Micah Clarke

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Your most grateful servant, sir,' he cried, jumping up and bowing with his hand over his heart. 'This is indeed a haven of rest after the ungodly and profane company of my brothers. Shall we then put up a hymn, and retire from the business of the day?' On reaching the bridge all was quiet and still. It was quite dark and very cold, for Christmas was approaching. There were no signs of our opponents. We exchanged a few whispers as to who should do the daring deed, but as the others shrank from it, and as I was too proud to propose what I dare not execute, I gripped the saw, and sitting astraddle upon the plank set to work upon the very centre of it. Tales of the Ring and Camp combined sport stories with war stories as if to imply that war is just a sport. The Sir Nigel books promote war as a field of gallantry and courage, and yet they include images of devastation in France that seem to undermine Conan Doyle’s seeming militarism. I saw that when my father looked at the signature at the end of the long, closely written letter he gave a whiff of surprise and sat motionless for a moment or so staring at it. Then he turned to the commencement and read it very carefully through, after which he turned it over and read it again. Clearly it brought no unwelcome news, for his eyes sparkled with joy when he looked up from his reading, and more than once he laughed aloud. Finally he asked the man Saxon how it had come into his possession, and whether he was aware of the contents.

Firstly at the hands of smugglers on his ride to Badminton to enlist the Duke of Beaufort to Monmouth's cause; and secondly at the hands of the choleric Duke himself! Nay, I won't come in with you, Micah,' said he; 'there's mischief likely to come of all this. My father may grumble over his beer jugs, but he's a Churchman and a Tantivy for all that. I'd best keep out of it.'At Havant, near Portsmouth, young Micah Clarke grew up under the domination of his strong Puritan father, Joseph Clarke. He led a vigorous, active life, but he spent much time praying and hymn singing. He heard many tales of Cromwell and the Puritans from his father, who had fought in the wars of those troubled times. Except for a year at an established Church school, Micah’s education was taken in hand by his father himself. At the age of twenty, Micah was the strongest man in the village. There was a pause after this, while the stranger drew a long knife from his belt, and cleaned out his pipe with it. Reuben and I took up our oars, and having pulled up our tangled fishing-lines, which had been streaming behind the boat, we proceeded to pull in towards the land. Then there are the Brigadier Gerard stories, where bravado is one step from bragging, and courage is closely aligned to stupidity. The irony of the stories and the futility of Gerard’s courageous endeavours in the interests of a doomed leader seem to hint at the futility of war in general, but it is uncertain if Conan Doyle intends us to go this far. He paused, and led me away to the farther end of the yard, for the workmen had begun to arrive and to cluster round the dipping trough.

My mother, on the other hand, held that the very essence of a church was that it should have a hierarchy and a graduated government within itself, with the king at the apex, the archbishops beneath him, the bishops under their control, and so down through the ministry to the common folk. Such was, in her opinion, the Church as established in the beginning, and no religion without these characteristics could lay any claim to being the true one. Ritual was to her of as great importance as morality, and if every tradesman and farmer were allowed to invent prayers, and change the service as the fancy seized him, it would be impossible to preserve the purity of the Christian creed. She agreed that religion was based upon the Bible, but the Bible was a book which contained much that was obscure, and unless that obscurity were cleared away by a duly elected and consecrated servant of God, a lineal descendant of the Disciples, all human wisdom might not serve to interpret it aright. That was my mother's position, and neither argument nor entreaty could move her from it. The only question of belief on which my two parents were equally ardent was their mutual dislike and distrust of the Roman Catholic forms of worship, and in this the Churchwoman was every whit as decided as the fanatical Independent. Booth, Martin. The Doctor, the Detective, and Arthur Conan Doyle: A Biography of Arthur Conan Doyle. London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1997.Having set off on the dangerous ride to Taunton to join Monmouth's rebel forces, Micah and his friend Reuben have had many extraordinary encounters. Aptly asked, and yet the answer is clear enough,' he replied; 'sweet and ingenuous as are your faces, I could not read upon them that ye would prove to be Whigs and friends of the good old cause. Ye might have taken me to where excisemen or others would have wanted to pry and peep, and so endangered my commission. Better a voyage to France in an open boat than that.' Then there is the mercenary Decimus Saxon. He is a charming rogue, but utterly unscrupulous, and quite ready to kill, rob and spoil for his own benefit. Saxon exposes the darker underbelly of war – whatever the hot air espoused by the leaders, war is essentially about people seeking what is good for them. The working of Providence,' Saxon answered. 'I have two-and-twenty other letters which must all be delivered by hand. If you will permit me to use your house for a while, I shall make it my headquarters.' I have three-and-twenty of them to deliver in the neighbourhood,' he remarked. 'That shows what folk think of Decimus Saxon. Three-and-twenty lives and liberties are in my hands. Ah, lad, invoices and bills of lading are not done up in that fashion. It is not a cargo of Flemish skins that is coming for the old man. The skins have good English hearts in them; ay, and English swords in their fists to strike out for freedom and for conscience. I risk my life in carrying this letter to your father; and you, his son, threaten to hand me over to the justices! For shame! For shame! I blush for you!'

I know little of the bearer of this, save that he professes to be of the elect. Shouldst thou go to Monmouth's camp, see that thou take him with thee, for I hear that he hath had good experience in the German, Swedish, and Otttoman wars. — Yours in the faith of Christ, Richard Rumbold. Conan Doyle mentioned the incident in his 1924 autobiography, Memories and Adventures. He explained that he and Wilde became friendly, but that the friendship remained a distant one at best, and that it grew more distant as Wilde's reputation became questionable. The actual friendly relationship appears to be true, but that Wilde liked Micah Clarke remains at issue. In the 1999 biography of Conan Doyle, Teller of Tales, author Daniel Stashower suspects that Wilde would never have liked such a novel. But Conan Doyle claimed in his autobiography that what Wilde liked was the characterization of Judge George Jeffreys in the novel. Jeffreys, the notorious bully of the law courts of his day, was shown as a handsome, brilliant man with a flaw in his character – a fallen angel type, such as figured in some of Wilde's writing. What makes Micah Clarke interesting is that the story seems to be consciously offering up a message against war and the religious bigotry that often inspires it. No wonder it is the best of Conan Doyle’s historical novels.Although he is now referred to as "Conan Doyle", the origin of this compound surname (if that is how he meant it to be understood) is uncertain. His baptism record in the registry of St Mary's Cathedral in Edinburgh gives 'Arthur Ignatius Conan' as his Christian name, and simply 'Doyle' as his surname. It also names Michael Conan as his godfather. Micah tried to talk to Beaufort alone, but he was forced to deliver his papers in full sight of the Duke’s court. Beaufort became very angry at the idea of deserting King James and had Micah imprisoned in a dungeon. Expecting to be hanged as a traitor, Micah resigned himself to his last night on earth; but during the night, a rope dropped mysteriously from an opening in the ceiling. Climbing up, Micah saw that his deliverer was Beaufort himself. The Duke explained that he had not dared say anything in council, but if Monmouth could get to Bristol, Beaufort would join him. Micah Clarke, a young English Puritan who enlists in the forces of the duke of Monmouth when that nobleman makes his bid for the English throne in 1685. A strong, able, and honest man, Clarke becomes a captain of infantry, goes on various missions for the usurper, and is captured when Monmouth is defeated. He is ransomed by his friend Decimus Saxon and goes to the Continent to be a mercenary soldier.

I fear, my children, that you will think that the prologue is over long for the play; but the foundations must be laid before the building is erected, and a statement of this sort is a sorry and a barren thing unless you have a knowledge of the folk concerned. Be patient, then, while I speak to you of the old friends of my youth, some of whom you may hear more of hereafter, while others remained behind in the country hamlet, and yet left traces of our early intercourse upon my character which might still be discerned there. I liked the story but I did not feel that urge to Read Read Read the way I had with the previous Doyle historical novels I had finished. I have been a little distracted during my computer time this last few weeks, and it was easier than I expected to switch to other diversions, which is why it took me so long to finish the book. Conan Doyle fathered five children. Two with his first wife—Mary Louise (28 January 1889 – 12 June 1976), and Arthur Alleyne Kingsley, known as Kingsley (15 November 1892 – 28 October 1918). With his second wife he had three children—Denis Percy Stewart (17 March 1909 – 9 March 1955), second husband in 1936 of Georgian Princess Nina Mdivani (circa 1910 – 19 February 1987; former sister-in-law of Barbara Hutton); Adrian Malcolm (19 November 1910–3 June 1970) and Jean Lena Annette (21 December 1912–18 November 1997).May 22, 1130am ~~ I discovered Arthur Conan Doyle's historical novels a few years ago when I read The White Company and then its prequel Sir Nigel. Ever since then I have had a list of Doyle titles waiting for me. My father willingly agreed, and we sang 'Oh, happy land!' after which our visitor followed me to his room, bearing with him the unfinished bottle of usquebaugh which my mother had left on the table. He took it with him, he explained, as a precaution against Persian ague, contracted while battling against the Ottoman, and liable to recur at strange moments. I left him in our best spare bedroom, and returned to my father, who was still seated, heavy with thought, in his old corner. Dear Joe,' said my mother, in soothing tones, 'thou art scaring thyself and the children to no avail. If the Son of Man be indeed coming, what matters it whether we be abed or afoot?'