THE DAUGHTER OF A REGICIDE.

When thy beauty appears
In its graces and airs,
All bright as an angel new dropped from the sky
At a distance I gaze and am awed at my fears,
So strangely you dazzle my eyes.
--PARNELL.

One bright morning in autumn a ship from Virginia entered Boston Harbor. The appearance of a vessel was not an uncommon sight, and this one attracted little more than passing comment. Passengers were coming ashore and among them a stalwart youth of eighteen. His eyes wandered about over the town while the breeze played with his long hair hanging about his shoulders. He wore the costume of a cavalier, with a low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat and plume; but his face had all the grave aspect of a Puritan.

He asked no questions on landing, but went up to the Common, where a fencing-master had erected a stage and was walking back and forth upon it with a rapier in his hand, saying:

"Come, any who will, and fight me with swords."

Near him were a dozen or two swords of all kinds. The new-comer paused near the platform on which the boaster stood and gazed at him in wonder.

"I have been on this platform for several days, defying any man to fence with me. Have you no one in Boston brave enough?"

"I will," a voice cried at this moment. All turned at the sound, for the voice was deep and commanding, sounding like the boom of a cannon.

This stranger to all assembled on the Common was most singularly armed and equipped for a fight. On his left arm, wrapped in a linen cloth, was a large cheese for a shield, while he carried, instead of a sword, a mop dipped in muddy water.

"Who is he?"

"Some madman."

"Beware of him, and allow him not to go on the stage," cried another.

But the stranger, with an agility not to be expected in one of his years, sprang upon the platform. The fencing-master evidently thought he had an easy victory, for a smile curled his lip, as he asked:

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," was the answer.

"Guard!"

He sprang at the fencing-master, who made a thrust at him, burying the point of his sword in the cheese, where the white-haired man held it, while he smeared the face of his opponent with the mud on his mop.

[Illustration: "ARE YOU READY?"]

"Zounds! master what are you about?" cried the fencing-master.

"Marry! I am teaching you new tactics." Releasing his sword, the fencing-master ran to the other end of the platform and, seizing a broadsword, cried:

"I will have it out with you with these."

At this, the old man cried in a terrible voice:

"Stop, sir! hitherto you see I have only played with you and done you no hurt; but if you come at me with the broadsword, I will take your life."

The alarmed fencing-master cried out:

"Who can you be? You must be either Goffe, Whalley, or the devil, for there are no others in England who could beat me."

In order to fully explain the meaning of the fencing-master's words, we beg leave to step aside from our story for a moment and recall some historical events which have a bearing upon it. Of the judges who tried and condemned Charles I. three escaped to America. One was Edward Whalley, who had first won laurels in the field at Naseby, had even enjoyed the confidence of Cromwell, and remained a friend of the Independents; one was William Goffe, a firm friend of the family of Cromwell, a good soldier and an ardent partisan, but ignorant of the true principles of freedom. Endicott was governor when these two arrived in Boston. Goffe, with his child, came first, but was known as soon as he entered the town, and lodging was refused him at every house until he came to the home of the kind Puritan, Mathew Stevens, who sheltered the man and his child, though it might endanger his own head.

Charles II. pursued the murderers of his father with unrelenting fury. Whalley and Goffe both had been generals in the army of Cromwell and were men of undoubted courage. When warrants came for them from England, they hurried across the country to New Haven, where it was esteemed a crime against God to betray a wanderer or give up an outcast; yet such diligent search was made for them, that they never knew security. For a time they went in secrecy from house to house, for awhile concealing themselves in a mill, sometimes in clefts of rocks by the seaside, and for weeks together, and even for months, they dwelt in a cave in the forest. Great rewards were offered for their apprehension. Indians as well as English were urged to scour the woods in quest of their hiding-place.

John Dixwell, the third regicide, was more fortunate. He was able to live undiscovered and, changing his name, was absorbed among the inhabitants of New Haven. He married and lived peacefully and happily. Raleigh's history of the world, written during his imprisonment, while he was under sentence of death, was his favorite study. It is said that to the day of his death he retained a firm belief that the spirit of English liberty would demand a new revolution, which was achieved in England while he was on his death-bed.

Another victim of the restoration, selected for his genius and integrity, was Sir Henry Vane, the benefactor of Rhode Island. This ever faithful friend of New England and liberty adhered with undaunted firmness to "the glorious cause" of popular liberty, and, shunned by every one who courted the returning monarch, he became noted for his unpopularity. When the Unitarians were persecuted, not as a sect but as blasphemers, Vane interceded for them. He also pleaded for the liberty of the Quakers, and as a legislator he demanded justice in behalf of the Roman Catholics. When monarchy was overthrown and a Commonwealth attempted, Vane reluctantly filled a seat in the council, and, resuming his place as a legislator, amidst the floating wrecks of the English constitution, he clung to the existing parliament as to the only fragment on which it was possible to rescue English liberty. His ability enabled Blake to cope with Holland on the sea.

[Illustration: SIR HENRY VANE.]

After the restoration, parliament had excepted Sir Henry Vane from the indemnity, on the king's promise that he should not suffer death. It was resolved to bring him to trial, and he turned his trial into a triumph. Though he had always been supposed to be a timid man, he appeared before his judges with animated fearlessness. Instead of offering apologies for his career, he denied the imputation of treason with scorn, defended the right of Englishmen to be governed by successive representatives, and took glory to himself for actions which promoted the good of England and were sanctioned by parliament as the virtual sovereign of the realm. "He spoke not for his life and estate, but for the honor of the martyrs to liberty that were in their graves, for the liberties of England, for the interest of all posterity to come." When he asked for counsel, the solicitor said:

"Who will dare speak for you, unless you can call down from the gibbet the heads of your fellow-traitors?"

"I stand single," Vane defiantly answered. "Yet, being thus left alone, I am not afraid, in this great presence, to bear my witness to the glorious cause, nor to seal it with my blood."

Stimulated by the magnanimity of this noble spirit, his enemies clamored for his life. The king wrote:

"Certainly Sir Henry Vane is too dangerous a man to let live, if we can honestly put him out of the way."

Though he could not be honestly put out of the way, it was resolved that he should die. The day before his execution his friends were admitted to his prison, and sought to cheer his drooping spirits. He calmly reviewed his political career, and in conclusion said:

"I have not the least recoil in my heart as to matter or manner of what I have done. Why should we fear death? I find it rather shrinks from me than I from it." His children gathered around him, and he stopped to embrace them, mingling consolation with his kisses. "The Lord will be a better father to you than I could have been. Be not you troubled, for I am going to my father."

His farewell counsel was:

"Suffer anything from men rather than sin against God." When his family had withdrawn, he declared: "I leave my life as a seal to the justness of that quarrel. Ten thousand deaths, rather than defile the chastity of my conscience; nor would I, for ten thousand worlds, resign the peace and satisfaction I have in my heart."

He was beheaded at the block, and Charles II. smiled when news was brought to him of the execution. We must not regard Charles II. as a bloodthirsty man. In fact, he was rather good-natured, thinking more of pleasures and beautiful mistresses than of vengeance; but it was only natural that he should feel anxious to bring the murderers of his father to the scaffold.

He had no love for Puritan Massachusetts and threatened to deprive them of their liberties, demanding the retiring of the charter, which they refused to surrender. Various rumors went to England to the detriment of the people of Massachusetts. The New Englanders were not ignorant of the great dangers they incurred by refusing to comply with the demand of the sovereign. In January, 1663, the council for the colonies complained that the government there had withdrawn all manner of correspondence, as if intending to suspend their obedience to the authority of the king. It was currently reported in England that Whalley and Goffe were at the head of an army. The union of the four New England colonies was believed to have had its origin in the express "purpose of throwing off dependence on England."

Friends of the colonies denied the reports and assured the king that New England was loyal; but despite the fact of their assertions, Whalley and Goffe were still at large.

Even when their pursuers were close on their trail, Goffe, with a daring that was reckless, frequently appeared in Boston, usually in disguise. Long sojourn in rocks and caves had given him a natural disguise, in the long, snowy hair and beard.

It was on one of his daring visits to Boston, that he met and conquered the fencing-master as narrated in the opening of this chapter. Having humbled the boaster, the man with the cheese and mop descended from the platform, threw away his weapons and advanced toward the youth who had been an amazed spectator of the scene.

"Good morrow, friend. Do you belong here?" he asked, taking his hand.

"No, sir, I just came in on the vessel."

"Whom do you wish to see?"

"Some relatives named Stevens."

"Is your name Stevens?"

"It is, sir."

"And you are from Virginia?" the old man asked.

"Verily, you have guessed it, sir. Who may you be?"

Without answering him, the strange swordsman seized his arm, saying:

"Come with me; I am going to the house of Mathew Stevens. What is your father's name?"

"John Stevens was his name; but he is dead. He went on a voyage and was lost at sea when I was quite young."

"And your grandfather was--"

"Philip Stevens, the friend of Captain John Smith."

"I know of him. We will go to the home of your relatives." He led Robert over the hill toward a neat looking house, one of the best in Boston. The old man was nervous and frequently halted to look about, as if expecting pursuit.

"Surely you have no one to fear?" said Robert.

"Whom should I fear--the man whose face I plastered with mud? I carry a sword at my side, and he could not fight me in a single combat."

"But he said something. He called you a name."

"What name?"

"Goffe."

"What know you of Goffe, pray?"

"I have heard of him. My mother's husband frequently spoke of him as a regicide."

The swordsman gazed on him for a moment, and asked:

"Do you know what a regicide is?"

"A king-killer."

"Well, my young cavalier, when a king has been convicted of treason, should he not suffer death as the humblest peasant in the land?"

"He should," cried Robert, on whose republican soul the argument fell with a delightful sensation. "A king is but a man and no better than the poorest in the realm."

"Ha! young cavalier from Virginia, dare you utter those words in your own colony?"

"No; I left my colony because I could not abide there."

"What! a fugitive?"

"I escaped prison by the aid of friends and fled to Boston."

"And wherefore, pray, were you imprisoned?"

"On the charges of my mother's husband and a false friend in whom I trusted."

General Goffe shook his white locks and said:

"So young, and made to feel the grinding heel of the despot! Verily the suffering race of Adam will claim their rights some time."

They reached the home of Mathew Stevens, a large old-fashioned New England house, and were admitted at once.

Robert was conscious of being in the presence of several strange but kindly faces. There was an old man and woman with some young people of his own age. Then he noticed among them a beautiful, fairy-like little creature, some four years younger than himself, who, at sight of the white-haired man, rushed toward him and, placing her arms about his neck, cried:

"Father, father, father!"

"Ester, my child," the swordsman returned, "have you been happy?"

"Happy as one could be with father away."

"Now that I have returned, you need sorrow no more."

All the while Robert Stevens was standing on the threshold waiting an invitation to enter. The aged patriarch at last seized the arm of General Goffe and asked:

"Whom have we here?"

The general, in the joy of meeting his daughter from whom he had been separated, had forgotten Robert.

"This is Robert Stevens, your relative from Virginia."

"Robert, I knew your father; I heard he was lost at sea."

"He was," Robert answered sadly.

"And your mother?"

"Has married Hugh Price, a cavalier."

Robert told a part of his story, ending with the announcement that he was forced to fly from home to escape prosecution for treason. This he told with much reluctance, for it was a poor recommendation that he was an escaped prisoner.

When all was known, Robert found an abundance of sympathy, and was told that he might make his home with his relatives, until he could be provided for.

Then followed long weeks, months and years of the most delightful period of his life. His relatives were kind. Their home was attractive; but kind relatives and an attractive home were not the chief magnets which attracted him to the spot. It was the joy of a pair of soft brown eyes which held him. Ester Goffe was the most interesting person at Boston. She was a creature born to inspire one with love. She was young, hardly yet budded into womanhood, when first he saw her. Day by day and week by week she seemed to him to grow in beauty and goodness.

The third day after his arrival, General Goffe mysteriously disappeared. He had been gone almost a week, when Robert asked Ester where her father was.

"He is gone," she answered. "The king's men learned that he was here, and were coming after him, when he escaped."

"Whither has he gone?"

"Alas, I know not."

"What would be his fate if he should be taken?"

"He would suffer as did Sir Henry Vane. No mercy will be shown to a regicide."

"You must suffer uneasiness."

"I am in constant dread, though my father is brave and shrewd, while the king's officers are but lazy fellows with dull wits, who do not care to exert themselves, yet some unseen accident might place him in their power."

Then he induced her to tell the sad story of their flight from the wrath of an angry king, and how they had walked all the way from Plymouth to Boston.

The year 1675 came, just one century before the shots at Lexington were heard around the world.

There was a restless feeling in all the colonies. The governor of Virginia was a tyrant. The Indians were becoming restless, and a general outbreak was expected.

Robert had been informed by his mother that his friends had procured his pardon from Governor Berkeley, and he was urged to come home. Robert was now twenty-six years of age. Ester was twenty-two, and they were betrothed. Their love was of that kind which grows quickly, but is as eternal as the heavens. The regicide had been home very little for the last five years. He came one night to spend a short time with his daughter. They had scarce time to whisper a few words of affection, when Robert ran to them, saying:

"The king's men are coming."

In a few moments a dozen cavaliers with swords and pistols rushed on General Goffe.

"Do not surrender; I will defend you," cried Robert.

He drew his sword and assailed the foremost of the cavaliers with such implacable fury that they fell back. General Goffe took advantage of the moment to mount a swift horse and fly. A few pistol shots were fired at him; but he escaped, and Robert conducted the half-fainting Ester home.

It was nearly midnight when a friend came to inform Robert that the king's men had procured a warrant against him for resisting his majesty's officers, and he must fly for his life. There was a flutter of hushed excitement. Everybody was awakened. Robert hurriedly gathered up his effects, which were taken to a brigantine ready to sail for Virginia. There was a silent, tearful farewell with Ester; vows were renewed, and he swore when the clouds had rolled away to come and make her his wife.

Then a last embrace, a hasty kiss, and he hurried away to the bay. Ten minutes later the house was surrounded by soldiers.