by E. H. Visiak
“Say you so? Why, then, we may expect a play-day to-morrow.”
“Speak softer, you fool you! Yes that’s true. But I can’t help admire the fellow. He was a brave fighter. How he did pitch into us! I tell you I have great mind to warn him, so he could slip out and scape.”
"Oh! I should not if I were you. They might hang you in his stead.”
“You speak like an antic. And who would know, you fool you? I have a mind to it, I tell you!”
“Tis you that speak like an antic. Don’t you see it would come out if he was took?”
The other answered not, and both were silent, while I lay fearfully wondering if they could hear my heart knocking, it did sound so loud. Anon one of them spoke again.
“Fletcher,” said he, do you think he will be hanged?”
“I hope he will,” said the other. “But let me sleep. I shall dream of the sport to-morrow.”
“A wretch! a rascal! I’ll fight you to-morrow, Fletcher! I’ll near murder you. I’ll pound your head. There’s something to dream of for you.”
He spoke almost loud; and the voice of another boy came drowsily, asking what the matter was.
Whereupon, after a hurried whispering between them that sounded very fierce, they ceased; and no sound was heard save the breathings of the sleepers. But one of those twain kept turning upon his bed; and when the hour was passed (an hour, and more, it seemed to me) he called softly to the other, asking if he waked. Having no answer, he called again, with the like issue; and soon after, he sat up (for I could descry him in his nightgown), got out of bed, and, having looked closely upon the other boy, stepped softly to my side.
“Do you hear me?” said he in my ear. “Can you rise up and walk? Speak soft.”
“Yes,” said I.
“Come, then,” said he. “Do not speak. You must ‘scape from here. Ask me no questions, but come. Step soft.”
So I rose up and followed him to the door; which he cautiously opened. After listening awhile, we went out and began to descend the dark stairs. They creaked under our tread, and once very loud, so that we stood alarmed. Yet no answer came, and there was no sound save the clicking of the clock on the gallery. We came to the hall; thence down to the passage, where he opened a door and entered, and I after him.
“He hath his keys here," said he, searching with his hand along the wall. Having found the key that he wanted, being hung upon a pin, he returned into the passage and led me to the side-door, which he unlocked and opened.
I was full of gratitude to him, with the most affectionate solicitude lest his charitable services to me should bring him into trouble; but he would not suffer me to speak of it, bidding me quickly to be gone.
So I parted from him, stepping out into the dark night. Indeed, ’twas pitchy dark; but I groped my way from tree to tree down the avenue to the gates, and so departed that insufferable place.
I turned blindly along the road, going headlong on through there darkness, and, came, at length, by devious courses into the countryside. Thence I traversed a long lane, meeting with no living creature save a rat, that ran scurrying into the ditch; and so forth upon meadows; whence, passing nigh a wood, on a sudden, a loud crying of owls near scared me out of my wits.
Now the first hazard of my escape being past, I began, at first dully, then with lively distress, to swell union my guilt (as I thought it); and I seemed to myself doubly a murderer, doubly damned; a soul infallibly lost, meet for the infernal fires; so that the torment of my thoughts increased and began to be more than I could bear. I had read Paradise Lost, a copy of that grand poem being among my grandfather’s books, and these lines started up in my recollection:
And that must end us, that must be our cure,
To be no more; sad cure; for who would loose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being.
"Who would loose?" cried I passionately. “That would I! That would I! "
I endeavoured to have prayed, but I could not; and the torment swelled intolerable. There come, on a sudden, a sort of terrific flashing in my head as if I should go mad. And so verily, I believe, I should have done, if the powers of nature in me had not yielded, so that my senses were benumbed in a moment; and, sinking upon the grass, I fell into a sort of opiate sleep.
CHAPTER IV -
His acquaintance with Mr. Huxtable
‘Twas broad day when I woke, the sun beating strong upon me. My mind laboured blind and tumultuous; my head ached with a dull throbbing, and my limbs were stiff and cramped. Yet a sense near joy came over me as I looked upon the country, where, over against me, a wood reared as a high, green island in a meadow-sea all blithe and gay with wild flowers. But soon I recollected how I came to be in that place.
I was hungry and thirsty; yet to have sought food and drink at a cottage, or farm, I durst not; and the issue of it was, I went and hid myself in the wood. And, lying in the thicket, my thoughts began to settle in deep despair, or turned wildly to crazy inventions. Nay, I, who had always so great a dread of highwaymen, did think even to become one myself! I was, methought, predestinated to murder; and it seemed but a step from the unwitting to the intentional act. Though (said I) I was born to hang, I would live while I could, and, having waited until night came, waylay and murder some traveller, falling upon him with a bludgeon contrived in the wood. I was, no doubt, bemused in a sort of frenzy or delirium, for a sense of desperate hardihood possessed me, such as ordinarily, though never so driven, I could scarce have known.
From the madness of such an enterprise - at least, from the folly of such intentions - I was delivered by the coming, about sunset, of a pedestrian. This was a sailor, as appeared by his rolling gait (also he wore large ear-rings and a red cloth bound about his head), having a full, round countenance that looked rather pale and sallow and pale than swarthy like the hue of a seafaring man.
No doubt, in a little altering my posture the better to have observed him, I made a rustling sound in the undergrowth; but, however, he must have possessed extraordinary sharp ears to have heard it, as he did, coming immediately to a stand and looking attentively towards the thicket where I lay. Thereupon, stepping to the place, he thrust into it with his stick, taking me in the ribs.
"Hey!" cried he, as I roared for pain. "What manner of rabbit, or weasel, have we here? Come out on’t! Come out this minute or I’ll stir ye. They call me Obadiah, and I poke the fire. So.”
He dug me shrewdly in the ribs again while he spoke; so that I came out roaring at his feet.
“I be Obadiah Moon; and I can sing a toon,” said he, grinning at me while I writhed myself on the grass. “I be Obadiah Moon; and I sings little cherubs a sweet toon.”
But, on a sudden, his face changed, his lips pursing craftily, as he took thought. “There, never mind a jest, messmate!” said he, “I did but mean it merrily. There’s younkers aboard ship makes a sport on me for my name, d’ye see? So that’s how I sarves ‘em, perdition take ‘em!”
Hereupon such fury seized on him as distorted his face; and, with dreadful curses, he told me how he had murdered one of those ship-boys for so deriding him.
"I made no sport of your name,” said I, trembling and shuddering at him.
"No," said he, "that's true. But ’tis like so, messmate, ’tis like so. I be gotten in the manner on’t, d’ye see? I be gotten into an habitude. So, when I spies a younker such as you are (meaning no offence to ye), why I goes for to lay un aboard without a hail. So you’ll think no more not - will ye? And lookee, here’s a silver shilling for your own.”
Thereupon, after fumbling in his belt, he pulled out a shilling-piece and held it up in the rays of the sun, but when I would have taken it, he folded his fist upon it, saying:
"A silver shilling for your own, for a-bearing of a letter; but, no, look’e here, here’s a cur’osity for ye. I know boys likes cur’osities; though you’re more of a grown man than a boy, as I can see.”
With this he returned the shilling to his belt ,and pull
ed out from the pocket of his coat a rich and curious sea-shell, brown and white, and showed it to me in his hand.
“There be an handsome pretty thing,” said he “come all the way from China. And hark’ee," said he and set it to my ear - “Hark’ee to the voice of the sea. Bear it about with you, and it will sing to you howsoever far inland you be."
"Where would you have me bear your letter to?" asked I, looking at the sea-shell.
“Not above a pace or two, messmate,” said he. "Two or three meadows hence. Over yonder there, hard by the mill on your larboard bow. Mr. John Huxtable, Ridley Farm, near to Bristol in the county of Somerset,” said he, mouthing the words.
"And thank’ed kindly; but mind ye, I trust ye, and, trusting ye, I won’t go for to say what’ll happen to ye if you don’t deliver this-here letter. And you’ll deliver it into his hand. Mind that!"
"Give it to me," said I; "and I will bear your letter for you.”
“Nay,” said he, grinning broad grin and returning it to his pocket. "This is a transaction, as the scriveners say; and ships don’t carry their rudders afore, but at the stern. Likewise with apes - you know where their tails be. I’ll not give it to you before you delivers my letter; but when you delivers my letter, then I’ll give it to you."
He put the letter into my hand, glaring at me suddenly with an evil eye. Thereupon, with a grin and a smirk and a “Thank’e, messmate. Thank’e kindly,” he was gone, betaking himself round the shoulder of the wood.
I made my way across a meadow to the farm, being a great pile, having many roofs, that stood over against a windmill. I could see no appearance of life in the place, neither of man nor beast; and the sails of the windmill stood still. But scarce was I come in sight of the house, beyond the meadow, but cheerful thoughts began to possess my mind. The sun was just set, and a comfortable light tinged the landscape and shone ruddy and gold upon the walls and roofs. A sense of home and haven solaced me while I entered by the wicket-gate and stepped up the path to the porch. So I rapped at the door.
’Twas opened by a big man, who wore his beard like a sailor, almost down to his waist. Upon my telling him that I bore a letter to Mr John Huxtable, he took it in his hand, and bad me, with a deep tone, to follow him into a room; where he set light to two candles.
"Sit you down while I read over this letter," said he, breaking the seal.
What with his prodigious beard and moustaches, his eyebrows as great tufts and his great hook nose, he had a fierce and even forbidding character; but this (as I now understand the matter) was through stress and effort and bitter brooding. Young and unpracticed in observation and understanding though I was, I yet vaguely perceived in his face and wide furrowed brow, the mark and signature of some corroding sorrow.
The chamber was of a good size, and was but sparsely furnished with a plain ordinary table and four chairs; but there stood an elegant carved desk beside the wall, bearing, upon tall silver sconces, the candles, the cast a dim illumination.
The man went and sat him down there to read his letter, spreading forth his elbows upon the desk; a great big fellow, with his huge shoulders and large powerful, towselled head like a lion’s.
There were two pictures hung up by the wall over against him, being, one of them, a portraiture of a most beautiful lady,whose countenance with its bright blue eyes and her golden hair, seemed irradiated with a kind of starry grace. The other represented a little child, having fair cheeks, bright blue eyes, and golden hair like the lady’s, but that it was lighter, which hung waving about his shoulders.
Now while I looked upon them, the tall candles in their sconces and those delectable pictures, made me think of the church which that ancient Spanish woman took me into when I was a child, and of the priests in their gaudy vestments, kneeling before the altar; for it seemed to me that the man who sat huddled forward upon the desk, made in his spirit a sore petition.
I observed that the letter I had conveyed to him was but brief, being writ only on the one side; but he did read it over and over, and then appeared to fall into a muse. At last, he turned about in his chair and sat gazing upon me, but so as if he did not see me and looked through me. It did make me feel insubstantial like a phantom; and glad I was when, after fetching a deep sigh, he spoke, stroking of his beard.
"You don’t look like a pirate’s boy," said he.
"A pirate’s boy,” said I in perplexity. "Was that sailor that gave me the letter a pirate?”
“So the letter was given to you by a sailor,” said he. “But how came you to fall in with this sailor?”
So I related my adventure beside the wood, rehearsing all that the man had said to me. He attentively hearkened, and then began to question me about myself, the wise, understanding, charitable look in his eyes prompting me to begin my story without fear, and indeed, it was a great comfort to tell it out. I had no more diffidence presently than if I spoke to my poor grandmother, and much more consolation.
"Well," said he when I had ended, "I think it was a good wind that brought you here; and, if you have a mind to it, you shall stay with me. But will you do me a piece of service, I wonder? The sailor who gave you the letter will wait in a court in the town to-morrow night for an answer. It’s a matter of great concernment to me; but I may not go myself; neither may I send anyone else but you, being the bearer of the letter. You have taken - haven’t you? - a fear of that sailor; and I dare say that he is a great rogue. But I don’t believe you will be endangered or I wouldn’t ask you to go.”
I told him that I was very willing to bear his letter, feeling, indeed, that I would do anything I could for him; and he thanked me, looking kindly and affectionately on me.
"But what if I be seen and taken?” said I; "for I fear they will watch for me in the Bristol streets.”
“There’s a hazard of it," said he; "but if you are taken. I shall deliver you; have no fear. “
And indeed, my fear left me while he spoke; and, although my readers think them but big words, yet I make no more question now, being come into years, when I am getting on in years, thanI did then when I was but a boy, that, if I had been taken by the watch, he would have delivered me.
He rose up now, and lit a lantern; and thereupon, saying the I must be sharp set after my long fasting, he went to the larder to provide my supper; which I ate heartily enough, as you may suppose; while, having sat down at his desk, he wrote some letters, the wrinkles in his forehead very plain in the candle-light.
He asked me afterward did I know the Temple Church? I told him, yes. “Well, then” said he, “there’s a little back-street, called Baker's Court, between the churchyard and the Shakespeare tavern, nigh to the fountain that has an effigy of Neptune. There will the sailor be come to-morrow, about two hours after sunset, for my answer. Do you set out at seven by the clock on the chimney-piece. I must rise betimes and be away all day, for I have much to do; but I shall be returned, I hope, before you are.”
“Here is my answer," said he, rising up and taking one of the letters he had written into his hand. "It's a matter of serious moment, and must not miscarry. See, I have writ the hour for your setting out on this paper, as well as the style of the court; and I set it (said he, stepping to the chimney) beside the clock, with the letter also. Do you know the way from here?”
I asked him was the farm near Redcliffe Street. "Yes," said he, "If you look out at the window of your bedchamber in the morning, you will see it before you across the meadows.” "I know the way then," said I, “very well: through Redcliffe Street to St Thomas' Street, and thence through Mitchell Lane into Temple Street.”
He nodded his head, “Mind you do not slip the hour,” said he; "but I am sure that I can trust you. And now, as you must be tired after such a rough day, I will light you to bed. Come, you shall lie in my bedchamber; I shall soon contrive a couch for you.”
While he spoke, taking one of the candlesticks, he stepped to the other door (for there were two), and led the way up a steep stair. Thence we ente
red a chamber that was plain and neat. The bed was but small, being rather a pallet or truckle bed.
"We shall not need much bed-clothes on such a summer’s night," said he, "and can make a shift between us."
Thereupon, he pulled the mattress from his bed, bed-clothes and all; and having disposed it orderly on the floor, he made his own bed of the bare sacking and some of the bed-clothes. So he left me to my repose.
I lay contemplating the strange, surprising turn that my fortune had taken; while the silence of the night was sometimes interrupted by the monotonous loud chirping of moorhens When, at last, I slept, it was to dream of extraordinary occurrences on the sea.
CHAPTER V -
Strange Mysterious Adventures Before Embarking
When I awoke in the morning, I saw my breakfast was set on a table by my bedside. On my plate there was a note of writing, which was to tell me I should find some books in a chest that was in my bedchamber, to pass the time.