King Henry I. went over to Normandy with his son Prince William and a
great retinue, to have the prince acknowledged as his successor, and
to contract a marriage between him and the daughter of the Count of
Anjou. Both these things were triumphantly done, with great show and
rejoicing; and on the 25th of November, in the year 1120, the whole
retinue prepared to embark, for the voyage home.
On that day, there came to the king, Fitz-Stephen, a sea-captain, and
said, “My liege, my father served your father all his life, upon the
sea. He steered the ship with the golden boy upon the prow, in which
your father sailed to conquer England. I have a fair vessel in the
harbor here, called The White Ship, manned by fifty sailors of renown.
I pray you, Sire, to let your servant have the honor of steering you in
The White Ship to England.”
“I am sorry, friend,” replied the king, “that my ship is already
chosen, and that I cannot, therefore, sail with the son of the man who
served my father. But the prince and his company shall go along with
you in the fair White Ship, manned by the fifty sailors of renown.” An
hour or two afterward, the king set sail in the vessel he had chosen,
accompanied by other vessels, and, sailing all night with a fair and
gentle wind, arrived upon the coast of England in the morning. While it
was yet night, the people in some of these ships heard a faint, wild
cry come over the sea, and wondered what it was.
[Illustration]
Now, the prince was a dissolute young man of eighteen, who bore no
love to the English, and who had declared that when he came to the
throne he would yoke them to the plough like oxen. He went aboard The
White Ship with one hundred and forty youthful nobles like himself,
among whom were eighteen noble ladies of the highest rank. All this gay
company, with their servants and the fifty sailors, made three hundred
souls aboard the fair White Ship.
“Give three casks of wine, Fitz-Stephen,” said the prince, “to the
fifty sailors of renown. My father the king has sailed out of the
harbor. What time is there to make merry here, and yet reach England
with the rest?”
“Prince,” said Fitz-Stephen, “before morning my fifty and The White
Ship shall overtake the swiftest vessel in attendance on your father
the king if we sail at midnight.” Then the prince commanded to make
merry; and the sailors drank out the three casks of wine, and the
prince and all the noble company danced in the moonlight on the deck of
The White Ship.
When, at last, she shot out of the harbor, there was not a sober seaman
on board. But the sails were all set and the oars all going merrily.
Fitz-Stephen had the helm. The gay young nobles and the beautiful
ladies, wrapped in mantles of various bright colors to protect them
from the cold, talked, laughed, and sang. The prince encouraged the
fifty sailors to row yet harder, for the honor of The White Ship.
Crash! A terrific cry broke from three hundred hearts. It was the cry
the people in the distant vessels of the king heard faintly on the
water. The White Ship had struck upon a rock,--was filling,--going
down! Fitz-Stephen hurried the prince into a boat with some few
nobles. “Push off,” he whispered, “and row to the land. It is not far,
and the sea is smooth. The rest of us must die.” But as they rowed fast
away from the sinking ship, the prince heard the voice of his sister
calling for help. He never in his life had been so good as he was then.
He cried in agony, “Row back at any risk! I cannot bear to leave her!”
They rowed back. As the prince held out his arm to catch his sister,
such numbers leaped into the boat that it was overset. And in the same
instant The White Ship went down. Only two men floated. They both clung
to the mainyard of the ship, which had broken from the mast and now
supported them. One asked the other who he was. He replied, “I am a
nobleman,--Godfrey by name, son of Gilbert. And you?”--“I am a poor
butcher of Rouen,” was the answer. Then they said together, “Lord be
merciful to us both!” and tried to encourage each other as they drifted
in the cold, benumbing sea on that unfortunate November night.
By and by another man came swimming toward them, whom they knew, when
he pushed aside his long wet hair, to be Fitz-Stephen. “Where is the
prince?” said he. “Gone, gone!” the two cried together. “Neither he,
nor his brother, nor his sister, nor the king’s niece, nor her brother,
nor any one of all the brave three hundred, noble or commoner, except
us three, has risen above the water!” Fitz-Stephen, with a ghastly
face, cried, “Woe! woe to me!” and sank to the bottom.
The other two clung to the yard for some hours. At length the young
noble said faintly, “I am exhausted, and chilled with the cold, and can
hold no longer. Farewell, good friend! God preserve you!” So he dropped
and sank; and, of all the brilliant crowd, the poor butcher of Rouen
alone was saved. In the morning some fishermen saw him floating in his
sheep-skin coat, and got him into their boat,--the sole relator of the
dismal tale.
For three days no one dared to carry the intelligence to the king. At
length they sent into his presence a little boy, who, weeping bitterly
and falling at his feet, told him that The White Ship was lost with all
on board. The king fell to the ground like a dead man, and never, never
afterward was seen to smile.
_Word Exercise._
liege (_lēj_)
niece (_nēs_)
Gil´bert
en-cour´age (_en-kur´-aj_)
helm
con´quer (_kŏng´ker_)
An-jou (_an´joo_)
float´ed
ex-haust´ed (_egz-awst´ed_)
butch´er
God´frey
Rou-en (_roo´en_)
man´tles
dis´so-lūte
tri-umph´ant (_tri-umf´ant_)
whis´per
com´mon-er
ag´o-ny
wrapped
No-vem´ber
com-mand´ed
_Phrase Exercise._
1. Great retinue.--2. _Contract_ a marriage.--3. Sailors
of renown.--4. _Fair_ wind.--5. To make merry.--6. Sails
were set.--7. Oars _going merrily_.--8. Terrific cry.--9.
_Encourage_ each other.--10. _Benumbing_ sea.--11. _Ghastly_
face.--12. Brilliant crowd.--13. Sole relator of the dismal
tale.--14. Carry the intelligence.
* * * * *
_Howe’er it be, it seems to me_
_’Tis only noble to be good._
--_Tennyson._