By Pike and Dyke: a Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic

"It does concern me, mother. Are you not Dutch? And though I was born in England and a subject of the queen, it is natural I should feel warmly in the matter; besides we know that many English are already coming over here to help. Have not the Spanish killed my relations, and unless they are driven back they will altogether exterminate the Protestants of the Netherlands? Have they not already been doomed to death regardless of age and sex by Philip's proclamation? and do not the Spaniards whenever they capture a town slay well nigh all within it?"

"That is all true enough," his mother agreed; "but proves in no way that you are a fit age to meddle in the affair."

"I am sixteen, mother; and a boy of sixteen who has been years at sea is as strong as one of eighteen brought up on land. You have told me yourself that I look two or three years older than I am, and methinks I have strength to handle pike and axe."

"That may be perfectly true," said Mrs. Martin, "but even supposing all other things were fitting, how could we spare you now when your father will be months before he can follow his trade on the sea again, even if he is ever able to do so?"

"That is the thing, mother, that weighs with me. I know not what my father's wishes may be in that respect, and of course if he holds that I can be of use to him I must give up my plan; but I want you at any rate to mention it to him. And I pray you not to add your objections, but to let him decide on the matter according to his will."

"There will be no occasion for me to add objections, Ned. I do not think your father will listen to such a mad scheme for a moment."

It was not until three or four days later that Mrs. Martin, seeing that her husband was stronger and better, and was taking an interest in what passed in the house, fulfilled her promise to Ned by telling his father of his wishes.

"You must not be angry with him," she said when she had finished; "for he spoke beautifully, and expressed himself as perfectly willing to yield his wishes to yours in the matter. I told him, of course, that it was a mad brained scheme, and not to be thought of. Still, as he was urgent I should lay it before you, I promised to do so."

Captain Martin did not, as his wife expected, instantly declare that such a plan was not to be thought of even for a moment, but lay for some time apparently turning it over in his mind.

"I know not quite what to say," he said at length.

"Not know what to say?" his wife repeated in surprise. "Why, husband, you surely cannot for a moment think of allowing Ned to embark in so wild a business."

"There are many English volunteers coming over; some of them not much older, and not so fit in bodily strength for the work as Ned. He has, too, the advantage of speaking the language, and can pass anywhere as a native. You are surprised, Sophie, at my thinking of this for a moment."

"But what would you do without him?" she exclaimed in astonishment.

"That is what I have been thinking as I lay here. I have been troubled what to do with Ned. He is too young yet to entrust with all the business of the ship, and the merchants here and at home would hesitate in doing business with a lad. Moreover, he is too young to be first mate on board the brig. Peters is a worthy man and a good sailor, but he can neither read nor write and knows nought of business; and, therefore, until I am able, if I ever shall be, to return to the Good Venture, I must have a good seaman as first mate, and a supercargo to manage the business affairs of the ship. Were Ned four years older he could be at once first mate and supercargo. There, you see your objection that I need him falls to the ground. As to other reasons I will think them over, and speak to you another time."

CHAPTER VI

THE PRINCE OF ORANGE

Mistress Martin was much troubled in her mind by what seemed to her the unaccountable favour with which her husband had received Ned's proposal. She did not, however, allow any trace of this feeling to escape her, nor did she mention to Ned that she had as yet spoken as to his wishes to his father. The next day Captain Martin himself renewed the subject.

"I told you yesterday, Sophie, why in my opinion Ned would at present be of little aid to me in the matter of the brig, and may even go further in that respect and say that I think for a time it will be just as well that he were not on board. Having no established position there would be no special duties for him to perform. Now, I have made a point of telling him all about the consignments and the rates of freight, and have encouraged him always to express his opinion freely on these matters in order that his intelligence might thereby be quickened; but if he so expressed himself to the supercargo the latter might well take offence and difficulties arise, therefore before you spoke to me I had quite resolved that it would be best he should sail no more in the Good Venture until old enough to come in and take the place of second mate and supercargo, but that I would place him with some captain of my acquaintance, under whom he would continue to learn his duty for the next three or four years."

"That is a good reason, doubtless, husband, why Ned should not sail in the Venture, but surely no reason at all why he should carry out this mad fancy of his."

"No reason, I grant you, wife; but it simply shows that it happens at this moment we can well spare him. As to the main question, it is a weighty one. Other young Englishmen have come out to fight for the Netherlands with far less cause than he has to mix themselves up in its affairs. Moreover, and this principally, it is borne strongly upon my mind that it may be that this boy of ours is called upon to do good service to Holland. It seems to me wife," he went on, in answer to the look of astonishment upon his wife's face, "that the hand of Providence is in this matter.

"I have always felt with you a hatred of the Spaniards and a deep horror at the cruelties they are perpetrating upon this unhappy people, and have thought that did the queen give the order for war against them I would gladly adventure my life and ship in such an enterprise; further than that I have not gone. But upon that day when I heard the news of your father and brothers' murder I took a solemn oath to heaven of vengeance against their slayers, and resolved that on my return to England I would buy out my partners in the Good Venture, and with her join the beggars of the sea and wage war to the death against the Spaniards. It has been willed otherwise, wife. Within twenty-four hours of my taking that oath I was struck down and my fighting powers were gone forever.

"My oath was not accepted. I was not to be an instrument of God's vengeance upon these murderers. Now, our son, without word or consultation with me, feels called upon to take up the work I cannot perform. It happens strangely that he can for the next two or three years be well spared from his life at sea. That the boy will do great feats I do not suppose; but he is cool and courageous, for I marked his demeanour under fire the other day. And it may be that though he may do no great things in fighting he may be the means in saving some woman, some child, from the fury of the Spaniards. If he saved but one, the next three years of his life will not have been misspent."

"But he may fall–he may be killed by the Spaniards!" Mistress Martin said in great agitation.

"If it be the will of God, wife, not otherwise. He is exposed to danger every time he goes to sea. More than once since he first came on board, the Venture has been in dire peril; who can say that her next voyage may not be her last. However, I decide nothing now; tomorrow I will speak to the boy myself and gather from his words whether this is a mere passing fancy, natural enough to his age and to the times, or a deep longing to venture his life in the cause of a persecuted people whose blood runs in his veins, and who have a faith which is his own and ours."

Mrs. Martin said no more; her husband's will had, since she married, been in all matters of importance law to her, and was more so than ever now that he lay weak and helpless. His words and manner too had much impressed her. Her whole sympathies were passionately with her countrymen, and the heavy losses she had so recently sustained had added vastly to her hatred of the Spaniards. The suggestion, too, of her husband that though Ned might do no great deeds as a soldier he might be the means of saving some woman or child's life, appealed to her womanly feelings.

She had girls of her own, and the thought that one of like age might possibly be saved from the horrors of the sack of a city by Ned's assistance appealed to her with great force. She went about the house for the rest of the day subdued and quiet. Ned was puzzled at her demeanour, and had he not seen for himself that his father was progressing satisfactorily he would have thought that some relapse had taken place, some unfavourable symptom appeared. But this was clearly not the reason, and he could only fancy that now his mother's anxiety as to his father's state was in some degree abating, she was beginning to feel the loss of her father and brothers all the more.

That the request she had promised to make in his name to his father had anything to do with the matter did not enter his mind. Indeed, he had begun to regret that he had made it. Not that his intense longing to take service against the Spaniards was in any way abated, but he felt it was selfish, now that he might for the first time be of real use to his parents, for him thus to propose to embark in adventures on his own account. He had asked his mother to put the matter before his father, but he had scarce even a hope the latter would for a moment listen to the proposal. The next morning after breakfast, as he was about to start for a stroll to the wharf to have a talk with Peters, his mother said to him quietly: "Put aside your cap, Ned, your father wishes to speak to you."

She spoke so gravely that Ned ascended the stairs in some perturbation of spirit. Doubtless she had spoken to his father, and the latter was about to rate him severely for his folly in proposing to desert his duty, and to embark in so wild an adventure as that he had proposed. He was in no way reassured by the grave tone in which his father said:

"Place that chair by my bedside, Ned, and sit down; my voice is not strong and it fatigues me to speak loud. And now," he went on, when Ned with a shamefaced expression had seated himself by the bedside, "this desire that your mother tells me of to fight against the Spaniards for a time in the service of the Prince of Orange, how did it first come to you?"

"Ever since I heard the terrible story of the persecutions here," Ned replied. "I said to myself then that when I came to be a man I would take revenge for these horrible murders. Since then the more I have heard of the persecutions that the people here have suffered in the cause of their religion, the more I have longed to be able to give them such aid as I could. I have spoken of it over and over again to my sisters; but I do not think that I should ever have ventured to put my desire into words, had it not been for the terrible news we learnt at Vordwyk. Now, however, that they have killed my grandfather and uncles and have wounded you, I long more than ever to join the patriots here; and of course the knowledge that many young Englishmen were coming out to Brill and Flushing as volunteers added to my desire. I said to myself if they who are English are ready to give their lives in the cause of the Hollanders, why should not I, who speak their language and am of their blood?"

"You have no desire to do great deeds or to distinguish yourself?" Captain Martin asked.

"No, father; I have never so much as thought of that. I could not imagine that I, as a boy, could be of any great service. I thought I might, perhaps, being so young, be able to be of use in passing among the Spaniards and carrying messages where a man could not get through. I thought sometimes I might perhaps carry a warning in time to enable women to escape with their children from a town that was about to be beleaguered, and I hoped that if I did stand in the ranks to face the Spaniards I should not disgrace my nation and blood. I know, father, that it was presumptuous for me to think that I could be of any real use; and if you are against it I will, of course, as I told my mother, submit myself cheerfully to your wishes."

"I am glad to see, Ned, that in this matter you are actuated by right motives, and not moved by any boyish idea of adventure or of doing feats of valour. This is no ordinary war, my boy. There is none of the chivalry of past times in the struggle here. It is one of life and death–grim, earnest, and determined. On one side is Philip with the hosts of Spain, the greatest power in Europe, determined to crush out the life of these poor provinces, to stamp out the religion of the country, to leave not one man, woman, or child alive who refuses to attend mass and to bow the knee before the Papist images; on the other side you have a poor people tenanting a land snatched from the sea, and held by constant and enduring labour, equally determined that they will not abjure their religion, that they will not permit the Inquisition to be established among them, and ready to give lives and homes and all in the cause of religious liberty. They have no thought of throwing off their allegiance to Spain, if Spain will but be tolerant. The Prince of Orange issues his orders and proclamations as the stadtholder and lieutenant of the king, and declares that he is warring for Philip, and designs only to repel those who, by their persecution and cruelty, are dishonouring the royal cause.

"This cannot go on forever, and in time the Netherlands will be driven to entreat some other foreign monarch to take them under his protection. In this war there is no talk of glory. Men are fighting for their religion, their homes, their wives and families. They know that the Spaniards show neither quarter nor mercy, and that it is scarce more than a question between death by the sword and death by torture and hanging. There is no mercy for prisoners. The town that yields on good conditions is sacked and destroyed as is one taken by storm, for in no case have the Spaniards observed the conditions they have made, deeming oaths taken to heretics to be in no way binding on their consciences.

"Thus, Ned, those who embark upon this war engage in a struggle in which there is no honour nor glory, nor fame nor reward to be won, but one in which almost certain death stares them in the face, and which, so far as I can see, can end only in the annihilation of the people of this country, or in the expulsion of the Spaniards. I do not say that there is no glory to be gained; but it is not personal glory. In itself, no cause was ever more glorious than that of men who struggle, not to conquer territory, not to gather spoil, not to gratify ambition, but for freedom, for religion, for hearth and home, and to revenge the countless atrocities inflicted upon them by their oppressors. After what I have said, do you still wish to embark upon this struggle?"

"I do wish it, father," Ned said firmly. "I desire it above all things, if you and my mother can spare me."

Captain Martin then repeated to Ned the reasons that he had given his wife for consenting to his carrying out his wishes: the fact that there was no place for him at present on board the Good Venture, the oath of vengeance upon the Spaniards that he had taken, and his impression that although he himself could not carry out that oath, its weight had been transferred to his son, whose desire to take up the work he had intended to carry out, just at this moment, seemed to him to be a special design of Providence.

"Now Ned," he concluded, "you understand the reasons that sway me in giving my consent to your desire to do what you can for the cause of religion and liberty. I do not propose that you should at present actually take up arms that I question if you are strong enough to wield. I will pray the burgomaster to give you letters of introduction to the Prince, saying you are a young Englishman ready and desirous of doing all that lies in your power for the cause; that you speak the language as a native, and will be ready to carry his messages wheresoever he may require them to be sent; that you can be relied upon to be absolutely faithful, and have entered the cause in no light spirit or desire for personal credit or honour, but as one who has suffered great wrong in the loss of near relatives at the hands of the Spaniards, and is wishful only of giving such services as he can to the cause.

"It may be that coming with such recommendation the Prince will see some way in which he can turn your services to account. And now leave me, my boy. I am wearied with all this talking; and although I deem that it is not my duty to withstand your wishes, it is no slight trial to see my only son embark in so terrible and perilous an adventure as this. But the cause I regard as a sacred one, and it seems to me that I have no right to keep you from entering upon it, as your mind lies that way."

Ned left the room greatly impressed with his father's words. He was glad indeed that the permission he had asked for had been granted, and that he was free to devote himself to the cause so dear to most Englishmen, and doubly so to him from his relations with the country. Sailing backwards and forwards to the various ports in the Netherlands, and able to hold intercourse with all he met, he had for years been listening to tales of atrocity and horror, until he had come to regard the Spaniards as human monsters, and to long with all his heart and strength to be able to join the oppressed people against their tyrants.

Now he had got permission to do so. But he felt more than he had done before the serious nature of the step which he was taking; and although he did not for a moment regret the choice he had made, he was conscious of its importance and of the solemn nature of the duties he took upon himself in thus engaging in the struggle between the Netherlands and Spain. He passed the room where his mother was sitting, went over and kissed her, and then taking his cap passed out into the street and mounted the ramparts, where he could think undisturbed. His father's words had not shaken his determination, although they had depressed his enthusiasm; but as he paced up and down, with the fresh air from the sea blowing upon his cheek, the feeling of youth and strength soon sent the blood dancing through his veins again. His cheeks flushed, and his eyes brightened.

"There is honour and glory in the struggle," he said. "Did not the people, old and young, pour out to the Crusades to wrest Jerusalem from the hands of the infidels? This is a more glorious task. It is to save God's followers from destruction; to succour the oppressed; to fight for women and children as well as for men. It is a holier and nobler object than that for which the Crusaders fought. They died in hundreds of thousands by heat, by famine, thirst, and the swords of the enemy. Few of those who fought ever returned home to reap glory for their deeds; but there was honour for those who fell. And in the same spirit in which even women and children left their homes, and went in crowds to die for the Holy Sepulchre, so will I venture my life for religion and freedom here."

An hour later he returned home; he could see that his mother had been crying.

"Mother," he said, "I trust you will not grieve over this. I have been thinking how the women of the early days sent their husbands and sons and lovers to fight for the Holy Sepulchre. I think that this cause is an even greater and more noble one; and feel sure that though you may be anxious, you will not grudge me to do my best for our religion and country people."

"Truly I think it is a holy cause, my boy; and after what your father has said, I would not if I could say nay. I can only pray that heaven will bless and keep you, and one day restore you to me. But you will not be always fighting, Ned. There is no saying how long the struggle may last; and if I let you go, it is with the promise that at one-and-twenty at the latest you will return to us, and take your place again as your father's right hand and mine."

"I promise you, mother, that then, or if at any time before that you write and say to me come home, I will come."

"I am content with that," his mother said.

That afternoon Ned told Peters what had been decided, and the following morning the latter had a long talk with Captain Martin, who directed him to apply to the other owners of the ship to appoint him an able first mate, and also to choose one of their clerks in whom they had confidence to sail in the vessel as supercargo.

"The doctors tell me, Peters, that in two or three months I may be able to return home and to get about on crutches; but they advise me that it will be at least another four months before I can strap on a wooden leg and trust my weight to it. When I can do that, I shall see how I can get about. You heard from Ned last night that he is going to enter as a sort of volunteer under the Prince of Orange?"

"Yes, he told me, Captain Martin. He is a lad of spirit; and if I were fifteen years younger I would go with him."