Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  Chapter VI. The Issue Of The Plots.--The Death Of Thomas, Third Viscount OfCastlewood; And The Imprisonment Of His Viscountess

  At first my lady was for dying like Mary, Queen of Scots (to whom shefancied she bore a resemblance in beauty), and, stroking her scraggy neck,said, "They will find Isabel of Castlewood is equal to her fate." Hergentlewoman, Victoire, persuaded her that her prudent course was, as shecould not fly, to receive the troops as though she suspected nothing, andthat her chamber was the best place wherein to await them. So her blackjapan casket which Harry was to carry to the coach was taken back to herladyship's chamber, whither the maid and mistress retired. Victoire cameout presently, bidding the page to say her ladyship was ill, confined toher bed with the rheumatism.

  By this time the soldiers had reached Castlewood. Harry Esmond saw themfrom the window of the tapestry parlour; a couple of sentinels were postedat the gate--a half-dozen more walked towards the stable; and some others,preceded by their commander, and a man in black, a lawyer probably, wereconducted by one of the servants to the stair leading up to the part ofthe house which my lord and lady inhabited.

  So the captain, a handsome kind man, and the lawyer, came through theante-room to the tapestry parlour, and where now was nobody but youngHarry Esmond, the page.

  "Tell your mistress, little man," says the captain kindly, "that we mustspeak to her."

  "My mistress is ill abed," said the page.

  "What complaint has she?" asked the captain.

  The boy said, "the rheumatism!"

  "Rheumatism! that's a sad complaint," continues the good-natured captain;"and the coach is in the yard to fetch the doctor, I suppose?"

  "I don't know," says the boy.

  "And how long has her ladyship been ill?"

  "I don't know," says the boy.

  "When did my lord go away?"

  "Yesterday night."

  "With Father Holt?"

  "With Mr. Holt."

  "And which way did they travel?" asks the lawyer.

  "They travelled without me," says the page.

  "We must see Lady Castlewood."

  "I have orders that nobody goes in to her ladyship--she is sick," says thepage; but at this moment Victoire came out. "Hush!" says she; and, as ifnot knowing that any one was near, "What's this noise?" says she. "Is thisgentleman the doctor?"

  "Stuff! we must see Lady Castlewood," says the lawyer, pushing by.

  The curtains of her ladyship's room were down, and the chamber dark, andshe was in bed with a nightcap on her head, and propped up by her pillows,looking none the less ghastly because of the red which was still on hercheeks, and which she could not afford to forgo.

  "Is that the doctor?" she said.

  "There is no use with this deception, madam," Captain Westbury said (forso he was named). "My duty is to arrest the person of Thomas, ViscountCastlewood, a nonjuring peer--of Robert Tusher, Vicar of Castlewood--andHenry Holt, known under various other names and designations, a Jesuitpriest, who officiated as chaplain here in the late king's time, and isnow at the head of the conspiracy which was about to break out in thiscountry against the authority of their Majesties King William and QueenMary--and my orders are to search the house for such papers or traces ofthe conspiracy as may be found here. Your ladyship will please to give meyour keys, and it will be as well for yourself that you should help us, inevery way, in our search."

  "You see, sir, that I have the rheumatism, and cannot move," said thelady, looking uncommonly ghastly as she sat up in her bed, where howevershe had had her cheeks painted, and a new cap put on, so that she might atleast look her best when the officers came.

  "I shall take leave to place a sentinel in the chamber, so that yourladyship, in case you should wish to rise, may have an arm to lean on,"Captain Westbury said. "Your woman will show me where I am to look;" andMadame Victoire, chattering in her half-French and half-English jargon,opened while the captain examined one drawer after another; but, as HarryEsmond thought, rather carelessly, with a smile on his face, as if he wasonly conducting the examination for form's sake.

  Before one of the cupboards Victoire flung herself down, stretching outher arms, and, with a piercing shriek, cried, "_Non, jamais, monsieurl'officier! Jamais!_ I will rather die than let you see this wardrobe."

  But Captain Westbury would open it, still with a smile on his face, which,when the box was opened, turned into a fair burst of laughter. Itcontained--not papers regarding the conspiracy--but my lady's wigs, washes,and rouge-pots, and Victoire said men were monsters, as the captain wenton with his perquisition. He tapped the back to see whether or no it washollow, and as he thrust his hands into the cupboard, my lady from her bedcalled out with a voice that did not sound like that of a very sick woman,"Is it your commission to insult ladies as well as to arrest gentlemen,captain?"

  "These articles are only dangerous when worn by your ladyship," thecaptain said with a low bow, and a mock grin of politeness. "I have foundnothing which concerns the Government as yet--only the weapons with whichbeauty is authorized to kill," says he, pointing to a wig with hissword-tip. "We must now proceed to search the rest of the house."

  "You are not going to leave that wretch in the room with me," cried mylady, pointing to the soldier.

  "What can I do, madam? Somebody you must have to smooth your pillow andbring your medicine--permit me----"

  "Sir!" screamed out my lady--

  "Madam, if you are too ill to leave the bed," the captain then said,rather sternly, "I must have in four of my men to lift you off in thesheet: I must examine this bed, in a word; papers may be hidden in a bedas elsewhere; we know that very well and----"

  Here it was her ladyship's turn to shriek, for the captain, with his fistshaking the pillows and bolsters, at last came to "burn", as they say inthe play of forfeits, and wrenching away one of the pillows, said, "Look,did not I tell you so? Here is a pillow stuffed with paper."

  "Some villain has betrayed us," cried out my lady, sitting up in the bed,showing herself full dressed under her night-rail.

  "And now your ladyship can move, I am sure; permit me to give you my handto rise. You will have to travel for some distance, as far as HextonCastle to-night. Will you have your coach? Your woman shall attend you ifyou like--and the japan-box?"

  "Sir! you don't strike a _man_ when he is down," said my lady, with somedignity: "can you not spare a woman?"

  "Your ladyship must please to rise and let me search the bed," said thecaptain; "there is no more time to lose in bandying talk."

  And, without more ado, the gaunt old woman got up. Harry Esmondrecollected to the end of his life that figure, with the brocade dress andthe white night-rail, and the gold-clocked red stockings, and whitered-heeled shoes sitting up in the bed, and stepping down from it. Thetrunks were ready packed for departure in her ante-room, and the horsesready harnessed in the stable: about all which the captain seemed to know,by information got from some quarter or other; and, whence, Esmond couldmake a pretty shrewd guess in after-times, when Dr. Tusher complained thatKing William's Government had basely treated him for services done in thatcause.

  And here he may relate, though he was then too young to know all that washappening, what the papers contained, of which Captain Westbury had made aseizure, and which papers had been transferred from the japan-box to thebed when the officers arrived.

  There was a list, of gentlemen of the county in Father Holt'shandwriting--Mr. Freeman's (King James's) friends--a similar paper beingfound among those of Sir John Fenwick and Mr. Coplestone, who suffereddeath for this conspiracy.

  There was a patent conferring the title of Marquis of Esmond on my LordCastlewood, and the heirs male of his body; his appointment as lordlieutenant of the county, and major-general.(7)

  There were various letters from the nobility and gentry, some ardent andsome doubtful, in the king's service; and (very luckily for him) twoletters concerning Colonel Francis Esmond; one from Father Holt, whichsaid, "I have been to see thi
s colonel at his house at Walcote near toWells, where he resides since the king's departure, and pressed him veryeagerly in Mr. Freeman's cause, showing him the great advantage he wouldhave by trading with that merchant, offering him large premiums there asagreed between us. But he says no: he considers Mr. Freeman the head ofthe firm, will never trade against him or embark with any other tradingcompany, but considers his duty was done when Mr. Freeman left England.This colonel seems to care more for his wife and his beagles than foraffairs. He asked me much about young H. E., 'that bastard,' as he calledhim: doubting my lord's intentions respecting him. I reassured him on thishead, stating what I knew of the lad, and our intentions respecting him,but with regard to Freeman he was inflexible."

  And another letter was from Colonel Esmond to his kinsman, to say that oneCaptain Holton had been with him offering him large bribes to join, _youknow who_, and saying that the head of the house of Castlewood was deeplyengaged in that quarter. But for his part he had broke his sword when theK. left the country, and would never again fight in that quarrel. The P.of O. was a man, at least, of a noble courage, and his duty and, as hethought, every Englishman's, was to keep the country quiet, and the Frenchout of it: and, in fine, that he would have nothing to do with the scheme.

  Of the existence of these two letters and the contents of the pillow,Colonel Frank Esmond, who became Viscount Castlewood, told Henry Esmondafterwards, when the letters were shown to his lordship, who congratulatedhimself, as he had good reason, that he had not joined in the scheme whichproved so fatal to many concerned in it. But, naturally, the lad knewlittle about these circumstances when they happened under his eyes: onlybeing aware that his patron and his mistress were in some trouble, whichhad caused the flight of the one, and the apprehension of the other by theofficers of King William.

  The seizure of the papers effected, the gentlemen did not pursue theirfurther search through Castlewood house very rigorously. They examined Mr.Holt's room, being led thither by his pupil, who showed, as the father hadbidden him, the place where the key of his chamber lay, opened the doorfor the gentlemen, and conducted them into the room.

  When the gentlemen came to the half-burned papers in the brazier, theyexamined them eagerly enough, and their young guide was a little amused attheir perplexity.

  "What are these?" says one.

  "They're written in a foreign language," says the lawyer. "What are youlaughing at, little whelp?" adds he, turning round as he saw the boysmile.

  "Mr. Holt said they were sermons," Harry said, "and bade me to burn them;"which indeed was true of those papers.

  "Sermons, indeed--it's treason, I would lay a wager," cries the lawyer.

  "Egad! it's Greek to me," says Captain Westbury. "Can you read it, littleboy?"

  "Yes, sir, a little," Harry said.

  "Then read, and read in English, sir, on your peril," said the lawyer. AndHarry began to translate:--

  "Hath not one of your own writers said, 'The children of Adam are nowlabouring as much as he himself ever did, about the tree of the knowledgeof good and evil, shaking the boughs thereof, and seeking the fruit, beingfor the most part unmindful of the tree of life.' O blind generation! 'tisthis tree of knowledge to which the serpent has led you"--and here the boywas obliged to stop, the rest of the page being charred by the fire: andasked of the lawyer--"Shall I go on, sir?"

  The lawyer said--"This boy is deeper than he seems: who knows that he isnot laughing at us?"

  "Let's have in Dick the Scholar," cried Captain Westbury, laughing; and hecalled to a trooper out of the window--"Ho, Dick, come in here andconstrue."

  A thick-set soldier, with a square good-humoured face, came in at thesummons, saluting his officer.

  "Tell us what is this, Dick," says the lawyer.

  "My name is Steele, sir," says the soldier. "I may be Dick for my friends,but I don't name gentlemen of your cloth amongst them."

  "Well then, Steele."

  "Mr. Steele, sir, if you please. When you address a gentleman of hisMajesty's Horse Guards, be pleased not to be so familiar."

  "I didn't know, sir," said the lawyer.

  "How should you? I take it you are not accustomed to meet with gentlemen,"says the trooper.

  "Hold thy prate, and read that bit of paper," says Westbury.

  "'Tis Latin," says Dick, glancing at it, and again saluting his officer,"and from a sermon of Mr. Cudworth's," and he translated the words prettymuch as Henry Esmond had rendered them.

  "What a young scholar you are," says the captain to the boy.

  "Depend on't, he knows more than he tells," says the lawyer. "I think wewill pack him off in the coach with old Jezebel."

  "For construing a bit of Latin?" said the captain very good-naturedly.

  "I would as lief go there as anywhere," Harry Esmond said, simply, "forthere is nobody to care for me."

  There must have been something touching in the child's voice, or in thisdescription of his solitude--for the captain looked at him verygood-naturedly, and the trooper, called Steele, put his hand kindly on thelad's head, and said some words in the Latin tongue.

  "What does he say?" says the lawyer.

  "Faith, ask Dick himself," cried Captain Westbury.

  "I said I was not ignorant of misfortune myself, and had learned tosuccour the miserable, and that's not _your_ trade, Mr. Sheepskin," saidthe trooper.

  "You had better leave Dick the Scholar alone, Mr. Corbet," the captainsaid. And Harry Esmond, always touched by a kind face and kind word, feltvery grateful to this good-natured champion.

  The horses were by this time harnessed to the coach; and the countess andVictoire came down and were put into the vehicle. This woman, whoquarrelled with Harry Esmond all day, was melted at parting with him, andcalled him "dear angel", and "poor infant", and a hundred other names.

  The viscountess, giving him her lean hand to kiss, bade him always befaithful to the house of Esmond. "If evil should happen to my lord," saysshe, "his _successor_ I trust will be found, and give you protection.Situated as I am, they will not dare wreak their vengeance on me _now_."And she kissed a medal she wore with great fervour, and Henry Esmond knewnot in the least what her meaning was; but hath since learned that, old asshe was, she was for ever expecting, by the good offices of saints andrelics, to have an heir to the title of Esmond.

  Harry Esmond was too young to have been introduced into the secrets ofpolitics in which his patrons were implicated; for they put but fewquestions to the boy (who was little of stature, and looked much youngerthan his age), and such questions as they put he answered cautiouslyenough, and professing even more ignorance than he had, for which hisexaminers willingly enough gave him credit. He did not say a word aboutthe window or the cupboard over the fireplace; and these secrets quiteescaped the eyes of the searchers.

  So then my lady was consigned to her coach, and sent off to Hexton, withher woman and the man of law to bear her company, a couple of troopersriding on either side of the coach. And Harry was left behind at the Hall,belonging as it were to nobody, and quite alone in the world. The captainand a guard of men remained in possession there; and the soldiers, whowere very good-natured and kind, ate my lord's mutton and drank his wine,and made themselves comfortable, as they well might do, in such pleasantquarters.

  The captains had their dinner served in my lord's tapestry parlour, andpoor little Harry thought his duty was to wait upon Captain Westbury'schair, as his custom had been to serve his lord when he sat there.

  After the departure of the countess, Dick the Scholar took Harry Esmondunder his special protection, and would examine him in his humanities, andtalk to him both of French and Latin, in which tongues the lad found, andhis new friend was willing enough to acknowledge, that he was even moreproficient than Scholar Dick. Hearing that he had learned them from aJesuit, in the praise of whom and whose goodness Harry was never tired ofspeaking, Dick, rather to the boy's surprise, who began to have an earlyshrewdness, like many children bred up alone, showed a great
deal oftheological science, and knowledge of the points at issue between the twoChurches; so that he and Harry would have hours of controversy together,in which the boy was certainly worsted by the arguments of this singulartrooper. "I am no common soldier," Dick would say, and indeed it was easyto see by his learning, breeding, and many accomplishments, that he wasnot. "I am of one of the most ancient families in the Empire; I have hadmy education at a famous school, and a famous university; I learned myfirst rudiments of Latin near to Smithfield, in London, where the martyrswere roasted."

  "You hanged as many of ours," interposed Harry; "and, for the matter ofpersecution, Father Holt told me that a young gentleman of Edinburgh,eighteen years of age, student at the college there, was hanged for heresyonly last year, though he recanted, and solemnly asked pardon for hiserrors."

  "Faith! there has been too much persecution on both sides: but 'twas youtaught us."

  "Nay, 'twas the pagans began it," cried the lad, and began to instance anumber of saints of the Church, from the Protomartyr downwards--"this one'sfire went out under him: that one's oil cooled in the cauldron: at a thirdholy head the executioner chopped three times and it would not come off.Show us martyrs in _your_ Church for whom such miracles have been done."

  "Nay," says the trooper gravely, "the miracles of the first threecenturies belong to my Church as well as yours, Master Papist," and thenadded, with something of a smile upon his countenance, and a queer look atHarry--"And yet, my little catechizer, I have sometimes thought about thosemiracles, that there was not much good in them, since the victim's headalways finished by coming off at the third or fourth chop, and thecauldron, if it did not boil one day, boiled the next. Howbeit, in ourtimes, the Church has lost that questionable advantage of respites. Therenever was a shower to put out Ridley's fire, nor an angel to turn the edgeof Campion's axe. The rack tore the limbs of Southwell the Jesuit andSympson the Protestant alike. For faith, everywhere multitudes diewillingly enough. I have read in Monsieur Rycaut's _History of the Turks_,of thousands of Mahomet's followers rushing upon death in battle as uponcertain Paradise; and in the Great Mogul's dominions people flingthemselves by hundreds under the cars of the idols annually, and thewidows burn themselves on their husbands' bodies, as 'tis well known. 'Tisnot the dying for a faith that's so hard, Master Harry--every man of everynation has done that--'tis the living up to it that is difficult, as I knowto my cost," he added, with a sigh. "And ah!" he added, "my poor lad, I amnot strong enough to convince thee by my life--though to die for myreligion would give me the greatest of joys--but I had a dear friend inMagdalen College in Oxford; I wish Joe Addison were here to convince thee,as he quickly could--for I think he's a match for the whole College ofJesuits; and what's more, in his life too. In that very sermon of Dr.Cudworth's which your priest was quoting from, and which sufferedmartyrdom in the brazier," Dick added, with a smile, "I had a thought ofwearing the black coat (but was ashamed of my life you see, and took tothis sorry red one)--I have often thought of Joe Addison--Doctor Cudworthsays, 'A good conscience is the best looking-glass of Heaven'--and there'sa serenity in my friend's face which always reflects it--I wish you couldsee him, Harry."

  "Did he do you a great deal of good?" asked the lad, simply.

  "He might have done," said the other--"at least he taught me to see andapprove better things. 'Tis my own fault, _deteriora sequi_."

  "You seem very good," the boy said.

  "I'm not what I seem, alas!" answered the trooper--and indeed, as it turnedout, poor Dick told the truth--for that very night, at supper in the hall,where the gentlemen of the troop took their repasts, and passed most partof their days dicing and smoking of tobacco, and singing and cursing, overthe Castlewood ale--Harry Esmond found Dick the Scholar in a woful state ofdrunkenness. He hiccuped out a sermon; and his laughing companions badehim sing a hymn, on which Dick, swearing he would run the scoundrelthrough the body who insulted his religion, made for his sword, which washanging on the wall, and fell down flat on the floor under it, saying toHarry, who ran forward to help him, "Ah, little Papist, I wish JosephAddison was here!"

  Though the troopers of the king's Life Guards were all gentlemen, yet therest of the gentlemen seemed ignorant and vulgar boors to Harry Esmond,with the exception of this good-natured Corporal Steele the Scholar, andCaptain Westbury and Lieutenant Trant, who were always kind to the lad.They remained for some weeks or months encamped in Castlewood, and Harrylearned from them, from time to time, how the lady at Hexton Castle wastreated, and the particulars of her confinement there. 'Tis known thatKing William was disposed to deal very leniently with the gentry whoremained faithful to the old king's cause; and no prince usurping a crown,as his enemies said he did (righteously taking it as I think now), evercaused less blood to be shed. As for women-conspirators, he kept spies onthe least dangerous, and locked up the others. Lady Castlewood had thebest rooms in Hexton Castle, and the gaoler's garden to walk in; andthough she repeatedly desired to be led out to execution, like Mary Queenof Scots, there never was any thought of taking her painted old head off,or any desire to do aught but keep her person in security.

  And it appeared she found that some were friends in her misfortune, whomshe had, in her prosperity, considered as her worst enemies. ColonelFrancis Esmond, my lord's cousin and her ladyship's, who had married theDean of Winchester's daughter, and, since King James's departure out ofEngland, had lived not very far away from Hexton town, hearing of hiskinswoman's strait, and being friends with Colonel Brice, commanding forKing William in Hexton, and with the Church dignitaries there, came tovisit her ladyship in prison, offering to his uncle's daughter anyfriendly services which lay in his power. And he brought his lady andlittle daughter to see the prisoner, to the latter of whom, a child ofgreat beauty, and many winning ways, the old viscountess took not a littleliking, although between her ladyship and the child's mother there waslittle more love than formerly. There are some injuries which women neverforgive one another; and Madam Francis Esmond, in marrying her cousin, haddone one of those irretrievable wrongs to Lady Castlewood. But as she wasnow humiliated, and in misfortune, Madam Francis could allow a truce toher enmity, and could be kind for a while, at least, to her husband'sdiscarded mistress. So the little Beatrix, her daughter, was permittedoften to go and visit the imprisoned viscountess, who, in so far as thechild and its father were concerned, got to abate in her anger towardsthat branch of the Castlewood family. And the letters of Colonel Esmondcoming to light, as has been said, and his conduct being known to theking's council, the colonel was put in a better position with the existingGovernment than he had ever before been; any suspicions regarding hisloyalty were entirely done away; and so he was enabled to be of moreservice to his kinswoman than he could otherwise have been.

  And now there befell an event by which this lady recovered her liberty,and the house of Castlewood got a new owner, and fatherless little HarryEsmond a new and most kind protector and friend. Whatever that secret waswhich Harry was to hear from my lord, the boy never heard it; for thatnight when Father Holt arrived, and carried my lord away with him, was thelast on which Harry ever saw his patron. What happened to my lord may bebriefly told here. Having found the horses at the place where they werelying, my lord and Father Holt rode together to Chatteris, where they hadtemporary refuge with one of the father's penitents in that city; but thepursuit being hot for them, and the reward for the apprehension of one orthe other considerable, it was deemed advisable that they should separate;and the priest betook himself to other places of retreat known to him,whilst my lord passed over from Bristol into Ireland, in which kingdomKing James had a Court and an army. My lord was but a small addition tothis; bringing, indeed, only his sword and the few pieces in his pocket;but the king received him with some kindness and distinction in spite ofhis poor plight, confirmed him in his new title of marquis, gave him aregiment, and promised him further promotion. But titles or promotion werenot to benefit him now. My lord was wounded at the fatal battle of theBoyne, flying
from which field (long after his master had set him anexample), he lay for a while concealed in the marshy country near to thetown of Trim, and more from catarrh and fever caught in the bogs than fromthe steel of the enemy in the battle, sank and died. May the earth lielight upon Thomas of Castlewood! He who writes this must speak in charity,though this lord did him and his two grievous wrongs: for one of these hewould have made amends, perhaps, had life been spared him; but the otherlay beyond his power to repair, though 'tis to be hoped that a greaterPower than a priest has absolved him of it. He got the comfort of thisabsolution, too, such as it was: a priest of Trim writing a letter to mylady to inform her of this calamity.

  But in those days letters were slow of travelling, and our priest's tooktwo months or more on its journey from Ireland to England: where, when itdid arrive, it did not find my lady at her own house; she was at theking's house of Hexton Castle when the letter came to Castlewood, but itwas opened for all that by the officer in command there.

  Harry Esmond well remembered the receipt of this letter, which Lockwoodbrought in as Captain Westbury and Lieutenant Trant were on the greenplaying at bowls, young Esmond looking on at the sport, or reading hisbook in the arbour.

  "Here's news for Frank Esmond," says Captain Westbury; "Harry, did youever see Colonel Esmond?" And Captain Westbury looked very hard at the boyas he spoke.

  Harry said he had seen him but once when he was at Hexton, at the ballthere.

  "And did he say anything?"

  "He said what I don't care to repeat," Harry answered. For he was nowtwelve years of age: he knew what his birth was and the disgrace of it;and he felt no love towards the man who had most likely stained hismother's honour and his own.

  "Did you love my Lord Castlewood?"

  "I wait until I know my mother, sir, to say," the boy answered, his eyesfilling with tears.

  "Something has happened to Lord Castlewood," Captain Westbury said, in avary grave tone--"something which must happen to us all. He is dead of awound received at the Boyne, fighting for King James."

  "I am glad my lord fought for the right cause," the boy said.

  "It was better to meet death on the field like a man, than face it onTower Hill, as some of them may," continued Mr. Westbury. "I hope he hasmade some testament, or provided for thee somehow. This letter says, herecommends _unicum filium suum dilectissimum_ to his lady. I hope he hasleft you more than that."

  Harry did not know, he said. He was in the hands of Heaven and Fate; butmore lonely now, as it seemed to him, than he had been all the rest of hislife; and that night, as he lay in his little room which he stilloccupied, the boy thought with many a pang of shame and grief of hisstrange and solitary condition:--how he had a father and no father; anameless mother that had been brought to ruin, perhaps, by that veryfather whom Harry could only acknowledge in secret and with a blush, andwhom he could neither love nor revere. And he sickened to think how FatherHolt, a stranger, and two or three soldiers, his acquaintances of the lastsix weeks, were the only friends he had in the great wide world, where hewas now quite alone. The soul of the boy was full of love, and he longedas he lay in the darkness there for some one upon whom he could bestow it.He remembers, and must to his dying day, the thoughts and tears of thatlong night, the hours tolling through it. Who was he and what? Why hererather than elsewhere? I have a mind, he thought, to go to that priest atTrim, and find out what my father said to him on his death-bed confession.Is there any child in the whole world so unprotected as I am? Shall I getup and quit this place, and run to Ireland? With these thoughts and tearsthe lad passed that night away until he wept himself to sleep.

  The next day, the gentlemen of the guard who had heard what had befallenhim were more than usually kind to the child, especially his friendScholar Dick, who told him about his own father's death, which hadhappened when Dick was a child at Dublin, not quite five years of age."That was the first sensation of grief," Dick said, "I ever knew. Iremember I went into the room where his body lay, and my mother satweeping beside it. I had my battledore in my hand, and fell a-beating thecoffin, and calling papa; on which my mother caught me in her arms, andtold me in a flood of tears papa could not hear me, and would play with meno more, for they were going to put him under ground, whence he couldnever come to us again. And this," said Dick kindly, "has made me pity allchildren ever since; and caused me to love thee, my poor fatherless,motherless lad. And if ever thou wantest a friend, thou shalt have one inRichard Steele."

  Harry Esmond thanked him, and was grateful. But what could Corporal Steeledo for him? take him to ride a spare horse, and be servant to the troop?Though there might be a bar in Harry Esmond's shield, it was a noble one.The counsel of the two friends was, that little Harry should stay where hewas, and abide his fortune: so Esmond stayed on at Castlewood, awaitingwith no small anxiety the fate, whatever it was, which was over him.