The Old English Baron

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

In the minority of Henry the Sixth, King of England, when the renowned John, Duke of Bedford was Regent of France, and Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester, was Protector of England, a worthy knight, called Sir Philip Harclay, returned from his travels to England, his native country. He had served under the glorious King Henry the Fifth with distinguished valour, had acquired an honourable fame, and was no less esteemed for Christian virtues than for deeds of chivalry. After the death of his prince, he entered into the service of the Greek emperor, and distinguished his courage against the encroachments of the Saracens. In a battle there, he took prisoner a certain gentleman, by name M. Zadisky, of Greek extraction, but brought up by a Saracen officer; this man he converted to the Christian faith; after which he bound him to himself by the ties of friendship and gratitude, and he resolved to continue with his benefactor. After thirty years travel and warlike service, he determined to return to his native land, and to spend the remainder of his life in peace; and, by devoting himself to works of piety and charity, prepare for a better state hereafter.

This noble knight had, in his early youth, contracted a strict friendship with the only son of the Lord l***l, a gentleman of eminent virtues and accomplishments. During Sir Philip’s residence in foreign countries, he had frequently written to his friend, and had for a time received answers; the last informed him of the death of old Lord l***l, and the marriage of the young one; but from that time he had heard no more from him. Sir Philip imputed it not to neglect or forgetfulness, but to the difficulties of intercourse, common at that time to all travellers and adventurers. When he was returning home, he resolved, after looking into his family affairs, to visit the Castle of l***l, and enquire into the situation of his friend. He landed in Kent, attended by his Greek friend and two faithful servants, one of which was maimed by the wounds he had received in the defence of his master.

Sir Philip went to his family seat in Yorkshire. He found his mother and sister were dead, and his estates sequestered in the hands of commissioners appointed by the Protector. He was obliged to prove the reality of his claim, and the identity of his person (by the testimony of some of the old servants of his family), after which every thing was restored to him. He took possession of his own house, established his household, settled the old servants in their former stations, and placed those he brought home in the upper offices of his family. He then left his friend to superintend his domestic affairs; and, attended by only one of his old servants, he set out for the Castle of l***l, in the west of England. They travelled by easy journeys; but, towards the evening of the second day, the servant was so ill and fatigued he could go no further; he stopped at an inn where he grew worse every hour, and the next day expired. Sir Philip was under great concern for the loss of his servant, and some for himself, being alone in a strange place; however he took courage, ordered his servant’s funeral, attended it himself, and, having shed a tear of humanity over his grave, proceeded alone on his journey.

As he drew near the estate of his friend, he began to enquire of every one he met, whether the Lord l***l resided at the seat of his ancestors? He was answered by one, he did not know; by another, he could not tell; by a third, that he never heard of such a person. Sir Philip thought it strange that a man of Lord l***l’s consequence should be unknown in his own neighbourhood, and where his ancestors had usually resided. He ruminated on the uncertainty of human happiness. “This world,” said he, “has nothing for a wise man to depend upon. I have lost all my relations, and most of my friends; and am even uncertain whether any are remaining. I will, however, be thankful for the blessings that are spared to me; and I will endeavour to replace those that I have lost. If my friend lives, he shall share my fortune with me; his children shall have the reversion of it; and I will share his comforts in return. But perhaps my friend may have met with troubles that have made him disgusted with the world; perhaps he has buried his amiable wife, or his promising children; and, tired of public life, he is retired into a monastery. At least, I will know what all this silence means.”

When he came within a mile of the Castle of l***l, he stopped at a cottage and asked for a draught of water; a peasant, master of the house, brought it, and asked if his honour would alight and take a moment’s refreshment. Sir Philip accepted his offer, being resolved to make farther enquiry before he approached the castle. He asked the same questions of him, that he had before of others.

“Which Lord l***l,” said the man, “does your honour enquire after?”

“The man whom I knew was called Arthur,” said Sir Philip.

“Ay,” said the Peasant, “he was the only surviving son of Richard, Lord l***l, as I think?”

“Very true, friend, he was so.”

“Alas, sir,” said the man, “he is dead! he survived his father but a short time.”

“Dead! say you? how long since?”

“About fifteen years, to the best of my remembrance.”

Sir Philip sighed deeply.

“Alas!” said he, “what do we, by living long, but survive all our friends! But pray tell me how he died?”

“I will, sir, to the best of my knowledge. An’t please your honour, I heard say, that he attended the King when he went against the Welch rebels, and he left his lady big with child; and so there was a battle fought, and the king got the better of the rebels. There came first a report that none of the officers were killed; but a few days after there came a messenger with an account very different, that several were wounded, and that the Lord l***l was slain; which sad news overset us all with sorrow, for he was a noble gentleman, a bountiful master, and the delight of all the neighbourhood.”

“He was indeed,” said Sir Philip, “all that is amiable and good; he was my dear and noble friend, and I am inconsolable for his loss. But the unfortunate lady, what became of her?”

“Why, a’nt please your honour, they said she died of grief for the loss of her husband; but her death was kept private for a time, and we did not know it for certain till some weeks afterwards.”

“The will of Heaven be obeyed!” said Sir Philip; “but who succeeded to the title and estate?”

“The next heir,” said the peasant, “a kinsman of the deceased, Sir Walter l***l by name.”

“I have seen him,” said Sir Philip, “formerly; but where was he when these events happened?”

“At the Castle of l***l, sir; he came there on a visit to the lady, and waited there to receive my Lord, at his return from Wales; when the news of his death arrived, Sir Walter did every thing in his power to comfort her, and some said he was to marry her; but she refused to be comforted, and took it so to heart that she died.”

“And does the present Lord l***l reside at the castle?”

“No, sir.”

“Who then?”

“The Lord Baron Fitz-Owen.”

“And how came Sir Walter to leave the seat of his ancestors?”

“Why, sir, he married his sister to this said Lord; and so he sold the Castle to him, and went away, and built himself a house in the north country, as far as Northumberland, I think they call it.”

“That is very strange!” said Sir Philip.

“So it is, please your honour; but this is all I know about it.”

“I thank you, friend, for your intelligence; I have taken a long journey to no purpose, and have met with nothing but cross accidents. This life is, indeed, a pilgrimage! Pray direct me the nearest way to the next monastery.”

“Noble sir,” said the peasant, “it is full five miles off, the night is coming on, and the ways are bad; I am but a poor man, and cannot entertain your honour as you are used to; but if you will enter my poor cottage, that, and every thing in it, are at your service.”

“My honest friend, I thank you heartily,” said Sir Philip; “your kindness and hospitality might shame many of higher birth and breeding; I will accept your kind offer; — but pray let me know the name of my host?”

“John Wyatt, sir; an honest man though a poor one, and a Christian man, though a sinful one.”

“Whose cottage is this?”

“It belongs to the Lord Fitz-Owen.”

“What family have you?”

“A wife, two sons and a daughter, who will all be proud to wait upon your honour; let me hold your honour’s stirrup whilst you alight.”

He seconded these words by the proper action, and having assisted his guest to dismount, he conducted him into his house, called his wife to attend him, and then led his horse under a poor shed, that served him as a stable. Sir Philip was fatigued in body and mind, and was glad to repose himself anywhere. The courtesy of his host engaged his attention, and satisfied his wishes. He soon after returned, followed by a youth of about eighteen years.

“Make haste, John,” said the father, “and be sure you say neither more nor less than what I have told you.”

“I will, father,” said the lad; and immediately set off, ran like a buck across the fields, and was out of sight in an instant.

“I hope, friend,” said Sir Philip, “you have not sent your son to provide for my entertainment; I am a soldier, used to lodge and fare hard; and, if it were otherwise, your courtesy and kindness would give a relish to the most ordinary food.”

“I wish heartily,” said Wyatt, “it was in my power to entertain your honour as you ought to be; but, as I cannot do so, I will, when my son returns, acquaint you with the errand I sent him on.”

After this they conversed together on common subjects, like fellow-creatures of the same natural form and endowments, though different kinds of education had given a conscious superiority to the one, a conscious inferiority to the other; and the due respect was paid by the latter, without being exacted by the former. In about half an hour young John returned.

“Thou hast made haste,” said the father.

“Not more than good speed,” quoth the son.

“Tell us, then, how you speed?”

“Shall I tell all that passed?” said John.

“All,” said the father; “I don’t want to hide any thing.”

John stood with his cap in his hand, and thus told his tale —

“I went straight to the castle as fast as I could run; it was my hap to light on young Master Edmund first, so I told him just as you had me, that a noble gentleman was come a long journey from foreign parts to see the Lord l***l, his friend; and, having lived abroad many years, he did not know that he was dead, and that the castle was fallen into other hands; that upon hearing these tidings he was much grieved and disappointed, and wanting a night’s lodging, to rest himself before he returned to his own home, he was fain to take up with one at our cottage; that my father thought my Lord would be angry with him, if he were not told of the stranger’s journey and intentions, especially to let such a man lie at our cottage, where he could neither be lodged nor entertained according to his quality.”

Here John stopped, and his father exclaimed —

“A good lad! you did your errand very well; and tell us the answer.”

John proceeded —

“Master Edmund ordered me some beer, and went to acquaint my Lord of the message; he stayed a while, and then came back to me. — ‘John,’ said he, ‘tell the noble stranger that the Baron Fitz-Owen greets him well, and desires him to rest assured, that though Lord l***l is dead, and the castle fallen into other hands, his friends will always find a welcome there; and my lord desires that he will accept of a lodging there, while he remains in this country.’ — So I came away directly, and made haste to deliver my errand.”