For Faith and Freedom

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  BEFORE THE ASSIZE.

  Then we sat down and waited. 'Twas all that we could do. Day afterday we went to the prison, where my mother sat by my father, whosecondition never changed in the least, being always that of one whoslept, or, if his eyes were open, was unconscious, and though hemight utter a few rambling words, had no command of his mind or ofhis speech. Wherefore we hoped that he suffered nothing. ''Twas amusket ball had struck,' the surgeon said, 'in his backbone betweenthe shoulders, whereby his powers of motion and of thought weresuspended.' I know not whether anyone attempted to remove the ball,or whether it was lodged there at all, because I am ignorant ofsuch matters; and to me, whether he had been struck in the back orno, it was to my mind sure and certain that the Lord had granted myfather's earnest prayer that he should again be permitted to deliveropenly the message that was upon his soul; nay, had given him threeweeks of continual and faithful preaching, the fruits of which,could we perceive them, should be abundant. That prayer granted, theLord, I thought, was calling him to rest. Therefore, I looked for noimprovement.

  One other letter came from Robin, inclosing one for me, with which(because I could not leave my mother at such a time) I was forcedto stay my soul, as the lover in the Canticle stayeth his soulwith apples. I have that letter still; it hath been with me always;it lay hanging from my neck in the little leathern bag in which Icarried the Duke's ring; I read it again and again until I knew itby heart; yet still I read it again, because even to look at mylover's writing had in it something of comfort even when things wereat their worst, and Egyptian darkness lay upon my soul. But thisletter I cannot endure to copy out or suffer others to read it,because it was written for mine own eye in such a time of trouble.'Oh! my love!' he said. 'Oh, my tender heart!' and then a hundredprayers for my happiness, and tears for my tears, and hopes for thefuture (which would be not the earthly life but the future reservedby merciful Heaven for those who have been called and chosen). Asfor the sharp and painful passage by which we must travel from thisworld to the next, Robin bade me take no thought of that at all, butto think of him either as my lover walking with me as of old besidethe stream at home, or as a spirit waiting for me to join him in theheavenly choir. And so ending with as many farewells (the letterbeing written when he expected the Judges to arrive and the Assizeto begin) as showed his tender love for me. No--I cannot write downthis letter for the eyes of all to read. There are things which mustbe kept hidden in our own hearts; and, without doubt, every womanto whom good fortune hath given a lover such as Robin, with a heartas fond and a pen as ready (though he could never, like Humphrey,write sweet verses), hath received an epistle or two like unto minefor its love and tenderness, but (I hope) without the sadness ofimpending death.

  It was four weeks after we were brought to Ilminster that the newscame to us of the coming trials. There were five Judges--but theworld knows but of one, namely, George Lord Jeffreys, Chief Justiceof England--and now, indeed, we began to understand the true miseryof our situation. For everyone knew the character of the Judge, who,though a young man still, was already the terror alike of prisoners,witnesses, and juries. It promised to be a black and bloody Assizeindeed, since this man was to be the Judge.

  The aspect of the prison by this time was changed. The songs andmerriment, the horseplay and loud laughter by which the men had atfirst endeavoured to keep up their hearts were gone. The countrylads pined and languished in confinement; their cheeks grew paleand their eyes heavy. Then, the prison was so crowded that therewas barely room for all to lie at night, and the yard was too smallfor all to walk therein by day. In the morning, though they openedall the shutters, the air was so foul that in going into it fromthe open one felt sick and giddy, and was sometimes fain to run outand drink cold water. Oh! the terrible place for an old man suchas Sir Christopher! Yet he endured without murmuring the foulnessand the hardness, comforting the sick, still reproving blasphemies,and setting an example of cheerfulness. The wounded men all died, Ibelieve; which, as the event proved, was lucky for them. It wouldhave saved the rest much suffering if they had all died as well.And to think that this was only one of many prisons thus crowdedwith poor captives! At Wells, Philip's Norton, Shepton Mallet, Bath,Bridgwater, Taunton, Ilchester, Somerton, Langport, Bristol andExeter, there was a like assemblage of poor wretches thus awaitingtheir trials.

  I said that there was now little singing. There was, however,drinking enough, and more than enough. They drank to drown theirsorrows, and to forget the horrid place in which they lay and thefuture which awaited them. When they were drunk they would bellowsome of their old songs; but the brawling of a drunkard will notcommunicate to his companions the same joy as the music of a merryheart.

  While we were expecting to hear that the Judge had arrived atSalisbury, the fever broke out in the prison of Ilminster. At Wellsthey were afflicted with the small-pox, but at Ilminster it was jailfever which fell upon the poor prisoners. Everybody hath heard ofthis terrible disorder, which is communicated by those who have itto those who go among them--namely, to the warders and turnkeys,and even to the judges and the juries. On the first day after itbroke out--which was with an extraordinary virulence--four poor mendied and were buried the next morning. After this, no day passedbut there were funerals at the churchyard, and the mounds of theirgraves--the graves of these poor countrymen who thought to fightthe battles of the Lord--stood side by side in a long row, growingcontinually longer. We--that is, good Mrs. Prior and myself--sat atthe window and watched the funerals, praying for the safety of thosewe loved.

  So great was the fear of infection in the town that no one washenceforth allowed within the prison, nor were the warders allowedto come out of it. This was a sad order for me, because my motherchose to remain within the prison, finding a garret at the house ofthe Chief Constable, and I could no longer visit that good old man,Sir Christopher, whose only pleasure left had been to converse withme daily, and, as I now understand, by the refreshment the societyof youth brings to age, to lighten the tedium of his imprisonment.

  Henceforth, therefore, I went to the prison door every morning andsent in my basket of provisions, but was not suffered to enter; andthough I could have speech with my mother or with Barnaby, they wereon one side the bars and I on the other.

  '_I was standing at the wicket waiting for my basketto be taken in._']

  It was at this time that I made the acquaintance of Mr. GeorgePenne. This creature--a villain, as I afterwards discovered, ofthe deepest dye--was to external appearance a grave and sobermerchant. He was dressed in brown cloth and laced shirt, and carrieda gold-headed stick in his hand. He came to Ilminster about theend of August or the beginning of September, and began to inquireparticularly into the names and the circumstances of the prisoners,pretending (such was his craftiness) a great tenderness for theirwelfare. He did the same thing, we heard afterwards, wherever theMonmouth prisoners were confined. At Ilminster, the fever being inthe jail, he did not venture within, but stood outside and asked ofany who seemed to know, who were the prisoners within, and what weretheir circumstances.

  He accosted me one morning when I was standing at the wicket waitingfor my basket to be taken in.

  'Madam,' he said, 'you are doubtless a friend of some poor prisoner.Your father or your brother may unhappily be lying within?'

  Now I was grown somewhat cautious by this time. Wherefore, fearingsome kind of snare or trap, I replied gravely, that such, indeed,might be the case.

  'Then, Madam,' he said, speaking in a soft voice and looking fullof compassion, 'if that be so, suffer me, I pray you, to wish him ahappy deliverance; and this, indeed, from the bottom of my heart.'

  'Sir,' I said, moved by the earnestness of his manner, 'I know notwho you may be, but I thank you. Such a wish, I hope, will notprocure you the reward of a prison. Sir, I wish you a good day.'

  So he bowed and left me, and passed on.

  But next day I found him in the same place. And his eyes were morefilled with co
mpassion than before and his voice was softer.

  'I cannot sleep, Madam,' he said, 'for thinking of these poorprisoners; I hear that among them is none other than Sir ChristopherChallis, a gentleman of great esteem and well stricken in years.And there is also the pious and learned--but most unfortunate--Dr.Comfort Eykin, who rode with the army and preached daily, and isnow, I hear, grievously wounded and bedridden.'

  'Sir,' I said, 'Dr. Comfort Eykin is my father. It is most true thathe is a prisoner, and that he is wounded.'

  He heaved a deep sigh and wiped a tear from his eyes.

  'It is now certain,' he said, 'that Lord Jeffreys will come down toconduct the trials. Nay, it is reported that he has already arrivedat Salisbury, breathing fire and revenge, and that he hath with himfour other Judges and a troop of horse. What they will do with somany prisoners I know not. I fear that it will go hard with all;but, as happens in such cases, those who have money, and know how tospend it, may speedily get their liberty.'

  'How are they to spend it?'

  'Why, Madam, it is not indeed to be looked for that you shouldknow. But when the time comes for the trial, should I, as willvery likely happen, be in the way, send for me, and whatever thesentence I warrant we shall find a way to 'scape it--even if it be asentence of death. Send for me--my name is George Penne, and I am awell-known merchant of Bristol.'

  It was then that Barnaby came to the other side of the wicket. Wecould talk, but could not touch each other.

  'All is well, Sis,' he said: 'Dad is neither better nor worse, andSir Christopher is hearty, though the prison is like the 'tweendecks of a ship with Yellow Jack aboard--just as sweet and pleasantfor the air and just as merry for the crew.'

  'Barnaby,' I said, 'the Judges are now at Salisbury.'

  'Ay, ay; I thought they would have been there before. We shall betried, they tell me, at Wells, which it is thought will be takenafter other towns. So there is still a tidy length of rope. Sis,this continual smoking of tobacco to keep off infection doth keep abody dry. Cider will serve, but let it be a runlet, at least.'

  'He called you "Sister," Madam,' said Mr. Penne curiously. 'Have youbrother as well as father in this place?'

  'Alas! Sir, I have not only my father, my mother, and my brotherin this place, but my father-in-law (as I hoped soon to call him);and in Exeter Jail is my lover and his cousin. Oh! Sir, if you meanhonestly'----

  'Madam'--he laid his hand upon his breast--'I assure you I am allhonesty. I have no other thought, I swear to you, than to save, ifpossible, the lives of these poor men.'

  He walked with me to my lodging, and I there told him not onlyconcerning our own people, but also all that I knew of the prisonersin this jail--they were for the most part poor and humble men.He made notes in a book, which caused me some misgivings; but heassured me again and again that all he desired was to save theirlives. And I now understand that he spoke the truth indeed, but notthe whole truth.

  'Your brother, for instance,' he said. 'Oh! Madam, 'twere a thousandpities that so brave a young man, so stout withal, should behanged, drawn, and quartered. And your lover at Exeter, doubtlessa tall and proper youth; and the other whom you have named, Dr.Humphrey Challis, and your grandfather (as I hope he will be) SirChristopher; and your own father--why, Madam,' he grew quite warmupon it, 'if you will but furnish some honest merchant--I say notmyself, because I know not yet if you would trust me--but somehonest merchant with the necessary moneys, I will engage that theyshall all be saved from hanging. To be sure, these are all captainsand officers, and to get their absolute pardon will be a greatmatter--perhaps above your means. Yet, Sir Christopher hath a goodestate, I am told.'

  This George Penne was, it is true, a Bristol merchant, engaged inthe West India trade; that is to say, he bought sugar and tobacco,and had shares in ships which sailed to and from Bristol andthe West Indies, and sometimes made voyages to the Guinea Coastfor negroes. But, in common with many Bristol merchants, he hadanother trade, and a very profitable trade it is, namely, what iscalled kidnapping: that is, buying or otherwise securing criminalswho have been pardoned or reprieved on condition of going tothe Plantations. They sell these wretches for a term of years tothe planters, and make a great profit by the transaction. And,foreseeing that there would presently be a rare abundance of suchprisoners, the honest Mr. George Penne was going from prison toprison finding out what persons of substance there were who wouldwillingly pay for their sentence to be thus mitigated. In the event,though things were not ordered exactly as he could have wished, thisworthy man (his true worth you shall presently hear) made a prettypenny, as the saying is, out of the prisoners. What he made out ofus, and by what lies, you shall learn; but, by ill-fortune for him,he gat not the fingering of the great sums which he hoped of us.

  And now the news--from Winchester first, and from Dorchesterafterwards--filled the hearts of all with a dismay which it isbeyond all power of words to tell. For if an ancient lady of goodrepute (though the widow of a regicide), such a woman as Lady Lisle,seventy years of age, could be condemned to be burned--and was, infact, beheaded--for no greater offence than harbouring two rebels,herself ignorant of who they were or whence they came, what couldany hope who had actually borne arms? And, again, at Dorchester,thirty who pleaded not guilty were found guilty and condemned to behanged, and nearly three hundred who pleaded guilty were sentencedto be hanged at the same time. It was not an idle threat intended toterrify the rest, because thirteen of the number were executed onthe following Monday, and eighty afterwards. Among those who werefirst hanged were many whom we knew. The aged and pious Mr. SampsonLarke, the Baptist Minister of Lyme, for instance, was one; ColonelHolmes (whom the King had actually pardoned) was another; and youngMr. Hewling--whose case was like that of Robin. This terrible newscaused great despondency and choking in the prison, where also thefever daily carried off one or two.

  Oh! my poor heart fell, and I almost lost the power of prayer, whenI heard that from Dorchester the Judge was riding in great state,driving his prisoners before him to Exeter, where there were twohundred waiting their trial. And among them Robin--Alas! alas!--myRobin.