have called treason going on in the market-place, when Richard Knightley entered it. The gentry and yeomanry from twenty miles round were there; and almost every man of them was in the utmost indignation. Where was the use of paying ship-money, they asked, if there was never a ship there to defend any part of the coast?
The new impositions on cargoes, out and in, the tonnage and poundage, was a greater burden than the commerce of the ports of England would bear; but the answer was, that commerce itself must stop without a guarding of the seas. And how were the seas guarded? Who did not remember the ferment, some months ago, when the Spaniards in the Channel insulted the English flag? And from nothing being done then, the Dutch had been emboldened to capture two rich Indiamen, almost within sight of our own shores. French ships had sailed some way up the Severn, looking out, no doubt, for a good place for their Barbary allies to land for pillage. And, now that ship-money was added to the other taxes, here were the Algerines hovering about the track of our trade. The last ship they seized was worth 260,000l. All that sum gone, for want of defence, just as if the owners had paid nothing for guarding the seas! And now, here was this outrage,—the seizing of twenty-six children . . . .
Then burst forth the question which was stifling every heart;—what could be done about these children? Was it possible that nothing could be done?
Was anything known of the fate of former captives?
Yes; the pirates who ravaged Baltimore, in Ireland, four yean ago, were Turks like these. They were allowed to land their captives, as slaves, at Rochelle; and some travellers in France had seen those victims on their march to Marseilles. They were dusty and footsore, and loaded with chains. These Port Eliot children could not wear chains, nor cross France on foot: but they would be made slaves of. Could no petition obtain from the king some ship to follow these pirates? Could not the case be set before the French court, so as to recover the children from a French port, if the Turks should stop there as usual?
Mr. Knightley gave some shadow of comfort by telling that John Eliot was on his way to inform Mr. Hampden of the case. Several voices cried, that if anybody could obtain ships for pursuit, it was Mr. Hampden. But then arose the question whether there were any ships that could go.
To this many voices replied. The sums paid for shipmoney were very large. Some London citizens had paid in one lump three or four hundred pounds; and there was no security against the call being repeated at any time. Every lodger in London was charged from ten to forty shillings: and the kingdom at large was reckoned to have yielded 700,000l. by this tax alone. After all, there was no sign of guarding the seas. The citizens were not allowed to fulfil the original order, to provide a ship in fair trim for this or that district. At best, this would have been an arbitrary charge: but it was insufferable that the money should be extorted, instead of the ship, and that the seas should be unguarded after all.
One after another of these quiet country squires and yeomen for the first time breathed doubts whether such things should be submitted to. The anguish of the mothers, whose wailings came upon the wind, moved not only the hearts but the tempers of the citizens. Was it possible that the King did not know what was done in his name? Some turned their eyes on Knightley, who might have been in London lately, and who was, at all events, the son-in-law of Mr. Hampden.
“Is it possible,” Richard asked, “that the King should be unaware, while Mr. Hampden is withstanding him to the face about this very tax?”
The stir among the squires, and then, by degrees, among the crowd, astonished him. He observed to those next him that one might think it was news to the people that Mr. Hampden was refusing to pay shipmoney. He learned that it was news; and the anxiety was so great to hear the fact, and how it had happened, that Richard soon found himself addressing a crowd of several hundreds, so eager to hear that a sudden silence prevailed in the market-place. A voice called out to him from the thick of the throng, desiring him to speak freely, as there were none but friends present; and this brought out, on the other hand, several kindly cautions to beware what he said, as there might be treachery in the invitation to open his heart.
Richard replied that everybody was welcome to all he had to tell, which was known to the whole kingdom, except such by-places as this Cornish coast. His tidings were simply that his father-in-law, and several other Buckinghamshire gentlemen, had declined paying this tax half a-year ago, and that Mr. Hampden meant to stand by his refusal, in order that one case might ascertain the law for all.
Loud cheers arose at this announcement, stopped at last only by the wish to hear the how, the when, and the why of the whole story.
“It is easily told,” Richard observed, as he mounted another step of the market cross on which he was standing. “I will tell you the story in a moment, if you will take it into your hearts as I speak it. Mr. Hampden may have to suffer a great deal on account of his refusal to pay. The charge is only a few shillings; but the expenses may be thousands of pounds; and, to a man who has nine children, that must always be a matter of importance. But he is in a worse peril than that. He may have to go to prison again; and no man knows better the miseries of such an imprisonment as he may have to endure. I need not tell you Cornish men what it is to lie hidden for years in the damps and dreariness of the Tower, or the Gate House. You remember how long and vainly you waited for a sight of your own great neighbour who never more came home to the Priory, because he had stood up against the forced loan in the last parliament. Year by year you hoped to see his face again,—and when rumour said he was ill, you drew from your sorrow the hope that he would be released, and would come to be restored by his beloved Cornish air.”
“Aye, we did!” exclaimed a voice; and then a hundred echoed it—“Aye, we did! we did! But we never saw him. Some people do not be-