fair field. Two of the White Rose claimants of the throne, the sons of

Edward IV., had been imprisoned by Richard III. in the Tower of London,

and, so said common report, had been strangled in their beds. But their

fate was hidden in mystery, and there were those who believed that the

princes of the Tower still lived.



One claimant to the throne, a scion of the White Rose kings, Edward,

Earl of Warwick, was still locked up in the Tower, so closely kept from

human sight and knowledge as to leave the field open to the claims of

imposture. For suddenly a handsome youth appeared in Ireland declaring

that he was the Earl of Warwick, escaped from the Tower, and asking aid

to help him regain the throne, which he claimed as rightfully his. The

story of this boy is a short one; the end of his career fortunately a

comedy instead of a tragedy. In Ireland were many adherents of the house

of York. The story of the handsome lad was believed; he was crowned at

Dublin,--the crown being taken from the head of a statue of the Virgin

Mary,--and was then carried home on the shoulders of a gigantic Irish

chieftain, as was the custom in green Erin in those days.



The youthful claimant had entered Ireland with a following of two

thousand German soldiers, provided by Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy,

sister of Edward IV., who hated Henry VII. and all the party of

Lancaster with an undying hatred. From Ireland he invaded England, with

an Irish following added to his German. His small army was met by the

king with an overpowering force, half of it killed, the rest scattered,

and the young imposter taken captive.



Henry was almost the first king of Norman England who was not cruel by

instinct. He could be cruel enough by calculation, but he was not

disposed to take life for the mere pleasure of killing. He knew this boy

to be an impostor, since Edward, Earl of Warwick, was still in the

Tower. The astute king deemed it wiser to make him a laughing-stock than

a martyr. He made inquiry as to his origin. The boy proved to be the son

of a baker of Oxford, his true name Lambert Simnel. He had been tutored

to play the prince by an ambitious priest named Simons. This priest was

shut up in prison, and died there. As for his pupil, the king

contemptuously sent him into his kitchen, and condemned him to the

servile office of turnspit. Afterwards, as young Simnel showed some

intelligence and loyalty, he was made one of the king's falconers. And

so ended the story of this sham Plantagenet.






Hardly had this ambitious boy been set to the humble work of turning a

spit in the king's kitchen, when a new claimant of the crown

appeared,--a far more dangerous one. It is his story to which that of

Lambert Simnel serves as an amusing prelude.



On one fine day in the year 1492--Columbus being then on his way to the

discovery of America--there landed at Cork, in a vessel hailing from

Portugal, a young man very handsome in face, and very winning in

manners, who lost no time in presenting himself to some of the leading

Irish and telling them that he was Richard, Duke of York, the second son

of Edward IV. This story some of his hearers were not ready to believe.

They had just passed through an experience of the same kind.



"That cannot be," they said: "the sons of King Edward were murdered by

their uncle in the Tower."



"People think so, I admit," said the young stranger. "My brother was

murdered there, foully killed in that dark prison. But I escaped, and

for seven years have been wandering."



The boy had an easy and engaging manner, a fluent tongue, and told so

well-devised and probable a story of the manner of his escape, that he

had little difficulty in persuading his credulous hearers that he was

indeed Prince Richard. Soon he had a party at his back, Cork shouted

itself hoarse in his favor, there was banqueting and drinking, and in

this humble fashion the cause of the White Rose was resuscitated, the

banners of York were again flung to the winds.



We have begun our story in the middle. We must go back to its beginning.

Margaret of Burgundy, whose hatred for the Lancastrian king was intense,

had spread far and wide the rumor that Richard, Duke of York, was still

alive. The story was that the villains employed by Richard III. to

murder the princes in the Tower, had killed the elder only. Remorse had

stricken their hardened souls, and compassion induced them to spare the

younger, and privately to set him at liberty, he being bidden on peril

of life not to divulge who he really was. This seed well sown, the

astute duchess laid her plans to bring it to fruitage. A handsome youth

was brought into her presence, a quick-witted, intelligent, crafty lad,

with nimble tongue and unusually taking manners. Such, at least, was the

story set afloat by Henry VII., which goes on to say that the duchess

kept her protege concealed until she had taught him thoroughly the whole

story of the murdered prince, instructed him in behavior suitable to his

assumed birth, and filled his memory with details of the boy's life and

certain secrets he would be likely to know, while advising him how to

avoid certain awkward questions that might be asked. The boy was quick

to learn his lesson, the hope of becoming king of England inciting his

naturally keen wit. This done, the duchess sent him privately to

Portugal, knowing well that if his advent could be traced to her house

suspicion would be aroused.



This is the narrative that has been transmitted to us, but it is one

which, it must be acknowledged, has come through suspicious channels, as

will appear in the sequel. But whatever be the facts, it is certain that

about this time Henry VII. declared war against France, and that the war

had not made much progress before the youth described sailed from

Portugal and landed in Cork, where he claimed to be Richard, Duke of

York, and the true heir of the English throne.



And now began a most romantic and adventurous career. The story of the

advent of a prince of the house of York in Ireland made its way through

England and France. Henry VII. was just then too busy with his French

war to attend to his new rival; but Charles VIII. of France saw here an

opportunity of annoying his enemy. He accordingly sent envoys to Cork,

with an invitation to the youth to seek his court, where he would be

acknowledged as the true heir to the royal crown of England.



The astute young man lost no time in accepting the invitation. Charles

received him with as much honor as though he were indeed a king,

appointed him a body-guard, and spread far and wide the statement that

the Duke of York, the rightful heir of the English crown, was at his

court, and that he would sustain his claim. What might have come of

this, had the war continued, we cannot say. A number of noble

Englishmen, friends of York, made their way to Paris, and became

believers in the story of the young adventurer. But the hopes of the

aspirant in this quarter came to an end with the ending of the war.

Charles's secret purpose had been to force Henry to conclude a peace,

and in this he succeeded. He had now no further use for his young

protege. He had sufficient honor not to deliver him into Henry's hands,

as he was asked to do; but he set him adrift from his own court, bidding

him to seek his fortune elsewhere.



From France the young aspirant made his way into Flanders, and presented

himself at the court of the Duchess of Burgundy, with every appearance

of never having been there before. He sought her, he said, as his aunt.

The duchess received him with an air of doubt and suspicion. He was, she

acknowledged, the image of her dear departed brother, but more evidence

was needed. She questioned him, therefore, closely, before the members

of her court, making searching inquiries into his earlier life and

recollections. These he answered so satisfactorily that the duchess

declared herself transported with astonishment and joy, and vowed that

he was indeed her nephew, miraculously delivered from prison, brought

from death to life, wonderfully preserved by destiny for some great

fortune. She was not alone in this belief. All who heard his answers

agreed with her, many of them borne away by his grace of person and

manner and the fascination of his address. The duchess declared his

identity beyond doubt, did him honor as a born prince, gave him a

body-guard of thirty halberdiers, who were clad in a livery of murrey

and blue, and called him by the taking title of the "White Rose of

England." He seemed, indeed, like one risen from the grave to set afloat

once more the banners of the White Rose of York.



The tidings of what was doing in Flanders quickly reached England, where

a party in favor of the aspirant's pretensions slowly grew up. Several

noblemen joined it, discontent having been caused by certain unpopular

acts of the king. Sir Robert Clifford sailed to Flanders, visited

Margaret's court, and wrote back to England that there was no doubt that

the young man was the Duke of York, whose person he knew as he knew his

own.



While these events were fomenting, secretly and openly, King Henry was

at work, secretly and openly, to disconcert his foes. He set a guard

upon the English ports, that no suspicious person should enter or leave

the kingdom, and then put his wits to task to prove the falsity of the

whole neatly-wrought tale. Two of those concerned in the murder of the

princes were still alive,--Sir James Tirrel and John Dighton. Sir James

claimed to have stood at the stair-foot, while Dighton and another did

the murder, smothering the princes in their bed. To this they both

testified, though the king, for reasons unexplained, did not publish

their testimony.



Henry also sent spies abroad, to search into the truth concerning the

assumed adventurer. These, being well supplied with money, and bidden to

trace every movement of the youth, at length declared that they had

discovered that he was the son of a Flemish merchant, of the city of

Tournay, his name Perkin Warbeck, his knowledge of the language and

manners of England having been derived from the English traders in

Flanders. This information, with much to support it, was set afloat in

England, and the king then demanded of the Archduke Philip, sovereign of

Burgundy, that he should give up this pretender, or banish him from his

court. Philip replied that Burgundy was the domain of the duchess, who

was mistress in her own land. In revenge, Henry closed all commercial

communication between the two countries, taking from Antwerp its

profitable market in English cloth.



Now tragedy followed comedy. Sir Robert Clifford, who had declared the

boy to be undoubtedly the Duke of York, suffered the king to convince

him that he was mistaken, and denounced several noblemen as being

secretly friends to Perkin Warbeck. These were arrested, and three of

them beheaded, one of them, Sir William Stanley, having saved Henry's

life on Bosworth Field. But he was rich, and a seizure of his estate

would swell the royal coffers. With Henry VII. gold weighed heavier than

gratitude.



For three years all was quiet. Perkin Warbeck kept his princely state at

the court of the Duchess of Burgundy, and the merchants of Flanders

suffered heavily from the closure of the trade of Antwerp. This grew

intolerable. The people were indignant. Something must be done. The

pretended prince must leave Flanders, or he ran risk of being killed by

its inhabitants.



The adventurous youth was thus obliged to leave his refuge at Margaret's

court, and now entered upon a more active career. Accompanied by a few

hundred men, he sailed from Flanders and landed on the English coast at

Deal. He hoped for a rising in his behalf. On the contrary, the

country-people rose against him, killed many of his followers, and took

a hundred and fifty prisoners. These were all hanged, by order of the

king, along the sea-shore, as a warning to any others who might wish to

invade England.



Flanders was closed against the pretender. Ireland was similarly closed,

for Henry had gained the Irish to his side. Scotland remained, there

being hostility between the English and Scottish kings. Hither the

fugitive made his way. James IV. of Scotland gave him a most encouraging

reception, called him cousin, and in a short time married him to one of

the most beautiful and charming ladies of his court, Lady Catharine

Gordon, a relative of the royal house of the Stuarts.



For a time now the fortunes of the young aspirant improved. Henry,

alarmed at his progress, sought by bribery of the Scottish lords to have

him delivered into his hands. In this he failed; James was faithful to

his word. Soon Perkin had a small army at his back. The Duchess of

Burgundy provided him with men, money, and arms, till in a short time he

had fifteen hundred good soldiers under his command.



With these, and with the aid of King James of Scotland, who reinforced

his army and accompanied him in person, he crossed the border into

England, and issued a proclamation, calling himself King Richard the

Fourth, and offering large rewards to any one who should take or

distress Henry Tudor, as he called the king.



Unluckily for the young invader, the people of England had had enough of

civil war. White Rose or Red Rose had become of less importance to them

than peace and prosperity. They refused to rise in his support, and

quickly grew to hate his soldiers, who, being of different nations, most

of them brigandish soldiers of fortune, began by quarrelling with one

another, and ended by plundering the country.



"This is shameful," said Perkin. "I am not here to distress the English

people. Rather than fill the country with misery, I will lose my

rights."



King James laughed at his scruples, giving him to understand that no

true king would stop for such a trifle. But Perkin was resolute, and

the army marched back again into Scotland without fighting a battle.

The White Rose had shown himself unfit for kingship in those days. He

was so weak as to have compassion for the people, if that was the true

cause of his retreat.



This invasion had one unlooked-for result. The people had been heavily

taxed by Henry, in preparation for the expected war. In consequence the

men of Cornwall rose in rebellion. With Flammock, a lawyer, and Joseph,

a blacksmith, at their head, they marched eastward through England until

within sight of London, being joined by Lord Audley and some other

country gentlemen on their route. The king met and defeated them, though

they fought fiercely. Lord Audley was beheaded, Flammock and Joseph were

hanged, the rest were pardoned. And so ended this threatening

insurrection.



It was of no advantage to the wandering White Rose. He soon had to leave

Scotland, peace having been made between the two kings. James, like

Charles VIII. before him, was honorable and would not give him up, but

required him to leave his kingdom. Perkin and his beautiful wife, who

clung to him with true love, set sail for Ireland. For a third time he

had been driven from shelter.



In Ireland he found no support. The people had become friendly to the

king, and would have nothing to do with the wandering White Rose. As a

forlorn hope, he sailed for Cornwall, trusting that the stout Cornish

men, who had just struck so fierce a blow for their rights, might

gather to his support. With him went his wife, clinging with unyielding

faith and love to his waning fortunes.



He landed at Whitsand Bay, on the coast of Cornwall, issued a

proclamation under the title of Richard the Fourth of England, and

quickly found himself in command of a small army of Cornishmen. His wife

he left in the castle of St. Michael's Mount, as a place of safety, and

at the head of three thousand men marched into Devonshire. By the time

he reached Exeter he had six thousand men under his command. They

besieged Exeter, but learning that the king was on the march, they

raised the siege, and advanced until Taunton was reached, when they

found themselves in front of the king's army.



The Cornishmen were brave and ready. They were poorly armed and

outnumbered, but battle was their only thought. Such was not the thought

of their leader. For the first time in his career he found himself face

to face with a hostile army. He could plot, could win friends by his

engaging manners, could do anything but fight. But now that the critical

moment had come he found that he lacked courage. Perhaps this had as

much as compassion to do with his former retreat to Scotland. It is

certain that the sight of grim faces and brandished arms before him

robbed his heart of its bravery. Mounting a swift horse, he fled in the

night, followed by about threescore others. In the morning his men found

themselves without a leader. Having nothing to fight for, they

surrendered. Some few of the more desperate of them were hanged. The

others were pardoned and permitted to return.



No sooner was the discovery made that the White Rose had taken to the

winds than horsemen were sent in speedy pursuit, one troop being sent to

St. Michael's Mount to seize the Lady Catharine, and a second troop of

five hundred horse to pursue the fugitive pretender, and take him, if

possible, before he could reach the sanctuary of Beaulieu, in the New

Forest, whither he had fled. The lady was quickly brought before the

king. Whether or not he meant to deal harshly with her, the sight of her

engaging face moved him to compassion and admiration. She was so

beautiful, bore so high a reputation for goodness, and was so lovingly

devoted to her husband, that the king was disarmed of any ill purposes

he may have entertained, and treated her with the highest respect and

consideration. In the end he gave her an allowance suitable to her rank,

placed her at court near the queen's person, and continued her friend

during life. Years after, when the story of Perkin Warbeck had almost

become a nursery-tale, the Lady Catharine was still called by the people

the "White Rose," as a tribute to her beauty and her romantic history.



As regards the fugitive and his followers, they succeeded in reaching

Beaulieu and taking sanctuary. The pursuers, who had failed to overtake

them, could only surround the sanctuary and wait orders from the king.

The astute Henry pursued his usual course, employing policy instead of

force. Perkin was coaxed out of his retreat, on promise of good

treatment if he should surrender, and was brought up to London, guarded,

but not bound. Henry, who was curious to see him, contrived to do so

from a window, screening himself while closely observing his rival.



London reached, the cavalcade became a procession, the captive being led

through the principal streets for the edification of the populace,

before being taken to the Tower. The king had little reason to fear him.

The pretended prince, who had run away from his army, was not likely to

obtain new adherents. Scorn and contempt were the only manifestations of

popular opinion.



So little, indeed, did Henry dread this aspirant to the throne, that he

was quickly released from the Tower and brought to Westminster, where he

was treated as a gentleman, being examined from time to time regarding

his imposture. Such parts of his confession as the king saw fit to

divulge were printed and spread through the country, but were of a

nature not likely to settle the difficulty. "Men missing of that they

looked for, looked about for they knew not what, and were more in doubt

than before, but the king chose rather not to satisfy, than to kindle

coals."



Perkin soon brought the king's complaisance to an end. His mercurial

disposition counselled flight, and, deceiving his guards, he slipped

from the palace and fled to the sea-shore. Here he found all avenues of

escape closed, and so diligent was the pursuit that he quickly turned

back, and again took sanctuary in Bethlehem priory, near Richmond. The

prior came to the king and offered to deliver him up, asking for his

life only. His escapade had roused anger in the court.



"Take the rogue and hang him forthwith," was the hot advice of the

king's council.



"The silly boy is not worth a rope," answered the king. "Take the knave

and set him in the stocks. Let the people see what sort of a prince this

is."



Life being promised, the prior brought forth his charge, and a few days

after Perkin was set in the stocks for a whole day, in the palace-court

at Westminster. The next day he was served in the same manner at

Cheapside, in both places being forced to read a paper which purported

to be a true and full confession of his imposture. From Cheapside he was

taken to the Tower, having exhausted the mercy of the king.



In the Tower he was placed in the company of the Earl of Warwick, the

last of the acknowledged Plantagenets, who had been in this gloomy

prison for fourteen years. It is suspected that the king had a dark

purpose in this. To the one he had promised life; the other he had no

satisfactory reason to remove; possibly he fancied that the uneasy

temper of Perkin would give him an excuse for the execution of both.



If such was his scheme, it worked well. Perkin had not been long in the

Tower before the quick-silver of his nature began to declare itself. His

insinuating address gained him the favor of his keepers, whom he soon

began to offer lofty bribes to aid his escape. Into this plot he managed

to draw the young earl. The plan devised was that the four keepers

should murder the lieutenant of the Tower in the night, seize the keys

and such money as they could find, and let out Perkin and the earl.



It may be that the king himself had arranged this plot, and instructed

the keepers in their parts. Certainly it was quickly divulged. And by

strange chance, just at this period a third pretender appeared, this

time a shoemaker's son, who, like the baker's son, pretended to be the

Earl of Warwick. His name was Ralph Wilford. He had been taught his part

by a priest named Patrick. They came from Suffolk and advanced into

Kent, where the priest took to the pulpit to advocate the claims of his

charge. Both were quickly taken, the youth executed, the priest

imprisoned for life.



And now Henry doubtless deemed that matters of this kind had gone far

enough. The earl and his fellow-prisoner were indicted for conspiracy,

tried and found guilty, the earl beheaded on Tower Hill, and Perkin

Warbeck hanged at Tyburn. This was in the year 1499. It formed a

dramatic end to the history of the fifteenth century, being the closing

event in the wars of the White and the Red Roses, the death of the last

Plantagenet and of the last White Rose aspirant to the throne.



In conclusion, the question may be asked, Who was Perkin Warbeck? All we

know of him is the story set afloat by Henry VII., made up of accounts

told by his spies and a confession wrested from a boy threatened with

death. That he was taught his part by Margaret of Burgundy we have only

this evidence for warrant. He was publicly acknowledged by this lady,

the sister of Edward IV., was married by James of Scotland to a lady of

royal blood, was favorably received by many English lords, and was

widely believed, in view of the mystery surrounding the fate of the

princes, to be truly the princely person he declared himself. However

that be, his story is a highly romantic one, and forms a picturesque

closing scene to the long drama of the Wars of the Roses.