by Walter Scott
CHAPTER XXXVI
A short hough'd man, but full of pride. --ALLAN RAMSAY.
The blood of Julian Peveril was so much fevered by the state in whichhis invisible visitor left him, that he was unable, for a length oftime, to find repose. He swore to himself, that he would discover andexpose the nocturnal demon which stole on his hours of rest, only to addgall to bitterness, and to pour poison into those wounds which alreadysmarted so severely. There was nothing which his power extended to,that, in his rage, he did not threaten. He proposed a closer and a morerigorous survey of his cell, so that he might discover the mode by whichhis tormentor entered, were it as unnoticeable as an auger-hole. If hisdiligence should prove unavailing, he determined to inform the jailers,to whom it could not be indifferent to know, that their prison was opento such intrusions. He proposed to himself, to discover from their lookswhether they were already privy to these visits; and if so, to denouncethem to the magistrates, to the judges, to the House of Commons, was theleast that his resentment proposed. Sleep surprised his worn-outframe in the midst of his projects of discovery and vengeance, and, asfrequently happens, the light of the ensuing day proved favourable tocalmer resolutions.
He now reflected that he had no ground to consider the motives of hisvisitor as positively malevolent, although he had afforded him littleencouragement to hope for assistance on the points he had most at heart.Towards himself, there had been expressed a decided feeling, both ofsympathy and interest; if through means of these he could acquire hisliberty, he might, when possessed of freedom, turn it to the benefit ofthose for whom he was more interested than for his own welfare. "I havebehaved like a fool," he said; "I ought to have temporised with thissingular being, learned the motives of its interference, and availedmyself of its succour, provided I could do so without any dishonourableconditions. It would have been always time enough to reject such whenthey should have been proposed to me."
So saying, he was forming projects for regulating his intercourse withthe stranger more prudently, in case their communication should berenewed, when his meditations were interrupted by the peremptory summonsof Sir Geoffrey Hudson, that he would, in his turn, be pleased toperform those domestic duties of their common habitation, which thedwarf had yesterday taken upon himself.
There was no resisting a request so reasonable, and Peveril accordinglyrose and betook himself to the arrangement of their prison, while SirHudson, perched upon a stool from which his legs did not by half-wayreach the ground, sat in a posture of elegant languor, twangling uponan old broken-winded guitar, and singing songs in Spanish, Moorish,and Lingua Franca, most detestably out of tune. He failed not, at theconclusion of each ditty, to favour Julian with some account of what hehad sung, either in the way of translation, or historical anecdote, oras the lay was connected with some peculiar part of his own eventfulhistory, in the course of which the poor little man had chanced to havebeen taken by a Sallee rover, and carried captive into Morocco.
This part of his life Hudson used to make the era of many strangeadventures; and, if he could himself be believed, he had made wild workamong the affections of the Emperor's seraglio. But, although few werein a situation to cross-examine him on gallantries and intrigues ofwhich the scene was so remote, the officers of the garrison of Tangierhad a report current amongst them, that the only use to which thetyrannical Moors could convert a slave of such slender corporealstrength, was to employ him to lie a-bed all day and hatch turkey'seggs. The least allusion to this rumour used to drive him well-nighfrantic, and the fatal termination of his duel with young Crofts, whichbegan in wanton mirth, and ended in bloodshed, made men more coy thanthey had formerly been, of making the fiery little hero the subject oftheir raillery.
While Peveril did the drudgery of the apartment, the dwarf remainedmuch at his ease, carolling in the manner we have described; but whenhe beheld Julian attempting the task of the cook, Sir Geoffrey Hudsonsprang from the stool on which he sat _en Signor_, at the risk ofbreaking both his guitar and his neck, exclaiming, "That he would ratherprepare breakfast every morning betwixt this and the day of judgment,than commit a task of such consequence to an inexperienced bungler likehis companion."
The young man gladly resigned his task to the splenetic little Knight,and only smiled at his resentment when he added, that, to be but amortal of middle stature, Julian was as stupid as a giant. Leavingthe dwarf to prepare the meal after his own pleasure, Peveril employedhimself in measuring the room with his eyes on every side, and inendeavouring to discover some private entrance, such as might admit hismidnight visitant, and perhaps could be employed in case of need foreffecting his own escape. The floor next engaged a scrutiny equallyminute, but more successful.
Close by his own pallet, and dropped in such a manner that he must haveseen it sooner but for the hurry with which he obeyed the summons ofthe impatient dwarf, lay a slip of paper, sealed, and directed with theinitial letters, J.P., which seemed to ascertain that it was addressedto himself. He took the opportunity of opening it while the soup was inthe very moment of projection, and the full attention of his companionwas occupied by what he, in common with wiser and taller men, consideredas one of the principal occupations of life; so that, without incurringhis observation or awaking his curiosity, Julian had the opportunity toread as follows:--
"Rash and infatuated as you are, there is one who would forfeit much to stand betwixt you and your fate. You are to-morrow to be removed to the Tower, where your life cannot be assured for a single day; for, during the few hours you have been in London, you have provoked a resentment which is not easily slaked. There is but one chance for you,--renounce A.B.--think no more of her. If that be impossible, think of her but as one whom you can never see again. If your heart can resolve to give up an attachment which it should never have entertained, and which it would be madness to cherish longer, make your acquiescence in this condition known by putting on your hat a white band, or white feather, or knot of ribbon of the same colour, whichever you may most easily come by. A boat will, in that case, run, as if by accident, on board of that which is to convey you to the Tower. Do you in the confusion jump overboard, and swim to the Southwark side of the Thames. Friends will attend there to secure your escape, and you will find yourself with one who will rather lose character and life, than that a hair of your head should fall to the ground; but who, if you reject the warning, can only think of you as of the fool who perishes in his folly. May Heaven guide you to a sound judgment of your condition! So prays one who would be your friend, if you pleased, "UNKNOWN."
The Tower!--it was a word of terror, even more so than a civil prison;for how many passages to death did that dark structure present! Thesevere executions which it had witnessed in preceding reigns, were notperhaps more numerous than the secret murders which had taken placewithin its walls; yet Peveril did not a moment hesitate on the partwhich he had to perform. "I will share my father's fate," he said; "Ithought but of him when they brought me hither; I will think ofnothing else when they convey me to yonder still more dreadful placeof confinement; it is his, and it is but meet that it should be hisson's.--And thou, Alice Bridgenorth, the day that I renounce thee, may Ibe held alike a traitor and a dastard!--Go, false adviser, and share thefate of seducers and heretical teachers!"
He could not help uttering this last expression aloud, as he threw thebillet into the fire, with a vehemence which made the dwarf start withsurprise. "What say you of burning heretics, young man?" he exclaimed;"by my faith, your zeal must be warmer than mine, if you talk on such asubject when the heretics are the prevailing number. May I measure sixfeet without my shoes, but the heretics would have the best of it if wecame to that work. Beware of such words."
"Too late to beware of words spoken and heard," said the turnkey, who,opening the door with unusual precautions to avoid noise, had stolenunperceived into the room; "However, Master Peveril h
as behaved like agentlemen, and I am no tale-bearer, on condition he will consider I havehad trouble in his matters."
Julian had no alternative but to take the fellow's hint and administer abribe, with which Master Clink was so well satisfied, that he exclaimed,"It went to his heart to take leave of such a kind-natured gentleman,and that he could have turned the key on him for twenty years withpleasure. But the best friends must part."
"I am to be removed, then?" said Julian.
"Ay, truly, master, the warrant is come from the Council."
"To convey me to the Tower."
"Whew!" exclaimed the officer of the law--"who the devil told you that?But since you do know it, there is no harm to say ay. So make yourselfready to move immediately; and first, hold out your dew-beaters till Itake off the darbies."
"Is that usual?" said Peveril, stretching out his feet as the fellowdirected, while his fetters were unlocked.
"Why, ay, master, these fetters belong to the keeper; they are nota-going to send them to the Lieutenant, I trow. No, no, the wardersmust bring their own gear with them; they get none here, I promise them.Nevertheless, if your honour hath a fancy to go in fetters, as thinkingit may move compassion of your case----"
"I have no intention to make my case seem worse than it is," saidJulian; whilst at the same time it crossed his mind that his anonymouscorrespondent must be well acquainted both with his own personal habits,since the letter proposed a plan of escape which could only be executedby a bold swimmer, and with the fashions of prison, since it wasforeseen that he would not be ironed on his passage to the Tower. Theturnkey's next speech made him carry conjecture still farther.
"There is nothing in life I would not do for so brave a guest," saidClink; "I would nab one of my wife's ribbons for you, if your honour hadthe fancy to mount the white flag in your beaver."
"To what good purpose?" said Julian, shortly connecting, as was natural,the man's proposed civility with the advice given and the signalprescribed in the letter.
"Nay, to no good purpose I know of," said the turnkey; "only it is thefashion to seem white and harmless--a sort of token of not-guiltiness,as I may say, which folks desire to show the world, whether they betruly guilty or not; but I cannot say that guiltiness or not-guiltinessargufies much, saving they be words in the verdict."
"Strange," thought Peveril, although the man seemed to speak quitenaturally, and without any double meaning, "strange that all shouldapparently combine to realise the plan of escape, could I but give myconsent to it! And had I not better consent? Whoever does so much forme must wish me well, and a well-wisher would never enforce the unjustconditions on which I am required to consent to my liberation."
But this misgiving of his resolution was but for a moment. He speedilyrecollected, that whoever aided him in escaping, must be necessarilyexposed to great risk, and had a right to name the stipulation onwhich he was willing to incur it. He also recollected that falsehood isequally base, whether expressed in words or in dumb show; and that heshould lie as flatly by using the signal agreed upon in evidence of hisrenouncing Alice Bridgenorth, as he would in direct terms if he madesuch renunciation without the purpose of abiding by it.
"If you would oblige me," he said to the turnkey, "let me have a pieceof black silk or crape for the purpose you mention."
"Of crape!" said the fellow; "what should that signify? Why, the bienmorts, who bing out to tour at you,[*] will think you a chimney-sweeperon Mayday."
[*] The smart girls, who turn out to look at you.
"It will show my settled sorrow," said Julian, "as well as my determinedresolution."
"As you will, sir," answered the fellow; "I'll provide you with a blackrag of some kind or other. So, now; let us be moving."
Julian intimated his readiness to attend him, and proceeded to bidfarewell to his late companion, the stout Geoffrey Hudson. The partingwas not without emotion on both sides, more particularly on that of thepoor little man, who had taken a particular liking to the companion ofwhom he was now about to be deprived. "Fare ye well," he said, "my youngfriend," taking Julian's hand in both his own uplifted palms, in whichaction he somewhat resembled the attitude of a sailor pulling a ropeoverhead,--"Many in my situation would think himself wronged, as asoldier and servant of the king's chamber, in seeing you removed to amore honourable prison than that which I am limited unto. But, I thankGod, I grudge you not the Tower, nor the rocks of Scilly, nor evenCarisbrooke Castle, though the latter was graced with the captivity ofmy blessed and martyred master. Go where you will, I wish you allthe distinction of an honourable prison-house, and a safe and speedydeliverance in God's own time. For myself, my race is near a close, andthat because I fall martyr to the over-tenderness of my own heart. Thereis a circumstance, good Master Julian Peveril, which should have beenyours, had Providence permitted our farther intimacy, but it fits notthe present hour. Go, then, my friend, and bear witness in life anddeath, that Geoffrey Hudson scorns the insults and persecutions offortune, as he would despise, and has often despised, the mischievouspranks of an overgrown schoolboy."
So saying, he turned away, and hid his face with his littlehandkerchief, while Julian felt towards him that tragi-comic sensationwhich makes us pity the object which excites it, not the less that weare somewhat inclined to laugh amid our sympathy. The jailer made hima signal, which Peveril obeyed, leaving the dwarf to disconsolatesolitude.
As Julian followed the keeper through the various windings of his penallabyrinth, the man observed, that "he was a rum fellow, that little SirGeoffrey, and, for gallantry, a perfect Cock of Bantam, for as old as hewas. There was a certain gay wench," he said, "that had hooked him; butwhat she could make of him, save she carried him to Smithfield, and tookmoney for him, as for a motion of puppets, it was," he said, "hard togather."
Encouraged by this opening, Julian asked if his attendant knew whyhis prison was changed. "To teach you to become a King's post withoutcommission," answered the fellow.
He stopped in his tattle as they approached that formidable centralpoint, in which lay couched on his leathern elbow-chair the fatcommander of the fortress, stationed apparently for ever in the midstof his citadel, as the huge Boa is sometimes said to lie stretched as aguard upon the subterranean treasures of Eastern Rajas. This overgrownman of authority eyed Julian wistfully and sullenly, as the miser theguinea which he must part with, or the hungry mastiff the food which iscarried to another kennel. He growled to himself as he turned the leavesof his ominous register, in order to make the necessary entry respectingthe removal of his prisoner. "To the Tower--to the Tower--ay, ay, allmust to the Tower--that's the fashion of it--free Britons to a militaryprison, as if we had neither bolts nor chains here!--I hope Parliamentwill have it up, this Towering work, that's all.--Well, the youngsterwill take no good by the change, and that is one comfort."
Having finished at once his official act of registration, and hissoliloquy, he made a signal to his assistants to remove Julian, whowas led along the same stern passages which he had traversed upon hisentrance, to the gate of the prison, whence a coach, escorted by twoofficers of justice, conveyed him to the water-side.
A boat here waited him, with four warders of the Tower, to whose custodyhe was formally resigned by his late attendants. Clink, however, theturnkey, with whom he was more especially acquainted, did not take leaveof him without furnishing him with the piece of black crape which herequested. Peveril fixed it on his hat amid the whispers of his newguardians. "The gentleman is in a hurry to go into mourning," said one;"mayhap he had better wait till he has cause."
"Perhaps others may wear mourning for him, ere he can mourn for anyone," answered another of these functionaries.
Yet notwithstanding the tenor of these whispers, their behaviour totheir prisoner was more respectful than he had experienced from hisformer keepers, and might be termed a sullen civility. The ordinaryofficers of the law were in general rude, as having to do with felonsof every description; whereas these men were only employ
ed with personsaccused of state crimes--men who were from birth and circumstancesusually entitled to expect, and able to reward, decent usage.
The change of keepers passed unnoticed by Julian, as did the gay andbusy scene presented by the broad and beautiful river on which he wasnow launched. A hundred boats shot past them, bearing parties intent onbusiness, or on pleasure. Julian only viewed them with the stern hope,that whoever had endeavoured to bribe him from his fidelity by thehope of freedom, might see, from the colour of the badge which he hadassumed, how determined he was to resist the temptation presented tohim.
It was about high-water, and a stout wherry came up the river, with sailand oar, so directly upon that in which Julian was embarked, that itseemed as if likely to run her aboard. "Get your carabines ready,"cried the principal warder to his assistants. "What the devil can thesescoundrels mean?"
But the crew in the other boat seemed to have perceived their error,for they suddenly altered their course, and struck off into the middlestream, while a torrent of mutual abuse was exchanged betwixt them andthe boat whose course they had threatened to impede.
"The Unknown has kept his faith," said Julian to himself; "I too havekept mine."
It even seemed to him, as the boats neared each other, that he heard,from the other wherry, something like a stifled scream or groan; andwhen the momentary bustle was over, he asked the warder who sat nexthim, what boat that was.
"Men-of-war's-men, on a frolic, I suppose," answered the warder. "I knowno one else would be so impudent as run foul of the King's boat; for Iam sure the fellow put the helm up on purpose. But mayhap you, sir, knowmore of the matter than I do."
This insinuation effectually prevented Julian from putting fartherquestions, and he remained silent until the boat came under the duskybastions of the Tower. The tide carried them up under a dark andlowering arch, closed at the upper end by the well-known Traitor'sgate,[*] formed like a wicket of huge intersecting bars of wood, throughwhich might be seen a dim and imperfect view of soldiers and wardersupon duty, and of the steep ascending causeway which leads up from theriver into the interior of the fortress. By this gate,--and it is thewell-known circumstance which assigned its name,--those accused of statecrimes were usually committed to the Tower. The Thames afforded a secretand silent mode of conveyance for transporting thither such whose fallenfortunes might move the commiseration, or whose popular qualities mightexcite the sympathy, of the public; and even where no cause for especialsecrecy existed, the peace of the city was undisturbed by the tumultattending the passage of the prisoner and his guards through the mostfrequented streets.
[*] See note, "Fortunes of Nigel."
Yet this custom, however recommended by state policy, must have oftenstruck chill upon the heart of the criminal, who thus, stolen, as itwere, out of society, reached the place of his confinement, withoutencountering even one glance of compassion on the road; and as, fromunder the dusky arch, he landed on those flinty steps, worn by many afootstep anxious as his own, against which the tide lapped fitfully withsmall successive waves, and hence looked forward to the steep ascentinto a Gothic state prison, and backward to such part of the river asthe low-brow'd vault suffered to become visible, he must often have feltthat he was leaving daylight, hope, and life itself, behind him.
While the warder's challenge was made and answered, Peveril endeavouredto obtain information from his conductors where he was likely to beconfined; but the answer was brief and general--"Where the Lieutenantshould direct."
"Could he not be permitted to share the imprisonment of his father, SirGeoffrey Peveril?" He forgot not, on this occasion, to add the surnameof his house.
The warder, an old man of respectable appearance, stared, as if at theextravagance of the demand, and said bluntly, "It is impossible."
"At least," said Peveril, "show me where my father is confined, that Imay look upon the walls which separate us."
"Young gentleman," said the senior warder, shaking his grey head, "Iam sorry for you; but asking questions will do you no service. In thisplace we know nothing of fathers and sons."
Yet chance seemed, in a few minutes afterwards, to offer Peveril thatsatisfaction which the rigour of his keepers was disposed to deny tohim. As he was conveyed up the steep passage which leads under what iscalled the Wakefield Tower, a female voice, in a tone wherein grief andjoy were indescribably mixed, exclaimed, "My son!--My dear son!"
Even those who guarded Julian seemed softened by a tone of such acutefeeling. They slackened their pace. They almost paused to permit himto look up towards the casement from which the sounds of maternal agonyproceeded; but the aperture was so narrow, and so closely grated, thatnothing was visible save a white female hand, which grasped one of thoserusty barricadoes, as if for supporting the person within, while anotherstreamed a white handkerchief, and then let it fall. The casement wasinstantly deserted.
"Give it me," said Julian to the officer who lifted the handkerchief;"it is perhaps a mother's last gift."
The old warder lifted the napkin, and looked at it with the jealousminuteness of one who is accustomed to detect secret correspondence inthe most trifling acts of intercourse.
"There may be writing on it with invisible ink," said one of hiscomrades.
"It is wetted, but I think it is only with tears," answered the senior."I cannot keep it from the poor young gentleman."
"Ah, Master Coleby," said his comrade, in a gentle tone of reproach,"you would have been wearing a better coat than a yeoman's to-day, hadit not been for your tender heart."
"It signifies little," said old Coleby, "while my heart is true to myKing, what I feel in discharging my duty, or what coat keeps my oldbosom from the cold weather."
Peveril, meanwhile, folded in his breast the token of his mother'saffection which chance had favoured him with; and when placed in thesmall and solitary chamber which he was told to consider as his ownduring his residence in the Tower, he was soothed even to weeping bythis trifling circumstance, which he could not help considering asan omen, that his unfortunate house was not entirely deserted byProvidence.
But the thoughts and occurrences of a prison are too uniform for anarrative, and we must now convey our readers into a more bustlingscene.