[Footnote 144: "The bane of the stomach, and the word of disgrace.

Is the name of the gentleman with the bold."]

Well, much talk of this sort was ministered between us; but albeit I

find pleasure in the recalling of it, methinks the reading thereof

should easily weary others; so I must check my pen, which, like unto a

garrulous old gossip, doth run on, overstepping the limits of

discretion.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Before I arrived, Lady Arundel had made Basil privy to a great secret,

with warrant to impart it to me. In a remote portion of the castle's

buildings was concealed at that time Father Southwell, a man who had

not his like for piety and good parts; a sweet poet also, whose pieces

of verse, chiefly written in that obscure chamber in Arundel Castle,

have been since done into print, and do win great praise from all

sorts of people. Adjoining to his room, which only one servant in the

house, who carried his meals to him, had knowledge of, and from which

he could not so much as once look out of the window for fear of being

seen, was a small oratory where he said mass every day, and by a

secret passage Lady Arundel went from her apartments for to hear it.

That same evening after supper she led me thither for to get this good

priest's blessing, and also his counsel touching my marriage; for both

her ladyship and Basil were urgent for it to take place in a private

manner at the castle before we left England. For, they argued, if

there should be danger in this departure, it were best encountered

together; and except we were married it should be an impossible thing

for me to travel in his company and land with him in France. Catholics

could be married in a secret manner now that the needs of the times,

and the great perils many were exposed to, gave warrant for it. After

some talk with Father Southwell and Lady Arundel, I consented to their

wishes with more gladness of heart, I ween, than was seemly to

exhibit; for verily I was better contented than can be thought of to

think I should be at last married to my dear Basil, and nevermore to

part from him, if it so pleased God that we should land safely in

France, which did seem to me then the land of promise.

The next days were spent in forecasting means for a safe departure, as

soon as these secret nuptials should have taken place; but none had

been yet resolved on, when one morning I was called to Lady Arundel's

chamber, whom I found in tears and greatly disturbed, for that she had

heard from Lady Margaret Sackville, who {769} was then in London, that

Lord Arundel was once more resolved to leave the realm, albeit Father

Edmunds did dissuade him from that course; but some other friend's

persuasions were more availing, and he had determined to go to France,

where he might live in safety and serve God quietly.

My lady's agitation at this news was very great. She said nothing

should content her but to go with him, albeit she was then with child;

and she should write to tell him so; but before she could send a

letter Lord Arundel came to the castle, and held converse for many

hours with her and Father Southwell. When I met her afterward in the

gallery, her eyes were red with weeping. She said my lord desired to

see Basil and me in her chamber at nine of the clock. He wished to

speak with us of his resolve to cross the seas, and she prayed God

some good should arise out of it. Then she added, "I am now going to

the chapel, and if thou hast nothing of any weight to detain thee,

then come thither also, for to join thy prayers with mine for the

favorable issue of a very doubtful matter."

When we repaired to her ladyship's chamber at the time appointed, my

lord greeted us in an exceeding kind manner; and after some talk

touching Basil's secret return to England, our marriage, and then as

speedy as possible going abroad, his lordship said: "I also am

compelled to take a like course, for my evil-willers are resolved to

work my ruin and overthrow, and will succeed therein by means of my

religion. Many actions which at the outset may seem rash and

unadvised, after sufficient consideration do appear to be just and

necessary; and, methinks, my dearest wife and Father Southwell are now

minded to recommend what at first they misliked, and to see that in

this my present intent I take the course which, though it imperils my

fortunes, will tend to my soul's safety and that of my children. Since

I have conceived this intent, I thank God I have found a great deal

more quietness in my mind; and in this respect I have just occasion to

esteem my past troubles as my greatest felicity, for they have been

the means of leading me to that course which ever brings perfect

quietness, and only procures eternal happiness. I am resolved, as my

dear Nan well knoweth, to endure any punishment rather than willingly

to decline from what I have begun; I have bent myself as nearly as I

could to continue in the same, and to do no act repugnant to my faith

and profession. And by means hereof I am often compelled to do many

things which may procure peril to myself, and be an occasion of

mislike to her majesty. For, look you, on the first day of this

parliament, when the queen was hearing of a sermon in the cathedral

church of Westminster, above in the chancel, I was driven to walk by

myself below in one of the aisles; and another day this last Lent,

when she was hearing another sermon in the chapel at Greenwich, I was

forced to stay all the while in the presence-chamber. Then also when

on any Sunday or holyday her grace goes to her great closet, I am

forced either to stay in the privy chamber, and not to wait upon her

at all, or else presently to depart as soon as I have brought her to

the chapel. These things, and many more, I can by no means escape, but

only by an open plain discovery of myself, in the eye and opinion of

all men, as to the true cause of my refusal; neither can it now be

long hidden, although for a while it may not have been generally noted

and observed."

Lady Arundel sighed and said:

"I must needs confess that of necessity it must shortly be discovered;

and when I remember what a watchful and jealous eye is carried over

all such as are known to be recusants, and also how their lodgings are

continually searched, and to how great danger they are subject if a

Jesuit or seminary priest be found within their house, I begin to see

that either you cannot serve God in such {770} sort as you have

professed, or else you must incur the hazard of greater sufferings

than I am willing you should endure."

"For my part," Basil said, "I would ask, my lord, those that hate you

most, whether being of the religion which you do profess, they would

not take that course for safety of their souls and discharge of their

consciences which you do now meditate? And either they must directly

tell you that they would have done the same, or acknowledge themselves

to be mere atheists; which, howsoever they be affected in their

hearts, I think they would be loth to confess with their mouths."

"What sayest thou, Constance, of my lord's intent?" Lady Arundel said,

when Basil left off speaking.

"I am ashamed to utter my thinking in his presence, and in yours,

dearest lady," I replied; "but if you command me to it, methinks that

having had his house so fatally and successfully touched, and finding

himself to be of that religion which is accounted dangerous and odious

to the present state, which her majesty doth detest, and of which she

is most jealous and doubtful, and seeing he might now be drawn for his

conscience into a great and continual danger, not being able to do any

act or duty whereunto his religion doth bind him without incurring the

danger of felony, he must needs run upon his death headlong, which is

repugnant to the law of God and flatly against conscience, or else he

must resolve to escape these perils by the means he doth propose."

"Yea," exclaimed his lordship, with so much emotion that his voice

shook in the utterance of the words, "long have I debated with myself

on the course to take. I do see it to be the safest way to depart out

of the realm, and abide in some other place where I may live without

danger of my conscience, without offence to the queen, without daily

peril of my life; but yet I was drawn by such forcible persuasions to

be of another opinion, as I could not easily resolve on which side to

settle my determination. For on the one hand my native, and oh how

dearly loved country, my own early friends, my kinsfolk, my home, and,

more than all, my wife, which I must for a while part with if I go, do

invite me to stay. Poverty awaits me abroad; but in what have state

and riches benefited us, Nan? Shall not ease of heart and freedom from

haunting fears compensate for vain wealth? When, with the sweet

burthen in thine arms which for a while doth detain thee here, thou

shalt kneel before God's altar in a Catholic land, methinks thou wilt

have but scanty regrets for the trappings of fortune."

"God is my witness," the sweet lady replied, "that should be the

happiest day of my life. But I fear--yea, much I do fear--the chasm

of parting which doth once more open betwixt thee and me. Prithee,

Phil, let me go with thee," she tearfully added.

"Nay, sweet Nan," he answered; "thou knowest the physicians forbid thy

journeying at the present time so much as hence to London. How should

it then behoove thee to run the perils of the sea, and nightly voyage,

and it may be rough usage? Nay, let me behold thee again, some months

hence, with a fair boy in thine arms, which if I can but once behold,

my joy shall be full, if I should have to labor with mine hands for to

support him and thee."

She bowed her head on the hand outstretched to her; but I could see

the anguish with which she yielded her assent to this separation.

Methinks there was some sort of presentiment of the future heightening

her present grief; she seemed so loth her lord should go, albeit

reason and expediency forced from her an unwilling consent.

Before the conversation in Lady Arundel's chamber ended, the earl

proposed that Basil and I should accompany him abroad, and cross the

sea in the craft he should privately {771} hire, which would sail from

Littlehampton, and carry us to some port of France, whence along the

coast we could travel to Boulogne. This liked her ladyship well. Her

eyes entreated our consent thereunto, as if it should have been a

favor she asked, which indeed was rather a benefit conferred on us;

for nothing would serve my lord but that he should be at the entire

charge of the voyage, who smiling said, for such good company as he

should thus enjoy he should be willing to be taxed twice as much, and

yet consider himself to be the obliged party in this contract.

"But we must be married first," Basil bluntly said.

Lady Arundel replied that Father Southwell could perform the ceremony

when we pleased--yea, on the morrow, if it should be convenient; and

that my lord should be present thereat.

I said this should be very short notice, I thought, for to be married

the next day; upon which Basil exclaimed,

"These be not times, sweetheart, for ceremonies, fashions, and nice

delays. Methinks since our betrothal there hath been sufficient

waiting for to serve the turn of the nicest lady in the world in the

matter of reserves and yeas and nays."

Which is the sharpest thing, I think, Basil hath uttered to me either

before or since we have been married. So, to appease him, I said not

another word against this sudden wedding; and the next day but one, at

nine of the clock, was then fixed for the time thereof.

On the following morning Lord Arundel and Basil (the earl had

conceived a very great esteem and good disposition toward him; as

great, and greater he told me, as for some he had known for as many

years as him hours) went out together, under pretence of shooting in

the woods on the opposite side of the river about Leominster, but

verily to proceed to Littlehampton, where the earl had appointed to

meet the captain of the vessel--a Catholic man, the son of an old

retainer of his family--with whom he had dealt for the hiring of a

vessel for to sail to France as soon as the wind should prove

favorable. Whilst they were gone upon this business, Lady Arundel and

I sat in the chamber which looked into the court, making such simple

preparations as would escape notice for our wedding, and the departure

which should speedily afterward ensue.

"I will not yield thee," her ladyship said, "to be married except in a

white dress and veil, which I shall hide in a chamber nigh unto the

oratory, where I myself will attire thee, dear love; and see, this

morning early I went out alone into the garden and gathered this store

of rosemary, for to make thee a nosegay to wear in thy bosom. Father

Southwell saith it is used at weddings for an emblem of fidelity. If

so, who should have so good a right to it as my Constance and her

Basil? But I will lay it up in a casket, which shall conceal it the

while, and aid to retain the scent thereof."

"O dear lady," I cried, seizing her hands, "do you remember the day

when you plucked rosemary in our old garden at Sherwood, and smiling,

said to me, 'This meaneth remembrance?' Since it signifieth fidelity

also, well should you affection it; for where shall be found one so

faithful in love and friendship as you?"

"Weep not," she said, pressing her fingers on her eyelids to stay her

own tears. "We must needs thank God and be joyful on the eve of thy

wedding-day; and I am resolved to meet my lord also with a cheerful

countenance, so that not in gloom but in hope he shall leave his

native land."

In converse such as this the hours went swiftly by. Sometimes we

talked of the past, its many strange haps and changes; sometimes of

the future, forecasting the manner of our lives abroad, where in

safety, albeit in poverty, we hoped to spend our days. In {772} the

afternoon there arrived at the castle my Lord William Howard and his

wife and Lady Margaret Sackville, who, having notice of their

brother's intent to go beyond seas on the next day, if it should be

possible, had come for to bid him farewell.

Leaving Lady Arundel in their company, I went to the terrace

underneath the walls of the castle, and there paced up and down,

chewing the cud of both sweet and sad memories. I looked at the soft

blue sky and fleecy clouds, urged along by a westerly breeze

impregnated with a salt savor; on the emerald green of the fields, the

graceful forms of the leafless trees on the opposite hills, on the

cattle peacefully resting by the river-side. I listed to the rustling

of the wind amongst the bare branches over mine head, and the bells of

a church ringing far off in the valley. "O England, mine own England,

my fair native land--am I to leave thee, never to return?" I cried,

speaking aloud, as if to ease my oppressed heart. Then mine eyes

rested on the ruined hospital of the town, the shut-up churches, the

profaned sanctuaries, and thought flying beyond the seas to a Catholic

land, I exclaimed, "The sparrow shall find herself a house, and the

turtle-dove a nest for herself--the altars of the Lord of hosts, my

king and my God."

When Basil returned, he told me that the vessel which was to take us

to France was lying out at sea near the coast. Lord Arundel and

himself had gone in a boat to speak with the captain, who did seem a

particular honest man and zealous Catholic; and the earl had bespoken

some needful accommodation for Mistress Martingale, he said, smiling;

not very commodious, indeed, but as good as on board the like craft

could be expected. If the wind remained in the same quarter in the

afternoon of the morrow, we should then sail; if it should change, so

as to be most unfavorable, the captain should send private notice of

it to the castle.

The whole of that evening the earl spent in writing a letter to her

majesty. He feared that his enemies, after his departure, would, by

their slanderous reports, endeavor to disgrace him with the people,

and cause the queen to have sinister surmises of him. He confided this

letter to the Lady Margaret, his sister, to be delivered unto her

after his arrival in France; by which it might appear, both to her and

all others, what were the true causes which had moved him to undertake

that resolution.

I do often think of that evening in the great chamber of the

castle--the young earl in the vigorous strength and beauty of manhood,

his comely and fair face now bending over his writing, now raised with

a noble and manly grief, as he read aloud portions of it, which,

methinks, would have touched any hearts to hear them; and how much the

more that loving wife, that affectionate sister, that faithful

brother, those devoted friends which seemed to be in some sort

witnesses of his last will before a final parting! I mind me of the

sorrowful, dove-like sweetness of Lady Arundel's countenance; the

flashing eyes of Lady Margaret; the loving expression, veiled by a

studied hardness, of Lord William's face; of his wife my Lady Bess's

reddening cheek and tearful eyes, which she did conceal behind the

coif of her childish namesake sitting on her knees. When he had

finished his letter, with a somewhat moved voice the earl read the

last passages thereof: "If my protestation, who never told your

majesty any untruth, may carry credit in your opinion, I here call God

and his angels to witness that I would not have taken this course if I

might have stayed in England without danger of my soul or peril of my

life. I am enforced to forsake my country, to forget my friends, to

leave my wife, to lose the hope of all worldly pleasures and earthly

commodities. All this is so grievous to flesh and blood, that I could

not desire to live if I {773} were not comforted with the remembrance

of his mercy for whom I endure all this, who endured ten thousand

times more for me. Therefore I remain in assured hope that myself and

my cause shall receive that favor, conceit, and rightful construction

at your majesty's hands which I may justly challenge. I do humbly

crave pardon for my long and tedious letter, which the weightiness of

the matter enforced me unto; and I beseech God from the bottom of my

heart to send your majesty as great happiness as I wish to mine own

soul."

A time of silence followed the reading of these sentences, and then

the earl said in a cheerful manner:

"So, good Meg, I commit this protestation to thy good keeping. When

thou hearest of my safe arrival in France, then straightway see to

have it placed in the queen's hands."

The rest of the evening was spent in affectionate converse by these

near kinsfolk. Basil and I repaired the while by the secret passage to

Father Southwell's chamber, where we were in turn shriven, and

afterward received from him such good counsel and rules of conduct as

he deemed fitting for married persons to observe. Before I left him,

this good father gave me, writ in his own hand, some sweet verses

which he had that day composed for us, and which I do here transcribe.

He, smiling, said he had made mention of fishes in his poem, for to

pleasure so famous an angler as Basil; and of birds, for that he knew

me to be a great lover of these soaring creatures:

"The lopped tree in time may grow again.

Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower;

The sorest wight may find release of pain.

The driest soil suck in some moistening shower;

Times go by turn, and chances change by course.

From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

"The sea of fortune doth not over flow,

She draws her favors to the lowest ebb;

Her time hath equal times to come and go.

Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web;

No joy so great but runneth to an end.

No hap so hard but may in fine amend.

"A chance may win that by mischance was lost.

The well that holds no great, takes little fish;

In some things all, in all things none are crossed.

Few all they need, but none have all they wish;

Unmeddled joys here to no man befal,

Who least have some, who most have never all.

"Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring;

No endless night, yet not eternal day;

The saddest birds a season find to sing;

The roughest storm a calm may soon allay;

Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all,

That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall."

The common sheet of paper which doth contain this his writing hath a

greater value in mine eyes than the most rich gift that can be thought

of.

On the next morning. Lady Arundel conducted me from mine own chamber,

first into a room where with her own hands she arrayed me in my bridal

dress, and with many tender kisses and caresses, such as a sister or a

mother would bestow, testified her affection for her poor friend; and

thence to the oratory, where the altar was prepared, and by herself in

secret decked with early primroses, which had begun to show in the

woods and neath the hedges. A small but noble company were gathered

round us that day. From pure and holy lips the Church's benison came

to us. The vows we exchanged have been faithfully observed, and long

years have set a seal on the promises then made.

Basil's wife! Oh, what a whole compass of happiness did lie in those

two words! Yea, the waves of the sea might now rage and the winds

blow. The haven might be distant and the way thither insecure. Man's

enmity or accident might yet rob us each of the other's visible

presence. But naught could now sever the cord, strong like unto a

cable chain, which bound our souls in one. Anchored in that wedded

unity, which is one of God's sacraments, till death, ay, and beyond

death also, this tie should last.

We have been young, and now are old. We have lost country, home, and

almost every friend known and affectioned in our young years; but

{774} that deepest, holiest love, the type of Christ's union with his

Church, still doth shed its light over the evening of life. My dear

Basil, I am assured, thinks me as fair as when we did sit together

fishing on the banks of the Ouse; and his hoary head and withered

cheeks are more lovely in mine eyes than ever were his auburn locks

and ruddy complexion. One of us must needs die before the other,

unless we should be so happy that that good should befal us as to end

our days as two aged married persons I have heard of. It was the

husband's custom, as soon as ever he unclosed his eyes, to ask his

wife how she did; but one night, he being in a deep sleep, she quietly

departed toward the morning. He was that day to have gone out

a-hunting, and it was his custom to have his chaplain pray with him

before he went out. The women, fearful to surprise him with the ill

news, had stolen out and acquainted the chaplain, desiring him to

inform him of it. But the gentleman waking did not on that day, as was

his custom ask for his wife, but called his chaplain to prayers, and,

joining with him, in the midst of the prayer expired, and both were

buried in the same grave. Methinks this should be a very desirable

end, only, if it pleased God, I would wish to have the last

sacraments, and then to die just before Basil, when his time cometh.

But God knoweth best; and any ways we are so old and so near of an

age, one cannot tarry very long behind when the other is gone.

Being at rest after our marriage touching what concerned ourselves,

compassion for Lady Arundel filled our hearts. Alas! how bravely and

how sweetly she bore this parting grief. Her intense love for her

lord, and sorrow at their approaching separation, struggled with her

resolve not to sadden their last hours, which were prolonged beyond

expectancy. For once on that day, and twice on that which followed,

when all was made ready for departure, a message came from the captain

for to say the wind, and another time the tide, would not serve; and

albeit each time, like a reprieved person, Lady Arundel welcomed the

delay, methinks these retardments served to increase her sufferings.

Little Bess hung fondly on her father's neck the last time he returned

from Littlehampton with the tidings the vessel would not sail for some

hours, kissing his face and playing with his beard.

"Ah, dearest Phil!" her mother cried, "the poor babe rejoiceth in the

sight of thee, all unwitting in her innocent glee of the shortness of

this joy. Howsoever, methinks five or six hours of it is a boon for to

thank God for;" and so putting her arm in his, she led him away to a

solitary part of the garden, where they walked to and fro, she, as she

hath since written to me, starting each time the clock did strike,

like one doomed to execution. Methinks there was this difference

between them, that he was full of hope and bright forecastings of a

speedy reunion; but on her soul lay a dead, mournful despondency,

which she hid by an apparent calmness. When, late in the evening, a

third message came for to say the ship could not depart that night, I

begun to think it would never go at all. I saw Basil looked at the

weathercock and shrugged his shoulders, as if the same thought was in

his mind. But when I spake of it, he said seafaring folks had a

knowledge in these matters which others did not possess, and we must

needs be patient under these delays. Howsoever, at three o'clock in

the morning the shipman signified that the wind was fit and all in

readiness. So we rose in haste and prepared for to depart. The

countess put her arms about my neck, and this was the last embrace I

ever had of her. My lord's brother and sisters hung about him awhile

in great grief. Then his wife put out her hands to him, and, with a

sorrow too deep for speech, fixed her eyes on his visage.

{775}

"Cheep up, sweetest wife," I heard him say. "Albeit nature suffers in

this severance from my native land, my true home shall be wherever it

shall please God to bring thee and me and our children together. God

defend the loss of this world's good should make us sad, if we be but

once so blessed as to meet again where we may freely serve him."

Then, after a long and tender clasping of her to his breast, he tore

himself away and getting on a horse rode to the coast. Basil and I,

with Mr. William Bray and Mr. Burlace, drove in a coach to the port.

It was yet dark, and a heavy mist hung on the valley. Folks were yet

abed, and the shutters of the houses closed, as we went down the hill

through the town. After crossing the bridge over the Arun the air felt

cold and chill. At the steep ascent near Leominster I put my head out

of the window for to look once more at the castle, but the fog was too

thick. At the port the coach stopped, and a boat was found waiting for

us. Lord Arundel was seated in it, with his face muffled in a cloak.

The savor of the sea air revived my spirits; and when the boat moved

off, and I felt the waves lifting it briskly, and with my hand in

Basil's I looked on the land we were leaving, and then on the watery

world before us, a singular emotion filled my soul, as if it was some

sort of death was happening to me--a dying to the past, a gliding on

to an unknown future on a pathless ocean, rocked peacefully in the

arms of his sheltering love, even as this little bark which carried us

along was lifted up and caressed by the waves of the deep sea.

When we reached the vessel the day was dawning. The sun soon emerged

from a bank of clouds, and threw its first light on the rippling

waters. A favoring wind filled our sails, and like a bird on the wing

the ship bounded on its way till the flat shore at Littlehampton and

the far-off white cliffs to the eastward were well-nigh lost sight of.

Lord Arundel stood with Basil on the narrow deck, gazing at the

receding coast.

"How sweet the air doth blow from England!" he said; "how blue the sky

doth appear to-day! and those saucy seagulls how free and happy they

do look!" Then he noticed some fishing-boats, and with a telescope he

had in his hand discerned various ships very far off. Afterward he

came and sat down by my side, and spoke in a cheerful manner of his

wife and the simple home he designed for her abroad. "Some years ago,

Mistress Constance," he said--and then smiling, added, "My tongue is

not yet used to call you Mistress Rookwood--when my sweet Nan, albeit

a wife, was yet a simple child, she was wont to say, 'Phil, would we

were farmers! You would plough the fields and cut wood in the forest,

and I should milk the cows and feed the poultry.' Well, methinks her

wish may yet come to pass. In Brittany or Normandy some little

homestead should shelter us, where Bess shall roll on the grass and

gather the fallen apples, and on Sundays put on her bravest clothes

for to go to mass. What think you thereof, Mistress Constance? and who

knoweth but you and your good husband may also dwell in the same

village, and some eighteen or twenty years hence a gay wedding for to

take place betwixt one Master Rookwood and one Lady Ann or Margaret

Howard, or my Lord Maltravers with one Mistress Constance or Muriel

Rookwood? And on the green on such a day, Nan and Basil and you and I

should lead the brawls."

"Methinks, my lord," I answered, smiling, "you do forecast too great a

condescension on your part, and too much ambition on our side, in the

planning of such a union."

"Well, well," he said; "if your good husband carrieth not beyond seas

with him the best earl's title in England, I'll warrant you in God's

sight he weareth a higher one far {776} away--the merit of an

unstained life and constant nobility of action; and I promise you,

beside, he will be the better farmer of the twain; so that in the

matter of tocher, Mistress Rookwood should exceed my Lady Bess or Ann

Howard."

With such-like talk as this time was whiled away; and whilst we were

yet conversing I noticed that Basil spoke often to the captain and

looked for to be watching a ship yet at some distance, but which

seemed to be gaining on us. Lord Arundel, perceiving it, then also

joined them, and inquired what sort of craft it should be. The captain

professed to be ignorant thereof; and when Basil said it looked like a

small ship-of-war, and as there were many dangerous pirates about the

Channel it should be well to guard against it, he assented thereto,

and said he was prepared for defence.

"With such unequal means," Basil replied, "as it is like we should

bring to a contest, speed should serve us better than defence."

"But," quoth Lord Arundel, "she is, 'tis plain, a swifter sailer than

this one we are in. God's will be done, but 'tis a heavy misfortune if

a pirate at this time do attack us, and so few moneys with us for to

spare!"

Now none of our eyes could detach themselves from this pursuing

vessel. The captain eluded further talk, on pretence for to give

orders and move some guns he had aboard on deck; but it was vain for

to think of a handful of men untrained to sea-warfare encountering a

superior force, such as this ship must possess, if its designs should

be hostile. As it moved nigher to us, we could perceive it to be well

manned and armed. And the captain then exclaimed:

"'Tis Keloway's ship!"

This man was of a notorious, infamous life, well known for his

sea-robberies and depredations in the Channel.

"God yield," murmured the earl, "he shall content himself with the

small sum we can deliver to him and not stay us any further."

A moment afterward we were boarded by this man, who, with his crew,

thrice as numerous as ours and armed to the teeth, comes on our deck

and takes possession of the ship. Straightway he walks to the earl and

tells him he doth know him, and had watched his embarkation, being

resolved to follow him and exact a good ransom at his hands, which if

he would pay without contention, he should himself, without further

stop or stay, pass him and his two gentlemen into France, adding, he

should take no less from him than one hundred pounds.

"I have not so much, or near unto it, with me," Lord Arundel said.

"But you can write a word or two to any friend of yours from whom I

may receive it." quoth Keloway.

"Well," said the earl, "seeing I have pressing occasion for to go to

France, and would not be willingly delayed, I must needs consent to

your terms, no choice therein being allowed me. Get me some paper," he

said to Mr. William Bray.

"Should this be prudent, my lord?" Basil whispered in his ear.

"There is no help for it, Master Rookwood," the earl replied. "Beside,

there is honor even amongst thieves. Once secure of his money, this

man hath no interest in detaining us, but rather the contrary."

And without further stopping, he hastily wrote a few lines to his

sister the Lady Margaret Sackville, in London, that she should speak

to Mr. Bridges, _alias_ Grately, a priest, to give one hundred pounds

to the bearer thereof, by the token that was between them, that _black

is white_, and withal assured her that he now certainly hoped to have

speedy passage without impediment. As soon as this paper was put into

Kelloway's hand, he read it, and immediately called on his men for to

arrest the Earl of Arundel, producing an order from the queen's

council for to prove he {777} was appointed to watch there for him,

and carry him back again to land where her majesty's officers did

await him.

An indescribable anguish seized my heart; an overwhelming grief, such

as methinks no other event, howsoever sad or tragical, or yet more

nearly touching me, had ever wrought in my soul, which I ascribe to a

presentiment that this should be the first link of that long chain of

woes which was to follow.

"O, my lord!" I exclaimed, almost falling at his feet, "God help you

to bear this too heavy blow!"

He took me by the hand; and never till I die shall I lose the memory

of the sweet serenity and noble steadfastness of his visage in this

trying hour.

"God willeth it," he gently said; "his holy will be done! He will work

good out of what seemeth evil to us." And then gaily added, "We had

thought to travel the same way; now we must needs journey apart. Never

fear, good friends, but both roads shall lead to heaven, if we do but

tread them piously. My chief sorrow is for Nan; but her virtue is so

great, that affliction will never rob her of such peace as God only

giveth."

Then this angelic man, forecasting for his friends in the midst of

this terrible mishap, passed into Basil's hands his pocket-book, and

said, "This shall pay your voyage, good friend; and if aught doth

remain afterward, let the poor have their share of it, for a

thank-offering, when you reach the shore in safety."

Basil, I saw, could not speak; his heart was too full. O, what a

parting ensued on that sad ocean whose waves had seemed to dance so

joyously a short space before! With what aching hearts we pressed the

young earl's hand, and watched him pass into the other ship,

accompanied by his two gentlemen, which were with him arrested! No

heed was taken of us; and Kelloway, having secured his prey, abandoned

our vessel, the captain of which seemed uneasy and ill-disposed to

speak with us. We did then suspect, which doubt hath been since

confirmed, that this seeming honest Catholic man had acted a traitor's

part, and that those many delays had been used for the very purpose of

staying Lord Arundel until such time as all was prepared for his

capture. The wind, which was in our favor, bore us swiftly toward the

French coast; and we soon lost sight of the vessel which carried the

earl back to the shores of England. Fancy, you who read, what pictures

we needs must then have formed of that return; of the dismal news

reaching the afflicted wife, the sad sister, the mournful brother, and

friends now scattered apart, so lately clustered round him! Alas! when

we landed in France, at the port of Calais, the sense of our own

safety was robbed of half its joy by fears and sorrowing for the dear

friends whose fortunes have proved so dissimilar to our own.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The deep clear azure of the French sky, the lightsome pure air, the

quaint houses, and outlandish dresses of the people in Calais; the

sound of a foreign tongue understood, but not familiar, for a brief

time distracted my mind from painful themes. Basil led me to the

church for to give thanks to God for his mercies to us, and mostly did

it seem strange to me to enter an edifice in which he is worshipped in

a Catholic manner, which yet hath the form and appearance of a church,

and resembles not the concealed chambers in our country wherein mass

is said; an open visible house for the King of kings, not a

hiding-place, as in England. After we had prayed there a short time,

Basil put into a box at the entrance the money which Lord Arundel had

designed for the poor. A pale thin man stood at the door, which, when

we passed, said, "God {778} bless you!" Basil looked earnestly at him,

and then exclaimed, "As I live, Mr. Watson!" "Yea," the good man

answered, "the same, or rather the shadow of the same, risen at the

last from the bed of sickness. O Mr. Rookwood, I am glad to see you!"

"And so am I to meet with you, Mr. Watson," Basil answered; and then

told this dear friend who I was, and the sad hap of Lord Arundel,

which moved in him a great concern for that young nobleman and his

excellent lady. Many tokens of regard and interchange of information

passed between us. He showed us where he lived, in a small cottage

near unto the ramparts; and nothing would serve him but to gather for

me in the garden a nosegay of early flowerets which just had raised

their heads above the sod. He said Dr. Allen had sent him money in his

sickness, and an English lady married to a French gentleman provided

for his wants. "Ah! that was the good madame I told you of," Basil

cried, turning to me; "who would have harbored . . . ." Then he

stopped short; but Mr. Watson had caught his meaning, and with tears

in his eyes said: "Fear not to speak of her whose death bought my

life, and it may be also my soul's safety. For, God knoweth, the

thought of her doth never forsake me so much as for one hour;" and

thereupon we parted with much kindness on both sides. That night we

lay at a small hostelry in the town; and the next morning hired a cart

with one horse, which carried us to Boulogne in one day, and thence to

this village, where we have lived since for many years in great peace.

I thank God, and very much contentment of mind, and no regrets save

such as do arise in the hearts of exiles without hope of return to a

beloved native country.

The awaiting of tidings from England, which were long delayed, was at

the first a very sore trial, and those which reached us at last yet

more grievous than that suspense. Lord Arundel committed to the Tower;

his brother the Lord William and his sister the Lady Margaret not long

after arrested, which was more grief to him, his lady wrote to me,

than all his own troubles and imprisonment. But, O my God! how well

did that beginning match with what was to follow! Those ten years

which were spent amidst so many sufferings of all sorts by these two

noble persons, that the recital of them would move to pity the most

strong heart.

Mine own sorrows, leastways all sharp ones, ended with my passage into

France. If Basil showed himself a worthy lover, he hath proved a yet

better husband. His nature doth so delight in doing good that it wins

him the love of all our neighbors. His life is a constant exercise of

charity. He is most indulgent to his wife and kind to his children, of

which it hath pleased God to give him three--one boy and two girls, of

as comely visages and commendable dispositions as can reasonably be

desired. He hath a most singular affection for all such as do suffer

for their religion, and cherishes them with an extraordinary bounty to

the limits of his ability; his house being a common resort for all

banished Catholics which land at Boulogne, from whence he doth direct

them to such persons as can assist them in their need. His love toward

my unworthy self hath never decreased. Methinks it rather doth

increase as we advance in years. We have ever been actuated as by one

soul; and never have any two wills agreed so well as Basil's and mine

in all aims in this world and hopes for the next. If any, in the

reading of this history, have only cared for mine own haps, I pray

them to end their perusal of it here; but if, even as my heart hath

been linked from early years with Lady Arundel's, there be any in

which my poor writing hath awakened somewhat of that esteem for her

virtues and resentment of her sorrows which hath grown in me from long

experience of her singular worth; {779} if the noble atonement for

youthful offences and follies already shown in her lord's return to

his duty to her, and altered behavior in respect to God, hath also

moved them to desire a further knowledge of the manner in which these

two exalted souls were advanced by long affliction to a high point of

perfection--then to such the following pages shall not be wholly

devoid of that interest which the true recital of great misfortune

doth habitually carry with it. If none other had written the life of

that noble lady, methinks I must have essayed to do it; but having

heard that a good clergyman hath taken this task in hand, secretly

preparing materials whilst she yet lives wherewith to build her a

memorial at a future time, I have restrained myself to setting down

what, by means of her own writing or the reports of others, hath

reached my knowledge concerning the ten years which followed my last

parting with her. This was the first letter I received from this

afflicted lady after her lord's arrest:

"O MY DEAR FRIEND--What days these have proved! Believe me, I never

looked for a favorable issue of this enterprise. When I first had

notice thereof, a notable chill fell on my soul, which never warmed

again with hope. When I began to pray after hearing of it, I had what

methinks the holy Juliana of Norwich (whose cell we did once visit

together, as I doubt not thou dost remember) would have called a

foreshowing, or, as others do express it, a presentiment of coming

evil. But how soon the effect followed! I had retired to rest at nine

of the clock; and before I was undressed Bertha came in with a most

downcast countenance. 'What news is there?' I quickly asked,

misdoubting some misfortune had happened. Then she began to weep. 'Is

my lord taken?' I cried, 'or worse befallen him?' 'He is taken,' she

answered, 'and is now being carried to London for to be committed to

the Tower. Master Ralph, the port-master, hath brought the news. A

man, an hour ago, had reported as much in the town; but Mr. Fawcett

would not suffer your ladyship to be told of it before a greater

certainty thereof should appear. O woe be the day my lord ever

embarked!' Then I heard sounds of wailing and weeping in the gallery;

and opening the door, found Bessy's nurse and some other of the

servants lamenting in an uncontrolled fashion. I could not shed one

tear, but gave orders they should fetch unto me the man which had

brought the tidings. From him I heard more fully what had happened;

and then, in the same composed manner, desired my coach and horses for

to be made ready to take me to London the next day at daybreak, and

dismissed everybody, not suffering so much as one woman to sit up with

me. When all had retired, I put on my cloak and hood; and listing

first if all was quiet, went by the secret passage to the chapel-room.

When I got there, Father Southwell was in it, saying his office. When

he saw me enter at that unusual hour, methinks the truth was made

known to him at once; for he only took me by the hand, and said: 'My

child, this would be too hard to bear if it were not God's sweet will;

but being so, what remaineth but to lie still under a Father's

merciful infliction?' and then he took out the crucifix, which for

safety was locked up, and set it on the altar. 'That shall speak to

you better than I can,' he said; and verily it did; for at the sight

of my dying Saviour I wept. The whole night was spent in devout

exercises. At dawn of day Father Southwell said mass, and I received.

Then, before any one was astir, I returned to mine own chamber, and,

lying down for a few moments, afterward rung the bell, and ordered

horses to be procured for to travel to London, whence I write these

lines. I have here heard this report of my dear lord's journey from

one which conversed with Sir George Carey, {780} who commanded the

guard which conducted him, that he was nothing at all daunted with so

unexpected a misfortune, and not only did endure it with great

patience and courage, but, moreover, carried it with a joyful and

merry countenance. One night in the way he lodged at Guildford, where

seeing the master of the inn (who sometime was our servant, and who

hath written it to one of my women, his sister), and some others who

wished well unto him, weeping and sorrowing for his misfortunes, he

comforted them all, and willed them to be of good cheer, because it

was not for any crime--treason or the like--he was apprehended, but

only for attempting to leave the kingdom, the which he had done only

for his own safety. He is soon to be examined by some of the council

sent to the Tower for this special purpose by the queen. I have sought

to obtain access to him, but been flatly reused, and a hint ministered

to me that albeit my residence at Arundel House is tolerated at the

present, if the queen should come to stay at Somerset House, which she

is soon like to do, my departure hence shall be enforced; but while I

remain I would fain do some good to persons afflicted as myself. I

pray you, my good Constance, when you find some means to despatch me a

letter, therewith to send the names and addresses of some of the poor

folks Muriel was wont to visit; for I am of opinion grief should not

make us selfish, but rather move us to relieve in others the pains of

which we feel the sharp edge ourselves. I have already met by accident

with many necessitous persons, and they do begin in great numbers to

resort to this house. God knoweth if the means to relieve them will

not be soon lacking. But to make hay whilst the sun shines is a wise

saying, and in some instances a precept. Alas! the sunshine of joy is

already obscured for me. Except for these poor pensioners, that of

fortune causeth me small concern.--Thy loving friend, A. A. and S."

"Will and Meg are at present in separate prisons. It is impossible but

that she shall be presently released; for against her nothing can be

alleged, so much as to give a pretence for an accusation. My lord and

Will's joint letter to Dr. Allen, sent by Mr. Brydges--who, out of

confidence, mentioned it to Mr. Gifford, a pretended priest, who lives

at Paris, and is now discovered to be a spy--is the ground of the

charges against them. How utterly unfounded thou well knowest; but so

much as to write to Dr. Allen is now a crime, howsoever innocent the

matter of such a correspondence should be. I do fear that in one of

his letters--but I wot not if of this they have possession--my lord,

who had just heard that the Earl of Leicester had openly vowed to make

the name of Catholic as odious in England as the name of Turk, did

say, in manner of a jest, that if some lawful means might be found to

take away this earl, it would be a great good for Catholics in

England; which careless sentence may be twisted by his enemies to his

disadvantage."

Some time afterward, a person passing from London to Rheims, brought

me this second letter from her ladyship, written at Rumford, in Essex:

"What I have been warned of verily hath happened. Upon the queen's

coming to London last month, it was signified to me I should leave it.

Now that Father Southwell hath been removed from Arundel Castle, and

no priest at this time can live in it, I did not choose to be

delivered there, without the benefit of spiritual assistance in case

of danger of death, and so hired a house in this town, at a short

distance of which a recusant gentleman doth keep one in his house. I

came from London without obtaining leave so much as once to see my

dear husband, or to send him a letter or message, or receive one from

him. But this I have learnt, that he cannot speak with any person

whatsoever but in the presence and hearing of his {781} keeper or the

lieutenant of the Tower, and that the room in which he is locked up

has no sight of the sun for the greatest part of the year; so that if

not changed before the winter cometh it shall prove very unwholesome;

and moreover the noisomeness thereof caused by a vault that is under

it is so great that the keeper can scarce endure to enter into it,

much less to stay there any time. Alas! what ravages shall this

treatment cause on a frame of great niceness and delicate habits, I

leave you to judge. By this time he hath been examined twice; and

albeit forged letters were produced, the falsity of which the council

were forced to admit, and he was charged with nothing which could be

substantiated, except leaving the realm without license of the queen,

and being reconciled to the Church of Rome, his sentence is yet

deferred, and his imprisonment as strict as ever. I pray God it may

not be deferred till his health is utterly destroyed, which, I doubt

not, is what his enemies would most desire.

"Last evening I had the exceeding great comfort of the coming hither

of mine own dear good Meg, who hath been some time released from

prison, with many vexatious restraints, howsoever, still laid upon

her. Albeit very much advanced in her pregnancy, nothing would serve

her when she had leave to quit London but to do me this good. This is

the first taste of joy I have had since my lord's commitment. In her

face I behold his; when she speaks I hear him. No talk is ministered

between us but of that beloved husband and brother; our common prayers

are put up for him. She hath spied his spies for to discover all which

relates to him, and hath found means to convey to him--I thank God for

it--some books of devotion, which he greatly needed. She is yet a-bed

this morning, for we sat up late yester-eve, so sweet, albeit sad, was

the converse we held after so many common sufferings. But methinks I

grudge her these hours of sleep, longing for to hear again those loved

accents which mind me of my dear Phil.

"My pen had hardly traced those last words, when a messenger arrived

from the council with an express command to Margaret from her majesty

not to stay with me another night, but forthwith to return to London.

The surprise and fear which this message occasioned hastened the event

which should have yet been delayed some weeks. A few hours after (I

thank God, in safety) a fair son was born; but in the mother's heart

and mine apprehension dispelled joy, lest enforced disobedience should

produce fresh troubles. Howsoever, she recovered quickly; and as soon

as she could be removed I lost her sweet company. Thine affectionate

friend to command,

"A. A. AND S."

Some time afterward, one Mr. Dixon, a gentleman I had met once or

twice in London, tarried a night at our house, and brought me the news

that God had given the Countess of Arundel a son, which she had

earnestly desired her husband should be informed of, but he heard it

had been refused. Howsoever, when he was urgent with his keepers to

let him know if she had been safely delivered, they gave him to

understand that she had another daughter; his enemies not being

willing he should have so much contentment as the birth of a son

should have yielded him.

"Doth the queen," I asked of this gentleman, "then not mitigate her

anger against these noble persons?"

"So far from it," he answered, "that when, at the beginning of this

trouble, Lady Arundel went to Sir Francis Knowles for to seek by his

means to obtain an audience from her majesty, in order to sue for her

husband, he told her she would sooner release him at once--which,

howsoever, she had no mind to do--than only once allow her to enter

her presence. He then, her ladyship told me, rated her exceedingly,

asking if she and her husband were not ashamed to make themselves

{782} papists, only out of spleen and peevish humor to cross and vex

the queen? She answered him in the same manner as her lord did one of

his keepers, who told him very many in the kingdom were of opinion

that he made show to be Catholic only out of policy; to whom he said,

with great mildness, that God doth know the secrets of all hearts, but

that he thought there was small policy for a man to lose his liberty,

hazard his estate and life, and live in that manner in a prison as he

then did."

A brief letter from Lady Tregony informed me soon after this that,

after a third examination, the court had fined Lord Arundel in £10,000

unto the queen and adjudged him to imprisonment during her pleasure.

What that pleasure proved, ten years of unmitigated suffering and slow

torture evinced; one of the most grievous of which was that his lady

could never obtain for to see him, albeit other prisoners' wives had

easy access to them. This touching letter I had from her three years

after he was imprisoned:

"MINE OWN GOOD FRIEND--Life doth wear on, and relief of one sort

leastways comes not; but God forbid I should repine. For such

instances I see in the letters of my dear lord--which when some of

his servants do leave the Tower, which, worn out as they soon become

by sickness, they must needs do to preserve their lives--he findeth

means to write to me or to Father Southwell, that I am ashamed to

grieve overmuch at anything which doth befal us--when his willingness

and contentment to suffer are so great. As when he saith to that good

father, 'For all crosses touching worldly matters, I thank God they

trouble me not much, and much the less for your singular good counsel,

which I beseech our Lord I may often remember; and to me this dear

husband writes thus: 'I beseech you, for the love of God, to comfort

yourself whatsoever shall happen, and to be best pleased with that

which shall please God best, and be his will to send. I find that

there is some intent to do me no good, but indeed to do me the most

good of all; but I am--and, thank God, doubt not but I shall be by his

grace--ready to endure the worst which flesh and blood can do unto

me.' O Constance, flesh and blood doth sometimes rebel against the

keen edge of suffering; but I pray you, my friend, how can I complain

when I hear of this much, long dearly cherished husband, ascending by

steps the ladder of perfection, advancing from virtue to virtue as the

psalm saith, never uttering one unsubmissive word toward God, or one

resentful one toward his worst enemies; making, in the most sublime

manner, of necessity virtue, and turning his loathsome prison into a

religious cell, wherein every exercise of devotion is duly practised,

and his soul trained for heaven?

"The small pittance the queen alloweth for his maintenance he so

sparingly useth, that most of it doth pass into the hands of the poor

or other more destitute prisoners than himself. But sickness and

disease prey on his frame. And the picture of him my memory draweth is

gradually more effaced in the living man, albeit vivid in mine own

portraying of it.

There is now a priest imprisoned in the Tower, not very far from the

chamber wherein my lord is confined; one of the name of Bennet. My

lord desired much to meet him, and speak with him for the comfort of

his soul, and I have found means to bring it to effect by mediation of

the lieutenant's daughter, to whom I have given thirty pounds for her

endeavors in procuring it. And moreover she hath assisted in conveying

into his chamber church-stuff and all things requisite for the saying

of mass, whereunto she tells me, to my indescribable comfort, he

himself doth serve with great humility, and therein receives the

blessed sacrament frequently. Sir Thomas Gerard, she saith, and Mr.

Shelly, which are likewise prisoners at this time, she introduces

secretly into his lodgings for to hear mass and have speech with {783}

him. Alas! what should be a comfort to him, and so the greatest of

joys to me, the exceeding peril of these times causeth me to look upon

with apprehension; for these gentlemen, albeit well disposed, are not

famed for so much wisdom and prudence as himself, in not saying or

doing anything which might be an occasion of danger to him; and the

least lack of wariness, when there is so much discourse about the

great Spanish fleet which is now in preparation, should prove like to

be fatal. God send no worse hap befal us soon.

"In addition to these other troubles and fears, I am much molested by

a melancholy vapor, which ascends to my head, and greatly troubles me

since I was told upon a sudden of the unexpected death of Margaret

Sackville, whom, for her many great virtues and constant affection

toward myself, I did so highly esteem and affection."

From that time for a long while I had no direct news of Lady Arundel;

but report brought us woful tidings concerning her lord, who, after

many private examinations, had been brought from the Tower to the

King's Bench Court, in the hall of Westminster, and there publicly

arraigned on the charge of high treason, the grounds of which

accusation being that he had prayed and procured others to make

simultaneous prayer for twenty-four hours, and procured Mr. Bennet to

say a mass of the Holy Ghost, for the success of the Spanish fleet.

Whereas the whole truth of this matter consisted in this, that when a

report became current among the Catholics about London that a sudden

massacre of them all was intended upon the first landing of the

Spaniards, this coming to the earl's ear, he judged it necessary that

all Catholics should betake themselves to prayer, either for the

avoiding of the danger or for the better preparing themselves

thereunto, and so persuaded those in the Tower to make prayer together

for that end, and also sent to some others for the same purpose,

whereof one of greater prudence and experience than the rest signified

unto him that perhaps it might be otherwise interpreted by their

enemies than he intended, wishing him to desist, as presently

thereupon he did; but it was then too late. Some which he had trusted,

either out of fear or fair promises, testified falsely against him--of

which Mr. Bennet was one, who afterward retracted with bitter anguish

his testimony, in a letter to his lordship, which contained these

words: "With a fearful, guilty, unjust, and most tormented conscience,

only for saving of my life and liberty, I said you moved me to say a

mass for the good success of the Spanish fleet. For which unjust

confession, or rather accusation, I do again and again, and to my

life's end, most instantly crave God's pardon and yours; and for my

better satisfaction of this, my unjust admission, I will, if need

require, offer up both life and limbs in averring my accusation to be,

as it is indeed, and as I shall answer before God, angels, and men,

most unjust, and only done out of fear of the Tower, torments, and

death." Notwithstanding the earl's very stout and constant denial of

the charge, and pleading the above letter of Mr. Bennet, retracting

his false statement, he was condemned of high treason, and had

sentence pronounced against him. But the execution was deferred, and

finally the queen resolved to spare his life, but yet by no means to

release him. His estates, and likewise his lady's, were forfeited to

the crown, and he at that time dealt with most unkindly, as the

following letter will show:

"DEAR CONSTANCE--At last I have found the means of sending a packet by

a safe hand, which in these days, when men do so easily turn

traitors--notable instances of which, to our exceeding pain and

trouble, have lately occurred--is no easy matter. I doubt not but thy

fond affectionate heart hath followed with a sympathetic grief the

anguish of mine {784} during the time past, wherein my husband's life

hath been in daily peril; and albeit he is now respited, yet, alas! as

he saith himself, and useth the knowledge to the best purpose, he is

but a doomed man; reprieved, not pardoned; spared, not released. Mine

own troubles beside have been greater than can be thought of; by

virtue of the forfeiture of my lord's estates and mine, my home hath

been searched by justices, and no room, no corner, no trunk or coffer,

left unopened and unransacked. I have often been brought before the

council and most severely examined. The queen's officers and others in

authority--to whom I am sometimes forced to sue for favor, or some

mitigation of mine own or my lord's sufferings--do use me often very

harshly, and reject my petitions with scorn and opprobrious language.

All our goods are seized for the queen. They have left me nothing but

two or three beds, and these, they do say, but for a time. When

business requires, I am forced to go on foot, and slenderly attended;

my coach being taken from me. I have retained but two of my servants

--my children's nurse being one. I have as yet no allowance, as is

usual in such cases, for the maintenance of my family; so I am forced

to pay them and buy victuals with the money made by the sale of mine

own jewels; and I am sometimes forced to borrow and make hard shifts

to procure necessary provisions and clothes for the children; but if I

get eight pounds a week, which the queen hath been moved to allow me,

then methinks I shall think myself no poorer than a Christian woman

should be content to be; and I have promised Almighty God, if that

good shall befal us, to bestow one hundred marks out of it yearly on

the poor. I am often sent out of London by her majesty's commands,

albeit some infirmities I do now suffer from force me to consult

physicians there. Methinks when I am at Arundel House I am not wholly

parted from my lord, albeit my humble petition, by means of friends,

to see him is always denied. When I hear he is sick, mine anguish

increases. The like favor is often granted to Lady Latimore and others

whose husbands are at this time prisoners in the Tower, but I can

never obtain it. The lieutenant's daughter, whom I do sometimes see,

when she is in a conversible mood doth inform me of my dear husband's

condition, and relates instances of his goodness and patience which

wring and yet comfort mine heart. What think you of his never having

been heard so much as once to complain of the loss of his goods or the

incommodities of his prison; of his gentleness and humility where he

is himself concerned; of his boldness in defending his religion and

her ministers, which was alike shown, as well as his natural

cheerfulness, in a conversation she told me had passed between her

father, the lieutenant, and him, a few days ago? You have heard, I

ween, that good Father Southwell was arrested some time back at Mr.

Bellamy's house; it is reported by means of the poor unhappy soul his

daughter, whom I met one day at the door of the prison, attired in a

gaudy manner and carrying herself in a bold fashion; but when she met

mine eye hers fell. Alas! poor soul, God help her and bring her to

repentance. Well, now Father Southwell is in the Tower, my lord, by

Miss Hopton's melons, hath had once or twice speech with him, and doth

often inquire of the lieutenant about him, which when he did so the

other day he used the words 'blessed father' in speaking of him. The

lieutenant (she said) seemed to take exception thereat, saying, 'Term

you him blessed father, being as he is an enemy to his country?' My

lord answered: 'How can that be, seeing yourself hath told me

heretofore that no fault could be laid unto him but his religion?'

Then the lieutenant said: 'The last time I was in his cell your dog,

my lord, came in and licked his hand,' Then quoth my lord, {785}

patting his dog fondly: 'I love him the better for it.' 'Perhaps,'

quoth the lieutenant in a scoffing manner, it might be he came thither

to have his blessing.' To which my lord replied, 'It is no new thing

for animals to seek a blessing at the hands of holy men, St. Jerome

writing how the lions which had digged St. Paul the hermit's grave

stood waiting with their eyes upon St. Anthony expecting his

blessing.'

'Is it not a strange trial, mine own Constance, and one which hath not

befallen many women, to have a fondly loved husband yet alive, and to

be sometimes so near unto him that it should take but a few moments to

cross the space which doth divide us, and yet never behold him; year

after year passing away, and the heart waxing sick with delays?

Howsoever, one sad firm hope I hold, which keepeth me somewhat careful

of my health, lest I should be disabled when that time cometh--one on

which I fix my mind with apprehension and desire to defer the approach

thereof, yet pray one day to see it--yea, to live long enough for this

and then to die, if it shall please God. When mine own Philip is on

his death-bed, when the slow consumptive disease which devoureth his

vitals obtaineth its end, then, I ween, no woman upon earth, none that

I ever heard of or could think of, can deny me to approach him and

receive his last embrace. Oh that this should be my best comfort, mine

only hope!"

I pass over many intervening letters from this afflicted lady which at

distant intervals I received, in one of which she expressed her sorrow

at the execution at Tyburn of her constant friend and guide, Father

Southwell, and likewise informed me of Mistress Wells's death in

Newgate, and transcribe this one, written about six months afterward,

in which she relates the closing scene of her husband's life:

"MINE OWN DEAR CONSTANCE--All is over now, and my overcharged heart

casteth about for some alleviation in its excessive grief, which may

be I shall find in imparting to one well acquainted with his virtues

and my love for him what I have learnt touching the closing scenes of

my dear lord's mortal life. For think not I have been so happy as to

behold him again, or that he should die in my arms. No; that which was

denied me for ten long years neither could his dying prayers obtain.

For many months notice had been given unto me by his servants and

others that his health was very fast declining. One gentleman

particularly told me he himself believed his end to be near. His

devout exercises were yet increased--the bent of his mind more and

more directed solely toward God and heaven. In those times which were

allotted to walking or other recreation, his discourse and

conversation either with his keeper or the lieutenant or his own

servant, was either tending to piety or some kind of profitable

discourse, most often of the happiness of those that suffer anything

for our Saviour's sake; to which purpose he had writ with his own hand

upon the wall of his chamber this Latin sentence, 'Quanto plus

afflictionis pro Christo in hoc saeculo, tanto plus gloriae cum

Christo in futuro;' the which he used to show to his servants,

inviting them, as well as himself, to suffer all with patience and

alacrity.

"In the month of August tidings were brought unto me that, sitting at

dinner, he had fallen so very ill immediately upon the eating of a

roasted teal, that some did suspect him to be poisoned. I sent him

some antidotes, and all the remedies I could procure; but all in vain.

The disease had so possessed him that it could not be removed, but by

little and little consumed his body, so that he became like an

anatomy, having nothing left but skin and bone. Much talk hath been

ministered anent his being poisoned. Alas! my thinking is, and ever

shall be, the slow poison he died of was lack of air, of sunshine, of

kindness, {786} of loving aid, of careful sympathy. When I heard his

case was considered desperate, the old long hopes, sustained for ten

years, that out of the extremity of grief one hour of comfort should

arise, woke up; but now I was advised not to stir in this matter

myself, for it should only incense the queen, who had always hated me;

whereas my lord she once had liked, and it might be, when she heard he

was dying, she should relent. She had made a kind of promise to some

of his friends that before his death his wife and children should come

unto him; whereupon, conceiving that now his time in the world could

not be long, he writ a humble letter to her petitioning the

performance of her promise. The lieutenant of the Tower carried this

letter, and delivered it with his own hands to the queen, and brought

him her answer by word of mouth. What think you, mine own Constance,

was the answer she sent that dying man? God forgave her! Philip did;

yea, and so do I--not fully at the time, now most fully. His crown

should have been less glorious but for the heart-martyrdom she

invented.

"This was her message: 'That if he would but once go to the Protestant

church his request should not only be granted, but he should moreover

be restored to his honor and estate with as much favor as she could

show.' Oh, what were estates and honors to that dying saint! what her

favor to that departing soul! One offering, one sacrifice, one final

withdrawing of affection's thirsty and parched lips from the chalice

of a supreme earthly consolation, and all was accomplished; the

bitterness of death overpast. He gave thanks to the lieutenant for his

pains; he said he could not accept her majesty's offers upon that

condition, and added withal that he was sorry he had but one life to

lose in that cause. A very worthy gentleman who was present at this

passage related it to me; and Lord Mountague I have also had it from,

which heard the same from his father-in-law, my Lord Dorset.

Constance, for a brief while a terrible tumult raged in my soul. Think

what it was to know one so long, so passionately loved, dying nigh

onto and yet apart from me, dying unaided by any priest--for though he

had a great desire to be assisted by Father Edmund, by whose means he

had been reconciled, it was by no means permitted that either he or

any other priest should come to him--dying without a kindred face to

smile on him, without a kinsman for to speak with him and list to his

last wishes. He desired to see his brother William or his uncle Lord

Henry; at least to take his last leave of them before his death; but

neither was that small request granted--no, not so much as to see his

brother Thomas, though both then and ever he had been a Protestant.

And all this misery was the fruit of one stem, cruel, unbending

hatred--of one proud human will; a will which was sundering what God

had joined together. Like a bird against the bars of an iron cage, my

poor heart dashed itself with wild throbbings against these human

obstacles. But not for very long, I thank God; brief was the storm

which convulsed my soul. I soon discerned his hand in this great

trial--his will above all human will; and while writhing under a

Father's merciful scourge, I could yet bless him who held it I pray

you, Constance, how should a woman have endured so great an anguish

which had not been helped by him? Methinks what must have sustained me

was that before-mentioned gentleman's report of my dear lord's great

piety and virtue, which made me ashamed of not striving to resemble

him in howsoever small a degree. Oh, what a work God wrought in that

chosen soul! What meekness, what humility, what nobleness of heart! He

grew so faint and weak by degrees that he was not able to leave his

bed. His physicians coming to visit him some days before his death, he

desired {787} them not to trouble themselves now any more, his case

being beyond their skill. They thereupon departing, Sir Michael

Blount, then lieutenant of the Tower, who had been ever very hard and

harsh unto him, took occasion to come and visit him, and, kneeling

down by his bedside, in humble manner desired my dear Phil to forgive

him. Whereto mine own beloved husband answered in this manner, 'Do you

ask forgiveness, Mr. Lieutenant? Why, then, I forgive you in the same

sort as I desire myself to be forgiven at the hands of God;' and then

kissed his hand, and offered it in most kind and charitable manner to

him, and holding his fast in his own said, 'I pray you also to forgive

me whatever I have said or done in anything offensive to you,' and he

melting into tears and answering 'that he forgave him with all his

heart;' my lord raised himself a little upon his pillow, and made a

brief, grave speech unto the lieutenant in this manner: 'Mr.

Lieutenant, you have showed both me and my men very hard measure.'

'Wherein, my lord?' quoth he. 'Nay,' said my lord, 'I will not make a

recapitulation of anything, for it is all freely forgiven. Only I am

to say unto you a few words of my last will, which being observed,

may, by the grace of God, turn much to your benefit and reputation. I

speak not for myself; for God of his goodness hath taken order that I

shall be delivered very shortly out of your charge; only for others I

speak who may be committed to this place. You must think, Mr.

Lieutenant, that when a prisoner comes hither to the Tower that he

bringeth sorrow with him. Oh, then do not add affliction to

affliction; there is no man whatsoever that thinketh himself to stand

surest but may fall. It is a very inhuman part to tread on him whom

misfortune hath cast down. The man that is void of mercy God hath in

great detestation. Your commission is only to keep in safety, not to

kill with severity. Remember, good Mr. Lieutenant, that God who with

his finger turneth the unstable wheel of this variable world, can in

the revolution of a few days bring you to be a prisoner also, and to

be kept in the same place where now you keep others. There is no

calamity that men are subject unto but you may also taste as well as

any other man. Farewell, Mr. Lieutenant; for the time of my short

abode come to me whenever you please, and you shall be heartily

welcome as my friend.' My dear lord, when he uttered these words,

should seem to have had some kind of prophetic foresight touching this

poor man's fate; for I have just heard this day, seven weeks only

after my husband's death, that Sir Michael Blount hath fallen into

great disgrace, lost his office, and is indeed committed close

prisoner in that same Tower where he so long kept others.

"And now my faltering pen must needs transcribe the last letter I

received from my beloved husband, for your heart, dear friend, is one

with mine. You have known its sufferings through the many years evil

influences robbed it of that love which, for brief intervals of

happiness afterward and this long separation since, hath, by its

steady and constant return, made so rich amends for the past. In these

final words you shall find proofs of his excellent humility and

notable affection for my unworthy self, which I doubt not, my dear

instance, shall draw water from your eyes. Mine yield no moisture now.

Methinks these last griefs have exhausted in them the fountain of

tears.

"'Mine own good wife, I must now in this world take my last farewell

of you; and as I know no person living whom I have so much offended as

yourself, so do I account this opportunity of asking your forgiveness

as a singular benefit of Almighty God. And I most humbly and heartily

beseech you, even for his sake and of your charity, to forgive me all

whereinsoever I have offended you; and the assurance I have of this

your {788} forgiveness is my greatest contentment at this present, and

will be a greater, I doubt not, when my soul is ready to depart out of

my body. I call God to witness it is no small grief unto me that I

cannot make you recompense in this world for the wrongs I have done

you. Affliction gives understanding. God, who knows my heart, and has

seen my true sorrow in that behalf, has, I hope, of his infinite

mercy, remitted all, I doubt not, as you have done in your singular

charity, to mine infinite comfort.

"Now what remaineth but in a few brief sentences to relate how this

loved husband spent his last hours, and the manner of his death? Those

were for the most part spent in prayer; sometimes saying his beads,

sometimes such psalms and prayers as he knew by heart. Seeing his

servants (one of which hath been the narrator to me of these his final

moments) stand by his bedside in the morning weeping in a mournful

manner, he asked them 'what o'clock it was? they answering that it was

eight or thereabout, 'Why, then,' said he, 'I have almost run out my

course, and come to the end of this miserable mortal life,' desiring

them not to weep for him, since he did not doubt, by the grace of God,

but all would go well with him; which being said he returned to his

prayers upon his beads again, though then with a very slow, hollow,

and fainting voice; and so continued as long as he was able to draw so

much breath as was sufficient to sound out the names of Jesus and

Mary, which were the last words he was ever heard to speak. The last

minute of his last hour being come, lying on his back, his eyes firmly

fixed toward heaven, his long, lean, consumed arms out of the bed, his

hands upon his breast, laid in cross one upon the other, about twelve

o'clock at noon, in a most sweet manner, without any sign of grief or

groan, only turning his head a little aside as one falling into a

pleasing sleep, he surrendered his soul into the hands of God who to

his own glory had created it. And she who writeth this letter, she who

loved him since her most early years--who when he was estranged from

her waited his return--who gloried in his virtues, doated on his

perfections, endured his afflictions, and now lamenteth his death,

hath nothing left but to live a widow; indeed with no other glory than

that which she doth borrow from his merits, until such time as it

shall please God to take her from this earth to a world where he hath

found, she doth humbly hope, rest unto his soul."

The Countess of Arundel is now aged. The virtues which have crowned

her mature years are such, as her youth did foreshadow. My pen would

run on too fast if it took up that theme. This only will I add, and so

conclude this too long piece of writing--she hath kept her constant

resolve to live and die a widow. I have seen many times letters from

both Protestants and Catholics which made unfeigned protestations that

they were never so edified by any as by her. As the Holy Scriptures do

say of that noble widow Judith, "Not one spoke an ill word of her,"

albeit these times are extremely malicious. For mine own part I never

read those words of Holy Writ, "Who shall find a valiant woman?" and

what doth follow, but I must needs think of Ann Dacre, the wife of

Philip Howard, earl of Arundel and Surrey.

----

After the lapse of some years, it hath been my hap to have a sight of

this manuscript, the reading of which, even as the writing of it in

former days, doth cause me to live over again my past life. This lapse

of time hath added nothing notable except the dreadful death of

Hubert, my dear Basil's only brother, who suffered last year for the

share he had, or leastways was judged to have, in the Gunpowder Plot

and treason. Alas! he which once, to improve his fortunes, denied his

faith, when fortune turned her back {789} upon him grew into a

virulent hatred of those in power, once his friends and tempters, and

consorted with desperate men; whether he was privy to their counsels,

or only familiar with them previous to their crimes, and so fell into

suspicion of their guilt, God knoweth. It doth appear from some good

reports that he died a true penitent. There is a better hope methinks

for such as meet in this world with open shame and suffering than for

secret sinners who go to their pompous graves unchastised and

unabsolved.

By his brother's death Basil recovered his lands; for his present

majesty hath some time since recalled the sentence of his banishment.

And many of his friends have moved him to return to England; but for

more reasons than one he refused so much as to think of it, and has

compounded his estate for £700, 8s. 6d.

Our children have now grown unto ripe years. Muriel (who would have

been a nun if she had followed her godmother's example) is now

married, to her own liking and our no small contentment, to a very

commendable young gentleman, the son of Mr. Yates, and hath gone to

reside with him at his seat in Worcestershire; and Ann, Lady Arundel's

god-daughter, nothing will serve but to be a "holy Mary," as the

French people do style those dames which that great and good prelate,

M. de Genève, hath assembled in a small hive at Annecy, like bees to

gather honey of devotion in the garden of religion. This should seem a

strange fancy, this order being so new in the Church, and the place so

distant; but time will show if this should be God's will; and if so,

then it must needs be ours also.

What liketh me most is that my son Roger doth prove the very image of

his father, and the counterpart of him in his goodness. I am of

opinion that nothing better can be desired for him than that he never

lose so good a likeness.

And now farewell, pen and ink, mine old companions, for a brief moment

resumed, but with a less steady hand than heretofore; now not to be

again used except for such ordinary purposes as housewifery and

friendship shall require.

------

UNSHED TEARS.

Once I believed that tears alone

Could tell of sorrow deep;

O blessed those whose eyes overflow!

Within my heart I weep.

And many think me calm, because

My cheek unwet appears;

The happy ones! they never know

The pain of unshed tears.

------

{790}

From The Dublin Review.

CALIFORNIA AND THE CHURCH.

1. _The Resources of California_. By JOHN S. HITTEL. San Francisco.

2. _Christian Missions_. By T.W.M. MARSHALL. Longmans.

The year 1769 will long be memorable in the annals of the world as the

date of the birth of the Emperor Napoleon and of the Duke of

Wellington. In the same year another event took place of small

significance according to the thoughts of this world, but which in the

next world was assuredly regarded of infinitely greater importance;

for this was the year in which a poor despised Franciscan friar, the

Father Junipero Serra, entered into California Alta, the first apostle

of a land which has since, for such different reasons, become so

famous.

He was an Italian by birth, but had resided for many years in Mexico,

where he had preached the gospel with great success among the heathen

Indian population. A man of singular faith and piety, he lived the

severest life, considering, with his Father St. Francis, that poverty

and suffering are keys wherewith the zealous missioner is certain to

be able to unlock the floodgates of grace which divide heaven from

earth. He used to carry a stone with him, with which, like St. Jerome,

he would beat his breast for his sins, and he endeavored to bring home

to the mind of his uncivilized hearers the malice of sin, by scourging

his innocent body till streams of blood flowed forth in their

presence, by severe fasts, long prayers, and night watchings. He

seldom rode on mule or horseback, but preferred to journey humbly on

foot. Shortly after his arrival in Mexico, his leg was attacked with a

grievous sore; still he gave himself no rest, but was constant in

journeying and preaching. While he was laboring like an apostle among

the Mexicans, the Spanish monarch ordered D. Jose de Galvez (who

became later minister-general for all the Indies) to form an

expedition from La Paz into Upper California. [Footnote 145] Whatever

may be said of the rapacious cruelty of many of the Spanish governors

and colonizers in America, the government at home was animated, on the

whole, with the most Catholic and loyal intentions. Its instructions

and public documents were conceived in the most Christian sense; and

if they were not always carried out in the same spirit, this arose

from its inability to control subjects at an immense distance from the

seat of government, and surrounded by exciting temptations and

pressing dangers. The following words were addressed by one of the

Spanish monarchs to the Indies: "The kings our progenitors, from the

discovery of the West Indies, its islands and continents, commanded

our captains, officers, discoverers, colonizers, and all other

persons, that on arriving at these provinces they should, by means of

interpreters, cause to be made known to the Indians that they were

sent to teach them good customs, to lead them from vicious habits, and

from the eating of human flesh, to instruct them in our holy Catholic

faith, to preach to them salvation, and to attract them to our

dominion." The same Catholic and religious spirit animates every part

of the great codex {791} of Indian laws which were promulgated by

successive kings in that most Catholic country.

[Footnote 145: As far back as 1697 the Jesuits had, with apostolic

seal, founded many missions in Lower California; they never,

however, had pushed up into California Alta.]

Though it often did happen that local governors were not ministers of

this Catholic spirit, but rather of their own rapacity and cruelty,

this was not always the case, and we have before us an instance. When

Galvez set forth on his expedition to conquer California, the first

article of the instructions which he drew up, for the guidance of all

who were with him, ran in these terms: "The first object of the

expedition is to establish the Catholic religion among a numerous

heathen people, submerged in the obscure darkness of paganism, and to

extend the dominion of our lord the king, and to protect this

peninsula from the ambitious views of foreign nations." Nor were these

mere words, written to salve a conscience or blind a critical public,

as we shall now see: for he took Father Junipero, who was zealous for

the salvation of souls, into his counsels; and the priest and the

layman worked jointly together. Two small vessels, the _San Carlos_

and _San Antonio_, were freighted to go by sea. Señor Galvez details

with a charming simplicity how he assisted Father Junipero to pack the

sacred vestments and other church furniture, and declared that he was

a better sacristan than the father, for he had packed his share of the

ornaments first, and had to go and help the father. Moreover, in order

that the new missions might be established with the same success as

those which had been already founded by F. Junipero in Sierra Gorda,

Galvez ordered to be packed up and embarked all kinds of household and

field utensils, iron implements for agricultural labor, all kinds of

seeds from Old and New Spain, garden herbs for food, and flowers for

the decoration of the altars. Then he sent on by land two hundred head

of cattle to stock the country, so that there might be food to eat and

beasts to labor on the land.

F. Junipero placed the whole enterprise under the patronage of the

Most Holy Patriarch St. Joseph, to whom he dedicated the country. He

blessed the vessels and sent on board of them three fathers, who

should accompany Galvez and his men. Two other parties were formed by

land, which were to meet the ships on the coast far up the country;

and all started, except Father Junipero, who was delayed some time by

the season of Lent and by his spiritual duties. When he overtook the

convoy, his leg and foot were so inflamed that he was hardly able to

get on or off his mule. The fathers and their companions wished to

send him back; they thought he was not equal to the undertaking. But

he had faith that our Lord would carry him through. He called a

muleteer and said to him: "My son, don't you know some remedy for the

sore on my foot and leg?" But the muleteer answered: "Father, what

remedy can I know? Am I a surgeon? I am a muleteer, and have only

cured the sore backs of beasts." "Then consider me a beast," said the

father, "and this sore, which has produced the swelling on my legs and

prevents me by its pain from standing or sleeping, to be a sore on a

beast, and give me the treatment you would apply to a beast." The

muleteer replied, smiling, "I will, father, to please you;" and taking

a small piece of tallow, mashed it between two stones with some herbs,

heated it over the fire, and then anointed the foot and leg, and left

a plaster on the sore. The father slept that night, awoke in health

and spirits, and astonished the whole party by rising early to say

matins and lauds and then mass, and proceeded on the journey quite

restored. After forty-six days' travelling by land, they reached the

port of San Diego; and F. Junipero now established his first mission.

He then went on to the place since called San Francisco, and

established there another mission. They fell short of provisions and

supplies, the {792} _San Antonio_, which had long been due, did not

arrive, and Portalá, the governor of the expedition, determined to

abandon the mission, if they were not relieved by the 20th of March;

but on the feast of St. Joseph the ship hove into view, bringing an

abundance of provisions, and the mission was then firmly established.

The usual way of erecting a mission was as follows: the locality was

taken possession of in the name of Spain by the lay authority; a tent

or an adobe building was erected as the temporary chapel; the fathers,

in procession, proceeded to bless the place and the chapel, on whose

front a crucifix, or a simple wooden cross, was raised; the holy

sacrifice was then offered up, and a sermon was preached on the coming

and power of the Holy Ghost. The _Veni Creator_ was sung, and a father

was charged with the direction and responsibility of the mission.

The Indians were attracted by little presents. To the men and women

were given pieces of cloth, or food, and to the children bits of

sugar. They would soon gather round the missioners when they found how

good and kind they were, and the missioners were not slow in picking

up the language. They became the fathers and instructors of the poor

ignorant Indians, catechized them in the mysteries of the faith,

collected them into villages round the mission church, and taught them

to plough and cultivate the land, to sow wheat, to grind corn, to

bake; they introduced the use of the olive, the vine, and the apple;

they showed them how to yoke the oxen for work, how to weave and spin

cloth for clothing, to prepare leather from the hides, and taught them

the rudiments of commerce.

There was another feature in the mode followed by the Spaniards in

preaching the gospel which is worthy of mention, and which shows how

Spain recognized the independent action of the Church and her own duty

to lend her every assistance and protection she might need. A presidio

was established, in which the secular governor, with a small number of

officers, soldiers, and officials, resided. These represented the

majesty of the King of Spain, and served, in case of need, for

protection and order. At some distance from the presidio and

independent of it, was formed the mission, a large convent for the

friars and for hospitality, and a church, built of "adobe," or mud

walls, sometimes seven or eight feet in thickness. The land in the

surrounding neighborhood was assigned to the missions for the support

of the Indians. In fact, the whole economy and arrangements, both of

presidios and missions, were made subservient to the wants of

civilization and religion, which were introduced among the native

population. This system remained in full force, consulting simply the

benefit of the poor Indian, till the liberal Cortes, in 1813,

overturned the design of the Spanish monarchs, and began to introduce

the idea of colonization and usurpation. Up to this time the Church

had had full action upon the people, and what she wrought in the span

of forty years was little less than miraculous. The Indians felt that

they had been lifted out of their state of abject misery and

ignorance, and that the strangers who had come among them had come

simply from disinterested charity, for their temporal and eternal

welfare. They felt that life was made to them less a burthen, and that

a way was opened out for them to endless happiness beyond the grave,

De Courcy, in his "Catholic Church in the United States," assures us

that the fathers converted, within the few years they had control of

the Californian missions, no less than 75,000 Indians, for whom they

also provided food, clothing, and instruction. The system of

colonization brought in by the Spanish liberals in 1813 was an evil,

but it was a mere prelude to the confiscation of the Indian property

which was perpetrated by the liberal {793} Mexican government in 1833.

It was pretended that the friars were unequal to the management of the

missions, and the natives' property was therefore transferred to the

hands of laymen. Mr. Marshall, in his interesting work on "Christian

Missions," quotes the following statistics, comparing the two

conditions:

Under the Under

Administration the Civil

of the Friars. Administration.

Christian Indians 80,650 4,450

Horned Cattle 494,000 28,220

Horses and Mules 62,000 3,800

Sheep 321,500 31,600

Cereal crop 70,000 4,000

And then he sums up in these words:

"It appears, then, that in the brief space of eight years the

secular administration, which affected to be a protest against the

inefficiency of the ecclesiastical, had not only destroyed

innumerable lives, replunged a whole province into barbarism, and

almost annihilated religion and civilization, but had so utterly

failed even in that special aim which it professed to have most at

heart--the development of material prosperity--that it had already

reduced the wealth of a single district in the following notable

proportions: Of homed cattle there remained about _one-fifteenth_ of

the number possessed under the religious administration; of horses

and mules less than _one-sixteenth_; of sheep about _one-tenth_; and

of cultivated land producing cereal crops less than

_one-seventeenth_. It is not to the Christian, who will mourn rather

over the moral ruin which accompanied the change, that such facts

chiefly appeal; but the merchant and the civil magistrate, however

indifferent to the interests of religion and morality, will keenly

appreciate the cruel and blundering policy of which these are the

admitted results, and will perhaps be inclined to explain with Mr.

Möllhausen, 'It is impossible not to wish that the missions were

flourishing once more!'"

How beautiful was the old Spanish system under which Father Junipero

and his companions set forth to reclaim and convert the wandering

Indian! Is it not the greatest glory of Spain that she can still cheer

our dark horizon by the light of her past history, and shed a

fragrance which remains for ever over lands which have been broken

down by the hoof of the invader, and desolated by his diabolical pride

and insatiable rapacity? What was the Spanish system as exhibited in

California? It was simply this: a recognition, without question or

jealousy, that our Lord, the great high priest, continues in his

priesthood to be the shepherd, teacher, and minister of his people.

"To go and teach all nations," "to minister to the least of the little

ones," to be the "shepherd of the flock," "to lay down life for the

flock." This is distinctly the operation of Christ through his

priests. That this was the real character of the Christian priesthood

was a clear and elementary principle, which admitted of no doubt in

the mind of the Spanish people.

Conscious of their power, and with a light burning within them which

shone over the vast prospects that lay before them, of extending the

faith and saving innumerable souls, for whom the most precious blood

had been shed, the Spanish missioners went forth to extend their

conquests over the heathen world. Rapine and plunder were not their

aim; they were introduced among colonizers by the snare of the devil.

To maintain the Indian on his territory, to raise, instruct, and

Christianize him, giving him rights and equality before the law, this

was the policy of Catholic Spain. The priest, therefore, was regarded

as the chief pioneer, his plans were recognized and acted upon, and he

was considered to be not a mere creature of the crown, who should

extend its influence, but a minister and agent of his majesty the

Great King of Heaven, who had deigned in his infinite love to look

upon Spain with a peculiar predilection, and to choose her as an {794}

instrument to save the souls for whom he once had died.

A hundred years ago no European had ever fixed his abode in California

Alta. Father Junipero and his devoted companions, led on by zeal "to

establish the Catholic religion among a numerous heathen people,

submerged in the obscure darkness of paganism," were, then, the real

pioneers of California. Three Protestant writers, quoted by Mr.

Marshall, shall sum up for us in a few words the civilizing effects of

the Catholic education of the Indians in California. Captain Morrell

says:

"The Indians are very industrious in their labors, and obedient to

their teachers and directors, to whom they look up as fathers and

protectors, and who, in return, discharge their duty toward these

poor Indians with a great deal of feeling and humanity. They are

generally well clothed and led, have houses of their own, and are

made as comfortable as they can wish to be. The greatest care is

taken of any who are affected with any disease, and every attention

is paid to their wants." And Mr. Forbes writes:

"The best and most unequivocal proof of the good conduct of the

Franciscan fathers is to be found in the unbounded affection and

devotion invariably shown to them by their Indian subjects. They

venerate them not merely as fathers and friends, but with a degree

of devotedness approaching to adoration." And, lastly, Mr. Bartlett

observes:

"They (the Indians) are represented to have been sober and

industrious, well clothed and fed. . . . . . They constituted a

large family, of which the padres were the social, religious, and,

we might almost say, political heads."

Such was the first planting in this vineyard of the Lord. Let us

briefly note the blight and destruction which followed. In 1827, a Mr.

Smith established himself in California to make money. In 1834, three

hundred Americans settled in the country for the same purpose. In

1839, Captain Sutter built a fort and an American refuge. In 1841, he

got possession of a considerable tract of land. In 1844, a revolution

took place, and the American settlers sold themselves for a grant of

land to the party which was afterward defeated.

In 1845, the people, being harassed by civil war, wished for the

protection of some strong external government. It was a chance whether

California was to become English or United States territory. H.M.S.

_Collingwood_ entered the port, we believe, of Monterey, and was asked

to set up the Union Jack, and declare the country to be under British

protection. The captain replied that he would sail up the coast and

ascertain whether this was the will of the country, and if it were, he

would return and declare the protectorate. Meanwhile, the United

States ship _Savannah_, under Commodore Stoat, was on the watch; so

that when the _Collingwood_ returned, having ascertained the good will

of the other ports, she found, to her surprise and dismay, that she

had been outstripped by the Yankee, and that the stars and stripes

were floating over the town. California from that time became the

property of the United States. In 1848 gold was accidentally

discovered, and an emigration set in with the violence of a spring

tide, of a very different character to that of the pious Señor Galvez

or of the humble Father Junipero and his Franciscans.

Then, indeed, the world began to ring with glad tidings of great joy:

the sun had at last arisen on a benighted land--its redemption was at

hand. Every newspaper in Europe--we may say in the world--teemed with

reports of a new _El Dorado_ discovered on the western coast of

America. This country was California. Adventurous spirits, athirst for

wealth, from all parts of the world, were set in motion toward this

land of promise. Ships were chartered and {795} freighted with men and

youths ready to spend all they had in order only to reach the golden

bourne. Merchants from the United States and from Europe, ready

speculators, sent out their vessels laden to the water's edge with dry

goods, hardware, corn, spirits, and general merchandise. The

excitement and the recklessness were, perhaps, without a parallel.

Ships reached the great and beautiful bay of San Francisco, in which

all the fleets of the world could ride at ease, and were often

abandoned by their captain and crews, who scampered off to the gold

diggings, even before their cargo was discharged. Sometimes they fell

to pieces in the bay; sometimes they became the property of

adventurers, or were run aground, and served as temporary houses, and

then as the corners and foundations of streets, which energetic

speculators soon carried down upon piles into the water. There they

stand to this day, monuments of the _auri sacra fames_.

It was, indeed, natural that none but the fiercest and most daring

elements should prevail. The modest, the timid, the indolent, the

sickly, the child, the woman, the aged, the leisure-learned, the owner

of property, of good position, of fair prospects, the man of routine,

the unambitious, were all left behind. It was said, and said truly, in

the cities of Europe, America, and Australia, that men of desperate

character were on the road to California; that all went armed with

knives and revolvers; that the way thither was a highway of rapine and

crime; and that none should start who were not prepared to fight it

out any day in self-defence or in attack. There were a thousand

difficulties arising from the immense length of the journey, and from

the great numbers on the way; and a thousand other difficulties to be

accepted on arrival in the country--expense, danger, uncertainty,

perhaps sickness; and all these far away from home. Such were the

prospects in those days, and such the normal condition of life in

California.

It is not strange, then, that the men who formed the horde which,

fifteen or sixteen years ago, began to flow into California, should

represent to us a type of all that is rough, adventurous,

devil-may-care, elastic, light-hearted, and determined in human

nature. The Australian population began with convicts and honest

emigrants. The Californian population began with all kinds of

unconvicted criminals from all parts of the world, with "Sydney

ducks," as they called the ticket-of-leave men from New South Wales or

Tasmania; but, beside these, a considerable number of energetic,

honest emigrants, chiefly from Europe and the States. Then, we may add

that the Yankee element prevails in the Californian population, and

the John Bull element in the Australian. The American is lean, and all

nerve and impatient energy; health and life are to him of no moment

when he sees an object to be attained by the risk of them. If we may

be allowed to put it grotesquely, his body is human but his soul is a

high-pressure steam-engine; he knows no delay and is reckless, and his

bye-word is "Go ahead." The Englishman, by contrast, is fat and

easy-going; much more cautious of health and life, he calculates on

both. F. Strickland ("Catholic Missions in Southern India") happily

applies to him the words of Holy Writ spoken of the Romans,

"Possederant omnem terram consilio suo et patientia." "It is by wisdom

in council, and by patiently watching their opportunity; . . . .

wisdom which has often degenerated into Machiavellism, but has never

neglected a single opportunity of aggrandizement; patience which has

known how to 'bide its time,' and to avoid precipitation"--this is

how the Englishman succeeds. And so, to look at the Englishman in a

Pickwickian sense, he is a matter-of-fact, cautious gentleman, who

wishes to make very sure of what he has got, {796} and when he feels

comfortably confident, says "All right," and moves on deliberately to

acquire more. An English traveller says:

"The first night we arrived in San Francisco we were kept awake all

night on board the steamer by the incessant cry of 'Go ahead,' which

accompanied the launch from the crane which sent each article of

luggage and goods on to the wharf. It reminded us of a story his late

eminence Cardinal Wiseman used to tell. He said the first Italian

words he heard on first landing, some forty years ago or more, in

Italy from England, were, 'Pazienza, pazienza.' The Englishman sums up

all things that happen with the words 'All right;* the Yankee with the

words, 'Go ahead.'"

Many merchants realized enormous fortunes in a few months--some even

by one consignment; but many were hit hard and many were ruined. A

period in which an egg was worth a dollar was followed by a glut in

the market of all kinds of goods and provisions. There was nobody to

receive them; there was no sale for them. Warehousage cost more than

the total value of goods and freight. Tons of sea-bread were

abandoned; barrels of hams and bacon, cargoes of cheeses, dry goods,

and even wine and spirits, were left unclaimed, and fell into the

hands of "smart" men of business, or were spoiled by weather and

neglect. Ships, captains, crews, and cargoes bound to California

sailed as into a vortex, and were lost in the whirlpool of excitement.

Even officers of men-of-war were seized by the gold mania, and "ran"

to soil their white hands in the precious "pay-dirt."

Such circumstances as these which occurred in 1849-50-51 are now past

and can never recur, at least in California. The country is settling

down into a normal condition. The regular system of American states

government is permanently established. On two occasions, once in 1851

and again in 1856, when the government of San Francisco fell into the

hands of a set of low sharpers, who suspended the laws for punishment

of crime and protected criminals, the people, trained from childhood

to self-government, extemporized what was called a vigilance

committee. They abrogated for the time the state laws, they caught

thieves, tried them in the night, and hung them in the morning. They

struck terror into the "Sydney ducks," and into the plunderers who had

come down upon San Francisco, like vultures upon their prey, from all

countries of the world. When the committee had effected its object it

peaceably dissolved, and the regular form of government resumed its

sway. California, however, still presents a spectacle unlike that of

any other country of the world. Sydney, Melbourne, and Queensland have

not the diversity of population which California has. They are more

like "home;" a stronger government is exercised; there is more

security, less excitement, less incident, and less variety in life.

The traveller meets every day in the diggings and elsewhere men who

had come over from Australia, thinking to better themselves; they have

not done so, and they all complain that they have not found the same

order and security for man and property; and most of them determine to

return in the coming season.

For internal resources, in scenery and climate, and in variety of

production, California is probably superior to the Australian

colonies. There is a continual excitement, and all the business of the

country is done in San Francisco; it is the only port of any note; the

trade with California from the States, from South America, from

Europe, Asia, and Australia, is to San Francisco. She is called the

"Queen of the Pacific," and it is expected that she will become one of

the largest cities of the world, and that the whole trade between

China, Japan, and Europe and the States will pass through her. She

will be one of the great ports, and the most magnificent harbor on the

{797} high-road which, when the railroad across the plains is

completed, will connect together in one line Pekin, Canton, Japan, San

Francisco, New York, London, and St. Petersburg; thus girdling in a

great highway the northern hemisphere of the world. The market in San

Francisco is just large and manageable enough to produce the greatest

amount of excitement for the merchants. Exports and imports are

reckoned at about eleven million pounds each; of the exports about

eight millions are of gold and silver. The highest game is played, and

the English houses, always safe and sure, are looked upon as slow and

plodding in comparison with the American. The stakes are, day by day,

fortune or ruin. The interest on loans varies from one to ten per cent

a month, according to the security. There are great losses and great

gains. San Francisco is in a chronic state of exciting business

fermentation; there is little amusement, no learned leisure, but

everybody is occupied in trade or speculation. The people are well

dressed--all the men wear broadcloth, nearly all the women silk; there

are no beggars in the streets, and there is an air of healthiness,

vigor, and buoyancy of life such as is not to be seen in any other

city in Europe or America. No market in the world, save, perhaps, that

of London, is better supplied. Railroads run along the streets in all

directions. Churches, schools, hotels, and houses are lifted up from

their foundations by hydraulic power; and if the owners wish to add a

story, instead of clapping it on above, they build it in below, and

roof, walls, and floors all go up together uninjured.

The traveller is astonished to see a procession of solid-built houses

slowly marching through the centre of one of the principal

thoroughfares. In eight-and-forty hours an hotel, brick-built and

three stories high, will be carried, without interruption to business,

from one part of the city to another. The country is full of

interesting incident and novel excitement. It contains all the

precious metals, gold, silver, platinum, copper, iron, coal,

asphaltum, spring and mineral oil, borax, arsenic, cobalt. The largest

crops in the world have been grown on its soil. We quote the published

accounts: Crops of 80 bushels of wheat to the acre have been grown in

California. Mr. Hill harvested 82-1/2 bushels from an acre in Pajaro

valley in 1853, and obtained 660 bushels from ten acres. In 1851, Mr.

P. M. Scooffy harvested 88 bushels, and Mr. N. Carriger 80 bushels, in

Sonoma valley. Again: In 1853 a field of 100 acres in the valley of

the Pajaro produced 90,000 bushels of barley, and one acre of it

yielded 149 bushels. It was grown by Mr. J. B. Hill, and was mentioned

as undoubtedly true by the assessor of Monterey county in his official

report; and a prize was granted by an agricultural society for the

crop. According to the assessor's report, the average crop of potatoes

in Sacramento county in 1860 was 390 bushels per acre. Potatoes have

been seen in the market weighing 7 lb. The largest beet-root was 5 ft.

long, 1 ft. thick, and 118 lb. in weight--it was three years old;

cabbages 45 lb. and 53 lb. each; and a squash vine bore at a time

1,600 lb. of fruit. Then the largest trees in the world are found in

California, in mammoth-tree groves. Two are known to be 32 ft in

diameter, 325 ft high. "One of the trees which is down must have been

450 ft. high, and 40 ft. in diameter." The tree of which the bark was

stripped for 116 ft., and sent to the Crystal Palace, continued green

and flourishing two years and a half after being thus denuded. The

highest waterfall in the world is in the Yosemite valley, in

California. It is 2,063 ft. high, according to the official surveyor.

The Californian Geysers are among the wonders of the world--a

multitude of boiling springs, emitting large quantities of steam with

a hissing, roaring, spluttering noise; while near them, within a {798}

few feet, are deliciously cold springs. There are mud volcanoes, which

can be heard ten miles off, and seen at a still greater distance. A

great variety of wild beasts and birds--bears, panthers, wolves, deer,

elk, the Californian vulture (next to the condor the largest bird that

flies), make up other sources of interest, speculation, and excitement

and contribute to give to Californians a certain peculiar character

and sympathy one with another, which unite them together as

hail-fellows-well-met in any part of the world in which they may

chance to meet. There is travelling up the rivers in steamboats three

and four stories high, which not unfrequently blow up or run into each

other. A considerable portion of the country can be traversed in

wagons called "stages," whose springs are so very strong that ocular

demonstration is necessary as a proof of their existence. They cross

plains and mountains, penetrate forests, and skirt precipices, along

the most difficult roads. Wooden bridges thrown across ravines or deep

gullies or streams, and formed by laying down a number, of scantling

poles, and covering them with loose planks, are taken by the

four-horse "stage" at a gallop, just as you ride at a ditch or rasper

out hunting; patter, patter, go the horses' feet, up and down go the

loose planks--one's heart in one's mouth--no horses have slipped

through--no broken legs--it seems a miracle--and away onward goes the

stage, conducted by dauntless and skilful drivers, to the everlasting

cry of "go ahead!" But much of the country must be travelled on

horseback, and California has an admirable breed of thin, wiry little

horses, which will gallop with their rider over a hundred miles a day,

requiring little care and hardly any food. Much of the country is

still unexplored. There are mountains covered with perpetual snow, and

immense virgin pine forests covering their sides; long rolling plains,

baked by the sun; and rich luxuriant valleys, watered by the richest

fish-streams. In extent the country is 189,000 square miles, or nearly

four times larger than England, and possesses within itself all the

resources of the temperate and tropical zones. There are 40,000,000

acres of arable land in the state, though not more than 1,000,000 are

now in cultivation.

"The climate near the ocean is the most equable in the world. At San

Francisco there is a difference of only seven degrees between the mean

temperature of winter and summer--the average of the latter being 57°

and of the former 50° Fahrenheit. Ice and snow are never seen in

winter, and in summer the weather is so cool that woolen clothing may

be worn every day. There are not more than a dozen days in the year

too warm for comfort at mid-day, and the oldest inhabitant cannot

remember a night when blankets were not necessary for comfortable

sleep. The climate is just of that character most favorable to the

constant mental and physical activity of men, and to the unvarying

health and continuous growth of animals and plants. By travelling a

few hundred miles the Californian may find any temperature he may

desire--great warmth in winter and icy coldness in summer."

It may be understood, then, from all these circumstances, that the

blood of a Californian tingles with an excitement of its own. Indeed,

it is constantly observed that men who leave California with their

fortunes made, and with the intention of establishing themselves in

the Eastern states, or in Europe, are unable to settle down, and soon

return to the Golden State.

Let us now proceed with the subject before us, and draw out briefly

two contrasts: one between the Spanish or Catholic and the Anglo-Saxon

or non-Catholic conduct and policy toward the original lords of the

soil, the Indians; the other as between the names they gave to the

localities which were the scenes of their respective labors. It will

indicate a difference of {799} tone and spirit sufficiently

remarkable.

Of course all Californians are not to be held responsible for the acts

of a low and heartless section of ruffians, any more than all

Englishmen are accountable for the atrocities which we have

perpetrated in times past in India or Oceanica. But as we would not

pass over the crimes committed by the Anglo-Saxon race in India were

India our topic, so neither will we be silent here on deeds of equal

atrocity with any of which we were guilty, committed in these latter

days by some of the new occupiers of California.

The love of souls and the love of wealth do not, indeed, grow in the

same heart. We have already faintly sketched the result of the

Church's love of souls on the temporal and spiritual well-being of the

indigenous population of California. Under her gentle care was

realized for its inhabitants the happiness, peace, and plenty of

Paraguay. The Anglo-Saxon and the thirst for gold ushered in, alas! on

these poor creatures--made in the divine image, and called equally

with ourselves to an eternal share in the love of the Sacred

Heart--not a miserable existence, but absolute destruction. The love

of mammon has been the murderer of the native owners of the soil. The

iron heart and the iron arm of the Anglo-Saxon invaders have cleared

all before them. In 1862, Mr. Hittel, who is not a Catholic, and whom

we hold to be an impartial witness, made a study of the subject, and

he thus speaks of the destruction of the Indian population of

California, page 288:

"The Indians are a miserable race, destined to speedy destruction.

Fifteen years ago, they numbered 50,000 or more: now there may be

7,000 of them. They were driven from their hunting-grounds and

fishing-grounds by the whites, and they stole cattle for food (rather

than starve); and to punish and prevent their stealing, the whites

made war on them and slew them. Such has been the origin of most of

the Indian wars, which have raged in various parts of the state almost

continuously during the last twelve years. For every white man that

has been killed, fifty Indians have fallen. In 1848 nearly every

little valley had its tribe, and there were dozens of tribes in the

Sacramento basin, but now most of these tribes are entirely

destroyed."

We have been ourselves assured by eye-witnesses that such an incident

as the following has frequently happened in the gold diggings. A man

would be quietly cleaning his gun or rifle on a Sunday morning, when

he would espy an Indian in the distance, and, without the least

hesitation, would fire at him as a mark. The Indians were fair game,

just as bear or elk were, and men would shoot them by way of pastime,

not caring whether the mark was a "buck" or a "squaw," as they call

them--that is, a man or a woman. Murder became thus a relaxation. And

we must add, that not only American citizens, but also men who pride

themselves on the greater civilization and virtue of their country

nearer home, thus imbrued their bands with reprobate levity in the

blood of their fellow-creatures. We should be very sorry to imply that

these horrible deeds are perpetrated only by inhabitants of the United

States. On the contrary, it is certain that men who from circumstances

lapse into a state of semi-savage life, without public opinion to

check them, living in the wilderness and the bush, and without

religion, naturally become so enslaved to their passions that at last

they commit the foulest abominations and the most horrible murders as

though they were mere pastimes. We have read abundant examples of this

in India and other British colonies. The American government passed

many wise and humane laws in favor of the Indian. It was not her fault

that pioneers, squatters, buccaneers, and outlaws, at a distance,

laughed at her laws and set them at defiance.

{800}

The other contrast is quickly drawn. It shall be the contrast of

names. We do not wish to found any strong argument upon it. Names are

not actions, and yet to call a man hard names is the next thing to

giving him hard blows; and we know that "out of the abundance of the

heart the mouth speaketh." Let the two lists go down in parallel

columns, and illustrate the old times and the new:

_Spanish baptisms of localities or settlements._

San Francisco

Sacramento

La Purisima Concepcion

Trinidad

Jesus Maria

Santa Cruz

Nuestra Señora di Solidad.

Los Angeles, Reina de.

San Jose

San Pedro

San Miguel

San Rafael

Santa Clara

Santa Barbara

San Luis Obispo

San Paolo

Buena Vista

Mariposa

San Fernando

Alcatraz

Contra Costa

San Mateo

Plumas

_Yankee baptisms of localities or settlements_

Jackass Gulch

Jim Crow Cañon

Loafer Gill

Whiskey diggings

Slap Jack Bar

Yankee Doodle

Skunk Gulch

Chicken Thief Flat

Ground Hog's Glory

Hell's Delight

Devil's Wood

Sweet Revenge

Shirt-tail Cañon

Rough and Ready

Rag Town

Git up and Git

Bob Ridley Flat

Humpback Slide

Swell-head Diggings

Bloody Run

Murderers' bar

Rat trap Slide

Hang town

We may now dismiss these contrasts, which we have only insisted on in

order to bring into greater relief the spirit of God and the spirit of

mammon. The Spaniard went with the tenderest devotedness to serve and

save the Indian, recognizing him from the first as a brother. The

Yankee came, straining every nerve and energy in the pursuit of

wealth; the Indian was in his way; he recognized no spiritual ties of

brotherhood; his soul presented to him no divine image deserving of

his love and service; rather it was said, let him be trodden into the

mire, or perish from the face of the land. The former cast over their

humble settlements, on the coast and inland, the sacred association of

the names of mysteries and holy saints, so that men for all

generations might be reminded that they are of the race of the people

of God; whereas the latter have named many of the places where they

have dug for gold with the names of their hideous crimes, and with

terms compared to which the nomenclature of savage and uncivilized

tribes is Christian and refined.

This sketch of the principal features of the two occupations of

California, as they have borne upon the native population, may be

sufficient for our present purpose. We shall presently dwell upon the

better qualities in the American character--the natural foundations

upon which religion has to be built. Our object is not to write a

political or commercial essay; all we attempt is to note the action of

the Church at the present day upon the heterogeneous elements which

compose the population of California, and to record as briefly as may

be the several influences observable as making up that action.