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a selection from the introductory of THE STORY OF MARGARET TUDOR CHAPTER I. San Augustin, this 29th of June, Anno Domini 1670. It is now more than a month since our captivity began, and there seems scant likelihood that it will come to a speedyMorea selection from the introductory of THE STORY OF MARGARET TUDOR CHAPTER I. San Augustin, this 29th of June, Anno Domini 1670. It is now more than a month since our captivity began, and there seems scant likelihood that it will come to a speedy close,-altho, being in good health myself, and of an age when hope dies slowly, I despair not of recovering both liberty and friends. Yet, in the event of our further detention, of sickness or any other evil that may befall me-and there is one threatening-I write these pages of true history, praying that they may some time reach the hand of my guardian and uncle, Dr. William Scrivener, if he be still alive and dwelling in these parts. Should they chance, instead, to meet the eyes of some friendly-disposed person of English blood and Protestant faith, to whom the name of William Scrivener is unknown, I beseech him to deliver them to any person sailing with the sloop Three Brothers, which did set out from the Island of Barbadoes on the 2nd of November last,-being in the hire of Sir Thomas Colleton, and bearing freight and passengers for these shores.If the sloop has suffered some misadventure (as I fear is not unlikely,-either at the hands of the Spaniards, or else of the Indians of these parts, who do show themselves most unfriendly to all Englishmen, being set on to mischief by the Spanish friars), then I pray that word may be forwarded to his Lordship, the Duke of Albemarle, and others of the Lords Proprietors who did commission and furnish a fleet of three vessels, to wit: the Carolina, the Port Royal, and the Albemarle, which did weigh anchor at the Downs in August of last year, and set forth to plant an English colony at Port Royal.In particular would I implore that word might reach Lord Ashley, seeing that his kinsman, Mr. John Rivers, is here detained a prisoner in sorry state, laden with chains in the dungeon of the Castle-for which may God forgive me, I being in some degree to blame- and yet, since it hath pleased Heaven to grant me the fair face that wrought the mischief, I hold myself the less guilty and grieve the more bitterly, inasmuch as I love him with a maids true love and would willingly give my life to spare him hurt.If it were so that I might give the true narrative of our present plight, and how it fell about, without cumbering the tale with mention of my own name, it would please me best- but as those who read it may be strangers, I would better tell my story from the start.Of myself it is enough to say that my name is Margaret Tudor, and saving my uncle, Dr. Scrivener, I am alone in the world and well-nigh portionless-my father having spent his all, and life and liberty to boot, in the service of King Charles, being one of those unfortunate royalists who plotted for His Majestys return in the year 55. For, as Cromwell did discover their designs ere they were fully ripe, many were taken prisoners, of whom some suffered death and others banishment. Of these last was my father, who was torn from the arms of his young wife and babe and sent in slavery to Barbadoes. We could learn nothing of his after fate, though many inquiries were made in his behalf.And so it fell about that,-my mother having gone to her rest,-I did take passage with my uncle, Dr. William Scrivener, on board the Carolina, with intent to stop at Barbadoes and make some search for my poor father in the hope that he yet lived.