'Humphrey,' said Alice, 'forgive me that I murmured. Things that are done cannot be undone. Robin is restored to us. With three such brothers, who should not be content to live? I hope, now, that we shall get safely to our port; but if we die, we shall die contented in each other's arms. Going through the Vale of Misery,' she added softly, 'we will use it as a well.'
CHAPTER XLVII.
TORTUGA
'I take it,' said Barnaby, on the third morning – the weather continuing fine and the sea clear of ships – 'that we are now clear out of the track of any British vessels. We may fall into the hands of the Spaniard; but he is mild and merciful of late compared with his temper a hundred years ago. 'Tis true we have given him many lessons in humanity. We should now before nightfall make the islands of Testigos; but I think they are only rocks and sandy flats, such as they call Keys, where we need not land, seeing that we should get nothing by so doing, except to go out of the way, and so make the rations shorter. Robin' – 'twas at breakfast, when he served out a dram of wine to every one – 'I drink to thy better health, lad. Thou hast cheated the Devil. Nay, Sis, look not so angry! – I meant, thou wilt not go to heaven this bout. Up heart, then, and get strong! We will find thee another sweetheart, who shall make thee lift up thine head again. What? Is there but one woman in the world?
'I was saying then,' he went on, 'that we shall presently make the islands of Testigos. There followeth thereafter, to one who steereth west, a swarm of little islands. 'Twas here that the pirates used to lie in the good old days, snug and retired, with their girls and their drink. Ay, and plenty of both! A happy time they had!' Barnaby wagged his head and sighed. 'South of this archipelago (which I will some day visit, in order to search for treasure) there lieth the great and mountainous island of Margaritos. This great island we shall do well to keep upon our south, and so bear away to the desert island of Tortuga, where we shall find water for certain – and that, I have been told, the best spring-water that flows; turtles we may also find, and fish we may catch; and when we have recovered our strength, with a few days' rest ashore, we will once more put to sea and make for the island of Curaçao and the protection of the Dutchmen.'
It needs not to tell much more about the voyage, in which we were favoured by Heaven with everything that we could desire – a steady breeze from the best quarter, a sea never too rough, provisions in sufficiency, the absence of any ships, and, above all, the recovery of Robin.
I say, then, that we sighted (and presently passed) the group of islets called the Testigos; that we coasted along the great island of Margaritos, where we landed not, because Barnaby feared that certain smoke which we saw might betoken the presence of the Spaniard, whom, in spite of his new character for mildness, he was anxious to avoid. 'Tis strange thus to sail along the shore of a great island whereon are no inhabitants, or, if any, a few sailors put in for water, for turtle, and for cocoanuts; to see afar off the forests climbing round the mountain sides, the waterfalls leaping over the precipices, and to think of the happy life one might lead in such a place, far from men and their ways. I confess (since my Mistress will never see this page) that my thoughts for a whole day, while we sailed along the shores of Margaritos, turned upon those pirates of whom Barnaby spoke. They lived here at ease, and in great happiness. 'Tis of such a life that a man sometimes dreams. But if he were suffered so to lie in sloth, farewell Heaven! Farewell future hopes! Farewell our old talk of lifting the soul above the flesh! Let us henceforth live the lives of those who are content (since they can have no more) with a few years of love and wine and revelry! It is in climates like that of the West Indies that such a temptation seizes on men the most strongly: for here everything is made for man's enjoyment; here is no cold, no frost, no snow or ice; here eternal summer reigns, and the world seems made for the senses and for nothing else. Of these confessions enough. 'Twas impossible that in such a luxurious dream the image of Alice could have any part.
We landed, therefore, on the desert island of Tortuga, where we remained for several days, hauling up our boat and covering her with branches to keep off the sun. Here we lived luxuriously upon turtle, fresh fish, the remains of our bread, and what was left of our Canary; setting up huts in which we could sleep, and finding water of the freshest and brightest I ever saw. Here Robin mended apace, and began to walk about with no more help from his nurses.
We were minded, as I have said, to sail as far as the island of Curaçao, but an accident prevented this.
One day, when we had been ashore for ten days or thereabouts, we were terrified by the sight of a small vessel rigged in the fashion of a ketch – that is, with a small mizzen – beating about outside the bay which is the only port of Tortuga.
'She will put in here,' said Barnaby. 'That is most certain. Now, from the cut of her she is of New England build, and from the handling of her she is under-manned; and I think that we have nothing to fear from her, unless she is bound for Barbadoes, or for Grenada, or Jamaica.'
Presently the vessel came to anchor, and a small boat was lowered, into which three men descended. They were unarmed.
'She is certainly from New England,' said Barnaby. 'Well, they are not from Barbadoes in quest of us, otherwise they would not send ashore three unarmed men to capture four desperate men. That is certain. And as we cannot hide our boat, though we might hide ourselves, I will e'en go forth and parley with these strangers.'
This he did, we watching from a safe place. The conversation was long and earnest, and apparently friendly. Presently Barnaby returned to us.
'There offers,' he said, 'a chance which is perhaps better than to make for Curaçao, where, after all, we might get scurvy treatment. These men, in a word, are privateers; or, since we are at war with none, they are pirates. They fitted out a brigantine, or bilander (I know not which), and designed to sail round Cape Horn to attack the Spaniard on the South Seas. On the way they took a prize, which you now see in the bay. Ten men were sent aboard to navigate her as a tender to their ship. But they fell into bad weather off Brazil, and their ship went down with all hands. Now they are bound for Providence, only seven hands left, and they will take us aboard and carry us to that island for our services. Truly, I think we should go. They have provisions in plenty, with Madeira wine; and Providence is too far for the arm of King James to reach. What say ye all? Alice, what sayest thou?'
'Truly, brother, I say nothing.'
'Then we will agree, and go with them.'
We went on board, taking with us a good supply of turtle, clear water, and cocoanuts (being all that the isle afforded). Honest fellows we found our pirates to be. They belonged to the island of Providence, in the Bahamas, which has long been the rendezvous of English privateers. Ten years before this the Spaniards plucked up courage to attack and destroy the settlement, when those who escaped destruction found shelter in some of the adjacent islands, or on the mainland of Virginia. Now some of them have come back again, and this settlement, or colony, is re-established.
Thither, therefore, we sailed. It seemed as if we were become a mere shuttlecock of fortune, beaten and driven hither and thither upon the face of the earth.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE ISLAND OF PROVIDENCE
It was some time in the month of March, A.D. 1686, that we landed in Providence. The settlement – from which the Spaniards had now nothing to fear – then consisted (it is now, I learn, much larger) of no more than one hundred and fifty people in all, the men being all sailors, and ready to carry on again the old trade of privateer or pirate, as you please to call it, when they should be strong enough to buy or hire a ship and to equip her.
We stayed on the island for two years and a quarter, or thereabouts. It is one of an archipelago, for the most part, I believe, desert. The settlement was, as I have said, but a small one, living in scattered houses; there were plenty of these to spare (which had belonged to the former settlement), if one only took the trouble to clear away the creeping plants and cut down the trees which had grown up round them since the Spaniards came and destroyed the colony. Such a house, built of wood, with a shingle roof, we found convenient for us; and after we had cleared the ground round it and repaired it, we lived in it. Some of the people helped us to a porker or two and some chickens. They also gave us some salt beef and maize to start with. That we had little money (only what was left over from the sale of Alice's ring) made no difference to us here, because no one had any at all, and at this time there was neither buying nor selling on the island – a happy condition of things which will not, I take it, last long. So great is the fertility of the ground here, and such is the abundance which prevails, that we very shortly found ourselves provided with all that we wanted to make life pleasant. Work there was for us, but easy and pleasant work – such as weeding our patches of vegetables and fruit in the early mornings; or going to fish; or planting maize; or attending to our pigs, poultry, and turkeys; and for the rest of the time, sitting in the shade conversing. It is none too hot in this place, though one would not in the summer walk abroad at noon; nor is it ever too cold. All the fruits which flourish under the tropics grow here, with those also which belong to the temperate zone. Here are splendid forests, where you can cut the mahogany-tree, and build your house, if you please, of that lovely wood. Here we ourselves grew, for our own use, maize, tobacco, coffee, cocoa, plantains, pines, potatoes, and many other fruits and vegetables.
Barnaby soon grew tired of this quiet life, and went on board a schooner bound for New England, promising that we should hear from him. After two years we did receive a letter from him, as you shall immediately learn. When he was gone we carried on a quiet and peaceful life. Books, paper, and pen there were none upon this island. Nor were there any clothes, so that the raggedness of our attire (we were dressed in the sailors' clothes our friends the privateers gave us) became incredible. I made some kind of guitar on which we played, and in the evening we would have very good playing and singing together of such pieces and songs as we could remember. I made verses, too, for amusement, and Alice learned them. We found our brother-settlers a rough but honest folk, to whom we taught many arts: how to procure sea-salt, how to make wine from pineapples, how to cure the tobacco-leaf – things which greatly added to their comfort; and, seeing that there was no church on the island, we every Sabbath held a meeting for prayer and exhortation.
Seeing, then, that we had all that man could desire, with perfect freedom from anxiety, our liberty, a delightful climate, plenty to eat and drink – ay, and of the very best – and that at home there was nothing for us but prison again, and to be sent back to the place whence we had escaped, we ought, every one will acknowledge, to have felt the greatest contentment and gratitude for this sure and quiet refuge. We did not. The only contented members of our household were John Nuthall and the woman Deb, who cheerfully cultivated the garden and fed the poultry and the pigs (for we had now everything around us that is wanted to make life pleasant). Yet we were not contented. I could read the signs of impatience in the face whose changes I had studied for so long. Other women would have shown their discontent in ill-temper and a shrewish tongue; Alice showed hers in silence, sitting apart, and communing with herself. I daresay I also showed my discontent; for I confess that I now began to long vehemently for books. Consider, it was more than two years since I had seen a book! There were no books at all on the island of Providence – not one book, except a Bible or two, and, perhaps, a Book of Common Prayer. I longed, therefore, for the smell of leather bindings, the sight of books on shelves, and the holy company of the wise and the ingenious. No one, again, could look upon Robin without perceiving that he was afflicted with a constant yearning for that which he could not have. What that was I understood very well, although he never opened his mind unto me.
Now I confess that at this time I was grievously tormented with the thought that, Alice's marriage having been no true marriage – because, first, she was betrayed and deceived; and, next, she had left her husband at the very church porch – there was no reason in the world why she should not disregard that ceremony altogether, and contract a marriage after her own heart. I turned this over in my mind a long while; and, indeed, I am still of the opinion that there would have been nothing sinful in such an act. But the law of the country would not so regard it. That is quite true. If, therefore, I had advised these unhappy lovers in such a sense they would have been compelled to live for the rest of their lives on this island, and their offspring would have been illegitimate. So that, though the letter of the law caused a most cruel in justice —summum jus summa injuria– it was better that it should be obeyed. In the end, it was a most happy circumstance that it was so obeyed.
I have presently to relate the means by which this injustice was removed. As for my own share in it, I shall neither exaggerate nor shall I extenuate it. I shall not defend it. I will simply set it down, and leave judgment to a higher Court than the opinion of those who read these pages. I must, however, acknowledge that, partly in Barbadoes and partly in Providence, I learned from the negresses, who possess many secrets and have a wonderful knowledge of plants and their powers, the simple remedies with which they treat fevers, agues, rheumatisms, and other common disorders. I say simple, because they will, with a single cup of liquor boiled with certain leaves, or with a pinch of some potent powder gotten from a plant, effect a speedier cure than our longest prescriptions, even though they contain more than fifty different ingredients. Had I possessed this knowledge, for example, while we lay in Exeter Jail, not one prisoner (except the old and feeble) should have died of the fever. This said, you will understand presently what it was I did.
It was, then, about the month of March, in the year 1688, that a ship, laden with wine, and bound from New York to Jamaica, put in at the port of Providence. Her captain carried a letter for me, and this was the first news of the world that came to us since our flight.
The letter was from Barnaby. It was short, because Barnaby had never practised the art of letter-writing; but it was pertinent. First, he told us that he had made the acquaintance at Boston (I mean the little town Boston of New England) of his cousins, whom he found to be substantial merchants (so that here, at least, the man George Penne lied not), and zealous upholders of the Independent way of thinking; that these cousins had given him a hearty welcome for the sake of his father; that he had learned from them, first, that the Monmouth business was long since concluded, and, so great was the public indignation against the cruelties of the Bloody Assize, that no one would again be molested on that account, not even those who had been sent abroad should they venture to return. He also said – but this we understood not – that it was thought things would before long improve.
'And now,' he concluded, 'my cousins, finding that I am well skilled and have already navigated a ship with credit, have made me captain of their own vessel, the Pilgrim, which sails every year to Bristol and back again. She will be despatched in the month of August or September. Come, therefore, by the first ship which will set you ashore either at New York or at Boston, and I will give you all a passage home. Afterwards, if you find not a welcome there, you may come back with me. Here a physician may find practice, Robin may find a farm, and sister will be safe from B. B.'
At this proposal we pricked up our ears, as you may very well believe. Finally we resolved to agree to it, promising each other to protect Alice from her husband, and to go back to Boston with Barnaby if we found no reason to stay in England. But the woman Deb, though she wept at leaving her mistress, would not go back to the place where her past wickedness might be remembered, and John Nuthall was also unwilling, for the same reason, to return; and, as this honest couple had now a kindness for each other, I advised them to marry and remain where they were. There was on the island no minister of religion, nor any magistrate or form of government whatever (yet all were honest); therefore I ventured to hear their vows of fidelity, and prayed with them while I joined their hands – a form of marriage, to my mind, as binding and as sacred as any wanting the assistance of a priest. So we handed over to them all our property (which was already as much theirs as ours), and left them in that sunny and delightful place. If the man was a repentant thief, the woman was a repentant magdalen, and so they were well matched. I hope and believe that, being well resolved for the future, they will lead a godly and virtuous life, and will be blessed with children who will never learn the reason why their parents left their native country.
There is little trade at Providence, but many vessels touch at the port, because it lies between the English possessions in America and those in the West Indies. They put in for water, for fruit, and sometimes, if they are short-handed, for men, most of them in the place being sailors. Therefore we had not to wait long before a vessel put in, bound from Jamaica to New York. We bargained with the captain for a passage, agreeing that he should find us provisions and wine, and that we would pay him (by means of Barnaby) on our reaching Boston (which is but a short distance from New York). Strange to say, though we had been discontented with our lot, when we sailed away Alice fell to weeping. We had murmured, and our murmuring was heard. We should now be permitted to live out what was left to us of life in England, and we should die and be buried among our own folk. Yet there are times when I remember the sweet and tranquil life we led in the island of Providence, its soft and sunny air, the cool sea-breeze, the shade of its orange groves, and the fruits which grew in such abundance to our hands.
CHAPTER XLIX.
HOME
In one thing alone the villain Penne spoke the truth. The Eykin family of Boston (I say again of New England) was one of the most considerable in the place – great sticklers for freedom and for religion (but, indeed, it is a most God-fearing town, and severe towards transgressors). They received us with so much kindness that nothing could surpass it; we were treated as Christian martyrs at the least, and towards Alice, of whose cruel lot they had heard from Barnaby, they showed (but that no one could help) an affection quite uncommon. They generously furnished us all with apparel becoming our station, and with money for our daily occasions; they approved of our going with Barnaby; but, in the event of our finding no welcome or means of a livelihood at home, and if Alice should be molested by her husband, they engaged us to return to New England. Here, they said, Robin might become a farmer, if he had no inclination for trade; they would joyfully receive Alice to live with them; and I myself would certainly find practice as a physician; while Barnaby should continue to command their ship. When I considered the many conveniences which exist in Boston (it is already, though young, better provided with everything than Barbadoes), the excellence of the climate, the books which are there, the printing press which hath already been established, the learned ministers, the college, the schools, and the freedom of religion, I should have been nothing loth to remain there. But I was constrained first to go home. I found also, which astonished me, so great a love of liberty that the people speak slightingly of the English at home who tamely suffer the disabilities of the Nonconformists and the prerogative of the Crown; and they ask why, when the country had succeeded in establishing a Commonwealth, they could not keep it? It certainly cannot be denied, as they argue, that Israel acted against the declared will of the Lord in seeking a king.
So we left them. But in how changed a condition did we now cross the 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 in the waist, where the prisoners were confined, now walked the quarterdeck – a laced kerchief round his neck, lace ruffles at his wrist, a scarlet coat on his back, a sword at his side, and gold lace in his hat: the captain of the ship.
The winds were contrary, and it was not until the last days of October that we arrived at Bristol. Here we lay for a few days, while Barnaby transacted his business, resolving to remain in retirement, for fear of accidents, until our captain should be ready to ride with us to Bradford Orcas.
The first news we learned was joyful indeed. It was that the Prince of Orange himself was about to invade England, with intent to drive his father-in-law from the throne. (He had indeed already sailed, but his fleet was driven back by a storm.) It was also stated that he had with him a great army of Dutch and English, and such preparations of arms and ammunition as (it was hoped) would make such a failure as that of our unhappy Duke impossible.
We also confirmed Barnaby's information that Monmouth's men could now go about without fear or molestation.
As to the position of affairs at Bradford Orcas, we could learn nothing.
There was one point on which I was curious – namely, as to what Barnaby would do in the matter of the villain Penne. On the one hand it was certain that Barnaby would not forget this man, nor was he likely to sit down with his arms folded after he had been robbed of so great a sum.
Therefore, I was not surprised when, the evening before we rode out of Bristol, he brought a big bag of blue stuff in his hands and poured out the contents – a vast shower of gold pieces – into the lap of his astonished sister.
'Alice,' he said, 'I bring you back your money. You will find it all here, and Mr. Boscorel's money to boot. He hath disgorged.'
With that he sat down and laughed, but as one who hath a joke in secret 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, shaking his sides, choking with laughter; insomuch that I presently lost patience with him, and, as a physician, ordered him instantly to make full confidence, or I would not answer for it but he would have a fit.
Then he told us what he had done.
Towards five in the afternoon, when the autumn day is ended, he repaired to the man Penne's counting-house (a place easily found on inquiry), having with him one of those fellows who bawl at fairs, selling medicines and charms, drawing teeth, letting blood, and so forth. At the sight of a sea captain, many of whom came to this place, the worthy merchant's servant, without suspicion, opened the door of the private office, or chamber, where Mr. Penne transacted his affairs. Barnaby found him dozing by the fire, his wig on the table, a silk handkerchief over his head, and the candles already lighted.
He awoke, however, on the opening of the door.
'Friend,' said Barnaby, 'I am Captain Barnaby Eykin, commanding the ship Pilgrim, from Boston – at your service. I am also brother to the young woman Alice Eykin, whom you robbed ('twas my money) of two hundred and fifty pounds, and afterwards kidnapped.'
Mr. Penne looked about him, and would have cried out for assistance; but Barnaby clapped a pistol to his forehead. Then he sank in his chair and gasped.
'Stir not,' said his enemy, 'I am also one of the three rebels for whose ransom the Reverend Philip Boscorel, Rector of Bradford Orcas, paid the sum of two hundred and ten pounds – which you have also stolen.'
'Sir,' said Mr. Penne, 'upon my honour those moneys were sent to Barbadoes. Upon my honour, sir.'
'You will therefore,' said Barnaby, taking no heed of this assurance, 'pay over to me the sum of four hundred and sixty pounds, with interest at five per cent. for three years, which I have calculated; the whole amount is five hundred and twenty-nine pounds. Begin by paying this.' Well, to make a long story short, though the man protested that he had not so much in the world, yet he presently opened his strong box and counted out the money, all in gold. This done, he hoped to be let off.
'There now remains,' said Barnaby, 'the punishment – and I forgot sister's ring: I ought to have added fifty pounds for that. But time 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 pocket an instrument which made Mr. Penne shake and quake with terror. Barnaby then informed his victim that, as he had been the means of inflicting grievous bodily suffering upon four undeserving people, it was meet and right that he himself should experience something which, by its present agony, should make him compassionate for the future, and by its permanence of injury should prevent his ever forgetting that compassion for the rest of his life.
He therefore, he told him, intended to draw from his head four of his stoutest and strongest grinders.
This, in a word, he did; the man with him dragging them out with the pincers; Barnaby holding the pistol to the poor wretch's head, so that he should not bellow and call for assistance.
His laughter was caused by the remembrance of the twisting of the man's features in this agony, and by his moanings and groanings. The grinders he had brought away with him in his pocket, and showed them in triumph.
It was late in the afternoon when we rode into Bradford Orcas. The November sun, now setting, lay upon the woods, yellow and red with the autumn leaves not yet fallen. As we neared the village the sun went down, and a mist began to rise. All the doors were closed, and no one looked forth to greet us; the old cottage where Alice was born 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, – is he? – poor old Dad!'
We rode up the village till we came to the church, and the Manor House beside it. Alas! the house itself was closed, which had formerly stood open to all. There was no smoke from its chimneys, and the grass grew in the courtyard. We dismounted and opened the door, which was not locked. We went into the house: all was cold, and empty, and deserted. The twilight falling outside made the rooms dark. Beside the fireplace stood Sir Christopher's great chair, 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 have dreamed it, for he saw nothing. Suddenly Sir Christopher himself appeared sitting in the chair; on his knees lay the Bible open. Beside him stood, with upraised forefinger, as if commenting on some knotty point, the Rev. Dr. Comfort Eykin. I declare that I saw them plainly, as plainly as I now behold the paper on which I write. They were but as shadows in the dark shadows of the empty room, and they appeared 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 the good Rector himself there, comforting his soul.
We opened the garden-gate and walked softly across the lawn and looked in at the window ('twas made after the foreign fashion, to open upon the lawn). Beside the fire sat Madam, her hands clasped, thin, pale, and prematurely aged. Thus had she sat for three long years, still waiting for news of her son.
The Rector laid down his bow, crossed the room and sat down to the spinnet (on which he played prettily, but not with such command as he possessed over the other instrument). He played – I caught Alice's hand – an air of my own making to which I had set certain words, also of my own.
Then, while he played, we began to sing outside the window, Alice singing treble, or first, I the second part, and Robin the bass, as I had taught him in Providence Island the words of that little song. We sang it piano, or softly, at first, and then crescendo, or louder: —
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 own brain – echoes or memories of the past. Madam heard them too, and sat up listening as one who listens in a dream. When we sang louder Madam sprang to her feet, and held out her arms – but the Rector played the verse quite through. Then he opened the window for us.