The Boy who sailed with Blake | Page 2

for his gallant defence of Prior's Hill when Bristol was
besieged by Prince Rupert, until it was yielded in a dastardly fashion by
Governor Fiennes. My father retiring from the sea with a competency,
having married late in life, settled in Lyme, his native place. His house,
which overlooked the bay, was of the better sort, with curious gables,
and a balcony supported on strong wooden pillars in front, where he
was wont to sit, smoking his pipe, and enjoying a view of the ocean he
still loved full well, with the ships--their white canvas spread to the
breeze--sailing by in the distance, or approaching to take shelter in our
roadstead.
There were a few other residences of the same character; but most of
the houses were built of soft stone, with thatched roofs, forming four
irregular narrow streets, with several narrower lanes of no very
dignified character. Still, we were fond of our little town, and had
reasons to be proud of it from the events I am about to describe.
My two friends and I spent much of our time on the water. Lancelot,
my senior by two years, was the son of the worshipful Master Kerridge,
Mayor of Lyme, and Dick's father was Mr Harvey, a man of
considerable wealth and influence in the neighbourhood, brother-in-law
of Mr Ceely, who had been made Governor of the town by the
Parliament.
Our fathers were Puritans and staunch Parliamentarians. They had
become so in consequence of the faithlessness of the King, and the
attempt of Laud to introduce Popish rites and to enslave the
consciences of free-born Englishmen. Who, indeed, could have
witnessed the clipping of ears, the slitting of noses, the branding of
temples, and burning of tongues, to which the Archbishop resorted to
crush Nonconformity--who could have seen their friends imprisoned,
placed in the pillory, and even scourged through the streets, without
feeling their hearts burn with indignation and their whole souls rebel
against tyranny so outrageous?
"It is a wonder that any honest man could be found to support that
miscreant Laud," I remember hearing my father say. "He and his

faithless master are mainly answerable for the civil strife now
devastating, from north to south and east to west, our fair English
land."
But I must not trouble my readers with politics; my object is to narrate
the scenes I witnessed, or the events in which I took a part. I was too
young, indeed, at that time to think much about the matter, but yet I
was as enthusiastic a Roundhead as any of my fellow-townsmen. As we
approached the little harbour we passed through a large fleet of traders,
brought up in the roadstead for shelter, most of which, belonging to
London merchants, dared not therefore put into any port held by the
Cavaliers. Three or four had dropped their anchors while we were out
fishing. We hailed one of them, which had come in from the westward,
to ask the news.
"Bad news!" was the answer. "The Malignants have taken Exeter, and
many other places in the west country, and are now marching in great
force on London."
"I hope they won't come to Lyme on their way, for if they do, we shall
have but small chance of withstanding them," I observed to my
companions as we sailed on.
"I have but little fear on that score," replied Lancelot. "We'll fight while
a man remains on his legs, or a gun can be fired from our batteries."
Lancelot's enthusiasm inspired me. The breeze freshened. We soon
rounded the Cob, when we pulled up among the small craft which
crowded the harbour, to a spot where Lancelot usually kept his boat. As
soon as we had moored her we sprang on shore, and hurried through
the lower part of the town, which was almost deserted.
We found the greater portion of the inhabitants collected at the northern
side; and I had scarcely time to ask a question of my father, whom I
joined, before we saw a body of troops approaching, led by an officer
on horseback. He was a strong-built man, of moderate height, with a
fair and florid complexion, and, contrary to the fashion general among
Puritans, his hair, in rich profusion, was seen escaping beneath his

broad-brimmed hat, while he wore large whiskers, but no beard--his
countenance unmistakably exhibiting firmness and determination. He
returned in a cordial manner the salutes of the principal townsmen, who
had gone out to meet him.
"Who is he?" I asked of my father.
"That, my son, is Colonel Blake. He has come with five hundred men
of Popham's regiment, to protect us from a large army of
Malignants--twenty thousand men, it is said--under Prince Maurice,
cousin to the King. He threatens to annihilate our little