Henry Morton

“ Oh, my brother! we soon shall meet again—And let me hope, that, stripped of those passions which make men devils, I may receive the heavenly balm of thy forgiveness, as I, from my inmost soul, do pardon thee.
[Morrington becomes convulsed with agony, and falls into Gerald's arms.]
Ah! what means that agony? He faints! give him air!
[They throw open his cloak and hat.]
[Starts.] Angels of mercy! my brother! 'tis he! he lives! Henry, support your father!
Henry. [Running to Morrington.] Ah, my father! he revives!
Sir Philip. Hush! ”

“ Mor. Well, never despair.
Ash. I never do, zur. It is not my way. When the sun do shine I never think of voul weather, not I; and when it do begin to rain, I always think that's a zure zign it will give auver.
Mor. Is that young man your son?
Ash. No, zur—I do wish he were wi' all my heart and zoul.
Gerald. [To Morrington.] Sir, remember.
Mor. Doubt not my prudence. Young man, your appearance interests me;—how can I serve you?
Henry. By informing me who are my parents.
Mor. That I cannot do.
Henry. Then, by removing from me the hatred of Sir Philip Blandford.
Mor. Does Sir Philip hate you? ”

“ Seen in the cheering light of the rising sun, Henry Morton could not help feeling that a beautiful picture was spread out before him.
“After all,” he said thoughtfully, “we needn't go abroad for beauty, when we can find so much of it at our own doors. Yet, perhaps the more we see of the beautiful, the better we are fitted to appreciate it in the wonderful variety of its numberless forms.”
He slowly descended the hill, but in a different direction. This brought him to the road that connected the village with North Rossville, two miles distant. ”

“ Henry. The Castle in flames! What occasioned it?
Everg. Alas! I know not!
Henry. Are the family in safety?
Everg. Sir Philip is.
Henry. And his daughter?
Everg. Poor lady! I just now beheld her looking with agony from that window!
Henry. Ah! Emma in danger!—Farewell!
Everg. [Holding him.] Are you mad? the great staircase is in flames.
Henry. I care not! Should we meet no more, tell Sir Philip I died for his daughter!
Everg. Yet reflect.
Henry. Old man, do not cling to me thus—'Sdeath! men will encounter peril to ruin a woman, and shall I hesitate when it is to save one? ”

“ MORTON, Sir ALBERTUS (1584?–1625) , secretary of state, born about 1584, was youngest of the three sons of George Morton of Eshere in Chilham, Kent, by Mary, daughter of Robert Honywood of Charing in the same county. He was descended from the family of Morton of Mildred St. Andrew, Dorset, of which John Morton [q. v.] , archbishop of Canterbury, was a member. His grandmother, when left a widow, remarried Sir Thomas Wotton, and became the mother of Sir Henry Wotton [q. v.] , who always called himself Albertus Morton's uncle. ”

“ Dame. Ah! here they are, coming to sell I suppose—
Ash. Lettun—lettun zeize and zell; we ha gotten here [Striking his breast.] what we won't zell, and they can't zell. [Knocking again.] Come in—dang it, don't ye be shy.
Enter Morrington and Gerald.
Henry. Ah! the strangers I saw this morning. These are not officers of law.
Ash. Noa!—Walk in, gemmen. Glad to zee ye wi' all my heart and zoul. Come, dame, spread a cloth, bring out cold meat, and a mug of beer.
Gerald. [To Morrington.] That is the boy. [Morrington nods.]
Ash. Take a chair, zur. ”

“ It was the face of Henry Speyer. The discovery was mutual. Speyer instantly turned down a by-lane. Morton quickened his pace, and reached the head of the lane in time to see the broad shoulders of the patriot in full retreat. He soon lost sight of him among a wilderness of back yards and squalid houses. The incident greatly disturbed and exasperated him. "A broken oath is nothing to him," he thought to himself; "he is at Vinal again, dragging at his veins like a vampire." ”

“ It was in vain that Morton and other leaders exposed their persons with the utmost gallantry, and endeavoured to bring their antagonists to a close action; their followers shrunk from them in every direction. And yet, though Henry Morton was one of the very last to retire, and exerted himself in bringing up the rear, maintaining order in the retreat, and checking every attempt which the enemy made to improve the advantage they had gained by the repulse, he had still the mortification to hear many of those in his ranks muttering to each other, that “this came of trusting to latitudinarian boys ”

“ Morton asked these questions with an agitation he could scarcely conceal, for from the appearance of the captain and his crew he could not help dreading that those in whom he took so deep an interest had fallen into the power of a band of pirates; all the atrocities of which such ruffians could be guilty occurred to him.
“Speak, man; tell me—what are you?” he shouted, for the man seemed to be hesitating about giving a reply.
“What we are you perceive, monsieur,” he answered. “We are cavaliers and Frenchmen, and are at present prisoners to an honourable enemy; as such we expect to be treated.” ”

“ Bertha Morton presented her husband with a fine boy, and scarcely had the young gentleman—Ronald Morton he was to be called—given notice of his arrival in the world by a lusty fit of crying, and had been exhibited in due form to his father, than the wise woman who attended on such occasions was now moving in hot haste to the castle of Lunnasting, to afford her aid to Donna Hilda, who was, it is said, in sore pain and distress. Alas! she had no fond husband to cheer and console her; no one to whom she could show with pride and joy the little creature about to be born into the world. ”

“ The wind was abeam; and the frigate, which proved herself but a crank ship, heeled over till her hammock-nettings dipped in the seething, foaming waters, which bubbled and hissed up through the lee scuppers.
On tore the “Pallas.” It was a race for liberty and the preservation of the wealth in which they had been rejoicing.
“What will you take for your prize-money in prospect now, Morton?” asked the pertinacious Hardman. “I told you so, old boy—there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip. It’s the great truth I’ve learned in my life—I shall always stick to it.” ”

“ Morton as faultless of garb as ever, and with eyeglass as much employed, the Reverend Bronson as anxious as in the old time for the betterment of humanity. The spirit of unselfishness never flags in that good man's breast, although Morton is in constant bicker with him concerning the futility of his work.
“The fault isn't in you, old chap,” said Morton, when last they were with me; “it isn't, really. But humanity in the mass is such a beastly dullard, don't y' know, that to do anything in its favor is casting pearls before swine.” ”

“ Dame Ashfield discovered at work with her needle, Henry sitting by her.
Dame. Come, come, Henry, you'll fret yourself ill, child. If Sir Philip will not be kind to you, you are but where you were.
Henry. [Rising.] My peace of mind is gone for ever. Sir Philip may have cause for hate;—spite of his unkindness to me, my heart seeks to find excuses for him—oh! that heart doats on his lovely daughter.
Dame. [Looking out.] Here comes Tummas home at last. Heyday what's the matter with the man! He doesn't seem to know the way into his own house. ”

“ Morton's glance, as if that glance could read his soul. But Mr. Morton had never felt so warmly towards Gray as he did at that moment. He was a better fellow than he had thought him, he said to himself, to feel Harding's disappearance so keenly.
"Look here, my lad," he said kindly, "you go into the house and ask Mrs. Morton to give you something to eat. You're just tired out, you know, and won't be fit for anything till you've had a rest. Oh, you shall go with us," he added as he saw Gray's hesitating look. "But we can't start for another hour. I must send over to Billoora for a man or two. ”

“ English planter and Indian brave join hands, Morton seizes the brown fingers of two tawny princesses; all join hands, and round and about the pole dance the fantastic company mid the wild uproar of a drunkenly beaten drum, shouts, the thunderous roar of old-fashioned muskets, and the faint silvery piping of an English melody. Is there a stranger picture in all American history than this revel at the Merry-Mount, this glimpse of tawny bodies, beaver coats, English sailors in great Dutch breeches, and Morton, in his London best? ”

“ Morton ordered the old man to be unshackled, and to be conducted to another part of the deck. After he had gone his rounds, he returned and took a seat on a bucket by his side.
“Thanks, sir, for this kindness,” said the old pirate; though as he spoke Ronald rather doubted his sincerity. “It is not thrown away. You see before you a victim to circumstances. I have done many evil deeds—many things of which I repent—but necessity drove me to commit them; poverty, that stern task-master, urged me on—not inclination, believe me. ”

“ That’s what a Don will never do; he won’t drink with you, he won’t talk to you, he won’t laugh or dance, and what’s more, he won’t fight with you; and that’s what the Mounseers never refuses to do, and that’s why I likes them.”
Morton enjoyed the change very much, from his usual life on board ship; he had not the same objection to the Spaniards as had his followers, and as he had now sufficiently mastered their language to converse with ease, he was never at a loss for amusement, and was able to obtain all the information he required about the country. ”

“ You know the old gentleman purposes to succeed himself. And, doubtless, since such is mugwump thickness, he'll be renominated.”
“Tammany,” said I, “will fight him. We'll have a candidate on a straight ticket of our own. His honor, your father, will be beaten.”
“On my soul! I hope so,” exclaimed Morton. “Don't you know, I expect every day to find him doing something to Mulberry Traction—trying to invalidate its franchise, or indulging in some similar piece of humor. I shall breathe easier with my parent returned to private life—really!” ”

“ During the time, Morton endeavoured to ascertain what he could about his new companions. Thinking that he might very possibly gain the information he wished for most easily from the priest, he took the opportunity of addressing him when out of hearing of the rest.
“You and your friends must have suffered much while in the power of those ruffians,” he remarked. “That old gentleman has not yet recovered; he seems from his manner to be a man of rank.”
“Yes; he is one of the old grandees of Spain,” answered the priest.
“May I ask his name? for I wish to address him properly,” said Ronald. ”

“ The old man cast an inquiring, doubtful look at Morton’s countenance, but seemingly satisfied with his scrutiny, he exclaimed, “I want, sir, to make a clean breast of it. For many years of my life I haven’t known what happiness is, and don’t ever expect to know it again.”
“As to that,” said Morton, interrupting him, “I’ll hear you by-and-by; but first, I wish to know where you have come from, and where the passengers and crew of this ship are now to be found?” ”

“ Ronald Morton had commenced his life at sea with the greatest zest, and although he had a few difficulties to contend with, and not a few older boys to fight, he invariably came off victorious, and was altogether a general favourite. Rolf devotedly loved his son, and though not ambitious for himself, his great desire was to see Ronald on the quarter-deck, and rising in his profession: he certainly looked as if it were more his proper place than was the forecastle where he now was.
“Father,” he said, turning his beaming countenance, “I do long to be in a battle. ”

“ Sauve qui peut!” They had good reason for so doing; for the cliffs on either side appeared covered with guerillas, who began firing down upon them, while a strong band was seen advancing at full speed along the road.
“Ronald Morton, I hate you!” exclaimed Gerardin, turning round in his saddle, and shaking his clenched fist at the English lieutenant. “You have foiled me again and again. I know you, and who you are; you stand between me and my birthright; you shall not foil me again. I have before sought your life; the next time we meet we will not separate till one or the other dies.” ”

“ Henry Josselyn left England about the time Morton was writing to Jeffreys, or a little earlier, and reached Piscataqua in June, 1634. [151] Mason, on the other hand, is mentioned as then living, and as having fitted out the expedition of Josselyn. Mason, however, it has already been seen, died in December, 1635. Written consequently after May, 1634, the New Canaan, it would seem, received no revision later than 1635. It represented Morton’s feelings during the time when he was most confident of an early and triumphant return to New England. ”

“ We are all cousins here, you see, captain—that is to say, all of true Norse blood; and, moreover, are not ashamed of our connections. Here we have Rolf Morton, as pretty a man as you may wish to see, though not Shetland born, as far as we know, married to young Bertha Eswick, daughter to our good cousin Dame Eswick, at present governess, manager, or housekeeper of Lunnasting Castle. Thus, you understand, Rolf Morton is our cousin by marriage; and who would disown him because he is at present but an humble pilot! A finer fellow or a truer seaman does not step, though I say it to his face. ”

“ At length the “Pallas” was ready for sea.
“I hope we may fulfil all our pledges,” observed Ronald one day, after the frigate had left the shores of England far astern.
“I am determined to do so,” exclaimed the captain. “Morton, I have lived long enough to know that a man can do nothing without money. That is irresistible, in politics, war, or love—rather marriage; it conquers all opposition. There is but one way by which seamen can make it. We are on that course. We’ll take good care that the opportunity does not escape us.” ”