The Book of English Folk Tales

by Sybil Marshall

  When at last he was set free, he went home to Devon and stayed on shore for a time; but the sea was in his blood, and he could not resist the call of it, so that in 1691 he was once more looking for a berth, and shipped aboard the Friend’s Adventure for another trip. History repeated itself, and once more on the way back they were attacked by a French privateer, and taken prisoner almost within sight of home.

  The Frenchmen plundered the ship of everything of value that she carried. Then they took prisoner the crew, transferring them to their own vessel, with the exception of Robert Lyde and the young ship’s boy, whose very first voyage it was. These they left aboard the Friend’s Adventure to be of assistance to ‘the prize-master’ and his six Frenchmen, whose orders were to sail the English ship into St Malo.

  It was now that Robert began to endure the gnawings of terrible apprehension, for he knew towards what misery he was travelling; and his resolution never to be taken back to France alive swelled inside him like a ball of fire, and engaged all his thoughts – or would have done, had it not been for another, very Devonian-British one that overbore it. That was that he would not die willingly without an attempt to save himself and the boy somehow, and if he must die, to take as many of the French prize-crew with him as could possibly be expected of one man.

  He sought about in his mind for some plan of action, and his first idea was to make the Frenchmen drunk; but in this he had reckoned without the natural aptitude of the French to deal with any variety of liquor, or any amount that would subdue a Britisher used only to home-brewed ale. It was borne upon him more and more that his only hope was to attack them, though one against seven were heavy odds. Even the boy would reduce the odds a bit, though he was but a child still, and unversed in the skills of fighting to the death. The boy, however, did not know the horrors and privations of captivity in French hands, and thought life at any price preferable to almost certain death. Lyde did not blame him, but the boy’s reluctance even to stand by him cast him deeper into despair. While he was still trying to get the boy to change his mind, they began to come in to shore near Brest, and the French prize master fired off a ‘pattereroe’, to summon a pilot to bring them into harbour.

  Terror struck Robert at the thought of how near he now was to breaking his vow, and of how helpless he was, except for his faith in God. The only thing he could do was to pray, so he immediately went down between decks, threw himself on his knees, and put up a most passionate prayer for help; but being of a practical nature, he couched his prayer in practical terms, and begged his Protector for a southerly wind that would prevent the ship going into harbour.

  Then he rose – but not before his experienced ear had caught the sounds and his seaman’s instinct and practice given him all the signs of a sudden change in the direction of the wind. It had swept round to the south, and was taking the Friend’s Adventure steadily away from the harbour. Lyde turned his prayer to praise and thanksgiving, now heartened and confident once more that the Lord was on his side. Eagerness urged him to strike at once, but prudence overruled foolish haste; he now felt he could afford to wait, at least till next morning. No other recounting could better his own words of the events.

  At eight in the morning all the Frenchmen sat round the cabin table at breakfast, and they called me to eat with them; and accordingly I accepted of their invitation, but the sight of the Frenchmen did immediately take away my stomach, and made me sweat as if I had been in a stove, and was ready to faint with eagerness to encounter them … but could stay no longer in sight of them, and so went betwixt decks to the boy, and did earnestly entreat him to go up presently with me into the cabin, and stand behind me, and I would kill and command all the rest presently.

  The boy would still have nothing to do with what seemed to him a reckless gamble with almost certain death. Very well then, Robert Lyde must attempt the impossible odds alone; but at least he would get what aid he could from Heaven, and prepare himself for death at the same time, if that must be the outcome. So he applied himself once more to prayer. He begged God to pardon his sins, and to have mercy on his soul, if he should die, and receive it into His everlasting mercy. He then bethought him that the Frenchmen, so near to their native land and with no notion that one mad Englishman could be plotting their deaths, would, if he were successful, go to their deaths without the chance to make their peace with God. So individually and collectively, he prayed for them and their immortal souls; and lastly, he prayed again for strength and courage and for resolution that his own heart might not fail him in the heat of action.

  Then he tried once more to persuade the boy to help him, this time giving him detailed and horrifying accounts of what he had himself endured, and what the boy might equally expect if he allowed himself to be landed on French soil.

  The boy appeared at last to be impressed by the story, and after giving it some thought, returned a most unexpected answer.

  ‘Well,’ said he, ‘if I do find it as hard as you say, when I am in France, I will join them, and go along myself with them as a privateer.’

  These words cut Robert Lyde to the quick, both with regard to his own hopes, and as a loyal Englishman. He rounded on his young companion with the full force of his honest indignation.

  ‘You dog!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you saying? That you will go with them – against your king and your country, your father and your mother and every other honest Englishman? I tell you, Sirrah, I was in France for four months, and no tongue could tell the miseries I endured there; but no suffering could induce me to turn Papist and go along with them! I tell you, if I were to take prisoner my own brother in a French privateer and know that he had sailed with them of his own accord, I would hang him at once for the rogue he was to give him his just deserts!’

  His vehemence had the effect that none of his previous pleading or argument had achieved, and the boy began to waver. Seeing it was so, and trusting in God’s mercy to keep the wind where it lay, and so prevent them from running into harbour, he was content to let the matter rest there for the moment, with the result that before the next day dawned, the boy had proclaimed himself ready to risk all in joining the attack. The moment seemed to be ripe. Of the seven Frenchmen two were asleep in the cabin. Let Robert Lyde himself take up the heroic tale:

  Then the boy coming to me, I leapt up the gun-room scuttle, and said, ‘Lord be with us and strengthen us in the action’; and I told him that the drive-bolt was by the scuttle in the steerage, and then I went softly aft into the cabin, and put my back against the bulkhead and took the iron crow and held it with both my hands in the middle of it and put my legs out to shorten myself, because the cabin was very low. But he that lay nighest to me, hearing me, opened his eyes, and perceiving my intent and upon what account I was coming, he endeavoured to rise to make resistance against me, but I prevented him by a blow upon his forehead which mortally wounded him; and the other man, which lay with his back to the dying man’s side, hearing the blow, turned about and faced me; and as he was rising with his left elbow on the deck, very fiercely endeavouring to come against me, I struck at him, and he let himself fall from his left arm and held his arm for a guard, whereby he did keep off a great part of the blow, but still his head received a great part of the blow.

  The master lying in his cabin on my right hand, rose and sat in his cabin and seeing what I had done, he called me ‘Boogra!’ and ‘Footra!’ But I having my eyes every way I pushed at his ear betwixt the turnpins with the claws of the crow; but he falling back for fear thereof, it seemed afterwards that I struck the claws of the crow into his cheek, which blow made him lie still as if he had been dead. And while I struck at the mast, the fellow that fended off the blow with his arm rose upon his legs, and running towards me with his head low, I pushed the point at his head, and stuck it an inch and a half into his forehead; and as he was falling down, I took hold of him by the back and turned him into the steerage.

  I heard the boy strike the man at the helm two blows after I knocked d
own the first man, which two blows made him lie very still; and as soon as I turned the man out of the cabin, I struck one more blow at him, thinking to have no man alive further aft than myself, and burst his head, so that his blood and brains run out upon the floor.

  Then I went out to attack the two men who were at the pump, where they continued pumping without hearing or knowing what I had done; and as I was going to them I saw that man that I had turned out of the cabin into the steerage crawling out upon his hands and knees upon the deck, beating his hands upon the deck to make a noise that the men at the pump might hear, for he could not cry out nor speak. And when they heard him and saw his blood running out of the hole in his forehead, they came running aft to me, grinding their teeth as if they would have eaten me; but I met them as they came within the steerage door and struck at them; but the steerage not being above four foot high, I could not have a full blow at them, whereupon they fended off the blow and took hold of the crow with both their hands close to mine, striving to haul it from me; then the boy might have knocked them down with much ease, but that his heart failed him … The master that I thought I had killed in his cabin, coming to himself, came out of his cabin and also took hold of me … Then ensued a desperate fight, in the midst of which the boy, thinking his champion overthrown, cried out for fear. Then I said, ‘Do you cry, you villain, now I am in such a condition? Come quickly and knock this man on the head that hath hold of my left arm.’ The boy took some courage, but struck so faintly that he missed his blow, which greatly enraged me; and I, feeling the Frenchman about my middle hang very heavy, said to the boy, ‘Go round the binnacle and knock down that man that hangeth on my back’; so the boy did strike him one blow on the head, and he went out on deck staggering to and fro … Then casting my eye on my left side and seeing a marlin spike hanging with a strap to a nail in the larboard side, I jerked my right arm forth and back, which cleared the two men’s hands from my right arm, and took hold of the marlin spike, and struck the point four times into the skull of that man that had hold of my right arm, but he caught the strap and hauled the marlin spike out of my hand … But through God’s wonderful providence it either fell out of his hand or else he threw it down; for it did fall so close to the ship’s side that he could not reach it again.

  At this time I said, ‘Lord, what shall I do now?’ And then it pleased God to put me in mind of my knife in my pocket; and although two of the men had hold of my right arm, yet God Almighty strengthened me so that I put my right hand into my right pocket and took out my knife and sheath, holding it behind my hand that they should not see it; but I could not draw it out of the sheath with my left hand, so I put it between my legs and drew it out, and then cut that man’s throat with it that had his back to my breast, and he immediately dropped down and scarce ever stirred after.

  Seeing their companions go down one by one before this ferocious, determined Britisher, the other Frenchmen lost heart, and sued for quarter. Then seaman Lyde took charge, and within an hour had five injured but living Frenchmen in irons and under hatches, and set course for Topsham with no one to help him but the scared and exhausted boy.

  Now, it seemed, his God put him to an even greater test of faith, for the weather turned so foul that the boat could hardly live in it. As he was, to all intents and purposes, sailing singlehanded, he had no sleep; and stiff and sore, worn out with emotion and exertion, he still had to do the work of a crew. When, at last, he came within sight of home, and reached Topsham bar, he signalled for a pilot to take him in.

  Then consternation reigned in the little port, for news had already arrived there that the Friend’s Adventure was missing – yet here she was, just outside the bar, asking to be brought in. The pilot refused to come off, declaring it was a cunning Frenchy trap.

  Lyde himself was too utterly weary and exhausted to dare to attempt taking the ship in himself at night, and resolved to wait till morning; but the wind was unkind, and took him out to sea yet again. However, next day he came into Topsham safely of his own accord, and once being ashore, went home to rest.

  Then, on being questioned, he told his tale – and the severest blow of all awaited him. In the first place, nobody would believe him; and in the second, those who heard from him (and from others, as the tale went round) accused him of making up the details to cover up foul deeds.

  The story grew that he had attacked some innocent Frenchmen in cold blood, and murdered two of them out of hand, forcing the boy to help him; and that since coming ashore he had gone mad, being haunted continually, night and day, by the ghosts of the victims. Moreover, said his detractors, that was no more than he deserved, and no doubt the ghosts would haunt him until the day he was hanged, which he undoubtedly would be before long.

  So injured in spirit and pride was he, that in the end he sought out a magistrate and made a deposition, from which the quotations given above are taken. Robert Lyde lived in a violent age, and violence breeds violence. Whether he was a courageous hero or a bloodthirsty fanatic depends on the point of view, but it seems a little difficult to impute mortal sin to a man who, in the extreme of battle, prays for help and receives such practical and prompt aid as to be told that he has a knife in his pocket.

  The whole of the escapade was afterwards written for those who would read for themselves:

  A True and Exact Account of the retaking a ship called the Friend’s Adventure of Topsham from the French … where one Englishman and a Boy set upon Seven Frenchmen, killed Two of them, took the other Five Prisoners, and brought the Ship and them safe to England. Performed and Written by Robert Lyde, Mate of the same Ship. 1693.

  Sir Andrew Barton

  This is a typical tale-telling ballad of more exploits on the high seas – too good in its ballad form to be rendered into prose.

  The First Part

  When Flora with her fragrant flowers

  Bedecked the earth so trim and gay.

  And Neptune with his dainty showers

  Came to present the month of May;

  King Henry rode to take the air.

  Over the river of Thames passed he;

  When eighty merchants of London came.

  And down they knelt upon their knee.

  ‘O ye are welcome, rich merchants;

  Good sailors, welcome unto me.’

  They swore by the rood, they were sailors good.

  But rich merchants they could not be:

  ‘To France nor Flanders dare we pass:

  Nor Bourdeaux voyage dare we fare;

  And all for a rover that lies on the seas,

  Who robs us of our merchant ware.’

  King Henry frowned, and turned him round,

  And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might,

  ‘I thought he had not been in the world,

  Durst have wrought England such unright.’

  The merchants sighed, and said, alas!

  And thus they did their answer frame,

  ‘He is a proud Scot, that robs on the seas.

  And Sir Andrew Barton is his name.’

  The king looked over his left shoulder,

  And an angry look then looked he:

  ‘Have I never a lord in all my realm,

  Will fetch yond traitor unto me?’

  ‘Yea, that dare I;’ Lord Howard says;

  ‘Yea, that dare I with heart and hand;

  If it please your grace to give me leave.

  Myself will be the only man.’

  ‘Thou art but young,’ the king replied:

  ‘Yond Scot hath numbered many a year.’

  ‘Trust me, my liege, I’ll make him quail,

  Or before my prince I will never appear.’

  ‘Then bowmen and gunners thou shalt have,

  And choose them over my realm so free;

  Besides good mariners, and ship-boys,

  To guide the great ship on the sea.’

  The first man that Lord Howard chose

  Was the ablest gunner in all the realm
,

  Though he was three score years and ten;

  Good Peter Simon was his name.

  ‘Peter,’ says he, ‘I must to the sea,

  To bring home a traitor live or dead:

  Before all others I have chosen thee;

  Of a hundred gunners to be the head.’

  ‘If you, my lord, have chosen me

  Of a hundred gunners to be the head.

  Then hang me up on your main-mast tree.

  If I miss my mark one shilling bread.’*

  My lord then chose a bowman rare.

  Whose active hands had gained fame.

  In Yorkshire was this gentleman born.

  And William Horseley was his name.

  ‘Horseley,’ said he, ‘I must with speed

  Go seek a traitor on the sea.

  And now of a hundred bowmen brave

  To be the head I have chosen thee.’

  ‘If you,’ quoth he, ‘have chosen me

  Of a hundred bowmen to be the head;

  On your main-mast I’ll hanged be.

  If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.’

  With pikes and guns, and bowmen bold.

  This noble Howard is gone to the sea;

  With a valiant heart and a pleasant cheer.

  Out at Thames mouth sailed he.

  And days he scant had sailed three,

  Upon the voyage he took in hand,

  But there he met with a noble ship.

  And stoutly made it stay and stand.

  ‘Thou must tell me,’ Lord Howard said,

  ‘Now who thou art, and what’s thy name;

  And show me where thy dwelling is:

  And whither bound, and whence thou came.’

  * broad

  ‘My name is Henry Hunt,’ quoth he,

  ‘With a heavy heart, and a careful mind;

  I and my ship do both belong

  To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne.’