The First of the English: A Novel
“Perchance, Your Majesty. You have had many of them with less brains.”
“And less jabber,” replies Elizabeth, who cannot forget that she has
fifteen thousand crowns less in her treasury. “He talked me out of the
money, he took advantage of my weakness, Lord Burleigh. Take him away
from here before I take the treasury order back. But go after those two
poor Gueux nobles, have them to dinner with you. Show them you have a
heart if your Queen has not.” Then the two go out from the presence of
Elizabeth of England, Guy stepping quite rapidly. He fears Her Majesty
may rescind the draft on her exchequer.
Burleigh accompanies him to the treasury, apparently nervous himself
about this matter. But the money being paid over, he says to Guy: “Her
Majesty said to see these Gueux well armed and well ammunitioned. Will
your vessel carry enough?”
“For a campaign?—No!”
“Then,” says Burleigh, “here is my order, Sir Guy Chester. Take with
you four ships, fill them up with powder, arms and munitions of war,
for which I will give you royal warrant on the Queen’s arsenal at
Sandwich, Harwich, or any other to which you may apply. This is not
merely an engagement for which we send these men, but a war, long and
continued, against Alva; for it is now his head or those of the
starving Beggars of the Sea. Here is also warrant permitting you if
satisfactory charter cannot be obtained, to take the vessels you need
for our purpose. But of course all this is private and privileged
between us. England is at peace with Spain. So, God speed you.”
So Guy, going upon his errand with all the expedition he can command,
obtains possession of four large caravals in the port of Sandwich, and
loads them to the gunwale with all the arms and munitions of war he can
obtain, powder enough for many a battle and many a siege, and taking
these with him sails on the morning of the next day through the Downs
and lies off and on between the Goodwin Sands and Coast of France. Here
the Gueux, coming out of Dover, can’t very well miss him, and he is
very shortly overhauled and apparently captured by these desperate
gentry of the sea.
“Elizabeth of England would not give you provisions, but here are arms
and ammunition with which to take them from Alva,” Chester laughs, as
Tresslong’s vessel ranges alongside of the Dover Lass.
And understanding this very well, the Gueux loot the four captured
vessels in great style, leaving him of the Dover Lass hardly enough
powder to defend her with, which causes Guy to put very hastily into
Dover for ammunition for himself.
Word of this being brought to Queen Elizabeth she cries out very
savagely to her counsellor, Lord Burleigh: “Gadzooks, man, you have
ruined my kingdom. You’ve robbed my arsenal at Sandwich of munitions
sufficient to defend the realm of England. Thou art a vile traitor!”
“Under favor, my liege,” remarks Cecil, “you said to munition and arm
the Gueux well and thoroughly. I have done so. The more powder I give
them, the more ball I give them, the harder it will be for your friend
of Alva.”
“Very well,” answers Her Majesty, “this I forgive you if you gave a
good wholesome dinner and plenty of strong wine to those poor famishing
officers of the Gueux, Van Tresslong and Lord de la Mark.”
“Your Majesty’s orders in that respect were obeyed also,” replies
Burleigh. “They had every delicacy of the season and wine of finest
vintage. Oho! I can see them eat now. No such assault was ever made on
provender and wassail since the time of giant Glutton himself. Your
Majesty will know how they ate by the bill that is already with your
treasurer.”
“The bill with my treasurer!” screams Elizabeth. “Out upon you for a
miserable, thieving knave! Burleigh, you’re robbing me; robbing your
sovereign, you vile caitiff traitor—and my gear women and millinery
scores still due and unpaid. Look to your weazened head if the Gueux
win not victory over Alva!”
And with these words the Queen of England strides from the room in
anger and dismay.
CHAPTER X.
THE SECRET OF THE STATUE.
This matter of ammunition delays Guy in England several days. But the
fleet little Dover Lass soon makes the trip to the Netherlands,
carrying every inch of canvas she can show, and early in April Chester
finds himself once more off the mouth of the Schelde, and sighting the
town of Flushing is astounded but delighted to see the yellow, white
and blue flag of Orange floating over the place.
“Zounds!” he cries to his first lieutenant, “the Gueux have landed and
taken Flushing! There are two vessels sailing in with the flag of
Orange at their peaks. Overhaul them and get me the news, Dalton.”
In the course of half an hour the Dover Lass comes alongside the
vessels that are commanded by Captain De Ryk of Amsterdam. From him he
learns that the Gueux have not only taken Flushing, but have taken
Briel, a strongly fortified town upon the island of Voorne, where the
Rhine estuary reaches the German ocean. Their success has been the
spark to illuminate the patriotism of Holland and the Netherlands. Town
after town is declaring for the Prince of Orange as the Staatholder of
Philip Second, and against Alva, for curiously enough, such was the
respect with which royalty was regarded at that time that Orange still
announced himself as the vassal of the Spanish crown, though fighting
against its sovereign with all his might of arm and strength of brain.
Curiously enough also the two vessels of De Ryk, having left England
somewhat later than the rest of the Gueux, have on board five hundred
stout English volunteers, who greet Guy with shouts of Saxon welcome.
For Burleigh, pondering upon Elizabeth’s remarks, is anxious for his
weazened head, and is now giving every aid in his power to this raid of
the Beggars of the Sea.
So the Dover Lass and the two Gueux ships are wafted by light breezes
toward Flushing quay. Just as they make landing there, a great
commotion arises in the town. Some quarter of an hour before this they
have noted a small pinnace with single mast and lateen sail headed from
the south, Antwerp-way, pass to the dock before them. From this three
gentlemen in very fine clothes and with Spanish appearance have landed
laughingly, and strolled up into the town.
Even as De Ryk and Chester step upon the quay, these three come running
hurriedly from out the center of the place toward the dock, pursued by
such a motley mob as quiet Flushing never saw before. It is as if two
hundred priests and nuns, drunk with blood, were after them, for all
these monks and nuns are brawny pirates, some having hassocks and cowls
upon them, others wearing the robes of nuns. Their leader, fierce Dirk
Duyvel himself, is habited as lady abbess, and all are armed to the
teeth with pistol and pike or sword and arquebus.
“Down with the murderous Spanish!” cry some. “Hang them up on high,
quick!” yell others. “Into the sea with Alva’s butchers!” is the shout
of the rest, all this larded with fearful imprecations and terrible
Dutch oaths.
Seeing their retreat to their boat cut off by De Ryk’s men, the leader
of these three Spaniards comes speeding ahead of his foremost pursuers,
and bowing before De Ryk takes off from his finger a gaudy signet ring,
and presenting it to the Gueux captain, pants: “I—I surrender to you.
I—I did not know this town was in possession of the—the rebels. By this
ring guard me from sudden death. I am noble. I can pay a large ransom.
I am Alva’s engineer.” He says this anxiously and breathlessly, for the
crowd are upon him.
Guy now recognizes him with astonishment, as Paciotto, Alva’s great
military engineer, whom he had seen at the Captain General’s side in
Antwerp.
“You know me?” Paciotto gasps.
“Too well!” cries the throng, who now have hands on him.
“Too well!” mutters De Ryk, “But I’ll save you from immediate
damnation,” and he and Guy and one or two of his officers with drawn
swords protect these three men, who in another minute would have been
hacked to pieces by the Beggars of the Sea. For these sea rovers,
having drunk victory at the Briel, are now drunk with blood also,
having requited in kind upon the Spaniard some of the butcheries of the
last five years—one or two of the most ferocious eating Castilian heart
with gusto and drinking Italian blood con amore. Every one of them has
some butchered brother or murdered father or outraged wife to make him
as inhuman as his foes. What chance has any officer of Alva’s with such
a mob? Guy soon finds Paciotto has not even choice of his manner of
death.
While De Ryk and he save the Italian from immediate violence a number
of the Gueux have boarded the little Spanish sloop in which he came and
butchered the hapless crew with wild shouts of joy and triumph.
A moment after the Italian is dragged to the Raadhuis where Van
Tresslong, who commands, is in consultation with the Burgomaster,
“Schout” and other officials of the town; most of his captains being
with him.
“By our martyrs,” cries the Dutch vice-admiral, “this day is fortunate.
Here is one of Alva’s very pets right in our hands—a court-martial for
the Italian gentleman!”
“I beg for law of war, William de Blois, Lord of Tresslong,” says
Paciotto, quite haughtily, though hope has left his face.
“The same law of war that Alva gave to my murdered brother, when he
executed him with seventeen other nobles in the Brussels horse market,”
answers the Fleming.
“Yes, justice and mercy,” jeers one of his captains. “The same justice
that Alva gave to my father when he cried for quarter at Jemmingen. The
same mercy that De Bossu, but two days since, gave at Rotterdam.”
“With such judges I am condemned beforehand,” sighs the Italian, as Van
Tresslong and his officers take seats about a drum head.
Then as the court is being sworn the Dutch Vice-Admiral, who has a long
head, remarks: “We must make the Burgomaster one of our court. That
will nail him to our cause. He will hold Flushing, as he values his own
head, against Alva.”
So the Burgomaster, nolens volens, is made a member of the court, and
Paciotto is put upon trial for his life.
“Of what do you accuse me?” asks the unfortunate officer. “Of being a
loyal subject of your king, Philip of Spain? Of that I plead guilty.”
“Bah!” replies Van Tresslong, “you’re the pet and confidant of Alva,
who butchers us. That’s why we’ll have your life. Also, with your
Italian engineering art you built for him his stronghold, the citadel
of Antwerp.”
“If that deserves death, then execute me,” murmurs the Italian, “but I
pray you with the sword.”
“Hold!” cries Guy, who has English sympathy with the under animal in
the fight, “As your military counsel I will defend you in this court.”
“Do not waste your words for me, señor,” says the Italian sadly. “These
Flemish dogs are licking their chops already for my blood.”
But Guy, unheeding this, goes to pleading for this unfortunate officer
of Spain, using at times, in his impulsive way, a vehement eloquence
that is so uncomplimentary to Paciotto’s accusers that did the
Englishman not wear the Gueux medal himself, and, above all, were he
not the man who had given to their hands the four ships loaded with
powder and ammunition, Sir Guy Chester himself might not have come
scathless from out this council of the Beggars of the Sea.
In spite of Chester’s imprecations and implorings the Gueux officers
make very short work of the affair, and in less than five minutes by
the ticking Dutch clock that stands facing them in the hall, they
condemn the Italian engineer not to death with the sword, but to the
dog’s death—by the noose.
And sentence being given, the Italian cries suddenly: “How long is it
since Flushing has been in danger of falling into your hands?”