Virginia, but everywhere. But even if there had been the least semblance of truth in it, it never attained its end. Dissent only grew more embittered and struck its roots deeper, since persecution fertilizes.

But in things evil there is often the good motive stirring beneath. Disgust at this black poison of intolerance ought not to blind us to what it sprung from. Here, as in New England, it was the rank outgrowth as of noxious weeds from a strong soil of faith. These men at least believed. Life, which in this weary world of to-day is so vain a thing to many-a flitting gleam fading away into ever-deepening shadow-was an earnest affair to the men of that century. They were not half believers or no believers at all, with the "sick hurry, the divided aims and the strange disease of modern life" as the modern poet sings. They were very far, indeed, from that. The flying mists and primordial germs gave them no trouble. Languid or fierce doubt never disturbed them. They believed with all their might, these intolerant ancestors of the tolerant men of to-day who believe in nothing. The vast and wretched blunder, and all the sin and folly of forcing their faith on other people, are now plain. But looking at the world of this nineteenth century when Faith, the white maid, is laughed at in the market-place, one is tempted to envy the epoch when men fought for her, and committed crime for love of her.

IV.

66

CLAYBORNE, THE REBEL."

THUS these excellent narrow-minded Virginians, of the seventeenth century, followed the wont of their contemporaries, putting those who differed with them in jail, or ordering them to go out of the country; and it was not the Puritan dissenters only who fell under their displeasure. They were even more severe on the unlucky Roman Catholics, and had already seized the occasion, a little while before, to show their rooted aversion for things papistical.

Sir George Calvert, Baron Baltimore, a popish recusant of high character, came to Virginia in 1630, with the object of looking at the country and securing a retreat for the free exercise of his religion. He was not a bigot, just the opposite in fact, and his enterprise was not an unworthy one. Obloquy and persecution were the lot of Roman Catholics in England, and the worthy Baron came to Virginia, as the Pilgrim settlers came to But he found only

Massachusetts, to live in peace.

enemies in Virginia, as in England. As soon as his ship entered the capes, a stir ran through the colony. How he succeeded in passing that watch-dog, the "Captain of the Fort," at Point Comfort, without taking the oath of supremacy, is not explained in the archives; but he did pass by safely, without being brought to by the thunder of cannon, and arrived at Jamestown.

Here he found the Assembly sitting, but they gave him scant welcome. The same stubborn spirit of intolerance met him, which afterwards drove away the Puri

tan dissenters. The Assembly required him to take the oath of allegiance and supremacy, which he naturally declined to do, and a disgraceful scene followed. A crowd had assembled, and fierce opposition was shown to the Baron's further tarrying at Jamestown. A man insulted and threatened him, but at this treatment of a guest, the Virginians suddenly revolted. The records tell us what followed: "March 25, 1630, Thomas Tindall to be pilloried two hours, for giving my Lord Baltimore the lie and threatening to knock him down." It was the pendant of that other decree of the Burgesses (1640), that Stephen Reekes should be pilloried, fined, and imprisoned, for uttering the puritanic scoff, that " His Majesty was at confession with the Lord of Canterbury," Archbishop Laud. There was thus no doubt at all about the religious sentiments of the Virginians. Papists were to be given the lie, and good citizens ought to knock them down. Some Irishmen had just been banished to the West Indies, for professing the Romish faith, and now the presence of his Roman Catholic Lordship was really too much. The Assembly might put them in the pillory for insulting and threatening him; but he had warning.

There was some reason, on other grounds, for not welcoming the good Baron Baltimore very warmly. He had come to explore Virginia with the view of possessing himself of a part of it. After his Jamestown experience, he sailed up Chesapeake Bay, found the country attractive, and returning to England obtained from the King a grant of the territory, now the State of Maryland. He died in London soon afterwards, but the patent was confirmed to his son Cecilius, the second Lord Baltimore; and Cecilius sent out his brother Leonard Calvert (1634) with twenty "gentlemen" and

two or three hundred "laborers "who founded a Roman Catholic colony on the banks of the Chesapeake, and named it Maryland after "Queen Mary," as the Cavaliers called Queen Henrietta Maria.

Trouble followed. The Virginians cried out that the Maryland grant was an invasion of their vested rights under their charter. It was impracticable to declare war on the King and drive out the intruders; but when a great public sentiment moves a people, leaders are ready. There was living at the time, in Virginia, a certain gentleman named William Clayborne, a man of resolute temper and great ability. That is the true portrait of the famous "Rebel" who now grew so prominent; and it would be amusing, if it were not so tiresome, to read all the caricatures of the worthy historians who have professed to draw his likeness. In the eyes of Mr. Burk, he is "an unprincipled incendiary, and an execrable villain; in the estimation of Mr. Howison, "a turbulent character who was captured, brought to trial, and found guilty on the grave charges of murder and sedition;' " and even worthy Dr. Hawks calls him "a felon-convict who had escaped from justice in Maryland during the reign of Charles I."

It will probably surprise the reader to hear that this felon-convict, found guilty of murder, piracy, and other crimes, was a prominent gentleman of the King's Council, 66 Secretary of State of this Kingdom" of Virginia, and the owner of land in Maryland, by indubitable patent from King Charles I., addressed (1631) to "our trusty and well-beloved William Clayborne" of our Council in Virginia. Not to busy ourselves further with the historians, this William Clayborne was a gentleman of position, a man of energy, with strong pas

sions, thought himself wronged, and never rested in harrying his enemies. Under the King's patent he made a settlement on Kent Island in the Chesapeake, opposite the present city of Annapolis, "with a band," says a modern writer; but the object of the band was simply to trade with the Indians. The band must have been numerous, since this "Isle of Kent" speedily (1632) sent a Burgess to the Virginia Assembly. But suddenly arose misunderstandings between the resolute "Rebel" and Leonard Calvert. The Rebel must go away from Kent Island; it was part of Maryland. True, "the right of his Lordship's patent was yet undetermined in England,". but the Rebel must go

away.

Clayborne resisted. He was in his right, he said. He was on Virginia territory by the King's patent, the owner of Kent Island, and he meant to stay there. He would also sail to and fro in his trading-ship, the Longtail, to traffic with the Indians; if he was attacked he would defend himself. The moment came that was to decide matters. Leonard Calvert suddenly seized the Longtail, and Clayborne sent a swift pinnace with fourteen fighting men to recapture her. A battle followed in the Potomac River (1634). Two Maryland pinnaces came to meet Clayborne's; sudden musketshots rattled; three of his men were killed, and the Calvert fleet went back in triumph, with the captured Kent Island pinnace, and the remnant of its crew, to St. Mary's, the Maryland capital.

Thus the fates had frowned on the Rebel. He was driven from Kent Island, and escaped to Virginia, but Sir John Harvey refused to surrender him. Then he went to England; and it was during his absence there,