CAMEOS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY.

CAMEO CCXLVI. (Continued.)

1661-1667.

TESTILENCE AND WAR.

FUGITIVES Camping out in the country were proscribed by those around, and often reduced to terrible straits of hunger. The villages about London suffered terribly. Poplar had in every house one sick or dead. Defoe's account tells of a conversation with a poor waterman who pointed out a house where father, mother, and five children had died. The waterman himself lived by taking provisions and messages to the ships in the river, where the owners had taken refuge with their families. He himself had been shut out from his house, where his wife and one child were sick, the mother recovering, but the child like to die. He brought his earnings daily to the garden, where she received them, and conversed with him from a distance, in a simple. God-fearing manner, such as drew tears from the listener.

The most noted of these visitations in the country was that at Eyam, one of the beautiful villages in the ravines of Derbyshire. Introduced by a tailor's patterns, the disease raged in the narrow confined valley; but owing to the resolute faith and strong influence of the Vicar, Mr. Mompesson, it was prevented from extending beyond it. He sent away his little children; but his wife would not leave him, and he kept his people from going beyond their own bounds, the Earl of Devonshire engaging that provisions and medicines should be regularly sent to appointed spots, where money and letters were placed on a stone, and then passed through vinegar. For seven months this arrangement was carried on faithfully on both sides. Lest infection should be communicated within the walls of the church, Mr. Mompesson assembled his flock in a beautiful little dell, branching out of the ravine, and still called Cucklet Church, every Litany day and Sunday. He lost his devoted wife-not from the plague, but from exhaustion from her attendance on the sick; and when the long quarantine was over at last, only a fifth of the parishioners survived.

It was remarkable that there was no case on board the fleet. There had been inquiries on both sides into the battle of Lowestoff, and it was proved before the Houses of Parliament that the slackening of the pursuit was entirely owing to the forgery of Bronkhard, though the enemies of the Duke of York continued to assert in the

face of evidence that the cowardice was the master's, and the servant only the scapegoat. But James, whatever his faults, was a brave and an honest man. He longed to pursue his victories; but his mother was terrified at the danger he had run, and represented to King Charles that it was not fitting to let the only male heir to the crown thus risk his life, when he had only two little daughters—his son having died early. The Earl of Sandwich was therefore appointed to the chief command.

The Dutch, when their shattered fleet came home, were full of rage and despair, and their wrath fixed itself upon Evertsen. Reports had exaggerated the loss, and when he came in sight of the Texel, a small vessel, which had put out to meet him, brought back word that there were no great signs of damage about his ship. He had sent despatches to the States-General describing the battle, complaining of the cowardice of those who had fled, and asking permission to enter the river. The reply was a summons to the Hague to answer for himself before the States-General.

He started in a carriage, but in passing through Briel, he was assailed by a furious mob, who reproached him in the most violent manner, even for the blowing up of the Eendraght, pelted him with stones and mud, dragged him out of his carriage, and to the quay, where they pushed him into the water. The old man clung to the prow of a vessel, and kept his head above water, though they pelted him to make him let go. However, the alarm had reached the burgomasters and garrison, who came rushing down, dispersed the rioters, and rescued the Admiral nearly dead, carrying him to a house, round which, while friends tried to revive him, the mob, excited by the tales of sailors from the remaining ships, raged all night.

A Dutch mob, though slow to be stirred, when once excited is apt to be a very terrible, stubborn and cruel one; and the gallant old Admiral was forced to put on the disguise of a fisherman and leave the town at two o'clock in the dawn of the June morning. An escort of soldiers was required to guard him on his way, and De Witt and the Hollanders managed that the guard before the door of his lodging at the Hague should appear as if watching a prisoner.

The Zeeland deputies indignantly demanded that he should be heard in his own justification, and the old sailor stood before the States, telling simply the history of the engagement, and his appearance showing the outrages he had received; but party was far too strong for justice or patriotism, and instead of applauding the brave old man who had saved the remnant, John De Witt got up and ordered him back instantly to the Texel, to be tried with the other officers by court-martial.

He was taken on board the ship Middleburg and treated as a prisoner; but at the Texel nobody would preside at the court-martial, and it came to nothing, since all the captains, indeed all honest and courageous naval men, spoke honourably of him, including Cornelis

van Tromp, who was the popular favourite, and was made an Admiral at thirty-four.

The Zeelanders demanded his entire acquittal, with the thanks of the Republic; but the Grand Pensionary prevented this, and they could only give him the thanks of their own province. Deeply wounded, he retired to Flushing, where he still worked at the fitting out of a new fleet, in spite of the injustice of his country. In the midst of these quarrels De Ruyter came back from his African expedition, having passed very close to the English fleet under cover of a thick fog. He arrived at West Ems on the 6th of August, and the sight of his trophies filled the Dutch with joy, so that many a woman fell on his neck and kissed him in her ecstacy. De Witt, on receiving his despatches, got up in the night and wrote to him that ninety ships of the line were ready for him to join them and take the command. His answer was that he and his captains were ready to serve again immediately, but that his ships needed cleaning and repair and his crews rest. At once he was appointed Admiral-inChief, and went to take the command at Texel a fortnight after his return without even seeing his wife and children

He was received with great delight by all the navy, and though he was of the Lowestein faction, and Cornelis van Tromp and Cornelis Evertsen were Orangemen, his fame overbore everything. Many of the sailors held to the house of Orange, and to keep this feeling in check De Witt himself went on board, and made a cruise with De Ruyter to Bergen to escort home the Indian fleet. The storms that blew the plague from London did much damage to the fleet; two fireships sank, and eight men-of-war with two Indiamen ran among the English and were taken. Lord Sandwich and some of the other officers helped themselves to the treasures, privateer fashion, and on this account Sandwich lost the command of the fleet, which was given to Albemarle, together with Prince Rupert.

on his hat while

So much damage had the Dutch fleet undergone that only in October could De Ruyter again threaten the English east coast; but he found every part of the shore guarded, and could attempt no landing before the winter storms sent him home. Holland was ready to give him a triumph, he was bidden to keep addressing the States-General, a silver vase worth £150 was presented to him, and every possible honour was paid to him. He was a simple-minded, simple-mannered, religious sailor, and was by chance overheard praying in his bedroom against being uplifted by pride and vain-glory.

He worked hard at the refitting of the fleet, while De Witt did all he could by diplomacy, and arranged with Louis XIV. a secret treaty for the partition of the Spanish Netherlands, thus inducing France to declare war against England, but against his will, and three months' grace was granted at Charles's request.

De Ruyter had a splendid fleet ready by the spring, eighty-five

men-of-war with 5000 guns, and 22,000 men, 16 fireships and others, making up the whole number to one hundred vessels. His own flagship was called the Seven Provinces, carrying 80 guns and 500 men, and was considered as a marvel of shipbuilding. The young Prince of Orange brought the Elector of Brandenburg to visit the fleet at the Texel, when many manoeuvres were performed, so as to make a sort of naval review, ending by a grand dinner on board the flagship. The Prince made a liberal largesse, and one of the crew of the Seven Provinces thought to delight him by climbing the topgallant mast and there standing on his head; but the cool-headed William was disgusted at such foolhardiness, and De Ruyter would have punished it but for the intercession of the Elector of Brandenburg.

The English fleet had 81 ships of the line in the Downs, under Prince Rupert, the Duke of Albemarle, Sir George Ayscue, and Sir Thomas Allen. The three months' grace were over, and the Duke of Beaufort was reported to be at Bellisle meditating an attack, while the Dutch fleet was said to be not ready to put to sea. In consequence Rupert started with twenty-five ships in pursuit of the French, but both reports were untrue, the French were in the Mediterranean, and the Dutch had sailed out in three divisions, under De Ruyter, Cornelis van Tromp, and Cornelis Evertsen.

On the 1st of June, Albemarle was astonished at the sight of the sea covered with ships at anchor off the North Foreland. His numbers were inferior through the absence of Rupert's squadron, but he had criticised the caution of Sandwich and felt himself bound to give battle, while, moreover, his vessels, though fewer, were the larger. About one o'clock, therefore, Ayscue, under the white flag, begun the battle with Van Tromp. The combat was tremendous, neither gaining a decided advantage, though Van Tromp's ship was so much damaged as to be unmanageable, and two of his squadron were blown up.

Albemarle and Sir Thomas Tiddyman engaged De Ruyter and Evertsen, and there was a continued exchange of broadsides till five o'clock, but on the whole with advantage to the Dutch, as the English were too heavily weighted with guns. Albemarle finally signalled a retreat, fearing to be entangled in the Flemish sands. The Swiftsure, where Sir William Berkeley had done wonders in the onset, was so much damaged as to lag behind, when, in spite of her constant broadsides, she was boarded by Captain Adriansen, and there was a desperate fight on her deck. Sir William, with his back to the companion ladder, refused to yield, and fought on, till a pistol shot struck him in the throat. He dropped his sword, and rushed to the cabin, where Adriansen following, found him fallen across the table quite dead. Distinguished respect was paid to his body.

The battle was renewed on the following day, sixteen more ships having joined the Dutch. Again they fought all day, the most

remarkable part of the combat being at the close, when Sir John Harman, Rear-Admiral of the white, was slowly drawing off in his much-damaged Injury. Evertsen sent a fireship after him so enveloped in smoke that no grappling-irons could be seen, even when they had seized the ship. The boatswain sprang into a boat, and with his axe cut the irons off, but a second flaming ship came up. Fifty men in terror jumped overboard, the rigging caught fire, but Harman, sword in hand, restored discipline, had water thrown over the masts, and the flaming spars cut down. One of these struck him, but though badly scorched and with a crushed leg, he continued to give orders, and the second fireship was sent adrift. Evertsen despatched a third, but the guns of the Injury sunk this midway, and the final broadside gave Cornelis Evertsen his death-wound, while the brave Harman steered for Harwich, and there recovered.

Monk stood for the Thames, and all the next day and all night the battle continued. Monk took all the men out of his disabled ships and left them behind burning, but he had only fifty left, and in the evening the Royal Prince, the largest English vessel, with 100 guns, commanded by Ayscue, ran aground on the Galloper sandbank. Albemarle signalled that he could not help her, and Tromp coming up on one side and a fireship on the other, Ayscue was forced to surrender. He and his officers and his most unwilling men were removed, and as De Ruyter thought so large and heavy a prize would be dangerous, he ordered her to be burnt. Tromp was forced to obey, much to his mortification, but the sailors remembered that it was the anniversary of the explosion of the Eendraght, and cheered enthusiastically when she blew up.

By this time Prince Rupert had come back from his fruitless quest of the French, and his arrival with fresh ships swelled the English; but morning showed the Dutch in a desperate condition, and in spite of the Admiral's signals all his ships made sail homewards except that of his Vice-Admiral Van Ness, who came on board the Seven Provinces.

'What can we do?' said De Ruyter; 'I wish I was dead.'

'So do I,' said Van Ness; 'but we can always die when we like. Let us promise not to part company wherever we go.'

They shook hands and went on deck, and the next moment a cannon ball came through the cabin window and shattered the chairs they had been sitting upon.

Albemarle hoping to have taken De Ruyter prisoner, sent a fireship against him, but the Seven Provinces avoided this, and after

more fierce and desperate onset, the English fleet could not venture into the shallows on the coast of Holland, where their enemies were familiar with the currents; and thus, in spite of their great victory, they had only captured two ships, though they had killed two Admirals, seven captains, and 1800 men, while their own loss was ten ships and 3700 men, besides 2000 prisoners. Some French