Prince William was but a boy, and one who did little honor to his
father's love. He was a dissolute youth of eighteen, who had so little
feeling for the English as to have declared that when he came to the
throne he would yoke them to the plough like oxen. Destiny had decided
that the boastful boy should not have the opportunity to carry out this
threat.

"Give three casks of wine, Fitzstephen," he said, "to your crew. My
father, the king, has sailed. What time have we to make merry here and
still reach England with the rest?"

"If we sail at midnight," answered Fitzstephen, "my fifty rowers and the
White Ship shall overtake the swiftest vessel in the king's fleet before
daybreak."

"Then let us be merry," said the prince; "the night is fine, the time
young, let us enjoy it while we may."

Merry enough they were; the prince and his companions danced in the
moonlight on the ship's deck, the sailors emptied their wine-casks, and
when at last they left the harbor there was not a sober sailor on board,
and the captain himself was the worse for wine.

As the ship swept from the port, the young nobles, heated with wine,
hung over the sides and drove away with taunts the priests who had come
to give the usual benediction. Wild youths were they,--the most of
them,--gay, ardent, in the hey-day of life, caring mainly for pleasure,
and with little heed of aught beyond the moment's whim. There seemed
naught to give them care, in sooth. The sea lay smooth beneath them, the
air was mild, the moon poured its soft lustre upon the deck, and