For Faith and Freedom

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  THE VISION OF CONSOLATION.

  I ran so fast, being then young and strong, that Benjamin, I amsure, could not have overtaken me had he tried, because he wasalready gross of body and short of breath in consequence of histippling. I have since heard that he did not follow me, nor did hedare to push aside his father. But he laughed and said, 'Let herrun; let her run. I warrant I shall find her and bring her back;'thinking, I suppose, that I had run from him as a girl in play runsfrom her companions. I ran also so long, fear lending me strength,that the sun was getting even into the afternoon before I venturedto stop. I looked round from time to time, but saw no one followingme. I do not remember by what road, track, or path I went: pasturefields and plantations I remember; twice I crossed a stream onstepping-stones; once I saw before me a village with a church tower;but this I avoided for fear of the people. When I ventured to stop,I was in a truly wild and desolate country--our county of Somersethath in it many such wild places, given over to forests, fern, andheather. Presently I remembered the place, though one forest ismuch like another, and I knew that I had been in this part before,on that day when we rode from Lyme to Taunton, and again on the daywhen we walked prisoners with the soldiers to Ilminster. I was onthe Black Down Hills again.

  When, therefore, I understood where I was, I began to recover alittle from the first horror which had driven me to fly like onepossessed of an evil spirit; and, seeing that no one was in pursuit,I began to collect my senses and to ask myself whither I wasgoing, and what I should do. I was then near that ancient inclosurecalled Castle Ratch, from whose walls one looks down upon the broadvale of Taunton Dean. In the distance, I thought I could discernthe great tower of St. Mary's Church: but perhaps that was onlymy imagination. I sat down, therefore, upon the turf under theseancient walls, and set myself to consider my condition, which wasindeed forlorn.

  First, I had no friends or protectors left in the whole world,because after what I had done I could never look upon Robin or evenHumphrey again; nor could I importune Madam, because she would notanger her son (I represented him in my mind as most unforgiving);nor could I seek the help of Mr. Boscorel, because that might helphis son to find me out, and everybody knows that a husband maycommand the obedience of his wife. And Sir Christopher was dead, andmy father was dead, and my mother was dead, and I could not evenweep beside their coffins or follow their bodies to the grave. Awoman without friends in this world is like unto a traveller in asandy desert without a bottle of water.

  Yet was I so far better than some of these poor friendlesscreatures, because I had, concealed upon me, a bag containingall the money which Barnaby had given me--two hundred and fiftygold pieces--save a little which we had expended at Taunton andIlminster. This is a great sum, and by its help I could, I thoughtwith satisfaction, live for a long time, perhaps all my life, if Icould find some safe retreat among godly people.

  No friends? Why, there was Susan Blake of Taunton--she who walkedwith the Maids when they gave Monmouth the Bible, the sword, andthe flags. I resolved that I would go to her and tell her all thathad happened. Out of her kindness she would take me in and helpme to find some safe hiding-place and perhaps some honest way ofliving, so as to save his money against Barnaby's return from thePlantations.

  Then I thought I would find out the valley where we had lived fora fortnight, and rest for one night in the hut, and in the earlymorning before daybreak walk down the comb and so into Taunton whileas yet the town was still sleeping. And this I did. It was very easyto find the head of the comb and the source of the stream, where wehad made our encampment. Close by, beneath the trees, was Barnaby'shut: no one had been there to disturb or destroy it; but the leavesupon the boughs which formed its sides were now dead. Within it thefern and the heath which had formed my bed were still dry. Outside,the pot hung over the black embers of our last fire; and, to mygreat joy, in the basket which had contained our provisions I founda large crust of bread. It was, to be sure, dry and hard; but Idipped it in the running water of the stream and made my supper withit. For dessert I had blackberries, which were by this time ripe,and are nowhere bigger or sweeter than on Black Down. There werealso filberts and nuts, now ripe, of which I gathered a quantity, sothat I had breakfast provided for me, as well as supper.

  When I had done this, I was so tired and my head was so giddy withthe terror of the day, that I lay down upon the fern in the hut andthere fell fast asleep and so continued until far into the night.

  Now, in my sleep a strange thing happened unto me. For my own part,I account it nothing less than a Vision granted unto me by mercyand special grace of Heaven. Those who read of it may call it whatthey please. It was in this wise. There appeared before my sleepingeyes (but they seemed wide open), as it were, a broad and openchampaign; presently there came running across the plain in greatterror, shrieking and holding her hands aloft, a girl, whose face atfirst I could not see. She ran in this haste and terrible anguishof fear because there followed after her a troop of dogs, barkingand yelping. Behind the dogs rode on horseback one whose face I sawnot any more than that of the girl. He cursed and swore (I knew thevoice, but could not tell, being in a dream, to whom it belonged),and cracked a horrid whip and encouraged the dogs, lashing thelaggards. In his eyes (though his face was in some kind of shadow)there was such a look as I remembered in Benjamin's when he put thering upon my finger--a look of resolute and hungry wickedness, whichmade me tremble and shake.

  Now, as I looked, the dogs still gained upon her who ran, and yelpedas if in a few moments they would spring upon her and tear her fleshfrom her bones. Then suddenly, between her who ran and those whopursued, there arose an awful form. He was clad in white, and in hishand he bore a sword, and he turned upon that hunter a face filledwith wrath. Lightnings shot from his eyes and a cloud of thunderlay upon his brow. At the sight of that face the dogs stopped intheir running, cowered, and fell dead. And at the dreadful aspect ofthat face the hunter's horse fell headlong, and his rider, fallingalso with a shriek of terror, broke his neck, and so lay prostrateand dead. Then this dreadful minister of God's wrath turned fromhim to the flying figure, and lo! his face was now transformed; hiseyes became soft and full of love; he smiled graciously; a crown ofglory was upon his head; white robes flowed downward to his feet;his fiery sword was a palm branch: he was the Angel of Consolation.'Have no more fear,' he said, 'though the waves of the sea riseup against thee and the winds threaten to drown thee in the deep.Among the ungodly and the violent thou shalt be safe; in all timesof peril the Lord will uphold thee; earthly joy shall be thine. Besteadfast unto the end.'

  And then I looked again, those blessed words ringing in my ears; andbehold! I saw then, which I had not seen before, that the flyingfigure was none other than myself; that he who cruelly hunted afterwith the dogs and the whip was none other than my husband; andthat the Angel of Wrath, who became the Angel of Consolation, wasnone other than my father himself! But he was glorified! Oh! theface was his face--that, anyone could see; but it was changed intosomething--I know not what--so far brighter and sweeter than theearthly face, that I marvelled! Then the Vision disappeared, and Iawoke.

  So bright and clear had it been that I seemed to see it still,though I was sitting up with my eyes open, and it was night. Then itslowly vanished. Henceforth, however, I was assured of two things:first, that no harm would happen unto me, but that I should beprotected from the malice of my enemies, whatever they might design(indeed, I had but one enemy--to wit, the man who had that morningsworn to love and cherish me); and next, that I had seen with mortaleyes what, indeed, hath been vouchsafed to few, the actual spiritualbody--the glorified body, like to the earthly, but changed--withwhich the souls of the Elect are clothed.

  So I arose now without the least fear. It was night; but in the Eastthere showed the first grey of the dawn, and the birds were alreadybeginning to twitter as if they were dreaming of the day. The windwas fresh, and I was lightly clad, but the splendour of the Visionmade me forget the c
old. Oh! I had received a voice from heaven! Howcould I henceforth fear anything? Nay, there was no room even forgrief, though those terrible things had fallen upon me, and I wasnow alone and friendless, and the world is full of ungodly men.

  It must have been about half-past four in the morning. It grewlight quickly, so that not only the trees became visible, but theblack depths between them changed into glades and underwood, andI could see my way down the comb beside the stream. Then, withoutwaiting for the sun to rise (which he presently did in great warmthand splendour), I started, hoping to get into Taunton before thepeople were up and the streets became crowded. But I did not knowthe distance, which must have been seven miles at least, because itwas nearly eight o'clock when I reached the town, having followedthe course of the stream through three villages, which I have sincelearned must have been those of Pitminster, Trull, and Wilton.

  It was market day, and the streets were full of country people--someof them farmers with bags of corn in their hands, going to thecorn-market, and some with carts full of fresh fruit and otherthings. Their faces were heavy and sad, and they talked in whispersas if they were afraid. They had, indeed, good cause for fear; forthe prison held over five hundred unfortunate men waiting for theirtrial, and the terrible Judge was already on his way with his cartsfilled with more prisoners rumbling after him. Already Colonel Kirkehad caused I know not how many to be hanged, and the reports of whathad been done at Dorchester and Exeter sufficiently prepared theminds of the wretched prisoners at Taunton for what was about tobe done there. Among them was the unfortunate Captain Hucker, theSerge-Maker, who had looked for a Peerage, and was now to receive ahalter. There was also among them that poor man, Mr. Simon Hamlyn,who was hanged only for riding into Taunton in order to dissuadehis son from joining Monmouth. This the Mayor of Taunton pointedout to the bloodthirsty Judge; but in vain. The whole five hundredprisoners were, in the end, sentenced to death; and one hundred andforty-five actually suffered, to the great indignation of those wholooked on, even of the King's party. Nay, at one of the executions,when nineteen were hanged at the same time, and a great fire wasmade so that the sufferers might actually see before their deaththe fire that was to burn their bowels, the very soldiers wept,saying that it was so sad a thing they scarce knew how to bear it.Three years later, the hard heart of the King met with its properpunishment.

  The soldiers were among the crowd, some leaning against bulkheads,some drinking at the ale-houses, some haggling for the fruit; somewere also exercising upon Castle Green. They looked good-natured,and showed in their faces none of the cruelty and rage whichbelonged to their officers. But what a doleful change from the timewhen Monmouth's soldiers filled the town, and all hearts were fullof joy, and every face shone with happiness! What a change, indeed!

  As I passed among the crowd, one caught me by the arm. It was alittle old woman, her face all wrinkled and puckered. She wassitting on a stool beside a great basketful of apples and plums, anda short pipe of tobacco within her lips.

  'Mistress,' she whispered, taking the pipe from her mouth. 'Thouwert with the Maids the day of the Flags: I remember thy prettyface. What dost thou here abroad among the people? The air ofTaunton town is unwholesome! There may be others who will rememberthee as well as I. Take an old woman's advice, and get thee gone.How fares it with thy father, the worthy Dr. Eykin?'

  'Alas!' I said, 'he died in Ilminster Jail.'

  ''Tis pity. But he was old and pious: he hath gone to glory. Whitherwill those poor lads in the Clink go when they are hanged? Get theegone, get thee gone! The air is already foul with dead men's bodies:they tell strange stories of what hath been done by women for thesafety of their brothers. Get thee gone, pretty maid, lest somethingworse than prison happen to thee. And Judge Jeffreys is cominghither like the Devil, having much wrath.'

  I could not tell her that nothing would happen to me, because I wasprotected by a Heavenly Guard.

  'I was in the town forty years agone,' the old woman went on, 'whenBlake defended it, and we were well-nigh starved. But never have Iseen such things as have been done here since the Duke was routed.Get thee gone!--haste away, as from the mouth of Hell!--get theegone, poor child!'

  '_As I passed through the crowd, one caught me by thearm._']

  So I left her, and went on my way, hanging my head, in hopes thatno one else would recognise me. Fortunately, no one did, though Isaw many faces which I had seen in the town before. They were thentossing their caps and shouting for Monmouth, but were now gloomilywhispering, as if every man feared that his own turn would comenext. Over the great gateway of the Castle was stuck up a high rowof heads, arms, and legs of rebels blackened with pitch--a horridsight. Unto this end had come those brave fellows who went forthto dethrone the King. No one noticed or accosted me, and I arrivedsafely at Susan's house. The door seemed shut, but when I pushedI found that it was open--the lock having been broken from itsfastening. Barnaby did that, I remembered. I went in shutting it,after me. No doubt Susan was with her children in the schoolroom.Strange that she should not repair her lock, and that at a time whenthe town was full of soldiers, who always carry with them theirriotous and lawless followers. 'Twas unlike her orderly housekeeping.

  There was no one in the back parlour, where Susan commonly took hermeals and conducted the morning and evening prayers. The dishes wereon the table, as if of last night's supper or yesterday's dinner.This was, also, unlike a tidy housewife. I opened the door of thefront parlour. Though it was already past the hour for school, therewere no children in the room; the lesson-books and copying-booksand slates lay about the floor. What did this untidy litter mean?Then I went up-stairs and into the bedrooms, of which there werethree--namely, two on the floor above, and one a garret. No one wasin them, and the beds had not been made. There remained only thekitchen. No one was there. The house was quite empty; I observedalso that the garden, which was wont to be kept with the greatestneatness, now looked neglected; the ripe plums were dropping fromthe branches trained upon the wall; the apples lay upon the grass;the flower-beds were cumbered with weeds; grass grew in the walks;the lawn, which had been so neat and trim, was covered with longgrass.

  What had happened? Where was Susan? Then I seemed to hear her voiceabove thanking God for the victory, as she had done when Barnabyburst in upon us; and methought I heard her singing a hymn with thechildren, as she had done while we all sat embroidering the Flags.Oh! the pretty Flags! And oh! the pretty sight of the innocents inwhite and blue carrying those Flags! The house was filled with thesounds of bygone happiness. Had I stayed another moment I am certainthat I should have seen the ghosts of those who filled the rooms inthe happy days when the army was in the town. But I did not stay.Not knowing what to do or whither to fly, I ran quickly out of thehouse, thinking only to get away from the mournful silence of theempty and deserted rooms. Then, as I stepped into the street, I met,face to face, none other than Mr. George Penne, the kind-heartedgentleman who had compassionated the prisoners at Ilminster.