
 
 cause to be apprehended the rascal who had so 
 violently disarmed and robbed him. Mistress 
 Raleigh, though she feared to offend him, ne- 
 vertheless could not help venturing an observ- 
 ation that she thought if he had acted with 
 more spirit, when he was first stopped, no harm 
 would have ensued to himself or his property, 
 for the robber had seemed to her to be un- 
 armed altogether. 
 
 " Or, most probably, bearing about him some 
 concealed arms," said Captain Coleman ; " but 
 in regard to my conduct, widow, whatever 
 there was in it that might seem not so daring 
 as my usual practice on such occasions would 
 have warranted you to expect, I can truly say 
 you were the cause of it. I have great tender- 
 ness, great consideration for your sex ; it is the 
 fault of my character. Why, hang me, if I 
 could ever sack a town with any heart, when 
 the women came squalling about me. I saw 
 your terror before the robber came up ; and if 
 I saw that when there was no danger, what 
 might I not expect when a fellow, that looked 
 as strong as Hercules, seized my horse by the
 
 THE FATAL OAK. S49 
 
 bridle? and though you say he was unarmed 
 till he forcibly possessed himself of my pistol, 
 yet I think differently, and that he was very 
 strongly armed under his cloak. Besides which, 
 how knew I that old Hector would stand fire ? 
 There 's no saying what might have been the 
 consequence if he had started, or reared, or 
 kicked at the report of my pistol, if I had been 
 so rash as to fire. You behind me on the 
 pillion, you must have been thrown, you might 
 have been killed, there 's no saying what might 
 have been the consequence ; so I acted for the 
 best solely on your account; for if I had been 
 alone, I would have brought off the fellow at 
 my horse's tail. As it is, I gave in to your 
 weakness, and by my means you see all went 
 well, for you saved your money." 
 
 '* I thank Heaven I did," said Mistress Ra- 
 leigh ; " but the robber's refusing to take it was 
 not only extraordinary, but, for one in his way 
 of life, truly generous : I shall never forget it." 
 
 " Nor I neither," said the Captain ; " for, 
 
 confound the rogue, he left me most cause to 
 
 ' remember him. He stole a purse containing
 
 B50 warleigh; or, 
 
 fifteen gold pieces, and ten silver crowns, and a 
 pistol that has been as dangerous, in its day, as 
 the plague ; for it was never seen, when in my 
 hand, but death was sure to follow on mankind ; 
 and as to his generosity to you, I do not believe 
 it, no, not for a moment. It was fear, pure 
 fear ; for the rascal saw well enough, that though 
 I had magnanimity of spirit sufficient, out of 
 tenderness to you, to pass over my own wrongs, 
 rather than terrify you by making war about 
 myself, yet had he attacked you, or laid but a 
 little finger upon your purse, he saw I should 
 have felled him to the earth ; therefore he made 
 a show of generosity, and let you go scot free. 
 Now, good widow, I am a plain man, and I 
 honestly tell you a poor gentleman, owing to 
 the times, and I do think, that as my loss was 
 sustained solely in your service, that the value 
 of my pistol and of my purse ought to be con- 
 sidered. Wherefore I must beg, as some small 
 compensation, that you hand over to me the 
 half of those same forty shillings which I en- 
 abled you to save from the robber." 
 
 Mistress Raleigh looked exceedingly dis-
 
 THE FATAL OAK. S5t 
 
 tressed ; her own poverty was extreme ; she had 
 a child to maintain, and an immediate cause of 
 necessity for money, that she kept a secret fast 
 locked in her own bosom ; in every way, there- 
 fore, this sum was of consequence to her. To 
 deprive her of half her little store would be a 
 cruel act ; the value of the pistol she did not 
 know, but she was quite certain that the purse, 
 of whose lightness the robber had complained, 
 did not contain what the Captain averred. She 
 offered him a quarter of the sum of what she 
 had about her, as some reimbursement for his 
 loss ; but this he refused, and insisted on his 
 first demand, raised his voice, and on her again 
 making a strong remonstrance, and begging him 
 to consider the distresses of herself and her 
 child, he grew so violent and so rude as to offer 
 to help himself to the purse from her pocket. 
 
 Mistress Raleigh screamed with affright, the 
 child cried out at seeing the struggle between 
 her mother and this new robber, when suddenly 
 the latch of the cottage door was raised, and a 
 young man, tall, well looking, and dressed in a 
 large horseman's cloak, stepped in (most pro-
 
 352 warleigh; OR, 
 
 bably he had heard the cries for help before he 
 did so), and going up to Captain Coleman 
 grasped him by the collar, freed the widow, and 
 shook him off ere the astonished rogue well 
 knew by whom he was so suddenly assaulted. 
 An order, that he should instantly leave the 
 house was pronounced by the young gentleman 
 in a tone of high command, whilst he drew a 
 short sword that he wore by his side to en- 
 force it in a more determined and peremptory 
 manner. 
 
 The Captain had no inclination to dispute an 
 order thus strongly enforced ; for he grumbled, 
 muttered, yet took up his hat and walked to- 
 wards the door, as if with the intention to m.ake 
 his exit. When, however, he stood near it, he 
 placed his hand upon the latch, and ere he 
 raised it turned round his head, fixed a look 
 expressive of ferocity and malice on the young 
 man, who had so delivered Mistress Raleigh, as 
 he said, " I go at your bidding now ; but the 
 next time we meet you shall go at mine, and 
 possibly where you will not so well like it : I 
 shall remember you." So saying, he paused not
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 353 
 
 another moment, but quitted the cottage, 
 mounted the back of old Hector, and set off as 
 fast as he could on his way to Plymouth. He 
 did not steal the horse, possibly because he 
 could not have remained in the town with safety 
 had he done so : old Hector, therefore, was re- 
 turned safe to his right owner that night. Our 
 business, however, still lies at the cottage of 
 Mistress Raleigh. 
 
 No sooner was Captain Coleman gone, than, 
 without saying a word, the widow gave such 
 security to her door as it would admit of re- 
 ceiving from a single wooden bolt. This done, 
 she turned round to the young man, took him 
 by the hand, spoke a few confused words of 
 welcome, sunk into a chair, and burst into 
 tears, as he alternately attempted to soothe her 
 agitation, and to bestow some kind notice on 
 the little cherub who stood at her mother's 
 knees, now calling on her not to cry, and now 
 looking with wonder and pleasure in the 
 stranger's face. 
 
 The stranger was young ; and though dressed 
 in clothes very much inferior tq the garments
 
 354 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 usually worn by the gallants of the period, yet 
 was he one of those striking figures that would 
 no where pass unnoticed, and carry with them 
 an air of authority and natural ease which shows 
 superiority of mind and manners, as well as of 
 station, at the first glance. His face was emi- 
 nently handsome ; its expression sincere, noble, 
 and full of kindness ; it was such an expression 
 as wins the heart through the eye, and never 
 deceives the favourable opinion it was so well 
 calculated to raise at first sight. Yet in the 
 lofty carriage, in the expanded forehead, the 
 bright and flashing eye, the brows flexible and 
 easily knit, or even frowning on the slightest 
 cause of emotion, there was something that 
 spoke irritable and impetuous feelings, which, 
 though we do not defend them as virtues, are, 
 nevertheless, often found united with what is 
 great in heart, tender in disposition, and generous 
 in action. 
 
 Such, in appearance, was the young man who 
 had so suddenly rescued Mistress Raleigh. As 
 soon as she could sufficiently recover herself, to 
 enable her to speak, she welcomed him most
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 355 
 
 kindly by the name of Reginald Elford ; at the 
 same time asking him, why he came at such an 
 hour? feared his being in her neighbourhood 
 would be dangerous to him, and hoped that 
 Captain Coleman had not recognised him. 
 Finally, she asked where he was now staying, 
 and if he were in safe hands ? 
 
 " I have no time, dear Mistress Raleigh," re- 
 plied the young gentleman, " to answer half the 
 questions you propose to me, since my business 
 is most pressing ; and though my sense of your 
 worth is, and ever must be, the same, and I 
 would freely trust my life in your power, yet 
 for your own sake I feel it but right not to trust 
 you with a knowledge of those anxious circum- 
 stances which, at present, it can do you no 
 good to learn, and if they fail, you might be in- 
 volved in their consequences. Rest satisfied; 
 for "the time being, I hope I am in safety. My 
 greatest care is to seek my father, who has fled 
 from his old concealment, and in a state of mind 
 the most alarming. Yet have I this day seen 
 one, faithful to our affairs, who assured me that 
 you knew where he might be found."
 
 356 WARLEIGH ; OR, 
 
 " I do, indeed," said Mistress Raleigh: "your 
 father was in the utmost danger ; he was pur- 
 sued by his enemies, watched, beset in his last 
 lurking place, and escaped once more to trust 
 his life to my care. For some time I managed 
 to conceal him in an upper chamber even in 
 this cottage : within these two days, however, in 
 consequence of some persons, who are on the 
 look out for him, being stationed in the village, 
 we have been compelled to have recourse again 
 to the old tree and the hut — a miserable 
 shelter; but there has he passed two nights, and 
 there will he pass this night. The child has 
 carried him food ; for did I go to him so re- 
 gularly as I could wish, something might have 
 been suspected ; whilst little Mary's running out 
 is thought nothing of, and scarcely noticed." 
 
 " Dear Mistress Raleigh," said Elford, " how 
 shall I ever thank you as 1 ought to do, for 
 your generous care of my poor father ; and this 
 child, too ? so young, yet so early faithful. How 
 do I trace in this the kindness of a merciful 
 Providence, who has on so many occasions 
 made the helpless widow and a poor fatherless
 
 THE FATAL OAK. 357 
 
 girl the means to save the life of my most af- 
 flicted and persecuted parent ! How shall I 
 thank you ? May God requite you, for I have 
 not the means." 
 
 " Do not talk of requiting me," said Mistress 
 Raleigh : ^* of whatever assistance I may be to 
 your father, I do but my duty to the generous 
 friend of my deceased husband, — that friend 
 who saved my child and myself from perishing 
 on the moors ; who softened the horrors of my 
 husband's imprisonment, and watched over the 
 wretched widow and her hapless infant, when 
 he was so fearfully torn for ever from her hopes. 
 Could I cease to remember these things — could 
 I cease to be faithful — what were I better than 
 one devoid of all true charity, of every grateful 
 feeling of the soul?" 
 
 Mistress Raleigh spoke with warmth; and 
 after receiving the kindest assurances of the 
 gratitude and respect in which she was held by 
 Reginald, she gave him all necessary instructions, 
 and directed him to the spot where he was to 
 seek his father ; and as he knew perfectly well 
 the most intricate parts of the surrounding
 
 358 WARLEIGH. 
 
 country, no danger was to be apprehended of 
 his losing his way. Mistress Raleigh saw him 
 depart, with many anxious feelings for his 
 safety, but did not venture to bear him company 
 at that hour of the night. She retired, worn 
 with the events of the day, to rest with her be- 
 loved and only comfort, praying God to bless 
 and protect the fatherless and the widow com- 
 mitted to his care. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoodb, 
 
 New- Street- Square =
 
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 " Mrs. Bray is well, and deserves to be yet better, known 
 for her historical novels. " — Quarterly Revieiv, No. xciii. 
 
 " It is but justice to say, that there are very few beauties 
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 MRS. BRAY S WORKS. 
 
 Bray has not most successfully rivalled in her novels. The 
 tragedy of Ines de Castro forms the subject of The Talba,*^ — 
 Gentleman s Magazine. 
 
 " These novels are indeed an addition to the high literary 
 character of the fair and popular writer." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " Fitz of Fitz-ford is wrought up with exquisite skill. The 
 characters are finely discriminated ; the descriptive parts are 
 admirable, and the narrative never flags. Mrs. Bray is an 
 honour to her sex, and must be ranked with those illustrious 
 females who have deserved well of their country, by exalting 
 its intellectual character, and contributing to the improvement 
 as well as the entertainment of mankind."— i^amtVy Magazine. 
 
 " De Foix must add to the high reputation Mrs. Bray has 
 acquired." — Gentleman's Magazine. 
 
 " The White Hoods will rank high in its class : there are 
 some most spirited sketches of character, a deeply interesting 
 story, and the most faithful pictures of the times." — Literary 
 Gazette. 
 
 " The Protestant. — The incidents of this tale follow each 
 other in breathless rapidity. The imaginary characters group 
 admirably with the historical. The heroine Rose is a beau- 
 tiful creation." — New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 " We scarcely know any one so well qualified to fill up the 
 vacuum left by the death of Sir Walter Scott as Mrs. Bray — 
 such are the novels of this lady ; may they flourish, as they 
 ought, under national encouragement, whilst yet the author 
 can reap in person the harvest of public favour and applause." 
 — . Gentleman's Magazine.
 
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