When William of Orange came over at the request of many of the nobility and influential commoners in this country there was in his train, Hans William Bentinck, who had previously been to England on a political mission for the Prince.

Bentinck was of noble Batavian descent and served William as a page of honour.  His family had its local habitation at Overyssel in the Netherlands and still is known there.  At Welbeck a curious old chest, made of metal and carved, is one of his relics, for in it he brought over from Holland all his family plate and jewels.

The Prince was delicate of constitution and his ailments made him passionate and fretful, though to the multitude he preserved a phlegmatic exterior.

To Bentinck he confided his feelings of joy and grief, and the faithful courtier tended him with a devotion which deserves the conspicuous place given to it in English history.

The Prince was in the prime of manhood when he was seized with a severe attack of small-pox.  It was a time of anxiety, not only on account of the possible fatal termination of the disease, but in an age of plots, of the advantage that might be taken to bring about his end by means of poison or other foul play.

It was Bentinck alone that fed the Prince and administered his medicine; it was Bentinck who helped him out of bed and laid him down again.

“Whether Bentinck slept or not while I was ill,” said William to an English courtier, “I know not.  But this I know, that through sixteen days and nights, I never once called for anything but that Bentinck was instantly at my side.”  Such fidelity was remarkable; he risked his life for the Prince, who was not convalescent before Bentinck himself was attacked and had to totter home to bed.  His illness was severe, but happily he recovered and once more took his place by William’s side.

“When an heir is born to Bentinck, he will live I hope,” said the Prince, “to be as good a fellow as you are; and if I should have a son, our children will love each other, I hope, as we have done.”

It was about the time of the Prince’s perilous voyage to England to fight, if need be, for the Throne, that he poured out his feelings to his friend.  “My sufferings, my disquiet, are dreadful,” he said, “I hardly see my way.  Never in my life did I so much feel the need of God’s guidance.”

At this time Bentinck’s wife was seriously ill, and both Prince and subject were anxious about her.  “God support you,” wrote William, “and enable you to bear your part in a work on which, as far as human beings can see, the welfare of His Church depends.”