The First of the English: A Novel
breezes blowing up the Schelde estuary during the hot months of summer.
“We came down very early this year,” he says, “the weather was so
pleasant. Fortunately I was in Antwerp last night, otherwise I would
have been done to death with poor Antonio and the rest by those
murdering Beggars of the Sea.”
The conversation of this man whiles away the time, and in three hours,
the wind aiding them a little, they are off the Fort of Lillo.
Here four guard boats are on duty, one of them stopping their barge. As
the Costa Guarda comes alongside, her commander recognizing a state
barge of Alva, and Guy giving him the new words of the night, which
have apparently been sent hurriedly down to Lillo, the captain of the
boat wishes Chester God-speed, remarking: “Take care of yourself. It is
reported that the First of the English is somewhere down below. Two
galleys, the Santa Cruz and the Holy Trinity, go down to see if they
can capture this pirate to-morrow morning.”
“Thank you for the information,” replies Guy, as his boat dashes on its
way.
At the last dyke left standing by the flood below Fort Lillo, Guy sees
three lanterns displayed in line and knows his boat is awaiting him. He
suddenly says: “I’ve piloted you through the worst of the journey. You
are now within a mile of the country place. What is it named?”
“Bella Vista,” replies the cockswain.
“Very well, take the galley to Bella Vista and perform the errand you
are charged with. Here’s two doubloons for the wine I promised you and
the crew. Land me upon the dyke. A boat is awaiting me there. I am
going duck shooting on the Drowned Lands; if my men row fast enough I
shall get there for the morning flight. I have arquebuses and a cross
bow in my skiff.”
The two doubloons making the men very happy, they quickly land Guy upon
the dyke and depart on their way.
A few minutes after the Englishman, getting to the three lanterns,
waves them.
Continuing this some little time, the splash of oars is heard, and a
boat comes very cautiously through the darkness, feeling its way up to
the land, apparently fearing ambuscade.
“Ahoy!” shouts Guy.
Then he hears Martin Corker cry: “Give way, lads! That’s the captain’s
voice,” and with three or four sturdy strokes the boat glides up to the
dyke.
A moment after Chester, pulled by English arms, is driving as fast as
oars can take him towards the Dover Lass. The little ship is difficult
to discover, as she has no lights out; but the boat, giving flash
signals, the vessel hangs up a lantern to show them where to find her.
Upon his deck Chester receives report from his first officer:
“I’m glad you’re here,” says Dalton. “We would have been attacked
to-morrow, I think. I am sure a patrol boat came down the river to see
if they could discover us.”
“We’ll not be attacked to-morrow,” laughs Guy, and taking speaking
trumpet, he gives orders to break ground with the anchor and to hoist
the head sails.
“You’re not going to fight the Spaniards?”
“No, run away to England. I have such an important communication for my
Queen it would be treason if I risked losing it.”
Then, his vessel being handy, and his crew numerous, the Dover Lass is
very quickly under way, driving down the Schelde for the open ocean.
And in the cabin is Guy Stanhope Chester, securing under lock and key
the spoils of this strange trip to Antwerp.
These are: a package of letters in cipher touching the assassination of
Elizabeth of England, and the key by which to read them; a ruby ring
that tells him he has won the love of the Viceroy’s daughter, and two
letters in her handwriting.
“Egad, I’ve done pretty well,” thinks Guy. Then he looks at the
miniature he has carried with him for over three years and mutters:
“Marvelous that I at last should find and win her. Who says romance
died with the troubadours? Egad, I feel like a troubadour myself.
Ta-la-la!”—and taking troubadour step, he suddenly mutters: “Gadzooks!
I have also something else,” for the heavy belt about his waist reminds
him of the last thing Doña de Alva has sent to him.
Inspecting it he finds it is really a strong leather bag, made to
buckle on securely.
Opening it he growls: “Pish!” for it is laden with golden doubloons,
but a moment after pounces on a little packet that he has swept out
with the coin. Then he suddenly laughs: “Egad! She didn’t know I had
one of her before,” for another miniature of his fair Castilian
sweetheart greets his devouring eyes. A little note is folded up with
the portrait. It reads:
“Dearest:
“I have taken the liberty of sending you my face to help you
remember it. It is not the living image for you to carry with you;
God knows I wish it were. But some day when Major Guido Amati de
Medina becomes a General, I’ll make it the real one—oh God! what
happiness!
“I have taken the liberty of enclosing with this a hundred golden
doubloons. The officers in the Middelburg garrison have not been
paid for over a year, and I would wish a gentleman who is one day
to wed the daughter of Alva to live in suitable style, appointment
and equipage. If you hesitate to accept this I shall not think you
love me as I want you to. It is but a little first payment in
advance on the dower of
“Your future spouse,
“Hermoine de Alva.”
“My future spouse she shall be,” cries Guy. Then in that wildness
passion brings to young hearts he puts the two miniatures of the
exquisite beauty who has just signed herself his future wife before
him, and chuckles: “Behold my old love—the unfindable that I have
found! See my new sweetheart, the ungainable, that, by heaven! I will
win and wear as my wife, though she be the daughter of Alva, mine
enemy.”
BOOK II.
TWIXT LOVE AND WAR.
CHAPTER IX.
“NO PROVISIONS, NO WATER, BUT PLENTY OF POWDER!”
On the morning of the second day after this, Chester lands at Sandwich,
and by relays of horses travels as fast as is in man and beast to
London.
Arriving at the capital, he learns that his sovereign and her court are
at Hampton, and to his joy discovers from popular tongue that the Queen
is enjoying the best of health. He is in time to prevent any attempt at
Borgia business with the hope of the realm.
For at that time all true Englishmen, Catholics or Protestants, feared
that by some underhand, insidious Italian plot, Elizabeth of England
was in some way to be done to death and the kingdom given to her
legitimate successor to the throne, Mary Queen of Scots, who was a
prisoner in Elizabeth’s hands; one ambitious noble of Catholic faith,
the Duke of Norfolk, being not only anxious to liberate the beautiful
Mary and put her on the throne of England, but also to marry her and
reign as Prince Consort. This would have placed Britain thoroughly
under the influence of Philip II., of Spain, and have opened the way
for his pet scheme, the establishing of the Inquisition in England,
with all its horrors of burnings, flayings, and torturings as practiced
in the Netherlands under similar circumstances by Alva, his Viceroy and
lieutenant.
Better Englishman than bigot, Guy Chester, though a moderate Catholic,
is exceedingly anxious for the safety of his Protestant Queen.
All this makes Guy in desperate haste to give her warning of her danger
at the hands of Ridolfi, Alva’s agent in London.
So, taking horse again, though thoroughly tired by his long ride from
Sandwich, the young Englishman finds himself in the early evening at
the palace of Hampton Court. There getting quick audience with Cecil,
Lord Burleigh, he gives him the cipher letters from Vitelli to Ridolfi,
and also the key furnished by Oliver.
Upon Guy’s hastily mentioning the purport of these letters, his
lordship, with a very serious face, says: “You have done a great
service to the State. But I imagine you have been riding all day. I
will see that you have supper and refreshment,” and summoning a lackey,
gives order to this effect. “By the time you have finished making
yourself comfortable, I and my under-secretary will have translated and
transcribed these letters for the Queen’s private eye. These you shall
present in person to your sovereign, as is your right.”
This arrangement is very satisfactory to the young man, who has been in
the saddle twelve hours and has partaken of but hasty refreshment on
the road.
So an hour afterward Guy, his body made comfortable with food and his
spirits heightened by wine, accompanies Lord Burleigh, who now holds
England in his grasp, having the favor and confidence of his sovereign,
to Queen Elizabeth’s waiting room, where they are received in rather
off-hand style by Her Majesty of England, who is in great fashion of
jeweled stomacher, above which her white shoulders glitter with
necklace of pearls and diamonds. Very vain, as she has a right to be,
as daughter of Anne Boleyn, the beauty of her father’s court, she
stands in kirtle and long train covered with aglets inlaid with
precious stones and high-heeled Spanish shoes, making a great show of
vanity, sprightliness, dignity and domination. In short, she is good
Queen Bess, at her best and bravest—at thirty-five—at her zenith—before
age gets the better of her beauty and her temper.
“My good Burleigh,” she says, “what a hasty man you are. I have but
just received your communication saying time was important, and have
omitted five courses of my supper and sent my tiring women where their
prying ears will not catch private conference. And you, Master Chester,
my robber of the sea, have you discovered another eight hundred
thousand crowns of Alva’s money within my jurisdiction and government?”
“No,” answers Burleigh, as the two bow before her, “Master Chester has
simply discovered a plot of my Lord of Alva against your life. These
letters from Vitelli, his maréchal de camp and confidant to Ridolfi,
the Italian banker of London, prove it.”
“Oho! in cipher,” says the Queen, looking at them.
“Yes, but thanks to Master Chester’s being willing to risk his life for
Your Majesty again, he has obtained the cipher in Antwerp. These
letters are now transcribed into English.”
“Quick—let me see!” And Elizabeth, sitting down and hastily glancing
them through, cries out: “So they would poison me, and put that traitor
Norfolk on the throne as consort to the lady whom I hold in my hand.
That settles Norfolk! He was yesterday condemned for high treason by
the Lords. These letters, my Burleigh, are his death warrant. With the
lady I’ll reckon afterwards, and as for Ridolfi—”
“Orders have already been given to have Ridolfi seized, Your Majesty,”
interjects Burleigh.
“Very well,” replies Elizabeth, “then there is nothing more to do for
the present, though I shall change my cook; except”—here Her Majesty’s
eyes light up—“except to reward this young gentleman whom we have
outlawed for matters of State policy: but then, we love pirates! There
is our Francis Drake, who thinks no more of despoiling a Spaniard and
turning in ten per cent. of his booty than he does of eating and
drinking. There’s old John Hawkins, who’ll steal blackamoors on the
coast of Africa to sell them to the Dons and cut their throats while
trading with them—all for the glory of England! In fact, I think,
Burleigh, pirates are my best subjects. But since I have dismissed my
own mummers this evening on your account Master Chester, I ought to
have some compensation. Tell me the tale of your adventures in the
Netherlands.”
This Guy doing, Her Majesty listens with open ears and one or two
little chuckles and slaps with her fan upon Burleigh, though at the
mention of Doña de Alva they give earnest attention, especially at that