CHAPTER XLIX.
HOME.
In one thing alone the villain Penne spoke the truth. The Eykinfamily of Boston (I say again of New England) was one of the mostconsiderable in the place--great sticklers for freedom and forreligion (but, indeed, it is a most God-fearing town, and severetowards transgressors). They received us with so much kindness thatnothing could surpass it; we were treated as Christian martyrs atthe least, and towards Alice, of whose cruel lot they had heard fromBarnaby, they showed (but that no one could help) an affection quiteuncommon. They generously furnished us all with apparel becoming ourstation, and with money for our daily occasions; they approved ofour going with Barnaby; but, in the event of our finding no welcomeor means of a livelihood at home, and if Alice should be molested byher husband, they engaged us to return to New England. Here, theysaid, Robin might become a farmer, if he had no inclination fortrade; they would joyfully receive Alice to live with them; and Imyself would certainly find practice as a physician; while Barnabyshould continue to command their ship. When I considered the manyconveniences which exist in Boston (it is already, though young,better provided with everything than Barbadoes), the excellence ofthe climate, the books which are there, the printing press whichhath already been established, the learned ministers, the college,the schools, and the freedom of religion, I should have been nothingloth to remain there. But I was constrained first to go home. Ifound also, which astonished me, so great a love of liberty thatthe people speak slightingly of the English at home who tamelysuffer the disabilities of the Nonconformists and the prerogativeof the Crown; and they ask why, when the country had succeeded inestablishing a Commonwealth, they could not keep it? It certainlycannot be denied, as they argue, that Israel acted against thedeclared will of the Lord in seeking a king.
So we left them. But in how changed a condition did we now crossthe ocean! Instead of huddling in a noisome and stinking dungeon,unclean for want of water, ill fed, and with no change of raiment,we had now comfortable cabins, clothes such as become a gentleman,and food of the best. And Barnaby, who had then sat humbly inthe waist, where the prisoners were confined, now walked thequarterdeck--a laced kerchief round his neck, lace ruffles at hiswrist, a scarlet coat on his back, a sword at his side, and goldlace in his hat: the captain of the ship.
The winds were contrary, and it was not until the last days ofOctober that we arrived at Bristol. Here we lay for a few days,while Barnaby transacted his business, resolving to remain inretirement, for fear of accidents, until our captain should be readyto ride with us to Bradford Orcas.
The first news we learned was joyful indeed. It was that the Princeof Orange himself was about to invade England, with intent to drivehis father-in-law from the throne. (He had indeed already sailed,but his fleet was driven back by a storm.) It was also statedthat he had with him a great army of Dutch and English, and suchpreparations of arms and ammunition as (it was hoped) would makesuch a failure as that of our unhappy Duke impossible.
We also confirmed Barnaby's information that Monmouth's men couldnow go about without fear or molestation.
As to the position of affairs at Bradford Orcas, we could learnnothing.
There was one point on which I was curious--namely, as to whatBarnaby would do in the matter of the villain Penne. On the one handit was certain that Barnaby would not forget this man, nor was helikely to sit down with his arms folded after he had been robbed ofso great a sum.
Therefore, I was not surprised when, the evening before we rode outof Bristol, he brought a big bag of blue stuff in his hands andpoured out the contents--a vast shower of gold pieces--into the lapof his astonished sister.
'Alice,' he said, 'I bring you back your money. You will find it allhere, and Mr. Boscorel's money to boot. He hath disgorged.'
With that he sat down and laughed, but as one who hath a joke insecret and would tell us no more.
For a day or two after this he would (on the road to Bradford Orcas)begin to laugh at intervals, rolling about in his saddle, shakinghis sides, choking with laughter; insomuch that I presently lostpatience with him, and, as a physician, ordered him instantly tomake full confidence, or I would not answer for it but he would havea fit.
Then he told us what he had done.
Towards five in the afternoon, when the autumn day is ended, herepaired to the man Penne's counting-house (a place easily found oninquiry), having with him one of those fellows who bawl at fairs,selling medicines and charms, drawing teeth, letting blood, and soforth. At the sight of a sea captain, many of whom came to thisplace, the worthy merchant's servant, without suspicion, opened thedoor of the private office, or chamber, where Mr. Penne transactedhis affairs. Barnaby found him dozing by the fire, his wig on thetable, a silk handkerchief over his head, and the candles alreadylighted.
He awoke, however, on the opening of the door.
'Friend,' said Barnaby, 'I am Captain Barnaby Eykin, commanding theship _Pilgrim_, from Boston--at your service. I am also brother tothe young woman Alice Eykin, whom you robbed ('twas my money) of twohundred and fifty pounds, and afterwards kidnapped.'
'_Barnaby holding the pistol to the poor wretch'shead, so that he should not bellow and call for assistance._']
Mr. Penne looked about him, and would have cried out for assistance;but Barnaby clapped a pistol to his forehead. Then he sank in hischair and gasped.
'Stir not,' said his enemy, 'I am also one of the three rebels forwhose ransom the Reverend Philip Boscorel, Rector of Bradford Orcas,paid the sum of two hundred and ten pounds--which you have alsostolen.'
'Sir,' said Mr. Penne, 'upon my honour those moneys were sent toBarbadoes. Upon my honour, sir.'
'You will therefore,' said Barnaby, taking no heed of thisassurance, 'pay over to me the sum of four hundred and sixty pounds,with interest at five per cent. for three years, which I havecalculated; the whole amount is five hundred and twenty-nine pounds.Begin by paying this.' Well, to make a long story short, though theman protested that he had not so much in the world, yet he presentlyopened his strong box and counted out the money, all in gold. Thisdone, he hoped to be let off.
'There now remains,' said Barnaby, 'the punishment--and I forgotsister's ring: I ought to have added fifty pounds for that. Buttime presses. Perhaps I shall come back. I did intend to kill thee,brother, for thy great villany. However----'
He then beckoned the man with him, who lugged out of his pocketan instrument which made Mr. Penne shake and quake with terror.Barnaby then informed his victim that, as he had been the means ofinflicting grievous bodily suffering upon four undeserving people,it was meet and right that he himself should experience somethingwhich, by its present agony, should make him compassionate for thefuture, and by its permanence of injury should prevent his everforgetting that compassion for the rest of his life.
He therefore, he told him, intended to draw from his head four ofhis stoutest and strongest grinders.
This, in a word, he did; the man with him dragging them out with thepincers; Barnaby holding the pistol to the poor wretch's head, sothat he should not bellow and call for assistance.
His laughter was caused by the remembrance of the twisting of theman's features in this agony, and by his moanings and groanings. Thegrinders he had brought away with him in his pocket, and showed themin triumph.
It was late in the afternoon when we rode into Bradford Orcas. TheNovember sun, now setting, lay upon the woods, yellow and red withthe autumn leaves not yet fallen. As we neared the village the sunwent down, and a mist began to rise. All the doors were closed, andno one looked forth to greet us; the old cottage where Alice wasborn and where she lived so long was empty still; the door was open,the shutter hung upon one hinge; the honey hives were overturned,the thatch was broken; the garden was neglected.
'Why, Sis,' said Barnaby, 'thy mother is not there; nor Dad,--ishe?--poor old Dad!'
We rode up the village till we came to the church, and the ManorHouse beside it. Alas! the house itself was closed, which hadfo
rmerly stood open to all. There was no smoke from its chimneys,and the grass grew in the courtyard. We dismounted and opened thedoor, which was not locked. We went into the house: all was cold,and empty, and deserted. The twilight falling outside made therooms dark. Beside the fireplace stood Sir Christopher's greatchair, empty! his tankard was on the table and his tobacco-pipe,and--strange!--there lay, forgotten, the unhappy Duke's Proclamation.
Then a truly wonderful thing happened. Barnaby says that I must havedreamed it, for he saw nothing. Suddenly Sir Christopher himselfappeared sitting in the chair; on his knees lay the Bible open.Beside him stood, with upraised forefinger, as if commenting on someknotty point, the Rev. Dr. Comfort Eykin. I declare that I saw themplainly, as plainly as I now behold the paper on which I write. Theywere but as shadows in the dark shadows of the empty room, and theyappeared but for a moment, and then vanished, and I saw them no more.
'Come to the Rectory,' said Robin; 'it chokes us to be here.'
'Listen,' said Alice, outside the house.
From the Rectory there came the sound of a violoncello. Then was thegood Rector himself there, comforting his soul.
We opened the garden-gate and walked softly across the lawn andlooked in at the window ('twas made after the foreign fashion, toopen upon the lawn). Beside the fire sat Madam, her hands clasped,thin, pale, and prematurely aged. Thus had she sat for three longyears, still waiting for news of her son.
The Rector laid down his bow, crossed the room and sat down to thespinnet (on which he played prettily, but not with such command ashe possessed over the other instrument). He played--I caught Alice'shand--an air of my own making to which I had set certain words, alsoof my own.
Then, while he played, we began to sing outside the window, Alicesinging treble, or first, I the second part, and Robin the bass, asI had taught him in Providence Island the words of that little song.We sang it _piano_, or softly, at first, and then _crescendo_, orlouder:--
As rides the moon in azure skies The twinkling stars beside; As when in splendour she doth rise, Their lesser lights they hide. So beside Celia, when her face we see, All unregarded other maidens be.
When we began, softly as I said, the Rector looked round him,playing still and listening. He thought the voices were in his ownbrain--echoes or memories of the past. Madam heard them too, andsat up listening as one who listens in a dream. When we sang louderMadam sprang to her feet, and held out her arms--but the Rectorplayed the verse quite through. Then he opened the window for us.
'My son! my son!' cried Madam.
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