Captain John Smith. C. H. Forbes-Lindsay
upon. As a reminder of his obligation, each retainer was required to make some slight payment to his lord every year, and this was deemed an acquittance of rent. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, feudal tenure—that is the holding of lands in consideration of military service—had ceased to exist, but the custom of paying quit rent continued and it is observed in many parts of England to this day.
Master Smith sent his son to the grammar school in the neighboring village of Alford. It was perhaps one of the many schools of the kind founded by the wise young king, Edward the Sixth, for the benefit of the great mass of his subjects who could not afford to have their sons educated at the more expensive colleges. John was an apt scholar and made good progress, but even in early boyhood his mind was, as he tells us, “set upon brave adventure.” And so, although he applied himself diligently to learning whilst at school, he was impatient to cut loose from his books and go into the world of action.
This is not difficult to understand when we consider the lad’s temperament and the circumstances in which he was placed. Willoughby and Alford were on the coast. The people were for the most part sea-faring men. Many of them made voyages to the continent of Europe and some had visited more distant parts. Like most seamen, they were doubtless always ready to tell of their experiences, and we may be sure that little Jack Smith was an eager listener to their yarns.
He was nine years of age when England throbbed with excitement at the approach of the great Armada of Spain. He saw all the able-bodied men of his village hurrying south to join their country’s defenders, and without doubt he wished that he were old enough to go with them. A few weeks later, the gallant men of Willoughby came home to harvest their fields, undisturbed by fear of an invasion of the Dons. Every one of them had done his full share in the fight. Jack’s uncle had served on Francis Drake’s ship. That fierce sea-hawk was in the thick of the strife and it was a brave story that Master William Smith had to relate to his delighted nephew.
As the lad grew older, he began to read of the glorious deeds of his countrymen in former days, stories of battle and adventure on land and sea, of knights and sea captains, of shipwreck and discovery. Books were costly and hard to come by in those days and very few would be found in the home of even a prosperous farmer. But Jack Smith was fortunate in the fact that Robert and Peregrine, the sons of Lord Willoughby, were his schoolfellows and playmates. Through them he had access to the castle with its grand hall full of armor and weapons, its gallery of old portraits, and above all its library, containing many of the kind of books from which he derived the greatest pleasure.
More than that, Lord Willoughby was one of the most renowned warriors of his day. On the Continent his name was linked with those of Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh. His feats of arms were recorded by historians and sung in ballads. One of these, which you may find in a curious old book named “Percy’s Reliques,” commences thus:
“The fifteenth day of July,
With glistening spear and shield,
A famous fight in Flanders,
Was foughten in the field.
The most courageous officers
Were English captains three,
But the bravest man in battel
Was the brave Lord Willoughbie.”
This song was composed at about the time that Jack was at school, and you may depend upon it that he with every one else in Willoughby sang it, for they were all right proud of their lord.
Lady Willoughby was, of course, fond of recounting her husband’s brave exploits. He was at this time fighting in the Low Countries, and at every opportunity he sent her word of the adventures that befell him. Parts of these letters she would read to her sons, and Jack was often present. At other times she would sit in a large oaken chair before the great fireplace in the hall, the three lads and two huge stag-hounds grouped about her feet in the ruddy light of the log fire. Many a delightful evening was thus spent, the stately lady telling of the stirring deeds performed by her lord and the boys listening with breathless interest.
During one winter the little circle received a welcome addition in the son of Count Ployer. The young Frenchman was in England for the purpose of finishing his education. His father was a friend of Lord Willoughby and in company with the latter was fighting in the Low Countries. The young nobleman was thus in a position to contribute his share to the stories of military adventure in which they were all so deeply interested.
As he walked home in the dark after one of these recitals, Jack would flourish his staff and shout words of command to imaginary followers, or tilt at a bush, or wage a furious duel with a milestone. The baying of “Sir Roger,” the old watchdog at the homestead, would recall him to his senses, and he would steal up to his truckle bed in the attic wishing that he were a man and his own master.
By the time Jack reached the age of thirteen, the desire to seek his fortune in the world had become too strong to be longer resisted. His mother was dead, his brother and sister were younger than himself and his father’s mind was still set upon making him a farmer. There was no one to whom he could turn for advice or assistance and so, with the self-reliance which he displayed through after-life, Jack determined to take matters into his own hands. The only things of any value which he possessed were his school books and satchel. These he sold for a few shillings. With this money in his pocket he was on the point of setting out for London, when the sudden death of his father upset his plan.
Master Smith left the farm to his son John, but placed it and the boy in the hands of a Master Metham, who was to act as guardian of both until such time as Jack should attain the legal age to inherit. This Master Metham was a trader, and he thought that he was doing very well by Jack when he put him in the way of learning business. He apprenticed the lad to Master Thomas Sendall, a shipowner and merchant of the neighboring seaport of Lynn. At first this arrangement was decidedly to Jack’s liking, for his guardian held out the prospect of voyages to the many foreign countries visited by Master Sendall’s vessels. But in this Jack was disappointed. Sailor-boys his master could easily get, but it was not such a ready matter to find a bright youngster for work in the counting-house. So Jack found himself pinned down to a desk in sight of the busy wharves and shipping. Here for some months he sat chafing at the inactivity and at length he determined to run away.
One night he slipped out of the warehouse in which he slept and, with his bundle of clothes slung on a stick over his shoulder, started for Willoughby, which he reached after a few days’ tramp. Jack went boldly up to his guardian’s house and told him that he had run away from his master, feeling assured that there was little chance of travel whilst he remained in his employment.
“Nor will I return,” said Jack in conclusion, “for I am determined to see the world and I beg of you to supply me with the means.” Now this speech smacked somewhat of over-confidence, for in those days truant apprentices were severely dealt with and Jack was liable to have been sent back to his master, who might then have flogged him. However, Master Metham knew that his friend Sendall would not wish to be troubled with an unwilling apprentice, and a plan occurred to him for curing Jack of his desire to roam. His idea was to give the lad so little money that he could not go very far with it and would soon experience a taste of hardship. This Master Metham thought would bring his ward home, eager to return to his desk and settle down to the sober life of a merchant’s clerk. The scheme might have worked very well with many boys, but Jack was not of the kind that turn back.
“As you will,” said Master Metham, after some thought. “Here is the money, and now go where you please.”
With that he handed our hero ten shillings.
“What is this?” cried Jack in amazement. “Ten shillings! Surely you jest Master Metham.”
“Not so,” replied his guardian, assuming a stern air. “Take the money and begone, or return it to me and go back to Master Sendall within the hour.”
Jack thrust the coins into his pocket and turned on his heel without another word. The next minute he was striding resolutely along the highroad to London.
As Master Metham watched the receding figure of his ward from the window, he could