Westward Ho!

C >> Charles Kingsley >> Westward Ho!


Ay, smile, reader, if you will; and, perhaps, there was matter for a
smile in that honest sermon, interlarded, as it was, with scraps of
Greek and Hebrew, which no one understood, but every one expected as
their right (for a preacher was nothing then who could not prove himself
"a good Latiner"); and graced, moreover, by a somewhat pedantic and
lengthy refutation from Scripture of Dan Horace's cockney horror of the
sea--

"Illi robur et aes triplex," etc.

and his infidel and ungodly slander against the impias rates, and their
crews.

Smile, if you will: but those were days (and there were never less
superstitious ones) in which Englishmen believed in the living God, and
were not ashamed to acknowledge, as a matter of course, His help and
providence, and calling, in the matters of daily life, which we now
in our covert atheism term "secular and carnal;" and when, the sermon
ended, the communion service had begun, and the bread and the wine were
given to those five mariners, every gallant gentleman who stood near
them (for the press would not allow of more) knelt and received the
elements with them as a thing of course, and then rose to join with
heart and voice not merely in the Gloria in Excelsis, but in the Te
Deum, which was the closing act of all. And no sooner had the clerk
given out the first verse of that great hymn, than it was taken up by
five hundred voices within the church, in bass and tenor, treble and
alto (for every one could sing in those days, and the west-country folk,
as now, were fuller than any of music), the chant was caught up by the
crowd outside, and rang away over roof and river, up to the woods of
Annery, and down to the marshes of the Taw, in wave on wave of harmony.
And as it died away, the shipping in the river made answer with their
thunder, and the crowd streamed out again toward the Bridge Head,
whither Sir Richard Grenville, and Sir John Chichester, and Mr.
Salterne, the Mayor, led the five heroes of the day to await the pageant
which had been prepared in honor of them. And as they went by, there
were few in the crowd who did not press forward to shake them by the
hand, and not only them, but their parents and kinsfolk who walked
behind, till Mrs. Leigh, her stately joy quite broken down at last,
could only answer between her sobs, "Go along, good people--God a mercy,
go along--and God send you all such sons!"

"God give me back mine!" cried an old red-cloaked dame in the crowd; and
then, struck by some hidden impulse, she sprang forward, and catching
hold of young Amyas's sleeve--

"Kind sir! dear sir! For Christ his sake answer a poor old widow woman!"

"What is it, dame?" quoth Amyas, gently enough.

"Did you see my son to the Indies?--my son Salvation?"

"Salvation?" replied he, with the air of one who recollected the name.

"Yes, sure, Salvation Yeo, of Clovelly. A tall man and black, and
sweareth awfully in his talk, the Lord forgive him!"

Amyas recollected now. It was the name of the sailor who had given him
the wondrous horn five years ago.

"My good dame," said he, "the Indies are a very large place, and your
son may be safe and sound enough there, without my having seen him.
I knew one Salvation Yeo. But he must have come with--By the by,
godfather, has Mr. Oxenham come home?"

There was a dead silence for a moment among the gentlemen round; and
then Sir Richard said solemnly, and in a low voice, turning away from
the old dame,--

"Amyas, Mr. Oxenham has not come home; and from the day he sailed, no
word has been heard of him and all his crew."

"Oh, Sir Richard! and you kept me from sailing with him! Had I known
this before I went into church, I had had one mercy more to thank God
for."

"Thank Him all the more in thy life, my child!" whispered his mother.

"And no news of him whatsoever?"

"None; but that the year after he sailed, a ship belonging to Andrew
Barker, of Bristol, took out of a Spanish caravel, somewhere off the
Honduras, his two brass guns; but whence they came the Spaniard knew
not, having bought them at Nombre de Dios."

"Yes!" cried the old woman; "they brought home the guns, and never
brought home my boy!"

"They never saw your boy, mother," said Sir Richard.

"But I've seen him! I saw him in a dream four years last Whitsuntide, as
plain as I see you now, gentles, a-lying upon a rock, calling for a drop
of water to cool his tongue, like Dives to the torment! Oh! dear me!"
and the old dame wept bitterly.

"There is a rose noble for you!" said Mrs. Leigh.

"And there another!" said Sir Richard. And in a few minutes four or five
gold coins were in her hand. But the old dame did but look wonderingly
at the gold a moment, and then--

"Ah! dear gentles, God's blessing on you, and Mr. Cary's mighty good to
me already; but gold won't buy back childer! O! young gentleman! young
gentleman! make me a promise; if you want God's blessing on you this
day, bring me back my boy, if you find him sailing on the seas! Bring
him back, and an old widow's blessing be on you!"

Amyas promised--what else could he do?--and the group hurried on; but
the lad's heart was heavy in the midst of joy, with the thought of John
Oxenham, as he walked through the churchyard, and down the short street
which led between the ancient school and still more ancient town-house,
to the head of the long bridge, across which the pageant, having
arranged "east-the-water," was to defile, and then turn to the right
along the quay.

However, he was bound in all courtesy to turn his attention now to the
show which had been prepared in his honor, and which was really well
enough worth seeing and hearing. The English were, in those days, an
altogether dramatic people; ready and able, as in Bideford that day, to
extemporize a pageant, a masque, or any effort of the Thespian art short
of the regular drama. For they were, in the first place, even down to
the very poorest, a well-fed people, with fewer luxuries than we, but
more abundant necessaries; and while beef, ale, and good woollen clothes
could be obtained in plenty, without overworking either body or soul,
men had time to amuse themselves in something more intellectual
than mere toping in pot-houses. Moreover, the half century after the
Reformation in England was one not merely of new intellectual freedom,
but of immense animal good spirits. After years of dumb confusion and
cruel persecution, a breathing time had come: Mary and the fires of
Smithfield had vanished together like a hideous dream, and the mighty
shout of joy which greeted Elizabeth's entry into London, was the
key-note of fifty glorious years; the expression of a new-found strength
and freedom, which vented itself at home in drama and in song; abroad
in mighty conquests, achieved with the laughing recklessness of boys at
play.

So first, preceded by the waits, came along the bridge toward the
town-hall a device prepared by the good rector, who, standing by, acted
as showman, and explained anxiously to the bystanders the import of
a certain "allegory" wherein on a great banner was depicted Queen
Elizabeth herself, who, in ample ruff and farthingale, a Bible in one
hand and a sword in the other, stood triumphant upon the necks of two
sufficiently abject personages, whose triple tiara and imperial crown
proclaimed them the Pope and the King of Spain; while a label, issuing
from her royal mouth, informed the world that--

"By land and sea a virgin queen I reign,
And spurn to dust both Antichrist and Spain."

Which, having been received with due applause, a well-bedizened lad,
having in his cap as a posy "Loyalty," stepped forward, and delivered
himself of the following verses:--

"Oh, great Eliza! oh, world-famous crew!
Which shall I hail more blest, your queen or you?
While without other either falls to wrack,
And light must eyes, or eyes their light must lack.
She without you, a diamond sunk in mine,
Its worth unprized, to self alone must shine;
You without her, like hands bereft of head,
Like Ajax rage, by blindfold lust misled.
She light, you eyes; she head, and you the hands,
In fair proportion knit by heavenly hands;
Servants in queen, and queen in servants blest;
Your only glory, how to serve her best;
And hers how best the adventurous might to guide,
Which knows no check of foemen, wind, or tide,
So fair Eliza's spotless fame may fly
Triumphant round the globe, and shake th' astounded sky!"

With which sufficiently bad verses Loyalty passed on, while my Lady Bath
hinted to Sir Richard, not without reason, that the poet, in trying to
exalt both parties, had very sufficiently snubbed both, and intimated
that it was "hardly safe for country wits to attempt that euphuistic,
antithetical, and delicately conceited vein, whose proper fountain was
in Whitehall." However, on went Loyalty, very well pleased with himself,
and next, amid much cheering, two great tinsel fish, a salmon and a
trout, symbolical of the wealth of Torridge, waddled along, by means
of two human legs and a staff apiece, which protruded from the fishes'
stomachs. They drew (or seemed to draw, for half the 'prentices in the
town were shoving it behind, and cheering on the panting monarchs of
the flood) a car wherein sate, amid reeds and river-flags, three or
four pretty girls in robes of gray-blue spangled with gold, their heads
wreathed one with a crown of the sweet bog-myrtle, another with hops
and white convolvulus, the third with pale heather and golden fern. They
stopped opposite Amyas; and she of the myrtle wreath, rising and bowing
to him and the company, began with a pretty blush to say her say:--

"Hither from my moorland home,
Nymph of Torridge, proud I come;
Leaving fen and furzy brake,
Haunt of eft and spotted snake,
Where to fill mine urns I use,
Daily with Atlantic dews;
While beside the reedy flood
Wild duck leads her paddling brood.
For this morn, as Phoebus gay
Chased through heaven the night mist gray,
Close beside me, prankt in pride,
Sister Tamar rose, and cried,
'Sluggard, up! 'Tis holiday,
In the lowlands far away.
Hark! how jocund Plymouth bells,
Wandering up through mazy dells,
Call me down, with smiles to hail,
My daring Drake's returning sail.'
'Thine alone?' I answer'd. 'Nay;
Mine as well the joy to-day.
Heroes train'd on Northern wave,
To that Argo new I gave;
Lent to thee, they roam'd the main;
Give me, nymph, my sons again.'
'Go, they wait Thee,' Tamar cried,
Southward bounding from my side.
Glad I rose, and at my call,
Came my Naiads, one and all.
Nursling of the mountain sky,
Leaving Dian's choir on high,
Down her cataracts laughing loud,
Ockment leapt from crag and cloud,
Leading many a nymph, who dwells
Where wild deer drink in ferny dells;
While the Oreads as they past
Peep'd from Druid Tors aghast.
By alder copses sliding slow,
Knee-deep in flowers came gentler Yeo
And paused awhile her locks to twine
With musky hops and white woodbine,
Then joined the silver-footed band,
Which circled down my golden sand,
By dappled park, and harbor shady,
Haunt of love-lorn knight and lady,
My thrice-renowned sons to greet,
With rustic song and pageant meet.
For joy! the girdled robe around
Eliza's name henceforth shall sound,
Whose venturous fleets to conquest start,
Where ended once the seaman's chart,
While circling Sol his steps shall count
Henceforth from Thule's western mount,
And lead new rulers round the seas
From furthest Cassiterides.
For found is now the golden tree,
Solv'd th' Atlantic mystery,
Pluck'd the dragon-guarded fruit;
While around the charmed root,
Wailing loud, the Hesperids
Watch their warder's drooping lids.
Low he lies with grisly wound,
While the sorceress triple-crown'd
In her scarlet robe doth shield him,
Till her cunning spells have heal'd him.
Ye, meanwhile, around the earth
Bear the prize of manful worth.
Yet a nobler meed than gold
Waits for Albion's children bold;
Great Eliza's virgin hand
Welcomes you to Fairy-land,
While your native Naiads bring
Native wreaths as offering.
Simple though their show may be,
Britain's worship in them see.
'Tis not price, nor outward fairness,
Gives the victor's palm its rareness;
Simplest tokens can impart
Noble throb to noble heart:
Graecia, prize thy parsley crown,
Boast thy laurel, Caesar's town;
Moorland myrtle still shall be
Badge of Devon's Chivalry!"

And so ending, she took the wreath of fragrant gale from her own head,
and stooping from the car, placed it on the head of Amyas Leigh, who
made answer--

"There is no place like home, my fair mistress and no scent to my taste
like this old home-scent in all the spice-islands that I ever sailed
by!"

"Her song was not so bad," said Sir Richard to Lady Bath--"but how came
she to hear Plymouth bells at Tamar-head, full fifty miles away? That's
too much of a poet's license, is it not?"

"The river-nymphs, as daughters of Oceanus, and thus of immortal
parentage, are bound to possess organs of more than mortal keenness;
but, as you say, the song was not so bad--erudite, as well as
prettily conceived--and, saving for a certain rustical simplicity and
monosyllabic baldness, smacks rather of the forests of Castaly than
those of Torridge."

So spake my Lady Bath; whom Sir Richard wisely answered not; for she was
a terribly learned member of the college of critics, and disputed even
with Sidney's sister the chieftaincy of the Euphuists; so Sir Richard
answered not, but answer was made for him.

"Since the whole choir of Muses, madam, have migrated to the Court of
Whitehall, no wonder if some dews of Parnassus should fertilize at times
even our Devon moors."

The speaker was a tall and slim young man, some five-and-twenty years
old, of so rare and delicate a beauty, that it seemed that some Greek
statue, or rather one of those pensive and pious knights whom the old
German artists took delight to paint, had condescended to tread awhile
this work-day earth in living flesh and blood. The forehead was very
lofty and smooth, the eyebrows thin and greatly arched (the envious
gallants whispered that something at least of their curve was due to
art, as was also the exceeding smoothness of those delicate cheeks).
The face was somewhat long and thin; the nose aquiline; and the languid
mouth showed, perhaps, too much of the ivory upper teeth; but the
most striking point of the speaker's appearance was the extraordinary
brilliancy of his complexion, which shamed with its whiteness that of
all fair ladies round, save where open on each cheek a bright red spot
gave warning, as did the long thin neck and the taper hands, of sad
possibilities, perhaps not far off; possibilities which all saw with an
inward sigh, except she whose doting glances, as well as her resemblance
to the fair youth, proclaimed her at once his mother, Mrs. Leigh
herself.

Master Frank, for he it was, was dressed in the very extravagance of
the fashion,--not so much from vanity, as from that delicate instinct
of self-respect which would keep some men spruce and spotless from one
year's end to another upon a desert island; "for," as Frank used to say
in his sententious way, "Mr. Frank Leigh at least beholds me, though
none else be by; and why should I be more discourteous to him than
I permit others to be? Be sure that he who is a Grobian in his own
company, will, sooner or later, become a Grobian in that of his
friends."

So Mr. Frank was arrayed spotlessly; but after the latest fashion of
Milan, not in trunk hose and slashed sleeves, nor in "French standing
collar, treble quadruple daedalian ruff, or stiff-necked rabato, that
had more arches for pride, propped up with wire and timber, than five
London Bridges;" but in a close-fitting and perfectly plain suit of
dove-color, which set off cunningly the delicate proportions of his
figure, and the delicate hue of his complexion, which was shaded from
the sun by a broad dove-colored Spanish hat, with feather to match,
looped up over the right ear with a pearl brooch, and therein a crowned
E, supposed by the damsels of Bideford to stand for Elizabeth, which
was whispered to be the gift of some most illustrious hand. This same
looping up was not without good reason and purpose prepense; thereby all
the world had full view of a beautiful little ear, which looked as if
it had been cut of cameo, and made, as my Lady Rich once told him, "to
hearken only to the music of the spheres, or to the chants of cherubim."
Behind the said ear was stuck a fresh rose; and the golden hair was all
drawn smoothly back and round to the left temple, whence, tied with a
pink ribbon in a great true lover's knot, a mighty love-lock, "curled as
it had been laid in press," rolled down low upon his bosom. Oh, Frank!
Frank! have you come out on purpose to break the hearts of all Bideford
burghers' daughters? And if so, did you expect to further that triumph
by dyeing that pretty little pointed beard (with shame I report it) of
a bright vermilion? But we know you better, Frank, and so does your
mother; and you are but a masquerading angel after all, in spite of
your knots and your perfumes, and the gold chain round your neck which a
German princess gave you; and the emerald ring on your right fore-finger
which Hatton gave you; and the pair of perfumed gloves in your left
which Sidney's sister gave you; and the silver-hilted Toledo which an
Italian marquis gave you on a certain occasion of which you never choose
to talk, like a prudent and modest gentleman as you are; but of which
the gossips talk, of course, all the more, and whisper that you saved
his life from bravoes--a dozen, at the least; and had that sword for
your reward, and might have had his beautiful sister's hand beside, and
I know not what else; but that you had so many lady-loves already that
you were loath to burden yourself with a fresh one. That, at least, we
know to be a lie, fair Frank; for your heart is as pure this day as when
you knelt in your little crib at Burrough, and said--

"Four corners to my bed
Four angels round my head;
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,
Bless the bed that I lie on."

And who could doubt it (if being pure themselves, they have instinctive
sympathy with what is pure), who ever looked into those great deep blue
eyes of yours, "the black fringed curtains of whose azure lids,"
usually down-dropt as if in deepest thought, you raise slowly, almost
wonderingly each time you speak, as if awakening from some fair dream
whose home is rather in your platonical "eternal world of supra-sensible
forms," than on that work-day earth wherein you nevertheless acquit
yourself so well? There--I must stop describing you, or I shall catch
the infection of your own euphuism, and talk of you as you would have
talked of Sidney or of Spenser, or of that Swan of Avon, whose song
had just begun when yours--but I will not anticipate; my Lady Bath is
waiting to give you her rejoinder.

"Ah, my silver-tongued scholar! and are you, then, the poet? or have
you been drawing on the inexhaustible bank of your friend Raleigh, or my
cousin Sidney? or has our new Cygnet Immerito lent you a few unpublished
leaves from some fresh Shepherd's Calendar?"

"Had either, madam, of that cynosural triad been within call of my
most humble importunities, your ears had been delectate with far nobler
melody."

"But not our eyes with fairer faces, eh? Well, you have chosen your
nymphs, and had good store from whence to pick, I doubt not. Few
young Dulcineas round but must have been glad to take service under so
renowned a captain?"

"The only difficulty, gracious countess, has been to know where to fix
the wandering choice of my bewildered eyes, where all alike are fair,
and all alike facund."

"We understand," said she, smiling;--

"Dan Cupid, choosing 'midst his mother's graces,
Himself more fair, made scorn of fairest faces."

The young scholar capped her distich forthwith, and bowing to her with a
meaning look,


"'Then, Goddess, turn,' he cried, 'and veil thy light; Blinded by thine,
what eyes can choose aright?'"


"Go, saucy sir," said my lady, in high glee: "the pageant stays your
supreme pleasure."

And away went Mr. Frank as master of the revels, to bring up the
'prentices' pageant; while, for his sake, the nymph of Torridge was
forgotten for awhile by all young dames, and most young gentlemen: and
his mother heaved a deep sigh, which Lady Bath overhearing--

"What? in the dumps, good madam, while all are rejoicing in your joy?
Are you afraid that we court-dames shall turn your Adonis's brain for
him?"

"I do, indeed, fear lest your condescension should make him forget that
he is only a poor squire's orphan."

"I will warrant him never to forget aught that he should recollect,"
said my Lady Bath.

And she spoke truly. But soon Frank's silver voice was heard calling
out--

"Room there, good people, for the gallant 'prentice lads!"

And on they came, headed by a giant of buckram and pasteboard armor,
forth of whose stomach looked, like a clock-face in a steeple, a human
visage, to be greeted, as was the fashion then, by a volley of quips and
puns from high and low.

Young Mr. William Cary, of Clovelly, who was the wit of those parts,
opened the fire by asking him whether he were Goliath, Gogmagog, or
Grantorto in the romance; for giants' names always began with a G. To
which the giant's stomach answered pretty surlily--

"Mine don't; I begin with an O."

"Then thou criest out before thou art hurt, O cowardly giant!"

"Let me out, lads," quoth the irascible visage, struggling in his
buckram prison, "and I soon show him whether I be a coward."

"Nay, if thou gettest out of thyself, thou wouldst be beside thyself,
and so wert but a mad giant."

"And that were pity," said Lady Bath; "for by the romances, giants have
never overmuch wit to spare."

"Mercy, dear lady!" said Frank, "and let the giant begin with an O."

"A ----"

"A false start, giant! you were to begin with an O."

"I'll make you end with an O, Mr. William Cary!" roared the testy tower
of buckram.

"And so I do, for I end with 'Fico!'"

"Be mollified, sweet giant," said Frank, "and spare the rash youth of
yon foolish knight. Shall elephants catch flies, or Hurlo-Thrumbo stain
his club with brains of Dagonet the jester? Be mollified; leave thy
caverned grumblings, like Etna when its windy wrath is past, and
discourse eloquence from thy central omphalos, like Pythoness
ventriloquizing."

"If you do begin laughing at me too, Mr. Leigh ----" said the giant's
clock-face, in a piteous tone.

"I laugh not. Art thou not Ordulf the earl, and I thy humblest squire?
Speak up, my lord; your cousin, my Lady Bath, commands you."

And at last the giant began:--

"A giant I, Earl Ordulf men me call,--
'Gainst Paynim foes Devonia's champion tall;
In single fight six thousand Turks I slew;
Pull'd off a lion's head, and ate it too:
With one shrewd blow, to let St. Edward in,
I smote the gates of Exeter in twain;
Till aged grown, by angels warn'd in dream,
I built an abbey fair by Tavy stream.
But treacherous time hath tripped my glories up,
The stanch old hound must yield to stancher pup;
Here's one so tall as I, and twice so bold,
Where I took only cuffs, takes good red gold.
From pole to pole resound his wondrous works,
Who slew more Spaniards than I e'er slew Turks;
I strode across the Tavy stream: but he
Strode round the world and back; and here 'a be!"

"Oh, bathos!" said Lady Bath, while the 'prentices shouted applause. "Is
this hedge-bantling to be fathered on you, Mr. Frank?"

"It is necessary, by all laws of the drama, madam," said Frank, with a
sly smile, "that the speech and the speaker shall fit each other. Pass
on, Earl Ordulf; a more learned worthy waits."

Whereon, up came a fresh member of the procession; namely, no less
a person than Vindex Brimblecombe, the ancient schoolmaster, with
five-and-forty boys at his heels, who halting, pulled out his
spectacles, and thus signified his forgiveness of his whilom broken
head:--

"That the world should have been circumnavigated, ladies and gentles,
were matter enough of jubilation to the student of Herodotus and Plato,
Plinius and ---- ahem! much more when the circumnavigators are Britons;
more, again, when Damnonians."

"Don't swear, master," said young Will Cary.

"Gulielme Cary, Gulielme Cary, hast thou forgotten thy--"

"Whippings? Never, old lad! Go on; but let not the license of the
scholar overtop the modesty of the Christian."

"More again, as I said, when, incolae, inhabitants of Devon; but,
most of all, men of Bideford school. Oh renowned school! Oh schoolboys
ennobled by fellowship with him! Oh most happy pedagogue, to whom it has
befallen to have chastised a circumnavigator, and, like another Chiron,
trained another Hercules: yet more than Hercules, for he placed
his pillars on the ocean shore, and then returned; but my scholar's
voyage--"