parlour, where were Mr., Mrs., and Miss Williams, Mr. Williams began
to relate to Mr. Tucker the circumstances of his dream; and Mrs.
Williams observed to her daughter, Mrs. Tucker, laughingly, that her
father could not even suffer Mr. Tucker to be seated before he told
him of his nocturnal visitation, on the statement of which he observed
that it would do very well for a dream to have the (Lord) Chancellor
in the lobby of the House of Commons, but he could not be found there
in reality, and Mr. Tucker then asked what sort of a man he appeared
to be, when Mr. Williams minutely described him, to which Mr. Tucker
replied: 'Your description is not that of the Lord Chancellor, but it
is certainly that of Mr. Perceval, the Chancellor of the Exchequer;
and although he has been to me the greatest enemy I ever met in my
life, for a supposed cause which had no foundation or truth (or words
to that effect), I should be exceedingly sorry indeed to hear of his
being assassinated, or of injury of the kind happening to him.'
"Mr. Tucker then inquired of Mr. Williams if he had ever seen Mr.
Perceval, and was told that he had never seen him, nor had ever even
written to him either on public or private business; in short, that he
never had anything to do with him, nor had he ever been in the lobby
of the House of Commons in his life.
"Whilst Mr. Williams and Mr. Tucker were still standing they heard a
horse gallop to the door of the house, and immediately after Mr.
Michael Williams, of Trevince (son of Mr. Williams, of Scorrier) entered
the room, and said that he had galloped out of Truro (from which
Scorrier is distant seven miles), having seen a gentleman there who had
come by that evening's mail from London, who said that he had been in
the lobby of the House of Commons on the evening of the 11th, when a man
called Bellingham had shot Mr. Perceval, and that, as it might occasion
some great ministerial changes, and might affect Mr. Tucker's political
friends, he had come as fast as he could to make him acquainted with it,
having heard at Truro that he had passed through that place on his way
to Scorrier. After the astonishment which this intelligence created had
a little subsided, Mr. Williams described most particularly the
appearance and dress of the man that he saw in his dream fire the
pistol, as he had before done of Mr. Perceval.
"About six weeks after, Mr. Williams, having business in town, went,
accompanied by a friend, to the House of Commons, where, as has been
already observed, he had never before been. Immediately that he came to
the steps at the entrance to the lobby, he said: 'This place is as
distinctly within my recollection in my dream as any in my house,' and
he made the same observation when he entered the lobby. He there pointed
out the exact spot where Bellingham stood when he fired, and which Mr.
Perceval had reached when he was struck by the ball, and when and how he
fell. The dress, both of Mr. Perceval and Bellingham, agreed with the
description given by Mr. Williams, even to the most minute particulars."
Such is this well-authenticated story. It is worth notice that Mr.
Williams saw the whole affair in dream thrice repeated long after the
real event had taken place, and not by any means at the moment of the
assassination. Some dreams that are well authenticated may have led to
the conviction of murderers. But this did not; it was wholly useless;
yet it is impossible to deny that it really occurred.
SIR ROBERT TRESILIAN
Sir Robert Tresilian, of Tresilian, in the parish of Newlyn, and by
virtue of marriage with the heiress of Haweis also lord of Tremoderet in
Duloe, was Lord Chief Justice of England and adviser to King Richard II;
he accordingly drew upon himself the animosity of the King's uncle,
Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester. But he had also drawn upon his
head the hatred of the commonalty by his "bloody circuit" after the
insurrection of Wat Tyler, Jack Straw, and John Ball.
When Sir Robert Knollys had brought together a large force against the
insurgents, the young King had forbidden him to slaughter them _en
masse_, as he proposed, "For," said he, "I will have their blood in
another way." And he had their blood by sending Chief Justice Tresilian
among them, and, according to Holinshed, the number of executions
amounted to 1500. At first they were beheaded; afterwards they were
hanged and left on the gibbet to excite terror; but their friends cut
down the bodies and carried them off; whereupon the King ordered that
they should be hanged in strong iron chains; and this was the first
instance of this barbarous and disgusting practice in England.
The King had promised the insurgent peasantry that serfage should be
abolished, that liberty should be accorded to all to buy and sell in
the markets, and that land should be let at fourpence an acre, that a
general amnesty should be accorded. To all these he had acceded with
charters signed and sealed; but so soon as the disturbances were over
he repudiated his undertakings, and we cannot doubt that he did so at
the advice of Tresilian, who pronounced them illegal.
Richard did, indeed, in the next Parliament, urge the abolition of
villainage, but the proposal was coldly received, not pressed, and
rejected. Moreover, on the occasion of his marriage with Anne of
Bohemia, which took place soon after, a general amnesty was proclaimed.
The people were, however, disaffected. The imposition of a poll tax
levied on rich and poor at the same sum on all over fifteen, and the
scandalous manner in which it had been collected, had given general
dissatisfaction, and it was, in fact, this which had roused Wat Tyler
to march on London to obtain redress.
The King had surrounded himself with favourites, and his uncles were
excluded from his council. The country was divided between the party
of the King and that of the Duke of Gloucester. There is not the least
reason to suppose that the latter had at heart the welfare of the
people of England, any more than had the creatures who surrounded the
King. The Duke was moved by resentment, pride, and ambition, and many
believed that he aimed at the crown.
The chief favourites of Richard were Michael de la Pole, whom he created
Earl of Suffolk, and Robert de Vere, a young and handsome man, who was
made Marquis of Dublin, receiving, at the same time, the extraordinary
grant of the whole revenue of Ireland, out of which he was to pay a
yearly rent of five thousand marks to the King. He was soon after
created Duke of Ireland. The other advisers of the King were Worth,
Archbishop of York, Sir Simon Burley, and Sir Robert Tresilian. These
certainly judged rightly when they opposed the prosecution of the war in
France, and the subvention of the claims of the Duke of Lancaster to the
Crown of Castile. The country was being drained of men and money in
these profitless wars. But the nobles, headed by Thomas of Gloucester,
opposed this policy, and naturally had the support of those who made
money out of the wars. To defeat the plans of the council, Gloucester
demanded the dismissal of Suffolk. The King petulantly answered that he
would not at his command dismiss a scullion-boy from his kitchen.
Suffolk was, however, impeached by the Commons for undue use of his
influence, and the King was obliged to submit to the fining and
imprisonment of his favourite. It was next proposed that a council
should be appointed to reform the State. At this proposition Richard
threatened to dissolve the Parliament. A member of the Commons thereupon
moved that the statute deposing Edward II should be read, and the King
was warned that death might be the penalty of a continued refusal. He
yielded. The commission was appointed, and Gloucester and his friends,
who formed the great majority, were masters of England. In yielding,
Richard limited the duration of the commission to a year. The King was
now twenty years of age, but he was reduced to as mere a cipher as when
he was a boy of eleven.
In the month of August in the following year, 1387, acting under the
advice of Tresilian, he assembled a council at Nottingham, and
submitted to some of the judges who attended it this question--Whether
the Commission of Government appointed by Parliament, and approved of
under his own seal, were legal or illegal? Tresilian led the rest of
the judges to certify that the commission was illegal, and that all
those who had introduced the measure were liable to capital
punishment; that all who supported it were by that act guilty of high
treason; in short, that both Lords and Commons were traitors.
On the 11th November following the King returned to London, when he
was alarmed by hearing that the Duke of Gloucester, the Earls of
Arundel and Nottingham, the Constable, Admiral, and Marshal of England
were approaching the capital at the head of forty thousand men. The
decision of Tresilian and the judges and of the King had, in fact,
forced them into rebellion, as it was pretty evident that Richard
aimed at taking their lives.
So soon as Richard's cousin, the Earl of Derby, heard of the approach
of Gloucester, he quitted the Court with the Earl of Warwick, went to
Waltham Cross, and there joined him. The members of the Council of
Eleven were there already. On Sunday, the 17th of November, the Duke
entered London with an irresistible force and "appealed" of treason
the Archbishop of York, De Vere, Duke of Ireland, De la Pole, Earl of
Suffolk, Sir Robert Tresilian, Chief Justice of England, and Sir
Nicolas Brember, Knight, a London grocer and Lord Mayor of London.
The favourites instantly took to flight. De la Pole, the condemned
Chancellor, succeeded in reaching France, where he died soon after; De
Vere, Duke of Ireland, got to the borders of Wales, where he raised an
army, acting in concert with the King; it was resolved he should march
to London. The Archbishop of York escaped to Flanders, where he spent
the rest of his days as a village priest.
The fate of Chief Justice Tresilian must be told in the words of Sir
John Froissart.
Richard had gone to Bristol to organize an army against the Duke of
Gloucester, and De Vere, the Duke of Ireland, was with him there.
"While the army was collecting, the King and the Duke in secret
conference, determined to send one of their confidential agents to
London, to observe what was going forward, and if the King's uncles
still remained there, to discover what they were doing. After some
consultation, they could think of no proper person to send on this
errand; when a knight who was cousin to the Duke, called Sir Robert
Tresilian, stepped forth, and said to the Duke, 'I see the difficulty
you have to find a trusty person to send to London; I, from love of
you, will risk the adventure.' The King and the Duke, well pleased
with the offer, thanked him for it. Tresilian left Bristol disguised
as a poor tradesman, mounted on a wretched hackney. He continued his
road to London, and lodged at an inn where he was unknown; for no man
could have ever imagined that one of the King's counsellors and
chamberlains would have appeared in so miserable a dress.
"When in London, he picked up all the news that was possible, for he
could do no more, respecting the King's uncles and the citizens. Having
heard that there was to be a meeting of the Dukes and their council at
Westminster, he determined to go thither to learn secretly all he could
of their proceedings. This he executed, and fixed his quarters at an
ale-house right opposite the palace gate. He chose a chamber the window
of which looked into the palace yard, where he posted himself to observe
all who should come to this Parliament. The greater part he knew, but
was not, from his disguise, known to them. He, however, remained there
at different times, so long, that a squire of the Duke of Gloucester saw
and recognized him, for he had been many times in his company. Sir
Robert also at once recollected him, and withdrew from the window; but
the squire, having his suspicions, said, 'Surely that must be
Tresilian.' To be certain on this point, he entered the ale-house, and
said to the landlady, 'Dame, tell me, on your troth, who is he that is
drinking in the room above; he is alone and not in company.' 'On my
troth, sir,' she replied, 'I cannot give you his name; but he has been
here some time.' At these words, the squire went upstairs to know the
truth, and having saluted Sir Robert, found he was right, though he
dissembled by saying, 'God preserve you, master! I hope you will not
take my coming amiss, for I thought you had been one of my farmers from
Essex, as you are so very like him.' 'By no means,' said Sir Robert; 'I
am from Kent, and hold lands of Sir John Holland, and wish to lay my
complaints before the Council against the tenants of the Archbishop of
Canterbury, who encroach much on my farm.' 'If you will come into the
hall,' said the squire, 'I will have way made for you to lay your
grievances before the lords.' 'Many thanks,' replied Sir Robert; 'not at
this moment, but I shall not renounce your assistance.' At the words the
squire ordered a quart of ale, and having paid for it, he said, 'God be
with you!' and left the ale-house.
"He lost no time in hastening to the council-chamber, and called to
the usher to open the door. The usher, knowing him, asked his
business. He said, 'he must instantly speak with the Duke of
Gloucester, on matters that mainly concerned him and the council.' The
usher, on this, bade him enter, which he did, and made up to the Duke
of Gloucester, saying, 'My lord, I will tell it aloud; for it concerns
not you only but all the lords present. I have seen Sir Robert
Tresilian, disguised as a peasant, in an ale-house close by the
palace gate.' 'Tresilian!' exclaimed the Duke. 'On my faith, my lord,
it is true; and you will have him to dine with, if you please.' 'I
should like it much,' replied the Duke; 'for he will tell us some news
of his master, the Duke of Ireland. Go, and secure him; but with power
enough not to be in danger of failing.'
"The squire on these orders, left the council-chamber, and having chosen
four bailiffs, said to them, 'Follow me at a distance; and so soon as
you shall perceive me make you a sign to arrest a man I am in search of,
lay hands on him, and take care he do not, on any account, escape.' The
squire made for the ale-house where he had left Sir Robert, and,
mounting the staircase to the room where he was, said, on entering:
'Tresilian, you are not come to this country for any good, as I imagine;
my Lord of Gloucester sends me for you, and you must come and speak with
him.' The knight turned a deaf ear, and would have been excused by
saying, 'I am not Tresilian, but a tenant of Sir John Holland.'
"'That is not true,' replied the squire; 'your body is Tresilian's,
though not your dress.' And, making a sign to the bailiffs, who were
at the door, they entered the house and arrested him, and, whether he
would or not, carried him to the palace. You may believe, there was a
great crowd to see him; for he was well known in London, and in many
parts of England.
"The Duke of Gloucester was much pleased, and would see him. When in
his presence, the Duke said: 'Tresilian, what has brought you hither?
How fares my Sovereign? Where does he now reside?' Tresilian, finding
that he was discovered, and that no excuses would avail, replied: 'On
my faith, my lord, the King has sent me hither to learn the news. He
is in Bristol, and on the banks of the Severn, where he hunts and
amuses himself.'
"'How!' said the Duke, 'You do not come dressed as an honest man, but
like a spy. If you had been desirous to learn what was passing, your
appearance should have been like that of a knight or a decent person.'
'My lord,' answered Tresilian, 'if I have done wrong, I hope you will
excuse me, for I have only done what I was bid.' 'And where is your
master, the Duke of Ireland?' 'My lord,' said Tresilian, 'he is with
the King, my lord.' The Duke then added: 'We have been informed that
he is collecting a large body of men, and that the King has issued his
summons to that effect. Whither does he mean to lead them?' 'My lord,
they are indeed for Ireland.' 'For Ireland!' said the Duke. 'Yes,
indeed, as God may help me,' answered Tresilian.
"The Duke mused awhile, and then spoke: 'Tresilian, Tresilian, your
actions are neither fair nor honest. You have committed a great piece of
folly in coming to these parts, where you are far from being loved, as
will shortly be shown to you. Yes, and others of your faction have done
what has greatly displeased my brother and myself, and have ill-advised
the King, whom you have stirred up to quarrel with his chief nobility.
In addition, you have excited the principal towns against us. The day of
retribution is therefore come, when you shall receive payment; for
whoever acts unjustly receives his reward. Look to your affairs, for I
will neither eat nor drink till you be no more.'
"This speech greatly terrified Sir Robert (for no one likes to hear of
his end) by the manner in which it was uttered. He was desirous to
obtain pardon, by various excuses, and the most abject humiliation,
but in vain. The Duke had received information of what was going on
at Bristol, and his excuses were frivolous. Why should I make a long
story? Sir Robert was delivered to the hangman, who led him out to the
place of execution, where he was beheaded, and then hung by the arms
to a gibbet. Thus ended Sir Robert Tresilian."
PIRATE TRELAWNY
Edward John Trelawny, a younger son of Charles Brereton Trelawny, came
into this world on the 2nd or 3rd of November, but in what year is not
certain. It is said that he was born in 1792, but either this is a
wrong date, or else Colonel Vivian, in his _Visitations of Cornwall_,
errs, for he gives that year as the one in which Harry Brereton
Trelawny, the eldest son, was born. Charles Brereton Trelawny was the
son of Harry Trelawny, a lieutenant-general in the army and Governor
of Landguard Fort.
Of his father, Edward John entertained no favourable opinion. "My
father, notwithstanding his increased fortune, did not increase his
expenditure; nay, he established, if possible, a stricter system of
economy. The only symptom he ever showed of imagination was
castle-building; but his fabrications were founded on a more solid
basis than is usually to be met with among the visions of
day-dreamers. No unreal mockery of fairy scenes of bliss found a
resting-place in his bosom. Ingots, money, lands, houses, and
tenements constituted his dreams. He became a mighty arithmetician by
the aid of a ready reckoner, his pocket companion; he set down to a
fraction the sterling value of all his and his wife's relations, the
heirs at law, their nearest of kin, their ages, and the state of their
constitutions. The insurance table was examined to calculate the value
of their lives; to this he added the probable chances arising from
diseases, hereditary and acquired, always forgetting his own gout. He
then determined to regulate his conduct accordingly; to maintain the
most friendly intercourse with his wealthy connexions, and to keep
aloof from the poor ones. Having no occasion to borrow, his aversion
to lending amounted to antipathy. The distrust and horror he expressed
at the slightest allusion to loans, unbacked by security and interest,
had the effect of making the most imprudent and adventurous desist
from essaying him, and continue in their necessities, or beg, or rob,
or starve, in preference to urging their wants to him.
"It was his custom to appropriate a room in the house to the
conservation of those things he loved--choice wines, foreign
preserves, cordials. This sanctum was a room on the ground floor,
under a skylight. Our next-door neighbours' pastime happened to be a
game of balls, when one of them lodged on the leaded roof of this
consecrated room. Two of my sisters, of the ages of fourteen and
sixteen, ran from the drawing-room back window to seek for the ball,
and slipping on the leads, the younger fell through the skylight on to
the bottles and jars upon the table below. She was dreadfully bruised,
and her hands, legs and face were cut, so much so, that she still
retains the scars. Her sister gave the alarm. My mother was called;
she went to the door of the store-room; her child screamed out, for
God's sake to open the door; she was bleeding to death. My mother
dared not break the lock, as my father had prohibited any one from
entering this, his blue chamber; and what was worse, he had the key.
Other keys were tried, but none could open the door. Had I been there,
my foot should have picked the lock. Will it be believed that, in that
state, my sister was compelled to await my father's return from the
House of Commons, of which he was a member? At last, when he
returned, my mother informed him of the accident, and tried to allay
the wrath which she saw gathering on his brow. He took no notice of
her, but paced forward to the closet, when the delinquent, awed by his
dreadful voice, hushed her sobs. He opened the door and found her
there, scarcely able to stand, trembling and weeping. Without speaking
a word, he kicked and cuffed her out of the room, and then gloomily
decanted what wine remained in the broken bottles."
[Illustration: EDWARD JOHN TRELAWNY
_From a drawing by D. Lucas_]
The mother of Edward John was Maria, sister of Sir Christopher
Hawkins, of Trewithen.
That a high-spirited, self-willed, passionate boy like Edward John
should get on with such a father was antecedently improbable; and he
was sent to sea at the age of twelve in the _Superb_, and had the ill
fortune to miss the battle of Trafalgar, through Admiral Duckworth
delaying three days at Plymouth to victual his ships with mutton and
potatoes.
"Young as I was, I shall never forget our falling in with the _Pickle_
schooner off Trafalgar, carrying the first despatches of the battle
and death of its hero. Her commander, burning with impatience to be
the first to convey the news to England, was compelled to heave to and
come on board us. Captain Keates received him on deck, and when he
heard the news I was by his side. Silence reigned throughout the ship;
some great event was anticipated. The officers stood in groups,
watching with intense anxiety the two commanders, who walked apart.
'Battle,' 'Nelson,' 'ships,' were the only audible words which could
be gathered from their conversation. I saw the blood rush into
Keates's face; he stamped the deck, walked hurriedly, and spoke with
passion. I marvelled, for I had never before seen him much moved; he
had appeared cool, firm, and collected on all occasions, and it struck
me that some awful event had taken place, or was at hand. The Admiral
was still in his cabin, eager for news from the Nelson fleet. He was
an irritable and violent man, and after a few minutes, swelling with
wrath, he sent an order to Keates, who possibly heard it not, but
staggered along the deck, struck to the heart by the news, and, for
the first time in his life, forgot his respect to his superior in
rank; muttering, as it seemed, curses on his fate that, by the
Admiral's delay, he had not participated in the most glorious battle
in naval history. Another messenger enforced him to descend in haste
to the Admiral, who was high in rage and impatience.
"Keates, for I followed him, on entering the Admiral's cabin said in a
subdued voice, as if he were choking, 'A great battle has been fought,
two days ago, off Trafalgar. The combined fleets of France and Spain
are annihilated, and Nelson is no more!' He then murmured, 'Had we not
been detained we should have been there.'
"Duckworth answered not, conscience-struck, but stalked the deck. He
seemed ever to avoid the look of his captain, and turned to converse
with the commander of the schooner, who replied in sulky brevity,
'Yes' or 'No.' Then, dismissing him, he ordered all sail to be set,
and walked the quarter-deck alone. A death-like stillness pervaded the
ship, broken at intervals by the low murmurs of the crew and officers,
when 'battle' and 'Nelson' could alone be distinguished. Sorrow and
discontent were painted on every face.
"On the following morning we fell in with a portion of the victorious
fleet. It was blowing a gale, and they lay wrecks on the sea. Our
Admiral communicated with them, and then, joining Collingwood, had six
sail of the line put under his command, with orders to pursue that
part of the enemy's fleet which had escaped; and I joined the ship to
which I was appointed. It is unnecessary to dwell on the miseries of a
cockpit life: I found it more tolerable than my school, and little
worse than my home."