For Faith and Freedom

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  HUMPHREY'S NARRATIVE.

  With these words--'Oh! Robin! Robin!'--the history, as set down inmy Mistress's handwriting, suddenly comes to an end. The words arefitting, because her whole heart was full of Robin, and though atthis time it seemed to the poor creature a sin still to nourishaffection for her old sweetheart, I am sure--nay, I have it on herown confession--that there was never an hour in the waking day whenRobin was not in her mind, though between herself and her formerlover stood the dreadful figure of her husband. I suppose that,although she began this work with the design to complete it, she hadnot the courage, even when years had passed away and much earthlyhappiness had been her reward, to write down the passages whichfollow. Wherefore (and for another reason--namely, a confessionwhich must be made by myself before I die) I have taken upon myselfto finish that part of Alice Eykin's history which relates to theMonmouth rising and its unhappy consequences. You have read how(thanks to my inexperience and ignorance of conspiracies, and beliefin men's promises) we were reduced to the lowest point of disgraceand poverty. Alice did not tell, because till afterwards she didnot know, that on Sir Christopher's death his estate was declaredconfiscated, and presently bestowed upon Benjamin by favour of LordJeffreys; so that he whose ambition it was to become Lord Chancellorwas already (which he had not expected) the Lord of the Manor ofBradford Orcas. But of this hereafter.

  I have called her my Mistress. Truly, all my life she hath beento me more than was ever Laura to Petrarch, or even Beatrice tothe great Florentine. The ancients represented every virtue by aGoddess, a Grace, or a Nymph. Nay, the Arts were also feminine (yetsubject to the informing influence of the other sex, as the Museshad Apollo for their director and chief). To my mind every generoussentiment, every worthy thought, all things that are gracious, allthings that lift my soul above the common herd, belong not to me,but to my Mistress. In my youth it was she who encouraged me to thepractice of those arts by which the soul is borne heavenwards--Imean the arts of poetry and of music: it was she who listenedpatiently when I would still be prating of myself, and encouragedthe ambitions which had already seized my soul. So that if I turneda set of verses smoothly, it was to Alice that I gave them, andfor her that I wrote them. When we played heavenly music together,the thoughts inspired by the strain were like the Italian painter'svision of the angels which attend the Virgin--I mean that, sweetand holy as the angels are, they fall far short of the holinessand sweetness of her whom they honour. So, whatever my thoughts ormy ambitions, amidst them all I saw continually the face of Alice,always filled with candour and with sweetness. That quality whichenables a woman to think always about others, and never aboutherself, was given to Alice in large and plenteous measure. If shetalked with me, her soul was all mine. If she was waiting on Madam,or upon Sir Christopher, or upon the Rector, or on her own mother,she knew their inmost thoughts and divined all their wants. Nay,long afterwards, in the daily exercise of work and study, at theUniversity of Oxford, in the foreign schools of Montpellier, Padua,and Leyden, it was Alice who, though far away, encouraged me. Icould no longer hear her voice; but her steadfast eyes remained inmy mind like twin stars that dwell in heaven. This is a wondrouspower given to a few women, that they should become as it wereangels sent from heaven, lent to the earth a while, in order to fillmen's minds with worthy thoughts, and to lead them in the heavenlyway. The Romish Church holds that the age of miracles hath neverpassed; which I do also believe, but not in the sense taught by thatChurch. Saints there are among us still, who daily work miracles,turning earthly clay into the jasper and the precious marble ofheaven!

  Again, the great poet Milton hath represented his virtuous ladyunharmed among the rabble rout of Comus, protected by her virtuealone. Pity that he hath not also shown a young man led by thatsweet lady, encouraged, warned, and guarded along that narrow way,beset with quag and pitfall, along which he must walk who wouldwillingly climb to higher place! And all this apart from earthlylove, as in the case of those two Italian poets.

  More, I confess, I would have had, and presumptuously longed forit--nay, even prayed for it with such yearnings and longings asseemed to tear my very heart asunder. But this was denied to me.

  In September, 1685, ten weeks after the fight of Sedgemoor, we,being by that time well tired of Exeter Prison, were tried by LordJeffreys. It was no true trial, for we were all advised to pleadguilty, upon which the Judge bellowed and roared at us, abusing usin such language as I never thought to hear from the bench, andfinally sentenced us all to death. (A great deal has been saidof this roaring of the Judge, but I am willing to excuse it ingreat measure, on the ground of the disease from which he was thensuffering. I myself, who had heard that he was thus afflicted, sawthe drops of agony upon his forehead, and knew that if he was notbawling at us he must have been roaring on his own account.) Sowe were marched back to prison and began to prepare for the lastceremony, which is, I think, needlessly horrible and barbarous. Tocut a man open while he is still living is a thing not practisedeven by the savage Turk. At this gloomy time my cousin Robin seta noble example of fortitude, which greatly encouraged the restof us. Nor would he ever suffer me to reproach myself (as I wascontinually tempted to do) with having been the cause of the ruinwhich had fallen upon the whole of our unfortunate house. Nay, hewent further, and insisted, and would have it, that had I remainedin Holland he himself would have joined the Duke, and that I wasin no way to blame as an inciter to this unfortunate act. We knewby this time that Sir Christopher had been arrested and conveyedto Ilminster Jail, and that with him were Dr. Eykin, grievouslywounded, and Barnaby; and that Alice, with her mother, was also atIlminster. Mr. Boscorel, for his part, was gone to London in orderto exert whatever interest he might possess on behalf of all. Withhim went Madam, Robin's mother; but she returned before the trial,much dejected, so that we were not encouraged to hope for anythingfrom that quarter. Madam began to build some hopes at this time fromBenjamin, because he, who had accompanied the Judges from London,was the boon companion every night of Lord Jeffreys himself. But itis one thing to be permitted to drink and sing with a great man atnight, and another thing to procure of him the pardon of rebels (andthose not the common sort, but leaders and captains). That Benjaminwould attempt to save us, I did not doubt; because in commondecency and humanity he must needs try to save his grandfather andhis cousins. But that he would effect anything--that, indeed, Idoubted. Whether he did make an attempt, I know not. He came notto the prison, nor did he make any sign that he knew we were amongthe prisoners. What he contrived, the plot which he laid, and thevillainy with which he carried it out, you have already read. Well,I shall have much more to say about Benjamin. For the moment, lethim pass.

  I say, then, that we were lying in Exeter Jail, expecting to becalled out for execution at any hour. We were sitting in thecourtyard on the stone bench with gloomy hearts.

  'Robin--Humphrey--lads both!' cried a voice we knew. It was theRector, Mr. Boscorel himself, who called us. 'Courage, lads!' hecried (yet looked himself as mournful as man can look). 'I bring yougood news--I have this day ridden from Ilminster (there is othernews not so good)--good news, I say: for you shall live, and notdie! I have so far succeeded that the lives are spared of RobinChallis, Captain in the Rebel Cavalry; Barnaby Eykin, Captain of theGreen Regiment; and Humphrey Challis, Chyrurgeon to the Duke. Yetmust you go to the Plantations--poor lads!--there to stay for tenlong years. Well, we will hope to get your pardon and freedom longbefore that time is over. Yet you must, perforce, sail across theseas.'

  'Lad,' cried Robin, catching my hand, 'cease to tear thy heart withreproaches! See! none of us will die, after all.'

  'On the scaffold, none,' said Mr. Boscorel. 'On the scaffold, none,'he repeated.

  'And what saith my grandfather, Sir?' Robin asked. 'He is alsoenlarged, I hope, at least. And how is the learned Dr. Eykin? andAlice--my Alice--where is she?'

  'Young men,' said the Rector, 'prepare for tidings of theworst--yes; of the very worst.
Cruel news I bring to you, boys; andfor myself'--he hung his head--'cruel news, shameful news?'

  Alas! you know already what he had to tell us. Worse than the deathof that good old man, Sir Christopher; worse than the death of theunfortunate Dr. Eykin and his much-tried wife; there was the news ofAlice's marriage and of her flight, and at hearing this we looked ateach other in dismay, and Robin sprang to his feet and cried aloudfor vengeance upon the villain who had done this thing.

  'It is my own son,' said Mr. Boscorel; 'yet spare him not! Hedeserves all that you can call him, and more. Shameful news I hadto tell you. Where the poor child hath found a retreat or how shefares, I know not. Robin, ask me not to curse my own son--whatis done will bring its punishment in due time. Doubt it not. Butof punishment we need not speak. If there were any way--any waypossible--out of it! But there is none. It is a fatal blow. Deathitself alone can release her. Consider, Humphrey, consider; you arenot so distracted as your cousin. Consider, I say, that unhappy girlis Benjamin's lawful wife. If he can find her, he may compel her tolive with him. She is his lawful wife, I say. It is a case in whichthere is no remedy; it is a wickedness for which there is no help,until one of the twain shall die.'

  There was indeed no help or remedy possible. I will not tell of themadness which fell upon Robin at this news, nor of the distractedthings he said, nor how he wept for Alice at one moment and thenext cursed the author of this wickedness. There was no remedy. YetMr. Boscorel solemnly promised to seek out the poor innocent girl,forced to break her vows for the one reason which could excuseher--namely, to save the lives of all she loved.

  'They were saved already,' Mr. Boscorel added. 'He knew that theywere saved. He had seen me; he had the news that I brought fromLondon; he knew it; and he lied unto her! There is no singleparticular in which his wickedness can be excused or defended.Yet, I say, curses are of no avail. The Hand of God is heavy uponall sinners, and will presently fall upon my unhappy son--I praythat before that Hand shall fall his heart may be touched withrepentance.'

  But Robin fell into a melancholy from which it was impossible toarouse him. He who, while death upon the scaffold seemed certain,was cheerful and brave, now, when his life was spared, sat heavy andgloomy, speaking to no one; or, if he spoke, then in words of rageand impatience.

  Mr. Boscorel remained at Exeter, visiting us daily until thetime came when we were removed. He brought with him one day asmooth-tongued gentleman in sober attire, who was, he told us, aWest Indian merchant of Bristol, named George Penne. (You have read,and know already, how great a villain was this man.)

  'This gentleman,' said Mr. Boscorel, 'is able and willing, forcertain considerations, to assist you in your exile. You have beengiven (among many others) by the King to one Mr. Jerome Nipho, whohath sold all his convicts to this gentleman. In his turn, he isunder bonds to ship you for the Plantations, where you will be soldagain to the planters.'

  'Sirs,' Mr. Penne looked from one to the other of us withcompassionate eyes, 'I have heard your melancholy case, and it willbe to my great happiness if I may be able in any way to soften therigours of your exile. Be it known to you that I have correspondentsin Jamaica, Barbadoes, and Virginia, and that for certain sumsof money these--my friends--will readily undertake to make yourservitude one merely in name. In other words, as I have alreadyinformed his Reverence, I have bought you in the hope of beinguseful to you (I wish I could thus buy all unhappy prisoners), andI can, on paying my friends what they demand, secure to you freedomfrom labour, subject only to the condition of remaining abroad untilyour term is expired, or your friends at home have procured yourpardon.'

  'As for the price, Humphrey,' said Mr. Boscorel, 'that shall be mycare. It is nearly certain that Sir Christopher's estates will beconfiscated, seeing that he died in prison under the charge of hightreason, though he was never tried. Therefore we must not look tohis lands for any help. What this gentleman proposes is, however,so great a thing that we must not hesitate to accept his offergratefully.'

  'I must have,' said Mr. Penne, 'seventy pounds for each prisoner. Ihear that there is a third young gentleman of your party now in thesame trouble at Ilminster; I shall therefore ask for two hundredguineas--two hundred guineas in all. It is not a large sum in orderto secure freedom. Those who cannot obtain this relief have to workin the fields or in the mills under the hot sun of the Spanish Main;they are subject to the whip of the overseer; they have wretchedfood; they are worse treated than the negroes, because the latterare slaves for life and the former for ten years only. By paying twohundred guineas only you will all be enabled to live at your ease.Meanwhile, your friends at home will be constantly endeavouringto procure your pardon. I myself, though but a simple merchant ofBristol City, can boast some influence, which I will most readilyexert to the utmost in your behalf'----

  'Say no more, Sir,' said Mr. Boscorel, interrupting him; 'thebargain is concluded. These young gentlemen shall not be subjectedto any servitude; I will pay you two hundred guineas.'

  'I would, Sir'--Mr. Penne laid his hand, which was large, white,and soft, the hand of a liar and a traitor, upon his treacherousheart--'I would to Heaven, Sir,' he said, 'that I could undertakethis service for less. If my correspondents were men of tenderhearts, the business should cost you nothing at all. But they aremen of business; they say that they live not abroad for pleasure,but for profit; they cannot forego any advantage that may offer. Asfor me, this job brings me no profit. Upon my honour, gentlemen,profit from such a source I should despise: every guinea that yougive me will be placed to the credit of my correspondents, who will,I am assured, turn a pretty penny by the ransom of the prisoners.But that we cannot help. And as for me--I say it boldly in thepresence of this learned and pious clergyman--I am richly rewardedwith the satisfaction of doing a generous thing. That is enough, Ihope, for any honest man.'

  The fellow looked so benevolent, and smiled with so much compassion,that it was impossible to doubt his word. Besides, Mr. Boscorelhad learned many things during the journey to London; amongothers that it would be possible to buy immunity from labour forthe convicts. Therefore, he hesitated not, but gave him what hedemanded, taking in return a paper, which was to be shown to Mr.Penne's correspondents, in which he acknowledged the receipt of themoney, and demanded in return a release from actual servitude. Thispaper I put carefully in my pocket, with my note-book and my case ofinstruments.

  It was, so far as my memory serves me, about six weeks after ourpardon was received when we heard that we were to be marched toBristol, there to be shipped for some port or other across theocean. At Taunton we were joined by a hundred poor fellows asfortunate as ourselves; and at Bridgwater by twenty more, whoselives had been bought by Colonel Kirke. Fortunate we esteemedourselves; for everywhere the roads were lined with legs, heads,trunks, and arms, boiled and blackened in pitch, stuck up for theterror of the country. Well; you shall judge how fortunate we were.

  When we reached Bristol, we found Mr. Penne upon the Quay, withsome other merchants. He changed colour when he saw us; but quicklyran to meet us, and whispered that we were on no account to betrayhis goodness in the matter of ransom, otherwise it might be theundoing of us all, and perhaps cause his own imprisonment. He alsotold me that the ship was bound for Barbadoes, and we should haveto mess with the other prisoners on the voyage, but that it wouldall be made up to us when we arrived. He further added that he hadrequested his correspondents to entertain us until money shouldarrive from England, and to become our bankers for all that weshould want. And with that he clasped my hand tenderly, and with a'God be wi' ye!' he left us, and we saw him no more.