A leisurely sail from the beautiful, capacious, and almost land-locked
harbour of Plymouth, up its main inlet--so curiously named the
Hamoaze--to the picturesque precincts of the lower extremity of the
Tamar, on a bright summer day with a gentle breeze, is an excursion in
all respects most enjoyable.
The harbour itself is studded over with craft of every variety and
size, and sails spread of almost all hues, with here and there a fussy
steam-boat ploughing its smoky way between them, while just inside,
and tethered as it were to the dim line of the breakwater, are two or
three dark grim-looking ironclads, lying as watch-dogs at its
entrance.
Sea-ward, is the broad, blue, open main; on the left, the tree-fringed
heights of Mount-Edgcumbe; before us, the irregular, creek-broken
shore of the "Three-Towns" jutting angularly into the deep, clear
water, with houses crowding down to its rocky edge. There, too, in its
centre, is one of the most classic spots on English soil--the
Hoe--consecrated by endless historic national traditions, and made
sacred beyond imagination's most inspired effort, by the tears,
prayers, and hopes that have alternately taken their rise, and from
its heights watched the silent sails pass on below to the distant
ocean, bearing voyagers, the purpose of whose errands,--who may
declare?
On its pleasant open plateau, how diverse also have been the objects
of those who from time to time have there assembled. Determined
spirits with hands upon their sword-hilts, waiting and watching for
the first glimpse of the van of the seven miles crescent-flotilla of
the dark and hostile Spaniard, sweeping onward toward the shore,
bearing the chains of slavery, spiritual and social, within their
holds. Bands of bare-headed, bent-browed men, kneeling in reverent,
prayerful conclave--the last home-office of their undaunted faith--ere
they stepped on board the peaceful convoy, expatriated by conscience
from their native soil, in search of a larger liberty, and destined to
found in another hemisphere, an even greater England than they were
leaving. Invader and emigrant, each shall we say, with purpose
animated by soul-constraining religious convictions, but with ultimate
aspirations, how different!
Spectators,--myriad numbered, greeting with enthusiastic plaudits, the
departure of stately fleets, that at intervals during successive
centuries, have passed out, destined to carry the grand conquests of
the seamanship and valour of the English race,--triumphs martial and
commercial,--to every sea; or anon, sorrowful groups with down-cast
hearts, wafting sad and final farewells to those, who have here in
continuous exodus set out to seek new homes on distant shores, and
from hence cast their last "longing, lingering look," at the receding,
vanishing outline of their native land; or again, eager eyes anxious
to descry the first rise of the sail of the home-bound ship on the
distant horizon, bearing a freight more precious to the love-strained
heart, than all the wealth of Ind.
But while these suggestive thoughts are haunting us, we have slowly
crept up to the warlike precincts of the lower Hamoaze. We pass the
huge, cavernous, pent-house-looking, but now empty 'slips,' hanging
over the darkling tide, in which the 'wooden walls' of _old_ England
were wont aforetime to be built, ere the steam-urged iron monsters of
our present _new_ England were dreamt of. And we ruminate a moment
over this change of times and things, and mentally ask the question,
What is the gain to human development achieved by much of the
scientific--_ergo_ mechanical--appliances of the present hour? the
which, while it flatters the lord of creation with the belief he has
become the autocrat of the forces and elements, in truth practically
reduces that proud being to be the servant and care-taker of the
machine he has constructed, for assuredly to a very large extent to
this menial occupation he is being rapidly reduced.
Specially with regard to ships and navigation, a generation or two
ago, vessels in construction and appearance were not only beautiful
objects as such, but required also all the skill, foresight, courage,
and dexterity which taxes the resources of manhood to the utmost, and
forms the basis of true seamanship, for their guidance and control.
Then there was something both for the mind and bodily energy alike to
exercise and develope itself on; and undoubtedly much of the secret of
our victories, both in commerce and war, that we have achieved in the
past, may be traced to our proficiency therein, and as a consequence,
the cause of our winning the crown of success among all other
competing maritime nations.
Now almost all is changed, science has invaded the citadel of living
endeavour, and deposed its activity and ambition; while furnished with
the results of her conquests, one man practically has become as good
as another, the spur of incentive has vanished from the heel of
individual aspiration to excellence, with this result, that if to man
the privilege of becoming a greater, nobler being, fostered by the
soul's glorious activities, as having something to conquer, or win, be
denied or removed from him; he can now console himself with the belief
he may afford to become a much idler one,--a prime factor in the creed
of the present hour.
And therefore instead of the slips and the wooden-walls, with clatter
of adze, axe, and caulking hammer, and the wholesome odour of
Stockholm tar,--here we are abreast of the 'steam-yard,' with its
metallic clang and reek of coal-smoke, threading our way between a
swarm of iron-clads of every form and shape; ugly, dark, and
diabolical-looking, as the errand they are constructed for, their
sullen turrets, monstrous guns, and blood-curdling names, aptly and
unmistakably assuring the beholder that their eventual port of
destination lies on the shore of Hades. Steam-pinnaces and swift
torpedo-boats are rushing about, and large tenders surging along,
among whom we carefully steer, and look across with a glance of relief
on the smart, clean, handsome three-deckers moored stern to stern in
mid-stream; floating Othellos, that now with occupation gone, serve as
nautical colleges for the sailor-boys, where they are instructed in
such slender knowledge of seamanship as is at present deemed
necessary.
How different was the measure of requirement in the early years of the
first George, when the unfortunate Falconer wrote his poem of the
_Shipwreck_, whose seamanship was apparently as dear to him as the
muse, and so, delighted to cunningly array her with all the terms of
the mariner's vocabulary, a feat never attempted by other poet, and of
course a hopeless task to any but a true sailor,--
"But now, the transient squall to leeward passed,
Again she rallies to the sudden blast.
The helm to starboard moves; each shivering sail
Is sharply trimmed, to clasp th' augmenting gale--
The mizzen draws; she springs aloof once more,
While the fore-staysail balances before.
The fore-sail braced obliquely to the wind,
They near the prow th' extended tack confined:
Then on the leeward sheet the seamen bend,
And haul the bow-line to the bowsprit end,
To topsails next they haste, the bunt-lines gone,
Through rattling blocks the cluelines swiftly run;
Th' extending sheets on either side are manned;
Abroad they come, the fluttering sails expand;
The yards again ascend each comrade mast,
The leeches taught, the halyards are made fast,
The bowlines hauled, and yards to starboard braced,
The straggling ropes in pendent order placed."
We pass a magnificent white-clad troop-ship, with a beading of
red-coats leisurably looking over the forecastle, and glide under the
lee of one of those steam-winged brigands of the deep, a steel-built
cruiser, whose towering trim spars, and beautiful lines, excite
admiration, but chastened with the reflection of the capabilities for
destruction she carries in her enormous propelling power and
far-reaching guns. Woe, think we, to the peaceful merchantman who may
venture to disregard, or seek to flee from the summons of her eagle
eye!
And now we are sailing easily amid an assemblage of objects, whose
presence makes the heart sink, and the cheek burn as we contemplate
the rotting millions they represent,--the fleet of huge discarded
hulks, whose now comparatively untrustworthy fighting and defensive
capabilities, represent the modern advance in the art of destruction
in maritime warfare. Here and there a solitary figure peers over the
rusty bulwarks, but with regard to the majority, not a living
creature paces their deserted decks. Gay, golden, and bright-coloured
figure heads,--nymph, triton, or naval hero,--still decorate their
prows, but these to our fancy's eye, resolve themselves into gilded
skeletons with eyes of flame, and grasping the lightning darts of
destruction in their grisly clutches,--the ghastly phantasmagoria of
Death! And then comes the mournful reflection, that the original cost
of each of these now comparatively valueless hulls,--being for all
other purposes mere useless accretions of old iron and wood,--and
designed for the destruction of the human race, would have more than
sufficed to have built and endowed a hospital or college, whose
beneficent errand should have been for all time (and while our present
institutions are also starving for want of funds), and that the
aggregation of hulks floating lazily around us, and of their
predecessors, would represent an amount of wealth sufficiently large
to have dotted the empire all over with such excellent institutions.
Last thought of all, as we look back and watch the bright red cross
slowly unfold itself on the summer breeze over the taffrail of one of
the largest of them,--the hallowed symbol of peace and good will
hoisted over these engines of bloodshed,--we muse at the strange
antithesis suggested by its display, as if designed in bitterest
satire, to justify, or as it were, consecrate their direful mission. A
curious example of what we presume would be termed national religious
ethics, as at present professed in this Christian land of ours. But
then we recollect that favourite patriot, the courageous (at home) and
braggart, fire-eating Jingo, with his eight hundred millions of debt
on his back, has to be duly considered in the motley compact. "Peace
and good will" at present looks like a hopeless dream, to be further
off than ever, and its development in the boasted civilization of the
last quarter of the nineteenth century exhibits, instead, the strange
spectacle of more fighting men on land, and ships of war at sea,
furnished with the most tremendous appliances for the destruction of
human life than could be found, perhaps, at any previous era of the
world's history. Europe appears a vast armed camp, filled with
millions of soldiers, apparently only waiting in feverish suspense
some chance incident, to march on each other, and deluge the continent
with carnage.
And yet amid all this there are not wanting hopeful signs, that below
these dread preparations, a wiser and healthier undercurrent is
slowly, but surely moving, that will eventually, we trust, sap the
foundations of this military incubus, and free the long-suffering
peoples from its deadly glamour. The consequences of the wickedness
and folly of that game "which kings delight to play at" will be
clearly seen, and a larger and more comprehensive system of government
take the control into its own hands, and put a veto on the players.
Industry, guided by intellectual resource, is busily organizing its
battalions, with a power, destined, we ween, at no distant date to be
mightier than armies or navies. Intelligence, combined with a
knowledge of social and commercial needs, will become the great
factors of national influence and wealth in the future, and, unless we
greatly mistake, the basis of a kingdom's prosperity in the coming
time will be fought out on these battle-fields, and on them win its
silent and bloodless victories.
But a much greater and consolatory thought possesses us as we take a
final glance at the grim citadels of destruction lazily floating on
the now smiling strength of the watery expanse,--but compared with
which in its tempestuous wrath, they are as the bubble that vanishes
on its surface,--even the controlling power of that Mighty Ruler of
both, of which the Royal Minstrel has with prophetic grandeur sung;
strikingly paraphrased by His humbler disciple and lyrist, the gifted
Apostle of Cornish revival, here aptly recalled,--
"The Lord is King: ye saints rejoice
And ceaseless alleluias sing;
The angry floods lift up their voice
In vain,--for lo, the Lord is King!
All ocean's waves may swell and roar,
They cannot break their sandy chain;
Supreme in majesty and power,
The Lord shall o'er them rule and reign.
Though war's devouring surges rise,
Beyond their bounds they cannot go;
The Lord is King above the skies,
And rules the embattled host below.
'Tis God the Lord, whose mighty will
Makes angry war's contentions cease,
And bids the maddened world be still,
And brings the joyous gift of peace."
Withdraw thine eyes aft, friend of mine, banish all further
contemplation of the decaying sea-dragons, and look a-head where a
very different spectacle awaits thee. Immediately to the left is the
little, quiet, steep-streeted Cornish borough of Saltash, but now made
notable by the presence of Brunel's stupendous iron railway-bridge,
spanning the river before us, and thrusting itself into the bosom of
the old town; one of the largest mechanical works of this, or any age,
and exhibiting the strange engineering inversion of suspending the
load beneath the arch, as the road-way is slung or supported below,
instead of traversing above it. Its great height from the water, to a
considerable extent, contracts to the eye its huge proportions, which
may however in a measure be estimated, by observation of the
railway-train slowly threading its way across, being scarcely seen,
and but little heard from below, or recognized merely by a thin white
line streaming back above the parapet, and a subdued rumble; and by
noting also the Liliputian dimensions of some artizans, that look like
a bevy of insects perched on one of the great tubes. The extraordinary
construction it displays seems to suggest that here for once, Science
with syren persuasion must have charmed the ear of Wealth to accede to
her request--"provide me with the means required, and in return you
shall be shewn what can be accomplished"--so lavish is the strength,
and fantastic the form of the vast structure. On the river below this
immense creation, the floating steam-bridge crawls across at short
intervals, for passengers and vehicles. As we look at the two
extraordinary methods of transit, the reflection arises that at only a
few miles up the stream, an inexhaustible supply of granite may have
been obtained and easily floated. With this enduring material a
handsome bridge might have been erected, with arches sufficiently high
for all useful purposes of navigation, and the roadway on it made wide
enough for railway and ordinary purposes, and, what is so dear to the
calculating proclivities of our race, it would undoubtedly have paid
well also, in addition to its enormous convenience. But then the
wisdom of our senators would not have been exemplified, nor the
constructive ingenuity of the engineer glorified.
We emerge from the shadow of the great bridge, and pass another smart
training-ship. Moored there we presume to justify the outrageous and
apparently prohibitive stipulation of Parliament,--which required that
a railway train should be carried through the air above the masthead
of a fully rigged old-fashioned man-of-war,--for we never heard of
another performing such a feat. Nor did our sagacious and far-seeing
legislators probably dream of the advent of the squat iron-clads, with
neither mast or sail, and hulls more under the water than above it,
that now form the fleet of the present.
Leaving this the last trace of grisly war behind, we enter on a
glorious stretch of the uncontaminated Tamar, and admire two or three
barges with their grand, looming, picturesque sails,--like
great-winged sea-birds,--slowly traversing the bright expanse. Here a
prophetic echo from the lyre of the poet who dwelled at its source,
crosses the mental ear, and finds fulfilment,--
"Fount of a rushing river! wild flowers wreathe
The home where thy first waters sunlight claim;
The lark sits hushed beside thee, while I breathe,
Sweet Tamar spring! the music of thy name.
Fair is the future scenery of thy days,
Thy course domestic and thy paths of pride;
Depths that give back the soft-eyed violet's gaze,
Shores where tall navies march to meet the tide."
Delightfully we career along, and our thoughts suggest what a
spirit-cheering, buoyant--heart as well as boat--feeling of freedom
fills the mind, when afloat in a trim craft with a full sail, and a
fair wind. Pre-eminently so on the boundless sea, and in lesser
degree, but most enjoyable also, on this broad reach of inland water.
The busy succession of waves rising up and greeting with flickering
salute the prow of our little vessel, as with easy rocking motion she
speeds over their undulating succession. And the contented
satisfaction, also, that we have the pleasant breeze, with its varying
force for our untiring steed; no haunting thought disturbs, that some
noble animal in slavery is running the sands of his life out the
faster for our gratification,--nor the dread possibility of instant
annihilation, that hovers continuously over the rushing transit of the
iron trackway. Verily of all modes of movement, none equals for
pleasantness the sailor's, nor does the phantom of a wild pitiless
sky, lee shore, and foam-mantled rocks greatly alloy it.
Wild glory of the weltering shore,
The clouds dark portent hangeth o'er,
The rushing billows muffled roar.
Like storm-drenched bird, from out the west
The labouring bark by strong winds pressed,
Beats to the haven of her rest.
The seaman views the turmoil grim,
And be his vessel tight and trim,
The tempest wears no fears for him.
Starboard the helm, friend, for we have now fetched nearly a mile
_plus_ the bridge, and prepare to set thy foot for the first time on
old Cornubia's shore, and make acquaintance with its inhabiters, a
generous, independent liberty-loving race, who through the past
centuries have "one and all" vigorously asserted their right to social
and religious freedom. Yonder is Landulph church-tower peering up
among the undulations of the shore,--this will be our first port of
call, to visit the sanctuary nestling among the dwellings at its foot,
and make note of sundry interesting associations--one specially
unique--connected with it. We pull in our little craft, and having
made fast to a place of safety among the seaweed-clad slaty ledges of
rock, set off for our destination, and a few minutes' walk brings us
to the door of the little edifice.
On entering, the first thing that arrests attention, is the large
number of carved bench-ends with which the nave and south aisle are
furnished. Although under any conditions these architectural features
are most attractive to the antiquary, as displaying in their
sculptured imagery, direct witness of the art of past existences, the
examples here found, for quality of workmanship, reflect not the purer
glory of the Plantagenet workman, nor the lavish wealth of the earlier
Tudor. Their shallower and comparatively unstudied work, points to the
era just before that crowned Dowsing,--who in relation to the church
was dubbed Defender of her Faith, but whose truer and more congenial
title should have been Destructor of her Works,--by his ravages among
the religious establishments, gave the final quietus to the fast-dying
spirit of ecclesiastical art. But even apart from his relentless
savagery, its chief incentive had almost disappeared, for men were
then fast learning the easier faith of word-service alone, unallied
with the older self-denying, and more tangible offering of deeds. The
real and the painstaking had given place to the less troublesome and
quicker wrought,--rich deep-cut cusp, vine-leaf, rose, and blazoned
shield were succeeded by coarse rustic allegory, ill-shaped animals
and birds, tasteless initials and dates, and confused heraldry,
interspersed with heathen masks and grotesques, elbowing the cross and
sacred monogram--the last dying speech and confession of the expiring
Gothic. Here the symbolism of the Passion seems to have been the old
carvers' favourite subject, occurring in the greatest profusion,
variety, and minuteness of detail,--a pertinent example of the lowest
form of religious teaching, the objective (even now a favourite with
some), designed by its pictured symbolism to impress, and in its way
instruct the unlettered mind, a poor apology for the nobler and more
comprehensive study of the sacred text. One or two of the panels are
however more noteworthy, as preserving a flickering of the antient
beauty of design, and these find record in our sketch-book.
A sprinkling of curiously imperfect and jumbled heraldry, apparently
allusive to afore-time settlers in Landulph and important families
located near, occupies many; on these we recognize the _roses_ of
Lower, the _rudders_ of Willoughby de Broke, the _saltires_ of
Glanville, and the _bells_ of Porter of Trematon, while on others
occur the insignia of the See, and specially noticeable, those of the
princely Courtenay,--_the eagle on the bundle of sticks, feathers_,
and shields charged with the _three torteaux_, badges and arms of the
last descendants of the first house of that illustrious
descent,--armories almost ubiquitous, both within and without the
church door in these western parts.
Here in Landulph this noble race owned considerable possessions,
inherited through the marriage of Emmeline, daughter of Sir John
Dauney (or De Alneto), with Sir Edward Courtenay, who died 1372, of
whom Cleaveland records,--"he had sixteen manors, and died before his
father the Earl, and had by his lady two sons, Edward who came to be
Earl after his grandfather, and Sir Hugh of Haccombe, whose grandson
Edward was restored to the Earldom of Devonshire upon the failure of
the elder brother's issue." The effigies of Sir John Dauney, his
daughter Emmeline and her husband Sir Edward Courtenay are found in
the neighbouring church of Sheviocke. The property continued in the
ownership of the Courtenays, until the cruel execution of Henry,
Marquis of Exeter, by Henry VIII., when it was annexed to the Duchy of
Cornwall.
And here an interesting circumstance may be noted, concerning the
carved array of the symbolism of the Passion on the old seats before
us, as we remember that these emblems appear to have been general
favourites in Cornwall, and occur largely displayed in similar
situations within many other churches in the county.
Cornwall has ever been distinguished for the earnest religious views
of its inhabitants, and from the earliest times, its material record
has survived. The large number of old Crosses strewn thickly over the
wild moorlands or by the solitary wayside, in churchyard or village
street, were set up as reminders to the passing foot, of the way to
eternal life, and contemporary with them Holy Wells covered the bright
springs in the valleys, and appealed with their simple imagery to
those who came thither to draw, not to forget to thirst also for the
living water that refreshes the soul; while Sainted Names numberless,
the stories of whose devoted lives are lost in the mist of antiquity;
all attest that olden deep spirit of religious influence and
observance, not to be found in other regions of the west, and which
continues almost undiminished down to the present hour.
It was this feeling which brought the hardy miners, and their
half-brethren the Dartmoor peasantry, with their clubs and bows up to
the gates of Exeter in sturdy remonstrance, and to leave their mangled
bodies afterward on Clyst Heath, when the Mass they were accustomed to
reverence was abolished from their sight in the rural sanctuaries
where they worshipped, during the days of the sixth Edward. It was
this that stirred their hearts, and sent their war-cry aloft, when
their countryman Trelawney stood in peril of liberty and life at the
hands of the sinister James. It was this unsatisfied yearning, stifled
while under the religious torpor which had settled over the
mid-Georgian era, that welcomed the evangelic cry of Wesley, when he
breathed over their valley of dry bones, and devoted disciples by
myriads sprang into new and spiritual existence, followed subsequently
by the kindred and scarcely less-fruitful mission of O'Brien, the
apostle of the north Devon hills; and later still with equal
earnestness, their recognition and steadfast adhesion to the
beneficent discipline of Father Matthew. The same earnest receptive
spirit has continued in them through all the centuries. In
emotive warmth of heart,--not altogether wanting in touch of
chivalry,--home-loving clanship of nationality, and kinship of antient
tongue, the Cornish hold much in common with the Welsh, Irish, and
Scotch; qualities on crossing the Cheviots, Wrekin, or Dartmoor, lost
altogether in the common-place, flavourless compromise called English
character.
Slowly we wend our way through the nave, and observe in addition to
the numerous carved bench-ends, the lower compartments of the antient
rood-screen (its stair-turret still exists in the wall of the south
aisle), all the upper portion having disappeared. The design of its
tracery is similar, and from this we assume that the edifice was
entirely refitted within, if not wholly rebuilt at the same era. But
the majority of the benches have suffered curious treatment at the
ingenious hands of the parish joiner, a generation or so since, when
these old solid structures were transformed into pews, by grafting on
them above slender deal continuations, furnished with doors. Then
unfortunately the carved edging around their ends was nearly all
cleared away, so as to form a panel at the base, and finished
afterward by the whole being "neatly painted and grained" to acquire
uniformity. The north aisle has a fine open-timbered waggon roof, the
dividing arches between the nave and aisles are composed of
granite--moor-stone as Polwhele delighted to designate it--ponderous
and strong, and these, coupled with the old sturdy oak praying-benches
beneath, convey a sense of reality and abidingness in work that
contrasts strongly with our modern flimsy imitations.
"See now, along that pillared aisle
The graven arches firm and fair;
They bend their shoulders to the toil,
And lift the hollow roof in air.
Huge, mighty, massive, hard, and strong,
Were the choice stones they lifted then;
The vision of their hope was long,
They knew their God, those faithful men."
Having lingered a moment in the south aisle to note the badges of the
royally descended Courtenay, our steps tend eastward to the memento
that records an even more illustrious name than theirs, and that forms
the unique association connected with this country church. But ere we
reach it they are arrested a moment to observe the two large and
singularly representative squires' pews of the Jacobean knight Sir
Nicholas Lower, an olden resident of Clifton in Landulph, and of whom
we shall have something further to say by and by. One was evidently
intended for the use of the family, the other on the opposite side of
the aisle, larger, raised and arranged as a sort of gallery, evidently
intended to be occupied by his worship's servants and retainers. Both
are elaborately decorated in their upper portions with carved panels
displaying the armories of his descent and alliance, below they
exhibit the linen pattern, and on the corners appears his crest
sculptured in full relief. Immediately beyond is a large high-tomb,
whose massive black marble table records that the bodies of the old
knight and his dame repose below, while on the aisle wall immediately
above the gallery-pew are two further inscribed brasses to their
memories.
Now stay thy foot, and hearken! for we are standing not on princely,
nay, nor royal, but even over imperial dust. Give thy thoughts wing,
from these leaden skies and mist-hung coasts,--nor stay them until
they have reached the sunny shores of the Bosphorus and the Golden
Horn, the classic precincts and immortal traditions of that
superlatively beautiful city that holds the keys of the two continents
in her hands, and to the illustrious dynasty that erstwhile ruled her,
and by whose name she is still designated. Then learn that a direct
descendant of this distinguished race, an exile from his native clime,
and almost an outcast on the face of the earth, found his last refuge
in this life, under a friendly roof close by, and lies at rest,--not
in marble sarcophagus under vaulted dome near the home of his royal
ancestors,--but, equally well, beneath the simple pavement of this
rustic sanctuary.
Resolve thy parable, you say. Read the inscription recorded on yonder
unpretending brass plate:--
HERE LYETH THE BODY OF THEODORO PALEOLOGVS OF PESARO IN ITALYE;
DESCENDED FROM YE IMPERYAIL LYNE OF YE LAST CHRISTIAN EMPERORS OF
GREECE; BEING THE SONNE OF CAMILIO, YE SON'E OF PROSPER, THE
SONNE OF THEODORO, THE SONNE OF IOHN, YE SONNE OF THOMAS, SECOND
BROTHER TO CONSTANTINE PALEOLOGVS, THE 8TH OF THAT NAME, AND LAST
OF YE LYNE YT RAYGNED IN CONSTANTINOPLE, VNTILL SVBDVED BY THE
TVRKES; WHO MARRIED W'TH MARY, YE DAVGHTER OF WILLIAM BALLS OF
HADLYE IN SOVFFOLKE, GENT: AND HAD ISSVE 5 CHILDREN THEODORO,
IOHN, FERDINANDO, MARIA AND DOROTHY, AND DEPARTED THIS LIFE AT
CLYFTON, YE 21TH OF IANVARY, 1636.
Over is the proud achievement of his race,--_Per fess, a
double-headed eagle displayed, collared, and with an imperial crown
between the heads, standing on the castles of Europe and Asia_, being
the imperial arms of Greece, _with crescent for difference_.
Proceed we now to give such few particulars of the dynasty and life of
this imperially descended exile as space permits. Thomas Paleologus,
as the inscription informs us, was second brother to Constantine, last
of the Christian Emperors of Greece. He succeeded his brother the
Emperor John in 1448, and bravely defended his beautiful metropolis
from the unclean foot of the invader, when Mahomet II. laid siege to
it with an immense army; but being abandoned by the reigning princes
of Christendom,--then too busy quarrelling among themselves to help
him,--was unable to repel them, and died fighting like a hero in the
breach 29 May, 1453. His death was followed by the capture of the
royal city, which was forthwith handed over to all the horrors of
pillage and outrage by the Moslem host. Thenceforward the unspeakable
Turk, with his fanatic courage, his slavery, cruelty, and sensual
sloth, settled himself within its delightful precincts, as the future
capital of his dominions, and brought his unsavoury presence into the
community of Christian nationalities, remaining only to become an
unceasing source of sanguinary contention among them, his wretched and
effete government being from time to time saved from summary
extinction, only by the jealousy of his protectors. A notable and
salutary change of circumstances and opinion notwithstanding, and in
strong contrast to the apathy or fear with which the European
potentates viewed the original triumphant entry and settlement of the
disciples of Mahomet into the beautiful city of Constantine four
centuries previously.
In the terrible conflict that resulted in the downfall of
Constantinople, the carnage on both sides was immense. The Greeks
fought with great determination, "the Turks lay dead by heaps upon the
ground, yet other fresh men pressed on still in their places," so that
at last the beleaguered defenders appear to have been borne down by
their force of numbers. Together with this,
"it chanced _Joannes Justinianus_ the Generall to lie wounded in
the arme; who losing much blood, cowardly withdrew himselfe from
the place of his charge, not leaving any to supplie his roome,
and so got into the cittie by the gate called ROMANA, which hee
had caused to be opened in the inner wall, pretending the cause
of his departure to be for the binding up of his wound, but being
indeed a man altogether discouraged. The souldiours there present
dismayed with the departure of their Generall, and sore charged
by the Janizaries, forsooke their stations, and in haste fled to
the same gate, whereby _Justinianus_ was entered, with the sight
whereof, the other souldiours dismayed, ran thither by heapes
also. But whilest they valiantly strive, all together to get in
at once, they so wedged one another in the entrance of the gate,
that few of so great a multitude, got in; in which, so great a
presse and confusion of minds, eight hundred persons were there
by them that followed, troden underfoot, or thrust to death. The
emperor himselfe, for safegarde of his life flying with the rest,
in that presse, as a man not regarded, miserably ended his dayes,
together with the Greek empire. His dead bodie was shortly after
found by the Turkes amongst the slaine, and knowne by his rich
apparell; whose head being cut off, was forthwith presented to
the Turkish tyrant; by whose commaundment it was afterwards
thrust upon the point of a launce, and in great derision caried
about as a trophee of his victorie, first in the campe, and
afterwards up and downe the citie."[47]
[47] "_Generall Historie of the Turkes_," by RICHARD KNOLLES, ed.
1603.
Thus fell Constantinople, and thus perished Constantinus, the eighth
of that name, its last Emperor,
"a prince of a mild and soft spirit fitter for the church than
for the field, who hearing of the great preparation made by the
Turkish king, first made such preparation as his owne small
abilitie would extend unto, and then sent his embassadours unto
other Christian princes earnestly craving their aid, and
assistance in that his dangerous estate. But that labour was
lost, and all his sute vaine; for they being at variance one with
another, and having more care of private revenge, than how to
repulse the common enemie of Christianitie, could not, or would
not afoord him any helpe at all."
All the assistance the poor Emperor had, to resist the cloud of
assailants then fast closing around the doomed city, was from
"certaine ships and gallies" of the Levantine coast then by chance at
Constantinople, among whom was
"_Joannes Justinianus_ an adventurer of Genua, who had been
scouring those seas, with two tall ships, and four hundred
souldiours, where he was entertained by the emperour. And
forasmuch as he was a man honourably descended and supposed to be
of great courage and direction, was by the emperour appointed
Generall of all his forces next unto himselfe. He also
entertained six thousand Greekes; which with three thousand
Venetians, Genowais, and others whom he made stay of, joined unto
the cittizens, was all the weake strength he had to relie upon
for the defence of his state and empire."
The appointment of the Venetian as chief commander was an unfortunate
one, and he exhibited the usual cowardice and treachery when put to
the test, which adventurers usually display, although nothing the
besieged could have done would probably have eventually saved the city
from the host of invaders surrounding it, it being a hopeless conflict
with superior numbers. Those of the citizens whose patriotism inspired
them to confront the enemy, fought with great heroism, but numbers of
others appear to have held aloof, denying their emperor not only their
personal assistance, but also of their substance to pay the
mercenaries to fight for them, and "whoe in their turn refused any
longer to goe to the walls than they were sure of their dayly pay!"
The "wofull emperour," who appears to have done everything in his
power for the defence of the royal city, was thus fighting under
hopeless circumstances, and with the longest odds against him. Over
the frightful cruelty and wickedness that followed in the three days'
sack of Constantinople, after its capture, by the invaders, and their
"abhominable and unspeakable filthinesse," let the hand of Time draw a
veil.
At the period of the fall of Constantinople, Thomas and Demetrius
Paleologi, brothers to the unfortunate Emperor Constantinus,
"governed a great part of Peloponesus, one of the most famous
provinces of Graecia, and these two princes dismaied at their
brothers disaster fortune, began so farre to despaire of their
own estate; and upon the first brute thereof they were about
presently to have fled by sea to Italy."
But they remained, and as misfortunes rarely come alone, their own
subjects just at this juncture rose in arms against them, and in their
extremity they sought for peace at Mahomet's hands, offering to become
his tributaries; and the conqueror sent over one of his generals and
an army and quieted the insurrection. As vassals to the Turk the two
princes lived for a few years (but not in the greatest harmony with
each other), and then hearing that "the Christian princes of the west
were making great preparation against the Turke," refused further
tribute to Mahomet, who thereupon re-entered Peloponnesus, with a
"puissant army," and the Greek princes had to fly for their lives, the
one to Mantinia, and the other to "the strong cittie of Epidaurus, now
called Ragusa." Again they had to sue for peace, which Mahomet, after
stripping them of almost all the little authority they had left, and
imposing further tribute, granted. Not long after this Mahomet was
himself disquieted by rumours of the Christian princes of the west
being about to intervene and drive him out of Greece, and thinking
probably there would be no settled peace for him in the Peloponnesus,
while the Greek princes remained there with any semblance of power,
and the brothers Paleologi being at variance between themselves, and
the promised tribute also not forthcoming, availed himself of the
opportunity to finally subdue it. He therefore marched into those
parts with a large force, reducing the cities, laying waste the
country, and cruelly putting to death thousands of its inhabitants.
Demetrius fled to Sparta, but when Mahomet arrived there, he came out
and "humbly submitted himself with all he had in his power," which so
"pleased the Turkish tyrant, that hee courteously received him, and
comforted him; neverthelesse, hee committed him to safe custodie, and
carried him about with him as his prisoner." Thence after much ravage
and slaughter the Moslem victor, "by the counsell of Demetrius,
'sent one of his captaines, with certaine companies of Greeke
souldiours, unto the strong cittie of Epidaurus, to command them
in the name of the prince, to deliver unto him the citie, with
the prince, his wife, and daughter, that lay there. But the
Governour trusting unto the strength of the citie, refused to
deliver the same; yet suffred the princess with her daughter, to
depart out of the citie, being willing to goe to her husband;
whom the captaine having received, returned and presented them to
_Mahomet_; by whose commandment they were sent into Beotia, there
to attend his returne toward Constantinople, and an eunuch
appointed to take charge of the young ladie who had so warmed
_Mahomet's_ affection, that he tooke her afterwards to his
wife.'"
Thus far for Demetrius. What was Thomas Paleologus, the ancestor of
our Theodorus, about this while? Something very different, and of much
more honourable complexion. He was within and busy fortifying the city
of Salmonica, to which came Zoganus-Bassa, one of Mahomet's
commanders,
"but the castle was by the space of a whole yeare after valiantly
defended against the Turkes left to besiege it, by _Thomas_ the
prince; and which for lacke of water was at length yielded unto
him. Of whom (Prince Thomas) _Mahomet_ afterwards gave this
commendation, 'That in the great countrey of Peloponesus, hee had
found many slaves, but never a man but him.'"
After its surrender, Prince Thomas, "seeing the miserable ruine of his
countrey, and the state thereof utterly forlorne," took ship and
sailed for Italy. He was well received by Pius II. at Rome, who during
his life allowed him a considerable pension for the maintenance of his
state. But what became of Demetrius? Mahomet--his campaign
over--returned with great triumph toward Constantinople,
"carrying with him _Demetrius_ the prince, with his wife and
daughter; but after he was come to Hadrianople, and placed in his
royal seat, he removed the eunuch from the fair young ladie, and
took charge of her himselfe. As for _Demetrius_ her father, hee
gave unto him the citie of Aenum, with custome arising of the salt
there made, as a pension to live upon."
Thus far for these brethren. Lysons adds, "it is probable that
Theodore, the descendant of Prince Thomas, who lies buried at
Landulph, sought an asylum in England in consequence of the hostility
shewn towards the Greeks by Pope Paul V. and his successor Gregory
XV."