LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 •' ' Madam,' he said, ' it will be best to throw back pour hood.' This I did, 
 and so stood before them all bareheaded."— {^ee p. 370.]
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM 
 
 H IROPCl 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTER BE S ANT 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 , )) (1 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HAEPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1889
 
 
 By WALTER BESANT. 
 
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 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. Illus- 
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 II- 
 
 "SO THEY WERE MARRIED." 
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 THE WORLD WENT VERY WELL 
 
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 UNCLE JACK AND OTHER STORIES. 
 
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 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
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 the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. Farewell Sunday 1 
 
 II. Our Home 15 
 
 III. The Boys 20 
 
 IV. Sir Christopiieu 25 
 
 V. The Runaway 30 
 
 VI. Benjamin, Lord Chancellor 36 
 
 VII. Medicine Doctor 45 
 
 VIII. A Royal Progress 52 
 
 IX. With the Elders CO 
 
 X. Le Roy est Mort 67 
 
 XI. Before the Storm 73 
 
 XII. Humphrey 80 
 
 XIII. One Day 87 
 
 XIV. Barnabv 95 
 
 XV. A Night and Morning at Lyme Regis 102 
 
 XVL On the March 116 
 
 XVn. Taunton 125 
 
 XVIII. The Maids of Taunton 131 
 
 XIX. King Monmouth and his Camp 135 
 
 XX. Benjamin's Warning 146 
 
 XXI. We Wait for the End 150 
 
 XXn. The Day After 159 
 
 XXin. Our Flight 107 
 
 XXIV. The Camp in the Comr 173 
 
 XXV. Judge Jeffreys 189 
 
 XXVL In Ilminster Jail 197 
 
 XXVII. Before the Assize 203 
 
 XXVIIL Benjamin 210 
 
 XXIX, On What Conditions? 217 
 
 XXX. A Slight Thing at the Best 224 
 
 XXXI. The Vision of Consolation 236 
 
 XXXII. Mr. George Penne 243
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 CnAPTicK Page 
 
 XXXIII. On Board the "Jolly Thatciier." 251 
 
 XXXIV, The Good Samaritan 258 
 
 XXXV. The White Slave 267 
 
 XXXVI. The First Day of Servitude 274 
 
 XXXVII. By the Waters of Babylon 281 
 
 XXXVIII. Humphrey's Narrative 290 
 
 XXXIX. Robin, Humphrey, and Barnady Eeach Barbadoes . . . 297 
 
 XL. With the Hoe 306 
 
 XLI. On Conditions 812 
 
 XLII. Alice 822 
 
 XLIII. Barnaby Hears the News 826 
 
 XLIV. A Scare 332 
 
 XLV. Barnaby the Avenger 337 
 
 XLVI. A Perilous Voyage 342 
 
 XLVII. We Sail for the Bahamas So6 
 
 XLVIII. The Island of Providence 359 
 
 XLlX.HoME 364 
 
 L. The Great Lord Chancellor 369 
 
 LI. The Confession 373 
 
 LII. Conclusion 380
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 " ' 5IADAM, HE SAID, ' IT WILL BE BEST TO THROW BACK 
 TOUR nOOD.' THIS I DID, AXD SO STOOD BEFORE 
 THEM ALL BAREHEADED" FfOnUspieCe. 
 
 " IX HIS HAXD HE CARRIED HIS BIBLE. . . . BESIDE HIM 
 WALKED MT MOTHER, HOLDING IN HER HAND HER 
 BOT, MY BROTHER EARXABY, THEN THREE TEARS OF 
 
 AGE " Facing page 6 
 
 "evert MORNING SIR CHRISTOPHER SAT IN HIS JUSTICE'S 
 CHAIR. . . . SOMETIMES GTFSIES WOULD BE BROUGHT 
 BEFORE HIM CHABGED WITH STEALING POULTRY " . . " 28 
 
 "HE WAS SEIZED WITH A MIGHTY WRATH, AND CATCHING 
 HIS SON SHARPLY BY THE EAR, LED HIM OUT OF THE 
 THRONG, AND SO HOME " " 36 
 
 " ' FAIR WHITE ROSE OF SOMERSET, LET ME BE ASSURED OF 
 THE WELCOME OF ILCHESTER BY A KISS FROM YOUR 
 SWEET LIPS, WHICH I WILL RETURN IN TOKEN OF MY 
 GRATITUDE ' " " 58 
 
 " WE PLAYED TOGETHER — HE UPON THE VIOLONCELLO AND 
 
 I UPON THE SPINET — SUCH MUSIC AS HE CHOSE " . . " C2 
 
 " AND I WAS LYING IN HIS ARMS, AND HE WAS KISSING ME, 
 AND CALLING SEE ALL THE SWEET AND TENDER THINGS 
 THAT HE COULD INVENT " " 78 
 
 "THEN, WITH GREAT CEREMONT, THET ENTERED, SIR 
 CHRISTOPHER BOWING LOW AND 5IADAM DROPPING A 
 DEEP COURTESY TO MY MOTHER, WHO SAT HUMBLY 
 AT HER WHEEL " « QQ 
 
 "MY FATHER LIFTED HIS HEAD AND AVAVED HIS HAND, 
 
 CRYING, ' A MONMOUTH ! A MONMOUTH !' " " 112 
 
 "HEK SCHOOL-GIRLS WERE ENGAGED IN WORKING AND 
 
 EMBROIDERING FLAGS FOB THE duke's ARMY " . . , " 124
 
 VI xLLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 "'LET ME TELL THY FORTUNE, HANDSOME GENTLEMAN? 
 LET ME TELL THINE, FAIR LADY? A SIXPENCE OR A 
 GROAT, TO CROSS MY PALM, CAPTAIN, AND YOU SHALL 
 KNOW ALL THAT IS TO HAPPEN ' " FaCilig 2)ajC 140 
 
 " THE LAST I SAW OF ROBIN WAS THAT HE WAS TURNING 
 IN HIS SADDLE TO WAVE HIS HAND, HIS FACE FULL OF 
 CONFIDENCE AND JOY " " 152 
 
 " I WENT TO THE PONy's HEAD, AND BAKNABY, GOING 
 BEHIND THE CART, LIFTED IT OVER THE ROUGH 
 PLACES, AND SOMETIMES CARRIED HIS END OF it". . " 172 
 
 " ' BOYS,' I SAID, ' BEWARE ! IF YOU GO HIGHER UP THE 
 COMB YOU WILL CERTAINLY" MEET WILD MEN, WHO 
 ALWAYS ROB AND BEAT BOYS '" " 184 
 
 " SHE WAITED NOT FOR ANY ANSWER, BUT KNELT DOWN 
 BESIDE HIM, AND POURED SOME DROPS OF MILK INTO 
 THE MOUTH OF THE SICK MAN " " 198 
 
 " HE ACCOSTED ME ONE MORNING WHEN 1 AVAS STANDING 
 AT THE WICKET WAITING FOR MY BASKET TO BE 
 TAKEN in'' " 20G 
 
 "AS I RAN, MR. BOSCOREL STOOD BEFORE IIIS SON AND 
 
 BARRED THE WAY, RAISING HIS RIGHT hand" . . . " 236 
 
 "AS I PASSED AMONG THE CROWD, ONE CAUGHT ME BY 
 THE ARM. IT WAS A LITTLE OLD WOMAN, HER FACE 
 ALL WRINKLED AND PUCKERED " " 242 
 
 " WHEN I CAME TO MY SENSES, THE CAPTAIN GAVE ME A 
 GLASS OF CORDIAL AND MADE ME SIT DOWN ON A 
 GUN-CARRIAGE " " 258 
 
 " I SAT IN THOSE ABOMINABLE STOCKS FOR NO MORE THAN 
 AN HOUR. THEN MADAM HERSELF CAME TO ME. 
 . . . SHE BADE THE NEGRO UNLOCK THE BAR " . . " 318 
 
 " ' STAND BACK !' CRIED BARNABY, PUSHING ME ASIDE. 
 'LEAVE GO OF HIM, AVOMAN. LET ME DEAL WITH 
 him'" " 340 
 
 " THE MAN WITH HIM DRAGGING HIS TEETH OUT WITH 
 THE PINCERS, BARNABY HOLDING THE PISTOL TO 
 THE POOR wretch's HEAD " " 368 
 
 " THEN I KNELT BESIDE IIIS BED, AND PRAYED ALOUD 
 FOR HIM; BUT INCESSANTLY HE CRIED FOR HELP, 
 WEARING HIMSELF OUT WITH PRAYERS AND CURSES " " 378
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FAREWELL SUNDAY. 
 
 The morning of Sunday, August the 23d, in the year of grace 
 1662, should have been black and gloomy, with the artillery of 
 rolling thunder, dreadful flashes of lightning, and driving hail 
 and wind to strip the orchards and lay low the corn. For on 
 that day was done a thing which filled the whole country with 
 grief, and bore bitter fruit, in after-years, of revenge and re- 
 bellion. Because it was the day before that formerly named 
 after Bartholomew, the disciple, it hath been called the Black 
 Bartholomew of England, thus being likened with that famous 
 day (approved by the pope) when the French Protestants were 
 treacherously massacred by their king. It should rather be 
 called " Farewell Sunday," or " Exile Sunday," because on that 
 day two thousand godly ministers preached their last sermon in 
 the churches where they had labored worthily and with good 
 fruit, some during the time of the Protector, and some even 
 longer, because among them were a few who possessed their 
 benefices even in the time of the late King Charles the First. 
 And, since on that day two thousand ministers left their churches 
 and their houses, and laid down their worldly wealth for con- 
 science' sake, there were also as many wives who went with 
 them, and, I dare say, three or four times as many innocent and 
 helpless babes. And, further (it is said that the time was fixed 
 by design and deliberate malice of our enemies), the ministers 
 were called upon to make their choice only a week or two be- 
 fore the day of the collection of their tithes. In other words, 
 they were sent forth to the world at the season when their purses 
 1 A
 
 2! FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 were the leanest ; indeed, with most country clergymen, their 
 purses shortly before the collection of tithes become well-nigh 
 empty. It was also unjust that their successors should be per- 
 mitted to collect tithes due to those who were ejected. 
 
 It is fitting to begin this history with the Black Bartholo- 
 mew, because all the troubles and adventures which afterwards 
 befell us were surely caused by that accursed day. One knows 
 not, certainly, what other rubs might have been ordained for 
 us by a wise Providence (always with the merciful design of 
 keeping before our eyes the vanity of worldly things, the in- 
 stability of fortune, the uncertainty of life, and the wisdom of 
 looking for a hereafter which shall be lasting, stable, and satis- 
 fying to the soul). Still, it must be confessed, such trials as 
 were appointed unto us were, in severity and continuance, far 
 beyond those appointed to the ordinary sort, so that I cannot 
 but feel at times uplifted (I hope not sinfully) at having been 
 called upon to endure so much. Let me not, however, be proud. 
 Had it not been for this day, for certain our boys would not 
 have been tempted to strike a blow — vain and useless as it 
 proved — for the Protestant religion and for liberty of con- 
 science : while perhaps I should now be forbidden to relate our 
 sufferings, were it not for the glorious revolution which has re- 
 stored toleration, secured the Protestant ascendency, and driven 
 into banishment a prince, concerning whom all honest men pray 
 that he and his son (if he have, indeed, a son of his own) may 
 never again have authority over this realm. 
 
 This Sunday, I say, should have wept tears of rain over the 
 havoc which it witnessed ; yet it was fine and clear, the sun 
 riding in splendor, and a warm summer air blowing among the 
 orchards and over the hills and around the village of Bradford 
 Orcas, in the shire of Somerset. The wheat (for the season was 
 late) stood gold-colored in the fields, ready at last for the reaper ; 
 the light breeze bent down the ears so that they showed like 
 waves over which the passing clouds make light and shade ; the 
 apples in the orchards were red and yellow and nearly ripe for 
 the press ; in the gardens of the Manor House, hard by the 
 church, the sunflowers and the hollyhocks were at their tallest 
 and their best ; the yellow roses on the wall were still in clus- 
 ters ; the sweet-peas hung with tangles of vine and flower upon 
 their stalks ; the bachelors' buttons, the sweet mignonette, the
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 3 
 
 nasturtium, the gillyflowers and stocks, tlie sweetwilliams and 
 the pansies, offered their late summer blossoms to the hot sun 
 among the lavender, thyme, parsley, sage, feverfew and vervain 
 of my lady's garden. Oh ! I know how it all looked, though I 
 was as yet unborn. How many times have I stood in the church- 
 yard and watched the same scene at the same sweet season ! 
 On a week-day one hears the thumping and the groaning of 
 the mill below the church ; there are the voices of the men at 
 work, the yo-hoing of the boys who drive, and the lumbering 
 of the carts. You can even hear the spinning-wheels at work 
 in the cottages. On Sunday morning everything is still, save 
 for the warblinor of the wino^ed tribe in the wood, the cooing of 
 the doves in the cot, the clucking of the hens, the grunting of 
 the pigs, and the droning of the bees. These things disturb 
 not the meditations of one who. is accustomed to them. 
 
 At eight o'clock in the morning, tlie sexton, an ancient man 
 and rheumatic, hobbled slowly through the village, key in hand, 
 and opened the church-door. Then he went into the tower and 
 rang the first bell. I suppose this bell is designed to hurry 
 housewives with their morning work, and to admonish the men 
 that they incline their hearts to a spiritual disposition. This 
 done, the sexton set open the doors of the pews, swept out the 
 squire's and the rector's in the chancel, dusted the cushions of 
 the pulpit (the reading-desk at this time was not used), opened 
 the clasps of the great Bible, and swept down the aisle : as he 
 had done Sunday after Sunday for fifty years. When he had 
 thus made the church ready for the day's service, he went into the 
 vestry, which had only been used since the establishment of the 
 Commonwealth for the registers of birth, death, and marriage. 
 
 At one side of the vestry stood an ancient black-oak coffer, 
 the sides curiously graven, and a great rusty key in the lock. 
 The sexton turned the key with some difficulty, threw open the 
 lid, and looked in. 
 
 " Ay," he said, chuckling, " the old surplice and the old Book 
 of Common Prayer. Ye have had a long rest; 'tis time for 
 both to come out again. When the surplice is out the book 
 will stay no longer locked up. These two go in and out to- 
 gether. I mind me, now — " Here he sat down, and his thoughts 
 wandered for a space ; perhaps he saw himself once more a boy 
 running in the fields, or a young man courting a maid. Prcs-
 
 4 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 ently he returned to the task before him, and drew forth an old 
 and yellow roll which he shook out. It was the surplice which 
 had once been white. " Here you are," he said ; " put you 
 away for a matter of twelve year and more and you bide your 
 time ; you know you will come back again ; you are not in any 
 hurry. Even the sexton dies ; but you die not, you bide your 
 time. Everything comes again. The old woman shall give you 
 a taste o' the suds and the hot iron. Thus we go up and thus 
 we go down." He put back the surplice and locked the great 
 Book of Common Prayer — musty and damp after twelve years' 
 imprisonment. " Fie !" he said, " the leather is parting from the 
 boards, and the leaves they do stick together. Shalt have a pot 
 of paste, and then lie in the sun before thou goest back to the 
 desk ; whether 'tis mass or Common Prayer, whether 'tis Inde- 
 pendent or Presbyterian, folk mun still die and be buried — ay, 
 and married and born — whatever they do say. Parson goes and 
 preacher comes ; preacher goes and parson comes ; but sexton 
 stays." He chuckled again, put back the surplicQ and the book, 
 and locked the coffer. 
 
 Then he slowly went down the church and came out of the 
 porch, blinking in the sun and shading his old eyes. He sat 
 down upon the flat stones of the old cross, and presently nodded 
 his head and dropped off asleep. 
 
 It was a strange indifference in the man. A great and truly 
 notable thing was to be accomplished that day. But he cared 
 nothing. Two thousand godly and learned men were to go 
 forth into poverty for liberty of conscience — this man's own 
 minister was one of them. He cared nothing. The king was 
 sowing the seed from which should spring a rod to drive forth 
 his successor from the kingdom. In the village the common 
 sort were not moved. Nothing concerns the village folk but the 
 weather and the market prices. As for the good sexton, he was 
 very old : he had seen the Church of England displaced by the 
 Presbyterians and the Presbyterians by the Independents, and 
 now these were again to be supplanted by the Church of Eng- 
 land. He had been sexton through all these changes. He 
 heeded them not ; why, his father, sexton before him, could re- 
 member when the mass was said in the church and the Virgin 
 was worhipped, and the folk were driven like sheep to confession. 
 All the time the people went on being born, and marrying, and
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 5 
 
 dying. Creed doth not, truly, affect these things nor the sex- 
 ton's work. Therefore this old gaffer, having made sure that 
 the surplice was in the place where it had lain undisturbed for 
 a dozen years, and remembering that it must be washed and 
 ironed for the following Sunday, sat down to bask in the sun, 
 his mind at rest, and dropped off into a gentle sleep. 
 
 At ten o'clock the bell-ringers came tramping up the stone 
 steps from the road, and the sexton woke up. At ten they used 
 to begin their chimes, but at the hour they ring for five minutes 
 only, ending with the clash of all five bells together. At a quar- 
 ter past ten they chime again, for the service, which begins at 
 half-past ten. 
 
 At the sound of these chimes the whole village begins to 
 move slowly towards the church. First come the children, the 
 bigger ones leading those who are little by the hand ; the boys 
 come next, but unwillingly, because the sexton is diligent with 
 his cane, and some of those who now go up the steps to the 
 church will come down with smarting backs, the reward of those 
 who play or laugh during the service. Then come the young 
 men, who stand about the churchyard and whisper to each other. 
 After them follow the elders and the married men, with the 
 women and the girls. Five minutes before the half-hour the 
 ringers change the chime for a single bell. Then those v/ho are 
 outside gather in the porch and wait for the quality. 
 
 When the sino-le bell began, there came forth from the rectory 
 the rector himself, Mr. Comfort Eykin, Doctor of Divinity, who 
 was this day to deliver his soul and lay down his charge. He 
 wore the black gown and Geneva bands, for the use of which 
 he contended. At this time he was a young man of thirty — tall 
 and thin. He stooped in the shoulders because he was continu- 
 ally reading ; his face was grave and austere ; his nose thin and 
 aquiline ; his eyes bright — never was any man with brighter 
 eyes than my father; his hair, which he wore long, was brown 
 and curly ; his forehead high, rather than broad ; his lips were 
 firm. In these days, as my mother hath told me, and as I well 
 believe, he was a man of singular comeliness, concerning which 
 he cared nothing. Always from childhood upward he had been 
 grave in conversation and seriously inclined in mind. If I think 
 of my father as a boy (no one ever seems to think that his father 
 was once a boy), I am fain to compare him with Humphrey, save
 
 O FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 for certain bodily defects, my father having been like a priest 
 of the altar for bodily perfection. That is to say, I am sure 
 that, like Humphrey, he had no need of rod or ferule to make 
 him learn his lessons, and, like that dear and fond friend of ray 
 childhood, he would willingly sit in a corner and read a book 
 while the other boys played and went a-hunting or a-nesting. 
 And very early in life he was smitten with the conviction of sin, 
 and blessed with such an inward assurance of salvation as made 
 him afterwards steadfast in all afflictions. 
 
 He was not a native of this country, having been born in 
 New England. He came over, being then eighteen years of 
 age, to study at Oxford, that university being purged of malig- 
 nants, and, at the time, entirely in the hands of the godly. He 
 was entered of Balliol College, of which society he became a 
 fellow, and was greatly esteemed for his learning, wherein he 
 excelled most of the scholars of his time. He knew and could 
 read Hebrew, Chaldee, and the ancient Syriac, as well as Latin 
 and Greek. Of modern languages he had acquired Arabic, by 
 the help of which he had read the book which is called the Ko- 
 ran of the False Prophet Mohammed : French and Italian he 
 also knew and could read easily. As for his opinions, he was 
 an Independent, and that not meekly or with hesitation, but 
 with such zeal and vehemence that he considered all who dif- 
 fered from him as his personal enemies — nay, the very enemies 
 of God. For this reason, and because his personal habits were 
 too austere for those who attained not to his spiritual height, he 
 was more feared than loved. Yet his party looked upon him 
 as their greatest and stoutest champion. 
 
 He left Oxford at the age of five or six and twenty, and ac- 
 cepted the living of Bradford Orcas, offered him by Sir Christo- 
 pher Challis at that place. Here he had preached for six years, 
 looking forward to nothing else than to remain there, advancing 
 in grace and wisdom, until the end of his days. So much was 
 ordered, indeed, for him ; but not quite as he had designed. 
 Let no man say that he knoweth the future, or that he can shape 
 out his destiny. You shall hear presently how Benjamin arro- 
 gantly resolved that his future should be what he chose, and 
 what came of that impious resolution. 
 
 My father's face was always austere ; this morning it was 
 more serious and sterner than customary, because the day was
 
 ■" In his hand he carried his Bible. . . . Beside him walked my mother, 
 holding in Jm hand h^r boy, my brother Barnaby, then three years of age. "
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 7 
 
 to him the most important in his life, and he was about to pass 
 from a position of plenty (the Rectory of Bradford Orcas is not 
 rich, but it affords a suflBciency) to one of penury. Those who 
 knew him, however, had no doubt of the course he was about to 
 take. Even the rustics knew that their minister would never 
 consent to wear a surplice or to read the Book of Common 
 Prayer, or to keep holy days — you have seen how the sexton 
 opened the box and took out the surplice ; yet my father had 
 said nothinof to him concerninof his intentions. 
 
 In his hand he carried his Bible — his own copy, I have it 
 still, the margins covered with notes in his writing — bound in 
 black leather, worn by constant handling, with brass clasps. 
 Upon his head he had a plain black silk cap, which he wore 
 constantly in his study and at meals to keep off draughts. In- 
 deed, I loved to see him with the silk cap rather than with his 
 tall steeple-hat, with neither ribbon nor ornament of any kind, 
 in which he rode when he afterwards went about the country to 
 break the law in exhorting and praying with his friends. 
 
 Beside him walked my mother, holding in her hand her boy, 
 my brother Barnaby, then three years of age. As for me, I was 
 not yet born. She had been weeping ; her eyes were red and 
 swollen with tears ; but when she entered the church she wept 
 no more, bravely listening to the words which condemned to 
 poverty and hardship herself and her children, if any more 
 should be born to her. Alas, poor soul ! What had she done 
 that this affliction should befall her ? What had her innocent 
 boy done ? For upon her — not upon her husband — would fall 
 the heavy burden of poverty, and on her children the loss. Yet 
 never by a single word of complaint did she make her husband 
 sorry that he had obeyed the voice of conscience, even when 
 there was nothing left in the house, not so much as the widow's 
 cruse of oil. Alas, poor mother, once so free from care ! what 
 sorrow and anxiety wert thou destined to endure for the tender 
 conscience of thy husband ! 
 
 At the same time — namely, at the ringing of the single bell — 
 there came forth from the manor-house, hard by the church, his 
 honor. Sir Christopher, with his family. The worthy knight 
 was then about fifty years of age, tall and handsome still — in 
 his later years there was something of a heavenly sweetness in 
 his face, created, I doubt not, by a long life of pious thoughts
 
 8 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 and worthy deeds. His liair was streaked with gray, but not 
 yet white ; he wore a beard of the kind called stiletto, which 
 was even then an ancient fashion, and he was dressed more so- 
 berly than is common with gentlemen of his rank, having no 
 feather in his hat, but a simple ribbon round it, and though his 
 ruffles were of lace and the kerchief round his neck was lace, 
 the color of his coat was plain brown. He leaned upon a gold- 
 headed cane on account of an old wound (it was inflicted by a 
 Cavalier's musket-ball when he was a captain in the army of 
 Lord Essex). The wound left him somewhat lame, yet not so 
 lame but that he could very well walk about his fields and could 
 ride his horse, and even hunt with the otter-hounds. By his 
 side walked madame, his wife. After him came his son, Hum- 
 phrey, newly married, and with Humphrey his wife ; and last 
 came his son-in-law, the Rev. Philip Boscorel, M.A., late fellow 
 of All-Souls' College, Oxford, also newly married, with his wife, 
 Sir Christopher's daughter. Patience. Mr. Boscorel, like my 
 father, was at that time thirty years of age. Like him, too, his 
 face was comely and his features fine ; yet they lacked the fire 
 and the earnestness which marked my father's. And in his silken 
 cassock, his small white bands, his lace ruffles, and his dainty 
 walk, it seemed as if Mr. Boscorel thought himself above the 
 common run of mankind and of superior clay. 'Tis sometimes 
 the way with scholars and those who survey the world from the 
 eminence of a library. 
 
 Sir Christopher's face was full of concern, because he loved 
 the young man who was this day to throw away his livelihood ; 
 and although he was ready himself to worship after the manner 
 prescribed by law, his opinions were rather Independent than 
 Episcopalian. As for Mr. Boscorel, who was about to succeed 
 to the ejected minister, his face wore no look of triumph, which 
 would have been ungenerous. He was observed, indeed, after 
 he had silently gone through the service of the day with the 
 help of a prayer-book, to listen diligently unto the preacher. 
 
 The people, I have already said, knew already what was about 
 to happen. Perliaps some of them (but I think not) possessed 
 a copy of the old prayer-book. This, they knew, was to be re- 
 stored, with the surplice, and the observance of holy days, feasts, 
 and fasts, and the kneeling at the administration of the Holy 
 Communion. Our people are craftsmen as much as thev are
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 9 
 
 rustics ; every week the master clotliiers' meu drive their pack- 
 horses into the village laden with wool, and return with yarn ; 
 they are not, therefore, so brutish and sluggish as most; yet 
 they made no outward show of caring whether Prelacy or Inde- 
 pendence was to have the svray. Perhaps the abstruse doctrines 
 which my father loved to discuss were too high for them ; per- 
 haps his austerity was too strict for them, so that he was not 
 beloved by them. Perhaps, even, they would have cared little 
 if they had heard that Bishop Bonner himself was coming back. 
 Religion, to country folk, means, mostly, the going to church 
 on Sunday morning. That done, man's service of prayer and 
 praise to his Creator is also done. If the form be changed the 
 church remains, and the churchyard; one shepherd followeth 
 another, but the flock is always the same. Revolutions over- 
 throw kings, and send great heads to the block ; but the village 
 heedeth not unless civil war pass that way. To country folk, 
 what difference ? The sky and the fields are unchanged. Under 
 Queen Mary they are Papists ; under Queen Elizabeth they are 
 Protestants. They have the Prayer Book under King James 
 and King Charles ; under Oliver they have had the Presbyterian 
 and Independent ; now they liave the Book of Common Prayer 
 and the surplice again. Yet they remain the same people, and 
 tell the same stories, and, so far as I know, believe the same 
 things — viz., that Christ Jesus saves the soul of every man who 
 truly believes in him. Why, if it were not for his immortal 
 soul — concerning which he takes but little thought — the rustic 
 might be likened unto the patient beast whom he harnesseth to 
 his plough and to his muck-cart. lie changeth no more ; he 
 works as hard ; he is as long-enduring ; his eyes and his 
 thoughts are as much bound by the hedge, the lane, and the 
 field; he thinks and invents and advances no more. AVere it 
 not, I say, for the Church, he would take as little heed of any- 
 thing as his ox or his ass ; his village would become his coun- 
 try ; his squire would become his king ; the nearest village 
 would become the camp of an enemy ; and he would fall into 
 the condition of the ancient Briton when Julius Caesar found 
 every tribe fighting against every other. 
 
 I talk as a fool. For sometimes there falls upon the torpid 
 soul of the rustic a spark which causes a mighty flame to blaze 
 up and burn fiercely within him. I have read how a simple 
 1*
 
 10 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 monk, called Peter the Hermit, drew thousands of poor, illiter- 
 ate, credulous persons from their homes and led them, a mob 
 armed with scythes and pikes, across Europe to the deserts of 
 Asia Minor, where they miserably perished. I have read also of 
 Jack Cade, and how he drew the multitudes after him, crying 
 aloud for justice or death. And I myself have seen these slug- 
 gish spirits suddenly fired with a spirit which nothing could 
 subdue. The sleeping soul I have seen suddenly starting into 
 life : strength and swiftness have 1 seen suddenly put into slug- 
 gish limbs : light and fire have I seen gleaming suddenly in dull 
 and heavy eyes. Oh ! it was a miracle : but I have seen it. 
 And, having seen it, I cannot despise these lads of the plough, 
 these honest boys of Somerset, nor can I endure to hear them 
 laughed at or contemned. 
 
 Bradford Orcas, in the Hundred of Horethorne, Somerset, is 
 a village so far from the great towns that one would think a 
 minister might have gone on praying and preaching after his 
 own fashion without being discovered. But the arm of the law 
 
 is long. 
 
 The nearest town is Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, to which there 
 is a bridle-path across the fields ; it is the market-town for the 
 villao-es round it. Bradford Orcas is a very obscure little vil- 
 lage, with no history and no antiquities. It stands in the south- 
 eastern corner of the county, close to the western declivity of 
 the Gorton Hills, which here sweep round so as to form a valley, 
 in which the village is built along the banks of a stream. The 
 houses are for the most part of stone, with thatched roofs, as is 
 the custom in our country ; the slopes of the hills are covered 
 with trees, and round the village there stand goodly orchards, 
 the cider from which cannot be surpassed. As for the land, but 
 little of it is arable ; the greater part is a sandy loam or stone 
 brash. The church, which in the superstitious days was dedi- 
 cated to St. Nicolas, is built upon a hillock, a rising ground in 
 the west of the village. This building of churches upon hillocks 
 is a common custom in our parts, and seemeth laudable, because 
 a church should stand where it can be seen by all the people, 
 and by its presence remind them of death and of the judgment. 
 This practice doth obtain at Sherborne, where there is a very 
 noble church, and at Huish Episcopi, and at many other places 
 in our county. Our church is fair and commodious, not too
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 11 
 
 lai'o^e for the congregation, having in the west a stone tower em- 
 battled, and consisting of a nave and chancel with a very fine 
 roof of carved woodwork. There is an ancient yew-tree in the 
 churchyard, from which in old times bows were cut ; some of 
 the bows yet hang in the great hall of the manor-house. Among 
 the graves is an ancient stone cross, put up no man knows when, 
 standing in a six-sided slab of stone, but the top was broken off 
 at the time of the Reformation ; two or three tombs are in the 
 churchyard, and the rest is covered with mounds, beneath which 
 lie the bones and dust of former generations. 
 
 Close to the churchyard, and at the northeast corner, is the 
 manor-house, as large as the church itself, but not so ancient. 
 It was built in the reign of Henry VII. A broad arched gate- 
 way leads into a court, wherein is the entrance to the house. 
 Over the gateway is a kind of tower, but not detached from the 
 house. In the wall of the tower is a panel, lozenge shaped, in 
 which are carved the arms of the Challis family. The house 
 is stately, with many gables, and in each casement windows set 
 in richly carved stone tracery. As for the rooms within the 
 house, I will speak of them hereafter. At present I have the 
 churchyard in my mind. There is no place upon the earth which 
 more I love. To stand in the long grass among the graves ; to 
 gaze upon the wooded hills beyond, the orchards, the meadows, 
 the old house, the venerable church, the yew-tree ; to listen to 
 the murmur of the stream below and the singing of the lark 
 above ; to feel the fresh breeze upon my cheek — oh ! I do this 
 daily. It makes me feel young once more ; it brings back the 
 days when I stood here with the boys, and when Sir Christopher 
 would lean over the wall and discourse with us gravely and 
 sweetly upon the love of God and the fleeting joys of earth 
 (which yet, he said, we should accept and be happy withal in 
 thankfulness), and the happiness unspeakable that awaiteth the 
 Lord's saints. Or, if my thoughts continue in the past, the 
 graveyard brings back the presence and the voice of Mr. Bos- 
 corel, 
 
 " In such a spot as this," he would say, speaking softly and 
 slowly, " the pastorals of Virgil or Theocritus might have been 
 written. Here would the shepherds hold their contests. Cer- 
 tainly they could find no place, even in sunny Sicily or at Mantua 
 itself, where (save for three months in the year) the air is more
 
 12 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 delightful. Here they need not to avoid the burning heat of a 
 sun which gently warms but never burns ; here they would find 
 the shade of the grove pleasant in the soft summer season. In- 
 nocent lambs instead of kids (which are tasteless) play in our 
 meadows ; the cider which we drink is, I take it, more pleasing 
 to the palate than was their wine flavored with turpentine. And 
 our viols, violins, and spinnets are instruments more delightful 
 than the oaten pipe, or the cithara itself." Then would he wave 
 his hand, and quote some poet in praise of a country life — 
 
 " There is no man but may make his paradise, 
 And it is nothing but las love and dotage 
 Upon the world's foul joys that keeps him out on 'it. 
 For he that lives retired in mind and spirit 
 Is still iu Paradise." 
 
 " But, child," he would add, with a sigh, " one may not always 
 wish to be in Paradise. The world's joys lie elsewhere. Only, 
 when youth is gone — then Paradise is best." 
 
 The service began after the manner of the Independents, with 
 a long prayer, during which the people sat. Mr. Boscorel, as I 
 have said, went through his own service in silence, the Book of 
 Common Prayer in his hand. After the prayer, the minister 
 read a portion of Scripture, which he expounded at length and 
 with great learning. Then the congregation sang that Psalm 
 which begins — 
 
 " Triumphing songs with glorious tongues 
 Let's offer unto Him." 
 
 This done, the rector ascended the pulpit for the last time, 
 gave out his text, turned liis hour-glass, and began his sermon. 
 
 He took for his text those verses in St. Paul's second epistle 
 to the Corinthians, vi., 3-10, in which the apostle speaks of his 
 own ministry as if he were actually predicting the tribulation 
 which was to fall upon these faithful preachers of a later time — 
 " In much patience, in affliction, in necessities, in distresses, in 
 stripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labor, in watchings, in 
 fastings — " could not the very words be applied to ray father ? 
 
 He read the text three times, so that everybody might fully 
 understand the subject upon which he was to preach — namely, 
 the faithfulness required of a minister of the gospel. I need 
 not set down the arguments he used or the reasons he gave for 
 his resolution not to conform with the Act of Uniformity. The
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 13 
 
 rustics sat patiently listening, with no outward sign of assent or 
 of sympathy. But their conduct afterwards proved abundantly 
 to which side their minds inclined. As for me, I am a woman, 
 and therefore inclined to obey the voice of authority, so that, 
 had I been born a Papist, such I should have continued ; and I 
 am now a member of the Church of England because my hus- 
 band is of that church, yet not of the kind which is called 
 high. 
 
 It behooves us all to listen with respect when scholars and wise 
 men inquire into the reasons of things. Yet the preachings and 
 expositions which such as my father bestowed upon their flocks 
 did certainly awaken men's minds to consider by themselves the 
 things which many think too high for them. It is a habit which 
 may lead to the foundation of false and pernicious sects. And 
 it certainly is not good that men should preach the doctrines 
 of the Anabaptists, the Fifth Monarchy men, or the Quakers. 
 Yet it is better that some should be deceived than that all should 
 be slaves. I have been assured by one — I mean Humphrey — 
 who hath travelled, that in those countries where the priest 
 taketh upon himself the religion of the people, so that they think 
 to be saved by attending mass, by fasting, confession, penance, 
 and so forth, that not only does religion itself become formal, 
 mechanical, and inanimate, but in the very daily concerns and 
 business of life men grow slothful and lack spirit. Their re- 
 ligion, which is the very heat of the body, the sustaining and 
 vital force of all man's actions, is cold and dead. Therefore, all 
 the virtues are cold also, and with tiiem the courage and the 
 spirit of the people. Thus it is that Italy hath fallen aside into 
 so many small and divided kingdoms. And for this reason, 
 Spain, in the opinion of those who know her best, is now falling 
 rapidly into decay. 
 
 I am well assured by those who can remember that the intel- 
 ligence of the village-folk greatly increased during the period 
 when they were encouraged to search the Scriptures for them- 
 selves. Many taught themselves to read, others had their chil- 
 dren taught, in order that they might read or hear, daily, por- 
 tions of the Scriptures. It is now thirty years since authority 
 resumed the rule ; the village-folk have again become, to out- 
 ward seeming, sheep who obey without questioning. Yet it is 
 observed that when they are within reach of a town — that is to
 
 14 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 say, of a meeting-house — they willingly flock to the service in 
 the afternoon and evening. 
 
 It was with the following brave words that my father con- 
 cluded his discourse : 
 
 " Seeing, therefore, my brethren, hov/ clear is the "Word of 
 God on these points ; and considering that we must always obey 
 God rather than man ; and observing that here we plainly see 
 the finger of God pointing to disobedience and its consequences, 
 I am constrained to disobey. The consequence will be to me 
 that I shall stand in this place no more : to you, that you will 
 have a stranger in your church. I pray that he may be a godly 
 person, able to divide the Word, learned and acceptable. 
 
 " As for me, I must go forth, perhaps from among you alto- 
 gether. If persecutions arise, it may behoove me and mine to 
 seek again that land beyond the seas whither my fathers fled 
 for the sake of religious liberty. Whatever happens, I must 
 fain preach the gospel. It is laid upon me to preach. If I am 
 silent, it will be as if death itself had fallen^ upon me. My 
 brethren, there have been times — and those times may return — 
 when the elect have had to meet, secretly, on the sides of barren 
 hills and in the heart of the forest, to pray together and to hear 
 the Word. I say that these times may return. If they do, you 
 will find me willing, I hope and pray, to brave for you the worst 
 that our enemies can devise. Perhaps, however, this tyranny 
 may pass over. Already the Lord hath achieved one great de- 
 liverance for this ancient realm. Perhaps another may be in 
 his secret purposes when we have been chastened, as, for our 
 many sins, we richly deserve. Whether in affliction or in pros- 
 perity, let us always say, ' The Lord's name be praised !' 
 
 " Now, therefore, for the sand is running low and I may not 
 weary the young and the impatient, let me conclude. Farewell, 
 sweet Sabbaths ! Farewell, the sweet expounding of the Word ! 
 Farewell, sweet pulpit ! Farewell, sweet faces of the souls which 
 I have yearned to present pure and washed clean before the 
 throne ! My brethren, I go about, henceforth, as a dog which is 
 muzzled ; another man will fill this pulpit ; our simple form of 
 worship is gone ; the prayer-book and the surplice have come 
 back again. Pray God we see not confession, penance, the mass, 
 the inquisition, the enslavement of conscience, the stake, and 
 the martyr's axe !"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 15 
 
 Then he paused and bowed his head, and everybody thought 
 that he had finished. 
 
 He had not. He raised it again, and threw out his arms and 
 shouted aloud, while his eyes glowed like fire : 
 
 " No ! I will not be silent. I will not. I am sent into the 
 world' to preach the gospel. I have no other business. I must 
 proclaim the Word as I hope for everlasting life : brethren, we 
 shall meet again. In the woods and on the hills we shall find 
 a temple ; there are houses where two or three may be gathered 
 together, the Lord himself being in their midst. Never doubt 
 that I am ready, in season and out of season, whatever be the 
 law, to preach the gospel of the Lord !" 
 
 He ended, and straightway descended the pulpit stair, and 
 stalked out of the church, the people looking after him with awe 
 and wonder. But Mr. Boscorel smiled and wagged his head, 
 with a kind of pity. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 OUR HOME. 
 
 Thus did my father, by his own act and deed, strip himself 
 of all his worldly wealth. Yet, having nothing, he ceased not to 
 put his trust in the Lord, and continued to sit among his books, 
 never asking whence came the food provided for him. I think, 
 indeed, so wrapped was he in thought, that he knew not. As 
 for procuring his daily food, my mother it was who found out 
 the way. 
 
 Those who live in other parts of this kingdom do not know 
 what a busy and populous country is that of Somerset. Apart 
 from the shipping and the great trade with Ireland, Spain, and 
 the West Indies carried on from the port of Bristol, we have 
 our great manufactures of cloth, in which we are surpassed by 
 no country in the world. The town of Taunton alone can boast 
 of eleven hundred looms always at work making sagathies and 
 Des Roys ; there are many looms at Bristol, where they make 
 for the most part druggets and cantaloons ; there they are in 
 great numbers at that rich and populous town of Frome Sel- 
 wood, where they manufacture the Spanish medleys. Besides
 
 16 
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 the clothworkcrs, wc have, in addition, our knitted-stocking 
 trade, which is carried on mostly at Glastonbury and Shepton 
 Mallet. Not only does this flourishing trade make the masters 
 rich and prosperous (it is not uncommon to find a master with 
 his twenty — ay, and his forty — thousand pounds), but it fills all 
 the country with work, so that the towns are frequent, populous, 
 and full of everything that men can want ; and the very villages 
 are not like those which may be seen in other parts, poor and 
 squalid, but well built and comfortable. 
 
 Every cottage has its spinning-wheel. The mother, when she 
 is not doing the work of the house, sits at the wheel ; the girls, 
 when they have nothing else to do, are made to knit stockings. 
 Every week the master-clothier sends round his men among the 
 villages, their pack-horses laden with wool ; every week they 
 return, their packs laden with yarn, ready for the loom. 
 
 There is no part of England where the people are more pros- 
 perous and more contented. Nowhere are there more towns, 
 and all thriving : nowhere are the villaofes better built : nor can 
 one find anywhere else more beautiful churches. Because the 
 people make good wages they are independent in their manners ; 
 they have learned things supposed to be above the station of 
 the humble ; most of them in the towns, and many in the vil- 
 lages, are able to read. This enables them to search the Scrip- 
 tures, and examine inlo doctrine by the light of their own reason, 
 guided by grace. And to me, the daughter of a Nonconforming 
 preacher, it does not seem wonderful that so many of them 
 should have become stiff and sturdy Nonconformists. This 
 was seen in the year 1685, and, again, two or three years later, 
 when a greater than Monmouth landed on the western shores. 
 
 My mother, then, seeing no hope that her husband would 
 earn, by any work of his own, the daily bread of the house- 
 hold, bravely followed the example of the women in the village. 
 That is to say, she set up her spinning-wheel, and spent all the 
 time that she could spare spinning the wool into yarn ; while 
 she taught her little boy first, and afterwards her daughter — as 
 soon as I was old enouirh — to manage the needles, to knit stock- 
 ings. What trade, indeed, could her husband follow save one — 
 and that, by law, prohibited ? He could not dig ; he could not 
 make anything ; he knew not how to buy or sell ; he could only 
 study, write, and preach. Therefore, while he sat among his
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 17 
 
 books in one room, she sat over her wheel in the other, worlcinir 
 for the master-clothiers of Frome Selwood. It still makes my 
 heart to swell with pity and with love when I think upon my 
 mother, thus spending herself and being spent, working all day, 
 huckstering with the rough paek-horsemen more accustomed to 
 exchange rude jests with the rustics than to talk with gentle- 
 women. And this she continued to do year after year, cheerful 
 and contented, so that her husband should never feel the pinch 
 of poverty. Love makes us willing slaves. 
 
 My father, happily, was not a man whose mind was troubled 
 about food. lie j^aid no heed at all to what he ate, provided 
 that it was sufficient for his needs ; he would sup his broth of 
 pork and turnips and bread, after thanks rendered, as if it were 
 the finest dish in the world ; and a piece of cold bacon with a 
 hot cabbage would be a feast for him. The cider which he 
 drank was brewed by my mother from her own apples ; to him 
 it was as good as if it had been Sherris or Rhenish. I say that 
 he did not even know how his food was provided for him ; his 
 mind was at all times occupied with subjects so lofty that he 
 knew not what was done under his very eyes. The hand of 
 God, he said, doth still support his. faithful. Doubtless we can- 
 not look back upon those years without owning that we were so 
 supported. But my mother was the instrument ; nay, my father 
 sometimes even compared himself with satisfaction unto the 
 prophet Elijah whom the ravens fed in the Brook Cherith, 
 bringing him flesh and bread in the morning, and flesh and 
 bread in the evening. I suppose my father thought that his 
 bacon and beans came to him in the same manner. 
 
 Yet we should sometimes have fared but poorly had it not 
 been for the charity of our friends. Many a fat capon, green 
 goose, side of bacon, and young grunter came to us from the 
 manor-house, with tobacco, which my father loved, and wine 
 to comfort his soul ; yea, and clothes for us all, else had we 
 gone barefoot and in rags. In this way was many an ejected 
 Elijah at that time nourished and supported. Fresh meat we 
 should never have tasted, any more than the humblest around 
 us, had it not been for our good friends at the manor-house. 
 Those who live in towns cannot understand how frugal and yet 
 sufficient may be the fare of those who live in the country and 
 have gardens and orchards. Cider was our drink, which we 
 
 B
 
 18 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 made ourselves ; we had some sweet apple-trees, which gave us 
 a stock of russets and pippins for winter use ; we had bees (but 
 we sold most of our honey) ; our garden grew salads and onions, 
 beans and the like ; skim milk we could have from the manor- 
 house for the fetching ; for breakfast we had bread and milk, 
 for dinner bread and soft cheese, with a lettuce or an apple ; 
 and bread or bread-and-butter for supper. For my father there 
 was always kept a piece of bacon or fat pork. 
 
 Our house was one of the cottages m the village ; it is a stone 
 house (often I sit down to look at it, and to reiBcmber those 
 days of humility) with a thick thatch. It had two rooms below 
 and two garrets above. One room was made into a study or 
 library for my father, where also he slept upon a pallet. The 
 other was kitchen, spinning-room, parlor, all in one. The door 
 opened upon the garden, and the floor was of stone, so that it 
 was cold. But when Barnaby began to find the use of his hands, 
 he procured some boards, which he laid upon the stones, and so 
 we had a wooden floor ; and in winter across the door we hung 
 a curtain to keep ofl: the wind. 
 
 The walls were whitewashed, and over all my mother had 
 written texts of Scripture with charcoal, so that godly admoni- 
 tion was ever present to our eyes and minds. She also em- 
 broidered short texts upon our garments, and I have still the 
 cradle in which I was laid, carved (but I do not know by whose 
 hand) with a verse from the Word of God. My father used him- 
 self, and would have us employ, the words of the Bible even for 
 the smaller occasions of daily use ; nor would he allow that any- 
 thing was lawful unless it was sanctioned by the Bible, hold- 
 ing that in the Word was everything necessary or lawful. Did 
 Barnaby go shooting with Sir Christopher and bring him a rab- 
 bit ? — Lo ! David bade the children of Israel teach the use of 
 the bow. Did my mother instruct and amuse me with riddles ? 
 — She had the warrant of Scripture for it in the example of 
 Samson. Did she sing psalms and spiritual songs to while away 
 the time and make her work less irksome and please her little 
 daughter? — In the congregation of Nehemiah there were two 
 hundred forty and five singing men and singing w^omen. 
 
 My father read and expounded the Bible to us twice a day — 
 morning and evening. Besides the Bible we had few books 
 which we could read. As for my mother, poor soul, she had no
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 19 
 
 time to read. As for me, wlien I grew older I borrowed books 
 from the manor-house or Mr, Boscorel. And there were " Old 
 Mr. Dod's Sayings " and " Plain Directions by Joseph Large " 
 always on the shelf beside the Bible. 
 
 Now, while my father worked in his study and my brother 
 Earnaby either sat over his lesson-book, his hands rammed into 
 his hair, as if determined to lose nothing, not the least scrap of 
 his portion (yet knowing full well that on the morrow there 
 would not be a word left in his poor unlucky noddle, and once 
 more the whip), my mother. would sit at her wheel earning the 
 daily bread. And, when I was little, she would tell me, speak- 
 ing very softly, so as not to disturb the wrestling of her hus- 
 band with a knotty argument, all the things which you have 
 heard — how my father chose rather poverty than to worship at 
 the altar of Baal ; and how two thousand pious ministers, like- 
 minded with himself, left their pulpits and went out into the 
 cold for conscience' sake. So that I was easily led to think that 
 there were no Christian martyrs and confessors more excellent 
 and praiseworthy than these ejected ministers (which still I be- 
 lieve). Then would she tell me further of how. they fared, and 
 liow the common people do still reverence them. There was 
 the history of John Norman, of Bridgewater ; Joseph Chadwick, 
 of Wrenford ; Felix Howe, of West Torrington ; George Min- 
 ton, and many others. She also instructed me very early in the 
 history of the Protestant uprising over the best half of Europe, 
 and showed me how, against fearful odds, and after burnings 
 and tortures unspeakable, the good people of Germany, the 
 Netherlands, and Great Britain won their freedom from the 
 pope, so that my heart glowed within me to think of the great 
 goodness and mercy which caused me to be born in a Protestant 
 country. She also instructed me, later, in the wickedness of 
 King Charles, whom they now call a martyr, and in the plots of 
 that king, and Laud his archbishop, and how king and arch- 
 bishop were both overthrown and perished when the people 
 arose and would bear no more. In fine, my mother made me, 
 from the beginning, a Puritan. As I remember my mother al- 
 ways, she was pale of cheek and thin, her voice was gentle ; yet 
 with her very gentleness she would make the blood to run quick 
 in the veins and the heart to beat. 
 
 How have T seen the boys spring to their feet when she has
 
 20 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 talked with them of the great civil war and the Restoration ! 
 But always soft and gentle ; her blue eyes never flashing ; no 
 wrath in her heart ; but the truth, which often causeth righteous 
 anger, always upon her tongue. 
 
 One day, I remember, when I was a little girl playing in the 
 garden, Mr. Boscorel walked down the village in his great silken 
 gown, Avhich seemed always new, his lace ruffs, and his white 
 bands, looking like a bishop at least, and walking delicately, 
 holding up his gown to keep it from the dust and mud. When 
 he spoke it was in a mincing speech, not like our rough Somer- 
 setshire ways. He stopped at our gate, and looked down the 
 garden. It was a summer day, the doors and windows of the 
 cottage were open ; at our window sat my father bending over 
 his books, in his rusty gown and black cap, thin and lank ; at 
 the door sat my mother at her wheel. 
 
 " Child," said the rector, " take heed thou never forget in 
 thine age the thing which thou seest daily in thy childhood." 
 
 I knew not what he meant. 
 
 "Read and mark," he said; "yea, learn by heart what the 
 Wise Man hath said of the good woman : ' She layeth her hand 
 to the spindle . . . she maketh fine linen and selleth it . . . 
 she eateth not the bread of idleness. . . . Let her works praise 
 her in the gfates.' " 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 THE BOYS. 
 
 The family of Challis, of Bradford Orcas, is well known ; 
 here there has always been a Challis from time immemorial. 
 They arc said to have been on the land before the time of the 
 Conqueror. But because they have never been a great family 
 like the Mohuns of Dunster, but only modest gentle-folk with 
 some four or five hundred pounds a year, they have not suf- 
 fered, like those great houses, from the civil wars, which, when 
 they raged in the land, brought in their train so many attainders, 
 sequestrations, beheadings, imprisonments, and fines. Whether 
 the barons fought, or whether Cavaliers and Roundheads, the 
 Challises remained at Bradford Orcas.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 21 
 
 Since the land is theirs and the village, it is reasonable that 
 they should have done everything that has been done for the 
 place. One of them built the church, but I know not when ; 
 another built the tower ; another gave the peal of bells. He 
 who reigned here in the time of llenry VII. built the manor- 
 house ; another built the mill ; the monuments in the church are 
 all put up to the memory of Challises dead and gone ; there is 
 one, a very stately tomb, which figures to the life Sir William 
 Challis (who died in the time of Queen Elizabeth), carved in 
 marble, and colored, kneeling at a desk ; opposite to him is his 
 second wife, Grace, also kneeling. Behind the husband are 
 three boys on their knees, and behind the wife are three girls. 
 Apart from this group is the effigy of Filipa, Sir Christopher's 
 first wife, with four daughters kneeling behind her. I was al- 
 ways sorry for Filipa, thus separated and cut off from the soci- 
 ety of her husband. There are brasses on the floor with figures 
 of other Challises, and tablets in the wall, and the Challis coat- 
 of-arms is everywhere cut in lozenges, painted in Avood, and 
 shining in the east window. It always seemed to me, in my 
 young days, that it was the grandest thing in the world to be a 
 Challis. 
 
 In this family there was a laudable practice with the younger 
 sons that they stayed not at home, as is too often their custom, 
 leading indolent lives without ambition or fortune, but they sal- 
 lied forth and sought fortune in trade, or in the law, or in the 
 Church, or in foreign service — wherever fortune is to be honor- 
 ably won — so that, though I dare say some have proved dead 
 and dry branches, others have put forth flowers and fruit abun- 
 dantly, forming new and vigorous trees sprung from the ancient 
 root. Thus, some have become judges, and some bishops, and 
 some great merchants ; some have crossed the ocean, and are 
 now settled in the Plantations ; some have attained rank and 
 estates in the service of Austria. Thus, Sir Christopher's broth- 
 er Humphrey Avent to London and became a Levant merchant 
 and adventurer, rising to great honor and becoming alderman. 
 I doubt not that he would have been made lord mayor but for 
 his untimely death. And as for his wealth, which was rumored 
 to be so ffreat — but vou shall hear of this in due time. 
 
 That goodly following of his household which you have seen 
 enter the church on Farewell Sunday, was shortly afterwards
 
 22 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 broken into by death. There fell upon the village (I think it 
 was in the year 1665) the scourge of a putrid fever, of which 
 there died, besides numbers of the village folk, madarae herself 
 - — the honored wife of Sir Christopher — Humphrey his son, and 
 Madame Patience Boscorel, his daughter. There were left to 
 Sir Christopher, therefore, only his daughter-in-law and his in- 
 fant grandson Robin. And in that year his household was in- 
 creased by the arrival of his grand-nephew Humphrey. This 
 child was the grandson of Sir Christopher's brother, the Turkey 
 or Levant merchant of whom I have spoken. He was rich and 
 prosperous : his ships sailed out every year laden with I know 
 not what, and returned with figs, dates, spices, gums, silks, and 
 all kinds of precious commodities from Eastern parts. It is, I 
 have been told, a profitable trade, but subject to terrible dangers 
 from Moorish pirates, who must be bravely fought and beaten 
 oflf, otherwise ship and cargo will be taken, and captain and 
 crew driven into slavery. Mr. Challis lived in Thames Street, 
 close to Tower Hill. It is said that he lived here in great splen- 
 dor, as befits a rich merchant who is also an alderman. 
 
 Now, in the year 1665, as is very well known, the plague 
 broke out in the City. There were living in the house the 
 alderman, his wife, his son, his son's wife, a daughter, and his 
 grandson, little Humphrey. On the first outbreak of the pesti- 
 lence thev took counsel toarether, and resolved that the child 
 should be first sent away to be out of danger, and that they 
 would follow if the plague spread. 
 
 This was done, and a sober man, one of their porters or ware- 
 housemen, carried the child, with his nurse, all the way from 
 London to Bradford Orcas. Alas ! Before the boy reached his 
 great-uncle, the house in Thames Street was attacked by the 
 plague, and every one therein perished. Thus was poor little 
 Humphrey deprived of his parents. I know not who were his 
 guardians or trustees, or what steps, if any, were taken to in- 
 quire into the alderman's estate ; but when, next year, the Great 
 Fire of London destroyed the house in Thames Street, with so 
 many others, all the estate, whatever it had been, vanished, and 
 could no more be traced. There must have been large moneys 
 owing. It is certain that he had shares in ships. It has been 
 supposed that he owned many houses in the City, but they were 
 destroyed and their very sites forgotten, and no deeds or papers,
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 23 
 
 or any proof of ownership, were left. Moreover, there was no- 
 body charged with inquirino- into this orphan's affairs. There- 
 fore, in the general confusion nothing at all was saved out of 
 what had been a goodly property, and the child Humphrey was 
 left without a guinea in the world. Thus unstable is Fortune. 
 
 I know not whether Humphrey received a fall in his infancy, 
 or whether he was born with his deformity, but the poor lad 
 grew up with a crooked figure, one shoulder being higher than 
 the other, and his legs short, so that he looked as if his arms 
 were too long for him. We, who saw him thus every day, paid 
 no heed, nor did he suffer from any of those cruel gibes and 
 taunts which are often passed upon lads thus atliicted. As he 
 was by nature or misfortune debarred from the rough sports 
 which pleased his cousins, the boy gave himself up to reading 
 and study, and to music. His manner of speech was soft and 
 gentle; his voice was always sweet, and afterwards became 
 strong as well, so that I have never heard a better singer. His 
 face — ah ! my brother Humphrey, what a lovely face was thine ! 
 All goodness, surely, was stamped upon that face. Never, never 
 did an unworthy thought defile that candid soul, or a bad action 
 cast a cloud upon that brow ! Where art thou now, oh, Hum- 
 phrey ! brother and fond companion — whither hast thou fled ? 
 
 As for Robin, Sir Christopher's grandson, I think he was al- 
 ways what he is still, namely, a man of a joyous heart and a 
 cheerful countenance. As a boy he laughect continually, would 
 sing more willingly than read, would play rather than work, 
 loved to course and shoot and ride better than to learn Latin 
 grammar, and would readily off coat and fight with any who in- 
 vited him. Yet not a fool or a clown, but always a gentleman 
 in manners, and one who read such things as behoove a country 
 gentleman, and scrupulous as to the point of honor. Such as 
 he is still such he was always. And of a comely presence, with 
 a rosy cheek and bright eyes, and the streng"th of a young Da- 
 vid, as well as his ruddy and goodly countenance. The name 
 of David, I am told, means " darling." Therefore, ought my 
 Robin to have been named David. There were two other boys 
 — Barnaby, my brother, who was six years older than myself, 
 and, therefore, always a great boy ; and Benjamin, the son of 
 the Rev. Mr. Boscorel, th« rector. Barnaby grew up so broad 
 and strong that at twelve he would have passed easily for seven-
 
 24 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 teen ; liis square shoulders, deep chest, and big limbs made him 
 like a bull for strength. Yet he was shorter than most, and 
 looked shorter than he was by reason of his great breadth. He 
 was always exercising his strength ; he would toss the hay with 
 the haymakers, and carry the corn for the reapers, and thresh 
 with the flail, and guide the plough. He loved to climb great 
 trees, and to fell them with an axe. Everybody in the village 
 admired his wonderful strength. Unfortunately, he loved not 
 books, and could never learn anything, so that when, by dint of 
 great application and many repetitions, he had learned a little 
 piece of a Latin verb, he straightway forgot it in the night, and 
 so, next day, there was another flogging. But that he heeded 
 little, lie was five years older than Robin, and taught him all 
 his woodcraft — where to find pheasants' eggs, how to catch 
 squirrels, how to trap weasels and stoats, how to hunt the otter, 
 how to make a goldfinch whistle and a raven talk— never was 
 there such a master of that wisdom which doth not advance a 
 man in the world. 
 
 Now, before Barnaby's birth, Jiis mother, after the manner of 
 Hannah, gave him solemnly unto the Lord all the days of his 
 life, and after his birth, her husband, after the manner of Elka- 
 nah, said " Do what seemeth thee good ; only the Lord establish 
 his word." He was, therefore, to become a minister, like his 
 father before him. Alas ! poor Barnaby could not even learn 
 the Latin verbs, and his heart, it was found, as he grew older, 
 was wholly set upon the things of this world. Wherefore, my 
 mother prayed for him daily while she sat at her work, that his 
 heart might be turned, and that he might get understanding. 
 
 As for the fourth of the boys, Benjamin Boscorel, he was 
 about two years younger than Barnaby, a boy who, for want of 
 a mother, and because his father was careless of him, grew up 
 rough and coarse in manners and in speech, and boastful of his 
 powers. To hear Ben talk you would think that all the boys 
 of his school (the grammar-school of Sherborne) were heroes; 
 that the Latin taught was of a quality superior to that which 
 Robin and Humphrey learned of my father ; and that when he 
 himself went out into the world the superiority of his parts 
 would be immediately perceived and acknowledged. 
 
 Those who watch boys at play together — girls more early 
 learn to govern themselves and to conceal their thoughts, if not
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 25 
 
 their tempers — may, after a manner, predict the future character 
 of every one. There is the man who wants all for himself, and 
 still wants more, and will take all and yield nothing, save on 
 compulsion, and cares not a straw about his neighbor — such was 
 Benjamin as a boy. There is the man who gives all generously 
 — such as Robin. There is, again, the man whose mind is raised 
 above the petty cares of the multitude, and dwells apart, occu- 
 pied with great thoughts — such was Humphrey. Lastly, there 
 is the man who can act but cannot think, who is born to be led, 
 who is full of courage and of strength, and leaves all to his com- 
 mander, captain, or master — such was Barnaby. 
 
 As I think of these lads it seems as if the kind of man into 
 which each would grow must have been stamped upon their 
 foreheads. Perhaps to the elders this prognostic was easy to 
 read. 
 
 They suffered me to play with them or to watch them at play. 
 When the boys went off to the woods I went with them. I 
 watched them set their traps — I ran when they ran. And then, 
 as now, I loved Robin and Humphrey. But I could not endure 
 — no ; not even the touch of him — Benjamin, with the loud 
 lauffh and the brao-ofart voice, who lauo-hed at me because I was 
 a girl and could not fight. The time came when he did not 
 laugh at me because I was a girl. And oh ! to think — only to 
 think — of the time that came after that ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER. 
 
 At the mere remembrance of Sir Christopher, I am fain to 
 lay down my pen and to weep, as for one whose goodness was 
 unsurpassed, and whose end w^as undeserved. Good works, I 
 know, are rags, and men cannot deserve the mercy of God by 
 any merits of their own ; but a good man — a man whose heart 
 is full of justice, mercy, virtue, and truth — is so rare a creature, 
 that when there is found such an one his salvation seems as- 
 sured. Is it not wonderful that there are among us so many 
 good Christians, but so few good men ? I am, indeed, in pri- 
 vate duty bound to acknowledge Sir Christopher's goodness to
 
 26 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 me and to mine. He was, as I have said, the mainstay of our 
 household. Had we depended wholly on my mother's work, 
 we should sometimes have fared miserably indeed. Nay, he did 
 more. Though a justice of the peace, he invited my father 
 every Sunday evening to the manse-house for spiritual conver- 
 sation, not only for his own profit, but knowing that to expound 
 was to my father the breath of his nostrils, so that if he could 
 not expound he must die. In person. Sir Christopher was tall ; 
 after the fashion (which I love) of the days when he was a 
 young man, he wore his own hair, which, being now white and 
 long, became his venerable face much better than any wig — 
 white, black, or brown. He was generally dressed, as became 
 his station of simple country gentleman, in a plush coat with 
 silver buttons, and for the most part he wore boots, being of an 
 active habit and always walking about his fields or in his gar- 
 dens among his flowers and his fruit-trees. He was so good a 
 sportsman that with his rod, his gun, and his hawk he provided 
 his table with everything except beef, mutton, and pork. In 
 religion he inclined to Independency, being above all things an 
 upholder of private judgment ; in politics, he denied the divine 
 right, and openly said that a Challis might be a king as well as 
 a Stuart ; he abhorred the 2:)ope and all his works ; and though 
 he was now for a monarchy, he would have the king's own 
 power limited by the Parliament. In his manners he was grave 
 and dignified ; not austere, but one who loved a cheerful com- 
 panion. He rode once a week, on market day, to Sherborne, 
 where he dined with his brother justices, hearing and discuss- 
 ing the news, though news comes but slowly from London to 
 these parts — it was fourteen days after the landing of the king, 
 in the year 1660, that the bells of Sherborne Minster rang for 
 that event. Sometimes a copy of the London Gazette came 
 down by the Exeter coach, or some of the company had lately 
 passed a night where the coach stopped, and conversed with 
 travellers from London and heard the news. For the rest of 
 the week, his honor was at home. For the most part he sat in 
 the hall. In the middle stands the great oak table where all 
 the household sit at meals together. There was little differ- 
 ence between the dishes served above and those below the salt, 
 save that those above had each a glass of strong ale or of wine 
 after dinner and supper. One side of the hall was hung with
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 27 
 
 arras worked with representations of herbs, beasts, and birds. 
 On the other side was the great chimney, where in the winter 
 a noble fire was kept up all day long. On either side of it hung 
 fox skins, otter skins, polecat skins, with fishing-rods, stags' 
 heads, horns, and other trophies of the chase. At the end was 
 a screen covered Avith old coats-of-mail, helmets, bucklers, lances, 
 pikes, pistols, guns with match-locks, and a trophy of swords 
 arranged in form of a star. Below the cornice hung a row of 
 leathern jerkins, black and dusty, which had formerly been worn 
 in j)lace of armor by the common sort. In the oriel window 
 was a sloping desk, having on one side the Bible, and on the 
 other Fox's " Book of Martyrs." Below was a shelf with other 
 books, such as Vincent Wing's Almanack, King Charles's " Gold- 
 en Rules," " Glanville on Apparitions," the " Complete Jus- 
 tice," and the " Book of Farriery." There was also in the hall 
 a great sideboard, covered with Turkey work, pewter, brass, and 
 fine linen. In the cupboard below was his honor's plate, re- 
 ported to be worth a great deal of money. 
 
 Sir Christopher sat in a high chair, curiously carved, with 
 arms and a triangular seat. It had belonged to the family for 
 many generations. Within reach of the chair was the tobacco- 
 jar, his pipe, and his favorite book — namely, " The Gentleman's 
 Academic : or the Book of St. Alban's, being a work on Hunt- 
 ing, Hawking, and Armorie," by Dame Juliana Berners, who 
 wrote it two hundred and fifty years ago. Sir Christopher loved 
 especially to read aloud a chapter in which it was proved that 
 the distinction between gentleman and churl began soon after 
 the creation, when Cain proved himself a churl, and Seth was 
 created gentleman and esquire, or armiger, by Adam, his father. 
 This distinction was renewed after the flood by Noah himself, 
 a gentleman by lineal descent from Seth. In the case of his 
 sons, Ham was the churl, and the other two were the gentle- 
 men. I have sometimes thought that, according to this author, 
 all of us who are descended from Shem or Japhet should be 
 gentlemen, in which case there would be no churl in Great Brit- 
 ain at all. But certainly there are many ; so that, to my poor 
 thinking. Dame Juliana Berners must be wrong. 
 
 There is, in addition to the great hall, the best parlor. But 
 as this was never wanted, the door of it was never opened ex- 
 cept at cleaning time. Then, to be sure, one saw a room fur-
 
 28 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 nished very grand, witli chairs in Turkey work, and liung round 
 ■with family portraits. The men were clad in armor, as if they 
 had all been soldiers or commanders ; the women were mostly 
 dressed as shepherdesses, with crooks in their hands and flow- 
 ing robes. In the garden was a long bowling green, where in 
 summer Sir Christopher took great pleasure in that ancient 
 game ; below the garden was a broad fish-pond, made by dam- 
 ming the stream ; above and below the pond there are trout, and 
 in the pond are carp and jack. A part of the garden was laid 
 out for flowers, a part for the stillroom, and a part for fruit. I 
 have never seen anywhere a better ordered garden for the still- 
 room. Everything grew therein that the housewife wants : 
 sweet cicely, rosemary, burnet, sweet basil, chives, dill, clary, 
 angelica, lipwort, tarragon, thyme, and mint ; there were, as 
 Lord Bacon, in his " Essay on Gardens," would have, " whole 
 alleys of them to have the pleasure when you walk or tread." 
 There were thick hedges to keep off the east wind in spring, so 
 that one would enjoy the sun when that cold wind was blowing. 
 But in Somerset that wind hath not the bitterness that it pos- 
 sesses along the eastern shores of the land. 
 
 Every morning Sir Christopher sat in his justice's chair under 
 the helmets and the coats of armor. Sometimes gypsies would 
 be brought before him, charged with stealing poultry or poison- 
 ing pigs ; or a rogue and vagabond would stray into the parish ; 
 these gentry were very speedily whipped out of it. As for our 
 own people, there is nowhere a more quiet and orderly village ; 
 quarrels there are with the clothiers' men, who will still try to 
 beat down the value of the women's work, and bickerings some- 
 times between the women themselves. Sir Christopher was 
 judge for all. Truly he was a patriarch like unto Abraham, and 
 a father to his people. Never was sick man suffered to want 
 for medicines and succor ; never was aged man suffered to lack 
 food and fire ; did any youth show leanings towards sloth, profli- 
 gacy, or drunkenness, he was straightway admonished, and that 
 right soundly, so that his back and shoulders would remind him 
 for many days of his sin. By evil-doers Sir Christopher was 
 feared as much as he was beloved by all good men and true. 
 This also is proper to one in higli station and authority. 
 
 In the evening he amused himself in j^laying backgammon 
 with the boys, or chess with his son-in-law, Mr. Boscorel ; but
 
 " Every morning Sir Christopher sat in his justice's chair Some- 
 times gypsies woxdd he brought before him charged icith stealing poultry."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 29 
 
 the latter with less pleasure, because he was generally defeated 
 in the game. He greatly delighted in the conversation and so- 
 ciety of that learned and ingenious gentleman, though on mat- 
 ters of religion and of politics his son-in-law belonged to the 
 opposite way of thinking, 
 
 I do not know why Mr. Boscorel took upon himself holy or- 
 ders. God forbid that I should speak ill of any in author- 
 ity, and especially of one who was kind and charitable to all, 
 and refused to become a persecutor of those who desired freedom 
 of conscience and of speech. But if the chief duty of a minis- 
 ter of the gospel is to preach, then was Mr. Boscorel little better 
 than a dog who cannot bark. He did not preach ; that is to 
 say, he could not, like my father, mount the pulpit, Bible in 
 hand, and teach, admonish, argue, and convince without a writ- 
 ten word. He read every Sunday morning a brief discourse, 
 which might, perhaps, have instructed Oxford scholars, but would 
 not be understood by the common people. As for arguments 
 on religion, spiritual conversation, or personal experience of 
 grace, he would never suffer such talk in his presence, because 
 it argued private judgment and caused, he said, the growth of 
 spiritual pride. And of those hot Gospellers whose zeal brings 
 them to prison and the pillory, he spoke with contempt. His 
 conversation, I must acknowledge, was full of delight and in- 
 struction, if the things which one learned of him were not vani- 
 ties. He had travelled in Italy and in France, and he loved to 
 talk of poetry, architecture, statuary, medals and coins, antiqui- 
 ties and so forth — things harmless, and, perhaps, laudable in 
 themselves, but for a preacher of the gospel, who ought to think 
 of nothing but his sacred calling, they are surely superfluities. 
 Or he would talk of the manners and customs of strange coun- 
 tries, and especially of the pope. This person, whom I have 
 been taught to look upon as from the very nature of his pre- 
 tensions the most wicked of living men, Mr. Boscorel regarded 
 with as much toleration as he bestowed upon an Independent. 
 Thus he would tell us of London and the manners of the great ; 
 of the king, whom he had seen, and the court, seeming to wink 
 at things which one ought to hold in abhorrence. He even told 
 us of the playhouse, which, according to my father, is the most 
 subtle engine ever invented by the devil for the destruction of
 
 30 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 souls. Yet Mr. Boscorel sighed to think tliat lie could no long- 
 er visit that place of amusement. He loved also music, and 
 played movingly upon the violoncello ; and he could make pict- 
 ures with pen, pencil, or brush. I have some of his paintings 
 still, especially a picture -which he drew of Humphrey playing 
 the fiddle, his great eyes looking upward as if the music were 
 drawing his soul to heaven. I know not why he painted a halo 
 about his face. Mr. Boscorel also loved poetry, and quoted 
 Shakespeare and Ben Jonson more readily than the word of God. 
 In person he was of a goodly countenance, having clear-cut 
 features ; a straight nose, rather long ; soft eyes, and a gentle 
 voice. He was dainty in his apparel, loving fine clean linen, 
 and laced neckerchiefs, but was not a gross feeder ; he drank 
 but little wine, but would discourse upon fine wines, such as the 
 Tokay of Hungary, Commandery wine from Cyprus, and the 
 like, and he seemed better pleased to watch the color of the 
 wine in the glass, and to breathe its perfume, than to drink it. 
 Above all things he hated coarse speech and rude manners. He 
 spoke of men as if he stood on an eminence watching them, and 
 always with pity, as if he belonged to a nobler creation. How 
 could such a man have such a son ? 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE RUNAWAY. 
 
 Everybody hath heard, and old people still remember, how 
 one act after the other was passed for the suppression of the 
 Nonconformists, whom the Church of England tried to extir- 
 pate, but could not. Had these laws been truly carried into 
 effect there would have been great suffering among the Dissent- 
 ers ; but, in order to enforce them, every man's hand would 
 have been turned against his neighbor, and this — thank God ! — 
 is not possible in Somerset. 
 
 For example, the Act of Conformity provided not only for 
 the ejectment of Nonconforming ministers (which was duly car- 
 ried out), but also enacted that none of them should take schol- 
 ars without the license of the bishop. Yet many of the ejected 
 ministers maintained themselves in this way, openly, without the
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 31 
 
 bishop's license. They were not molested, though they might 
 he threatened by some hot Episcopalian ; nor were the bishops 
 anxious to set the country afire by attempting to enforce this 
 law. One must not take from an honest neighbor, whatever an 
 unjust law may command, his only way of living. 
 
 Again, the act passed two years later punished all persons 
 with fine and imprisonment who attended conventicles. Yet the 
 conventicles continued to be held over the whole country, be- 
 cause it was impossible for the justices to fine and imprison 
 men with whom they sat at dinner every market-day, with whom 
 they took their punch and tobacco, and whom they knew to be 
 honest and God-fearing folk. Again, how could they fine and 
 imprison their own flesh and blood ? Why, in every family 
 there were some who loved the meeting-house better than the 
 steeple-house. Laws have little j)Ower when they are against 
 the conscience of the people. 
 
 Thirdly, there was an act prohibiting ministers from residing 
 within five miles of the village or town where they had preached. 
 This was a most cruel and barbarous act, because it sent the 
 poor ministers away from the help of their friends. Yet how 
 was it regarded ? My father, for his part, continued to live at 
 Bradford Orcas without let or hinderance, and so, no doubt, did 
 many more. 
 
 Again, another act was passed giving authority to justices of 
 the peace to break open doors and to take in custody persons 
 found assembling for worship. I have heard of disturbances at 
 Taunton, where the magistrates carried things with a high hand ; 
 but I think the people who met to worship after their own fash- 
 ion were little disturbed. Among the Churchmen were some, 
 no doubt, who remembered the snubs and rubs they had them- 
 selves experienced, and the memory may have made them re- 
 vengeful. All the persecution, it is certain, was not on the side 
 of the Church. There was, for instance, the case of Dr. AValter 
 Raleigh, Dean of Wells, who was clapped into a noisome pris- 
 on where the plague had broken out. He did not die of that 
 disease, but was done to death in the jail, barbarously, by one 
 David Barrett, shoemaker, who was never punished for the mur- 
 der, but was afterwards made constable of the City. There was 
 also the case of the Rev. Dr. Piers, whom I have myself seen, 
 for he lived to a good old age. He was a prebendary of Wells,
 
 32 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 and, being driven forth, was compelled to turn farmer, and to 
 work with his own hands — digging, hoeing, ploughing, reaping, 
 and threshing — when he should have been in his study. Every 
 week this reverend and learned doctor of divinity was to be seen 
 at Ilminster Market, standing beside the pillars with his cart, 
 among the farmers and their wives, selling his apples, cheese, 
 and cabbr.ges. 
 
 I say that no doubt many remembered these things. Yet the 
 affection of the people went forth to the Nonconformists and the 
 ejected ministers, as was afterwards but too well proved. I 
 have been speaking of things which happened before my recol- 
 lection. It was in the year 1665, four years after the ejection, 
 that I was born. My father named me Grace Abounding, but I 
 have never been called by any other name than my first. I was 
 thus six years younger than my brother Barnaby, and two years 
 younger than Robin and Humphrey. 
 
 The first thing that I can recollect is a kind of picture, pre- 
 served, so to speak, in my head. At the open door is a woman 
 spinning at the wheel. She is a woman with a pale, grave face ; 
 she works diligently, and for the most part in silence ; if she 
 speaks, it is to encourage or to admonish a little girl who plays 
 in the garden outside. Her lips move as she works, because she 
 communes with her thoughts all day long. From time to time 
 she turns her head and looks with anxiety into the other room, 
 where sits her husband at his table. 
 
 Before him stand three boys. They are Barnaby, Robin, and 
 Humphrey. They are learning Latin. The room is piled with 
 books on shelves and books on the floor. In the corner is a pal- 
 let, which is the master's bed by night. I hear the voices of 
 the boys who repeat their lessons, and the admonishing of their 
 master. I can see through the open door the boys themselves. 
 One, a stout and broad lad, is my brother Barnaby ; he hangs 
 his head and forgets his lesson, and causes his father to punish 
 him every day. He receives admonition with patience, yet prof- 
 iteth nothing. The next is Humphrey ; he is already a lad of 
 grave and modest carriage, who loves his book and learns dili- 
 gently. The third is Robin, whose parts are good, were his ap- 
 plication equal to his intelligence. He is impatient, and longs 
 for the time when he may close his book and go to play again. 
 
 Poor Barnaby 1 at the sight of a Latin grammar he would feel
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 3,3 
 
 sick. He would willingly have taken a flogging every day — to 
 be sure, that generally happened to liim — in order to escape liis 
 lessons and be off to the fields and woods. 
 
 It was the sight of his rueful face — yet never sad except at 
 lessons — which made my mother sigh when she saw him dull 
 but patient over his book. Had he stayed at home I know not 
 what could have been done with him, seeing that to become a 
 preacher of the gospel was beyond even the power of prayer 
 (the Lord having clearly expressed his will in this matter). He 
 would have had to clap on a leathern apron, and become a wheel- 
 wright or blacksmith ; nothing better than an honest trade was 
 possible for him. 
 
 But (whether happily or not) a strange whim seized the boy 
 when he was fourteen years of age. He would go to sea. How 
 he came to think of the sea I know not ; he had never seen the 
 sea ; there were no sailors in the village ; there was no talk of 
 the sea. Perhaps Humphrey, who read many books, told him 
 of the great doings of our sailors on the Spanish main and else- 
 where. Perhaps some of the clothiers' men, who are a roving 
 and unsettled crew, had been sailors ; some, I know, had been 
 soldiers under Oliver. However, this matters not, Barnaby must 
 needs become a sailor. 
 
 When first he broke this resolution, which he did secretly, to 
 his mother, she began to weep and lament, because everybody 
 knows how dreadful is the life of a sailor, and how full of dan- 
 gers. She begged him to put the thought out of his head, and 
 to apply himself again to his books. 
 
 " Mother," he said, " it is no use. What comes in at one 
 ear goes out at the other. Nothing sticks ; I shall never be a 
 scholar." 
 
 " Then, my son, learn an honest trade." 
 
 " What ? Become the village cobbler — or the blacksmith ? 
 Go hat in hand to his honor, when my father should have been 
 a bishop, and my mother is a gentlewoman ? That will I not. 
 I will go and be a sailor. All sailors are gentlemen. I shall 
 rise, and become first mate, and then second captain, and lastly, 
 captain in command. AVho knows ? I may go and fight the 
 Spaniard, if I am lucky." 
 
 "Oh, my son, canst thou not stay at home and go to church, 
 and consider the condition of thine immortal soul ? Of sailors 
 2* C
 
 34 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 it is well known that their language is made up of profane oaths, 
 and that they are all profligates and drunkards. Consider, my 
 son" — my mother laid her hand upon his arm — "what were 
 heaven to me, if I have not my dear cliildren with me as well 
 as my husband ? How could I praise the Lord if I were think- 
 ing of my son who was not with me ? but — ah ! Heaven forbid 
 the thought !" 
 
 Barnaby made no reply. What could he say in answer to my 
 mother's tears ? Yet I think slie must have understood very well 
 that her son, having got this resolution into his head, would nev- 
 er give it up. 
 
 " Oh !" she said, " when thou wast a little baby in my arms, 
 Barnaby — who art now so big and strong " — she looked at him 
 with the wonder and admiration that women feel when their 
 sons grow big and stout — " I prayed that God would accept thee 
 as an offering for his service. Thou art vowed unto the Lord, 
 my son, as much as Samuel. Do you think he complained of 
 his lessons ? What would have happened, think you, to Samuel, 
 if he had taken off his ephod and declared that he would serve 
 no longer at the altar, but must take spear and shield, and go to 
 fight the Amalekite ?" 
 
 Said Barnaby, in reply, speaking from an unregenerate heart, 
 " Mother, had I been Samuel, to wear an ephod and to learn the 
 Latin syntax every day, I should have done that. Ay ! I would 
 have done it, even if I knew that at the first skirmish an arrow 
 would pierce my heart." 
 
 It was after a great flogging, on account of the passive voice 
 or some wrestling with the syntax, that Barnaby plucked up 
 courage to tell his father what he wished to do. 
 
 "With my consent," said my father, sternly, "thou shalt 
 never become a sailor. As soon would I send thee to become a 
 buffoon in a playliouse. Never dare to speak of it again." 
 
 Barnaby hung his head and said nothing. 
 
 Then my mother, who knew his obstinate disposition, took 
 him to Sir Christopher, who chid him roundly, telling him that 
 there was work for him on land, else he would have been born 
 beside the coast, where the lads take naturally to the sea ; that 
 being, as he was, only an ignorant boy, and landborn, he could 
 Dot know the dangers which he would encounter; that some 
 ships are cast away on desert islands, where the survivors re-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 35 
 
 main in misery until they died, and some on lands where savages 
 devour them, and some are dragged down by calamaries and 
 other dreadful monsters, and some are burned at sea, their crews 
 having to choose miserably between burning and drowning, and 
 some are taken by the enemy, and the sailors clapped into dun- 
 geons and tortured by the accursed Inquisition. 
 
 Many more things did Sir Christopher set forth, showing the 
 miserable life and the wretched end of the sailor. But Barnaby 
 never changed countenance ; and though my mother bade him 
 note this and mark that, and take heed unto his honor's words, 
 his face showed no melting. 'Twas always an obstinate lad ; 
 nay, it was his obstinacy alone which kept him from his learn- 
 ing. Otherwise, he might perhaps have become as great a schol- 
 ar as Humphrey. 
 
 " Sir," he said, v>^hen Sir Christopher had no other word to 
 say, " with submission, I would still choose to be a sailor, if I 
 could." 
 
 In the end he obtained his wish. That is to say, since no 
 one would help him towards it, he helped himself. And this, I 
 think, is the only way in which men do ever get what they want. 
 
 It happened one evening that there passed through the vil- 
 lage a man with a pipe and tabor, on which he played so mov- 
 ingly that all the people turned out to listen. For my own part 
 I was with my mother, yet I ran to the garden-gate and leaned 
 my head over, drawn by the sound of the music. Presently the 
 boys and girls began to take hands and to dance. I dare not 
 say that to dance is sinful, because David danced. But it was 
 so regarded by my father, so that when he passed by them, on 
 his way home from taking the air, and actually saw his own son 
 Barnaby in the middle of the dancers, footing it with them all, 
 leading one girl up and the other down at " John come and kiss 
 me now," he was seized with a mighty wrath, and, catching his 
 son sharply by the ear, led him out of the throng and so home. 
 For that evening Barnaby went supperless to bed, with the 
 promise of such a flogging in the morning as would cause him 
 to remember for the rest of his life the sinfulness of dancing. 
 Never had I seen my father so angry. I trembled before his 
 wrathful eyes. But Barnaby faced him with steady looks, mak- 
 ing answer none, yet not showing the least repentance or fear. 
 I thought it was because a flogging had no terrors for him. The
 
 36 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 event proved that I was wrong, for when we awoke in the morn- 
 ing he was gone. He had crept down-stairs in the night ; he 
 had taken half a loaf of bread and a great cantle of soft cheese, 
 and had gone away. I knew for my part, very well, that he had 
 not gone for fear of the rod ; he had run away with design to 
 go to sea. Perhaps he had gone to Bristol ; perhaps to Plym- 
 outh ; perhaps to Lyme. My mother wept, and my father sighed ; 
 and for ten years more we neither saw nor heard anything of 
 Barnaby, not even whether he was dead or living. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BENJAMIN, LORD CHANCELLOR. 
 
 Summer follows winter, and winter summer, in due course, 
 turning children into young men and maidens, changing school 
 into work, and play into love, and love into marriage, and so 
 onwards to the churchyard, where we all presently lie, hopeful 
 of Heaven's mercy, whether Mr. Boscorel did stand beside our 
 open grave in his white surplice, or my father in his black gown. 
 
 Barnaby was gone ; the other three grew tall, and would still 
 be talkinof of the lives before them. Girls do never look for- 
 ward to the future with the eagerness and joy of boys. To 
 the dullest boy it seems a fine thing to be master of his own ac- 
 tions, even if that liberty lead to whipping-post, pillory, or gal- 
 lows. To boys of ambition and imagination the gifts of Fortune 
 show like the splendid visions of a proi^het. They think that 
 earthly fame will satisfy the soul. Perhaps women see these 
 glories and tlieir true worth with clearer eye, as not desiring 
 them. And truly it seems a small thing, after a life spent in 
 arduous toil, and with one foot already in the grave, to obtain 
 fortune, rank, or title. 
 
 Benjamin and Humphrey were lads of ambition. To them, 
 but in fields which lay far apart, the best life seemed to be that 
 which is spent among men on the ant-hill where all are driving 
 and being driven, loading each other with burdens intolerable, 
 or with wealth or with honors, and then dying and being for- 
 gotten in a moment — which we call London. In the kindly 
 country one stands apart and sees the vanity of human wishes.
 
 " He was seized with a mighty wrath, and catching his son sharjily oy ttie 
 ear, led him out of the throng, and so home."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 37 
 
 Yet the ambition of Humphrey, it must be confessed, was no- 
 ble, because it Avas not for his own advancement, but for the 
 good of mankind. 
 
 " I shall stay at home," said Robin, " You two may go if 
 you please. Perhaps you will like the noise of London, where 
 a man cannot hear himself speak, they say, for the roaring of 
 the crowd, the ringing of the bells, and the rumbling of the carts. 
 As for me, what is good enough for my grandfather will be sure- 
 ly good enough for me." 
 
 It should, indeed, be good enough for anybody to spend his 
 days after the manner of Sir Christopher, administering justice 
 for the villagers, with the weekly ordinary at Sherborne for 
 company, the green fields and his garden for pleasure and for 
 exercise, and the welfare of his soul for prayer. Robin, besides, 
 loved to go forth with hawk and gun ; to snare the wild creat- 
 ures ; to hunt the otter and the fox ; to bait the badger, and 
 trap the stoat and weasel ; to course the hares. But cities and 
 crowds, even if they should be shouting in his honor, did never 
 draw him, even after he had seen them. Nor was he ever tempted 
 to believe any manner of life more full of delight and more con- 
 sistent with the end of man's creation than the rural life, the air 
 of the fields, the following of the plough for the men, and the 
 spinning-wheel for the women. 
 
 " I shall be a lawyer," said Benjamin, puflSng out his cheeks 
 and squaring his shoulders. " Very well, then, I shall be a 
 great lawyer. What ? None of your pettifogging tribe for me : 
 I shall step to the front, and stay there. What ? Some one 
 must have the prizes and the promotion. There are always 
 places falling vacant and honors to be given away : they shall 
 be given to me. Why not to me as well as another ?" 
 
 " Well," said Robin, " you are strong enough to take them, 
 willy-nilly." 
 
 " I am strong enough," he replied, with conviction. " First, I 
 shall be called to the outer bar, where I shall plead in stuff — I 
 saw them at Exeter last 'sizes. Next, I shall be summoned to 
 become king's counsel, when I shall flaunt it in silk. "Who but 
 I ?" Then he seemed to grow actually three inches taller, so 
 great is the power of imagination. He was already six feet in 
 height, his shoulders broad, and his face red and fiery, so that 
 now he looked very big and tall. " Then my inn will make me
 
 38 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 a benclier, and I shall sit at the high table in term-time. And 
 the attorneys shall run after me and fight with each other for 
 my services in court, so that in every great case I shall be heard 
 thundering before the jury, and making the witnesses perjure 
 themselves with terror — for Avhich they will be afterwards flogged. 
 I shall belong to the king's party — none of your canting Whigs 
 for me. When the high -treason cases come on, I shall be 
 the counsel for the crown. That is the high-road to advance- 
 ment." 
 
 " This is very well, so far," said Robin, laughing. *' Ben is 
 too modest, however. He does not get on fast enough." 
 
 "All in good time," Ben replied. " I mean to get on as fast 
 as anybody. But I shall follow the beaten road. First, favor 
 with attorneys and those who have suits in the courts ; then 
 the ear of the judge. I know not how one gets the ear of the 
 judge — " he looked despondent for a moment, then he held up 
 his head again — " but I shall find out. Others have found out 
 —why not I ? What ? I am no fool, am I ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, Ben. But as yet we stick at king's counsel." 
 
 " After the ear of the judge, the favor of the crown. What 
 do I care who is king ? It is the king who hath preferment and 
 place and honors in his gift. Where these are given aAvay, there 
 shall I be found. Next am I made sergeant-at-law. Then I am 
 saluted as ' brother ' by the judges on the bench, while all the 
 others burst with envy. After that I shall myself be called to 
 the bench. I am already ' my lord — ' why do you laugh, Robin ? 
 — and a knight : Sir Benjamin Boscorel — Sir Benjamin." Here 
 he puffed out his cheeks again and swung his shoulders like a 
 very great person indeed. 
 
 " Proceed, Sir Benjamin," said Humphrey, gravely, while 
 Robin laughed. 
 
 " When I am a judge I promise you I will rate the barristers 
 and storm at the witnesses and admonish the jury until there 
 shall be no other question in their minds but to find out first 
 what is my will in the case, and then to govern themselves ac- 
 cordingly. I will be myself judge and jury and all. Oh ! I 
 have seen the judge at last Exeter 'sizes. He made all to shake 
 in their shoes. I shall not stop there. Chief baron I shall be, 
 perhaps — but on that point I have not yet made up my mind — 
 and then lord chancellor." He paused to take breath, and looked
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 39 
 
 around him, grandeur and authority upon his brow. " Lord 
 chancellor," he repeated, " on the woolsack !" 
 
 " You will then," said Robin, " be raised to the peerage — first 
 Lord Boscorel ; or perhaps, if your lordship will so honor this 
 poor village. Lord Bradford Orcas — " 
 
 "Earl of Sherborne I have chosen for title," said Benjamin. 
 " And while I am climbing up the ladder, where wilt thou be, 
 Humphrey ? Grovelling in the mud with the poor devils who 
 cannot rise ?" 
 
 " Nay, I shall have a small ladder of my own, Ben. I find 
 great comfort in the thought that when your lordship is roaring 
 and bawling with the gout — your noble toe being like a ball of 
 fire and your illustrious foot swathed in flannel — I shall be called 
 upon to drive away the pain, and you will honor me with the 
 title not only of humble cousin, but also of rescuer and preserver. 
 Will it not be honor enough to cure the Right Honorable the 
 Earl of Sherborne (first of the name), the lord chancellor, of his 
 gout and to restore him to the duties of his great office, so that 
 once more he shall be the dread of evil-doers and of all who have 
 to appear before him ? As yet, my lord, your extremities, I per- 
 ceive, are free from that disease — the result, too often, of that 
 excess in wine which besets the great." 
 
 Here Robin laughed again, and so did Benjamin. Nobody 
 could use finer language than Humphrey, if he pleased. 
 
 " A fine ambition !" said Ben. " To wear a black velvet coat 
 and a great wig ; to carry a gold-headed cane ; all day long to 
 listen while the patient tells of his gripes and pains ; to mix 
 boluses and to compound nauseous draughts !" 
 
 " Well," Humphrey laughed, " if you are lord chancellor, Ben, 
 you will, 1 hope, give us good laws, and so make the nation hap- 
 py and prosperous. While you are doing this, I will be keeping 
 you in health for the good of the country. I say that this is a 
 fine ambition." 
 
 " And Robin, here, will sit in the great cliair, and have the 
 rogues haled before him, and order the head-borough to bring 
 out his cat-o'-nine-tails. In the winter evenings he will play 
 backgammon, and in the summer bowls. Then a posset, and 
 to bed. And never any change from year to year. A fine life, 
 truly !" 
 
 " Truly, I think it is a very fine life," said Robin ; " while you
 
 40 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 make the laws, I will take care that they are obeyed. What 
 better service is there than to cause good laws to be obeyed? 
 Make good laws, my lord chancellor, and be thankful that you 
 vfiW have faithful, law-abiding men to carry them out." 
 
 Thus they talked. Presently the time came when the lads 
 must leave the village and go forth to prepare for such course 
 as should be allotted to them, whether it led to greatness or to 
 obscurity. 
 
 Benjamin went first, being sixteen years of age and a great 
 fellow, as I have said, broad-shouldered and lusty, with a red 
 face, a strong voice, and a loud laugh. In no respect did he 
 resemble his father, who was delicate in manner and in speech. 
 He was to be entered at Gray's Inn, where, under some counsel 
 learned in the law, he was to read until such time as he should 
 be called. 
 
 He came to bid me farewell, which at first, until he frightened 
 me with the things he said, I took kindly of him. 
 
 " Child," he said, " I am going to London, and, I suppose, I 
 shall not come back to this village for a long time. Nay, were 
 it not for thee, I should not wish to come back at all." 
 
 " Why for me, Ben ?" 
 
 " Because — " here his red face became redder, and he stam- 
 mered a little ; but not much, for he was ever a lad of confidence 
 — " because, child, thou art not yet turned twelve, which is young 
 to be hearing of such a thing. Yet a body may as well make 
 things safe. And as for Humphrey or Robin interfering, I will 
 break their heads with my cudgel if they do. Remember that, 
 then." He shook his finger at me, threatening. 
 
 " In what business should they interfere ?" I asked. 
 
 " Kiss me, Grace " — here he tried to lay his arm round my 
 neck, but I ran away. " Oh ! if thou art skittish, I care not : 
 all in good time. Very well, then ; let us make things safe. 
 Grace, when I come back thou wilt be seventeen or eighteen, 
 which is an age when girls should marry — " 
 
 " I will have nothing to do with marrying, Ben." 
 
 " Not yet. If I mistake not, child, thou wilt then be as beau- 
 tiful as a rose in June." 
 
 " I want no foolish talk, Ben. Let me go." 
 
 " Then I shall be twenty-one years of age, practising in the 
 courts. I shall go the Western Circuit, in order to see thee
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 41 
 
 often — partly to keep an eye upon thee and partly to warn off 
 other men. Because, child, it is my purpose to marry thee my- 
 self. Think upon that, now." 
 
 At this I lauo^hed. 
 
 *' Laugh if you please, my dear ; I shall marry thee as soon 
 as the way is open to the bench and the woolsack. What ? I can 
 see a long way ahead. I will tell thee what I see. There is a 
 monstrous great crowd of people in the street staring at a glass 
 coach. ' Who is the lovely lady ?' they ask. ' The lovely lady ' 
 — that is you, Grace ; none other — ' with the diamonds at her 
 neck and the gold chain, in the glass coach ?' says one who 
 knows her liveries : ' 'tis the lady of the great lord chancellor, 
 the Earl of Sherborne.' And the women fall green with envy of 
 her happiness and great good-fortune and her splendor. Cour- 
 age, child ; 1 go to prepare the way. Oh ! thou knowest not the 
 grand things that I shall pour into thy lap when I am a judge." 
 
 This was the first time that any man spoke to me of love. 
 But Benjamin was always masterful, and had no respect for 
 such a nice point as the wooing of a maiden — which, methinks, 
 should be gentle and respectful, not as if a woman was like a 
 savage to be tempted by a string of beads, or so foolish as to 
 desire with her husband such gauds as diamonds, or gold chains, 
 or a glass coach. Nor doth a woman like to be treated as if 
 she was to be carried off by force like the Sabine women of old. 
 
 The rector rode to London with his son. It is a long journey, 
 over rough ways ; but it pleased him once more to see that great 
 city, where there are pictures and statues and books to gladden 
 the hearts of such as love these things. And on the way home 
 he sojourned for a few days at his old college of All-Souls, 
 where were still left one or two of his old friends. Then he 
 rode back to his village. " There are but two places in this 
 country," he said, " or perhaps three, at most, where a gentle- 
 man and a scholar, or one who loveth the fine arts, would choose 
 to live. They are London and Oxford, and perhaps the sister 
 university upon the Granta. Well, I have once more been 
 privileged to witness the humors of the court and the town : 
 I have once more been permitted to sniff the air of a great 
 library. Let us be thankful." He showed his thankfulness 
 with a sigh which Avas almost a groan. 
 
 It was three years before we saw Benjamin again. Then he
 
 42 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 returned, but not for long. Like Lis father, he loved London 
 better than the country, but for other reasons. Certainly, he 
 cared nothing for those arts which so much delighted the rector, 
 and the air of a coffee-house pleased him more than the perfume 
 of books in a library. When he left us he was a rustic ; when 
 he came back he was already what they call a fopling : that is 
 to say, when he went to pay his respects to Sir Christopher, his 
 grandfather, he wore a very fine cravat of Flanders lace, with 
 silken hose, and lace and ribbons at his wrist. He was also 
 scented with bergamot, and Avore a peruke, which, while he 
 talked, he combed and curled, to keep the curls of this mon- 
 strous head-dress in place. Gentlemen must, I suppose, wear 
 this invention, and one of the learned professions must show the 
 extent of the learning by the splendors of his full-bottomed wig. 
 Yet 1 think that a young man looks most comely while he wears 
 his own hair. He had cocked his hat, on which were bows, and 
 he wore a sword. He spoke also in a mincing London manner, 
 having forsworn the honest broad speech of Somerset ; and (but 
 not in the presence of his elders) he used strange oaths and 
 ejaculations. 
 
 " Behold him !" said his father, by no means displeased at 
 his son's foppery, because he ever loved the city fashions and 
 thought that a young man did well to dress and to comport him- 
 self after the way of the world. " Behold him ! Thus he sits 
 in the coffee-house ; thus he shows himself in the pit. Youth 
 is the time for finery and for folly. Alas ! would that we could 
 bring back that time ! What saith John Dryden — glorious John 
 — of Sir Fopling? — 
 
 ' His various modes from various fashions follow : 
 One taught the toss, and one the new French wallow ; 
 His sword-knot this, his cravat that, designed, 
 And this the yard-long snake lie twirls behind. 
 From one the sacred periwig he gained, 
 Which wind ne'er blew, nor touch of hat profaned.' " 
 
 " Well, Ben," said Sir Christopher, " if the mode can help 
 thee to the bench why not follow the mode ?" 
 
 " It will not hinder, sir," Ben replied. " A man who hath his 
 fortune to make does well to be seen everywhere, and to be 
 dressed like other men of his time." 
 
 One must do Benjamin the justice to acknowledge that
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 43 
 
 though, like the young gentlemen liis friends and companions 
 his dress was foppish, and his talk was of the pleasures of the 
 town, he suffered nothing to stand in the way of his advance- 
 ment. He was resolved upon being a great lawyer, and, there- 
 fore, if he spent the evening in drinking, singing, and making 
 merry, he was reading in chambers or else attending the courts 
 all the day, and neglected nothing that would make him master 
 of his profession. And, though of learning he had little, his 
 natural parts were so good, and his resolution was so strong, that 
 I doubt not he would have achieved his ambition had it not been 
 for the circimistances which afterwards cut short his career. 
 His course of life, by his own boasting, was profligate ; his 
 friends were drinkers and revellers ; his favorite haunt was the 
 tavern, where they all drank punch and sang ungodly songs, and 
 smoked tobacco ; and of religion he seemed to have no care 
 whatever. 
 
 I was afraid that he would return to the nauseous subject 
 which he had opened three years before. Therefore, I contin- 
 ued with my mother, and would give him no chance to speak 
 with me. But he found me, and caught me returning home one 
 evening. 
 
 " Grace," he said, " I feared that I might have to go away 
 without a word alone with thee." 
 
 " I want no words alone, Benjamin. Let me pass !" For he 
 stood before me in the way. 
 
 " Not so fast, pretty !" — he caught me by the Avrist, and, 
 being a young man so strong and determined, he held me as by 
 a vise. " Not so fast, Mistress Grace. First, my dear, let me 
 tell thee that my purpose still holds — nay " — here he swore a 
 most dreadful, impious oath — " I am more resolved than ever. 
 There is not a woman, even in London, that is to be com^Dared 
 with thee, child. What? Compared with thee? Why, they 
 are like the twinkling stars compared with the glorious queen 
 of night. What did I say ? — that at nineteen thou wouldst be a 
 miracle of beauty ? Nay, that time hath come already ! I love 
 thee, child ! I love thee, I say, ten times as much as ever I 
 loved thee before !" 
 
 He gasped, and then breathed hard ; but still he held me 
 fast. 
 
 " Idle compliments cost a man nothing, Benjamin. Say what
 
 44 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 you meant to say and let me go. If you hold me any longer I 
 will cry out and bring your father to learn the reason." 
 
 " Well," he said, " I will not keep thee. 1 have said what I 
 wanted to say. My time hath not yet arrived. I am shortly to 
 be called, and shall then begin to practise. When I come back 
 here again, 'twill be with a ring in one hand, and in the other 
 the prospect of the woolsack. Think upon that while I am 
 gone. ' Your ladyship ' is finer than plain ' madame,' and the 
 court is more delightful than a village green among the pigs and 
 ducks. Think upon it well : thou art a lucky girl ; a plain vil- 
 lage girl to be promoted to a coronet ! However, I have no fears 
 for thee ; thou wilt adorn the highest fortune. Thou wilt be 
 worthy of the great place whither I shall lead thee. What ? Is 
 Sir George Jeffreys a better man than I ? Is he of better family ? 
 Had he better interest? Is he a bolder man? Not so. Yet 
 was Sir George a common sergeant at twenty-three, and recorder 
 at thirty ; chief-justice of Chester at thirty-two. What he has 
 done I can do. Moreover, Sir George hath done me the honor 
 to admit me to his company, and will advance me. This he hath 
 promised, both in his cups and when he is sober. Think it over, 
 child : a ring in one hand and a title in the other !" 
 
 So Benjamin went away again. I was afraid when I thought 
 of him and his promise, because I knew him of old ; and his 
 eyes were as full of determination as when he would fight a lad 
 of his own age and go on fighting till the other had had enough. 
 Yet he could not marry me against my will. His own father 
 would protect me, to say nothing of mine, 
 
 I should have told him then — as I had told him before — that 
 I would never marry him. Then, perhaps, he Avould have been 
 shaken in his purpose. The very thought of marrying him 
 filled me with terror unspeakable, I was afraid of him not only 
 because he was so masterful — nay, women like a man to be 
 strong of will — but because he had no. religion in him and lived 
 like an atheist, if such a wretch there be ; at all events, with 
 unconcern about his soul ; and because his life was profligate, 
 his tastes were gross, and he was a drinker of much wine. 
 Even at the manor-house I had seen him at supper drinking 
 until his cheeks were puffed out and his voice grew thick. 
 What kind of happiness would there be for a wife whose hus- 
 band has to be carried home by his varlets too heavy with drink 
 to stand or to speak ?
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 45 
 
 Alas ! there is one thing which girls, happily, do never appre- 
 hend. They cannot understand how it is possible for a man to 
 become so possessed with the idea of their charms (which they 
 hold themselves as of small account, knowing how fleeting they 
 are, and of what small value) that he will go through fire and 
 water for that woman ; yea, and break all the commandments, 
 heedless of his immortal soul, rather than suffer another man to 
 take her — and that even though he knows that the poor creat- 
 ure loves him not, or loves another man. If maidens knew this, 
 I think that they would go in fear and trembling lest they should 
 be coveted by some wild beast in human shape, and prove the 
 death of the gallant gentleman whom they would choose for 
 their lover. Or they would make for themselves convents and 
 hide in them, so great would be their fear. But it is idle to 
 speak of this, because, say what one will, girls can never under- 
 stand the power and the vehemence of love, when once it hath 
 seized and doth thoroughly possess a man. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 MEDICINE DOCTOR. 
 
 Humphrey did not, like Benjamin, brag of the things he 
 would do when he should go forth into the world. Neverthe- 
 less, he thought much about his future, and frequently he dis- 
 coursed with me about the life that he fain would lead. A 
 young man, I think, wants some one with whom he may speak 
 freely concerning the thoughts which fill his soul. We who be- 
 long to the sex which receives but does not create or invent, 
 which profits by man's good work, and suffers from the evil 
 which he too often does, have no such thoughts and ambitions. 
 
 " I cannot," he would say, " take upon me holy orders, as 
 Mr. Boscorel would have me, promising, in my cousin Robin's 
 name, this living after his death, because, though I am in truth 
 a mere pauper and dependant, there are in me none of those 
 prickings of the Spirit which I could interpret into a divine call 
 for the ministry ; next, because I could not in conscience sign 
 the Thirtv-nine Articles while I still held that the Nonconformist 
 way of worship was more consonant with the Word of God.
 
 46 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 And, again, I am of the opinion that the law, which forbids any 
 but a well-formed man from serving at the altar, hath in it some- 
 thing eternal. It denotes that as no cripple may serve at the 
 earthly altar, so in heaven, of Avhich the altar is an emblem, all 
 those who dwell therein shall be perfect in body as in soul. 
 What, then, is such an one as myself, who hath some learning 
 and no fortune, to do ? Sir Christopher, my benefactor, will 
 maintain me at Oxford until I have taken a degree. This is 
 more than I could have expected. Therefore, I am resolved to 
 take a degree in medicine. It is the only profession fit for a 
 misshapen creature like me. They will not laugh at me when 
 I alleviate their pains." 
 
 " Could any one laugh at you, Humphrey ?" 
 
 " Pray Heaven I frighten not the ladies at the first aspect of 
 me." He laughed, but not with merriment ; for, indeed, a cripple 
 or a hunchback cannot laugh mirthfully over his own misfortune. 
 " Some men speak scornfully of the j^rofession," he went on. 
 " The great French playwright, INIonsieur Moliere, hath made 
 the physicians the butt and laughing-stock of all Paris. Yet 
 consider. It is medicine which prolongs our days and re- 
 lieves our pains. Before the science was studied, the wretch 
 who caught a fever in the marshy forest lay down and died ; an 
 ague lasted all one's life ; a sore throat putrefied and killed ; a 
 rheumatism threw a man upon the bed from Avhich he would 
 never rise. The physician is man's chief friend. If our sov- 
 ereigns studied the welfare of humanity as deeply as the art of 
 war, they would maintain, at a vast expense, great colleges of 
 learned men continually engaged in discovering the secrets of 
 nature — the causes and the remedies of disease. What better 
 use can a man make of his life than to discover one — only one 
 — secret which will drive away part of the agony of disease ? 
 The Jews, more merciful than the Romans, stupefied their crim- 
 inals after they were crucified ; so they died, indeed, but their 
 sufferings were less. So the physician, though in the end all 
 men must die, may help them to die without pain. Nay, I have 
 even thought that we might devise means of causing the patient 
 by some potent drug to fall into so deep a sleep that even the 
 surgeon's knife shall not cause him to awaken." 
 
 He therefore, before he entered at Oxford, read with my father 
 many learned books of the ancients on the science and practice
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 47 
 
 of medicine, and studied botany witli the lielp of such books as 
 lie could procure. 
 
 Some men have but one side to them — that is to say, the only 
 active part of them is engaged in but one study ; the rest is 
 given up to rest or indolence. Thus Benjamin studied law dili- 
 gently, but nothing else. Humphrey, for his part, read his Galen 
 and his Celsus, but he neglected not the cultivation of those arts 
 and accomplishments in which Mr. Boscorel was as ready a 
 teacher as he was a ready scholar. He thus learned the history 
 of painting and sculpture and architecture, and that of coins and 
 medals, so that at eighteen Humphrey might already have set up 
 as a virtuoso. 
 
 Nor was this all. Still, by the help of the rector, he learned 
 the use of the pencil and the brush, and could both draw pret- 
 tily and paint in water-colors, whether the cottages or the church, 
 the cows in the fields, or the woods and hills. I have many pict- 
 ures of his painting which he gave me from time to time. And 
 he could play sweetly, whether on the spinnet, or the violin, or 
 the guitar, spending many hours every week with Mr. Boscorel 
 playing duettos together ; and willingly he would sing, having a 
 rich and full voice very delightful to hear. When I grew a great 
 girl, and had advanced far enough, I was permitted to play with 
 them. There was no end to the music which Mr. Boscorel pos- 
 sessed. First, he had a great store of English ditties such as 
 country-people love — as, " Sing all a green willow," " Gather ye 
 rosebuds while ye may," or " Once I loved a maiden fair." 
 There was nothing rough or rude in these songs, though I am 
 informed that much wickedness is taught by the ribald songs 
 that are sung in playhouses and coffee-rooms. And when we 
 were not playing or singing, Mr. Boscorel would read us poetry 
 — portions from Shakespeare or Ben Jonson, or out of Milton's 
 " Paradise Lost ;" or from Herrick, who is surely the sweetest 
 poet that ever lived, " yet marred," said Mr. Boscorel, " by much 
 coarseness and corruption." Now, one day, after we had been 
 thus reading — one winter afternoon, when the sun lay upon the 
 meadows — Humphrey walked home with me, and on the way 
 confessed, with many blushes, that he, too, had been writing 
 verses. And with that he lugged a paper out of his pocket. 
 
 " They are for thine own eyes only, Grace. Truly, my dear, 
 thou hast the finest eyes in the world. They are for no other
 
 48 ' FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 eyes than tliine," lie repeated. " Not for Robin, mind, lest lie 
 laugh ; poetry liath in it something sacred, so that even the 
 writer of bad verses cannot bear to have them laughed at. 
 When thou art a year or two older thou wilt understand that 
 they were written for thy heart as well as for thine eyes. Yet, 
 if thou like the verses, they may be seen by Mr. Boscorel, but in 
 private ; and if he laugh at them do not tell me. Yet, again, 
 one would like to know what he said ; wherefore, tell me, though 
 his words be like a knife in my side." 
 
 Thus he wavered between wishing to show them to his master 
 in art, and fearing. 
 
 In the end, when I showed them to Mr. Boscorel, he said that, 
 for a beginner, they were very well — very well, indeed ; that the 
 rhymes were correct, and the metre true ; that years and practice 
 would give greater firmness, and that the crafty interlacing of 
 thought and passion, Avliich was the characteristic of Italian 
 verse, could only be learned by much reading of the Italian poets. 
 More he said, speaking upon the slight subject of rhyme and 
 poetry with as much seriousness and earnestness as if he wero 
 weighing and comjiaring texts of Scripture. 
 
 Then he gave me back the verses with a sigh. 
 
 " Child," he said. " To none of us is given what most we de- 
 sire. For my part, I longed in his infancy that my son should 
 grow up even as Humphrey, as quick to learn ; with as true a 
 taste ; with as correct an ear ; with a hand so skilful. But — 
 you see, I complain not, though Benjamin loves the noisy tavern 
 better than the quiet coffee-house where the wits resort. To him 
 such things as verses, art, and music are foolishness. I say that 
 I complain not ; but I would to Heaven that Humphrey were my 
 own, and that his shoulders were straight, poor lad ! Thy father 
 hath made him a Puritan ; he is such as John Milton in his 
 youth — and as beautiful in face as that stout Republican. I 
 doubt not that we shall have from the hand of Humphrey, if he 
 live and prosper, something fine, the nature of which, whether it 
 is to be in painting, or in music, or in poetry, I know not. Take 
 the verses, and take care that thou lose them not ; and, child — 
 remember — the poet is allowed to say what he pleases about a 
 woman's eyes. Be not deceived into thinking — But no — no 
 — there is no fear. Good-night, thou sweet and innocent saint." 
 
 I knew not then what he meant, but these are the verses ; and
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 49 
 
 I truly think that they are very moving and religious. For if 
 woman be truly the most beautiful work of the Creator (which 
 all men aver), then it behooves her all the more still to point up- 
 ward. I read them with a pleasure and surprise that filled my 
 whole soul, and inflamed my heart with pious joy : 
 
 " Around, above, and everywhere 
 
 The earth hath many a lovely thing; 
 The zephyrs soft, the flowers fair. 
 The babbling brook, the bubbling spring. 
 
 " The gray of dawn, the azure sky, 
 The sunset glow, the evening gloom ; 
 The warbling thrush, the skylark high, 
 The blossoming hedge, the garden's bloom. 
 
 " The sun in state, the moon in pride, 
 The twinkling stars in order laid; 
 The winds that ever race and ride, 
 The shadows flying o'er the glade, 
 
 " Oh ! many a lovely thing hath earth. 
 To charm tlie eye and witch the soul ; 
 Yet one there is of passing worth — 
 For that one thing I give the whole. 
 
 " The crowning work, the last thing made, 
 Creation's masterpiece to be — 
 Bend o'er yon stream, and there displayed, 
 This wondrous thing reflected see. 
 
 " Behold a face for heaven designed ; 
 See how those eyes thy soul betray — 
 Love — secret love — there sits enshrined ; 
 And upward still doth point the way." 
 
 When Humphrey went away, he did not, like Benjamin, 
 come blustering and declaring that he would marry me, and that 
 he would break the skull of any other man who dared make 
 love to me — not at all ; Humphrey, with tears in his eyes, told 
 me that he was sorry I could not go to Oxford as well ; that he 
 was going to lose the sweetest companion ; and that he should 
 always love me : and then he kissed me on the forehead, and so 
 departed. Why should he not always love me ? I knew very 
 well that he loved me, and that I loved him. Although he was 
 so young, being only seventeen when he was entered at Exeter 
 College, I suppose there never was a young gentleman Avent to 
 the University of Oxford with so many accomplishments and so 
 3 D
 
 50 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 much learning. By my father's testimony he read Greek as if 
 it were his mother tongue, and he Avrote and conversed easily in 
 Latin ; and you have heard what arts and accomplishments he 
 added to this solid learning. lie was elected to a scholarship at 
 his college, that of Exeter, and, after he took his degree as bach- 
 elor of medicine, he was made a fellow of All-Souls, where Mr. 
 Boscorel himself had also been a fellow. This election was not 
 only a great distinction for him, but it gave him what a learned 
 young man especially desires — the means of living and of pursu- 
 ing his studies. 
 
 While he was at Oxford he wrote letters to Sir Christopher, to 
 Mr. Boscorel, and to my father (to whom also he sent such new 
 books and pamphlets as he thought would interest him). To 
 me he sent sometimes drawings and sometimes books, but never 
 verses. 
 
 Now (to make an end of Humphrey for the present), when he 
 had obtained his fellowship, he asked for and obtained leave of 
 absence and permission to study medicine in those great schools 
 which far surpass, they say, our English schools of medicine. 
 These are that of Montpellier ; the yet more famous school of 
 Padua, in Italy ; and that of Leyden, whither many Englishmen 
 resort for study, notably Mr. Evelyn, whose book called " Sylva " 
 was in the rector's library. 
 
 He carried on during the Avhole of this time a correspondence 
 with Mr. Boscorel on the paintings, statues, and architecture to 
 be seen wherever his travels carried him. These letters Mr. Bos- 
 corel read aloud, with a map spread before him, discoursing on 
 the history of the place and the chief things to be seen tliere, 
 before he began to read. Surely there never was a man so 
 much taken up with the fine arts, especially as they were prac- 
 tised by the ancients. 
 
 There remains the last of the boys — Robin, Sir Christopher's 
 grandson and heir. I should like this book to be all about 
 Robin — yet one must needs speak of the others. I declare that 
 from the beginning there never was a boy more happy, more 
 jolly ; never any one more willing to be always making some 
 one happy. He loved the open air, the wild creatures, the trees, 
 the birds, everything that lives beneath the sky ; yet not like my 
 poor brother Barnaby — a hater of books. He read all the books 
 which told about creatures, or hunting, or country life ; and all
 
 FOB FAITH AND FREEDOM. ' 51 
 
 voyages and travels. A fresh-colored, wholesome lad, not so 
 grave as Humphrey nor so moody as Benjamin, who always 
 seemed to carry with him the scent of woods and fields. He 
 Avas to Sir Christopher what Benjamin was to Jacoh. Even my 
 father loved him though he was so poor a scholar. 
 
 Those who stayed at home have homely wits — therefore Robin 
 must follow Humphrey to Oxford. He went thither the year 
 after his cousin. I never learned that he obtained a scholarship, 
 or that he was considered one of the younger pillars of that learned 
 and ancient university ; or, indeed, that he took a degree at all. 
 
 After he left Oxford he must go to London, there to study 
 justice's law and fit himself for the duties he would have to 
 fulfil. Also his grandfather would have him acquire some 
 knowledge of the court and the city, and the ways of the great 
 and the rich. This, too, he did ; though he never learned to 
 prefer those ways to the simple customs and habits of his Som- 
 erset village. 
 
 He, too, like the other tAvo, bade me a tender farewell. 
 
 " Poor Grace !" he said, taking both my hands in his. " What 
 wilt thou do when I am gone V 
 
 Indeed, since Humphrey went away, we had been daily com- 
 panions ; and at the thought of being thus left alone the tears 
 were running down my cheeks. 
 
 " Why, sweetheart," he said, " to think that I should ever 
 make thee cry — I who desire nothing but to make thee always 
 laugh and be happy ! What Avilt thou do ? Go often to my 
 mother. She loves thee as if her own daughter. Go and talk 
 to her concerning me. It pleaseth the poor soul to be still talk- 
 ing of her son. And forget not my grandfather. Play back- 
 gammon with him ; fill his pipe for him ; sing to the spinnet for 
 him ; talk to him about Humphrey and me. And forget not 
 Mr. Boscorel, my uncle. The poor man looks as melancholy 
 since Humphrey Avent away as a turtle robbed of her nest. I 
 saw him yesterday opening one of his draAvers full of medals, 
 and he sighed over them fit to break his heart. He sighed for 
 Humphrey, not for Ben. Well, child, what more ? Take 
 Lance " — 'twas his dog — " for a run every day ; make George 
 SparroAv keep an eye upon the stream for otters ; and — there are 
 a thousand things, but I Avill Avrite them doAvn. Have patience 
 with the dear old man when he Avill be still talking about me."
 
 52 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Patience, Robin," I said. " Why, we all love to talk about 
 thee." 
 
 " Do you all love to talk about me ? Dost thou, too, Grace ? 
 Oh, my dear, my dear !" Here he took me in his arms and 
 kissed me on the lips. " Dost thou also love to talk about me ? 
 Why, my dear, I shall think of nothing but of thee. Because — 
 oh ! my dear — my dear ! I love thee with all my heart." 
 
 Well, I was still so foolish that I understood nothing more 
 than that Ave all loved him, and he loved us all. 
 
 "Grace, I will write letters to thee. I will put them in the 
 packet for my mother. Thus thou wilt understand that I am 
 always thinking of thee." 
 
 He was as good as his word. But the letters were so full of 
 the things he was doing and seeing that it was quite clear that 
 his mind had plenty of room for more than one object. To be 
 sure, I should have been foolish, indeed, had I desired that his 
 letters should tell me that he was always thinking about me, 
 when he should have been attending to his business. 
 
 After a year in London his grandfather thought that he should 
 travel. Therefore, he went abroad and joined Humphrey at 
 Montpellier, and with him rode northward to Leyden, where he 
 sojourned while his cousin attended the lectures of that famous 
 school. 
 
 CHAPTER VHI. 
 
 A ROYAL PROGRESS. 
 
 When all the boys were gone the time was quiet, indeed, for 
 those who were left behind. My mother's wheel went spinning 
 still, but I think that some kindness on the part of Mr. Boscorel 
 as well as Sir Christopher caused her weekly tale of yarn to be 
 of less importance. And as for me, not only would she never 
 suffer me to sit at the spinning-wheel, but there was so much 
 request of me (to replace the boys) that I was nearly all the 
 day either Avith Sir Christopher, or with madame, or with Mr. 
 Boscorel. 
 
 Up to the year 1680, or thereabouts, I paid no more attention 
 to political matters than any young woman with no knowledge
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 53 
 
 may be supposed to give. Yet, of course, I was on the side of 
 liberty, botli civil and religious. IIow should that be otherwise, 
 my father being such as he was, muzzled for all these years, the 
 work of his life prevented and destroyed ? 
 
 It was in that year, however, that I became a most zealous 
 partisan and lover of the Protestant cause in the way that I am 
 about to relate. 
 
 Everybody knows that there is no part of Great Britain (not 
 even Scotland) where the Protestant religion hath supporters 
 more stout and stanch than Somerset and Devonshire. I hope 
 I shall not be accused of disloyalty to Queen Anne, under whom 
 we flourish and are happy, when I say that in the West of Eng- 
 land we had grown — I know not how — to regard the late mis- 
 guided Duke of Monmouth as the champion of the Protestant 
 faith. When, therefore, the duke came into the West of Eng- 
 land in the year 1680, live years before the Rebellion, he was 
 everywhere received with acclamations and by crowds who gath- 
 ered round him to witness their loyalty to the Protestant faith. 
 They came also to look upon the gallant commander who had 
 defeated the French and the Dutch, and was said (but errone- 
 ously) to be as wise as he was brave, and as religious as he was 
 beautiful to look upon. As for his wisdom, those who knew 
 him best have since assured the world that he had little or none, 
 his judgment being always swayed and determined for him by 
 crafty and subtle persons seeking their own interests. And as 
 for his religion, whatever may have been his profession, good 
 works Avere wanting — as is now very well known. But at that 
 time, and among our people, the wicked ways of courts were 
 only half understood. And there can be no doubt that, whether 
 he was wise or religious, the show of affection with which the 
 duke was received upon this journey turned his head, and caused 
 him to think that these people would rally round him if he called 
 upon them. And I suppose that there is nothing which more 
 delights a prince than to believe that his friends are ready even 
 to lay down their lives in his behalf. 
 
 At that time the country was greatly agitated by anxiety con- 
 cerning the succession. Those who were nearest the throne 
 knew that King Charles was secretly a papist. We in the coun- 
 try had not learned that dismal circumstance : yet we knew the 
 religion of the Duke of York. Thousands there were, like Sir
 
 54 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 
 
 Christoplier himself, who now lamented the return of the king, 
 considering the disgraces v/hicli had fallen upon the country. 
 But what was done could not he undone. They, therefore, 
 asked themselves if the nation would suffer an avowed papist 
 to ascend a Protestant throne. If not, what should be done ? 
 And here, as everybody knows, was opinion divided. For some 
 declared that the Duke of Monmouth, had he his rights, was the 
 lawful heir ; and others maintained in the king's own word that 
 he was never married to Mistress Lucy Waters. Therefore they 
 would have the Duke of York's daughter, a Protestant princess, 
 married to William of Orange, proclaimed queen. The Mon- 
 mouth party were strong, however, and it was even said — Mr. 
 Henry Clark, minister of Crewkern, wrote a pamphlet to prove 
 it — that a poor woman, Elizabeth Parcet by name, touched the 
 duke (he being ignorant of the thing) for king's evil, and was 
 straightway healed. Sir Christopher laughed at the story, say- 
 ing that the king himself, whether he was descended from a 
 Scottish Stuart or from King Solomon himself, could no more 
 cure that dreadful disease than the seventh son of a seventh son 
 (as some foolish people believe), or the rubbing of the part af- 
 fected by the hand of a man that had been hanged (as others do 
 foolishly believe), which is the reason Avhy on the gibbets the 
 hanging corpses are always handless. 
 
 It was noised abroad beforehand that the duke was going to 
 ride through the West Country in order to visit his friends. The 
 progress (it was more like a royal progress than the journey of 
 a private nobleman) began with his visit to Mr. Thomas Thynne, 
 of Longlcat House. It is said that his chief reason for going 
 to that house was to connect himself with the obligation of the 
 tenant of Longleat to give the king and his suite a night's lodg- 
 ing when they visited that part of the country. Mr. Thynne, 
 who entertained the duke on this occasion, was the same who 
 was afterwards murdered in London by Count Konigsraark. 
 They called him " Tom of Ten Thousand." The poet Dryden 
 hath written of this progress in that poem wherein, under the 
 fabled name of Absalom, he figures the duke : 
 
 " He now begins liis progress to ordain, 
 Willi chariots, liorsemen, and a numerous train. 
 Fame runs before him as the morning star, 
 And shouts of joy salute liim from afar.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 55 
 
 Each house receives him as a guardian god, 
 And consecrates the place of his abode." 
 
 It Wcas for his liospitable treatment of the duke that Mr. Thynne 
 was immediately afterwards deprived of the command of the 
 "Wiltshire militia. 
 
 " Son-in-law," said Sir Christopher, " I would ride out to 
 meet the duke in respect to his Protestant professions. As for 
 any pretensions he may have to the succession, I know nothing 
 of them." 
 
 " I will ride with you, sir," said the rector, " to meet the son 
 of the king. And as for any Protestant professions, I know 
 nothing of them. His grace remains, I believe, within the pale 
 of the Church as by law established. Let us all ride out to- 
 gether." 
 
 Seeing that my father also rode with them, it is certain that 
 there were many and diverse reasons why so many thousands 
 gathered together to welcome the duke. Madame, Will's moth- 
 er, out of her kind heart, invited me to accompany her, and gave 
 me a white frock to wear and blue ribbons to put into it. 
 
 We made, with our servants, a large party. W^e were also 
 joined by many of the tenants, with their sons and wives, so 
 that when we came to Ilchester, Sir Christopher was riding at 
 the head of a great company of sixty or more, and very fine 
 they looked, all provided with blue favors in honor of the duke. 
 
 From Bradford Orcas to Ilchester is but six miles as the crow 
 flies, but the ways (which are narrow and foul in winter) do so 
 wind and turn about that they add two miles at least to the 
 distance. Fortunately the season was summer — namely, Au- 
 gust — when the sun is hottest and the earth is dry so that no 
 one was bogged on the way. 
 
 We started betimes — namely, at six in the morning — because 
 we knew not for certain at what time the duke would arrive at 
 Ilchester. When we came forth from the manor-house the 
 farmers were already waiting for us, and so, after greetings from 
 his honor, they fell in and followed. We first took the narrow 
 and rough lane which leads to the high-road ; but, when we 
 reached it, we found it full of people riding, like ourselves, or 
 trudging, staff in hand, all in the same direction. They were 
 going to gaze upon the Protestant duke, who, if he had his 
 way, would restore freedom of conscience and abolish the acts
 
 56 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 against the Nonconformists. We rode tlirongli Marston Magna, 
 but only the old people and the little children were left there ; 
 in the fields the ripe corn stood waiting to be cut ; in the farm- 
 yards the beasts were standing idle ; all the hinds were gone 
 to Ilchester to see the duke. And I began to fear lest when 
 we got to Ilchester we should be too late. At Marston we left 
 the main road and entered upon a road (call it a track rather 
 than a road) across the country, which is here flat and oj^en. 
 In winter it is miry and boggy, but it was now dry and hard. 
 This path brought us again to the main road in two miles, or 
 thereabouts, and here we were but a mile or so from Ilchester. 
 Now, such a glorious sight as awaited us here I never expected 
 to see. Once again, after five years, I was to see a welcome 
 still more splendid ; but nothing can ever efface from my mem- 
 ory that day. For first, the roads, as I have said, were thronged 
 with rustics, and next, when we rode into the town we found 
 it filled with gentlemen most richly dressed, and ladies so beau- 
 tiful and with such splendid attire that it dazzled my eyes to 
 look upon them. It was a grand thing to see the gentlemen 
 take off their hats and cry, " Huzza for brave Sir Christopher !" 
 Everybody knew his opinions and on what side he had fought 
 in the Civil War. The old man bent his head, and I think that 
 he was pleased with this mark of honor. 
 
 The town which, though ancient, is now decayed and hath 
 but few good houses in it, was now made glorious with bright- 
 colored cloths, carpets, flags, and ribbons. There were bands 
 of music ; the bells of the church were ringing ; the main street 
 was like a fair with booths and stalls, and in the market-place 
 there were benches set up with white canvas covering, where 
 sat ladies in their fine dresses, some of them with naked shoul- 
 ders, unseemly to behold. Yet it was pretty to see the long 
 curls lying on their white shoulders. Some of them sat with 
 half-closed eyes, which, I have since learned, is a fashion of the 
 court. Mostly, they wore satin petticoats, and demi-govvns also 
 of satin, furnished with a long train. Our place was beside the 
 old cross with its gilt ball and vane. The people who filled 
 the streets came from Sherborne, from Bruton, from Shepton, 
 from Glastonbury, from Langport, and from Somerton, and from 
 all the villages round. It was computed that there were twenty 
 thousand of them. Two thousand at least rode out to meet
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 57 
 
 the duke, and followed after him Avhen he rode throuffh the 
 town. And, oh ! the shouting as he drew near, the clashing of 
 bells, the beating of the drums, the blowing of the horns, the 
 firing of the guns, as if the more noise they made the greater 
 would be the duke. 
 
 Since that day I have not wondered at the power which a 
 prince hath of drawing men after him, even to the death. Never 
 was heir to the crown received with such joy and w^elcome as 
 was this young man, who had no title to the crown, and was 
 base-born. Yet, because he was a brave young man, and comely 
 above all other young men, gracious of speech, and ready with 
 a laugh and a joke, and because he w^as the son of the king, and 
 the reputed champion of the Protestant faith, the people could 
 not shout too loud for him. 
 
 The duke was at this time in the prime of manhood, being 
 thirty-five years of age. " At that age," Mr. Boscorel used to 
 say, " one would desire to remain if the body of clay were im- 
 mortal. For then the volatile humors of youth have been dis- 
 sipated. The time of follies has passed ; love is regarded with 
 the sober eyes of experience ; knowledge has been acquired ; 
 skill of eye and hand has been gained, if one is so happy as to 
 be a follower of art and music ; wisdom hath been reached, if 
 wisdom is ever to be attained. But wisdom," he would add, 
 " is a quality generally lacking at every period of life." 
 
 " When last I saw the duke," he told us while we waited, 
 " was fifteen years ago, in St. James's Park. He was walking 
 with the king, his father, who had his arm about his son's 
 shoulders, and regarded him fondly. At that time he was, in- 
 deed, a very David for beauty. I suppose that he hath not kept 
 that singular loveliness which made him the darling of the court. 
 That, indeed, were not a thing to be desired or expected. He 
 is now the hero of Maestricht, and the Chancellor of Cambrido-e 
 University." 
 
 And then all hats were pulled oii, and the ladies waved their 
 handkerchiefs, and the men shouted, and you would have thought 
 the bells would have pulled the old tow^er down with the vehe- 
 mence of their ringing ; for the duke was riding into the town. 
 
 He was no longer a beautiful boy, but a man at whose aspect 
 every heart was softened. His enemies, in his presence, could 
 not blame him ; his friends, at sight of him, could not praise 
 3*
 
 58 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 him, of sucli singular beauty was he possessed. Softness, gen- 
 tleness, kindness, and good will reigned in his large soft eyes ; 
 graciousness sat upon his lips, and all his face seemed to smile 
 as he rode slowly between the lane formed by the crowd on 
 either hand. 
 
 What said the poet Dryden in that same poem of his from 
 which I have already quoted ? — 
 
 "Early in foreign fields he won renown 
 With Kings and States allied to Israel's crown ; 
 In peace the thouglits of war he could remove, 
 And seemed as he were only born for love. 
 Wliate'er he did was done with so much ease, 
 In him alone 'twas natural to please; 
 His motions all accompanied with grace, 
 And Paradise was opened in his face." 
 
 Now I have to tell of what happened to me — of all people in 
 the world, to me — the most insignificant person in the whole 
 crowd. It chanced that as the duke came near the spot beside 
 the cross where we were standing, the press in front obliged 
 him to stop. lie looked about him while he waited, smiling 
 still and bowing to the people. Presently his eyes fell upon 
 me, and he whispered a gentleman who rode beside him, yet a 
 little in the rear. This gentleman laughed, and dismounted. 
 What was my confusion when he advanced towards me and 
 spoke to me ! 
 
 " Madame," he said, calling me " madame !" " His grace 
 would say one word to you, Avith permission of your friends." 
 
 " Go with this gentleman, child," said Sir Christopher, laugh- 
 ing. Everybody laughs — I know not why — when a girl is led 
 out to be kissed. 
 
 "Fair white rose of Somerset," said his grace — 'twas the most 
 musical voice in the world, and the softest. " Fair white rose " — 
 he repeated the words — " let me be assured of the welcome of 
 Ilchester by a kiss from your sweet lips, which I will return in 
 token of my gratitude." 
 
 All the people who heard these words shouted as if they 
 would burst themselves asunder. And the gentleman who had 
 led me forth lifted me so that my foot rested on the duke's 
 boot, Avhile his grace laid his arm tenderly round my waist and 
 kissed me twice.
 
 r V \ 
 
 " 'Fair white rose of Somerset, let me be assured of (he welcome of Ilcheskr by 
 a kiss from your sweet lips, which Iicill return in token of my gratitude.'"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 59 
 
 " Sweet child," he said, " what is thy name ?" 
 
 "By your grace's leave," I said, the words being very strange, 
 " I am the daughter of Dr. Comfort Eykin, an ejected minister. 
 I have come with Sir Christopher Challis, who stands yonder." 
 
 "Sir Christoplier !" said the duke, as if surprised. "Let me 
 shake hands with Sir Christopher, I take it kindly. Sir Chris- 
 topher, that you have so far honored me." So he gave the old 
 man, who stepped forward bareheaded, his hand, still holding 
 me by the v.aist. " I pray that we may meet again. Sir Chris- 
 topher, and that before long." Then he drew a gold ring, set 
 with emeralds, from his forefinger, and placed it upon mine, and 
 kissed me again, and then suffered me to be lifted down. And 
 you may be sure that it was with red cheeks that I took my 
 place among my friends. Yet Sir Christopher was pleased at 
 the notice taken of him by the duke, and my father was not 
 displeased at the part I had been made to play. 
 
 When the duke had ridden through the town, many of the 
 people followed after, as far as White Lackington, which is 
 close to Ilminster. So many were they that they took down a 
 great piece of the park paling to admit them all ; and there, 
 under a Spanish chestnut-tree, the duke drank to the health of 
 all the people. 
 
 At Ilminster, whither he rode a few days later ; at Chard, at 
 Ford Abbey, at Wliyton, and at Exeter — wherever he went, he 
 was received with the same shouts and acclamations. It is no 
 wonder, therefore, that he should believe, a few years later, that 
 those people would follow him when he drew the sword for the 
 Protestant religion. 
 
 One thing is certain — that in the west of England, from the 
 progress of Monmouth to the rebellion, there was uneasiness, 
 with an anxious looking forward to troubled times. The peo- 
 ple of Taunton kept as a day of holiday and thanksgiving the 
 anniversary of the raising of Charles's siege. When the mayor, 
 in 1683, tried to stop the celebration they nearly stoned him to 
 death. After this. Sir George Jeffreys, afterwards Lord Jeffreys, 
 who took the spring circuit in 1684, was called upon to report 
 on the loyalty of the west country. He reported that the gen- 
 try were loyal and well disposed. But he knew not the mind 
 of the weavers and spinners of the country. 
 
 It was this progress, the sight of the duke's sweet face, his
 
 (50 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 flattery of me, and his soft words, and the ring he gave me, 
 which made me from that moment such a partisan of his cause 
 as only a woman can be. AVomen cannot fight, but they can 
 feel ; and they cannot only ardently desire, but they can de- 
 spise and contemn those who think otherwise. I cannot say 
 that it was I who persuaded our boys five years later to join the 
 duke ; but I can truly say that I did and said all that a woman 
 can ; that I rejoiced when they did so ; and that I should never 
 have forgiven Robin had he joined the forces of the papist king. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WITH THE ELDERS. 
 
 So we went home again, all well pleased, and I holding the 
 duke's ring tight, I promise you. It was a most beautiful ring 
 when I came to look at it ; a great emerald was in the midst of 
 it, with little pearls and emeralds set alternately around it. Nev- 
 er was such a grand gift to so humble a person. I tied it to a 
 black ribbon and put it in the box which held my clothes. But 
 sometimes I could not forbear the pleasure of wearing it round 
 my neck, secretly ; not for the joy of possessing the ring so 
 much as for remembering the lovely face and the gracious words 
 of the giver. 
 
 At that time I was in my sixteenth year, but well grown for 
 my age. Like my father, I am above the conmion stature of 
 women. AVe continued for more than four years longer to live 
 without the company of the boys, which caused me to be much 
 in the society of my elders, and as much at the manor-house 
 and the rectory as at home. At the former place Sir Christo- 
 pher loved to have me with him all day long, if my mother would 
 suffer it ; when he walked in his garden I must be at his side. 
 When he awoke after his afternoon sleep he liked to see me sit- 
 ting ready to talk to him. I must play to him and sing to him ; 
 or I must bring out the backgammon board ; or I must read the 
 last letters from Robin and Humphrey. Life is dull for an old 
 man whose friends are mostly dead, unless he have the company 
 of the young. So David in his old age took to himself a young 
 wife, Avhen, instead, he should have comforted his heart with the
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 61 
 
 play and prattle of his grandchildren — of whom, I suppose, 
 there must have been many families. 
 
 Now, as I was so much with his honor, I had much talk with 
 him upon things on which wise and ancient men do not often 
 converse with girls, and I was often present when he discoursed 
 with my father or with his son-in-law, the rector, on high and 
 serious matters. It was a time of great anxiety and uncertainty. 
 There were great pope burnings in the country ; and when some 
 were put in pillory for riot at these bonfires not a hand was 
 lifted against them. They had one at Sherborne on November 17, 
 the anniversary of Queen Elizabeth's coronation day, instead of 
 November 5. Boys went about the streets asking for halfpence 
 and singing — 
 
 "Up with the hulder, 
 
 And down with the rope; 
 Give us a penny 
 
 To burn tiie old pope." 
 
 There were riots in Taunton, where the High-Church party 
 burned the pulpit of a meeting-house ; people went about open- 
 ly saying that the Roundheads would soon come back again. 
 From Robin we heard of the popish plots and the flight of the 
 Duke of York, and afterwards of Monmouth's disgrace and ex- 
 ile. At all the market towns where men gathered together they 
 talked of these things, and many whispered together : a thing 
 which Sir Christopher loved not, because it spoke of conspira- 
 cies and secret plots, whereas he was all for bold declaration of 
 conscience. 
 
 In short, it was an anxious time, and everybody understood 
 that serious things would happen should the king die. There 
 were not wanting, besides, omens of coming ills — if you accept 
 such things as omens or warnings. To Taunton (afterwards the 
 town most afEected by the Rebellion) a plain warning was vouch- 
 safed by the rumbling and thundering and shaking of the earth 
 itself, so that dishes were knocked down and cups broken, and 
 plaster shaken off the walls of houses. And once (this did I 
 myself see with my owm eyes) the sun rose with four other suns 
 for companions — a most terrifying sight, though Mr. Boscorel, 
 who spoke learnedly on omens, had an explanation of this mira- 
 cle, which he said was due to natural causes alone. And at He 
 Brewers there was a monstrous birth of two girls with but one
 
 62 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 body from the breast downwards ; tbeir names were Aquila and 
 Priscilla ; but I believe they lived but a short time. 
 
 I needs must tell of Mr. Boscorel because he was a man the 
 like of whom I have never since beheld. I believe there can be 
 few men such as he was, who could so readily exchange the world 
 of heat and ai'gument for the calm and dispassionate air of art 
 and music. Even religion (if I may venture to say so) seemed 
 of less importance to him than art. I have said that he taught 
 me to play upon the spinnet. Now that Humphrey was gone, 
 he desired my company every day, in order, he pretended, that I 
 might grow perfect in my performance, but in reality because he 
 was lonely at the rectory, and found pleasure in my company. 
 We played together — he upon the violoncello and I upon the 
 spinnet — such music as he chose. It was sometimes grave and 
 solemn music, such as Lulli's " Miserere" or his " De Profun- 
 dis ;" sometimes it was some part of a Roman Catholic mass : 
 then was my soul uplifted and wafted heavenwards by the chords, 
 which seemed prayer and praise lit for the angels to harp be- 
 fore the throne. Sometimes it was music which spoke of human 
 passions, when I would be, in like manner, carried out of myself. 
 My master would watch not only my execution, commending or 
 correcting, but he would also watch the effect of the music upon 
 my mind. 
 
 " We are ourselves," he said, " like unto the instruments upon 
 which we play. For as one kind of instrument, as the drum, 
 produces but one note ; and another, as the cymbals, but a clash- 
 ing which is in itself discordant, but made effective in a band ; 
 so others are, like the most delicate and sensitive violins — those 
 of Cremona — capable of producing the finest music that the soul 
 of man hath ever devised. It is by such music, child, that some 
 of us mount unto heaven. As for me, indeed, I daily feel more 
 and more that music leadeth the soul upward, and that, as re- 
 gards the disputations on the Word of God, the letter indeed 
 killeth, but the spirit which music helpeth us to feel — the spirit, 
 I say, giveth life." He sighed, and drew his bow gently across 
 the first string of his violoncello. " Tis a time of angry argu- 
 ment. The Word of God is thrown from one to the other as a 
 pebble is shot from a sling. It wearies me. In this room, 
 among these books of music, my soul finds rest, and the spirit- 
 ual part of me is lifted heavenwards. Humphrey and you, my
 
 I 
 
 =^ 
 
 " We played together — Tie upon the violoncello and I upon tJie spinet — s^ich 
 
 music as lie chose."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 63 
 
 dear, alone can comprehend this saying. Thou hast a mind like 
 his, to feel and understand what music means. Listen !" Here 
 he executed a piece of music at which the tears rose to my eyes. 
 " That is from the Romish mass which we are taught ignorantly 
 to despise. My child, I am, indeed, no Catholic, and I hold that 
 ours is the purer church ; yet, in losing the mass we have lost 
 the great music Avith which the Catholics sustain their souls. 
 Some of our anthems, truly, are good ; but what is a single an- 
 them, linished in ten minutes, compared with a grand mass which 
 lasts three hours ?" 
 
 Then he had portfolios filled with engravings, which he would 
 bring forth and contemplate with a kind of rapture, discoursing 
 upon the engraver's art and its difliculties, so that I should not, 
 as is the case with ignorant persons, suppose that these things 
 were produced without much training and skill. He had also 
 boxes full of coins, medals, and transparent gems carved most del- 
 icately with heathen gods and goddesses, shepherds and swains, 
 after the ancient fashion, unclothed and unashamed. On these 
 things lie would gaze with admiration which he tried to teach 
 me, but could not, because I cannot believe that we may without 
 blame look upon such figures. Nevertheless, they were most 
 beautiful, the hands and faces and the very hair so delicately 
 and exquisitely carved that you could hardly believe it possible. 
 And he talked solemnly and scholarly of these gauds, as if 
 they were things which peculiarly deserved the attention of wise 
 and learned men. Nay, he would be even lifted out of himself 
 in considering them. 
 
 " Child," he said, " we know not, and we cannot even guess, 
 the wonders of art that in heaven we shall learn to accomplish " 
 — as if carving and painting were the occupation of angels I — 
 " or the miracles of beauty and of dexterity that wo shall be able 
 to desiffu and execute. Here, the hand is clumsv and the brain 
 is dull ; we cannot rise above ourselves ; we are blind to the 
 beauty with which the Lord hath filled the earth for the solace 
 of human creatures. Nay ; we are not even tender with the 
 beauty that we see and love. We suffer maidens sweet as the 
 dreams of poets to waste their beauty unpraised and unsung. I 
 am old, child, or I would praise thee in immortal verse. Much 
 I fear that thou wilt grow old without the praise of sweet num- 
 bers. Well ; there is no doubt more lasting beauty of face and
 
 64 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 figure hereafter to joy the souls of the elect. And thou wilt 
 Diuko his happiness for one man on earth. Pray Heaven, sweet 
 child, that he look also to thine !" 
 
 He would say such things with so grand an air, speaking as if 
 his words should command respect, and with so kindly an eye 
 and a soft smile, while he gently stroked the side of his nose, 
 wliich was long, that I was always carried away with the author- 
 ity of it, and not till after I left him did 1 begin to perceive that 
 my father would certainly never allow that the elect should oc- 
 cupy themselves with the frivolous pursuits of painting and the 
 fine arts, but only with the playing of their harps and the sing- 
 ing of praises. It was this consideration which caused him to 
 consent that his daughter should learn the spinnet. I did not 
 tell him (God forgive me for the deceit, if there was any !) that 
 we sometimes played music written for the mass ; nor did I re- 
 peat what Mr. Boscorel said concerning art and the flinging about 
 of the Word of God, because my father was wholly occupied in 
 controversy, and his principal, if not his only, weapon was the 
 Word of God. 
 
 Another pleasure which we had was to follow Humphrey in 
 his travels by the aid of his letters and a mappa mundi, or atlas, 
 wliich the rector possessed. Then I remember when we heard 
 that the boys were about to ride together through France from 
 Montpellier to Leyden in Holland, we had on the table the great 
 map of France. There were many drawings, coats-of-arms, and 
 other pretty things on the map. 
 
 " It is now," said Mr. Boscorel, finding out the place he wanted, 
 and keeping his forefinger upon it, " nearly thirty years since I 
 made the grand tour, being then governor to the young Lord 
 Silchester, who afterwards died of the plague in London. Else 
 had I been now a bishop, who am forgotten in this little place. 
 The boys will ride, I take it, by the same road which we took ; 
 first, because it is the high-road and the safest ; next, because it 
 is the best provided with inns and resting-places ; and, lastly, 
 because it passes through the best part of his most Christian 
 majesty's dominions, and carries the traveller through his finest 
 and most stately cities. From Montpellier they will ride — fol- 
 low my finger, child — to Nismes. Before the Revocation it was 
 a great place for those of the Reformed religion, and a populous 
 town. Here they will not fail to visit the Roman temple which
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 65 
 
 still stands. It is not, indeed, sucli a noble monument as one 
 may see in Rome ; but it is in good preservation, and a fair ex- 
 ample of the later style. They will also visit the great amphi- 
 theatre, which should be cleared of the mean houses which are 
 now built up within it, and so exposed in all its vastncss to the 
 admiration of the world. After seeing these things they will di- 
 rect their way across a desolate piece of country to Avignon, 
 passing on the way the ancient Roman aqueduct called the Pont 
 de Gard. At Avignon they will admire the many churches and 
 the walls, and will not fail to visit the Palace of the Popes dur- 
 ing the Great Schism. Thence they will ride northwards, un- 
 less they wish first to see the Roman remains at Aries. Thence 
 will they proceed np the valley of the Rhone, through many 
 stately towns, till they come to Lyons, where, doubtless they will 
 sojourn for a few days. Next, they will journey through the rich 
 country of Burgundy, and from the ancient town of Dijon will 
 reach Paris through the city of Fontainebleau. On the way 
 they will sec many windows, noble houses and castles, with rich 
 towns and splendid churches. In no country are there more splen- 
 did churches, built in the Gothic style, which we have now forgot- 
 ten. Some of them, alas ! have been defaced in the wars (so- 
 called of religion), where, as happened also to us, the delicate 
 carved work, the scrolls and flowers and statues were destroyed, 
 and the painted windows broken. Alas ! that men should refuse 
 to suffer art to become the minister and handmaid of religion ! 
 Yet in the first and most glorious temple in which the glory of the 
 Lord was visibly present, there were carved and graven lilies, with 
 lions, oxen, chariots, cherubim, palm-trees, and pomegranates." 
 
 He closed his atlas and sat down. 
 
 " Child," he said, meditating. " For a scholar, in his youth, 
 there is no pleasure comparable with the pleasure of travelling in 
 strange countries, among the monuments of ancient days. My 
 own son did never, to my sorrow, desire the pleasant paths of 
 learning, and did never show any love for the arts, in which I 
 have always taken so great delight. He desireth rather the com- 
 panionship of men ; he loveth to drink and sing ; and he nour- 
 isheth a huge ambition. 'Tis best that we are not all alike. 
 Humphrey should have been my son. Forget not, my child, that 
 he hath desired to be remembered to thee in every letter which 
 be hath written." 
 
 E
 
 G6 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 If tlie rector spoke much of Humplirey, madam made amends 
 by talking continually of Robin, and of the great things that he 
 would do v.'hen he returned home. Justice of the peace, that he 
 would certainly be made ; captain first and afterwards colonel in 
 the Somerset Militia, that also should he be ; knight of the shire, 
 if he were ambitious — but that I knew he would never be ; high 
 sheriff of the county, if his slender means permitted — for the es- 
 tate was not worth more than six or seven hundred pounds a 
 year. PerhajDS he would marry an heiress : it would be greatly 
 to the advantage of the family if an heiress were to come into it 
 with broad acres of her own ; but she was not a woman who 
 would seek to control her son in the matter of his affections, 
 and if he chose a girl with no fortune to her back, if she was a 
 good girl and pious, madam would never say him nay. And he 
 would soon return. The boy had been at Oxford and next in 
 London, learning Law, such as justices require. He was now 
 with Humphrey at the University of Leyden, doubtless learning 
 more law. 
 
 " My dear," said madam, " we want him home. His grand- 
 father groweth old, though still, thank God, in the full posses- 
 sion of his faculties. Yet a young man's presence is needed. I 
 trust and pray that he will return as he went, innocent, in spite of 
 the many temptations of the wicked city. And, oh! child — 
 what if he should have lost his heart to some designing city 
 hussy !" 
 
 He came — as ye shall hear immediately — Robin came home. 
 "Would to God that he had waited, if only for a single month ! 
 Had he not come all our afBictions would have been spared us ! 
 Had he not come that good old man, Sir Christopher — but it is 
 vain to imagine what might have been. We are in the hands 
 of the Lord ; nothing that hapjxjns to us is permitted but by 
 him, and for some wise purpose was Sir Christopher in his old 
 age — alas ! Avhy should I anticipate what I have to narrate ?
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 67 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LE ROY EST MORT. 
 
 In February of the year 1G85 King Charles II. died. 
 
 Sir Christopher himself brought us the news from Sherborne, 
 whither he had gone, as was his wont, to the weekly ordinary. 
 He clattered up the lane on his eob, and halted at our gate. 
 
 " Call thy father, child. Give you good-day, Madam Eykin. 
 "Will your husband leave his books and come forth for a mo- 
 ment ? Tell him I have news." 
 
 My father rose and obeyed. His gown was in rags ; his feet 
 were clad in cloth shoon, which I worked for him ; his cheek 
 was wasted ; but his eye was keen. He was lean and tall ; his 
 hair was as white as Sir Christopher's, though he was full twen- 
 ty years younger. 
 
 "Friend and gossip," said Sir Christopher, "the king is 
 dead." 
 
 " Is Charles Stewart dead V my father replied. " He cum- 
 bered the earth too long. For five-and-twenty years hath he 
 persecuted the saints. Also he hath burnt incense after the 
 abomination of the heathen. Let his lot be as the lot of Ahaz." 
 
 " Nay ; he is buried by this time. His brother the Duke of 
 York hath been proclaimed king." 
 
 " James the Papist. It is as though Manasseh should succeed 
 to Ahaz. And after him Jehoiakim." 
 
 " Yet the bells will ring and we shall pray for the king ; and 
 wise men. Friend Eykin, will do well to keep silence." 
 
 " There is a time to speak and a time to keep silence. It may 
 be that the time is at hand when a godly man must stretch forth 
 his hand to tear down the Scarlet Woman, though she slay him 
 in the attempt." 
 
 " It may be so, Friend Eykin ; yet stretch not forth thine hand 
 until thou art well assured of the divine command. The kinsr is 
 dead. Now will my son-in-law ring out the bells for the new
 
 68 FOB FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 king, and we sLall pray for him, as we prayed for his brother. 
 It is our duty to pray for all in authority, though to the prayers 
 of a whole nation there seemeth, so far as human reason can 
 perceive, no answer." 
 
 " I, for one, will pray no more for a king who is a papist. 
 Rather will I pray daily for his overthrow." 
 
 " King Charles is said to have received a priest before he died. 
 Yet it is worse that the king should be an open than a secret 
 Catholic. Let us be patient, Dr. Eykin, and await the time." 
 
 So he rode up the village, and presently the bells were set 
 a-ringing, and they clashed as joyously, echoing around the Gor- 
 ton Hills, as if the accession of King James II. was the only thing 
 wanted to make the nation prosperous, happy, and religious. 
 
 My father stood at the gate after Sir Christopher left him. 
 The wind was cold, and the twilight was falling, and his cassock 
 was thin, but he remained there motionless, until my mother went 
 out and drew him back to the house by the arm. He went into 
 his own room, but he read no more that day. 
 
 In the evening he came forth and sat with us, and while I sat 
 sewing, my mother spinning, by the light of the fire, he dis- 
 coursed, which was unusual with him, upon things and peoples 
 and the best form of government, which he held to be a common- 
 wealth, with a strong man for president. But he was to hold his 
 power from the people, and was to lay it down frequently, lest 
 he should in his turn be tempted to become a king. And if he 
 were to fall away from righteousness, or to live in open sin, or to 
 be a merrymaker, or to suffer his country to fall from a high 
 place among the nations, he was to be displaced, and be forced 
 to retire. As for the man Charles, now dead, he would become, 
 my father said, an example to all future ages, and a warning of 
 what may happen when the doctrine of Divine Right is generally 
 accepted and acted upon ; the king himself being not so much 
 blamed by him as the practice of hereditary rule which caused 
 him to be seated upon the throne, when his true place, my father 
 said, was among the lackeys and varlets of the palace. " His 
 brother James," he added, " had now an opportunity which 
 occurred to few — for he might become another Josiah. But I 
 think he will neglect that opportunity," he concluded ; yea, even 
 if Ililkiah the Priest were to brinw him a message from Iluldah 
 the Prophetess ; for he doth belong to a family which, by the
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. G9 
 
 divine displeasure, can never perceive the truth. Let us now 
 read the Word, and wrestle with the Lord in prayer." 
 
 Next we heard that loyal addresses were poured in from all 
 quarters congratulating the king, and promising most submissive 
 obedience. One would have thought that the people were re- 
 joiced at the succession of a Roman Catholic ; it Avas said that 
 the king had promised liberty of conscience unto all ; that he 
 claimed that liberty for himself, and that he went to mass daily 
 and openly. 
 
 But many there were who foresaw trouble. Unfortunately, 
 one of them was Sir Christopher, who spoke his mind at all 
 times too fiercely for his safety. Mr. Boscorel, also, was of opin- 
 ion that civil war would speedily ensue. 
 
 " The king's friends," he said, " may for a time bay the sup- 
 port of the Xonconforraists, and make a show of religious liber- 
 ty. Thus may they govern for a while. But it is not in the 
 nature of the Roman Catholic priest to countenance religious 
 liberty, or to sit down contented with less than all the pie. They 
 must forever scheme and intrigue for more power. Religious 
 liberty ? It means to them the eternal damnation of those who 
 hold themselves free to think for themselves. They would be 
 less than human if they did not try to save the souls of the peo- 
 ple by docking their freedom. They must make this country 
 even as Spain or Italy. Is it to be believed that they will suffer 
 the Church to retain her revenues, or the universities to remain 
 out of their control ? Nay, will they allow the grammar schools 
 to be in the hands of Protestants ? Never ! The next genera- 
 tion will be wholly Catholic, unless the present generation send 
 king and priests packing." 
 
 These were treasonable words, but they were uttered in the 
 hall of the manor-house with no other listeners than Sir Chris- 
 topher and the rector. 
 
 " Seeing these things, son-in-law," said Sir Christopher, " what 
 becomes of Right Divine ? Where is the duty of non-resist- 
 ance !" 
 
 " The doctrine of Right Divine," said Mr. Boscorel, " includes 
 the divine institution of a monarchy, which, I confess, is mani- 
 festly untenable, because the Lord granted a king to the people 
 only because they clamored for one. Also, had the institution 
 been of divine foundation, the Jews would never have been al-
 
 70 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 lowed to live under the rule of judges, tetrarchs, and Roman 
 governors." 
 
 " You have not always spoken so plainly," said Sir Christopher. 
 
 " Nay ; why be always proclaiming to the world your thoughts 
 and opinions ? Besides, even if the doctrine of non-resistance 
 were sound, there may be cases in which just laws may be justly 
 set aside. I say not that this is one, as yet. But if there were 
 danger of the ancient superstitions being thrust upon us to the 
 destruction of our souls, I say not. Nay ; if a starving man take a 
 loaf of bread, there being no other way possible to save his life, 
 one would not, therefore, hold him a thief. Yet the law remains." 
 
 " Shall the blood which hath been poured out for the cause 
 of liberty prove to be shed in vain ?" asked Sir Christopher. 
 
 " Why, sir," said the rector, " the same question might be 
 asked in France, where the Protestants fought longer and against 
 greater odds than we in this country. Yet the blood of those 
 martyrs hath been shed in vain ; the Church of Eome is there the 
 conqueror indeed. It is laid upon the Protestants, even upon us, 
 who hold that we arc a true branch of the ancient Apostolic 
 Church, to defend ourselves continually against an enemy who 
 is always at unity, always guided by one man, always knows what 
 he wants, and is always working to get it. We, on the other 
 hand, do not know our own minds, and must forever be quarrel- 
 ling among ourselves. Nevertheless, the heart of the country is 
 Protestant ; and sooner or later the case of conscience may arise 
 whether — the law remaining unchanged — we may not blamelessly 
 break the law ?" 
 
 That case of conscience was not yet ripe for consideration. 
 There needed first many things — including the martyrdom of 
 saints and innocent men and poor, ignorant rustics — before the 
 country roused herself once more to seize her liberties. Then 
 as to that poor doctrine of Divine Right, they all made a mouth- 
 ful of it, except only a small and harmless band of nonjurors. 
 
 At the outset, whatever the opinions of the people — who could 
 have been made to rise as one man — the gentry remained loyal. 
 Above all things, they dreaded another civil war. 
 
 " We must fain accept the king's professions," said the rector. 
 " If we have misgivings, let us disguise them. Let us rather 
 nourish the hope that they are honestly meant ; and let us wait. 
 England will not become another Spain in a single day. Let us
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. Vl 
 
 wait. The stake is not yet set up in Smitbfield, and the Inqui- 
 sition is not yet established in the country." 
 
 It was in this temper that the king's accession found Sir 
 Christopher. Afterwards he was accused of having harbored 
 designs against the king from the beginning. That, indeed, was 
 not the case. He had no thought of entering into any such en- 
 terprise. Yet he never doubted that in the end there would be 
 an uprising against the rule of the priests. Nor did he doubt 
 that the king would be pushed on by his advisers to one preten- 
 sion after another for the advancement of his own j)rerogative 
 and the displacement of the Protestant Church. Nay, he openly 
 predicted that there would be such attempts ; and he main- 
 tained — such was his wisdom — that, in the long run, the Protes- 
 tant faith would be established upon a surer foundation than 
 ever. But as for conspiring or being cognizant of any conspir- 
 acy, that was untrue. Why, he was at this time seventy-five 
 years of age — a time when such men as Sir Christopher have 
 continually before their eyes death and the judgment. 
 
 As for my father, perhaps I am wrong, but in the daily pray- 
 ers of night and morning, and in the " Grace before meat," he 
 seemed to find a freer utterance, and to wrestle more vehement- 
 ly than was his wont on the subject of the Scarlet Woman, offer- 
 ing himself as a willing martyr and confessor, if by the shedding of 
 his blood the great day of her final overthrow might be advanced ; 
 yet always humble, not daring to think of himself as anything 
 but an instrument to do the will of his Master. In the end, his 
 death truly helped, with others, to bring a Protestant king to the 
 throne of these isles. And since we knew him to be so deep a 
 scholar, always reading and learning, and in no sense a man of 
 activity, the thing which he presently did amazed us all. Yet 
 we ought to have known that one v/ho is under the divine com- 
 mand to preach the Word of God, and hath been silenced by 
 man for more than twenty years, so that the strength of his man- 
 hood hath run to waste and is lost — it is a most terrible and 
 grievous thing for a man to be condemned to idleness — may be- 
 come like unto one of those burning mountains of which we 
 sometimes read in books of voyages. In him, as in them, the 
 inner fires rage and burn, growing ever stronger and fiercer, un- 
 til presently they rend asunder the sides of the mountain and 
 burst forth, pouring down liquid fire over the unhappy valleys
 
 Y2 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOxM. 
 
 beneath, with showers of red-hot ashes to destroy and cover up 
 the smiling homesteads and the fertile meadows. 
 
 It is true that my father chafed continually at the inaction 
 forced upon him, but his impatience was never so strong as at 
 this time, namely, after the accession of King James. It drove 
 him from his books and out into the fields and lanes, where he 
 walked to and fro, waving his long arms, and sometimes crying 
 aloud and shouting in the woods, as if compelled to cry out in 
 order to quench some raging fever or heat of his mind. 
 
 About this time, too, I remember, they began to talk of the 
 exiles in Holland. The Duke of Monmouth was there with the 
 Earl of Argyle, and with them a company of firebrands eager 
 to get back to England and their property. 
 
 I am certain now that my father (and perhaps through his in- 
 formation, Sir Christopher also) was kept acquainted with the 
 plots and designs that were carried on in the Low Countries. 
 Nay ; I am also certain that his informant was none other than 
 Humphrey, who was still in Ley den. I have seen a letter from 
 him, written, as I now understand, in a kind of allegory or para- 
 ble, in which one thing was said and anotlier meant. Thus, he 
 pretends to speak of Dutch gardening : " The gardeners," he 
 says, " take infinite pains that their secrets shall not be learned or 
 disclosed. I know, however, that a certain blue tulip much de- 
 sired by many gardeners in England, will be taken across the 
 water this year, and I hope that by next year the precious bulb 
 may be fully planted in English soil. The preparation of the 
 soil necessary for the favorable reception of the bulb is well 
 known to you, and you will understand how to mix your soil and 
 to add manure and so forth. I myself expect to finish what I 
 have to do in a few weeks, when I shall cross to London, and so 
 ride westwards, and hope to pay my respects to my revered 
 tutor in the month of June next. It may be that I shall come 
 with the tulip, but that is not certain. Many messages have been 
 received offering large sums of money for the bulb, so that it is 
 hoped that the Dutch gardeners will let it go. — From H. C." 
 
 The tulip, you see, was the Duke of Monmouth, and the 
 Dutch gardeners were the Scotch and English exiles then in 
 Holland, and the English gardeners were the duke's friends, and 
 H. C. was Humphrey Challis. 
 
 I think that Sir Christopher must have known of this cor-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 73 
 
 rcspondence, because I now remember tliat my father would sit 
 with him for many hours looking at a map of England, and had 
 been conversing earnestly, and making notes in a book. These 
 notes he made in the Arabic character, which no one but him- 
 self could read. I therefore suppose that he was estimating the 
 number of Xonconformists who might be disposed to aid in 
 such an enterprise as Humphrey's " gardeners " were contem- 
 plating. 
 
 Robin, who certainly -was no conspirator, also wrote a letter 
 from Leyden about this time saying that something was expected, 
 nobody knew what ; but that the exiles were meeting constantly, 
 as if something were brewing. 
 
 It was about the first week in June that the news came to us 
 of Lord Aro^vle's landing. This was the beffinningf. After that, 
 as you will hear, the news came thick and fast ; every day some- 
 thing fresh, and something to quicken the most sluggish pulse. 
 To me, at least, it seemed as if the breath of God himself was 
 poured out ujDon the country, and that the people were every- 
 where resolved to banish the accursed thing from their midst. 
 Alas ! that simple country maid was deceived ! The accursed 
 thing was to be driven forth, but not yet. The country party 
 hated the pope, but they dreaded civil war ; and, indeed, there 
 is hardly any excuse for that most dreadful scourge, except the 
 salvation of the soul and the safeguarding of liberties. They 
 would gladly welcome a rising, but it must be general and uni- 
 versal. They had for five-and-twenty years been taught the 
 wickedness of rebellion, and now there was no way to secure the 
 Protestant faith except by rebellion. Unhappily, the rebellion 
 began before the country gentlemen were ready to begin. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Before the storm breaks there sometimes falls upon the earth 
 a brief time when the sun shines in splendor from a clear sky, 
 the air is balmy and delightsome, the birds sing in the coppice, 
 and the innocent lambs leap in the meadows. Then, suddenly, 
 black clouds gather from the north ; the wind blows cold ; in a 
 4
 
 14: 
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 minute the sky is black ; the lightnings flash, the thunders roll, 
 the wind roars, the hail beats down and strips the orchard of its 
 promise, and silences the birds cowering in the branches, and 
 drives the trembling sheep to take shelter in the hedges. 
 
 This was to be my case. You shall understand how for a sin- 
 gle day — it was no more — I was the happiest girl in all the world. 
 
 I may without any shame confess that I have always loved 
 Robin from my earliest childhood. That was no great wonder, 
 seeing what manner of boy he was, and how he was always kind 
 and thoughtful for me. We were at first only brother and sis- 
 ter together, which is natural and reasonable when children grow 
 up together ; nor can I tell when or how we ceased to be broth- 
 er and sister, save that it may have been when Robin kissed me 
 so tenderly at parting, and told me that he should always love 
 me. I do not think that brothers do generally protest love and 
 promise continual affection. Barnaby certainly never declared 
 his love for me, nor did he ever promise to love me all his life. 
 Perhaps, had he remained longer, he might have become as ten- 
 der as he was good-hearted ; but I think that tenderness towards 
 a sister is not in the nature of a boy. I loved Robin, and I loved 
 Humphrey, both as if they were brothers ; but one of them ceased 
 to be my brother, while the other, in consequence, remained my 
 brother always. 
 
 A girl may be ignorant of the world as I was, and of lovers 
 and their ways as I was, and yet she cannot grow from a child 
 to a woman without knowing that when a young man who hath 
 promised to love her always, speaks of her in every letter, he 
 means more than common brotherly love. Nor can any woman 
 be indifferent to a man who thus regards her ; nor can she think 
 upon love without the desire of being herself loved. Truly, I 
 had always before my eyes the spectacle of that holy love which 
 consecrates every part of life. I mean in the case of my mother, 
 whose waking and sleeping thoughts were all for her husband ; 
 who worked continually and cheerfully with her hands that he 
 might be enabled to study without other work, and gave up her 
 whole life, without grudging — even reckoning it her happiness 
 and his privilege — in order to provide food and shelter for him. 
 It was enough reward for her that he should sometimes lay his 
 hand lovingly upon her head, or turn his eyes with affection to 
 meet hers.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 75 
 
 It was in the niglit of June 12, as I lay in bed, not yet asleep, 
 though it was already past nine o'clock, that I heard the tramp- 
 ling of hoofs crossing the stream and passing our cottage. Had 
 I known who were riding those horses there would have been but 
 little sleep for me that night. But I kncAV not, and did not sus- 
 pect, and so, supposing that it was only one of the farmers be- 
 lated, I closed ray eyes, and presently slept until the morning. 
 
 About five o'clock, or a little before that time, I awoke, the sun 
 having already arisen, and being now well above the hill. I arose 
 softly, leaving my mother asleep still, and, having dressed quick- 
 ly, and prayed a little, I crept softly down the stairs. In the 
 house there was such a stillness that I could even hear the romi- 
 lar breathing of my father as he slept upon his pallet among his 
 books ; it was chill and damp (as is the custom in the early 
 morning) in the room where we lived and worked. Yet, when 
 I threw open door and shutter and looked outside, the air was 
 full of warmth and refreshment ; as for the birds, they had long 
 since left their nests, and now were busy looking for their break- 
 fast ; the larks were singing overhead, and the bees already hum- 
 ming and droning. AVho would lie abed when he could get up 
 and enjoy the beauty of the morning ? When I had breathed 
 awhile, with pleasure and satisfaction, the soft air, which was 
 laden with the scent of flow^ers and of hay, I went in-doors again, 
 and swept and dusted the room. Then I opened the cupboard, 
 and considered the provision for breakfast. For my father there 
 would be a slice of cold bacon with a good crust of homemade 
 bread (better bread or sweeter was nowhere to be had) and a 
 cup of cider, warming to the spirits and good, for one who is no 
 longer young, against any rawness of the morning air. For my 
 mother and myself there would be, as soon as our neighbors' 
 cows were milked, a cup of warm milk and bread soaked in it. 
 'Tis a breakfast good for a grown person as well as for a child, 
 and it cost us nothing but the trouble of going to take it. 
 
 When I had swept the room and laid everything in its place 
 I went into the garden, hoe in hand, to weed the beds and trim 
 the borders. The garden was not very big, it is true, but it pro- 
 duced many things useful for us ; notably onions and sallet, be- 
 sides many herbs good for the house, for it was a fertile strip of 
 ground, and planted in every part of it. Now, such was the 
 beauty of the morning and the softness of the air that I pres-
 
 76 FOR FAITH AND FRKEDOM. 
 
 ently forgot the work about -wliich I had come into the garden, 
 and sat down in the shade upon a bench, sufiering my thoughts 
 to wander hither and thither. Much have I always pitied those 
 poor folk in towns who can never escape from the noise and 
 clatter of tongues, and sit somewhere in the sunshine or the 
 shade, while the cattle low in the meadows and the summer air 
 makes the leaves to rustle, and sufEer their thoughts to wander 
 here and there. Every morning when I arose was this spectacle 
 of nature's gladness presented to my eyes, but not every morn- 
 ing could my spirit (which sometimes crawls as if fearing the 
 light of day and the face of the sun) rise to meet and greet it, 
 and to feel it calling aloud for a hymn of praise and thanksgiv- 
 ing. For, indeed, this is a beautiful world, if Ave could always 
 suffer its loveliness (which we cannot for the earthliness of our 
 natures) to sink into our hearts. I know not Avhat I thought 
 this morning ; but I remember, while I considered the birds, 
 which neither reap nor sow, nor take any thought of to-morrow, 
 yet are daily fed by Heaven, that the words were Avhispered in 
 mine ear, " Are ye not much better than they ?" And this, 
 without doubt, prepared my heart for what should follow. 
 
 While I sat thinking of I know not what, there came foot- 
 steps — quick footsteps — along the road ; and I knew those foot- 
 steps, and sprang to my feet, and ran to the garden-gate, crying 
 " Robin !— it is Robin !" 
 
 Yes ; it was Robin. 
 
 He seized me by both hands, looking in my face curiously 
 and eagerly. 
 
 " Grace !" he said, drawing a deep breath ; " Oh ! but what 
 hath happened to thee ?" 
 
 " What should happen, Robin ?" 
 
 *' Oh ! Thou art changed, Grace ! 1 left thee almost a child, 
 and now — now — 1 thought to catch thee in my arms — a sweet 
 rustic nymph — and now — fain must I go upon my knees to a 
 goddess." 
 
 " Robin !" Who, indeed, would have expected such language 
 from Robin ? 
 
 " Grace," he said, still gazing upon me with a kind of won- 
 der which made me blush, " do you remember when we parted, 
 four years ago, the words we said ? As for me, I have never 
 forgotten them. I was to think of thee always ; I was to love
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 7? 
 
 thee always. Truly I may say that there is never a day but 
 thou hast been in my mind. But not like this." He continued 
 to look upon me as upon some strange creature, so that I began 
 to be frightened, and turned away. 
 
 " Nay, Grace, forgive me. I am one who is dazzled by the 
 splendor of the sun. Forgive me ; I cannot speak. I thought 
 of a village beauty, rosy-cheeked, sweet and wholesome as an 
 August quarander, and I find — " 
 
 " Robin — not a goddess." 
 
 " Well, then, a woman tall and stately, and more beautiful 
 than words can say." 
 
 " Nay, Robin, you do but flatter. That is not like the old 
 Robin I remember and " — I should have added — " loved," but 
 the word stuck. 
 
 " I swear, sweet saint — if I may swear — nay, then I do affirm 
 that I do not flatter. Hear me tell a plain tale. I have trav- 
 elled far since last I saw thee ; I have seen the great ladies of 
 the court both of St. James's and of the Louvre ; I have seen the 
 famous beauties of Provence and the black-eyed witches of Italy ; 
 but nowhere have I seen a woman half so fair." 
 
 " Robin — you must not ! Nay, Robin — you shame me !" 
 
 Then he knelt at my feet, and seized my hand and kissed it. 
 Oh, the foolishness of a man in love ! And yet it pleases us. 
 No woman is worth it. No woman can understand it ; nor can 
 she comprehend the power and might of man's love, nor why 
 he singles out her alone from all the rest, and fills his heart 
 wholly with her, so that all other women are henceforward as 
 his sisters. It is wonderful ; it is most wonderful. Yet it 
 pleases us. Nay, we thank God for it with all our heart and 
 with all our soul. 
 
 I would not, if I could, set down all the things which Robin 
 said. First, because the words of love are sacred ; next, be- 
 cause I would not that other women should know the extrava- 
 gance of his praise. It was in broken words, because love can 
 never be eloquent. 
 
 As for me, what could I do ? what could I say ? For I had 
 loved him from my very childhood, and now all my heart went 
 out from me and became his. I was all his. I was his slave 
 to command. That is the quality of earthly love by which it 
 most clearly resembles the heavenly love ; so that just as the
 
 78 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 
 
 godly man is wholly devoted to the will of the Lord in all things 
 great and small, resigned to his chastisements, and always anx- 
 ious to live and die in his service, so in earthly love one must 
 be wholly devoted to the person whom one loves. 
 
 And Robin was come home again, and I was lying in his arms, 
 and he was kissing; me, and calling^ me all the sweet and tender 
 things that he could invent, and laughing and sighing together 
 as if too happy to be quiet. Oh ! sweetest moments of my life ! 
 Why did they pass so quickly ? Oh ! sacrament of love, which 
 can be taken only once, and yet changes the whole of life, and 
 fills it with memory which is wholly sweet ! In all other earthly 
 things there is something of bitterness. In this holy joy of pure 
 and sacred love there is no bitterness — no ; not any. It leaves 
 behind nothing of reproach or of repentance, of shame or of 
 sorrow. It is altogether holy. 
 
 Now, when my boy had somewhat recovered from his first rapt- 
 ure, and I had assured him very earnestly that I was not, indeed, 
 an angel, but a most sinful woman, daily offending in my inner 
 thoughts (which he received, indeed, with an appearance of dis- 
 belief and scorn), I was able to consider his appearance, which 
 was now very fine, though always, as 1 learned when I saw him 
 among other gentlemen, with some soberness as became one 
 whose upbringing inclined him to soberness of dress as well as 
 of speech and manner. He wore a long wig of brown hair, which 
 might have been his own but for its length ; his hat was laced and 
 cocked, which gave him a gallant and martial appearance ; his 
 neckcloth was long and of fine lace ; beside him, in my russet 
 gown, I must have looked truly plain and rustic ; but Robin 
 was pleased not to think so, and love is a great magician to 
 cheat the eyes. 
 
 He was home again ; he told me he should travel no more 
 (yet you shall hear how far he aftervv^ards travelled) ; his only 
 desire now was to stay at home and live as his grandfather had 
 lived, in his native village ; he had nothing to pray for but 
 the continuance of my love — of which, indeed, there was no 
 doubt possible. 
 
 It was now close upon six o'clock, and I begged him to go 
 away for the present, and if my father and Sir Christopher 
 should agree, and it should seem to his honor a fit and proper 
 thing that Robin should marry a girl so penniless as myself.
 
 "And I was lying in his arms, and Tie was kissing me, and calling me all 
 the sweet and tender things that he could invent"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 79 
 
 why — then — we might meet again after breakfast, or after din- 
 ner : or, indeed, at any other time, and so discourse more upon 
 the matter. So he left me, being very rehictant to go ; and I, 
 forgetting my garden and what I had come forth to do, returned 
 to the house. 
 
 You must understand that all these things passed in the gar- 
 den divided from the lane by a thick hedge, and that passers-by 
 — but there were none — could not, very well, have seen what 
 was done, though they might have heard what was said. But 
 if my father had looked out of his window he could have seen, 
 and if my mother had come down-stairs she also might have 
 seen through the window, or through the open door. Of this 
 I thought not upon, nor was there anything to hide ; "though 
 one would not willingly sufEer any one, even one's own mother, 
 to see and listen at such a moment. Yet mother has since told 
 me that she saw Robin on his knees kissing my hands, but she 
 withdrew and would not look again. 
 
 When I stepped within the door she was at work with her 
 wheel, and looked up with a smile upon her lips, and tears were 
 in her eyes. Had I known what she had seen, I should have 
 been ashamed. 
 
 " Daughter," she said, softly, " thy cheek is burning red. 
 Hast thou, perchance, been too long in the sun ?" 
 
 " No, mother, the sun is not too hot." 
 
 " Daughter," she went on, still smiling through tears, " thine 
 eyes are bright and glowing. Hast thou a touch of fever by 
 ill chance ?" 
 
 " No, mother, I have no fever." 
 
 " Child, thy lips are trembling and thy hands are shaking. 
 My dear, my dear, what is it? Tell thy mother all." 
 
 She held out her arms to me, and I threw myself at her feet 
 and buried my head in her lap as if I had been again a child. 
 
 " Mother ! mother !" I cried, " Robin hath come home again, 
 and he says he loves me, and nothing will do but he must 
 marry me." 
 
 " My dear," she said, kissing and fondling me, " Robin hath 
 always been a good lad, and I doubt not that he hath returned 
 unspotted from the world ; but, nay, do not let us be too sure. 
 For, first, his honor must consent, and then madam ; and thy 
 father must be asked — and he would never, for any worldly
 
 80 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 honor, suffer thee to marry an ungodly man. As for thy lack 
 of fortune, I know not if it will stand in the way ; and as for 
 family, thy father, though he was born in New England, cometh 
 of a good stock, and I myself am a gentlewoman, and on both 
 sides we bear an ancient coat-of-arms. And as for thyself, my 
 dear, thou art — I thank God for it ! — of a sweet temper and an 
 obedient disposition. From the earliest thou hast never given 
 thy mother any uneasiness, and I think thy heart hath been 
 mercifully disposed towards goodness from thy childhood up- 
 ward. It is a special grace in this our long poverty and op- 
 pression ; and it consoles me partly for the loss of my son 
 Barnaby." Here she was silent for a space, and her eyes filled 
 and brimmed over. " Child," she said, earnestly, " thou art 
 comely in the eyes of men ; that have I known for long. It 
 is partly for thy sweet looks that Sir Christopher loves thee ; 
 Mr. Boscorel plays music with thee because his eyes love to 
 behold "the beauty of woman. Nay, I mean no reproach, be- 
 cause it is the nature of men to love all things beautiful, whether 
 it be the plumage of a bird or the shape of a woman's head. 
 Yes ; thou art beautiful, my dear. Beauty passes, but love re- 
 mains. Thy husband will, perchance, never cease to think thee 
 lovely if he still proves daily thy goodness and the loveliness of 
 thy heart. My dear, thou hast long comforted thy mother ; 
 now shalt thou go, with the blessing of the Lord, to be the 
 solace and the joy of thy husband." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HUMPHREY, 
 
 Presently my father came in, the Bible in his hand. By his 
 countenance it was plain that he had been already engaged in 
 meditation, and that his mind was charged as with a message. 
 
 Alas ! to think of the many great discourses that he pro- 
 nounced (being as a dog who must be muzzled should he leave 
 the farm-yard) to us women alone. If they were written down 
 the world would lift up its hands with wonder, and ask if a 
 prophet indeed had been vouchsafed to this unhappy country. 
 The Roman Church will have that the time of saints did not
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 81 
 
 end with the last of the apostles ; that may be, and yet a saint 
 has no more power after death than remains in his written words 
 and in the memory of his life. Shall we not, however, grant 
 that there may still be prophets, who see and apprehend the 
 meaning- of words and of things more fully than others even as 
 spiritually-minded as themselves ? Now, I say, considering- what 
 was immediately to befall us, the passage which my father read 
 and expounded that morning was in a manner truly prophetic. 
 It was the vision of the basket of summer fruit which was vouch- 
 safed to the prophet Amos. He read to us that terrible chap- 
 ter — everybody knows it, though it hath but fourteen verses : 
 
 " I will turn your feasts into mourning and all your songs into 
 lamentation. ... I will send a famine in the land ; not a fam- 
 ine of bread or a thirst of water, but of hearing the words of 
 the Lord." 
 
 lie then applied the chapter to these times, saying that the 
 Scriptures and the prophecies apply not only to the Israel of 
 the time when Amos or any other prophet lived, but to the 
 people of God in all ages, yet so that sometimes one prophet 
 seems to deliver the message that befits the time, and some- 
 times another. All these things prophesied by Amos had come 
 to pass in this country of Great Britain, so that there was, and 
 had now been for twenty-five years, a grievous famine and a 
 sore thirst for the words of the Lord. He continued to explain 
 and to enlarge upon this topic for nearly an hour, when he con- 
 cluded with a fervent prayer that the famine would pass away 
 and the sealed springs be open again for the children of grace 
 to drink and be refreshed. 
 
 This done, he took his breakfast in silence, as was his wont, 
 loving not to be disturbed by any earthly matters when his mind 
 was full of his morning discourse. When he had eaten the 
 bread and meat and taken the cup of cider, he arose and went 
 back to his own room, and shut the door. We should have no 
 more speech of him until dinner-time. 
 
 " I will speak w^ith him, my dear," said my mother. " But 
 not yet. Let us wait till we hear from Sir Christopher." 
 
 " I would that my father had read us a passage of encourage- 
 ment and promise on this morning of all mornings," I said. 
 
 My mother turned over the leaves of the Bible. " I will read 
 you a verse of encouragement," she said. " It is the word of 
 4* F
 
 82 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 God as much as the Book of the Prophet Amos." So she found 
 and I'ead for my comfort words which had a new meaninjy to me : 
 
 " My belov^ed spake and said unto me, ' Rise up, my love, my 
 fair one, and come away. For, lo ! the winter is past, the rain 
 is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth ; the time of 
 the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard 
 in our land ! The fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, and the 
 vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, 
 my fair one, and come away.' " 
 
 And again, these that follow : 
 
 " Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thine arm ; 
 for love is strong as death ; jealousy is cruel as the grave ; the 
 coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement 
 flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods 
 drown it. If a man would give all the substance of his house 
 for love it would utterly be contemned." 
 
 In these gracious, nay, these enraptured words, doth the Bible 
 speak of love ; and though I am not so ignorant as not to know 
 that it is the love of the Church for Christ, yet I am persuaded 
 by my own spiritual experience — whatever doctors of divinity 
 may argue — that the earthly love of husband and wife may be 
 spoken of in these very words as being the type of that other 
 and higher love. And in this matter I know that my mother 
 would also confirm my judgment. 
 
 It might have been between nine and ten that Humphrey 
 came. Surely he was changed more than Robin ; for the great 
 white periwig which he wore (being a physician) falling upon 
 his shoulders did partly hide the deformity of his shoulder, and 
 the black velvet coat did also become him mightily. As for his 
 face, that Avas not changed at all. It had been grave and seri- 
 ous in youth ; it was now more grave and more serious in man- 
 hood, lie stood in the doorway, not seeing me — I was making 
 a pudding for dinner, with my sleeves rolled up and my arms 
 white with flour. 
 
 *' Mistress Eykin," he said, " are old friends passed out of 
 mind ?" 
 
 " Why," my mother left her wheel and gave him her hand, 
 " 'tis Humphrey ! I knew that we should see thee this morn- 
 ing, Humphrey. Is thy health good, my son, and is all well 
 with thee ?"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 83 
 
 " All is well, madam, and my health is good. IIow is my 
 master — thy husband ?" 
 
 " He is always well, and — but thou knowest what manner of 
 life he leads. Of late he hath been much disquieted ; he is 
 restless — his mind runs much upon the prophecies of war and 
 pestilence. It is the news from London and the return of the 
 mass which keep him uneasy. Go in and see him, Plumphrey. 
 He will willingly suffer thee to disturb him, though we must not 
 go near him in his hours of study." 
 
 " Presently ; but where is my old playfellow — where is Grace ?" 
 
 " She is behind you, Humphrey." 
 
 He turned, and his pale face flushed when he saw me. 
 
 " Grace ?" he cried. " Is this Grace ? Nay, she is changed 
 indeed ! I knew not — I could not expect — nay, how could one 
 expect — " 
 
 " There is no change," said my mother, sharply. *' Grace 
 was a child, and is now a woman ; that is all." 
 
 " Humphrey expects," I said, " that we should all stop still 
 while time went on. You were to become a bachelor of medi- 
 cine, sir, and a fellow of All -Souls' College, and to travel in 
 Italy and France, and to come back in a velvet coat, and a long 
 sword, and a periwig over your shoulders ; and I was to be a 
 little girl still." 
 
 Humphrey shook his head. 
 
 " It is not only that," he said ; " though I confess that one 
 did not make due allowance for the flight of time. It is that 
 the sweet-faced child has become — " 
 
 " No, Humphrey," I said. " I want no compliments. Go 
 now, sir, and speak with my father. Afterwards you shall tell 
 me all that you have been doing." 
 
 He obeyed, and opened my father's door. 
 
 " Humphrey !" My father sprang to his feet. " Welcome, 
 my pupil ! Thou bringest good news ? Nay ; I have received 
 thy letters : I read the good news in thy face — I see it in thine 
 eyes. Welcome home !" 
 
 " Sir, I have, indeed, great news," said Humphrey. 
 
 Then the door was closed. 
 
 He stayed there for half an hour and more ; and wc heard 
 from within earnest talk — my father's voice sometimes uplifted, 
 loud and angry, but Humphrey's always low, as if he did not
 
 84 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 wisli US to overhear them. So, not to seem unto eacli other as 
 if we were listening, mother and I talked of other things, such 
 as the lightness of the pudding and the quantity of suet which 
 should be put into it, and the time it should boil in the pot, and 
 other things as women can whose hearts are full, yet they must 
 needs he talking^. 
 
 " Fatlier hath much to say to Humphrey," I said, after a time ; 
 *' he doth not use to like such interruption ?" 
 
 " Humphrey's conversation is no interruption, my dear. They 
 think the same thoughts and talk the same language. Your 
 father may teach and admonish us, hut he can only converse 
 with a scholar such as himself. It is not the least evil of our 
 oppression that he hath been cut off from the society of learned 
 men, in which he used to take so much delight. If Humphrey 
 remains here a little while you shall see your father lose the 
 eager and anxious look which hath of late possessed him. He 
 will talk to Humphrey, and will clear his mind. Then he will 
 be contented again for a while, or, at least, resigned." 
 
 Presently Humphrey came forth. His face was grave and 
 serious. My father came out of the room after him. 
 
 " Let us talk more," he said — " let us resume our talk. Join 
 me on the hillside, where none can hear us. It is, indeed, the 
 vision of the basket of summer fruit that we read this morn- 
 ing." His face Avas working with some inward excitement, and 
 his eyes were full of a strange light as of a glad conqueror, or 
 of one — forbid the thought ! who was taking a dire revenge. 
 He strode down the garden and out into the lanes. 
 
 " Thus," said my mother, " will he walk out and sometimes 
 remain in the woods, walking, preaching to the winds, and swing- 
 ing his arms the whole day long. Art thou a physician, and 
 canst thou heal him, Humphrey ?" 
 
 " If the cause be removed, the disease will be cured. Per- 
 haps before long the cause will be removed." 
 
 " The cause — oh ! the cause — what is the cause but the tyr- 
 anny of the law ? He who was ordered by Heaven itself to 
 preach is silent for five-and-twenty years. His very life hath 
 been taken from him. And you talk of removing the cause !" 
 
 " Madam, if the law suffer him once more to preach freely, 
 would that satisfy him — and you ?" 
 
 My mother shook her head. "The law, the law," she said;
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 85 
 
 ** now we have a papist on tlie throne, it is far more likely to 
 lead my husband to the stake than to set him free." 
 
 " That shall we shortly see," said Humphrey. 
 
 My mother bent her head over her wheel as one who wishes 
 to talk no more upon the subject. She loved not to speak con- 
 cerning her husband to any except to me. 
 
 I went out into the garden with Humphrey. I was foolish. 
 I laughed at nothing. I talked nonsense. Oh ! I was so happy 
 that if a pipe and tabor had been heard in the village I should 
 have danced to the music, like poor Barnaby the night before 
 he ran awav. I reofarded not the ffrave and serious face of my 
 companion. 
 
 " You are merry, Grace," said Humphrey. 
 
 " It is because you are come back again — you and Robin. 
 Oh ! the time has been long and dull — and now you have come 
 back we shall all be happy again. Yes ; my father will cease 
 to fret and rage : he will talk Latin and Greek with you ; Sir 
 Christopher will be happy only in looking upon you ; madam 
 will have her son home again ; and Mr. Boscorel will bring out 
 all the old music for you. Humphrey, it is a happy day that 
 brings you home again." 
 
 " It may be a happy day also for me," he said ; " but there 
 is much to be done. When the business we have in hand is ac- 
 complished — " 
 
 " What business, Humphrey ?" For he spoke so gravely that 
 it startled me. 
 
 " 'Tis business of which thy father knows, child. Nay, let 
 us not talk of it. I think and hope that it is as good as accom- 
 plished now before it is well taken in hand. It is not of that 
 business that I would speak. Grace, thou art so beautiful and 
 so tall—" 
 
 " Nay, Humphrey. I must not be flattered." 
 
 " And I so crooked." 
 
 " Humphrey, I will not hear this talk. You, so great a scholar, 
 thus to speak of yourself !" 
 
 " Let me speak of myself, my dear. Hear me for a moment." 
 I declare that I had not the least thought of Avliat he was going 
 to say, my mind being wholly occupied with the idea of Robin. 
 
 " I am a physician, as you doubtless know. Medicinal Doc-
 
 86 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. * 
 
 tor of Oxford, of Padua, Montpellier, and Lcyden. I know all 
 — I may fairly say, and -without boasting — that may be learned 
 by one of my age from schools of medicine and from books on 
 the science and practice of healing. 1 believe, in short, that I 
 am as good a physician as can be found within these seas. I 
 am minded, as soon as tranquillity is restored, to set up as a 
 physician in London, where I have already many friends, and 
 am assured of some support. I think, humbly speaking, that 
 reasonable success awaits me. Grace — you know that I have 
 loved you all my life — will you marry me, crooked as I am? 
 Oh ! you cannot but know that I have loved you all my life. 
 Oh ! child," he stretched forth his hands, and in his eyes there 
 was a world of longing and of sadness which moved my heart. 
 " My dear, the crooked in body have no friends among men ; 
 they cannot join in their rough sports, nor drink with them, nor 
 fight with them. They have no chance of happiness but in love, 
 my dear. My dear, give me that chance ? I love thee. Oh ! 
 my dear, give me that chance ?" 
 
 Never had I seen Humphrey so moved before. I felt guilty 
 and ashamed in the presence of this passion of which I was the 
 most unworthy cause. 
 
 " Oh ! Humphrey, stop — for Heaven's sake stop ! because I 
 am but this very morning promised to Robin, who loves me, 
 too — and I love Robin, Humphrey." He sank back, pale and 
 disordered, and I thought that he would swoon, but he recovered. 
 " Humphrey, never doubt that I love you, too. But oh ! I love 
 Robin, and Robin loves me." 
 
 " Yes, dear — yes, child — yes, Grace," he said, in broken ac- 
 cents, " I understand. Everything is for Robin — everything 
 for Robin, Why, I might have guessed it ! For Robin, the 
 straight and comely figure ; for Robin, the strength ; for Robin, 
 the inheritance ; for Robin, happy love. For me, a crooked 
 body ; for me, a feeble frame ; for me, the loss of fortune ; for 
 me, contempt and poverty ; for me, the loss of love — all for 
 Robin — all for Robin !" 
 
 *' Humphrey — surely thou wouldst not envy or be jealous of 
 Robin !" Never had I seen him thus moved, or heard him tlius 
 speak. 
 
 He made no answer for a while. Then he said slowly and 
 painfully,
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 87 
 
 "Grace, I am ashamed. Why should not Rohiii have all? 
 Who am I that I should have anything ? Forgive me, child. I 
 have lived in a paradise which fools create for themselves. 1 
 have suffered myself to dream that what I ardently desired was 
 possible and even probable. Forgive me. Let me be as before 
 — your brother. AVill you forgive me, dear?" 
 
 " Oh, Humphrey ! there is nothing for me to forgive." 
 
 " Nay, there is much for me to repent of. Forget it, then, if 
 there is nothing to forgive." 
 
 " I have forgotten it already, Humphrey." 
 
 " So — " he turned upon me his grave, sweet face (to think of 
 it makes me yearn with tenderness and pity to see that face 
 again) — " So, farewell, fond dream ! Do not think, my dear, 
 that I envy Robin. 'Twas a sweet dream ! Yet, I pray that 
 Heaven in wrath may forget me if ever I suffer this passion of 
 envy to hurt my cousin Robin or thyself !" 
 
 So saying, he burst from me with distraction in his face. Poor 
 Humphrey ! Alas ! when I look back and consider this day, 
 there is a doubt which haunts me. Always had I loved Robin : 
 that is most true. But I had always loved Humphrey : that is 
 most true. What if it had been Humphrey instead of Robin 
 who had arisen in the early morning to find his sweetheart in 
 the garden when the dew was yet upon the g>ass ? 
 
 CHAPTER XHI, 
 
 ONE DAY, 
 
 In times of great sorrow the godly person ought to look for- 
 ward to the never-ending joy and happiness that will follow this 
 short life. Yet we still look backward to the happy time that 
 is past and can never come again. And then how happy does 
 it seem to have been in comparison with present affliction ! 
 
 It pleased Heaven after many trials to restore my earthly hap- 
 piness, at least, in its principal part, Avhich is earthly love. 
 Some losses — grievous and lamentable — there were which could 
 not be restored. Yet for a long time I had no other comfort 
 (apart from that hope which I trust was never suffered to harm 
 me) than the recollection of a single day from dewy morn till
 
 88 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 dusky eve. I began that day with the sweetest joy that a girl 
 can ever experience — namely, the return of her lover and the 
 happiness of learning that he loves her more than ever, and the 
 knowledge that her heart hath gone forth from her and is wholly 
 his. To such a girl the woods and fields become the very 
 Garden of Eden ; the breath of the wind is as the voice of the 
 Lord blessing another Eve ; the very showers are the tears of 
 gladness and gratitude ; the birds sing hymns of praise ; the 
 leaves of the trees whisper words of love ; the brook prattles of 
 kisses ; the flowers offer incense ; the royal course of the sun in 
 splendor, the glories of the sunrise and sunset, the twinkling 
 stars of night, the shadows of the flying clouds, the pageant of 
 the summer day — these are all prepared for that one happy girl 
 and for her happy lover ! Oh, divine gift of love ! which thus 
 gives the whole world with its fruits in season to the pair ! Nay, 
 doth it not create them anew? AVhat was Adam without Eve? 
 And was not Eve created for no other purpose than to be a com- 
 panion to the man ? 
 
 I say, then, that this day, when Robin took me in his arms 
 and kissed me — not as he had done when we parted and I was 
 still a child, but with the fervent kiss of a lover — was the hap- 
 piest day in all my life. I say that I have never forgotten that 
 day, but, by recalling any point of it, I remember all : how he 
 held my hand and how he made me confess that I loved him ; 
 how we kissed and parted, to meet again. As for poor Humph- 
 rey, I hardly gave him so much as a thought of pity. Then, 
 how we wandered along the brook hand in hand ! 
 
 " Never to part again, my dear," said the fond lover. " Here 
 will we love, and here we will die. Let Benjamin become, if he 
 please, lord chancellor, and Humphrey a great physician : they 
 will have to live among men in towns, where every other man is 
 a rogue. We shall live in this sweet country place, where the 
 people may be rude but they are not knaves. Why, in that 
 great city of London, where the merchants congregate upon the 
 exchange and look so full of dignity and wisdom, each man is 
 thinking all the time that, if he fail to overreach his neighbor, 
 that neighbor will overreach him. AVho would live such a life 
 when he can pass it in the fields with such a companion as my 
 Grace ?" 
 
 The pleasures of London had only increased his thirst for the
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 89 
 
 country life. Surely, never was seen a swain more truly rustic 
 in all his thoughts ! The fine ladies at the playhouse, with their 
 painted fans, made him think of one who wore a russet frock in 
 Somersetshire, and did not paint her sweet face — this was the 
 way he talked. The plays they acted could never even be read, 
 much less witnessed, by that dear girl — so full of wickedness 
 they were. At the assemblies the ladies were jealous of each 
 other, and had scornful looks when one seemed preferred ; at 
 the taverns the men drank and bellowed songs and quarrelled ; 
 in ihe streets they fought and took the wall and swaggered ; 
 there was nothing but fighting among the baser sort with horrid 
 imprecations ; at the coffee-house the politicians argued and 
 quarrelled. Nay, in the very churches the sermons were politi- 
 cal arguments, and while the clergyman read his discourse the 
 gallants ogled the ladies. All this and more he told me. 
 
 To hear my boy, one would think there was nothing in Lon- 
 don but what was wicked and odious. No doubt it is a wicked 
 place, where many men live together ; those who are wicked 
 easily find each other out, and are encouraged in their wicked- 
 ness. Yet there must be many honest and God-fearing persons, 
 otherwise the judgment of Heaven would again fall upon that 
 city as it did in the time of plague and in the great fire. 
 
 " My pretty Puritan," said Robin, " I am now come away from 
 that place, and I hope never to see it again. Oh ! native hills, 
 I salute you ! Oh ! woods and meadows, I have returned, to 
 wander again in your delightful shade." Then, which was un- 
 usual in my boy and would have better become Mr. Boscorel or 
 Humphrey, he began to repeat verses. I knew not that he had 
 ever learned any : 
 
 " As I range these spacious fields, 
 Feast on all that nature yields ; 
 Everj'thing inspires delight, 
 Charms my smell, my taste, my sight ; 
 Every rural sound I hear 
 Soothes my soul and tunes my ear." 
 
 I do not know Avhere Robin found these verses, but as he re- 
 peated them, waving his arm around, I thought that Humphrey 
 himself never made sweeter lines. 
 
 He then told me how Humphrey would certainly become 
 the most learned physician of the time, and that he was already
 
 90 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 master of a polite and dignified manner which would procure 
 him the patronage of the great and the confidence of all. It' 
 was pleasant to hear him praise his cousin without jealousy or 
 envy. To be sure, he knew not then — though afterwards I told 
 liini — that Humphrey was his rival. Even had he known this, 
 such was the candor of my Robin and the integrity of his soul 
 that he would have praised him even more loudly. 
 
 One must not repeat more of the kind and lovely things that 
 the dear boy said while we strolled together by the brookside. 
 
 While we walked — 'twas in the forenoon, after Humphrey's 
 visit — Sir Christopher, his grandfather, in his best coat and his 
 gold-laced hat which he commonly kept for church, and accom- 
 panied by madam, walked from the manor-house through the 
 village till they came to our cottage. Then, with great ceremony, 
 they entered, Sir Christopher bowing low and madam dropping 
 a deep courtesy to my mother, who sat humbly at her wheel. 
 
 " Madam," said Sir Christopher, " we would, with your per- 
 mission, say a few words with the learned Dr. Eykin and your- 
 self." 
 
 My father, who had now returned and was in his room, came 
 forth when he was called. His face had recovered something 
 of its serenity, but his eyes were still troubled. Madam sat 
 down ; but Sir Christopher and my father stood. 
 
 " Sir," said his honor, " I will proceed straight to the point. 
 My grandson desires to marry your daughter. Robin is a good 
 lad ; not a scholar if you will ; for his religion, the root of the 
 matter is in him ; for the goodness of his heart, I will answer ; 
 for his habit of life, he hath, so far as we can learn, acquired no 
 vile vices of the city — he doth neither drink nor gamble, nor 
 waste his health and strength in riotous living; and for his 
 means, they are my own. All that I have will be his. 'Tis 
 no great estate, but 'twill serve him as it hath served me. Dr. 
 Eykin, the boy's mother and I have come to ask your daughter 
 in marriage. We know her worth, and we are well satisfied 
 that our boy hath made so good and wdse a choice." 
 
 " They were marrying and giving in marriage when the Flood 
 came ; they will be marrying and giving in marriage in the great 
 day of the Lord," said my father. 
 
 " Yes, gossip ; but that is no reason why they should not be 
 marrying and giving in marriage."
 
 ^' 
 
 Oi':r 
 
 c-i-r 
 
 " Then, with great ceremony, tliey entered, Sir Christopher bowing low and 
 madam dropping a deep courtesy to my mother, icho sat humbly at her wheel."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 91 
 
 "You ask my consent?" said my father. "This surprises 
 me. The child is too young : she is not yet of marriag-eable 
 
 age-" 
 
 " Husband, she is nigh upon her twentieth birthday !" 
 
 " I thought she had been but twelve or thereabouts ! My 
 consent? Why, Sir Christopher, in the eyes of the world this 
 is great condescension on your part to take a penniless girl. I 
 looked, I suppose, to the marriage of my daughter some time — 
 perhaps to a farmer — yet — yet, we are told that a virtuous 
 woman hath a price far above rubies ; and that it is she who 
 buildeth up the house, and we arc nowhere told that she must 
 bring her husband a purse of gold. Sir Christopher, it would 
 be the blackest ingratitude in us to deny you anything even if 
 this thing were against the mind of our daughter." 
 
 " It is not — it is not," said my mother. 
 
 " AYherefore, seeing that the young man is a good man as 
 youths go, though in the matter of the syntax he hath yet much 
 to learn ; and that his heart is disposed towards religion, I am 
 right glad that he should take our girl to wife." 
 
 " Bravely said !" cried Sir Christopher. " Hands upon it, 
 man ! And we will have a merry wedding. But to-day I bid 
 you both to come and feast with us. We will have holiday and 
 rejoicing." 
 
 "Yes," said my father, "we Avill feast; though to-morrow 
 comes the Deluge." I know now what he meant, but at that 
 time we knew not, and it seemed to his honor a poor way of 
 rejoicing at the return of the boys and the betrothal of his 
 daughter thus to be foretelling woes. " The vision of the plumb- 
 line is before mine eyes," my father went on. " Is the land 
 able to bear all this ? We talk of feasting and of marriages. 
 Yet a few days, or perhaps already. But we will rejoice together, 
 my old friend and benefactor — we will rejoice together." With 
 these words he turned and went back to his room, and, after 
 some tears with my mother, madam went home and Sir Chris- 
 topher with her. But in honor to the day he kept on his best 
 coat. 
 
 Robin suffered me to go home, but only that I might put on 
 my best frock (I had but two) and make my hair straight, which 
 had been blown into curls, as was the way with my hair. And 
 then, learning from my mother with the utmost satisfaction what
 
 92 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 had passed, he led me by the hand, as if I were ah-eady his 
 bride, and so to the manor-house, where first Sir Christopher 
 sahited me witli great kindness, calling me his dear grand- 
 daughter, and saying that next to Robin's safe return he asked 
 for nothinof more than to see me Robin's wife. And madam 
 kissed me, with tears in her eyes, and said that she could desire 
 nothing better for her son, and that she was sure I should do 
 my best endeavors to make the boy happy. Then Humjihrey, 
 as quietly as if he had not also asked me to be his wife, kissed 
 my hand, and wished me joy ; and Mr. Boscorel also kissed me, 
 and declared that Robin ought to be the happiest dog on earth. 
 And so we sat down to our feast. 
 
 The conversation at dinner was graver than the occasion de- 
 manded. For though our travellers continually answered ques- 
 tions about the foreign lands and peoples they had seen, yet the 
 subject returned always to the condition of the country, and to 
 what would happen. 
 
 After dinner we sat in the garden, and the gentlemen began 
 to talk of right divine and of non-resistance, and here it seemed 
 to me as if Mr. Boscorel was looking on as from an eminence 
 apart. For when he had once stated the texts and arguments 
 upon which the High Church party do most rely he retired and 
 made no further objections, listening in silence while my father 
 held forth upon the duty of rising against wicked princes. At 
 last, however, being challenged to reply by Humphrey, Mr. Bos- 
 corel then made answer. 
 
 " The doctrine that subjects may or may not rebel against 
 their sovereign is one which I regard with interest so long as it 
 remains a question of logic and argument only. Unfortunately, 
 the times are such that we may be called upon to make a prac- 
 tical application of it: in which case there may follow once more 
 civil war, with hard knocks on both sides, and much loss of 
 things temporal. Wherefore to my learned brother's arguments, 
 which I admit to be plausible, I will, for the present, offer no 
 reply, except to pray Heaven that the occasion may not arise of 
 converting a disputed doctrine into a rule of conduct." 
 
 Alas ! even while he spoke the messenger was speeding swift- 
 ly towards us who was to call upon all present to take a side. 
 
 The question is now, I hope, decided forever : but many men 
 had first to die. It was not decided then, but three years later,
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 93 
 
 when King William cut the knot, and, with the applause of the 
 nation, pulled down his father-iu-law and mounted the throne 
 himself with his gracious consort. We are agreed, at last, that 
 kings, like judges, generals, and all great officers of state, are to 
 hold their offices in good behavior. If they enter into machina- 
 tions against the liberty of the people and desert the national re- 
 ligion, they must descend, and let another take their place. But 
 before that right could be established for the country, streams 
 of blood must first flow. 
 
 AYhile they talked, we — I mean madam, my mother, and my- 
 self — sat and listened. But my mind was full of another sub- 
 ject, and I heard but little of what was said, noting chiefly the 
 fiery ardor of my father and the careless grace of Mr. Boscorel. 
 
 Presently my father, who was never easy in the company of 
 Mr. Boscorel — (so oil and water will not agree to fill a cup in 
 friendship) — and, besides, being anxious to rejoin the society of 
 his books, arose and went away, and with him my mother — he, 
 in his ragged cassock, who was a learned scholar; she, in her 
 plain homespun, was a gentlewoman by birth. Often had I 
 thought of our poverty with bitterness. But now it was with a 
 softened heart that I saw them walk side by side across the 
 lawns. For now I understood plainly — and for the first time — 
 how love can strengthen and console. My mother was poor, 
 but she was not therefore unhappy. 
 
 Mr. Boscorel also rose and went away with Humphrey. They 
 went to talk of things more interesting to the rector than the 
 doctrine of non-resistance ; of painting, namely, and statuary 
 and models. And when we presently walked from the rectory 
 gardens we heard a most gladsome scraping of fiddle-strings 
 within, which showed that the worthy man was making the most 
 of Humphrey's return. 
 
 When Sir Christopher had taken his pipe of tobacco he fell 
 asleep. Robin and I walked in the garden and renewed our 
 vows. Needs must that I should tell him all that I had done or 
 thought since he went away. As if the simple thoughts of a 
 country-maid should be of interest to a man ! Yet he seemed 
 pleased to question and to listen, and presently broke into a 
 rapture, swearing that he was in love with an angel. Young 
 lovers may, it is feared, fall into grievous sin by permitting 
 themselves these extravagances of speech and thought ; yet it
 
 94 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 
 
 is hard to keep them sober, and besides (because every sin in 
 man meeteth with its correspondent in woman), if the lover be 
 extravagant, the maiden takes pleasure in his extravagance. To 
 call a mortal, full of imperfections, an angel, is little short of 
 blasphemy. Yet I heard it with, I confess, a secret pleasure. 
 We know ourselves and the truth concerning ourselves ; we do 
 not deceive ourselves as to our imperfections ; yet Ave are pleased 
 that our lovers should so speak and think of us as if we were 
 angels indeed. 
 
 Robin told me, presently ceasing his extravagances for a while, 
 that he was certain something violent was on foot. To be sure, 
 everybody expected so much, lie said, moreover, that he be- 
 lieved Humphrey had certain knowledge of what was going to 
 happen ; that before they left the Low Countries Humphrey 
 had been present at a meeting of the exiles in Rotterdam, where 
 it was well known that Lord Argyle's expedition was resolved 
 upon ; that he had been much engaged in London after their re- 
 turn, and had paid many visits, the nature of which he kept 
 secret : and that on the road there was not a town and scarcely 
 a village where Humphrey had not some one to visit. 
 
 " My dear," he said, " Humphrey is slight as to stature and 
 strength, but he carries a stout heart. There is no man more 
 bitter against the king than he, and none more able if his coun- 
 sels were listened to. Monmouth, I am certain, purposes to head 
 an expedition into England like that of Lord Argyll in Scotland. 
 The history of England hath many instances of such successful 
 attempts. King Stephen, King Henry IV., King Henry VII., 
 are all examples. If Monmouth lands, Humphrey will join him, 
 I am sure. And I, my dear — " he paused. 
 
 " And you too, Robin ? . Oh ! must you too go forth to fight? 
 And yet, if the duke doth head a rising all the Avorld would 
 follow. Oh ! to drive away the papist king and restore our 
 libertv ?" 
 
 " My dear, I will do what my grandfather approves. If it be 
 my duty to go, he will send me forth." 
 
 I had almost forgotten to say that madam took me to her own 
 chamber, where she opened a box and pulled out a gold chain, 
 very fine. This she hung about my neck and bade me sit down, 
 and gave me some sound advice, reminding me that woman was 
 the weaker vessel, and should look to her husband not only to
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 95 
 
 love and cliorish her, but also to prevent her from falling into 
 certain grievous sins, as of temper, deceitfulness, vanity, and the 
 like, to which the weaker nature is ever prone. Many other 
 things she said, being a good and virtuous woman, but I pass 
 them over. 
 
 After supper we went again into the garden, the weather being 
 warm and fine. The sun went down, but the sky was full of 
 light, though it was past nine o'clock and time for me to go 
 home and to bed. Yet we lingered. The birds had gone to 
 sleep ; there was no whisper of the wind ; the village was in 
 silence. And Robin was whispering in my ear. I remember — 
 I remember the very tones of his voice, which were low and 
 sweet. I remember the words he said : " Sweet love ! Sweet 
 love ! How could I live so long without thee ?" I remember 
 my swelling heart and my glowing cheeks. Oh ! Robin — 
 Robin ! Oh ! poor heart ? poor maid ! The memory of this 
 one day was nearly all thou hadst to feed upon for so long — so 
 long a time ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 BARNABY. 
 
 Suddenly we heard footsteps, as of those who are running, 
 and my father's voice speaking loud. 
 
 " Sing, O daughter of Zion ! Shout, O Israel ! Be glad and 
 rejoice with all thy heart !" 
 
 " Now, in the name of Heaven," cried Sir Christopher, " what 
 meaneth this ?" 
 
 " The arm of the Lord ! The deliverance of Israel !" 
 
 He burst upon us, dragging a man with him by the arm. In 
 the twilight I could only see, at first, that it was a broad, thick- 
 set man. But my father's brave form looked taller as he waved 
 his arms and cried aloud. Had he been clad in a sheepskin, he 
 would have resembled one of those ancient prophets whose words 
 were always in his mouth. 
 
 "Good friend," said Sir Christopher, "what meaneth these 
 cries ? Whom have we here !" 
 
 Then the man Avith my father stepped forward and took off
 
 96 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 liis hat. Why, I knew him at once ; though it was ten years 
 since I had seen him last ! 'Twas my brother Barnaby — none 
 other — come home again. He was now a great strong man — 
 a stouter have I never seen, though he was somewhat under the 
 middle height, broad in the shoulders, and thick of chest. Beside 
 him Robin, though reasonable in breadth, showed like a slender 
 sapling. But he had still the same good-natured face, though 
 now much broader. It needed no more than the first look to 
 know my brother Barnaby again. 
 
 " Barnaby," I cried, " Barnaby, hast thou forgotten me ?" I 
 caught one of his great hands — never, surel}^ were there bigger 
 hands than Barnaby's ! " Hast thou forgotten me ?" 
 
 " Why," he said, slowly — 'twas ever a boy slow of speech and 
 of understanding — " belike, 'tis sister." He kissed my fore- 
 head. " It is sister," he said, as if he were tasting a cup of ale 
 and was pronouncing on its quality. " How dost thou, sister ? 
 Bravely, I hope. Thou art grown, sister. I have seen my moth- 
 er, and — and — she does bravely, too ; though I left her crying. 
 'Tis their way, the happier they be." 
 
 "Barnaby?" said Sir Christopher, "is it thou, scapegrace? 
 Where hast thou — But first tell us what has happened. 
 Briefly, man." 
 
 " In two words, sir : the Duke of Monmouth landed the day 
 before yesterday at Lyme-Regis with my Lord Grey and a com- 
 pany of a hundred — of whom I was one." 
 
 The duke had landed ! Then what Robin expected had come 
 to pass ! and my brother Barnaby was with the insurgents ! My 
 heart beat fast. 
 
 " The Duke of Monmouth hath landed !" Sir Christopher re- 
 peated, and sat down again, as one who knows not what may be 
 the meaning of the news. 
 
 " Ay, sir, the duke hath landed. We left Holland on the 24th 
 of May, and we made the coast at Lyme at daybreak on Thursday 
 the 11th. 'Tis now, I take it, Saturday. The duke had with 
 him on board ship Lord Grey, Mr. Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun, 
 Mr. Hey wood Dare of Taunton — " 
 
 " I know the man," said Sir Christopher, " for an impudent, 
 loud-tongued fellow." 
 
 " Perhaps he was, sir," said Barnaby, gravely. " Perhaps he 
 was, but now — "
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 97 
 
 " How ' was ' ?" 
 
 *' He was sliot on Thursday evening by Mr. Fletclier for offer- 
 ing liim violence with a cane, and is now dead." 
 
 " 'Tis a bad beginning. Go on, Barnaby." 
 
 " The duke had also Mr, Ferguson, Colonel Venner, Mr. Cham- 
 berlain, and others whom I cannot remember. First we set Mr. 
 Dare and Mr. Chamberlain ashore at Seatown, whence they were 
 to carry intelligence of the rising to the duke's friends. The 
 duke landed at seven o'clock with his company, in seven boats. 
 First, he fell on his knees, and prayed aloud. Then he drew his 
 sword, and we all marched after to the market-place, where he 
 raised his flag and caused the declaration to be read. Here it 
 is, your honor. He lugged out a copy of the declaration, which 
 Sir Christopher put aside, saying that he would read it in the 
 morning. 
 
 " Then we tossed our hats and shouted ' A Monmouth ! A 
 Monmouth !' Sixty stout young fellows 'listed on the spot. 
 Then we divided our forces, and began to land the cannon — 
 four pretty pieces as you could wish to see — and the arms, of 
 which I doubt if we have enough, and the powder — two hun- 
 dred and fifty barrels. The duke lay on Thursday night at the 
 George. Next day, before dawn, the country people began flock- 
 ing in." 
 
 " "What gentlemen have come in ?" 
 
 " I know not, sir — my duty was most of the day on board. 
 In the evening I received leave to ride home, and, indeed, Sir 
 Christopher, to carry the duke's declaration to yourself. And 
 now we shall be well rid of the king, the pope, and the devil." 
 
 " Because," said my father, solemnly — " because with lies ye 
 have made the hearts of the righteous sad whom I have not 
 made sad." 
 
 " And what doest thou among this goodly company. Friend 
 Barnaby ?" 
 
 " I am to be a captain in one of the regiments," said ]3arna- 
 by, grinning with pride ; " though a sailor, yet can I fight 
 with the best. My colonel is Mr. Holmes ; and my major, Mr. 
 I'arsons. On board the frigate I was master, and navigated 
 her." 
 
 " There will be knocks, Barnaby ; knocks, I doubt." 
 
 " By your honor's leave, I have been where knocks were flying 
 5 G
 
 98 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 for ten years, and I will take my share, remembering still the 
 treatment of my father and the poverty of my mother." 
 
 " It is rebellion, Barnaby ! — rebellion !" 
 
 " Why, sir, Oliver Cromwell was a rebel. And your honor 
 fought in the army of the Earl of Essex — and what was he but 
 a re'bel ?" 
 
 I wondered to hear my brother speak with so much boldness, 
 who ten years before had bowed low and pulled his hair in pres- 
 ence of his honor. Yet Sir Christopher seemed to take this 
 boldness in good part. 
 
 " Barnaby," he said, " thou art a stout and proper lad, and I 
 doubt not thy courage — nay, I see it in thy face, which hath 
 resolution in it, and yet is modest ; no ruffler or boaster art thou, 
 Friend Barnaby. Yet — yet — if rebellion fail — even rebellion in 
 a just cause — then those who rise lose their lives in vain, and 
 the cause is lost, until better times." This he said as one who 
 speaketh to himself. I saw him look upon his grandson. " The 
 king is — a papist," he said, " that is most true. A papist 
 should not be suffered to rule this country. Yet to rise in re- 
 bellion ! Have a care, lad ! What if the time be not yet ripe ? 
 How know we who will join the duke ?" 
 
 " The people are flocking to his standard by thousands," said 
 Barnaby. " When I rode away last night the duke's secretaries 
 were writing down their names as fast as they could be entered ; 
 they were landing the arms and already exercising the recruits. 
 And such a spirit they show, sir, it would do your heart good 
 only once to witness !" 
 
 Now, as I looked at Barnaby, I became aware that he was not 
 only changed in appearance, but that he was also very finely 
 dressed — namely, in a scarlet coat and a sword with a silken 
 sash, with laced ruflles, a gold-laced hat, a great wig, white 
 breeches, and a flowered waistcoat. In the light of day, as I 
 afterwards discovered, there were stains of wine visible upon 
 the coat, and the rufiles were torn, and the waistcoat had marks 
 upon it as of tar. One doth not, to be sure, expect in the sail- 
 ing-master of a frigate the same neatness as in a gallant of St. 
 James's. Yet our runaway lad must have prospered. 
 
 " What doth the duke intend ?" Sir Christopher asked him. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I know not. 'Tis said by some that he will 
 raise the West Country ; and by some that he will march north
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 99 
 
 into Cliesbire, where he hath many friends ; and by others that 
 he will march upon London, and call upon all good Protestants 
 to rise and join him. We look to have an army of twenty thou- 
 sand within a week. As for the king, it is doubted whether he 
 can raise a paltry five thousand to meet us. Courage, dad " — 
 he dared to call his father, the Rev. Comfort Eykin, Doctor of 
 Divinity, " dad !" — and he clapped him lustily upon the shoul- 
 der ; " thou shaTt mount the pulpit yet ; ay, of Westminster 
 Abbey if it so please you !" 
 
 His father paid no heed to this conversation, being wrapped 
 in his own thoughts. 
 
 " I know not," said Sir Christopher, " what to think, the news 
 is sudden. And yet — and yet — " 
 
 " We waste time," cried my father, stamping his foot. " Oh I 
 we waste the time talking. Wliat helps it to talk ? Every hon- 
 est man must now be up and doing. Why, it is a plain duty 
 laid upon us. The finger of Heaven is visible, I say, in this. 
 Out of the very sins of Charles Stuart hath the instrument for 
 the destruction of his race been forged. A plain duty, I say. 
 As for me, I must preach and exhort. As for my son, who was 
 dead and yet liveth" — he laid his hand upon Barnaby's shoul- 
 der — " time was when I prayed that he might become a godly 
 minister of God's Word. Now I perceive clearly that the Lord 
 hath ways of his own. My son shall fight and I shall preach. 
 Perhaps he will rise and become another Cromwell !" — Barnaby 
 grinned. 
 
 " Sir," said my father, turning hotly upon his honor, " I per- 
 ceive that thou art lukewarm. If the cause be the Lord's, what 
 matter for the chances ? The issue is in the hands of the Lord. 
 As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord. Yea, I 
 freely offer myself, and my son, and my wife, and my daughter 
 — even my tender daughter — to the cause of the Lord. Young 
 men and maidens, old men and children, the voice of the Lord 
 calleth !" 
 
 Nobody made reply ; my father looked before him, as if he 
 saw in the twilight of the summer night a vision of what was to 
 follow. His face, as he gazed, changed. His eyes, which were 
 fierce and fiery, softened. His lips smiled. Then he turned his 
 face and looked upon eacli of us in turn — upon his son and upon 
 his wife and upon me, upon Robin, and upon Sir Christopher.
 
 100 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " It is, indeed," he said, " the will of the Lord. Why, what 
 though the end be violent death to me, and to all of us ruin and 
 disaster ? We do but share the afflictions foretold in the vision 
 of the basket of summer fruit. AVhat is death ? What is the loss 
 of earthly things compared with what shall follow to those who 
 obey the voice that calls ? Children, let us be up and doing. 
 As for me, I shall have a season of freedom before I die. For 
 twenty-five years have I been muzzled or compelled to whisper 
 and mutter in corners and hiding-places. I have been a dumb 
 dog. I, whose heart was full and overflowing with the sweet 
 and precious Word of God ; I, to whom it is not life, but death, 
 to sit in silence ! Now I shall deliver my soul before I die. 
 Sirs, the Lord hath given to every man a weapon or two with 
 which to fight. To me he hath given an eye and a tongue for 
 discoursing and proclaiming the word of sacred doctrine. I 
 have been muzzled — a dumb dog — though sometimes I have 
 been forced to climb among the hills and speak to the bending 
 tree-tops. Now I shall be free again, and I will speak, and all 
 the ends of the earth shall hear." 
 
 His eyes gleamed, he panted and gasped and waved liis arms. 
 
 " As for sister, dad," said Barnaby, " she and mother may 
 bide at home." 
 
 " No, they shall go with me. I offer my wife, my son, my 
 daughter, and myself to the cause of the Lord." 
 
 " A camp is but a rough place for a woman," said Barnaby. 
 
 "She is offered; she is dedicated; she shall go with us." 
 
 I know not what was in his mind, or why he wished that I 
 should go with him, unless it was a desire to give everything 
 that he had — to hold back nothing — to the Lord : therefore he 
 would give his children as well as himself. As for me, my heart 
 glowed to think that I was even worthy to join in such a cause. 
 What could a woman do ? But that I should find out. 
 
 " Robin," I whispered, " 'tis religion calls. If I am to be 
 among the followers of the duke, thou wilt not remain behind?" 
 
 " Child" — it was my mother who whispered to me ; I had not 
 seen her coming — " Child, let us obey him. Perhaps it will be 
 better for him if we arc at his side. And there is Barnaby. But 
 we must not be in their way. We shali find a place to sit and 
 wait. Alas ! that my son hath returned to us only to go fight- 
 ing. We will go with them, daughter."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 101 
 
 { 
 
 " We sboiild be better without women," said Barnabv, irnini- 
 bling ; " I would as lief have a woman on shipboard as in the 
 camp. To be sure, if he has set his heart upon it — and then 
 he will not stay long in camp, where the cursing of the men is 
 already loud enough to scare a preacher out of his cassock. 
 Dad, I sav — " But mv father was fallen again into a kind of 
 rapture, and heard nothing. 
 
 " When doth the duke begin his march ?" he said, suddenly. 
 
 " I know not. But we shall find him, never fear." 
 
 " I must have speech with him at the earliest possible time. 
 Hours are precious, and w^e waste them — we waste them." 
 
 " Well, sir, it is bedtime. To-morrow we can ride ; unless, 
 because it is the Sabbath, you would choose to wait till Monday. 
 And as to the women, by your leave, it is madness to bring 
 them to a camp." 
 
 " Wait till Monday ? Art thou mad, Barnaby ? Why, I have 
 things to tell the duke. Up ! let us ride all night. To-morrow 
 is the Sabbath, and I will preach. Yea — I will preach. My 
 soul longeth — yea, even it fainteth, for the courts of the Lord. 
 Quick ! quick ! let us mount and ride all night !" 
 
 " Lads," said Sir Christopher, " you are fresh from Holland. 
 Knew you aught of this ?" 
 
 " Sir," said Humphrey, " I have already told Dr. Eykin what 
 to expect. I knew that the duke was coming. Robin did not 
 know, because I would not drag him into the conspiracy. I 
 knew that the duke was comins:, and that without delay. I have 
 myself had speech in Amsterdam with his grace, who comes to 
 restore the Protestant religion and to give freedom of w'orship 
 to all good Protestant people. His friends have promises of 
 support everywhere. Indeed, sir, I think that the expedition is 
 well planned, and is certain of support. Success is in the hands 
 of the Lord ; but we do not expect that there will be any serious 
 opposition. With submission, sir, I am under promise to join 
 the duke. I came over in advance to warn his friends, as I rode 
 from London, of his approach. Thousands are waiting in read- 
 iness for him. But, sir, of all this, I repeat, Robin knew noth- 
 ing. I have been for three months in the councils of those who 
 desire to drive forth the popish king, but Robin have I kept in 
 the dark." 
 
 " Humphrey," said Robin, " am not I a Protestant ?"
 
 102 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A NIGHT AND MORNING AT LYME REGIS. 
 
 When I read of men possessed by some spirit — that is to 
 say, compelled to go hither and thither where, but for the spirit, 
 they would not go, and to say things which they would not 
 otherwise have said — I think of our midnight ride to Lyme, 
 and of my father then, and of the three weeks' madness which 
 followed. It was some spirit — whether of good or evil, I cannot 
 say, and I dare not so much as to question — which seized him. 
 That he hurried away to join the duke on the first news of his 
 landing, without counting the cost or weighing the chances, is 
 easy to be understood. Like Humphrey, he was led by his 
 knowledge of the great numbers who hated the Catholic relig- 
 ion to believe that they, like himself, would rise with one ac- 
 cord. He also remembered the successful rebellion against the 
 first Charles, and expected nothing less than a repetition of that 
 success. This, I knew, was what the exiles in Holland thought 
 and believed. The duke, they said, was the darling of the 
 people ; he was the Protestant champion : who would not press 
 forward when he should draw the sword ? But Avhat man in his 
 sober senses would have dragged his wife and daughter with 
 him to the godless riot of a camp ? Perhaps he wanted them 
 to share his triumph, to listen while he moved the soldiers as 
 that ancient hermit Peter moved the people to the Holy Wars ? 
 But I know not. He said that I was to be, like Jephthah's 
 daughter, consecrated to the cause of the Lord ; and what he 
 meant by that I never understood. 
 
 He was so eager to start upon the journey that he would not 
 wait a moment. The horses must be saddled ; we must mount 
 and away. Note that they were Sir Christopher's horses which 
 we borrowed ; this also was noted afterwards for the ruin of 
 that good old man, with other particulars ; as that Monmouth's 
 declaration was found in the house (Barnaby brought it) ; one
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 103 
 
 of Monmouth's captains, Barnaby Eykin by name, had ridden 
 from Lyme to Bradford in order to sec him ; he was a friend 
 'of the preacher Dr. Eykin ; he was grandfather to one of the 
 rebels and grand-uncle to another ; with many other things. 
 But these were enough. 
 
 " Surely, surely, friend," said Sir Christopher, " thou wilt 
 not take wife and daughter ? They cannot help the cause ; they 
 have no place in a camp." 
 
 " Young men and maidens : one with another. Quick ! we 
 waste the time." 
 
 " And to ride all night, consider, man — all night long !" 
 
 " What is a night ? They will have all eternity to rest in." 
 
 " He hath set his heart upon it," said my mother. " Let us 
 go ; a night's uneasiness will not do much harm. Let us go. 
 Sir Christopher, without further parley." 
 
 " Go then, in the name of God," said the old man. " Child, 
 give me a kiss." He took me in his arms and kissed me on the 
 forehead. " Thou art, then," he said, tenderly, " devoted to 
 the Protestant cause. Why, thou art already promised to a 
 Protestant since this morning ; forget not that promise, child. 
 Humphrey and Barnaby will protect thee — and — " 
 
 " Sir," said Robin, " by your leave, I alone have the right to 
 go with her and to protect her." 
 
 " Nay, Robin," I said, " stay here until Sir Christopher him- 
 self bids thee go. That will be very soon. Remember thy 
 promise. W^e did not know, Robin, an hour ago that the 
 promise would be claimed so soon. Robin" — for he murmured 
 — " I charge thee, remain at home until — " 
 
 " I promise thee, sweetheart." But he hung his head and 
 looked ashamed. 
 
 Sir Christopher, holding my hand, stepped forth upon the 
 grass and looked upward into the clear sk}^ where in the trans- 
 parent twilight we could see a few stars twinkling. 
 
 " This, Friend Eykin — this, Humphrey," he said, gravely, " is 
 a solemn night for all. No more fateful day hath ever come to 
 any of us ; no ! not that day when I joined Hampden's new 
 regiment and followed with the army of Lord Essex. Granted 
 that we have a righteous cause, we know not that our leader 
 hath in him the root of the matter. To rise against the king 
 is a most weighty matter — fatal if it fail, a dangerous precedent
 
 104 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 if it succeed. Civil war is, of all wars, the most grievous ; to 
 figlit under a leader who doth not live after the laws of God is, 
 methinks, most dangerous. The duke hath lit a torch which 
 will spread flames everywhere — " 
 
 " It is the voice of the Lord which calleth us !" my father in- 
 terrupted. " To-morrow I shall speak again to God's elect." 
 
 " Sir," said Humphrey, very seriously, " I pray you think not 
 that this enterprise hath been rashly entered upon, nor that we 
 depend upon the judgment of the duke alone. It is, unhappily, 
 true that his life is sinful, and so is that of Lord Grey, who hath 
 deserted his lawful wife for her sister. But those Avho have 
 pushed on the enterprise consider that the duke is, at least, a 
 true Protestant. They have, moreover, received solid assur- 
 ances of support from every quarter. You have been kept in 
 the dark from the beginning at my own earnest request, because, 
 though I knew full well your opinion, I would not trouble your 
 peace or endanger your person. Suffer us, then, to depart, and, 
 for yourself, do nothing ; and keej) — oh ! sir, I entreat you — 
 keep Robin at home until our success leaves no room for doubt." 
 
 " Go, then, go," said Sir Christopher ; " I have grievous misgiv- 
 ings that all is not well. But go, and Heaven bless the cause !" 
 
 Robin kissed me, whispering that he would follow, and that 
 before many days ; and so we mounted and rode forth. In 
 such hot haste did we depart that we took with us no change 
 of raiment or any provision for the journey at all, save that 
 Barnaby, who, as I afterwards found, never forgot the provis- 
 ions, found time to get together a small parcel of bread and 
 meat, and a flask of Malmsey, with which to refresh our spirits 
 later on. We even rode away without any money. 
 • My father rode one horse and my mother sat behind him ; 
 then I followed, Barnaby marching manfully beside me, and 
 Humphrey rode last. The ways are rough, so that those Avho 
 ride, even by daylight, go but slowly ; and we, riding between 
 high hedges, went much too slowly for my father, who, if he 
 spoke at all, cried out impatiently, " Quicker ! quicker ! we lose 
 the time." 
 
 He sat bending over the horse's head, with rounded shoulders, 
 his feet sticking out on either side, his long white hair and his 
 ragged cassock floating in the wind. In his left hand he carried 
 his Bible as a soldier carries his sword ; on his head he wore
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 105 
 
 the black silk cap in wliicli he daily sat at work. lie was pray- 
 ing and meditating ; he was preparing the sermon which he 
 would deliver in the morning. 
 
 Barnaby plodded on beside me ; night or day made no dif- 
 ference to him. He slept when he could, and worked when 
 he must. Sailors keep their watch day and night without 
 any difference. 
 
 " It was Sir Christopher that I came after," he told me pres- 
 ently. " Mr. Dare — who hath since been killed by Mr. Fletch- 
 er — told the duke that if Sir Christopher Challis would only 
 come into camp, old as lie is, the country gentlemen of hif-i 
 opinions would follow to a man, so respected is he. Well, he 
 will not. But we have his nephew, Humphrey ; and, if I mis- 
 take not, we shall have his grandson — if kisses mean anything. 
 So Robin is thy sweetheart, sister ; thou art a lucky girl. And 
 we shall have dad to preach. Well, I know not what will hap- 
 pen, but some will be knocked o' the head, and if dad goes 
 in the way of knocks — But whatever happens, he will get his 
 tongne again, and so he will be happy." 
 
 " As for preaching," he went on, speaking with due pauses, 
 because there was no hurry and he was never one of those whose 
 words tiow easily, " if he thinks to preach daily, as they say 
 was done in Cromwell's time, I doubt if he will find many to 
 listen, for by the look of the fellows who are crowding into 
 camp they will love the clinking of the can better than the 
 division of the "text. But if he cause his friends to join he will 
 be welcomed ; and for devoting his wife and daughter, that, 
 sister, with submission, is rank nonsense, and the sooner you 
 get out of the camp, if you must go there, the better. Women 
 aboard ship are bad enough, but in camp they are the devil." 
 
 " Barnaby, speak not lightly of the Evil One." 
 
 " Where shall we bestow you when the fighting comes ? Well, 
 it shall be in some safe place." 
 
 " Oh, Barnaby ! will there be fighting ?" 
 
 " Good lack, child ! what else will there be ?" 
 
 " As the walls of Jericho fell down at the blast of the trumpet, 
 so the king's armies will be dispersed at the approach of the 
 Lord's soldiers." 
 
 " That was a long time ago, sister. There is now no trumpet- 
 work employed in war, and no priests on the march ; but plenty 
 5*
 
 106 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 of fighting to be done before anything is accomplished. But 
 have no fear. The country is rising. They are sick at heart 
 ah'cady of a popish king. I say not that it will be easy work ; 
 but it can be done, and it will be done, before we all sit 
 down again." 
 
 " And what will happen when it is done ?" 
 
 " Truly, I know not. When one king is sent a-packing they 
 put up another, I suppose. My father shall have the biggest 
 church in the country to preach in ; Humphrey will be made 
 physician to the new king — nothing less ; you shall marry 
 Eobin, and he shall be made a duke or a lord at least; and I 
 shall have command of the biggest ship in the king's navy, and 
 go to fight the Spaniards, or to trade for negroes on the Guinea 
 coast." 
 
 " And suppose the duke should be defeated ?" 
 
 " Well, sister, if he is defeated it will go hard with all of us. 
 Those who are caught will be stabbed with a Bridport dagger, 
 as they say. Ask not such a question ; as well ask a sailor 
 what will happen to him if his ship is cast away. Some may 
 escape in boats and some by swimming, and some are drowned, 
 and some are cast upon savage shores. Every man must take 
 his chance. Never again ask such a question. Nevertheless, 
 I fear my father will get his neck as far in the noose as I my- 
 self. But remember, sister, do you and my mother keep snug. 
 Let others carry on the rebellion, do you keep snug. For, d'ye 
 see, a man takes his chance, and if there should happen a de- 
 feat and the rout of these country lads, I could e'en scud by 
 myself before the gale, and maybe get to a seaport and so aboard 
 and away while the chase was hot. But for a Avoman — keep 
 snug, I say, therefore." 
 
 The night, happily, was clear and fine. A slight breeze was 
 blowing from the northwest, which made one shiver, yet it was 
 not too cold. I heard the screech-owl once or twice, which 
 caused me to tremble more than the cold. The road, when we 
 left the highway, which is not often mended in these parts, 
 became a narrow lane full of holes and deep ruts, or else a track 
 across open country. But Barnaby knew the way. 
 
 It was about ten of the clock when we began our journey, and 
 it was six in the morning when we finished it. I suppose there 
 are few women who can boast of having taken so long a ride
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 107 
 
 and in the niglit. Yet, strange to say, I felt no desire to sleep ; 
 nor was I wearied with the jogging of the horse, but was sus- 
 tained by something of the spirit of my father. A wonderful 
 thing it seemed to me that a simple country maid, such as 
 myself, should help in putting down the Catholic king ; women 
 there have been who have played great parts in history — Jael, 
 Deborah, Judith, and Esther, for example ; but that I should 
 be called (since then I have discovered that I was not called), 
 this, indeed, seemed truly wonderful. Then I was going forth 
 to witness the array of a gallant army about to fight for freedom 
 and for religion, just as they were arrayed forty years before, 
 when Sir Christopher was a young man and rode among them. 
 
 My brother, this stout Barnaby, was one of them ; my father 
 was one of them ; Humphrey was one of them ; and in a little 
 while I was very sure (because Robin would feel no peace of 
 mind if I was with the insurgents and he was still at home), 
 my lover would be with them too. And I pictured to myself a 
 holy and serious camp, tilled with godly sober soldiers listening 
 to sermons and reading the Bible, going forth to battle with 
 hymns upon their lips ; and withal so valiant that at their very 
 first onset the battalions of the king would be shattered. Alas ! 
 any one may guess the foolish thoughts of a gii'l who had no 
 knowledge of the world nor any experience. Yet all my life I 
 had been taught that resistance was at times a sacred duty, and 
 that the divine right of the (so-called) Lord's Anointed was a 
 vain superstition. So far, therefore, was I better prepared than 
 most women for the work in hand. 
 
 When we rode through Sherborne all the folk were a-bed and 
 the streets were empty. From Sherborne our way lay through 
 Yetminster and Evershott to Beaminster, where w^e watered and 
 rested the horses, and took some of Barnaby's provisions. The 
 country through which we rode was full of memories of the last 
 great war. The Castle of Sherborne was twice besieged ; once 
 by Lord Bedford, when the Marquis of Hertford held it for the 
 king. That siege was raised ; but it was afterwards taken by 
 Fairfax, with its garrison of six hundred soldiers, and was then de- 
 stroyed, so that it is now a heap of ruins ; and as for Beaminster, 
 the town hath never recovered from the e'reat fire when Prince 
 Maurice held it, and it is still half in ruins, though the ivy hath 
 ,grown over the blackened walls of the burned houses. The last
 
 108 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 great war of which I had heard so much ! And now, perhaps, 
 we were ahout to begin another. 
 
 It was two o'clock in the morning when we dismounted at 
 Beaminster. My mother sat down upon a bench and fell in- 
 stantly asleep. My father walked up and down impatiently, as 
 grudging every minute. Barnaby, for his part, made a leisurely 
 and comfortable meal, eating his bread and meat — of which I 
 had some — and drinking his Malmsey with relish, as if we were 
 on a journey of pleasure and there was plenty of time for leis- 
 urely feeding. Presently he arose with a sigh (the food and 
 wine being all gone), and said that the horses, being now rested, 
 we might proceed. So he lifted my mother into her seat and 
 we went on with the journey, the day now breaking. 
 
 The way, I say, was never tedious to me, for I was sustained 
 by the novelty and the strangeness of the thmg. Although I 
 had a thousand things to ask Barnaby, it must be confessed 
 that for one who had travelled so far he had marvellous little 
 to tell. I dare say that the deck and cabins of a ship are much 
 the same whether she be on the Spanish Main or m the Bristol 
 Channel, and sailors, even in port, are never an observant race, 
 except of weather and so forth. It was strange, however, only 
 to look upon him and to mark how stout a man he was grown 
 and how strong, and yet how he still spoke like the old Barnaby, 
 so good-natured and so dull with his book, who was daily flogged 
 for his Latin grammar, and bore no malice, but prepared himself 
 to enjoy the present when the flogging was over, and not to an- 
 ticipate the certain repetition of the flogging on the morrow. 
 He spoke in the same slow way, as if speech were a thing too 
 precious to be poured out quickly ; and there was always sense 
 in what he said (Barnaby was only stupid in the matter of syn- 
 tax), though he gave me not such answers as I could have Avished. 
 However, he confessed, little by little, something of his history 
 and adventures. When he ran away, it was, as we thought, to 
 the port of Bristol, where he presently found a berth as cabin- 
 boy on board a West-Indiaman. In this enviable post — every- 
 body on board has a cuff or a kick or a rope's-end for the boy — 
 he continued for some time. " But," said Barnaby, " you are 
 not to think that the rope's-end was half so bad as my father's 
 rod ; nor the captain's oath so bad as my father's rebuke ; nor 
 the rough work and hard fare so bad as the Latin syntax." Be-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 109 
 
 ing so strong, and a lioarty, willing lad to boot, lie was quickly 
 promoted to be an able seaman, when there were no more rope's- 
 endings for him. Then, having an ambition above his station, 
 and not liking his rude and ignorant companions of the fo'k'sle 
 (which is the forepart of a ship, where the common sailors sleej) 
 and eat), and being so fortunate as to win the good graces of 
 the supercargo first and of the captain next, he applied his leisure 
 time (when he had any leisure) to the method of taking obser- 
 vations, of calculating longitudes and latitudes, his knowledge 
 of arithmetic having fortunately stuck in his mind longer than 
 that of Latin. These things, I understand, are of the greatest 
 use to a sailor and necessary to an officer. Armed with this 
 knowledge, and the recommendation of his superiors, Barnaby 
 w^as promoted from before the mast and became what they call 
 a mate, and so rose by degreos until he was at last second cap- 
 tain. But by this time he had made many voyages to the West 
 Indies, to New York and Baltimore, and to the West Coast of 
 Africa in the service of his owners, and, I dare say, had procured 
 much wealth for them, though but little for himself. And being 
 at Rotterdam upon his owners' business, he was easily persuaded 
 — being always a stout Protestant, and desirous to strike a blow 
 in revenge for the ejection of his father — to engage as second 
 captain on board the frigate which brought over the Duke of 
 Monmouth and his company, and then to join him on his land- 
 ing. This was the sum of what he had to tell me. He had 
 seen many strange people, wonderful things, and monsters of the 
 deep ; Indians, whom the cruelty and avarice of the Spaniards 
 have well-nigh destroyed, the sugar plantations in the islands, 
 negro slaves, negroes free in their own country, sharks and cala- 
 maries, of which I had read and heard — he had seen all these 
 things, and still remained (in his mind, I mean) as if he had 
 seen nothing. So wonderfully made are some men's minds that 
 whatever they see they are in no way moved. 
 
 I say, then, that Barnaby answered ray questions, as we rode 
 along, briefly, and as if such matters troubled him not. AVhen 
 I asked him, for example, how the poor miserable slaves liked 
 being captured and sold and put on board ship crowded together 
 for so long a voyage, Barnaby replied that he did not know, his 
 business being to buy them and carry them across the water, 
 and if they rebelled on board ship to shoot them down or flog
 
 110 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 them ; and when they got to Jamaica to sell them : where, if 
 they would not work, they would be flogged until they came to 
 a better mind. If a man was born a negro, what else, he asked, 
 could he expect ? 
 
 There was one question which I greatly desired to ask him, 
 but dared not. It concerned the Avelfare of his soul. Present- 
 ly, however, Barnaby answered that question before I put it. 
 
 " Sister," he said, " my mother's constant affliction concerning 
 me, before I ran away, was as to the salvation of my soul. And 
 truly, that seems to me so difficult a thing to compass (like navi- 
 gation to an unknown port over an unknown sea set everywhere 
 with hidden rocks and liable to sudden gusts) that I cannot un- 
 derstand how a plain man can ever succeed in it. Wherefore 
 it comforted me mightily after I got to sea to learn on good 
 authority that there is another way, which, compared with my 
 father's, is light and easy. In short, sister, though he knows it 
 not, there is one religion for lands-folk and another for sailor- 
 folk. A sailor (everybody knoAvs) cannot get so much as a sail 
 bent without cursing and swearing — this, which is desperately 
 wicked ashore, counts for nothing at all afloat : and so with 
 many other things ; and the long and the short of it is that if 
 a sailor does his duty, fights his ship like a man, is true to his 
 owners and faithful to his messmates, it matters not one straw 
 whether he hath daily sworn great oaths, drunk himself (when- 
 ever he went ashore) as helpless as a log, and kissed a pretty 
 girl whenever his good luck gave him the chance — which does, 
 indeed, seldom come to most sailors " — he added this with a 
 deep sigh — " I say, sister, that for such a sailor, when his ship 
 goes down with him, or when he gets a grapeshot through his 
 vitals, or when he dies of fever, as happens often enough in the 
 hot climates, there is no question as to the safety of his soul, 
 but he goes straight to heaven. What he is ordered to do when 
 he gets there," said Barnaby, " I cannot say ; but it will be 
 something, I doubt not, tliat a sailor will like to do. AVhere- 
 fore, sister, you can set my mother's heart — poor soul ! — quite at 
 rest on this important matter. You can tell her that you have 
 conversed with me, and that I have that very same inward as- 
 surance of which my father speaks so much and at such length. 
 The very same assurance it is — tell her that. And beg her to 
 ask me no questions upon the matter."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. Ill 
 
 " Well, Barnaby ; but art thou sure — " 
 
 "It is a heavenly comfort," he replied, before I had time to 
 finish, " to have such an assurance. For why ? A man that 
 hath it doth never more trouble himself about what shall hap- 
 pen to him after he is dead. Therefore he goes about his duty 
 with an easy mind ; and so, sister, no more upon this head, if 
 you love me and desire peace of mind for my mother." 
 
 So nothing more was said upon that subject then or after- 
 wards. A sailor to be exempted by right of his calling from 
 the religion of the landsman ! 'Tis a strange and dangerous 
 doctrine. But if all sailors believe it, yet how can it be ? This 
 question, I confess, is too high for me. And as for my mother, 
 I gave her Barnaby's message, begging her at the same time not 
 to question him further. And she sighed, but obeyed. 
 
 Presently Barnaby asked me if we had any money. 
 
 I had none, and I knew that my mother could have but little. 
 Of course, my father never had any. I doubt if he had pos- 
 sessed a single penny since his ejection. 
 
 " Well," said Barnaby, " I thought to give my money to 
 mother. But I now perceive that if she has it she will give it 
 to dad ; and if he has it, he will give it all to the duke for the 
 cause — wherefore, sister, do you take it and keep it, not for me, 
 but to be expended as seemeth you best." He lugged out of 
 his pocket a heavy bag. " Here is all the money I have saved 
 in ten years. Nay — I am not as some sailors, one that cannot 
 keep a penny in purse, but must needs fling all away. Here are 
 two hundred and fifty gold pieces. Take them, sister. Hang 
 the bag round thy neck, and never part with it, day or night. 
 And say nothing about the money either to mother or to dad, 
 for he will assuredly do with it as I have said. A time may 
 come when thou wilt want it." 
 
 Two hundred and fifty gold pieces ! Was it possible that 
 Barnaby could be so rich ? I took the bag and hung it round 
 my waist — not my neck — by the string which he had tied above 
 the neck, and, as it was covered by my mantle, nobody ever sus- 
 pected that I had this treasure. In the end, as you shall hear, 
 it was useful. 
 
 It was now broad daylight, and the sun was up. As we drew 
 near Bridport there stood a man in the road armed with a halbcrt. 
 
 " Whither go ye, good people ?" he asked.
 
 112 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Friend," said Barnaby, flourisliing his oaken staff, " we ride 
 upon our own business. Stand aside, or thou mayest liencefortli 
 have no more business to do upon this earth !" 
 
 " Ride on then — ride on," he replied, standing aside with 
 great meekness. This was one of the guards wliom they posted 
 everywhere upon the roads in order to stop the people who were 
 flocking to the camp. In this way many were sent back, and 
 many were arrested on their way to join Monmouth. 
 
 Now, as we drew near to Bridport, the time being about four 
 o'clock, we heard the firing of guns and a great shouting. 
 
 " They have begun the fighting," said Barnaby. " I knew it 
 would not be long a-coming." 
 
 It was, in fact, their first engagement, when the Dorsetshire 
 militia were driven out of Bridport by the duke's troops, and 
 there would have been a signal victory at the very outset but 
 for the cowardice of Lord Grey, who ran away with the horse. 
 
 Well, it was a strange and a wonderful thing to think that 
 close at hand were men killing each other on the Sabbath ; yea, 
 and some lying wounded on the roads ; and that civil war had 
 again begun. 
 " " Let us push on," said Humphrey, " out of the way of these 
 troops. They are but country lads all of them. If they retreat, 
 they will run ; and if they run, they will be seized with a panic, 
 arid will run all the way back to Lyme trampling on everything 
 that is in the road." 
 
 This was sound advice, which we followed, taking an upper 
 track which brought us into the high-road a mile or so nearer 
 Charmouth. 
 
 I do not think there can be anywhere a finer road than that 
 which runs from Charmouth to Lyme. It runneth over high hills 
 sometimes above the sea which rolls far below, and sometimes 
 above a great level inland plain, the name of which I have for- 
 gotten. The highest of the hills is called Golden Cap ; the rea- 
 son why was plainly shown this morning when the sky was clear 
 and the sun was shining from the southeast full upon this tall 
 pico. When we got into this road Ave found it full of young 
 fellows, lusty and well conditioned, all marching, running, walk- 
 ino-, shouting, and singing on their way to join Monmouth. Some 
 were adorned with flowers, some wore the blue favor of the duke, 
 some had cockades in their hats, and some again were armed
 
 - , r^ — — 
 
 " My father lifted his head and waved his hand, crying, ' A Monmouth/ 
 
 A Monmouth /' "
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 113 
 
 with musket or with sword; some carried pikes, some knives 
 tied on to long poles, some had nothing but thick cudgels, which 
 they brandished valiantly. At sight of these brave fellows my 
 father lifted his head and waved his hand, crying " A Monmouth ! 
 a Monmouth ! Follow me, brave lads !" just as if he had been a 
 captain encouraging his men to charge. 
 
 The church of Lyme standeth high upon the cliff Avhich faces 
 the sea ; it is on the eastern side of the town, and before you 
 get to the church, on the way from Charmouth, there is a broad 
 field also on the edge of the cliff. It was this field that was the 
 first camp of Monmouth's men. There were no tents for the 
 men to lie in, but there were wagons filled, I suppose, with mu- 
 nitions of war ; there were booths where things were sold, such 
 as hot sausages fried over a charcoal fire, fried fish, lobsters and 
 periwinkles, cold bacon and pork, bread, cheese, and such like, 
 and barrels of beer and cider on wooden trestles. The men 
 were hao-ofUno- for the food and drink, and already one or two 
 seemed fuddled. Some were exercising in the use of arms ; 
 some were dancino- and some sine-ino'. And no thouo;]it or re- 
 spect paid at all to the Sabbath. Oh ! was this the pious and 
 godly camp which I had expected. 
 
 " Sister," said Barnaby, " this is a godly and religious place 
 to which the wisdom of dad hath brought thee. Perhaps he 
 meaneth thee to lie in the open like the lads." 
 
 " Where is the duke ?" asked my father, looking wrathfully at 
 these revellers and Sabbath-breakers. 
 
 " The duke lies at the George Inn," said Barnaby. " I will 
 show the way." 
 
 In the blue parlor of the George the duke was at that time 
 holding a council. There were different reports as to the Brid- 
 port affair. Already it was said that Lord Grey was unfit to 
 lead the horse, having been the first to run away ; and some said 
 that the militia were driven out of the town in a panic, and some 
 that they made a stand and that our men had fled. I know not 
 what was the truth, and now it matters little, except tliat the 
 first action of our men brought them little honor. When the 
 council was finished, the duke sent word that he would receive 
 Dr. Challis (that was Humphrey) and Dr. Comfort Eykln. 
 
 So they were introduced to the presence of his grace, and first 
 my fatlier — as Humphrey told me — fell into a kind of ecstasy, 
 
 H
 
 114 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 praising God for the landing of the duke, and foretelling such 
 speedy victory as would lay the enemies of the country at his 
 feet. He then drew forth a roll of paper in which he had set 
 doAvn, for the information of the duke, the estimated number of 
 the disaffected in every town of the south and west of England, 
 with the names of such as could be trusted not only to risk their 
 own bodies and estates in the cause, but would stir up and en- 
 courage their friends. There were so many on these lists that 
 the duke's eyes brightened as he read them. 
 
 " Sir," he said, " if these reports can be depended upon we are 
 indeed made men. What is your opinion, Dr. Challis?" 
 
 " My opinion, sir, is that these are the names of friends and 
 well-wishers ; if they see your grace well supported at the outset 
 they will flock in ; if not, many of them will stand aloof." 
 
 " Will Sir Christopher join me ?" asked the duke. 
 
 " No, sir ; he is now seventy -five years of age." 
 
 Then the duke turned away. Presently he returned to the lists 
 and asked many questions. 
 
 " Sir," said my father, at length, " I have given you the names 
 of all that I know who are well-affected to the Protestant cause ; 
 they are those who have remained faithful to the ejected minis- 
 ters. Many a time have I secretly preached to them. One thing- 
 is wanting : the assurance that your grace will bestow upon us 
 liberty of conscience and freedom of worship. Else will not one 
 move hand or foot." 
 
 " Why," said the duke, " for what other purpose am I come ? 
 Assure them, good friend, assure them in my name ; make the 
 most solemn pledge that is in your power and in mine." 
 
 " In that case, sir," said my father, " I will at once write let- 
 ters with my own hand to the brethren everywhere. There are 
 many honest country lads who will carry the letters by ways 
 where they are not likely to be arrested and searched. And 
 now, sir, I pray your leave to preach to these your soldiers. 
 They are at present drinking, swearing, and breaking the Sab- 
 bath. The campaign which should be begun with prayer and 
 humiliation for the sins of the country hath been begun with 
 many deadly sins, with merriment, and with fooling. Suffer me, 
 then, to preach to them." 
 
 " Preach, by all means," said the duke. " You shall have the 
 parish church. I fear, sir, that my business will not suffer me to
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 115 
 
 have the edification of your sermon, but I hojjc that it will tend to 
 the soberness and earnestness of my men. Forgive them, sir, for 
 their lightness of heart. They are for the most part young. 
 Encourage them by promises rather than by rebuke. And so, 
 sir, for this occasion, farewell !" 
 
 In this way my father obtained the wish of his heart, and 
 preached once more in a church before the people who were the 
 young soldiers of Monmouth's army. 
 
 I did not hear that sermon, because I was asleep. It was in 
 tones of thunder that my father preached to them. He spoke of 
 the old war, and the brave deeds that their fathers had done un- 
 der Cromwell ; theirs was the victory. Now, as then, the victory 
 should be theirs, if they carried the spirit of faithfulness into 
 battle. He warned them of their sins, sparing none ; and, in 
 the end, he concluded with such a denunciation of the king as 
 made all who heard it, and had been taught to regard the king's 
 majesty as sacred, open their mouths and gape upon each other ; 
 for then, for the first time, they truly understood what it was that 
 they were engaged to do. 
 
 While my father waited to see the duke, Barnaby went about 
 looking for a lodging. The town is small, and the houses were 
 all filled, but he presently found a cottage (call it rather a hut) 
 on the shore beside the Cobb, where, on promise of an extrava- 
 gant payment, the fisherman's wife consented to give up her bed 
 to my mother and myself. Before the bargain was concluded, I 
 had laid myself down upon it and was sound asleep. 
 
 So I slept the whole day ; though outside there w^as such a 
 trampling on the beach, such a landing of stores and creaking of 
 chains as might have awakened the seven sleepers. But me 
 nothing could awaken. 
 
 In the evening I woke up refreshed. My mother was already 
 awake, but for weariness could not move out of her chair. The 
 good woman of the cottage, a kindly soul, brought me rough 
 food of some kind with a drink of water — the army had drunk 
 up all the milk, eaten all the cheese, the butter, the eggs, and the 
 pork, beef, and mutton in the place. And then Humphrey came 
 and asked if I would go with him into the town to see the sol- 
 diers. So I went, and glad I was to see the sight. But, Lord ! 
 to think that it was the Sabbath evening. For the main street 
 of Lyme was full of men, swaggering with long swords at their
 
 110 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 sides and some with spears — feathers in their hats and pistols 
 stuck in their belts, all were talking- loud, as I am told is the cus- 
 tom in a camp of soldiers. Outside the George there was a bar- 
 rel on a stand, and venders and drawers ran about with cans, 
 fetching and carrying the liquor for which the men continually 
 called. Then at the door of the George there appeared the duke 
 himself with his following of gentlemen. All rose and huzzaed 
 while the duke came down the steps and turned towards the 
 camp outside the town. 
 
 I saw his face very well as he passed. Indeed, I saw him 
 many times afterwards, and I declare that my heart sank when 
 first I gazed upon him as he stood upon the steps of the George 
 Inn. For on his face, plain to read, was the sadness of coming 
 ruin. I say I knew from that moment what would be his end. 
 Nay, I am no prophetess nor am I a witch to know beforehand 
 the counsels of the Almighty ; yet the Lord hath permitted by 
 certain signs the future to become apparent to those who know 
 how to read them. In the Duke of Monmouth the signs were a 
 restless and uneasy eye, an air of preoccupation, a trembling 
 mouth, and a hesitating manner. There was in him nothing of 
 the confidence of one who knows that fortune is about to smile 
 upon him. This, I say, was my first thought about the duke, 
 and the first thought is prophecy. 
 
 There sat beside the benches a secretary, or clerk, who took 
 down the names of recruits. The duke stopped and looked on. 
 A young man in a sober suit of brown, in appearance different 
 from the country lads, was giving in his name. 
 
 " Daniel Foe, your grace," said the clerk, looking up. " He 
 is from London." 
 
 " From London," the duke repeated. " I have many friends 
 in London. I expect them shortly. Thou art a worthy lad and 
 deservest encouragement." So he passed on his way. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 ON THE MARCH. 
 
 At daybreak, next morning, the drums began to beat and the 
 trumpets were blown, and after breakfast the newly raised army
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 117 
 
 marched out in such order as was possible. I have not to write 
 a history of this rebellion, which hath already been done by able 
 hands ; I speak only of what I saw, and the things with which 
 I was concerned. 
 
 First, then, it is true that the whole country Avas quickly put 
 into a ferment by the duke's landing ; and had those who planned 
 the expedition provided a proper supply of arms, the army would 
 have quickly mustered twenty thousand men, all resolute and capa- 
 ble of meeting any force that the king could have raised. Nay, it 
 would have grown and swelled as it moved. But there were not 
 enough arras. Everything promised well for him. But there were 
 no arms for half those who came in. The spirit of the Devon and 
 Somerset militia was lukewarm ; they ran at Bridport, at Ax- 
 minster, and at Chard ; nay, some of them even deserted to join 
 the duke. There were thousands scattered about the country — 
 those, namely, who still held to the doctrines of the persecuted 
 ministers, and those who abhorred the Catholic religion — who 
 wished well and would have joined — Humphrey knew well- 
 wishers by the thousand whose names were on the lists in Hol- 
 land — but how could they join when the army was so ill-found ? 
 And this was the principal reason, I am assured, why the coun- 
 try gentlemen did not come in at first — because there were no 
 arms. How can soldiers fight when they have no arms ? How 
 could the duke have been suffered to begin with so scanty a 
 preparation of arms ? Afterwards, when Monmouth proclaimed 
 himself king, there were, perhaps, other reasons why the well- 
 wishers held aloof. Some of them, certainly, who were known 
 to be friends of the duke (among them Mr. Prideaux, of Ford 
 Abbey) were arrested and thrown into prison, while many thou- 
 sands who were flocking to the standard were either turned back 
 or seized and thrown into prison. 
 
 As for the quality of the troops who formed the army, I 
 know nothing, except that at Sedgemoor they continued to fight 
 valiantly after their leaders had fled. They Avere raw troops — 
 mere country lads — and their oflicers were, for the most part, 
 simple tradesmen who had no knowledge of the art of war. 
 Dare the younger was a goldsmith ; Captain Perrot was a dyer ; 
 Captain Hucker, a maker of serge ; and so on with all of them. 
 It was unfortunate that Mr. Andrew Fletcher, of Saltoun, should 
 have killed Mr. Dare the elder on the first day, because, as
 
 118 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 everybody agrees, he was tlie most experienced soldier in the 
 whole army. The route proposed by the duke w^as known to 
 everybody. He intended to march through Taunton, Bridg- 
 water, and Bristol to Gloucester, where he thought he would be 
 joined by a new army raised by his friends in Cheshire. He 
 also reckoned on receiving adherents everywhere on the road, 
 and on easily defeating any force that the king should be able 
 to send against him. How he fared in that scheme everybody 
 knows. 
 
 Long before the army was ready to march, Humphrey came 
 to advise v.ith us. First of all, he had endeavored to have 
 speech with my father, but in vain. Henceforth my father 
 seemed to have no thought of his wife and daughter. Hum- 
 phrey at first advised us to go home again. " As for your dedi- 
 cation to the cause," he said, " I think that he hath already for- 
 gotten it, seeing that it means nothing, and that your presence 
 with us cannot help. Go home, madam, and let Grace persuade 
 Robin to stay at home in order to take care of you." 
 
 " No," said my mother ; "that may we not do. I must obey 
 my husband, who commanded us to follow him. "Whither he 
 goeth there I will follow." 
 
 Finding that she was resolute upon this point, Humphrey told 
 us that the duke would certainly march upon Taunton, where 
 more than half of the town were his friends. He therefore ad- 
 vised that we should ride to that place — not following the army, 
 but going across the country, most of which is a very wild and 
 desolate part, where we should have no fear except from gypsies 
 and such wild people, who might be robbers and rogues, but who 
 were all now making the most of the disturbed state of the 
 country and running about the roads jilundering and thieving. 
 But he said he would himself provide us with a guide, one who 
 knew the way, and a good stout fellow, armed with a cudgel, at 
 least. To this my mother agreed, fearing to anger her husband 
 if she should disturb him at his work of writing letters. 
 
 Humphrey had little trouble in finding the guide for us. He 
 was an honest lad from a place called Holford, in the Quantock 
 Hills, who, finding that there were no arms for him, was going 
 home again. Unhappily, when we got to Taunton, he was per- 
 suaded — partly by me, alas ! — to remain. He joined Barnaby's 
 company, and was either killed at Sedgcmoor, or one of those
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 119 
 
 hanged at "Weston, Zoyland, or Bridgwater. For he was no 
 more heard of. This business settled, we went up to the church- 
 yard in order to see the march of tlie army out of camp. And 
 a brave show the gallant soldiers made. 
 
 "First rode Colonel Wade with the vanguard. After them, 
 with a due interval, rode the greater part of the Horse, already 
 three hundred strong, under Lord Grey of Wark. Among them 
 was the company sent by Mr. Speke, of White Lackington, forty 
 very stout fellows, well armed and mounted on cart-horses. The 
 main army was composed of four regiments. The first was the 
 Blue Regiment, or the duke's own, whose colonel was the afore- 
 said Wade, They formed the van, and were seven hundred 
 strong. The others were the White, commanded by Colonel 
 Foukes, the Green by Colonel Holmes, and the Yellow by Colo- 
 nel Fox. All these regiments were fully armed, the men wear- 
 ing favors or rosettes in their hats and on their arms of the color 
 from which their regiment was named. 
 
 The duke himself, who rode a great white horse,- was surround- 
 ed by a small bodyguard of gentlemen (afterwards they became 
 a company of forty), richly dressed and well mounted. With 
 him Were carried the colors, embroidered with the words " Pro 
 Religione et Libertate." This was the second time that I had 
 seen the duke, and again I felt at sight of his face the fore- 
 knowledge of coming woe. On such an occasion the chief 
 should show a gallant mien and a face of cheerful hope. The 
 duke, however, looked gloomy, and hung his head. 
 
 Truly, it seemed to me as if no force could dare so much as 
 to meet this great and invincible army. And certainly there 
 could nowhere be gathered together a more stalwart set of 
 soldiers, nearly all young men, and full of spirit. They shouted 
 and sang as they marched. Presently there passed us my brother 
 Barnaby, with his company of the Green Regiment. It was easy 
 to perceive by the handling of his arms and by his bearing that 
 he was accustomed to act with others, and already he had so in- 
 structed his men that they set an example to the rest both in 
 their orderliness of march and the carriage of their weapons. 
 
 After the main array they carried the ordnance — four small 
 cannon — and the ammunition in wagons with guards and horse- 
 men. Lastly there rode those who do not fight, yet belong to 
 the army. These were the chaplain to the army, Dr. Ilooke, a
 
 120 FOU FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 grave clergyman of the Church of England ; Mr. Ferguson, the 
 duke's private chaplain, a fiery person, of whom many hard 
 things have been said, which here concern us not ; and my 
 father, who thus rode openly with the other two, in order that 
 the Nonconformists miglit be encouraged by his presence, as an 
 equal with the two chaplains, lie was clad in a new cassock, 
 obtained I know not whence. He sat upright in the saddle, a 
 Bible in liis hand, the long white locks lying on his shoulders 
 like a perruque, but more venerable than any wig. His thin 
 face was flushed with the joy of coming victory, and his eyes 
 flashed fire. If all the men had shown such a spirit the army 
 would have overrun the whole country. The four surgeons — 
 Dr. Temple, Ur. Gaylard, Dr. Oliver, and Humphrey — followed, 
 all splendid in black velvet and great periwigs. Lastly marched 
 the rearguard ; but after the army there followed such a motley 
 crew as no one can conceive. There were gypsies, with their 
 black tents and carts, ready to rob and plunder ; there were the 
 tinkers, who are nothing better than gypsies, and are said to 
 speak their language ; there were men with casks on wheels 
 filled with beer or cider ; there were carts carrying bread, cakes, 
 biscuits, and such things as one can buy in a booth or at a fair ; 
 there were women of bold and impudent looks, singing as they 
 walked ; there were, besides, whole troops of country lads, some 
 of them mere boys, running and strutting along in hopes to 
 receive arms and to take a place in the regiments. 
 
 Presently they were all gone, and Lyme was quit of them. 
 What became in the end of all the rabble rout which followed 
 the army I knov/ not. One thing was certain : the godly dis- 
 position, the pious singing of psalms, and the devout exposition 
 of the Word which I had looked for in the army were not ap- 
 parent. Rather there was evident a tumultuous joy, as of school- 
 boys out for a holiday — certainly no schoolboys could have made 
 more noise or showed greater happiness in their faces. Among 
 them, however, there were some men of middle age, whose faces 
 showed a different temper ; but these were rare. 
 
 " Lord help them !" said our friendly fisherwoman, who stood 
 with us. " There will be hard knocks before those fine fellows 
 go home again." 
 
 " They fight on the Lord's side," said my mother ; " there- 
 fore they may be killed, but they will not wholly perish."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 121 
 
 As for the hard knocks, they began without any delay, and on 
 that very morning. For at Axminster they encountered the 
 Somerset and Devon militia, who thought to join their forces, 
 but were speedily put to flight by the rebels — a victory which 
 greatly encouraged them. 
 
 It hath been maliciously said that we followed the army — as 
 if we were two sutler women — on foot, I suppose, tramping in 
 the dust, singing ribald songs like those poor creatures whom 
 we saw marching out of Lyme. You have heard how we agreed 
 to follow Humphrey's advice. Well, we left Lyme very early 
 the next morning (our fisherwoman having now become very 
 friendly and loath to let us go) and rode out, our guide (poor 
 lad ! his death lies heavy on my soul, yet I meant the best ; and, 
 truly, it was the side of the Lord) marching beside us armed 
 Avith a stout bludgeon. We kept the main road (which was 
 very quiet at this early hour) as far as Axminster, where we left 
 it ; and, after crossing the river by a ford or wash, we engaged 
 upon a track, or path, which led along the banks of a little 
 stream for a mile or two — as far as the village of Chardstock. 
 Here we made no halt ; but, leaving it behind, we struck into a 
 most wild and mountainous country full of old forests and great 
 bare places. It is called the Forest of Neroche, and is saia to 
 shelter numbers of gypsies and vagabonds, and to have in it 
 some of those wild people Avho live in the hills and woods of 
 Somerset and do no work except to gather the dry broom and 
 tie it up, and so live hard and hungry lives, but know not any 
 master. These are reported to be a harmless people, but the 
 gypsies are dangerous because they are ready to rob and even 
 murder. I thought of Barnaby's bag of gold and trembled. 
 However, we met with none of them on the journey, because 
 they were all running after Monmouth's army. There was no 
 path over the hills by the way we took ; but our guide knew the 
 country so well that he needed none, pointing out the hills with 
 a kind of pride as if they belonged to him, and telling us the 
 name of every one ; but these I have long since forgotten. The 
 country, however, I can never forget, because it is so wild and 
 beautiful. One place I remember. It is a very strange and 
 wonderful place. There is a vast great earthwork surrounded 
 by walls of stone, but these are ruinous. It stands on a hill, 
 called Blackdown, which looks over into the Yale of Taunton. 
 6
 
 122 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 The guide said it was called Castle Ratch, and that it was built 
 long ago by the ancient Romans. It is not at all like Sherborne 
 Castle, which Oliver Cromwell slighted when he took the place, 
 and blew it up with gunpowder ; but Sherborne was not built 
 by the Romans. Here, after our long walk, we halted and took 
 the dinner of cold bacon and bread which we had brought with 
 us. The place looks out upon the beautiful Vale of Taunton, of 
 which 1 had heard. Surely, there cannot be a more rich, fertile, 
 and lovely place in all England than the Vale of Taunton. Our 
 guide began to tell us of the glories of the town, its wealth and 
 populousness — and all for Monmouth, he added. When my 
 mother was rested we remounted our nags and went on, de- 
 scending into the plain. Humphrey had provided us with a 
 letter commendatory. He, who knew the names of all who were 
 well-afEected, assured us that the lady to whom the letter was 
 addressed, Miss Susan Blake by name, was one of the most 
 forward in the Protestant cause. She was well known and 
 much respected, and she kept a school for young gentlewomen, 
 where many children of the Nonconformist gentry were educated. 
 He instructed us to proceed directly to her house, and to ask 
 her to procure for us a decent and safe lodging. He could not 
 have given us a letter to any better person. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Ave rode into Taunton. 
 The streets were full of people running about, talking, now in 
 groups and now by twos and threes ; now shouting and now 
 whispering ; while we rode along the street a man ran bawling — 
 
 " Great news ! great news ! Monmouth is upon us with twice 
 ten thousand men !" 
 
 It seems that they had only that day learned of the defeat of 
 the militia by the rebels. A company of the Somerset militia 
 were in the town, under Colonel Luttrell, in order to keep down 
 the people. 
 
 Taunton is, as everybody knows, a most rich, prosperous, and 
 populous town. I had never before seen so many houses and 
 so many people. Why, if the men of Taunton declared for the 
 duke his cause was already won. For there is nowhere, as I 
 could not fail to know, a greater stronghold of Dissent than this 
 town, except London, and none where the Nonconformists have 
 more injuries to remember. Only two years before this their 
 meeting-houses had been broken into, and their pulpits and pews
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 123 
 
 brought out and burned, and they were forced, against their con- 
 science, to worship in tlie parish church. 
 
 We easily found Miss Blake's house, and, giving our horses 
 to the guide, we presented her witli our letter. She was a young 
 woman somewhat below the common stature, quick of speech, 
 her face and eyes full of vivacity, and about thirty years of age. 
 But when she had read the letter, and understood who we were 
 and whence we came, she first made a deep reverence to my 
 mother, and then she took my hands and kissed me. 
 
 " Madam," she said, " believe me, my poor house will be hon- 
 ored indeed by the presence of the wife and the daughter of the 
 godly Dr. Comfort Eykin. Pray, pray, go no further. I have 
 a room that is at your disposal. Go thither, madam, I beg, and 
 rest after your journey. The wife of Dr. Eykin ! 'Tis indeed 
 an honor." And so, with the kindest words, she led us up- 
 stairs, and gave us a room with a bed in it, and caused water 
 for washing to be brought, and presently went out with me to 
 buy certain things needful for us, who were indeed rustical in 
 our dress, to present the appearance of gentlewomen ; thanks to 
 Barnaby's heavy purse, I could get them without telling my 
 mother anything about it. She then gave us supper, and told 
 us all the news. The king, she said, was horribly afraid, and it 
 was rumored that the priests had all been sent away to France ; 
 the Taunton people were resolved to give the duke a brave re- 
 ception ; all over the country, there was no doubt, men would 
 rally by thousands ; she was in a rapture of joy and gratitude. 
 Supper over, she took us to her schoolroom, and here — oh ! the 
 pretty sight ! — her schoolgirls were engaged in working and em- 
 broidering flags for the duke's army. 
 
 " I know not," she said, " whether his grace will condescend to 
 receive them. But it is all we women can do." Poor wretch ! 
 she afterwards suffered the full penalty for her zeal. 
 
 All that evening we heard the noise of men running about the 
 town, with the clanking of weapons and the commands of offi- 
 cers ; but we knew not what had happened. 
 
 Lo ! in the morning the glad tidings that the militia had left 
 the town. Nor was that all ; for at daybreak the people began 
 to assemble, and, there being none to stay them, broke into the 
 great church, and took possession of the arms that had been de- 
 posited for safety in the tower. They also opened the prison,
 
 124 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 and set free a worthy Nonconformist divine named Vincent. 
 All the mornino: the mob ran about the streets shoutinor, " A 
 Monmouth ! a Monmouth !" the magistrates and Royalists not 
 daring so much as to show their faces, and there v/as nothing 
 talked of but the overthrow of the king and the triumph of the 
 Protestant religion. Nay, there were fiery speakers in the mar- 
 ket-place and before the west porch of the church,who mounted on 
 tubs and exhorted the people. Grave merchants came forth and 
 shook hands with each other ; ministers who had been in hiding 
 now walked forth boldly. It was truly a great day for Taunton. 
 
 The excitement grew greater when Captain Hucker, a well- 
 known serge-maker of the town, rode in with a troop of Mon- 
 mouth's horse. Captain Hucker had been seized by Colonel 
 Phillips on the charge of receiving a message from the duke, 
 but he escaped and joined the rebels, to his greater loss, as 
 afterwards appeared. However, he now rode in to tell his fel- 
 low-townsmen of his own wonderful and j^rovidential escape, and 
 that the duke would certainly arrive the next day, and he ex- 
 horted them to give him such a welcome as he had a right to 
 expect at their hands. He also reminded them that they were 
 the sons of the men who, forty years before, defended Taunton 
 under Admiral Blake. There was a great shouting and tossing 
 of caps after Captain Hucker's address, and no one could do too 
 much for the horsemen with him, so that I fear these brave fel- 
 lows were soon fain to lie down and sleep till the fumes of the 
 strong ale should leave their brains. 
 
 All that day and half the night we sat in Miss Blake's school- 
 room finishing the flags, in which I was permitted to join. There 
 were twenty -seven flags in all presented to the army by the Taun- 
 ton maids — twelve by Miss Blake and fifteen by one Mrs. Mus- 
 grave, also a schoolmistress. And now, indeed, seeing that the 
 militia at Axminster had fled almost at the mere aspect of one 
 man, and those of Taunton had also fled away secretly by night, 
 and, catching the zeal of our kind entertainer, and considering 
 the courage and spirit of these good people, I began to feel con- 
 fident again, and my heart, which had fallen very low at the sight 
 of the duke's hanging head and gloomy looks, rose again, and 
 all dangers seemed to vanish. And so, in a mere fool's para- 
 dise, I continued happy indeed until the fatal news of Sedgemoor 
 fight awoke us all from our fond dreams.
 
 "Her school-girls were engaged in working and emiroidei'ing fiaga for tJie 
 
 Duke's army. "
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 125 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 TAUNTON. 
 
 I NEVER weary in thinking of tlie gayety and happiness of 
 those four days at Taunton among the rebels. There was no 
 more doubt in any of our hearts ; Ave were all confident of vic- 
 tory, and that easy, and perhaps bloodless. As was the rejoic- 
 ing at Taunton, so it would be in every town of the country. 
 One only had to look out of window in order to feel assurance 
 of that victory, so jolly, so happy, so confident looked every 
 face. 
 
 " Why," said Miss Blake, " in future ages even we women, 
 who have only worked the flags, will be envied for our share in 
 the glorious deliverance. Great writers will speak of us as they 
 speak of the Roman women." Then all our eyes sparkled, and 
 the needles flew faster, and the flags grew nearer to completion. 
 
 If history should condescend to remember the poor maids of 
 Taunton at all it will be, at best, with pity for the afflictions 
 which afterwards fell upon them ; none, certainly, will envy 
 them ; but we shall be forgotten. Why should we be remem- 
 bered ? Women, it is certain, have no business with affairs of 
 state, and especially none with rebellions and civil wars. Our 
 hearts and passions carry us away. The leaders in the cause 
 which we have joined appear to us to be more than human ; we 
 cannot restrain ourselves, we fall down and worship our leaders, 
 esjDccially in the cause of religion and liberty. 
 
 Now, behold ! On the very morning after we arrived at Taun- 
 ton I was abroad in the streets with Miss Blake, looking at the 
 town, which hath shops full of the most beautiful and precious 
 things, and wondering at the great concourse of people (for the 
 looms were all deserted, and the workmen were in the streets 
 filled with a martial spirit), I saw riding into the town no other 
 than Robin himself. Oh ! how my heart leaped up to see him ! 
 He was most gallantly dressed, in a purple coat with a crimson
 
 126 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 sash over liis shoulders to carry his sword ; he had pistols in his 
 holsters, and wore great riding-boots, and with him rode a com- 
 pany of a dozen young men, mounted on good, strong nags ; 
 why, they were men of our own village, and I knew them every 
 one. They were armed with muskets and pikes — I knew where 
 they came from — and when they saw me the fellows all began 
 to grin, and to square their shoulders so as to look more martial. 
 But Robin leaped from his horse. 
 
 " 'Tis Grace !" he cried. " Dear heart ! Thou art then safe, 
 so far ? Madam, your servant." Here he took off his hat to 
 Miss Blake. " Lads, ride on to the "White Hart, and call for 
 what you want, and take care of the nags. This is a joyful 
 meeting, sweetheart." Here he kissed me. " The duke, they 
 say, draws thousands daily. I thought to find him in Taunton 
 by this time. Why, we are as good as victorious already. 
 Humphrey, I take it, is with his grace. My dear, even had the 
 cause of freedom failed to move me I had been dragged by the 
 silken ropes of love. Truly, I could not choose but come. 
 There was the thought of these brave fellows marching to bat- 
 tle, and I all the time skulking at home, who had ever been so 
 loud upon their side. And there was the thought of Humphrey, 
 braving the dangers of the field, tender though he be, and I, 
 strong and lusty, sitting by the fire and sleeping on a feather- 
 bed ; and always there was the thought of thee, my dear, among 
 these rude soldiers — like Milton's lady among the rabble rout — 
 because well I know that even Christian warriors (so called) are 
 not lambs ; and, again, there was my grandfather, who could 
 find no rest, but continually walked to and fro, with looks that 
 at one time said, ' Go, my son,' and at others, ' Nay ; lest thou 
 receive a hurt ;' and the white face of my mother, which said, 
 as plain as eyes could speak, ' He ought to go, he ought to go ; 
 and yet he may be killed.' " 
 
 '' Oh, Robin ! Pray God there prove to be no more fighting." 
 " Well, my dear, if I am not tedious to madam here — " 
 " Oh, sir !" said Miss Blake, " it is a joy to hear this talk." 
 She told me, afterwards, that it was a joy to look upon so gal- 
 lant a gentleman, and such a pair of lovers. She, poor thing, 
 had no sweetheart. 
 
 " Then on Monday," Robin continued, " the day before yester- 
 day, 1 could refrain no longer, but laid the matter before my
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 127 
 
 grandfatlier. Sweetheart ! there is no better man in all the 
 world." 
 
 " Of that I am well assured, Robin." 
 
 " First, he said that if anything befell me he should go down 
 in sorrow to his grave ; yet that as to his own end an old man 
 so near the grave should not be concerned about the manner of 
 his end so long as he should keep to honor and duty. Next, 
 that in his own youth he had himself gone forth willingly to 
 fight in the cause of liberty, without counting the risk. Thirdly, 
 that if my conscience did truly urge me to follow the duke I 
 ought to obey that voice in the name of God. And this with 
 tears in his eyes, and yet a lively and visible satisfaction that, as 
 he himself had chosen, so his grandson would choose. ' Sir,' I 
 said, ' that voice of conscience speaks very loudly and clearly. 
 1 cannot stifle it. Therefore, by your good leave, I will go.' 
 Then he bade me take the best horse in the stable, and gave me 
 a purse of gold, and so I made ready." 
 
 Miss Blake, at this point, said that she was reminded of 
 David. It was, I suppose, because Robin was so goodly a lad 
 to look upon ; otherwise, David, though an exile, did never en- 
 deavor to pull King Saul from his throne. 
 
 " Then," Robin continued, " I went to my mother. She wept, 
 because war hath many dangers and chances ; but she would not 
 say me ' nay.' And in the evening when the men came home I 
 asked who would go with me. A dozen stout fellows — you 
 know them all, sweetheart — stepped forth at once; another 
 dozen would have come, but their wives prevented them. And 
 so, mounting them on good cart-horses, I bade farewell and rode 
 away." 
 
 " Sir," said Miss Blake, " you have chosen the better part. 
 You will be rewarded by so splendid a victory that it will sur- 
 prise all the world ; and for the rest of your life — yes, and for 
 generations afterwards — you will be ranked among the deliverers 
 of your country. It is a great privilege, sir, to take part in the 
 noblest passage of English history. Oh !" — she clasped her 
 hands — " I am sorry that I am not a man, only because I would 
 strike a blow in this sacred cause. But we are women, and we 
 can but pray, and make flags. We cannot die for the cause." 
 
 The event proved that women can sometimes die for the cause, 
 because she herself, if any woman ever did, died for her cause.
 
 128 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 Then Robin left us in order to take steps about his men and 
 himself. Captain Hucker received them in the name of the 
 duke. They joined the cavalry, and Robin was made a captain. 
 This done, he rode out with the rest to meet the duke. 
 
 Now, when his approach was known everybody who had a 
 horse rode forth to meet him, so that there followed him, not 
 counting his army, so great a company that they almost made 
 another army. Lord Grey rode on one side of him, and Colonel 
 Speke on the other ; Dr. Hooke, the chaplain, and my father 
 rode behind. My heart swelled with joy to hear how the people, 
 when they had shouted themselves hoarse, cried out for my 
 father, because his presence showed that they would have once 
 more that liberty of worship for Avant of which they had so long 
 languished. The duke's own chaplain, Mr. Ferguson, had got a 
 naked sword in his hand, and was marching on foot, crying out, 
 in a most vainglorious manner, " I am Ferguson, the famous 
 Ferguson, that Ferguson for whose head so many hundred 
 pounds were offered. I am that man ! I am that man !" He 
 wore a great gown and cassock, which consorted ill with the 
 sword in his hand ; and in the evening he preached in the great 
 church, while my father preached in the old meeting-house to a 
 much larger congregation, and, I venture to think, a much more 
 edifying discourse. 
 
 The army marched through the town in much the same order 
 as it had marched out of Lyme, and it seemed not much bigger, 
 but the men marched more orderly and there was less laughing 
 and shouting. But the streets were so thronged that the men 
 could hardly make their way. 
 
 As soon as it was reported that the duke was within a mile 
 (they had that day marched sixteen miles, from Ilminster) the 
 church bells were set a-ringing ; children came out with baskets 
 of flowers in readiness to strew them at his feet as he should 
 pass — roses and lilies and all kinds of summer flowers, so that 
 his horse had most delicate carpet to walk upon ; the common 
 people crowded the sides of the streets ; the windows were filled 
 with ladies who waved their handkerchiefs and called aloud on 
 Heaven to bless the good duke, the brave duke, the sweet and 
 lovely duke. If there were any malcontents in the town they 
 kept snug ; it would have cost them dear even to have been seen 
 in the streets that day. The duke showed on this occasion a
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 129 
 
 face full of liope and happiness ; indeed, if he had not shown a 
 cheerful countenance on such a day, he would have been some- 
 thing less, or something greater, than human. I mean that he 
 would have been either insensible and blockish not to be moved 
 by such a welcome, or else he would have been a prophet, as 
 foreseeing what would follow. He rode bareheaded, carrying 
 his hat in his hand ; he was dressed in a shining corslet with a 
 blue silk scarf and a purple coat ; his long brown hair hung in 
 curls upon his shoulders ; his sweet lips were parted with a 
 gracious smile ; his beautiful brown eyes — never had any prince 
 more lovely eyes — looked pleased and benignant ; truly there 
 was never made any man more comely than the Duke of Mon- 
 mouth. The face of his father, and that of his uncle. King 
 James, were dark and gloomy, but the duke's face was naturally 
 bright and cheerful ; King Charles's long nose in him was soft- 
 ened and reduced to the projDortions of manly beauty ; in short, 
 there was no feature that in his father was harsh and unpleas- 
 ing but was in him sweet and beautiful. If I had thought him 
 comely and like a king's son when four years before he made 
 his progress, I thought him now ten times as gracious and as 
 beautiful. He was thinner in the face, which gave his appearance 
 the greater dignity ; he had ever the most gracious smile and the 
 most charming eyes ; and at such a moment as this who could 
 believe the things which they said about his wife and Lady 
 Wentworth ? No — they were inventions of his enemies ; they 
 must be base lies ; so noble a presence could not conceal a guilty 
 heart ; he must be as good and virtuous as he was brave and 
 lovely. Thus we talked, sitting in the window, and thus we 
 cheered our souls. Even now, to think how great and good he 
 looked on that day, it is difficult to believe that he was in some 
 matters so vile. I am not of those who expect one kind of 
 moral conduct from one man and a different kind from another : 
 there is but one set of commandments for rich and poor, for 
 prince and peasant. But the pity of it, oh ! the pity of it, with 
 a prince ! 
 
 Never, in short, did one see such a tumult of joy ; it is im- 
 possible to speak otherwise : the people had lost their wits with 
 excess of joy. Nor did they show their welcome in shouting 
 only, for all doors were thrown wide open and supplies and 
 necessaries of all kinds were sent to the soldiers in the camp 
 6* 1
 
 130 FOR FAITII AND FREEDOM. 
 
 outside the town, so tliat the country lads declared they had 
 never fared more sumptuously. There now rode after the duke 
 several Nonconformist ministers, beside my father. Thus there 
 was the pious Mr. Lark, of Lyme : he was an aged Baptist 
 preacher, who thought it no shame to his profession to gird on 
 a sword and to command a troop of horse ; and others there 
 were, whose names I forget, who had come forth to join the 
 deliverer. 
 
 In the market-place the duke halted, while his declaration was 
 read aloud. One thing I could not approve. They dragged 
 forth three of the justices — High Churchmen, and standing 
 stoutly for King James — and forced them to listen, bareheaded, 
 to the declaration ; a thing which came near afterwards to their 
 destruction. Yet they looked sour and unwilling, as any one 
 would have testified. The declaration was a long document, 
 and the reading of it took half an hour at least ; but the people 
 cheered all the time. 
 
 After this they read a proclamation, warning the soldiers 
 against taking aught without payment. But Robin laughed, 
 saying that this was the way with armies, where the general was 
 always on the side of virtue, j- et the soldiers were always yield- 
 ing to temptation in the matter of sheep and poultry ; that human 
 nature must not be too much tempted, and camp rations are 
 sometimes scanty. But it was a noble proclamation, and I can- 
 not but believe that the robberies afterwards complained of were 
 committed by the tattered crew who followed the camp, rather 
 than by the brave fellow^s themselves. 
 
 The duke lay at Captain Hucker's house, over against the 
 Three Cups Inn. This was a great honor for Mr. Hucker, a 
 plain serge-maker, and there were many who were envious, think- 
 ing that the duke should not have gone to the house of so hum- 
 ble a person. It was also said that for his services Mr. Hucker 
 boasted that he should expect nothing less than a coronet and 
 the title of peer, once the business was safely despatched. A 
 peer to be made out of a master serge-maker ! But we must 
 charitably refuse to believe all that is reported, and, indeed (I 
 say it with sorrow of that most unfortunate lady. Miss Blake), 
 much idle tattle concerning neighbors was carried on in her 
 house, and I was told that it was the same in every house of 
 Taunton, so that the women spent all their time in talking of
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 131 
 
 tlieir neiglibors' aff.airs, and what miglit be going on in the 
 houses of their friends. This is a kind of talk which my father 
 would never permit, as testifying to idle curiosity and leading 
 to undue importance concerning things which are fleeting and 
 trivial. 
 
 Ilowevei", the duke was bestowed in Captain Hucker's best 
 bed ; of that there was no doubt, and the bells rang and bon- 
 fires blazed, and the people sang and shouted in the streets. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE MAIDS OF TAUNTON. 
 
 The next day was made remarkable in our eyes by an event 
 which, though doubtless of less importance than the enlistment 
 of a dozen recruits, seemed a very great thing indeed — namely, 
 the presentation to the duke of the colors embroidered for him 
 by Susan Blake's schoolgirls. I was myself permitted to walk 
 with the girls on this occasion, as if I had been one of them, 
 though a stranger to the place and but newly arrived — such was 
 the kindness of Susan Blake and her respect for the name of the 
 learned and pious Dr. Eykin. 
 
 At nine of the clock the girls who were to carry the flags be- 
 gan to gather in the schoolroom. There were twenty-seven in 
 all, but twelve only were the pupils of Miss Blake. The others 
 were the pupils of Mrs. Musgrave, another schoolmistress in 
 the town. I remember not the names of all the girls, but some 
 of them I remember. One was Katharine Bovet, daughter of 
 Colonel Bovet : she it was who walked first and named those 
 who followed ; there was also Mary Blake, cousin of Susan, who 
 was afterw^ards throwai into prison with her cousin, but presently 
 was pardoned. Miss Ilucker, daughter of Captain Hucker, the 
 master serge-maker who entertained the duke, was another — these 
 were of the White Regiment ; there were three daughters of 
 Captain Herring, two- daughters of Mr. Thomas Baker, one of 
 Monmouth's privy-councillors ; Mary Meade was the girl who 
 carried the famous golden flag ; and others whom I have for- 
 gotten. When w^e were assembled, being dressed all in white, 
 and each maid wearing the Monmouth colors, we took our flags
 
 132 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 
 
 and sallied forth. In the street there was almost as great a 
 crowd to look on as the day before, when the duke rode in ; 
 and, certainly, it was a very pretty sight to see. First marched 
 a man playing on the croud very briskly ; after him, one who 
 beat a tabor, and one who played a fife ; so that we had music 
 on our march. AVhen the music stopped we lifted our voices 
 and sang a psalm all together ; that done the crouder began 
 again. 
 
 As for the procession, no one surely had ever seen the like of 
 it. After the music walked six-and-twenty girls, the youngest 
 eight and the oldest not more than twelve. They marched two 
 by two, very orderly, all dressed in white with blue favors, and 
 every girl carrying in her hands a flag of silk embroidered by 
 herself, assisted by Miss Blake or some other older person, with 
 devices appropriate to the nature of the enterprise in hand. For 
 one flag had upon it, truly figured in scarlet silk, an open Bible, 
 because it was for liberty to read and expound that book that 
 the men were going forth to fight. Upon another was embroid- 
 ered a great cross ; upon a third were the arms of the duke ; a 
 fourth bore upon it, to show the zeal of the people, the arms of 
 the town of Taunton ; and a fifth had both a Bible and a drawn 
 sword ; and so forth, every one with a legend embroidered upon 
 it plain for all to read. The flags were afiixed to stout white 
 staves, and as the girls walked apart from each other and at a 
 due distance the flags, all flying in the wind, made a pretty sight 
 indeed, so that some of the women who looked on shed tears. 
 Among the flags was one which I needs must mention, because, 
 unless the device was communicated by some pei'son deep in the 
 duke's counsels, it most strangely jumped with the event of the 
 following day. Mary Meade, poor child, carried it. We called 
 it the Golden Flag, because it had a crown worked in gold thread 
 upon it and the letters "J. R." A fringe of lace was sewn 
 round it, so that it was the richest flag of all. What could the 
 crown with the letters " J. R." mean, but that James, Duke of 
 Monmouth, would shortly assume the crown of these three 
 kingdoms ? 
 
 Last of all walked Miss Susan Blake, and I by her side. She 
 bore in one hand a Bible bound in red leather stamped with 
 gold, and in the other a naked sword. 
 
 The duke came forth to meet us standing bareheaded before
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 133 
 
 the porch. There were standing beside and behind him the 
 Lord Grey, his two chaplains, Dr. Hooke and Mr. Ferguson, and 
 my father, Mr. Larke, the Baptist minister of Lyme Regis (he 
 wore a corslet and carried a sword), and the colonels of his regi- 
 ment. His bodyguard were drawn up across the street, looking 
 brave and splendid in their new favors. The varlets waited be- 
 yond with the horses for the duke's party. Who, to look upon 
 the martial array, the bravery of the guard, the gallant bearing 
 of all, the confidence in their looks, and the presence, which 
 should surely bring a blessing, of the ministers of religion, 
 would think that all this pomp and promise could be shattered 
 at a single blow ? 
 
 As each girl advanced in her turn she knelt on one knee and 
 offered her flag, bowing her head (we had practised this cere- 
 mony several times at the school until we were all quite perfect 
 in our parts). Then the duke stepped forward and raised her, 
 tenderly kissing her. Then she stood aside, holding her flag 
 still in her hands. 
 
 My turn — because I had no flag — came last but one, Miss Su- 
 san Blake being the last. Now — I hope it was not folly or a 
 vainglorious desire to be distinguished by any particular notice 
 of his grace — I could not refrain from hanging the ring which 
 the duke had given me at Ilchester five years ago outside my 
 dress by a blue ribbon. Miss Blake, to whom I had told the 
 story of the ring, advised me to do so, partly to show my loy- 
 alty to the duke, and partly because it was a pretty thing and 
 one which some women would much desire to possess. 
 
 Miss Katharine Bovet informed the duke that I was the 
 daughter of the learned preacher, Dr. Comfort Eykin. When I 
 knelt he raised me. Then, as he was about to salute me, his 
 eyes fell upon the ring, and he looked first at me and then at 
 the ring. 
 
 " Madam," he said, " this ring I ought to know. If I mistake 
 not, there are the initials of ' J. S.' upon it ?" 
 
 " Sir," I replied, " the ring was your own. Your grace was 
 so good as to bestow it upon me in your progress through the 
 town of Ilchester, five years ago." 
 
 " Gad so !" he said, laughing ; " I remember now. 'Twas a 
 sweet and lovely child whom I kissed — and now thou art a sweet 
 and lovely maiden. Art thou truly the daughter of Dr. Comfort
 
 134 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 Eykin ?" — lie looked behind him ; but my father neither heard 
 nor attended, being wrapped in thought. " 'Tis strange : his 
 daughter ! 'Tis, indeed, wonderful that such a child should — '" 
 Here he stopped. " Fair Rose of Somerset I called thee then. 
 Fair Rose of Somerset I call thee again. Why, if I could place 
 thee at the head of my army all England would certainly follow, 
 as if Helen of Troy or Queen Venus herself did lead." So he 
 kissed me on the cheek with much warmth — more, indeed, than 
 was necessary to show a gracious and friendly good-will ; and 
 suffered me to step aside. " Dr. Eykin's daughter !" he repeat- 
 ed, with a kind of wonder. " AYhy should not Dr. Eykin have 
 a daughter f 
 
 "When I told Robin of this gracious salutation he first turned 
 very red and then he laughed. Then he said that everybody 
 knew the duke, but he must not attempt any court freedoms in 
 the Protestant camp ; and if he were to try — Then he broke 
 off short, changed color again, and then he kissed me, saying 
 that, of course, the duke meant nothing but kindliness, but that, 
 for his own part, he desired not his sweetheart to be kissed by 
 anybody but himself. So I suppose my boy was jealous. But 
 the folly of being jealous of so great a prince, who could not 
 possibly have the least regard for a simple country maiden, and 
 who had known the great and beautiful court ladles : it made 
 me laugh to think that Robin could be so foolish as to be jeal- 
 ous of the duke. 
 
 Then it was Miss Susan Blake's turn. She stepped forward 
 very briskly, and knelt down and placed the Bible in the duke's 
 left hand and the sword in his right. 
 
 " Sir," she said (speaking the words we had made up and she 
 had learned), "it is in the name of the women of Taunton — 
 nay, of the women of all England — that I give you the Book of 
 the Word of God, the most precious treasure vouchsafed to man, 
 so that all may learn that you are come for no other purpose 
 than to maintain the right of the English people to search the 
 Scriptures for themselves, and I give you also, sir, a sword with 
 which to defend those rights. In addition, sir, the women can 
 only give your grace the offering of their continual prayers in 
 behalf of the cause, and for the safety and prosperity of your 
 highness and your army." 
 
 " Madam," said the duke, much moved by this spectacle of
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 135 
 
 devotion, " I am come, believe me, for no other purpose than to 
 defend the truths contained in this book, and to seal my defence 
 with my blood, if that need be." 
 
 Then the duke mounted and vv e marched behind him in single 
 file, each girl led by a soldier, till we came to the camp, when 
 our flags were taken from us and we returned home and took 
 off our white dresses. I confess that I laid mine down with a 
 sigh. AVhite becomes every maiden, and my only wear till then 
 had been of russet brown. And all that day we acted over 
 again — in our talk and in our thoughts — our beautiful proces- 
 sion, and we repeated the condescending words of the duke, 
 and admired the graciousncss of his kisses, and praised each 
 other for our admirable behavior, and listened, with pleasure un- 
 speakable, while Susan Blake prophesied that we should become 
 immortal by the ceremony of that day. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 KIXG MONMOUTH AND HIS CAMP. 
 
 Next day, the town being thronged with people and the 
 young men pressing in from all quarters to enroll themselves 
 (over four thousand joined the colors at Taunton alone), another 
 proclamation was rCad — that, namely, by which the duke claimed 
 the throne. Many opinions have been given as to this step. 
 For the duke's enemies maintain, first, that his mother was 
 never married to King Charles the Second (indeed, there is no 
 doubt that the king always denied the marriage) ; next, that an 
 illegitimate son could never be permitted to sit upon the ancient 
 throne of this realm ; and, thirdly, that in usurping the crown 
 the duke broke faith with his friends, to whom he had solemnly 
 given his word that he would not put forward any such preten- 
 sions. Nay, some have gone so far as to allege that he was not 
 the son of Charles at all, but of some other whom they even 
 name ; and they have pointed to his face as showing no resem- 
 blance at all to that swarthy and gloomy-looking king. On the 
 other hand, the duke's friends say that there were in his hands 
 clear proof of the marriage ; that the promise given to his 
 friends was conditional, and one which could be set aside by
 
 136 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 circumstances ; that the country gentry, to whom a republic was 
 most distasteful, were afraid that he designed to re-establish 
 that form of government ; and, further, that his friends were all 
 fully aware, from the beginning, of his intentions. 
 
 On these points I know nothing ; but when a thing has been 
 done, it is idle to spend time in arguing that it was well or ill 
 done. James, Duke of Monmouth, was now James, King of 
 Great Britain and Ireland ; and if we were all rebels before, who 
 had risen in the name of religion and liberty, I suppose we were 
 all ten times as much rebels now, when we had, in addition, set 
 up another king, and declared King James to be an usurper, and 
 no more than the Duke of York. Nay, that there might be 
 wanting no single circumstance of aggravation, it was in this 
 proclamation declared that the Duke of York had caused his 
 brother, the late king, to be secretly poisoned. I know not 
 what foundation exists for this accusation ; but I have been told 
 that it gave offence unto many, and that it was an ill-advised 
 thing to say. 
 
 The proclamation was read aloud at the market cross by Mr. 
 Tyler, of Taunton, on the Saturday morning, before a great con- 
 course of people. It ended with the words, " We therefore, 
 the noblemen, gentlemen, and commons at present assembled, 
 in the names of ourselves and of all the loyal and Protestant 
 noblemen, gentlemen, and commons of England, in pursuance 
 of our duty and allegiance, and for the delivering of the kingdom 
 from popery, tyranny, and oppression, do recognize, publish, and 
 proclaim the said high and mighty Prince James, Duke of Mon- 
 mouth, as lawful and rightful sovereign and king, by the name 
 of James II., by the grace of God, King of England, Scotland, 
 France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith. God save the 
 King !" 
 
 After this the duke was always saluted as king, prayed for 
 as king, and styled " his majesty." He also touched some 
 (as only the king can do) for the king's-evil, and, it is said, 
 wrought many miracles of healing — a thing which, being noised 
 abroad, should have strengthened the faith of the people in 
 him. But the malignity of our enemies caused these cases of 
 healing to be denied, or else explained as fables and inventions 
 of the duke's friends. 
 
 Among the accessions of this day was one which I cannot for-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 137 
 
 bear to mention. It was that of an old soldier who had been 
 one of Cromwell's captams, Colonel Basset by name. He rode 
 in — being a man advanced in years, yet still strong and hale — 
 at the head of a considerable company raised by himself. 'Twas 
 hoped that his example would be followed by the adhesion of 
 many more of Cromwell's men, but the event proved otherwise. 
 Perhaps, being old Republicans, they were deterred by the 
 proclamation of Monmouth as king. Perhaps they had grown 
 slothful with age, and were now unwilling to face once more the 
 dangers and fatigues of a campaign. Another recruit was the 
 once-famous Colonel Perrot, who had been engaged with Colonel 
 Blood in the robbery of the crown jewels — though the addition 
 of a robber to our army was not a matter of pride. He came, it 
 was afterwards said, because he was desperate, his fortunes 
 broken, and with no other hope than to follow the fortunes of 
 the duke. 
 
 It became known in the course of the day that the army was 
 to march on the Sunday. Therefore, everybody on Saturday 
 evening repaired to the camp : some to bid farewell and God- 
 speed to their friends, and others to witness the humors of a 
 camp. I was fortunate in having Robin for a companion and 
 protector — the place being rough and the behavior and language 
 of the men coarse even beyond what one expects at a country 
 fair. The recruits still kept pouring in from all parts ; but, as 
 I have already said, many were disheartened when they found 
 that there were no arms, and went home again. They were not 
 all riotous and disorderly. Some of the men, those, namely, who 
 were older and more sober-minded, we found gathered together 
 in groups, earnestly engaged in conversation. 
 
 " They are considering the proclamation," said Robin. " Truly, 
 we did not expect that our duke would so soon become king. 
 They say he is illegitimate. What then ? Let him mount the 
 throne by right of arms, as Oliver Cromwell could have done 
 had he pleased — who asks whether Oliver was illegitimate or 
 no ? The country will not have another commonwealth — and it 
 will no longer endure a Catholic king. Let us have King Mon- 
 mouth, then : who is there better ?" 
 
 In all the camp there was none who spoke with greater cheer- 
 fulness and confidence than Robin. Yet he did not disguise 
 from himself that there might be warm work.
 
 138 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " The king's troops," he said, " are closing in all round us. 
 That is certain. Yet, even if they all join we are still more nu- 
 merous and in much better heart; of that I am assured. At 
 Wellington, the Duke of Albemarle commands the Devonshire 
 Militia ; Lord Churchill is at Chard with the Somerset Regiment ; 
 Lord Bath is reported to be marching upon us with the Cornish- 
 men ; the Duke of Beaufort hath the Gloucester Militia at Bris- 
 tol ; Lord Pembroke is at Chippenham with the Wiltshire Train- 
 bands ; Lord Feversham is on the march with the king's stand- 
 ing army. AAHiat then ? are these men Protestants or are they 
 Papists ? Answer me that, sweetheart." 
 
 Alas ! had they been true Protestants there would have been 
 such an answer as would have driven King James across the 
 water three years sooner. 
 
 The camp was now like a fair, only much finer and bigger 
 than any fair I have ever seen. That of Lyme-Regis could not 
 be compared with it. There were booths where they sold ginger- 
 bread, cakes, ale, and cider ; Monmouth favors for the recruits 
 to sew upon their hats or sleeves ; shoes and stockings were 
 sold in some, and even chap-books were displayed. Men and 
 women carried about in baskets last year's withered apples, with 
 Kentish cobs and walnuts; there were booths where they fried 
 sausages and roasted pork all day long ; tumblers and clowns 
 were performing in others ; painted and dressed-up girls danced 
 in others ; there was a bull-baiting ; a man was making a fiery 
 oration on the duke's proclamation : but I saw no one preaching 
 a sermon. There were here and there companies of country 
 lads exercising with pike and halbert ; and others, inore ad- 
 vanced, with the loadinof and firina; of their muskets. There 
 were tables at which sat men with cards and dice, gambling; 
 shouting when they won and cursing when they lost ; others, of 
 more thrifty mind, sat on the ground practising their trade of 
 tailor or cobbler — thus losing no money, though they did go sol- 
 diering ; some polished weapons and sharpened swords, pikes, 
 and scythes ; nowhere did we find any reading the Bible, or 
 singing hymns, or listening to sermons. Save for the few groups 
 of sober men of whom I have spoken, the love of amusement 
 carried all away ; and the officers of the army, who might have 
 turned them back to sober thought, were not visible. Every- 
 where noise ; everywhere beating of drums, playing of pipes,
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 139 
 
 singing of songs, bawling, and laughing. Among the men there 
 ran about a number of saucy gypsy girls, their brown faces show- 
 ing under red kerchiefs, their black eyes twinkling (truly they 
 are pretty creatures to look upon when they are young ; but they 
 have no religion, and say of themselves that they have no souls). 
 These girls talked with each other in their own language, which 
 none out of their own nation — except the tinker-folk, who arc 
 said to be their cousins — understand. But English they talk very 
 well, and they are so clever that, it is said, they will talk to a 
 Somersetshire man in good broad Somerset, and to a man of 
 Norfolk in his own speech, though he of Norfolk would not un- 
 derstand him of Somerset. 
 
 " They are the vultures," said Robin, " who follow for prey. 
 Before the battle these w^omen cajole the soldiers out of their 
 money, and after the battle their men rob and even murder the 
 wounded and plunder the dead." 
 
 Then one of them ran and stood before us. 
 
 " Let me tell thy fortune, handsome gentleman ? Let me tell 
 thine, fair lady ? A sixpence or a groat to cross my palm, cap- 
 tain, and you shall know all that is to happen." 
 
 Robin laughed, but gave her sixpence. 
 
 " Look me in the face, fair lady " — she spoke good, plain Eng- 
 lish, this black-eyed wench, though but a moment before she had 
 been talking broad Somerset to a young recruit — " look me in 
 the face ; yes. All is not smooth. He loves you ; but there will 
 be separation and trouble. One comes between, a big man with 
 a red face ; he parts you. There is a wedding, I see your lady- 
 ship plain. Why, you are crying at it, you cry all the time ; but 
 I do not see this afentleman. Then there is another wedding — 
 yes, another — and I see you at both. You will be twice married. 
 Yet be of good heart, fair lady." 
 
 She turned away and ran after another couple, no doubt with 
 much the same tale. 
 
 " How should there be a wedding," I asked, " if I am there 
 and you not there, Robin — and I to be crying ? And how could 
 I — oh ! Robin — how could I be married twice ?" 
 
 "Nay, sweetheart, she could not tell what wedding it was. 
 She only uttered the gibberish of her trade ; I am sorry that I 
 wasted a sixpence upon her." 
 
 " Robin, is it magic that they practise — these gypsies 2 Do
 
 140 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 they traffic with the devil ? We ought not to suffer witches to 
 live among us." 
 
 " Most are of opinion that they have no other magic than the 
 art of guessing, which they learn to do veiy quickly, putting 
 things together, from their appearance ; so that if brother and 
 sister w^alk out together they are taken to be lovers, and promised 
 a happy marriage and many children." 
 
 That may be so, and perhaps the fortune told by this gypsy 
 was only guesswork. But I cannot believe it; for the event 
 proved that she had in reality possessed an exact knowledge of 
 what was about to happen. 
 
 Some of the gypsy women — but these were the older women, 
 who had lost their good looks, though not their impudence — 
 were singing songs, and those, as Robin told me, songs not fit to 
 be sung ; and one old crone, sitting before her tent beside a 
 roaring wood-fire over which hung a great saucepan, sold charms 
 against shot and steel. The lads bought these greedily, giving 
 sixpence apiece for them ; so that the old witch must have made 
 a sackful of money. They came and looked on shyly. Then 
 one would say to the other, " What thinkest, lad ? Is there aught 
 in it ?" And the other would say, " Truly, I know not ; but she 
 is a proper witch, and I'll buy one. We may have to fight. 
 Best make sure of a whole skin." And so he bought one, and 
 then all bought. The husbands of the gypsy women were en- 
 gaged, meantime, we understood, in robbing the farm-yards in 
 the neighborhood, the blame being afterwards laid upon our 
 honest soldiers. 
 
 Then there was a ballad-monger singing a song about a man 
 and a broom, and selling it (to those who would buy) printed 
 on a long slip of paper. The first lines were — 
 
 " There was an old man and he lived in a wood, 
 And his trade it was making a broom," 
 
 but I heard no more, because Robin hurried me away. Then 
 there were some who drunk too much cider or beer, and were 
 now reeling about with stupid faces and glassy eyes ; there were 
 some who were lying speechless or asleep upon the grass ; and 
 some were cooking supper over fires after the manner of the 
 gypsies. 
 
 " I have seen enough, Robin," I said. " Alas for sacred Re- 
 ligion if these are her defenders !"
 
 
 ^■ iiiiaiM»> ,.,, ' 
 
 ' Let me tell thy J'urtuue, handaume yentlemanf Let me tell thine, fair 
 lady ? A sixpence or a groat, to cross my palm, captain, and you shall 
 know all that is to happen.'"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 141 
 
 " 'Tis always so," said Robin, " in time of war. We must en- 
 courage our men to keep up their hearts. Should we be con- 
 stantly reminding them that to-morrow half of them may be ly- 
 ing dead on the battle-field ? Then they would mope and hang 
 their heads, and would presently desert." 
 
 " One need not preach of death, but one should preach of 
 godliness and of sober joy. Look but at those gypsy wenches 
 and those lads rolling about drunk. Are these things decent ? 
 If they escape the dangers of war, will it make them happy to 
 look back upon the memory of this camp ? Is it fit preparation 
 to meet their Maker ?" 
 
 " In times of peace, sweet saint, these lads remember easily 
 that in the midst of life we are in death, and they govern them- 
 selves accordingly. In times of war every man hopes for his 
 own part to escape with a whole skin, though his neighbor fall. 
 That is why we are all so blithe and jolly. Let us now go 
 home, before the night falls and the mirth becomes riotous and 
 unseemly." 
 
 We passed a large booth whence there issued sounds of sing- 
 ing. It was a roofless enclosure of canvas. Some ale-house 
 man of Taunton had set it up, Robin drew aside the canvas 
 door. 
 
 " Look in," he said. " See the brave defenders of religion 
 keeping up their hearts." 
 
 It was furnished with benches and rough tables ; at one end 
 were casks. The benches were crowded with soldiers, every 
 man with a pot before him, and the varlets were running back- 
 ward and forward with cans of ale and cider. Most of the 
 men were smoking pipes of tobacco, and they were singing a 
 song which seemed to have no end. One bawled the lines, and 
 when it came to the " Let the hautboys play !" and the " Huzza !" 
 they all roared out together : 
 
 " Now, now, the duke's health, 
 And let the hautboys play, 
 While the troops on their march shall 
 
 Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 
 Now, now, the duke's health, 
 And let the hautboys play, 
 While the drums and the trumpets sound from the shore 
 Huzza ! huzza ! huzza !"
 
 142 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 They sang this verse several times over. Then another began : 
 
 "Now, now, Lord Grey's health, 
 And let the hautboys phiy, 
 Wliile the troops on their inarch shall 
 
 Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 
 Kow, now, Lord Grey's health. 
 
 And let the hautboys play, 
 While the drums and the trumpets sound from the shore 
 Huzza ! huzza ! huzza !" 
 
 Next a third voice took it up : 
 
 " Now, now, the colonel's health, 
 And let the hautboys play," 
 
 and then a fourth and a fifth, and the last verse was bawled as 
 lustily and with so much joy that one would have thought the 
 mere singing would have gotten them the victory. Men are 
 so made, I suppose, that they cannot work together without 
 singing and music to keep up their hearts. Sailors sing when 
 they weigh anchor ; men who unlade ships sing as they carry 
 out the bales ; even Cromwell's Ironsides could not march in 
 silence, but sang psalms as they marched. 
 
 The sun was set and the twilight falling when we left the 
 camp ; and there was no abatement of the roaring and singing, 
 but rather an increase, 
 
 " They will go on," said Robin, " until the drink or their 
 money gives out ; then they will lie down and sleep. You have 
 now seen a camp, sweetheart. It is not, truth to say, as deco- 
 rous as a conventicle, nor is the talk so godly as in Sir Christo- 
 pher's hall. For rough fellows there must be rough play ; in a 
 month these lads will be veterans ; the singing will have grown 
 stale to them ; the black-eyed gypsy-women will have no more 
 power to charm away their money ; they will understand the 
 meaning of war ; the camp will be sober if it is not religious." 
 
 So he walked homeward, I, for my part, saddened to think 
 in what a spirit of riot these young men, whom I had pictured 
 so full of godly zeal, were preparing to meet the chance of im- 
 mediate death and judgment. 
 
 " Sweet," said Robin, " I read thy thoughts in thy troubled 
 eyes. Pray for us. Some of us will fight none the worse for 
 knowing that there are good women who pray for them." 
 
 We were now back in the town ; the streets were still full of
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 143 
 
 people, and no one seemed to think of bed. Presently we 
 passed the Castle Inn ; the windows were open, and we could 
 see a great company of gentlemen sitting round a table on which 
 were candles lit and bowls full of strong drink ; nearly every 
 man had his pipe at his lips and his glass before him, and one 
 of them was singing to the accompaniment of a guitar. Their 
 faces were red and swollen, as if they had taken too much. 
 At one end of the table sat Humphrey. What ? could Humph- 
 rey, too, be a reveller with the rest ? His face, which was 
 gloomy, and his eyes, which were sad, showed that he was not. 
 
 " The officers have supped together," said Robin. " It may 
 be long before we get such good quarters again. A cup of 
 hipsy and a song in good fellowship, thou wilt not grudge so 
 much ?" 
 
 " Nay," I said, " 'tis all of a piece. Like man, like master. 
 Officers and men alike — all drinking and singing. Is there not 
 one good man in all the army V 
 
 As I spoke one finished a song at which all laughed, except 
 Humphrey, and drummed the table with their fists and shouted. 
 
 Then one who seemed to be the president of the table turned 
 to Humphrey. 
 
 " Doctor," he said, " thou wilt not drink, thou dost not laugh, 
 and thou hast not sung. Thou must be tried by court-martial, 
 and the sentence of the court is a brimming glass of punch, or 
 a song." 
 
 " Then, gentlemen," said Humphrey, smiling, " I will give 
 you a song. But blame me not if you mislike it ; I made the 
 song in praise of the sweetest woman in the world." He took 
 the guitar and struck the strings. When he began to sing my 
 cheeks flamed and my breath came and went, for I knew the 
 song ; he liad given it to me four years agone. W4io was the 
 sweetest woman in the world ? Oh ! he made this song for 
 me ! he made this song for me, and none but me ! But these 
 rude revellers would not know that — and I never guessed that the 
 song was for me. How could I think that he would write these 
 extravagances for me ? But poets cannot mean what they say. 
 
 " As rides the moon in azure skies, 
 Tlie twinkling stars beside; 
 As when in splendor slie doth rise, 
 Their lesser lights they hidCi
 
 144 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 So beside Celia, when her face we see, 
 All unregarded other maidens be. 
 
 " As Helen in the town of Troy 
 Shone fair beyond all thought, 
 That to behold her was a joy 
 By death too poorly bought. 
 
 So when fair Celia deigns the lawn to grace, 
 All life, all joy, dwells in, her lovely face. 
 
 " As the sweet river floweth by 
 Green banks and alders tall. 
 It stayeth not for prayer or sigh, 
 Nor answereth if we call. 
 
 So Celia heeds not though Love cry and weep ; 
 She heavenward wendeth while we earthward creep, 
 
 " The marbled saint, so cold and pure, 
 Minds naught of earthly ways ; 
 Nor can man's gauds entice or lure 
 Tiiat fixed heavenly gaze. 
 
 So Celia, though thou queen and empress art, 
 To heaven, to heaven alone, belongs thy heart." 
 
 Now while Ilumplircy sang tliis song, a husli fell upon tlie 
 revellers ; they had expected nothing but a common drinking- 
 song. After the bawling and the noise and the ribaldry 'twas 
 like a breath of fresh air after the closeness of a prison ; or like 
 a drink of pure water to one half dead with thirst. 
 
 " Robin," I said, " there is one good man in the camp." 1 
 say that while Humphrey sang this song — which, to be sure, 
 Avas neither a drinking-song, nor a party-song, nor a song of 
 wickedness and folly — the company looked at each other in 
 silence, and neither laughed nor offered to interrupt. Nay, there 
 were signs of grace in some of their faces which became grave 
 and thoughtful. When Humphrey finished it, he laid down 
 the guitar and rose up with a bow, saying, " I have sung my 
 song, gentlemen all — and so, good-night !" and walked out of the 
 room. 
 
 " Robin," I said again, " thank God, there is one good man 
 in the camp ! I had forgotten Humphrey." 
 
 " Yes," Robin replied ; " Humphrey is a good man, if ever 
 there was one. But he is glum. Something oppresses him. 
 His eyes are troubled, and he hangs his head ; or if he laughs 
 at all. it is as if he would rather cry. Yet all the way home
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 145 
 
 from Holland lie was joyful, save when liis head was held over 
 the side of the ship. He sang and laughed ; he spoke of great 
 things about to happen. I have never known him more happy. 
 And now his face is gloomy, and he sighs when he thinks no 
 one watcheth him. Perhaps, like thee, sweet, he cannot abide 
 the noise and riot of the camp. He would fain see every man 
 Bible in hand. To-day he spent two hours with the duke before 
 the council, and was with thy father afterwards. 'Tis certain 
 that the duke hath great confidence in him. Why is he so 
 gloomy ? He bitterly reproached me for leaving Sir Christo- 
 pher, as if he alone had a conscience to obey or honor to re- 
 member !" 
 
 Humphrey came forth at this moment and stood for a moment 
 on the steps. Then he heaved a great sigh and walked away 
 slowly, with hanging head, not seeing us. 
 
 "What is the matter with him?" said Robin. "Perhaps 
 they flout him for being a physician. These fellows have no 
 respect for learning or for any one who is not a country gentle- 
 man. Well, perhaps when Ave are on the march he will again 
 pick up his spirits. They are going to sing again. Shall we 
 go, child ?" 
 
 But the president called a name which made me stop a lit- 
 tle longer. 
 
 " Barnaby !" he cried ; " jolly Captain Barnaby ! Now that 
 Doctor Graveairs hath left us we will begin the night. Barnaby, 
 my hero, thy song. Fill up, gentlemen ! The night is young, 
 and to-morrow we march. Captain Barnaby, tip us a sea-song. 
 Silence, gentlemen, for the captain's song." 
 
 It was my brother that they called upon — no other. He got 
 up from his place at the summons and rose to his feet. Heavens ! 
 what a broad man he seemed compared with those who sat be- 
 side him ! His face was red and his cheeks swollen because 
 of the strong drink he had taken. In his hand he held a fuU 
 glass of it. Robin called it hipsy — and it is a mixture of wine, 
 brandy, and water, with lemon juice and sugar — very heady and 
 strong. 
 
 Said not Barnaby that there was one religion for a lands- 
 man and another for a sailor ? I thought of that as he stood 
 looking round him. If it were so, it would be truly a hap- 
 py circumstance for most sailors ; but I know not on what 
 7 K
 
 146 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 assurance this belief can be argued. Then Barnaby waved bis 
 hand. 
 
 " Yoho ! my lads !" he shouted. " The ship's in port and 
 the crew has gone ashore !" 
 
 Then he began to sing in a deep voice which made the 
 glasses ring — 
 
 " Shut the door — lock the door — 
 
 Out of window fling the key. 
 Hasten ; bring me more, bring me more : 
 
 Fill it up. Fill it up for me. 
 The daylight which you think, 
 The daylight which you think, 
 The daylight which you think, 
 
 'Tis but the candle's flicker : 
 The morning star will never wink, 
 The morning star will never wink. 
 
 Till there cometh stint of hquor. 
 For 'tis tipple, tipple, tipple all around the world, my lads. 
 And the sun in drink is nightly lapped and curled. 
 And to-night let us drink, and to-morrow we'll to sea ; 
 For 'tis tipple, tipple, tipple — yes, 'tis tipple, tipple, tipple — 
 
 Makes the world and us to jee." 
 
 " Take me home, Eobin," I said, " I have seen and heard 
 enough. Alas ! we have need of all the prayers that we can 
 utter from the depths of our heart, and more !" 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 benjamin's warning. 
 
 Since I have so much to tell of Benjamin's evil conduct, it 
 must, in justice, be recorded of him that at this juncture he 
 endeavored, knowing more of the world than we of Somerset, 
 to warn and dissuade his cousins from taking part in any at- 
 tempt which should be made in the west. And this he did by 
 means of a letter written to his father. I know not how far the 
 letter might have succeeded, but unfortunately it arrived two or 
 three days too late, when the boys had already joined the insur- 
 gents. He wrote:
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 147 
 
 "HoNOKED Sir, — I write this epistle, being much concerned in spirit lest 
 my grandfather, whose leanings are well known, not only in his own county 
 but also to the court, should be drawn into, or become cognizant of, some 
 attempt to raise the West Country against their lawful king. It will not bo 
 news to you that the Earl of Argyll hath landed in Scotland, where he will 
 meet with a reception which will doubtless cause him to i-epent of his rash- 
 ness. It is also currently reported, and everywhere believed, that the Duke 
 of Monmouth intends immediately to embark and cross the sea with the de- 
 sign of raising the country in rebellion. The Dissenters, who have been go- 
 ing about with sour looks for five-and-twenty years, venture now to smile and 
 look pleased in anticipation of another civil war. This may follow, but its 
 termination, I think, will not be what they expect. 
 
 "I have also heard that my cousin Humphrey, Dr. Eykin's favorite pupil, 
 who hath never concealed his opinions, hath lately returned from Holland 
 (where the exiles are gathered) and passed through London accompanied by 
 Robin. I have further learned that while in London he visited (but alone, 
 without Robin's knowledge) many of those who are known to be friends of 
 the duke and red-hot Protestants. Wherefore I greatly fear that he hath 
 been in correspondence with the exiles, and is cognizant of their designs, and 
 may even be their messenger to announce the intentions of his Protestant 
 champion. Certain I am that should any chance occur of striking a blow for 
 freedom of worship, my cousin, though he is weak and of slender frame, will 
 join the attempt. He will also endeavor to draw after him every one in his 
 power. Therefore, my dear father, use all your influence to withstand him, 
 and if he must, for his part, plunge into ruin, persuade my grandfather and 
 my cousin Robin to stay quiet at home. 
 
 " I hear it on the best authority that the temper of the country, and es- 
 pecially in your part of it, hath been carefully studied by the government 
 and is perfectly well known. Those who would risk life and lands for the 
 Duke of Monmouth are few indeed. He may, perhaps, draw a rabble after 
 him, but no more. The fat tradesmen who most long for the conventicle will 
 not f3ght though they may pray for him. The country gentlemen may be 
 Protestants, but they are mostly for the Church of England and the king. It 
 is quite true that his majesty is a Roman Catholic, nor hath he ever concealed 
 or denied his religion, being one who scorns deceptions. It is also true that 
 his profession of faith is a stumbling-block to many who find it hard to recon- 
 cile their teaching of non-resistance and divine right with the introduction of 
 the mass and the Romish priest. But the country hath not yet forgotten the 
 iron rule of the Independent, and rather than suffer him to return the people 
 will endure a vast deal of royal prerogative. 
 
 " It is absolutely certain — assure my grandfather on this point, whatever he 
 may learn from Humphrey — that the better sort will never join Monmouth, 
 whether he comes as another Cromwell to restore the Commonwealth, or 
 whether he aspires to the crown and dares to maintain — a thing which King 
 Charles did always stoutly deny — that his mother was married. Is it credible 
 that the ancient throne of these kingdoms should be mounted bj the base- 
 born sou of Lucy Waters ?
 
 148 FOR FAITU AND FREEDOM. 
 
 "I had last night the honor of drhiking a bottle of wine with that great 
 lawyer, Sir George Jeffreys. The conversation turned upon tliis subject. We 
 were assured by tlie judge that tlie affections of the people are wholly with 
 the king; that the liberty of worship which he demands for himself he will 
 extend to the country, so that the last pretence of reason for disaffection shall 
 be removed. Why should the people run after Monmouth when, if he were 
 successful, he would give no more than the king is ready to give. I was also 
 privately warned by Sir George that my grandfather's name is unfavorably 
 noted, and his actions and speeches will be watched. Therefore, sir, I hum- 
 bly beg that you will represent to him and to my cousins, and to Dr. Eykiu 
 himself, first, the hopelessness of any such enterprise and the certainty of de- 
 feat ; and next, the punishment which will fall upon the rebels and upon 
 those who lend them any countenance. Men of such a temper as Dr. Com- 
 fort Eykin will doubtless go to the scaffold willingly, with their mouths full 
 of the texts which they apply to themselves on all occasions. For such I 
 have no pity; yet, for the sake of his wife and daughter, I would willing]}', if 
 I could, save him from the fate which will be his if Monmoutli lands on the 
 west. And as for my grandfather, 'tis terrible to think of his white hairs 
 blown by the breeze while the hangman adjusts the knot, and I should shud- 
 der to see the blackened limbs of Robin stuck upon poles for all the world 
 to see. 
 
 " It is my present intention, if my affairs permit, to follow my fortunes on 
 the western circuit in the autumn, when I shall endeavor to ride from Taun- 
 ton or Exeter to Bradford Orcas. My practice grows apace. Daily I am 
 heard in the courts. The judges already know me and listen to me. The 
 juries begin to feel the weight of my arguments. The attorneys besiege my 
 chambers. For a junior I am in great demand. It is my prayer that you, 
 sir, may live to see your son chancellor of the exchequer and a peer of the 
 realm. Less than chancellor will not content me. As for marriage, that 
 might hinder my rise — I shall not marry yet. There is in your parish, sir, 
 one who knows my mind upon this matter. I shall be pleased to think that 
 you will assure her — you know very well whom I mean — that my mind is un- 
 altered and that my way is now plain before me. 
 
 " So, I remain, with dutiful respect, your obedient son, 
 
 "B. B." 
 
 This letter arrived, I say, after the departure of Robin with 
 his company of village lads. 
 
 When Mr. Boscorel had read it slowly and twice over, so as 
 to lose no point of the contents, he sat and pondered awhile. 
 Then he arose and with troubled face he sought Sir Christopher, 
 to whom he read it through. Then he waited for Sir Chris- 
 topher to speak. 
 
 " The boy writes," said his honor, after a while, " according 
 to his lights, lie repeats the things he hears said by his boon 
 companions. Nay, more, he believes them. Wliy, it is easy
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 149 
 
 for them to swear loyalty and to declare in their cups where the 
 affections of the people are placed." 
 
 " Sir Christopher, what is done cannot be undone. The boys 
 are gone — alas ! — but you still remain. Take heed for a space 
 what you say as well as what you do." 
 
 " How should they know the temper of the country ?" Sir 
 Christopher went on, regardless. " What doth the foul-mouthed 
 profligate. Sir George Jeffreys, know concerning sober and godly 
 people ? These are not noisy templars ; they are not profligates 
 of the court ; they are not haunters of tavern and pothouse ; 
 they are not those who frequent the playhouse. Judge Jeffreys 
 knows none such. They are lovers of the Word of God ; they 
 wish to worship after their fashion ; they hate the pope and all 
 his works. Let us hear what these men say upon the matter." 
 
 " Nay," said Mr. Boscorel, " I care not greatly what they say. 
 But would to God the boys were safe returned." 
 
 " Benjamin means well," Sir Christopher went on. " I take 
 this warning kindly ; he meant well. It pleases me that in the 
 midst of the work and the feasting which he loves he thinks 
 upon us. Tell him, son-in-law, that I thank him for his letter. 
 It shows that he has preserved a good heart." 
 
 " As for his good heart," Mr. Boscorel stroked his nose with 
 his forefinger, " so long as Benjamin gets what he wants, which 
 is Benjamin's mess, and five times the mess of any other, there 
 is no doubt of his good heart." 
 
 *' Worse things than these," said Sir Christopher, " were said 
 of us when the civil wars began. The king's troops would ride 
 us down ; the country would not join us ; those of us who were 
 not shot or cut down in the field would be afterwards hanged, 
 drawn, and quartered. Yet we drove the king from his throne." 
 
 " And then the king came back again. So we go up and so 
 we go down. But about this expedition and about these boys 
 my mind misgiv^es me." 
 
 " Son-in-law," Sir Christopher said, solemnly, " I am now old, 
 and the eyes of my mind are dim, so that I no longer discern 
 the siffns of the times, or follow the current of the stream ; 
 moreover, we hear but little news, so that I cannot even see any 
 of those signs. Yet to men in old age, before they pass away 
 to the rest provided by the Lord, there cometh sometimes a 
 vision by which they are enabled to see clearly when younger
 
 150 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 men are still groping tlieir way in a kind of twilight. Mon- 
 mouth liatli landed ; my boys are with him ; they are rebels ; 
 should the rising fail, their lives are forfeit, and that of my 
 dear friend, Dr. Comfort Eykins ; yea, and my life as well, be- 
 like, because I have been a consenting party. Ruin and death 
 will, in that event, fall upon all of us. Whether it will so hap- 
 pen I know not, nor do I weigh the chance of that event against 
 the voice of conscience, duty, and honor. My boys have obeyed 
 that voice ; they have gone forth to conquer or to die. My 
 vision doth not tell me what will happen to them. But it shows 
 me the priest flying from the country, the king flying from the 
 throne, and that fair angel whom we call freedom of conscience 
 returninflf to bless the land. To know that the laws of God will 
 triumph *— ought not that to reconcile a man already seventy- 
 five years of age to death, even a death upon the gallows ? What 
 matter for this earthly body so that it be spent until the end in 
 the service of the Lord ?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 WE WAIT FOR THE END. 
 
 I HAVE said that my father from the beginning unto the end 
 of this business was as one beside himself, being in an ecstasy 
 or rapture of mind, insomuch that he heeded nothing. The let- 
 ters he sent out to his friends the Nonconformists either brought 
 no answer or else they heaped loads of trouble, being intercept- 
 ed and read, upon those to whom they were addressed. But he 
 was not moved. The defection of his friends and of the gentry 
 caused him no uneasiness. Nay, he even closed his eyes and 
 ears to the drinking, the profane oaths, and the riotous living in 
 the camp. Others there were, like-minded with himself, who 
 saw the hand of the Lord in this enterprise, and thought that it 
 would succeed by a miracle. The desertions of the men which 
 afterwards followed, and the defection of those who should 
 have joined — these things were but the weeding of the host, 
 which should be still further weeded, as in a well-known chap- 
 ter in the Book of Judges, until none but the righteous should 
 be left behind. These things he preached daily, and with
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 151 
 
 mighty fervor, to all who would listen, but these were few in 
 number. 
 
 As regards his wife and daughter, he took no thought for 
 them at all, being wholly enwrapped in his work : he did not so 
 much as ask if we had money — to be sure, for five-and-twenty 
 years he had never asked that question — or if we were safely 
 bestowed, or if we were well. Never have I seen any man so 
 careless of all earthly affections when he considered the work 
 of the Lord. But when the time came for the army to march 
 what were we to do ? Where should we be bestowed ? 
 
 " As to following the army," said Robin, " that is absurd. 
 We know not whither we may march or what the course of 
 events may order. You cannot go home without an armed es- 
 cort, for the country is up, the clubmen are out everywhere to 
 protect their cattle and horses ; a rough and rude folk they 
 would be to meet, and the gypsies are robbing and plundering. 
 Can you stay here until we come back, or until the country hath 
 settled down again ?" 
 
 Miss Blake generously promised that we should stay with her 
 as long as we chose, adding many kind things about myself, out 
 of friendship and a good heart ; and so it was resolved that we 
 should remain in Taunton, where no harm could befall us, while 
 my father still accompanied the army to exhort the soldiers. 
 
 " I will take care of him,'' said Barnaby. " He shall not preach 
 of a morning till he hath taken breakfast, nor shall he go to bed 
 until he hath had his supper. So long as the provisions last 
 out he shall have his ration. After that I cannot say. Maybe 
 we shall all go on short commons, as hath happened to me al- 
 ready ; and, truth to tell, I love it not. All these things belong 
 to the voyage and are part of our luck. Farewell, therefore, 
 mother. Heart up. All will go well. Kiss me, sister ; we 
 shall all come back again. Never fear. King Monmouth shall 
 be crowned in Westminster, dad shall be Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury, and I shall be captain of a king's ship. All our fortunes 
 shall be made, and you, sister, shall have a great estate, and 
 shall marry whom you please — Robin or another. As for the 
 gentry who have not come forward, hang 'em ! we'll divide their 
 estates between us and so change places, and they will be so as- 
 tonished at not being shot for cowardice that they will rejoice 
 and be glad to clean our boots. Thus shall we all be happy."
 
 152 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 So tlicy marclicd away, Monmoutli being now at the head of 
 an army seven thousand strong, and all in such spirits that you 
 would have thought nothing could withstand them. And when 
 I consider and remember how that army marched back, with the 
 cheers of the men and the laughter and jokes of the young re- 
 cruits, the tears run down my cheeks for thinking how their 
 joy was turned to mourning, and life was exchanged for death. 
 The last I saw of Robin was that he was turning in his saddle 
 to wave his hand, his face full of confidence and joy. The only 
 gloomy face in the whole army that morning was the face of 
 Humphrey. Afterwards I learned that almost from the begin- 
 ning he foresaw certain disaster. In the first place, none of 
 those on whom the exiles of Holland had relied came into camp ; 
 these were the backbone of the Protestant party, the sturdy 
 blood that had been freely shed against Charles the First. This 
 was a bitter disappointment. Next, he saw in the army nothing 
 but a rabble of country lads, with such officers as Captain Huck- 
 er, the serge-maker, instead of the country gentlemen with their 
 troops, as had been expected, and from the beginning he dis- 
 trusted the leaders, even the duke himself. So he hung his 
 head, and laughed not with the rest. But his doubts he kept 
 locked up in his own heart. Robin knew none of them. 
 
 It was a pretty sight to see the Taunton women walking out 
 for a mile and moi-e with their lovers who had joined Monmouth. 
 They walked hand in hand with the men ; they wore the Mon- 
 mouth favors. They had no more doubt or fear of the event 
 than their sweethearts. 
 
 Those who visit Taunton now may see these women creeping 
 about the streets lonely and sorrowful, mindful still of that Sun- 
 day morning when they saw their lovers for the last time. 
 
 When I consider the history of this expedition I am amazed 
 that it did not succeed. It was, surely, by a special judgment 
 of God that the victory was withheld from Monmouth and re- 
 served for William. I say not (presumptuously) that the judg- 
 ment was pronounced against the duke on account of his sinful 
 life, but I think it was the will of Heaven that the country 
 should endure for three years the presence of a prince who was 
 continually seeking to advance the Catholic religion. The peo- 
 ple were not yet ripe, perhaps, for that universal disgust which 
 caused them without bloodshed (in this island at least) to pull
 
 " The last I saw of Robin was that he was turning in his saddle to wave his 
 hand, his face full of confidence and joy."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 153 
 
 down King Jmiics from his tlironc. When, I say, I consider the 
 temper and the courage of tliat great army which left Taunton, 
 greater than any which the king could bring against it ; when I 
 consider the multitudes who flocked to the standard at Bridg- 
 water, I am, indeed, lost in wonder at the event. 
 
 From Sunday, the twenty-first, when the army marched out 
 of Taunton, till the news came of their rout on Sedgemoor, we 
 lieard nothing certain about them. On Tuesday the Duke of 
 Albemarle, hearing that the army had gone, occupied Taunton 
 with the militia, and there were some who expected severities 
 on account of the welcome given to the duke and the recruits 
 whom he obtained here. But there were no acts of revenge 
 that I heard of ; and, indeed, he did not stay long in the town. 
 As for us, we remained under the shelter of Miss Blake's roof, 
 and daily expected news of some great and signal victory. But 
 none came, save one letter. Every day we looked for this news, 
 and every day we planned and laid down the victorious march 
 for our army. 
 
 " They will first occupy Bristol," said Miss Blake. " That is 
 certain, because there are many stout Protestants in Bristol, and 
 the place is important. Once master of that great city, our king 
 will get possession of ships, and so will have a fleet. There are, 
 no doubt, plenty of arms in the town, w^itli which he will be able 
 to equip an army ten times greater than that which he now has. 
 Then — with, say, thirty thousand men — he will march on Lon- 
 don. The militia will, of course, lay down their arms or desert 
 at the approach of this great and resolute army. The king's 
 regiments wuU prove, I expect, to be Protestants, every man. 
 Oxford will open her gates. London will send out her train- 
 bands to welcome the deliverer, and so our king will enter in 
 triumph, and be crowned at Westminster Abbey — one King 
 James succeeding another. Then there shall be restored to this 
 distracted country " — being a schoolmistress. Miss Blake could 
 use language worthy of the dignity of history — "the blessings 
 of religious freedom ; and the pure word of God, stripped of 
 superstitious additions made by men, shall be preached through 
 the length and breadth of the land." 
 
 " What shall be done," I asked, " with the bishops ?" 
 
 " They shall be suffered to remain," she said, speaking with 
 a voice of authority, "for those congregations which desire a 
 1*
 
 154 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 prelacy, but stripped of their titles and of their vast revenues. 
 We will not persecute, but we will never suffer one church to 
 lord it over another. Oh ! when will the nev\'s come ? Where 
 is the army now ?" 
 
 The letter of which I have spoken was from Robin. 
 
 " Sweetheart," he said, " all goes well so far. At Bridg- 
 water v/e have received a welcome only second to that of Taun- 
 ton, The mayor and aldermen proclaimed our king at the high 
 cross, and the people have sent to the camp great store of pro- 
 visions and arms of all kinds. We are now six regiments of 
 foot, with a thousand cavalry, besides the king's own body- 
 guard. We have many good friends at Bridgwater, especially 
 one Mr. Roger Hoar, who is a rich merchant of the place, and is 
 very zealous in the cause. Your father preached on Sunday 
 evening from the text Deuteronomy vii. 5 : 'Ye shall de- 
 stroy their altars, and break down their images, and cut down 
 their groves, and burn their graven images with fire.' It was 
 a most moving discourse, which fired the hearts of all who 
 heard it. 
 
 " They say that our chief is downhearted because the nobility 
 and gentry have not come in. They only wait for the first vic- 
 tory, after which they will come in by hundreds. But some of 
 our men look forward to depriving them of their estates and 
 dividing them among themselves ; and already the colonels and 
 majors are beginning to reckon up the great rewards which 
 aw^ait them. As for me, there is but one reward for which I 
 pray, namely, to return unto Bradford Orcas and to the arms of 
 my sweet saint. Lord Churchill is reported to be at Chard : 
 there has been a brush in the Forest of Neroche between the 
 scouts, and it is said that all the roads are guarded so that re- 
 cruits shall be arrested, or at least driven back. Perhaps this 
 is the reason why the gentry sit down. Barnaby says that, so 
 far, there have been provisions enough and to spare, and he 
 hopes the present plenty may continue. No ship's crew can 
 fight, he says, on half rations. Our march will be on Bristol. 
 I hope and believe that when we have gotten that great town 
 our end is sure. Humphrey continueth glum." 
 
 Many women there were who passed that time in prayer, con- 
 tinually offering up supplications on behalf of husband, brother, 
 lover, or son. But at Taunton the rector, one Walter Harte, a
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 155 
 
 zealous Higli Chiirclimaii, came fortli from liiding, and, with tlie 
 magistrates, said prayers daily for King James the Second. 
 
 To tell what follows is to renew a time of agony unspeakable. 
 Yet must it be told. Farewell, happy days of hope and confi- 
 dence ! Farewell, the sweet exchange of dreams ! Farewell to 
 our lovely hero, tlie gracious duke ! All the troubles that man's 
 mind can conceive were permitted to be rained upon our heads 
 — defeat, wounds, death, prison — nay, for me suet a thing as 
 no one could have expected or even feared — such a fate as never 
 entered the mind of man to invent. 
 
 When the duke marched out of Bridofwater across Sedaremoor 
 to Glastonbury, the weather, which had been hot and fine, be- 
 came cold and rainy, which made the men uncomfortable. At 
 Glastonbury they camped in the ruins of the old abbey. Thence 
 they went to Shepton Mallet, the spirits of the men still being 
 high. From Shepton Mallet they marched to a place called 
 Pensford, only five miles from Bristol. Here they heard that 
 the bridge over the Avon at Keynsham was broken down. This 
 being presently repaired, the army marched across. They were 
 then within easy reach of Bristol. 
 
 And now began the disasters of the enterprise. Up to this 
 time everything had prospered. Had the duke boldly attacked 
 Bristol (I speak not of my own wisdom, having none in such 
 matters of warfare) he would have encountered no more than 
 twenty companies or thereabouts of militia and a regiment of 
 two hundred and fifty horse. Moreover, Bristol was full of dis- 
 senters, who wanted nothing but encouragement to join the 
 Protestant champion. Not only the duke's friends, but also his 
 enemies, agree in declaring that it wanted nothing but courage 
 to take that great, rich, and populous city, where he would have 
 found everything that he wanted — men and money, arms and 
 ammunition. I cannot but think that for his sins, or for the 
 sins of the nation, a judicial blindness was caused to fall upon 
 the duke, so that he chose, of two ways open to him, that which 
 led to his destruction. In short, he turned away from Bristol 
 and drew up his forces against Bath. When he summoned that 
 city to surrender they shot his herald and scoffed at him. Then, 
 instead of taking the town, the duke retired to Philip's Norton, 
 where, 'tis said, he expected some great reinforcements. But 
 none came ; and he now grew greatly dejected, showing his de-
 
 156 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 jection in his face, wliich could conceal nothing. Yet had he 
 fought an action with his half-brother, the Duke of Grafton, in 
 which he was victorious, a thing which ought to have helped 
 him. In this action Lieutenant Blake, Miss Blake's cousin, 
 was killed. From Philip's Norton the army marched to Frome, 
 and here, such was the general despondency, that two thousand 
 men — a third of the whole army — deserted in the night and re- 
 turned to their own homes. I think, also, it was at Frome that 
 they learned the news of Lord Argyll's discomfiture. 
 
 Then a council was held at which it was proposed that the 
 army should he disbanded and ordered to return, seeing that the 
 king had proclaimed a pardon to all who would peacefully lay 
 down their arms and return home ; and that the duke, with Lord 
 Grey and those who would be certainly exempted from that par- 
 don, should make the best of their way out of the country. 
 
 Alas ! There was a way open to safety of all those poor men ; 
 but again was the duke permitted to choose the other way, that, 
 namely, which led to the destruction of his army and himself. 
 Yet they say that he himself recommended the safer course. He 
 must have known that he wanted arms and ammunition, that his 
 men were deserting, and that no more recruits came in. Colonel 
 Venner, one of his principal men, was at this juncture sent away 
 to Holland in order to get assistance in arms and money. And 
 the king's proclamation of pardon was carefully kept from the 
 knowledge of the soldiers. 
 
 On July the fourth the army returned to Bridgwater, and 
 now Dr. Hooke, chaplain to the army, and some of the officers 
 were sent away secretly in order to raise an insurrection in Lon- 
 don and elsewhere, the only hope now being that risings in vari- 
 ous parts would call away some of the king's forces from the 
 west. Some of the Taunton men in the army rode from Bridg- 
 water to see their friends. But we women (who for the most part 
 remained at home) learned no news save that as yet there had 
 been no signal victory ; we did not hear of the large desertions 
 nor of the duke's despondency. Therefore we continued in our 
 fool's paradise and looked for nothing but some great and crown- 
 ing mercy. Those who are on the side of the Lord are always 
 expecting some special interference : whereas they ought to be 
 satisfied with being on the right side, whether victory or defeat 
 be intended for them. In this enterprise I doubt not that those
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 157 
 
 godly men (there were indeed some godly men) wlio fell in bat- 
 tle or were afterwards executed, received their reward, and that 
 a far, far greater reward than their conduct deserved — for who 
 can measure the short agony of death beside the everlasting life 
 of glory and joy unspeakable ? 
 
 The last day of this fatal expedition was Sunday the fifth day 
 of July : so that it took no more than three weeks in all between 
 its first beginning and its failure. Only three weeks ! But 
 how much longer was it before the punishment and the expia- 
 tion were concluded ? Nay, are they even yet concluded, when 
 thousands of innocent women and children still go in poverty 
 and mourning for the loss of those who should have worked for 
 them? 
 
 In the morning my father preached to the soldiers on the text 
 (Joshua xxii. 22), " The Lord God of gods, the Lord God of 
 gods, he knoweth, and Israel he shall know ; if it be in rebellion, 
 or if in transgression against the Lord, (save us not this day)." 
 
 And now the time was come when the last battle was to be 
 fought. 
 
 The Earl of Feversham, who had been at Somerton, marched 
 this day across Sedgemoor and encamped at Weston Zoyland, 
 which is but five or six miles from Bridgwater. Now it chanced 
 that one William Sparke of Chedzoy, hearing of this advance, 
 climbed the church tower, and by aid of a spying-glass, such as 
 sailors use at sea, discerned clearly the approach of the army 
 and its halt at Weston. Being a well-wisher to the duke, he 
 sent one of his men, Richard Godfrey by name, with orders to 
 spy into and learn the position and numbers of the earl's army 
 and to carry his information straightway to Bridgwater. This 
 duty the fellow promised and most faithfully performed. 
 
 The duke had already learned the approach of Lord Fever- 
 sham, and being now well-nigh desperate with his continued losses, 
 and seeing his army gradually wasting away, with no fresh re- 
 cruits, he had resolved upon not waiting to be attacked, but on 
 a retreat northwards, hoping to get across the bridge at Keyn- 
 sham and so march into Shropshire and Cheshire, where still he 
 hoped to raise another army. But (says he who hath helped 
 me with this brief account of. the expedition) the retreat, which 
 would have been harassed by Lord Feversham's horse, would 
 have turned into flight ; the men would have deserted in all di-
 
 158 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 rections, and when the remains of the army arrived at Keynsham 
 Bridge they would certainly have found it occupied by the Duke 
 of Beaufort, 
 
 The carriages were already loaded in readiness for this march — 
 it was to begin at nightfall — when the arrival of the man God- 
 frey, and the news that he brought, caused the duke to change 
 everything. For he now perceived that such a chance was of- 
 fered him as had never before occurred since his landing, viz., 
 a night surprise, and, if he were fortunate, the rout of the king's 
 best troops. 
 
 It is said that had the duke shown the same boldness in the 
 matter of Bristol that he showed in this night attack he would 
 have gained that city first and his own cause next. Nor did it 
 appear at all a desperate attempt. For though Lord Feversham 
 had twenty-five hundred men with him, horse and foot, with six- 
 teen field pieces, the duke had nearly three thousand foot and 
 six hundred horse with four field pieces ; and though the king's 
 troops included many companies of grenadiers, with a battalion 
 of that famous regiment the Coldstream Guards, and some hun- 
 dred horse of the king's regiment and dragoons, the duke had 
 with him at least two thousand men well armed and resolute, as 
 the event shov.'ed. Besides this he had the advantage of the sur- 
 prise and confusion of a night attack. And, in addition, the 
 camp was not entrenched, the troopers had all gone to bed, the 
 foot soldiers were drinking cider, and the ofiicers were reported 
 to be all drunk. 
 
 Therefore it was resolved that the intended flight into Shrop- 
 shire should be abandoned, and that the whole matter should be 
 brought to an issue this very night. 
 
 Had the attack succeeded all might yet have gone well with the 
 duke. His enemies boasted that his raw country lads would 
 be routed at the first charge of regular soldiers ; if he proved 
 the contrary, those who had deserted him would have returned, 
 those who held aloof would join ; it was not the cause which 
 found men lukewarm, it was the doubt — and nothing but the 
 doubt, whether the duke's enterprise would be supported. And 
 I have never heard that any found aught but commendation of 
 the boldness and spirit which brought us the battle of Sedgemoor. 
 
 All that day we spent in quiet meditation, in prayer, in the
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 159 
 
 reading of the Bible, and in godly discourses ; and herein I must 
 commend the modesty as well as the piety of Miss Susan Blake, 
 in that she invited my mother, as her elder, and the wife of an 
 eminent minister, to conduct the religious exercises, though as the 
 hostess she might have demanded that privilege. We stirred 
 not abroad at all. The meeting-houses, which had been opened 
 when the duke marched in, were now closed again. 
 
 In the evening, while we sat together discoursing upon the spec- 
 ial mercies vouchsafed to the people of the Lord, a strange thing 
 happened. Nay, I do not say that news may not have reached 
 Taunton already of the duke's intentions and of the position of 
 the king's forces. But this seems incredible, since it was not 
 known, except to the council by whom it was decided, till late in 
 the afternoon, and it was not to be thought that these would 
 hurry to spread the news abroad and so ruin the whole affair. 
 The window being open then, we could hear the voices of those 
 who talked in the street below. Now there passed two men, and 
 they were talking as they went. Said one — and these were the 
 words we heard — 
 
 " I tell thee that the duke will have no more to do than to 
 lock the stable doors and so seize the troopers in their beds." 
 
 We all started and listened. The voice below repeated — 
 
 " I say, sir, and I have it at first hand, that he hath but to lock 
 the stable doors and so seize all the troopers in their beds." 
 
 Then they passed on their way. 
 
 Said my mother. '' My husband hath told me that not only 
 may the conscience be awakened by a w^ord which seemeth 
 chance, but the future may be revealed by words which were 
 perhaps meant in another sense. What we have heard this even- 
 ing may be a foretelling of victory. My children, let us pray, 
 and so to bed." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE DAY AFTER. 
 
 It was^ve o'clock when I awoke next morning. Though the 
 hour was so early, I heard a great tramping and running about 
 the streets, and, looking out of window, I saw a concourse of the
 
 160 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 town's people gathered togetlier listening to one who spoke to 
 them. But in the middle of his speech they broke away from 
 him and ran to another speaker, and so distractedly and with 
 such gestures that they were clearly mucli moved by some news, 
 the nature of which I could not guess. For in some faces there 
 was visible the outward show of triumph and joy, and on oth- 
 ers there lay plainly visible the look of amazement or stupefac- 
 tion, and in the street I saw some women weeping and crying. 
 What had happened ? Oh ! what had happened ? Then, while 
 I was still dressing, there burst into the room Susan Blake, her- 
 self but half dressed, her hair flying all abroad, the comb in her 
 hand. 
 
 " Rejoice !" she cried. " Oh, rejoice, and give thanks unto 
 the Lord ! What did we hear last night ? That the duke had 
 but to shut the stable doors and seize the troopers in their beds. 
 Look out of window — see the people running and listening 
 eagerly. Oh ! 'tis the crowning mercy that we have looked for, 
 the Lord hath blown and his enemies are scattered. Remem- 
 ber the strange words we heard last night. What said the un- 
 known man ? nay he said it twice. ' The duke had but to lock 
 the stable doors ;' nay, and yesterday I saw, and last night I 
 heard, the screech owl thrice, Avhich was meant for the ruin of 
 our enemies. Oh, Grace, Grace, this is a joyful day !" 
 
 "But look," I said, "they have a downcast look; they run 
 about as if distracted ; and some are wringing their hands." 
 
 " 'Tis with excess of joy," she replied, looking out of the 
 window with me, though her hair was flying in the wind. " They 
 are so surprised and so rejoiced that they cannot speak or 
 move." 
 
 "But there are women weeping and wailing; why do they 
 weep?" 
 
 " It is for those who are killed. Needs must in every great 
 victory that some are killed — poor, brave fellows ! — and some 
 are wounded. Nay, my dear, thou hast three at least at the 
 camp who are dear to thee, and God knows I have many. Let 
 us pray that we do not have to weep like those poor women." 
 
 She was so earnest in her looks and words, and I myself so 
 willing to believe, that I doubted no longer. • 
 
 " Listen ! oh, listen !" she cried, " never, never before have 
 bells rung a music so joyful to my heart."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 161 
 
 For now the bells of tlie great tower of St. Mary's began to 
 ring — clash, clash, clash, all together as if they were cracking 
 their throats with joy ; and at the sound of the bells those men 
 in the street, who seemed to me stupefied as by a heavy blow, 
 put up their hands to their ears and fled, as if they could not 
 bear the noise, and the women who wept wrung their hands and 
 shrieked aloud in anguish, as if the joy of the chimes mocked 
 the sorrow of their hearts. 
 
 " Poor creatures !" said Susan. " From my heart I pity them. 
 But the victory is ours, and now it only remains to offer up our 
 humble prayers and praises to the Throne of all mercy." 
 
 So we knelt and thanked God. 
 
 " O Lord, we thank and bless thee ! Lord, we thank 
 and bless thee !" cried Susan, the tears of joy and gratitude run- 
 ning down her cheeks. Outside, the noise of hurrying feet and 
 voices increased, and more women shrieked — and still the joy 
 bells clashed and clanged. 
 
 " Lord, we thank thee ! O Lord, we bless thee !" Susan 
 repeated on her knees, her voice broken Avith her joy and 
 triumph. 'Twas all that she could say. 
 
 1 declare that at that moment I had no more doubt of the 
 victory than I had of the sunshine. There could be no doubt. 
 The joy bells were ringing ; how should we know that the Kev. 
 Mr. Harte, the vicar, caused thern to be rung, and not our friends? 
 There could be no manner of doubt. The people running to 
 and fro in the street had heard the news and were rushing to 
 tell each other and to hear more. The women who wept were 
 mothers or wives of the slain ; again, we had encouraged each 
 other with assurances of our success so that we were already 
 fully prepared to believe that it had come. Had we not seen a 
 splendid army some thousand strong march out of Taunton 
 town, led by the bravest man and most accomplished soldier in 
 the English nation ? Was not the army on the Lord's side ? 
 Were we not in a Protestant country ? Were not the very 
 regiments of the king Protestants ? Why go on ? and yet — oh ! 
 sad to think ! — while we knelt and prayed the army was scattered 
 like a cloud of summer gnats by a shower and a breeze, and 
 hundreds lay dead upon the field, and a thousand men were 
 prisoners, and many were already hanging in gemmaces upon 
 the gibbets, where they remained till King William's coming 
 
 L
 
 162 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 suffered tlicm to bo taken down, and the rest were flying in 
 every direction, hoping to escape. 
 
 " O Lord, we tliank thee ! O Lord, we bless thee !" 
 
 While thus we prayed we heard the door below burst open 
 and a tramping of a man's boots, and Susan, hastily rolling up 
 her hair, ran down-stairs followed by mother and myself. 
 
 There stood Barnaby. Thank God ! one of our lads was safe 
 out of the fight. His face and hands were black with powder ; 
 his red coat, which had been so fine, was now smirched with 
 nmd and stained with I know not what marks of weather, of 
 mud, and of gunpowder ; the right-hand side was torn away, 
 he had no hat upon his head, and a bloody clout was tied about 
 his forehead. 
 
 " Barnaby !" I cried. 
 
 " Captain Barnaby !" cried Susan, clasping her hands. 
 
 " My son !" cried mother ; " oh ! thou art wounded. Quick, 
 Grace, child ; a basin of water, quick f 
 
 " Nay, 'tis but a scratch," he said ; " and there is no time 
 for nursing." 
 
 " When — where — how," we all cried together, " was the vic- 
 tory won ? Is the enemy cut to pieces ? Is the war finished 2'' 
 
 " Victory ?" he repeated, in his slow way, " what victory ? 
 Give me a drink of cider, and if there is a morsel of victual in 
 the house — " 
 
 I hurried to bring him both cold meat and bread and a cup 
 full of cider. He began to eat and drink. 
 
 " Why," he said, talking between his mouthfuls, " if the 
 worst comes 'tis better to face it with a — Your health, madam ;" 
 he finished the cider. " Another cup, sister, if you love me. I 
 have neither eaten nor drunk since yesterday at seven o'clock, 
 or thereabouts." He said no more until he had cleared the 
 dish of the gammon, and left nothing but the bone. This he 
 dropped into his pocket. " When the provisions are out," he 
 said, wisely, "there is good gnawing in the shank -bone of a 
 ham." Then he drank up the rest of the cider and looked 
 around. " Victory ? Did some one speak of victory ?" 
 
 " Yes ; where was it ? Tell us quick." 
 
 " W^ell ; there was in some sort a victory. But the king 
 had it." 
 
 " Wliat mean you, Barnaby ? the king had it ? What king ?"
 
 FOR FAITII AND FREEDOM. 1G3 
 
 " Not Kino; Monnioutli. That Iving is riding away to find 
 some port and get some ship, I take it, which will carry him 
 back to Holland." 
 
 "Barnaby, what is it ? Oh ! what is it ? Tell us all." 
 
 " All there is to tell, sister, is that our army is clean cut to 
 pieces and that those of us who are not killed or prisoners are 
 making ofi with what speed they may. As for me, I should 
 have thrown away my coat and picked up some old duds and 
 got off to Bristol and so aboard ship and away, but for dad." 
 
 " O Barnaby !" cried my mother, " what hath happened to 
 him ? Where is he ?" 
 
 " I said, mother," he replied, very slowly and looking in her 
 face strangely, " that I would look after him, didn't I ? Well, 
 when we marched out of Bridgwater at nightfall, nothing would 
 serve but he must go too. I think he compared himself with 
 Moses, who stood afar off and held up his arms. Never was 
 there any man more eager to get at the enemy than dad. If he 
 had not been a minister now, what a soldier he would have 
 made !" 
 
 " Go on. Quick, Barnaby." 
 
 " I can go, sister, no quicker than I can. That is quite sure." 
 
 " Where is he, my son ?" asked my mother. 
 
 Barnaby jerked his thumb over his left shoulder. 
 
 " He is over there, and he is safe enough for the present. 
 Well, after the battle was over, and it was no use going on any 
 longer, Monmouth and Lord Grey having already run away — " 
 
 " Run away ? Run away ?" 
 
 " Run away, sister. Aboard ship the captain stands by the 
 crew to the last, and if they strike he is prisoner with them. 
 Ashore, the general runs away and leaves his men to find out 
 when they will give over fighting. We fought until there was 
 no more ammunition, and then we ran with the rest. Now I 
 had not gone far, before I saw lying on the moor at my very 
 feet the poor old dad." 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " He was quite pale, and I thought he was dead. So I was 
 about to leave him, when he opened his eyes. ' AMiat cheer, 
 dad ?' I asked. He said nothing. So I felt his pulse and found 
 him breathing. 'But what cheer, dad?' I asked him again. 
 ' Get up and come with me.' He looked around as if he under-
 
 1G4 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 stood me not, and lie shut his eyes again. Now when you run 
 away the best thing is to run as fast and to run as far as you 
 can. Yet I could not run with dad lying in the road half dead. 
 So while I tried to think what to do, because the murdering 
 drasroons were cuttina: us down in all directions, there came 
 galloping past a pony harnessed to a kind of go-cart where I 
 suppose there had been a barrel or two of cider for the soldiers. 
 The creature was mad with the noise of the guns, and I had 
 much ado to catch him and hold the reins while I lifted dad 
 into the cart. When I had done that I ran by the side of the 
 horse and drove him off the road across the moor, which was 
 rough going — but for dear life one must endure much — to North 
 Marton, where I struck the road to Taunton and brought him 
 safe, so far." 
 
 " Take me to him, Barnaby," said my mother. " Take mc to 
 him." 
 
 " Why, mother," he said, kindly, " I know not if 'tis wise. 
 For, look you, if they catch us, me they will hang or shoot, 
 though dad they may let go, for he is sped already ; and for a 
 tender heart like thine 'twould be a piteous sight to see thy 
 son hanging from a branch with a tight rope round his neck 
 and thy husband dead on a hand-cart." 
 
 " Barnaby, take me to him — take me to him." 
 
 " Oh ! Is it true ? Is it true ? O Captain Barnaby, is it 
 really true ? Then why are the bells a-ringing ?" 
 
 Clash ! clash ! clash ! The bells rang out louder and louder. 
 One would have thought the whole town was rejoicing. Yet 
 there were a thousand lads marched out of Taunton town, and I 
 know not how many ever came home again. 
 
 " They are ringing," said Barnaby, " because King Mon- 
 mouth's army is scattered and the rebellion is all over. Well, 
 we have had our chance and we are dished. Now must we sing 
 small again. Madam," he said, earnestly, addressing Susan, " if 
 1 remember right they were your hands that carried the naked 
 sword and the Bible." 
 
 " They were my hands." 
 
 " And they were your scholars who worked the flags and 
 gave them to the duke that day when you walked in a pro- 
 cession ?" 
 
 " They were my scholars," she said, proudly.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 165 
 
 ^ " Then, madam, seeing that we have, if all reports be true, a 
 damned unforgiving kind of king, my advice to you is to follow 
 my example, and run. Hoist all sail, madam, and fly to some 
 port — any port. Fly false colors. When hanging, flogging, 
 branding, and the like amusements set in, I think they will re- 
 member the maids of Taunton. That is my advice, madam." 
 
 " Sir," said Susan, bravely, though her cheek grew pale when 
 he spoke of floggings and brandings, " I thank you. Whither 
 should I fly ? Needs must I stay here and bear whatever af- 
 fliction the Lord may lay upon me ; and since our Protestant 
 hero is defeated, methinks it matters little what becomes of any 
 of us." 
 
 " Why," Barnaby shook his head, " King Monmouth is de- 
 feated, that is most true ; but we who survive have got our- 
 selves to look after. Sister, get a basket and put into it 
 provisions." 
 
 " What w ill you have, Barnaby ?" 
 
 " Everything that you can carry. Cold bacon for choice ; 
 and bread, and a bottle of brandy if you have any, and all 
 you can lay hands upon. With your good leave, madam." 
 
 " Oh, sir, take all, take all. I would to God that everything 
 I have in the world could be used for the succor of these my 
 friends," And with that she began to weep and to cry. 
 
 I filled a great basket with all that there was in the house, 
 and he took it upon his arm. And then we came away with 
 many tears and fond farewells from this kind soul who had 
 done so much for the cause, and was now about to pay so heavy 
 a penalty for her zeal. 
 
 Outside, in the s'treet, the people recognized him for one of 
 Monmouth's captains, and pressed round him and asked him a 
 thousand questions ; but he answered shortly. 
 
 " We were drubbed, I tell you. King Monmouth hath run 
 away. We have all run away. How should I know how many 
 are killed ? Every man who doth not wish to be hanged had 
 best run away and hide. The game is up, friend, we are sped. 
 What more can I say ? How do I know, in the devil's name, 
 whose fault it was ? How can I tell, madam, if your son is safe ? 
 If he is safe, make him creep into a hiding-place." And so 
 on, to a hundred who crowded after him and questioned him as 
 to the nature and meaning of the defeat. Seeing that no more
 
 166 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 news could be got from liim the people left off following us, and 
 we got out of the town on the east side where the road leads to 
 Ilminster, but it is a bad road and little frequented. 
 
 Here Barnaby looked about him carefully, to make sure that 
 no one was observing us ; and then, finding that no one was 
 within sight, he turned to the right down a grassy lane be- 
 tween hedges. 
 
 " 'Tis this way that I brought him," he said. " Poor old 
 man ! He can now move neither hand nor foot, and his legs 
 will no more be any use to him. Yet he seemed in no pain, 
 though the jolting of the cart must have shaken him more than 
 a bit;' 
 
 The lane led into a field, and that field into another and a 
 smaller one, with a plantation of larches on two sides and a 
 brook shaded with alders on a third side. In one corner was 
 a linney with a thatched roof supported on wooden pillars in 
 front, and closed in at back and sides. It was such a meadow 
 as is used for the pasture of cattle and the keeping of a bull. 
 
 At the entrance of this meadow Barnaby stopped and looked 
 about him with approbation. 
 
 " Here," he said, slowly, " is a hiding-place fit for King Mon- 
 mouth himself. A road unfrequented ; the rustics all gone off 
 to the wars, though now, I doubt not, having had their belly 
 full of fighting. I suppose there were once cattle in the meadow, 
 but they are either driven away by the clubmen for safety, or 
 they have been stolen by the gypsies. No troopers will this 
 day come prying along this road ; or, if they do search the 
 wood, which is unlikely, they will not look in the linney ; here 
 can we be snug until we make up our minds what course is best." 
 
 " Barnaby," I said, " take us to my father without more 
 speech." 
 
 " I have laid him," he went on, " upon the bare ground in 
 the linney, but it is soft and dry lying, and the air is warm, 
 though last night it rained and was cold. He looks happy, 
 mother, and I doubt if he hath any feeling left in his limbs. 
 Once I saw a man shot in the backbone and never moved after- 
 wards, but he lived for a bit. Here he is." 
 
 Alas ! lying motionless on his back, his head bare, his white 
 hair lying over his face, his eyes closed, his cheek white, and 
 no sign of life in him except that his breast gently heaved, was
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 167 
 
 my father. Then certain words which he uttered came back to 
 my memory. " What matters the end," he said, " if I have 
 freedom of speech for a single day ?" 
 
 My mother threw herself on her knees beside him and raised 
 his head. 
 
 " Ah ! my heart,'' she cried, " my dear heart, my husband, 
 have they killed thee ? Speak, my dear ; speak if thou canst ! 
 Art thou in pain ? Can we do aught to relieve thee ? Oh ! is 
 this the end of all ?" 
 
 But my father made no reply. He opened his eyes, but they 
 did not move ; he looked straight before him, but he saw noth- 
 ing. Then he murmured, in a low voice, " Lord, now let thy 
 servant depart in peace. So let all thine enemies perish. Lord." 
 
 And this, until the end, was the burden of all ; he spoke no 
 word to show that he knew any one, or that he was in pain, or 
 that he desired anything. He neither ate nor drank, yet for 
 many weeks longer he continued to live. 
 
 CHAPTER XXHL 
 
 OUR FLIGHT. 
 
 Thus we began our miserable flight. Thus, in silence, we sat 
 in the shade of the linney all the morning. Outside, the black- 
 bird warbled in the wood, and the lark santj in the skv. But 
 we sat in silence, not daring so much as to ask each other if 
 those things were real, or if we were dreaming a dreadful 
 dream. Still and motionless lay my father's body as if the 
 body of a dead man. He felt no pain, of that I am assured. 
 It makes me sick even to think that he might have suffered pain 
 from his wound. He had no sense at all of what was ffoina: on, 
 yet once or twice during the long trance or paralysis in which 
 he had fallen he opened his lips and spoke after his old manner 
 in the words of the Bible, but in a disjointed manner, as one 
 who is in a dream or delirium. And he breathed gently, so 
 that he was not dead. Barnaby, for his part, threw himself 
 upon his face, and laying his head upon his arm fell asleep in- 
 stantly. The place was very quiet ; at the end of the meadow 
 was a brook and there was a wood upon the other side ; we could
 
 168 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 hear the prattling of the water over the pebbles ; outside the 
 linney a great elm-tree stretched out its branches ; presently 
 I saw a squirrel sitting upon one and peering curiously at us, 
 not at all afraid, so still and motionless we were. I remember 
 that I envied the squirrel. He took no thought even for his 
 daily bread. And the hedge sparrows, no more afraid than if 
 the linney was empty, hopped into the place and began picking 
 about among the straw. And so the hours slowly passed away, 
 and by degrees I began to understand a little better what had 
 happened to us ; for at the first shock one could not perceive the 
 extent of the disaster, and we were as in a dream when we fol- 
 lowed Barnaby out of the town. The great and splendid army 
 was destroyed ; that gallant hero, the duke, was in flight ; those 
 of the soldiers who were not killed or taken prisoners were 
 running hither and thither trying to escape ; my father was 
 wounded — stricken to death as it seemed, and deprived of 
 power to move, to feel, or to think. AVhile I considered this, 
 I suddenly remembered how he had turned his eyes from gazing 
 into the sky, and asked me what it mattered even if the end 
 would be death to him and ruin unto all of us ? And I do firmly 
 believe that at that moment he had an actual vision of the end, 
 and really saw before his eyes the very things that were to come 
 to pass, and that he knew all along what the end would be. Yet 
 he had delivered his soul — why, then, he had obtained his 
 prayer — and by daily exhortation had, doubtless, done much to 
 keep up the spirit of those in the army who were sober and 
 godly men. Did he also, like Sir Christopher, have another 
 vision which should console and encourage him ? Did he see 
 the time to follow when a greater than the duke should come 
 and bring with him the deliverance of the country ? There are 
 certain gracious words with which that vision closes which he 
 loved to read and to expound — the vision, I mean, of the basket 
 of summer fruit. Did those words ring in his mind and com- 
 fort him even in the prospect of his own end ? Then my 
 thoughts, which were swift and yet beyond his control, left him 
 and considered the case of Barnaby. He had been a captain 
 in the Green Regiment ; he would be hanged for certain if he 
 were caught. My sweetheart, my Robin, had also been a cap- 
 tain in the duke's army. All the duke's ofiicers would be hanged 
 if they were caught. But perhaps Robin was already dead —
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 1G9 
 
 dead on the battle-field — his face white, his hands stiff, blood 
 upon him somewhere, and a cruel wound upon his dear body. 
 Oh, Robin ! Yet I shed no tears. Humphrey, too, who had 
 been one of the duke's chirurgeons, he would also be surely 
 hanged if he were caught. Why, since all would be hanged, 
 why not hang mother and me as well, and so an end ? 
 
 About noon Barnaby began to stir; then he grunted and 
 went to sleep again ; presently he moved once more ; then he 
 rolled over on his broad back and went to sleep again. It was 
 not until the sun was quite low that he awoke, sitting up sud- 
 denly, and looking about him with quick suspicion, as one who 
 hath been sleeping in the country of an enemy or where wild 
 beasts are found. 
 
 Then he sprang to his feet and shook himself like a dog. 
 
 "Sister," he said, "thou shouldst have awakened me earlier. 
 I have slept all day. Well, we are safe so far." Here he looked 
 cautiously out of the linney towards the wood and the road. 
 
 " So far, I say, we are safe. I take it we had best not v/ait 
 until to-morrow, but budge to-night. For not only will the 
 troopers scour the country, but they will offer rewards, and the 
 gypsies, aye, and even the country folks, will hasten to give 
 information out of their greedy hearts. We must budge this, 
 very night." 
 
 " Whither shall we go, Barnaby ?" 
 
 He went on, as if he had not heard my question. 
 
 " AVe shall certainly be safe for to-night, but for to-morrow, 
 I doubt. Best not run the chance, for to-day their hands are 
 full ; they will be hanging the prisoners. Some they will hang 
 first, and try afterwards ; some they will try first and hang 
 afterwards. What odds if they are to be hanged in the end ? 
 The cider orchards never had such fruit as they will show this 
 autumn if the king prove revengeful, as to judge by his sour 
 face he will be." Here he cursed the king, his sour face, his 
 works and ways, his past, his present, and his future in round 
 language which I hope his wounded father did not hear. 
 
 " We must lie snug for a month or two somewhere until the 
 unlucky Monmouth men will be suffered to return home in peace. 
 Ay, 'twill be a month and more, I take it, before the country 
 will be left quiet. A month and more. And dad not able to 
 crawl." 
 8
 
 170 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Where shall we be snug, Barnaby ?" 
 
 "That, sister, is what I am trying to find out — how to lie 
 snug with a couple of women and a wounded man v/ho cannot 
 move. 'Twas madness of the poor old dad to bring thee to 
 the camp, child. For now we cannot — any of us — part com- 
 pany, and if we stay together 'twill maybe bring our necks to 
 the halter." 
 
 " Leave us, Barnaby," I said. " Oh, leave us to do what we 
 can for the poor sufferer, and save thyself." 
 
 " Ta, ta, ta, sister — knowest not what thou sayest. Let me 
 consider. There may be some way of safety. As for provisions, 
 now, we have the basket full, enough for two days, say. What 
 the plague did dad, the poor old man, want with women when 
 fighting was on hand ? When the fighting is done, I grant you, 
 women with the tobacco and punch are much in place. There 
 are some pretty songs, now, that I have heard about women and 
 drink." 
 
 " Barnaby, is this a time to be talking of such things as drink 
 and sinc:infj ?" 
 
 " All times are good. Nevertheless, all company is not fitting, 
 wherefore, sister, I say no more." 
 
 " Barnaby, knowest thou aught of Robin ? or of Humphrey ?" 
 
 " I know nothing. They may be dead ; they may be wounded 
 and prisoners ; much I fear, knowing the spirit of the lads, that 
 both are killed. Nay, I saw Iluniphrey before the fight, and he 
 spoke to me." 
 
 " What did Humphrey say ?" 
 
 " I asked why he hung his head and looked so glum, seeing 
 that we were at last going forth to meet the king's army. This 
 I said because I knew Humphrey to be a lad of mettle, though 
 his arm is thin and his body is crooked. ' I go heavy, Barnaby,' 
 he said, speaking low lest others should hear, ' because I see 
 plainly that unless some signal success come to us, this our busi- 
 ness will end badly.' Then he began to talk about the thou- 
 sands who were to have been raised all over the country ; how 
 he himself had brought to the duke promises of support gath- 
 ered all the way from London to Bradford Orcas ; and how his 
 friends in Holland were promised both men and arms, but none 
 of these promises had been kejit ; how dad had brought prom- 
 ises of support from all the Nonconformists of the west, but hard-
 
 FOR FAITU AND FREEDOM. 171 
 
 ]y any save at Taunton had come forward ; and how the army 
 was melting away, and no more recruits coming in. And then 
 he said that he had been the means of bringing so many to the 
 duke, that if they died their deaths would lie upon his conscience. 
 And he spoke lovingly of Robin and of thee, sister. And so we 
 parted and I saw him no more. As for what he said about suc- 
 cess, I minded it not a straw. Many a croaker turns out in the 
 long run to be brave in the fight. Doubtless he is dead ; and 
 Robin, too. Both are dead I take it, sister ; thou hast lost thy 
 sweetheart. Cry a little, my dear," he added, kindly. " 'Twill 
 ease the pain at thy heart. 'Tis natural for a woman to cry." 
 
 " I cannot cry, Barnaby. I wish I could — the tears rise to 
 my eyes, but my throat is dry." 
 
 "Try a prayer or two, sister. 'Twas wont to comfort the 
 heart of my mother when she was in trouble." 
 
 " A prayer, brother ? I have done nothing but pray since this 
 unfortunate rebellion began. A prayer ? Oh, I cannot pray. 
 If I were to pray now it would be as if my words were echoed 
 back from a wall of solid rock. AVe were praying all yesterday 
 — we made the Sabbath into a day of prayer without ceasing, 
 and the morning, when you opened the door, we were praising 
 and thanking God for the mercy of the great victory bestowed 
 upon us. And at that time the poor brave men — " 
 
 " Ay ! They were brave enough to the end," said Barnaby. 
 
 "The poor brave men lying cold and dead upon the field 
 (among them, maybe, Robin), and the prisoners huddled to- 
 gether somewhere, and men hanging already upon the gibbets. 
 We were praising God, and my father lying on the ground 
 stricken to death, and thou a fugitive, and all of us ruined. 
 Prayer ? How could I pray from such a pit of woe ?" 
 
 "Child" — my mother lifted her pale face — "in the darkest 
 hour pray without ceasing. Even if there happen a darker hour 
 than this, in everything by prayer and supplication with thanks- 
 giving let your requests be made known — with thanksgiving, my 
 daughter." 
 
 Alas ! I could not obey the apostolic order. 'Twas too much 
 for me. So we fell into silence. When the sun had quite 
 gone down, Barnaby went forth cautiously. Presently he came 
 back. 
 
 " There is no one on the road," he said ; " we may now go on
 
 172 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 our way. The air of Taunton is dangerous to us. It breeds 
 swift and fatal diseases. 1 have now resolved wliat to do. I 
 will lift my father upon the cart again and put in the pony. 
 Four or five miles sou' west or thereabouts is Black Down, which 
 is a No Man's Land. Thither will we go and hide in the combs, 
 where no one ever comes except the gypsies." 
 
 " How shall we live, Barnaby ?" 
 
 " That," he said, " we shall find out when we come to look 
 about us. There is provision for two days. The nights are 
 warm ; we shall find cover or make it with branches. There is 
 water in the brooks, and dry wood to burn. There we may, per- 
 haps, be safe. When the country is quiet we will make our way 
 across the hills to Bradford Orcas, where no one will molest you, 
 and I can go off to Bristol or Lyme, or wherever there are ships 
 to be found. When sailors are shipwrecked, sister, they do not 
 begin by asking what they shall do on dry land ; they ask only 
 to feel the stones beneath their feet. We must think of noth- 
 ing now but of a place of safety." 
 
 "Barnaby, are the open hills a proper place for a wounded 
 man ?" 
 
 "Why, child, for a choice between the hills and what else 
 may happen if we stay here, give me the hills, even for a wounded 
 man. But, indeed," he whispered, so that my mother should 
 not hear him, " he will die. Death is written on his face. I 
 know not how long he will live, but he must die. Never did 
 any man recover from such evil plight." 
 
 ' He harnessed the pony to the cart, which was little more than 
 a couple of planks laid side by side, just as he had brought him 
 from Taunton. My mother made a kind of pillow for him with 
 grass tied up in her kerchief, and so we hoped that he would 
 not feel the jogging of the cart. 
 
 " The stream," said Barnaby, " comes down from the hills. 
 Let us follow its course, but upward." 
 
 It was a broad stream with a shallow bed, for the most part 
 flat and pebbly, and on either side of the stream lay a strip of 
 soft turf broad enough for the cart to run upon, so that as 
 long as that lasted we had very easy going ; my mother and I 
 walking one on each side so as to steady the pillow, and keep 
 the poor head upon it from pain. But whether we went easy 
 or whether we went rough, that head made no sign of feeling
 
 "I went to the ponys head, ami Barnahy, going behind the cart, lifted 
 it over the rough plme», and sometimes carried his end of it'"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 173 
 
 auglit, and lay, just as in the linney, as if dead. Once it had 
 spoken ; now it was silent again. 
 
 I cannot tell how long we went on beside that streara. 'Twas 
 in a wild, uncultivated country ; the ground ascended ; the stream 
 became narrower and swifter ; presently the friendly strip of 
 turf failed altogether, and then we had trouble to keep the cart 
 from upsetting. I went to the pony's head, and Barnaby, going 
 behind the cart, lifted it over the rough places and sometimes 
 carried his end of it. The night was chilly, my feet were wet 
 with splashing in the brook, and I was growing faint with hun- 
 ger when Barnaby called a halt. 
 
 " We are now," he said, " at the head of the stream. In 
 half an hour or thereabouts it will be break of day. Let us 
 rest. Mother, you must eat something. Come, sister, 'tis late 
 for supper and full early for breakfast. Take some meat and 
 bread and half a cup of cider." 
 
 It is all I remember of that night. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE CAMP IN THE COMB. 
 
 Our camping-place, when I awoke in the morning, I found to 
 be near the head of a most beautiful comb or valley among the 
 Black Down Hills. I knew it not at the time, but it was not far 
 from that old Roman castle which we had passed on our way 
 to Taunton, called Castle Ratch. The hills rose steep on either 
 hand, their slopes hidden by trees. At our feet the brook took 
 its rise in a green quagmire. The birds were singing, and the 
 sun was already high and the air was warm, though there was a 
 fresh breeze blowing. The warmth and sweetness filled my soul 
 when I awoke, and I sat up with joy, until, suddenly, I remem- 
 bered why we were here, and who were here with me. Then my 
 heart sank like a lump of lead in water. I looked around. My 
 father lay just as he had been lying all the day before, motionless, 
 white of cheek, and as one dead, save for the slight motion of 
 his chest and the twitching of his nostril. As I looked at him 
 in the clear morning light it was borne in upon me very strong- 
 ly that he was indeed dead, inasmuch as his soul seemed to have
 
 174 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 fled ; he saw notliing, lie felt notliing ; if the flies crawled over' 
 his eyelids he made no sign of disturbance ; yet he breathed, 
 and from time to time he spoke, but as one that dreameth. Be- 
 side him lay my mother sleeping, worn out by the fatigues of 
 the night. Barnaby had laid his coat to cover her so that she 
 should not take cold, and he had piled a little heap of dead 
 leaves to make her a pillow. lie was lying at her feet, head on 
 arm, sleeping heavily. What should be done, I wondered, when 
 next he woke ? 
 
 First I went down the comb a little way till the stream was 
 deep enough, and there I bathed my feet, which were swollen 
 and bruised by the long walk up the comb. In the midst of this 
 misery I can remember the pleasure of dabbling my feet in the 
 cool water, and afterwards of walking about barefoot in the grass. 
 (I disturbed an adder which was sleeping on a flat stone in the 
 sun, and it lifted its venomous head and hissed, but did not spring 
 upon me.) Then I washed my face and hands and made my hair 
 as smooth as without a comb it was possible. When I had done 
 this I remembered that perhaps my father might be thirsty, or 
 at least able to drink, because he seemed no more to feel hunger 
 or thirst. So I filled the tin pannikin (it was Barnaby's) with 
 water, and tried to pour a little into his mouth. He seemed to 
 swallow it and I gave him a little more, until he would swallow 
 no more. (Observe that he took no other nourishment than 
 wine or milk or a few drops of broth until the end.) So I cov- 
 ered his face with a handkerchief to keep off the flies, and left 
 him. Then I looked into the basket. All that there was in it 
 would not be more than enough for Barnaby's breakfast, unless 
 his appetite should fail him for fear of being captured. There 
 was in it a piece of bacon, a large loaf of bread, a lump of 
 cheese, and half a bottle of cider — nothing more. When these 
 provisions were done, what next ? Could we venture into the 
 nearest village and buy food ? Or to the first farmhouse ? Then 
 we might fall straight into the jaws of the enemy, who were 
 probably running over the whole country in search of the fugi- 
 tives. Could we buy without money ? Could we buy without 
 arousing suspicions ? If the people were well inclined to the Prot- 
 estant cause we might trust them. But how could we tell that ? 
 So in my mind I turned over everything except the one thing 
 which might have proved our salvation, and that you shall hear
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. l75 
 
 directly. Also, which was a very strange thing, I quite forgot 
 that I had tied by a string round my waist and well concealed 
 Barnaby's bag of gold — two hundred and fifty pieces. There 
 was money enough and to sjoare. I discovered next that our pony 
 had run away in the night. The cart was there, but no pony to 
 drag it. AVell ; it was not much, but it seemed an additional 
 burden to bear. I ventured a little way up the valley, following 
 a sheep track which mounted higher and higher. I saw no sign 
 anywhere of man's presence ; it is marked in woods by circles 
 of burnt cinders, by trees felled, by bundles of broom or fern 
 tied up ; or by shepherds' huts ! Here there was nothing at all ; 
 you would have said that the place had never been visited by 
 man. Presently I came to a place where the woods ceased, the 
 last of the trees being much stunted and blown over from the 
 west ; and then the toj) of the hill began, not a sharp peak or 
 point, but a great open plain swelling out here and flat there, 
 with many of the little hillocks which people say are ancient 
 tombs. And no trees at all, but only bare turf, so that one could 
 see a great w^ay off. But there was no sign of man anywhere ; 
 no smoke in the comb at my feet ; no shepherd on the hill. At 
 this juncture of our fortunes any stranger might be an enemy. 
 Therefore I returned so far well pleased. 
 
 Bavnaby was now awake, and was inspecting the basket of pro- 
 visions. 
 
 " Sister," he said, " we must go upon half rations for break- 
 fast, but I hope, unless my skill fails, to bring you something 
 better for supper. The bread you shall have and mother. The 
 bacon may keep till to-morrow. The cider you had better keep 
 against such times as you feel worn out and want a cordial, 
 though a glass of Nantz were better, if Nantz grew in the woods." 
 He looked around as if to see whether a miracle would not pro- 
 vide him with a flask of strong drink, but seeing none, shook his 
 head. 
 
 " As for me," he wxnt on, " I am a sailor and I understand how 
 to forage. Therefore, yesterday morning I took the liberty of 
 dropping the shank of the ham into my pocket. Now you shall 
 see." 
 
 He produced this delicate morsel, and sitting down began to 
 gnaw and to bite into the bone with his strong teeth, exactly like 
 a dog. This he continued with every sign of satisfaction for a
 
 176 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 quarter of an hour or so, when he desisted and rejslaced the bone 
 in his pocket. 
 
 " We throw away the hones," he said. " The dogs gnaw them 
 and devour them. Think you that it is for their amusement? 
 Not so ; but for the juices and the nourishment that are in and 
 around the bone ; for the marrow and for the meat that still will 
 stick in odd corners." He went down to the stream with the 
 pannikin and drank a cup or two of Avater to finish what they 
 call a horse's meal, namely, the food first and the water after- 
 wards. 
 
 " And now," he said, " I have breakfasted. It is true that I 
 am still hungry, but I have eaten enough to carry me on a while. 
 Many a poor lad cast away on a desert shore would find the 
 shank of a ham a meal fit for a king — ay — and a meal or two 
 after that. I shall make a dinner presently off this bone. And 
 I shall still keep it against a time when there may be no pro- 
 vision left." 
 
 " And now," he said, looking around him, " let us consider. 
 The troopers, I take it, are riding along the roads. Whether 
 they will ride over these hills I know not, but I think they 
 will not, because their horses cannot well ride up these combs. 
 Certainly, if they do, it will not be by the way we came. We 
 are here, therefore, hidden away snug. Why should we budge ? 
 Nowhere is there a more deserted part of the country than 
 Slack Down, on whose side we are. And I do not think, fur- 
 ther, that we should find anywhere a safer place to hide our- 
 selves in than this comb, where, I dare to say, no one comes un- 
 less it be the gypsies or the broomsquires all the year round. 
 And now they are all laden with the spoil of the army ; for 
 after a battle this gentry swoop down upon the field like the 
 great birds which I have seen in India upon the carcasses of 
 drowned beasts, and plunder the dead. Next they must go into 
 towns in order to sell their booty : then they will be fain to 
 drink about till all is spent : so they will leave us undisturbed. 
 Therefore, we will stay here, sister. First I will go try the old 
 tricks by which I did often in the olden time improve the fare 
 at home. Next I will devise some way of making a more com- 
 fortable resting-place. Thank the Lord for fine weather so far." 
 
 lie was gone a couple of hours. During that time my mother 
 awoke. Her mind was broken by the suddenness of this trouble,
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 177 
 
 and she cared no more to speak, sitting still by tlic side of lier hus- 
 band and watching for any change in him. But I persuaded 
 her to take a little bread and a cup of cider. 
 
 When Barnaby came back he brought with him a blackbird, a 
 thrush, and two wood-pigeons. He had not forgotten the tricks 
 of his boyhood, when he would often bring home a rabbit, a hare, 
 or trout, which he caught with a pin or with his hand, tickling 
 them. So that my chief terror, that we might be forced to aban- 
 don our hiding-place through sheer hunger, was removed. But 
 Barnaby was full of all kinds of devices. 
 
 lie then set to work with his great knife, cutting down a quan- 
 tity of green branches, which he laid out side by side with their 
 leaves on, and then.bound them together, cleverly interlacing the 
 smaller shoots and branches with each other, so that he made a 
 long kind of hurdle about six feet high. This, which by reason 
 of the leaves was almost impervious to the wind, he disposed 
 round the trunks of three young trees growing near each other. 
 Thus he made a small three-cornered enclosure. Again, he cut 
 other and thicker branches, and laid them over and across this 
 hurdle, and cut turf, which he placed upon the branches, so that 
 here was now a hut with a roof and walls complete. Said I not 
 that Barnaby waS full of devices ? 
 
 " There," he said, when all was ready, '' is a house for you. 
 It will have to rain hard and long before the water begins to 
 drop through the branches which make the roof and the slabs 
 of turf. Well, 'tis a shelter. Not so comfortable as the old 
 cottage, perhaps, but nearly as commodious. If it is not a pal- 
 ace, it will serve us to keep o£E the sun by day and the dew by 
 night." 
 
 Next he gathered a great quantity of dry fern, dead leaves, 
 and heather ; and these he disposed within the hut so that they 
 made a thick and warm carpet or covering. Nay, at night they 
 even formed a covering for the feet, and prevented one from 
 feeling cold. When all was done, he lifted my father gently, 
 and laid him with great tenderness upon the carpet within the 
 rude shelter, 
 
 "This shall be a warmer night for thee than the last, dad," 
 
 he said. " There shall be no jolting of thy poor bones. What, 
 
 mother? We can live here till the cold weather comes. The 
 
 wind will perhaps blow a bit through the leaves to-night, but not 
 
 8* M
 
 178 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 much, and to-morrow I will sec to that. Be easy in your mind 
 about the provisions " — alas ! my poor mother was thinking of 
 anything in the world except the provisions — " there are rabbits 
 and birds in plenty, we can eat them ; bread we must do with- 
 out when what we have is gone ; and as for strong drink and 
 tobacco " — he sighed heavily — " they will come again when bet- 
 ter times are served out." 
 
 In these labors I helped as much as I was able, and particu- 
 larly in twisting the branches together, and thus the whole day 
 passed, not tediously, and without any alarms, the labor being 
 cheered by the hopefulness of Barnaby's honest face. No one, 
 to look at that face, could believe that he was tlying for his life, 
 and would be hanged if he were caught. After sunset we lit a 
 fire, but a small one only, and well hidden by the woods, so that 
 its light might not be seen from below. Then Barnaby dexter- 
 ously plucked and trussed the birds, and roasted them in the 
 embers, so that, had my heart been at rest, I should have had a 
 most delicious supper. And I confess that I did begin to pluck 
 up a little courage, and to hope that we might yet escape, and 
 that Robin might be living. After supper my mother prayed, 
 and I could join with more of resignation and something of faith. 
 Alas ! in times of trial, how easily doth the Christian fall from 
 faith ! The day before prayer seemed to me a mockery ; it was 
 as if all prayer were addressed to a deaf God, or to one who 
 will not hear ; for our prayers had all been for safety and vic- 
 tory, and we were suddenly answered with disaster and defeat. 
 
 After supper Barnaby sat beside the embers and began to 
 talk in a low voice. 
 
 " 'Twill be a sorrowful barley-mow song this year," he said ; 
 " a dozen brave lads from Bradford alone will be dead." 
 
 " Not all dead, Barnaby. Oh, not all !" 
 
 " I know not. Some are prisoners, some are dead, some are 
 running away." Then he began to sing, in a low voice, 
 
 " ' HcFe's a health to the barley-mow !' 
 
 " I remember, sister, when I would run a mile to hear that 
 song, though my father flogged me for it in the morning. 'Tis 
 the best song ever written." He went on singing, in a kind of 
 whisper, 
 
 " ' We'll drink it out of the nipperkin, boys.'
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 179 
 
 "Robin was a fcamous liand at singing it, but Ilumpbrey found 
 the words too rustical. Humphrey was ever for fine words, like 
 Mr. Boscorel. 
 
 " ' We'll drink it out of the jolly brown bowl.' 
 
 " I think I see him now — poor Robin ! Well, he is no more. 
 He used to laugh in all our faces while he sang it. 
 
 " ' We'll drink it out o' the river, my boys ; 
 
 Here's a health to the barley-mow ! 
 
 The river, the well, the pipe, the hogshead, the half-hogshead, the anker, 
 the half-anker, the gallon, the pottle, the quart, the pint, the half- 
 pint, the quarter-pint, the nipperkin, the jolly brown bowl, my boys. 
 
 Ilere's a health to the barley-mow !' " 
 
 He trolled out the song in a melodious whisper. Oh, Bar- 
 naby, how didst thou love good companionship, with singing and 
 drinking ! 
 
 " 'Twill be lonely for thee, sister, at Bradford, when thou dost 
 return. Sir Christopher, I take it, will not long hold up his 
 head, and madam will pine away for the loss of Robin, and 
 mother looks as if she would follow after, so white and wan is 
 she to look at. If she would speak or complain or cry it would 
 comfort her, poor soul ! 'Twas a sad day for her when she 
 married the poor old dad. Poverty and hard work, and now a 
 cruel end to her marriage — poor mother !" 
 
 " Barnaby, you tear my heart." 
 
 " Nay, child, 'tis better to talk than to keep silence. Better 
 have your heart torn than be choked with your pain. Thou art 
 like unto a man who hath a wounded leg, and if he doth not 
 consent to have it cut off, though the anguish be sharp, he will 
 presently bleed to death. Say to thyself, therefore, plain and 
 clear, ' Robin is dead ; I have lost my sweetheart,' " 
 
 " No ! no ! Barnaby, I cannot say those cruel words. Oh, 
 I cannot say them, I cannot feel that Robin is truly dead." 
 
 " Put the case that he is living. Then he is either a prisoner 
 or he is in hiding. If a prisoner, he is as good as dead, because 
 the duke's officers and the gentlemen who joined him they will 
 never forgive, that is quite certain. If I were a prisoner I should 
 feel my neck already tightened. If he is not a prisoner, where 
 is he to hide ? whither betake himself ? I can get sailors' duds, 
 and go abroad before the mast, and ten to one nobody will find 
 me out ; because, d'ye see, I can talk the sailors' language, and
 
 180 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 I know tlieir manners and customs. But Robin — wliat is Robin 
 to do ? Best say to thyself, ' I have lost my sweetheart.' So 
 wilt thou all the sooner recover thy cheerfulness." 
 
 *' Barnaby, you know not what you say. Alas ! if my Robin 
 is dead, if my boy is truly dead, then I ask for nothing more 
 than swift death, speedy death, to join him and be with him." 
 
 " If he escape, he will make for Bradford Orcas, and hide in 
 the Gorton woods. That is quite certain. They always make 
 for home. I would that we were in that friendly place, so that 
 you could go live in the cottage, and bring provisions, with to- 
 bacco, to us, unsuspected and unseen. When we have rested here 
 awhile we will push across the hills, and try to get along by 
 night ; but it is a weary way to drag that wounded man. IIow- 
 ever — " he broke off, and said, earnestly, " Make up thy mind, 
 child, to the worst. 'Tis as if a shipwrecked man should hope 
 that enough of the ship would float to carry him home withal. 
 Make up thy mind. We are all ruined and lost — all — all — all. 
 Thy father is dying ; thy lover is dead ; thou art thyself in great 
 danger by reason of that affair at Taunton. Everything being 
 gone, turn round, therefore, and make thyself as comfortable as 
 possible. AVhat will happen we know not. Therefore count 
 every day of safety for gain, and every meal for a respite." 
 
 He was silent for a while, leaving me to think over what he 
 had said. Here, indeed, was a philosopher. Things being all 
 lost, and our affairs in a desperate condition, we were to turn 
 round and make ourselves as comfortable as we could. This, I 
 suppose, is what sailors are wont to do ; certainly they are a folk 
 more exposed to misfortune than others, and therefore, perhaps, 
 more ready to make the best of whatever happens. 
 
 " Barnaby," I said, presently, " how can I turn round and 
 make myself comfortable ?" 
 
 " The evening is still," he said, without replying. " See, there 
 is a bat, and there another. U it were not for the trouble in 
 there " — he pointed to the hut — " I should be easy in my mind 
 and contented. I could willingly live here a twelvemonth. Why, 
 compared with the lot of the poor devils who must now be in 
 prison, what is ours? They get the foul and stinking drink, 
 with bad food, in the midst of wounded men whose hurts are 
 putrefying, with jail fever, and with the whipping-post or the 
 gallows to come. We breathe sweet air ; we find suflScient food.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 181 
 
 To-morrow, if I know any of the signs, thou shalt taste a roasted 
 hedgehog, disli fit for a king, I found at the bottom of the 
 comb a pot left by some gypsies. Thou shalt have boiled sor- 
 rel and mushrooms to thy supper. If we stay here long enough 
 there will be nuts and blackberries and whortleberries. Pity, 
 a thousand pities, there is not a drop of drink. I dream of 
 punch and hipsy. Think upon what remains, even if thou canst 
 not bear to think of what is lost. Hast ever seen a tall ship 
 founder in the waves ? They close over her as she sinks, and 
 in an instant it is as if that tall ship, with all her crew, had never 
 been in existence at all. The army of Monmouth is scattered 
 and ruined. Well, it is with us, midst these woods, just as if 
 there had been no army. It has been a dream, perhaps. Who 
 can tell ? sometimes all the past seems to me to have been a 
 dream. And the future is a dream. But the present we have. 
 Let us be content therewith." 
 
 lie spoke slowly, and with measured accents, as one enchanted. 
 
 " It is ten years and more since last I breathed the air of the 
 hills. I knew not that I loved so much the woods and valleys 
 and the streams. Some day, if I survive this adventure, I will 
 build me a hut and live here, alone in the woods. Why, if I 
 were alone, I should have an easy heart. If I were driven out 
 of one place I could find another. I am in no hurry to get down 
 among men and towns. Let us all stay here and be happy. 
 But there is dad — who lives not, yet is not dead. Sister, be 
 thankful for thy safety in the woods, and think not too much 
 upon the dead." 
 
 We lived in this manner, the weather being for the most 
 part fine and warm, but with showers now and then, for a fort- 
 night or thereabouts, no one coming up the comb and there be- 
 ing still no sign of man's presence in the hills. Our daily fare 
 consisted of the wild birds snared by Barnaby, such creatures 
 as rabbits, hedgehogs, and the like, which he caught by ingen- 
 ious ways, and trout from the brook, which he caught with a 
 twisted pin very dexterously ; there were also mushrooms and 
 edible leaves, such as the nettle, wild sorrel, and the like, of which 
 he knew ; these we boiled and ate. He also plucked the half- 
 ripe blackberries and boiled them to make a sour drink that 
 would grip his throat, because he could not endure plain cold 
 water. And he made out of the bones of the birds a kind of
 
 182 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 thin brotli for my father, of which he daily swallowed a tea- 
 spoonful or so. So that we fared well, if not sumptuously. 
 The bread, to be sure, which Barnaby left for mother and me, 
 was coming to the last crust, and I know not how we should 
 have got more without venturing into the nearest village. 
 
 Now as I talked every night with my brother I found out 
 what a brave and simple soul it was ; always cheerful and hope- 
 ful, talking always as if we were the most fortunate people in 
 the world, instead of the most miserable, and yet, by keeping 
 the truth before me, preventing me from getting into another 
 fool's paradise as to our safety and Robin's escape, such as that 
 into which I had fallen after the army marched out of Taunton. 
 I understand now that he was always thinking how to smooth 
 and soften things for me, so that I might not go distracted with 
 anxiety and grief, finding work for me, talking to me about 
 other things — in short, the most thoughtful and affectionate 
 brother in all the world. As for my mother, he could do noth- 
 ing to move her. She still sat beside her wounded husband, 
 watching all day long for any sign of consciousness or change. 
 
 Seeing that Barnaby was so good and gentle a creature, 1 
 could not understand how it was that in the old time he used 
 to get a flogging most days for some offence or other, so that I 
 had grown up to believe him a very wicked boy indeed. I put 
 this question to him one night. 
 
 He put it aside for a while, replying in his own fashion. 
 
 *' I remember dad," he said, " before thou canst, sister. He 
 was always thin and tall, and he always stooped as he walked. 
 But his hair, which now is white, was brown and fell in curls 
 which he could not straighten. He was always mighty grave ; no 
 one, I am sure, ever saw him laugh. I have never seen him so 
 much as smile except sometimes when he dandled thee upon his 
 knee, and thou wouldst amuse him with innocent prattle. All his 
 life he hath spent in finding out the way to heaven. I suppose 
 he hath truly discovered a way, and a mighty thorny and dif- 
 ficult way it is, so that I know not how any can succeed in 
 reaching that port by such navigation. The devil of it is, that 
 he believes there is no other way ; and he seemed never so hap- 
 py as when he had found another trap or pitfall to catch the 
 unwary and send them straight to hell. 
 
 " For my part," Barnaby went on, slowly, " I could never love
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 183 
 
 such a life. Let others, if they will, find out the rough and 
 craggy ways to heaven. For my part, I am content to go along 
 the plain and smooth high-road with the rest of mankind, 
 though it lands us at a lower place in heaven. AVell, I dare 
 say I shall find mates, and we will be as comfortable as we can. 
 Let my father find out what is coming in the other world ; let 
 me take what comes in this. Some of it is sweet and some is 
 bitter, some of it makes us laugh and sing and dance, and 
 some makes us curse and swear and bellow out, as when one is 
 lashed to the hatches and the cat falls on his naked back. Some- 
 times, sister, I think the naked negroes of the West Coast the 
 happiest people in the world. Do they trouble their heads about 
 the way to heaven ? Not they. What comes they take, and 
 they ask no more. Has it made dad the happier to find out 
 how few are those who will sit beside him in heaven ? Not so , 
 he would have been happier if he had been a jolly ploughboy 
 whistling to his team, or a jolly sailor singing over his panni- 
 kin of drink of a Saturday night. He tried to make me follow 
 in his footsteps ; he flogged me daily in the hope of making 
 me take like himself to the trade of proving to people out of 
 the Holy Bible that they are surely damned. The more he 
 flogged the less I yearned after that trade, till at last I resolved 
 that, come what would, I would never thump a pulpit like him in 
 conventicle or church. Then, if you will believe me, sister, I grew 
 tired of flogging, which when it comes every day wearies a boy 
 at fourteen or fifteen more than you would think ; and one day 
 while I was dancing to the pipe and tabor with some of the 
 village girls, as bad luck would have it, dad came by. " Child of 
 Satan !" he cried, seizing me by the ear. Then to the girls, 
 " Your laughter shall be turned into mourning," and so lugged 
 me home and sent me supperless to bed with the promise of 
 such a flogging in the morning as should make all previous 
 floggings seem mere fleabites or joyous ticklings in comparison. 
 This decided me. So, in the dead of night, I crept softly down 
 the stairs, cut myself a great hunch of bread-and-cheese, and so 
 ran away and went to sea." 
 
 " Barnaby, was it well done — to run away ?" 
 
 " Well, sister, 'tis done, and if it was ill done, 'tis now, no 
 doubt, forgotten. Now, remember, I blame not my father ; be- 
 fore all things he would save my soul alive. That was why he
 
 184 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 flogged me. lie knew but one way, and along that way he 
 would drive me. So lie flogged me the harder. I blame him 
 not. Yet had I remained he would doubtless be flogging me still. 
 Xow, remember again, that ever since I understood anything I 
 have always been enraged to think upon the monstrous oppres- 
 sion which silenced him and brought us all to poverty, and made 
 my mother, a gentlewoman born, work her fingers to the bone, 
 and caused me to choose between being a beggarly scholar, 
 driven to teach brats and endure flouts and poverty, or to put 
 on an apron and learn a trade. Therefore, when I found that 
 Monmouth was going to hoist his flag, I came with him in order 
 to strike a blow, and I hoped a good blow too, at the oppressors." 
 
 " You have struck that blow, Barnaby ; and where are we ?" 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " We are in hiding. Some of the king's troopers did I make 
 to bite the dust. They may hang me for it if they will ; they 
 will not bring those troopers back to life. Well, sister, I am 
 sleepy. Good-night." 
 
 We might have continued this kind of life I know not how 
 much longer, certainly till the cold nights came. The weather 
 continued fine and warm ; the hut kept off dews at night ; we 
 lay warm among the heather and the ferns ; Barnaby found a 
 sufliciency of food ; my father grew no worse to outward seem- 
 ing, and we seemed in safety. 
 
 Then an ill chance and my own foolishness marred all. 
 
 One day in the afternoon, Barnaby being away looking after 
 his snares and gins, I heard lower down the comb voices of 
 boys talking. This affrighted me terribly. The voices seemed 
 to be drawing nearer. Now, if the children came up as high as 
 our encampment they could not fail to see the signs of habita- 
 tion. There was the hut among the trees and the iron pot 
 standing among the gray embers of last night's fire. The cart 
 stood on one side. We could not possibly remain hidden. If 
 they should come up so far and find us they would certainly 
 carry the report of us down to the village. 
 
 I considered, therefore, what to do, and then ran quickly down 
 the comb, keeping among the trees so as not to be seen. 
 
 After a little I discovered a little way off a couple of boys 
 about nine years of age. They were common village boys, rosy- 
 faced and wholesome ; they carried a basket and they were
 
 " ' Boys,' I said, 'beware! if you go Jiigher up the comb you will certainly 
 meet wild men, who always rob and beat boys.'"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 185 
 
 slowly making their way up the stream, stopping now to throw 
 a stone at a squirrel, and now to dam the running water, and 
 now looking to find a nut or filbert ripe enough to be eaten. 
 By the basket which they carried I knew that they were come 
 in search of whortleberries, for which purpose they would have 
 to get quite to the end of the comb and the top of the hill. 
 
 Therefore I stepped out of the wood and asked them whence 
 they came and whither they were going. 
 
 They told me in the broadest Somersetshire (the language 
 which I love and would willingly have written this book in it, 
 but for the unfortunate people who cannot understand it) that 
 they were sent by their parents to get whortleberries, and that 
 they came from the little village of Corfe, two miles down the 
 valley. This was all they had to say, and they stared at me as 
 shyly as if they had never before encountered a stranger. I 
 clearly perceive now that I ought to have engaged them in con- 
 versation and drawn them gently down the valley in the direc- 
 tion of their village until we reached the first appearance of a 
 road, when I could have bidden them farewell or sent them up 
 the hill by another comb. But I was so anxious that they 
 should not come up any higher that I committed a great mis- 
 take and warned them against going on. 
 
 "Boys," I said, "beware! If you go higher up the comb 
 you will certainly meet wild men * who always rob and beat 
 boys" — here they trembled, though they had not a penny in 
 the world. " Ay, boys, and sometimes have been known to mur- 
 der them. Turn back — turn back — and come no further." 
 
 The boys were very much frightened, partly at the apparition 
 of a stranger where they expected to find no one, and partly at 
 the news of wild and murderous men in a place where they had 
 never met with any one at all, unless it might have been a gypsy 
 camp. After gazing at me stupidly for a little while they 
 turned and ran away as fast as their legs could carry them, 
 down the comb. 
 
 I watched them running, and when they were out of sight I 
 went back again, still disquieted, because they might return. 
 
 When I told Barnaby in the evening, he, too, was uneasy. 
 For, he said, the boys would spread abroad the report that there 
 were people in the valley. What people could they be but fu- 
 gitives ?
 
 186 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Sister," he said, " to-morrow morning must we change our 
 quarters. On the other side of the hills looking south or to the 
 east in Neroche Forest we may make another camp and be still 
 more secluded. For to-night I think Ave are in safety." 
 
 What happened was exactly as Barnaby thought. For the 
 lads ran home and told everybody that up in the comb there 
 were wild men who robbed and murdered people ; that a lady had 
 come out of the wood and warned them to go no further lest 
 they should be robbed and murdered. They were certain it 
 was a lady and not a country woman, nor was it a witch, nor a 
 fairy or elf, of whom there are many on Black Down. No, it 
 was a young lady. 
 
 This strange circumstance naturally set the villagers a-talking ; 
 they talked about it at the inn whither they nightly repaired. 
 
 In ordinary times they might have talked about it to their 
 heart's content and no harm done, but in these times talk was 
 dangerous. In every little village there are one or two whose 
 wits are sharper than the rest, and therefore they do instigate 
 whatever mischief is done in that village. At Corfe the cobbler 
 it was who did the mischief. For he sat thinking while the 
 others talked, and he presently began to understand that there 
 was more in this than his fellows imagined. He knew the hills ; 
 there were no wild men upon them who would rob and murder 
 two simple village boys ; gypsies there were, and broom-squires 
 sometimes, and hedge-tearers, but murderers of boys, none. And 
 who was the young lady ? Then he guessed the whole truth. 
 There were people lying hidden in the comb ; if people hidden, 
 they were Monmouth's rebels. A reward would be given for 
 their capture. Fired with this thought, he grasped his cudgel 
 and walked off to the village of Orchard Portman where, as he 
 had heard, there was a company of grenadiers sent out to scour 
 the country. He laid his information and received the jiromise 
 of reward. He got that reward in short, but nothing prospered 
 with him afterwards. Ilis neighbors, who were all for Mon- 
 mouth, learned what he had done and shunned him ; he grew 
 moody, he fell into poverty, Avho had been a thriving tradesman, 
 and he died in a ditch. The judgments of the Lord are some- 
 times swift and sometimes slow, yet they are always sure. Who 
 can forget the dreadful end of Tom Boihnan, as he was called, 
 the only wretch who could be found to cut up the limbs of the
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 187 
 
 liangod men and dip tliem in tlic caldrons of pitch? For lie 
 was struck dead by lightning — an awful instance of the wrath 
 of God. 
 
 Early next morning, about five of the clock, I sat before the 
 hut in the shade, Barnaby was up and had gone to look at his 
 snares. Suddenly I heard steps below, and the sound as of 
 weapons clashing against each other. Then a man came into 
 sight — a fellow he was with a leathern apron, who stood gazing 
 about him. There was no time for me to hide, because he im- 
 mediately saw me and shouted to them behind him to come on 
 quickly. Then a dozen soldiers, all armed, ran out of the wood 
 and made for the hut. 
 
 " Gentlemen," I cried, running to meet them. " Whom seek 
 you f ' 
 
 " Who are you ?" asked one who seemed to be a sertreant 
 over them. " Why are you in hiding ?" 
 
 Then a thought struck me. I know not if I were wise or 
 foolish. 
 
 " Sir," I replied. " My father it is true was Avith the Duke 
 of Monmouth, but he was wounded and now lies dead in this 
 hut. You will suffer us to bury our dead in peace." 
 
 " Dead, is he ? That will we soon see." 
 
 So saying, he entered the hut and looked at the prostrate form. 
 He lifted one hand and let it drop. It fell like the hand of one 
 who is recently dead. He bent over the body and laid his hand 
 upon the forehead. It was cold as death. The lips were pale 
 as wax and the cheeks were white. He opened an eye ; there 
 was no expression or light in it. 
 
 " Humph !" he said. " He seems dead. How did he come 
 here ?" 
 
 " My mother and I drove him here for safety in yonder cart. 
 The pony hath run away." 
 
 "That may be so. That may be so. He is dressed in a 
 cassock. What is his name ?" 
 
 " He was Dr. Comfort Eykin, an ejected minister and preacher 
 in the duke's army." 
 
 " A prize if he had been alive." Then a sudden suspicion 
 seized him. He had in his hand a drawn sword. He pointed 
 it at the breast of the dead man. " If he be truly dead," he 
 said, "another wound will do him no harm. Wherefore" — he
 
 188 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 made as if he would drive tlic sword tlirougli my father's breast, 
 and my mother shrieked and threw herself across the body. 
 
 " So," he said, with a horrid grin, " I find that he is not dead, 
 but only wounded. My lads, here is one of Monmouth's preach- 
 ers. But he is sore wounded." 
 
 " Oh !" I cried. " For the love of God suffer him to die in 
 peace." 
 
 " Ay, ay, he shall die in peace, I promise you so much. 
 Meanwhile, madam, we will take better care of him in Ilminster 
 Jail than you can do here. The air is raw upon these hills." 
 The fellow had a glib tongue and a mocking manner. " You 
 have none of the comforts which a wounded man requires. They 
 are all to be found in Ilminster prison, whither we shall carry 
 him. There will he have nothing to think about, with every- 
 thing found for him. Madam, your father will be well bestowed 
 with us." 
 
 At that moment I heard the footsteps of Barnaby crunching 
 among the brushwood. 
 
 " Fly, Barnaby, fly," I shrieked. " The enemy is upon us." 
 
 He did not fly. He came running. He rushed upon the 
 soldiers and hurled this man one way and that man another, 
 swinging his long arms like a pair of cudgels. Had he had a 
 cudgel I believe he Avould have sent them all flying. But he 
 had nothing except his arms and his fists. And in a minute or 
 two the soldiers had surrounded him, each with a bayonet pointed, 
 and such a look in every man's eye as meant murder had Bar- 
 naby moved. 
 
 " Surrender," said the sergeant. 
 
 Barnaby looked -around leisurely. 
 
 " Well," he said, " I suppose I must. As for my name, it is 
 Barnaby Eykin, and for my rank, captain in the Green Regiment 
 of the duke's valiant army." 
 
 " Stop," said the sergeant, drawing a paper from his pocket. 
 
 " Captain Eykin," he began to read, " has been a sailor. Rolls 
 in his walk. Height about five foot five. Very broad in the 
 shoulders. Long in the arms, of great strength." 
 
 " That is so," said Barnaby, complacently. 
 
 " Bandy legs." 
 
 "Brother," said Barnaby, "is that so writ?" 
 
 " It is so, captain."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 189 
 
 " I did not think," said Bnrnaby, " that the malignity of the 
 enemy would be carried so far. Bandy legs ! Yet you see — 
 Well, fall in, sergeant. We are your prisoners. Bandy legs !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 JUDGE JEFFREYS. 
 
 How can I tell — oh, how can I sit down to tell in cold 
 blood the story of all that followed ! Some parts of it for very 
 pity I must pass over. All that has been told or written of the 
 Bloody Assize is most true, and yet not half that happened can 
 be told. There are things, I mean, which the historian cannot 
 for the sake of pity, decency, and consideration for living peo- 
 ple relate, even if he hath seen them. You who read the printed 
 page may learn how in one place so many were hanged ; in an- 
 other place so many ; how some were hanged in gemmaces, so that 
 at every cross-road there was a frightful gibbet with a dead man 
 on it ; how some died of small-pox in the crowded prisons, and 
 some of fever ; and how Judge Jeffreys rode from town to town 
 followed by gangs of miserable prisoners driven after him to 
 stand their trial in towns where they would be known ; how 
 the wretched sufferers were drawn and quartered, and their limbs 
 seethed in pitch and stuck up over the whole country ; how the 
 women and boys of tender years were flogged through market 
 towns — you, I say, who read these things on the cold page pres- 
 ently (even if you be a stickler for the right divine and hold 
 rebellion as a mortal sin) feel your blood to boil with righteous 
 wrath. The hand of the Lord was afterwards heavy upon those 
 who ordered these things ; nay, at the very time (this is a most 
 remarkable judgment) when this inhuman judge was thunder- 
 ing at his victims, so that some went mad and even dropped 
 down dead with fear, he was himself, as Humphrey hath told 
 me, suffering the most horrible pain from a dire disease, so that 
 the terrors of his voice and of his fiery eyes were partly due to 
 the agony of his disease, and he was enduring, all through that 
 assize, in his own body pangs greater than any that he ordered. 
 As for his miserable end and the fate that overtook his master, 
 that we know, and candid souls cannot but confess that here
 
 190 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 were truly judgments of God visible for all to see and acknowl- 
 edge. But no pen can truly depict what the eye saw and the 
 ear heard during that terrible time. And, think you, if it was 
 a terrible and a wretched time for those who had no relations 
 among the rebels, and only looked on and saw these bloody exe- 
 cutions, and heard th.e lamentations of the poor women who lost 
 their lovers or their husbands, what must it have been for me 
 and those like me, whose friends and all whom they loved — yea, 
 all — all were overwhelmed in one common ruin and expected 
 nothing but death ? 
 
 Our own misery I cannot truly set forth. Sometimes the 
 memory of it comes back to me, and it is as if long afterwards 
 one should feel again the sharpness of the surgeon's knife. 
 Oh, since I must write down what happened, let me be brief. 
 And you who read it, if you find the words cold where you 
 would have looked for fire — if you find no tears where there 
 should have been weeping and wailing — remember that in the 
 mere writing have been shed again (but these you cannot see) 
 tears which belonged to that time, and in the writing have been 
 renewed, but these you cannot hear, the sobbings and wailings 
 and terrors of that dreadful autumn. 
 
 The soldiers belonged to a company of grenadiers of Tre- 
 lawny's Regiment, stationed at Ilminster, whither they carried 
 the prisoners. First they handcuffed Barnaby, but on his giving 
 his parole not to escape they let him go free, and he proved use- 
 ful in the handling of the cart on which my unhappy father lay. 
 And though the soldiers' talk was ribald, their jests unseemly, 
 and their cursing and swearing seemed verily to invite the wrath 
 of God, yet they proved honest fellows in the main. They of- 
 fered no rudeness to us, nor did they object to our going with 
 the prisoners ; nay, they even gave us bread and meat and cider 
 from their own provisions when they halted for dinner at noon. 
 Barnaby walked sometimes with the soldiers and sometimes with 
 us ; with them he talked freely, and as if he were their comrade 
 and not their prisoner ; for us he put in a word of encourage- 
 ment or consolation, such as, " Mother, we shall find a way out of 
 this coil yet," or " Sister, we shall cheat Tom Hangman. Look 
 not so gloomy upon it ;" or, again, he reminded us that many a 
 shipwrecked sailor gets safe ashore, and that where there are so 
 many they cannot hang all — would the king, he asked, hang up
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 191 
 
 the whole county of Somerset ? But he had already told me 
 too much. In his heart I knew he had small hope of escape. 
 Yet he preserved his cheerfulness and walked towards his prison 
 (to outward seeming) as insensible of fear and with as uncon- 
 cerned a countenance as if he were going to a banquet or a wed- 
 ding. This cheerfulness of his was due to a happy confidence 
 in the ordering of things, rather than to insensibility. A sailor 
 sees men die in many ways, yet himself remains alive. This 
 gives him something of the disposition of the Orientalist, who 
 accepts his fate with outward unconcern whatever it may be. 
 Perhaps (I know not) there may have been in his mind that 
 reliffious assurance of which he told me. Did Barnabv at this 
 period, when death was very near unto him, really believe that 
 there was one religion for landsmen and another for sailors ? 
 one way to heaven for ministers, another for seamen ? Indeed, 
 I cannot tell ; yet how otherwise account for his courage and 
 cheerfulness at all times, even in the very presence of death ? 
 
 '' Brother," he asked the sergeant, " we have been lying hid 
 for a fortnight and have heard no news. Tell me, how go the 
 hangings ?" 
 
 " Why, captain," the fellow replied, with a grin, " in this re- 
 spect there is little for the rebels to complain of. They ought 
 to be satisfied, so far, with the attentions paid to them. Lord 
 Feversham hanged twenty odd to begin with. Caj^tain Adlaw 
 and three others are trussed up in chains for their greater honor ; 
 and, in order to put the rest in good heart, one of them ran a 
 race with a horse, being promised his life if he should w'in. 
 When he had beaten the horse, his lordship, who was ever a 
 merry man, ordered him to be hanged just to laugh at him. 
 And hanged he was." 
 
 " Ay," said Barnaby, " thus do the Indians in America tort- 
 ure their prisoners first and kill them afterwards." 
 
 " There are two hundred prisoners lying in Weston Zoyland 
 church," the sergeant went on ; " they would have been hanged 
 too, but the bishop interfered. Now they are waiting to be 
 tried. Lord ! what signifies trial, except to give them longer s 
 rope?" 
 
 " Ay, ay ; and how go things in Bridgwater and Taunton ?" 
 
 " From Weston to Bridgwater there is a line of gibbets al- 
 ready ; in Taunton twenty, I believe, have swung — twenty, at
 
 192 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 least. The drums beat, the fifes played, and the trumpets 
 sounded, and Colonel Kirte drank to the health of every man 
 (such was his condescension) before he was turned off. 'Twould 
 have done your heart good, captain, only to see the brave show." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Barnaby ; " very like, very like. Perhaps I 
 shall have the opportunity of playing first part in another brave 
 show if all goes well. Hath the duke escaped ?" 
 
 " We heard yesterday that he is taken somewhere near the 
 New Forest. So that he will before long lay his lovely head 
 upon the block. Captain, your friends have brought their pigs 
 to a pretty market." 
 
 " They have, brother, they have," replied Barnaby, with un- 
 moved countenance. " Yet many a man hath recovered from 
 worse straits than these." 
 
 I listened with sinking heart. Much I longed to ask if the 
 sergeant knew aught of Robin, but I refrained lest merely to 
 name him might put the soldiers on the lookout for him, should 
 he (happily) be in hiding. 
 
 Next the sergeant told us (which terrified me greatly) that 
 there was no part of the- country where they were not scouring 
 for fugitives ; that they were greatly assisted by the clergy, who, 
 he said, were red-hot for King James ; that the men were found 
 hiding (as we had hidden) in linneys, in hedges, in barns, in 
 woods ; that they were captured by treachery, by information 
 laid, and even, most cruel thing of all, by watching and follow- 
 ing the men's sweethearts who were found taking food to them. 
 He said, also, that at the present rate they would have to enlarge 
 their prisons to admit ten times their number, for they were 
 haling into them not only the men who had followed Monmouth, 
 but also those who had helped him with money, arms, or men. 
 The sergeant was a brutal fellow, yet there was about him some- 
 thing of good-nature, and even of compassion, for the men he 
 had captured. Yet he seemed to take delight in speaking of 
 the sufferings of the unfortunate prisoners. The soldiers, he 
 told us, were greatly enraged towards the rebels ; not, I sup- 
 .pose, on account of their rebellion, because three years later 
 they themselves showed how skin-deep was their loyalty, but 
 because the rustics, whom they thought contemptible, had sur- 
 prised and nearly beaten them. And this roused in them the 
 spirit of revenge.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 193 
 
 " Captain," said tlie sergeant, " 'tis pity that so lusty a gen- 
 tleman as tbou shouldst die. Hast thou no friends at court? 
 No ? Nor any -who would speak for thee ? 'Tis pity. Yet a 
 man can die but once. With such a neck as thine, bespeak, if 
 so much grace be accorded thee, a long rope and a high gallows. 
 'Tis when it comes to the quartering" — he stopped and shook 
 his head — " but there — I wish you well out of it, captain." 
 
 In the evening, just before sunset, we arrived at Ilminster, 
 after a sad and weary march of ten miles at least — but we could 
 not leave the prisoners until we knew how and where they were 
 bestowed ; and during all this time my mother, who commonly 
 walked not abroad from one Sabbath to the next, was possessed 
 with such a spirit that she seemed to feel no weariness. When 
 we rode all night in order to join the duke she complained not ; 
 when we rode painfully across the country to Taunton she mur- 
 mured not, nor when we carried our wounded man up the rough 
 and steep comb ; no, nor on this day when she walked beside 
 her husband's head, careful lest the motion of the cart should 
 cause him pain. But he felt nothing, poor soul ! lie would 
 feel nothing any more. 
 
 Ilminster is a goodly town, rich and prosperous with its spin- 
 ners and weavers ; this evening, however, there was no one in 
 the streets except the troopers, who swaggered up and down or 
 sat drinking at the tavern door. There is a broad, open place 
 before the market, which stands upon great stone pilhirs. Out- 
 side the market is the clink, or prison, whither the soldiers were 
 taking their prisoners. The troopers paid not the least heed to 
 our mournful little procession : a wounded man ; a prisoner in 
 scarlet and lace, but the cloth tattered and stained and the lace 
 torn ; there were only two more men on their way to death — 
 what doth a soldier care for the sight of a man about to die ! 
 
 " Mother," said Barnaby, when we drew near the prison doors, 
 " come not within the prison. I will do all that I can for him. 
 Go now and find a decent lodging; and, sister, mark ye, the 
 lads in our army were rough, but they were as lambs compared 
 with these swaggering troopers. Keep snug, therefore, and 
 venture not far abroad." 
 
 I whispered in his ear that I had his bag of money safe, so 
 that he could have whatever he wanted if that could be bought. 
 Then the prison doors were closed and we stood without. 
 9 N
 
 194 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 It would have been hard, indeed, for the wife and daughter 
 of Dr. Comfort Eykin not to find a lodging among godly people, 
 of whom there are always many in every town of Somerset. 
 We presently obtained a room in the house of one Martha Prior, 
 widow of the learned and pious Joshua Prior, whilom preacher 
 and ejected minister. Her case was as hard as our own. This 
 poor woman had two sons only, and both had gone to join the 
 duke ; one already risen to be a serge-maker and one a draper 
 of the town. Of her sons she could hear no news at all, wheth- 
 er they were alive or dead ; if they were already dead, or if 
 they should be hanged, she would have no means of support, 
 and so must starve or eat the bread of charity. (I heard after- 
 wards that she never did hear anything of them, so it is certain 
 that they must have been killed on the battle-field or cut down 
 by the dragoons in trying to escape. But the poor soul sur- 
 vived not long their loss.) 
 
 The church of Ilminster stands upon a rising ground : on the 
 north is the grammar-school, and on the other three sides are 
 houses of the better sort, of which Mrs. Prior had one. The 
 place, which surrounds the churchyard and hath no inn or ale- 
 house in it, is quiet and retired. The soldiers came not thither, 
 except once or twice with orders to search the houses (and with 
 a private resolution to drink everything that they might lay 
 hands upon), so that, for two poor women in our miserable cir- 
 cumstances, we could not have a more quiet lodging. 
 
 Despite our troubles, I slept so well that night that it was 
 past seven in the morning when I awoke. The needs of the 
 body do sometimes overcome the cares of the spirit. For a 
 whole fortnight had we been making our beds on the heather, 
 and therefore without taking off our clothes, and that day we 
 had walked ten miles at least with the soldiers, so that I slept 
 without moving or waking all the night. In the morning I 
 dressed quickly and hurried to the jail, not knowing whether I 
 might be admitted, or should be allowed speech of Barnaby. 
 Outside the gate, however, I found a crowd of people going into 
 the prison and coming out of it. Some of the women like our- 
 selves were weeping — they were those w^hose brothers or lovers, 
 husbands or sons, were in those gloomy walls. Others there 
 were who brought for such of the prisoners as had money to 
 buy them, eggs, butter, white bread, chickens, fruit, and all
 
 i FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 195 
 
 kinds of provisions ; some brought wine, cider, and ale ; some, 
 tobacco. The warders who stood at the gates made no opposi- 
 tion to those who would enter. I pressed in with a beating 
 heart, prepared for a scene of the most dreadful repentance and 
 gloomy forebodings. What I saw was quite otherwise. 
 
 The gates of the prison opened upon a courtyard, not very 
 big, where the people were selling their wares, and some of the 
 prisoners were walking about, and some were* chaffering with 
 the women who had the baskets. On the right-hand side of 
 the yard was the clink, or prison, itself ; on the left hand were 
 houses for the warders or officers of the prison. In general a 
 single warder, constable, or headborough is enough, for a town 
 such as Ilminster, to keep the peace of the prison ; which is for 
 the most part empty save when they enforce some new act 
 against Nonconformists and fill it with them or with Quakers. 
 Now, however, so great was the press that, instead of two, there 
 were a dozen guards, and, instead of a stout cudgel, they went 
 armed with pike and cutlass to keep order and prevent escapes. 
 Six of them occupied the gatehouse ; other six were within, in 
 a sort of guard-house, where they slept, on the left hand of the 
 court. 
 
 The ground-floor of the clink we found to be a large room, at 
 least forty feet each side in bigness. On one side of it was a 
 great fireplace, where, though it was the month of July, there 
 was burning a great fire of Welsh coal, partly for cooking pur- 
 poses, because all that the prisoners ate was cooked at this fire, 
 and partly because a great fire kept continually burning sweet- 
 ens the air and wards off jail fever. On another side was a long 
 table and several benches. Thick wooden pillars supported the 
 joists of the rooms above ; the windows were heavily barred, 
 but the shutters were down, and there was no glass in them. In 
 spite of fire and open windows the place was stifling, and smelt 
 most horrible. Never have I breathed so foul an air : there lived 
 in this room about eighty prisoners (later on the numbers were 
 doubled) ; some were smoking tobacco and drinking cider or 
 ale ; some were frying pieces of meat over the fire ; and the to- 
 bacco, the ale, the wine, the cooking, and the people themselves 
 — nearly all country lads, unwashed, wl^^had slept, since Sedge- 
 moor at least, in the same clothes tvithout once changing — 
 made such an air that jail fever, putrid throats, and small-pox
 
 196 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 ( which afterwards broke out ) should have been expected 
 sooner. 
 
 They were all talking, laughing, and even singing, so that, in 
 addition to the noisome stench of the place, there was such a 
 din as one may hear at Sherborne Fair of an evening. I expected, 
 as I have said, a gloomy silence, with the rattling of chains, the 
 groans of those who looked for death, and perhaps a godly re- 
 pentance visible upon every countenance. Yet they were all 
 laughing, except a few who sat retired, and who were wounded. 
 I say that they were all laughing. They had nothing to expect 
 but death, or at the best to be horribly flogged, to be transport- 
 ed, to be fined, branded, and ruined. Yet they laughed. What 
 means the hardness and indifference of men ? Could they not 
 think of the women they had left at home ? I warrant that 
 none of them were laughing. 
 
 Among them, a pipe of tobacco in his lips and a mug of 
 strong ale before him on the table, his hat flung backward, sat 
 Barnaby, his face showing, apparently, complete satisfaction 
 with his lot. 
 
 When he saw us at the door he rose and came to meet us. 
 
 *' Welcome," he said. " This is one of the places where King 
 Monmouth's men are to receive the honor due to them. Cour- 
 age, gentle hearts. Be not cast down. Everywhere the prisons 
 are full, and more are brought in every day. Our very numbers 
 are our safety. They cannot hang us all. And, harkee," here 
 he whispered, " sister, we now know that Colonel Kirke hath 
 been selling pardons at ten pounds, twenty pounds, and thirty 
 pounds apiece. Wherefore we are well assured that, somehow 
 or other, we shall be able to buy our release. There are plenty 
 besides Colonel Kirke who will sell a prisoner his freedom." 
 
 " Where is your father ?" asked my mother. 
 
 " He is bestowed above, where it is quieter, except for the 
 groaning of the wounded. Go up-stairs and you will find him. 
 And there is a surprise for you besides. You will find with him 
 one you little expect to see." 
 
 " Oh, Barnaby, is there new misery for me ? Is Robin a 
 prisoner ?" 
 
 " llobin is not here, Sis ; and as for misery, why, that is as 
 you take it. To be sure the man above is in prison, but no harm 
 will happen to him. Why should it ? He did not go out with
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 197 
 
 Monmoutli's men. But go up-stairs, go up-stairs and sec for 
 yourselves." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IN IL MINSTER JAIL. 
 
 I KNOW not whom I expected to find in consequence of Bar- 
 naby's Avords, as we went up the dark and dirty stairs which led 
 to the upper room. Robin was not a prisoner, why, then — but 
 I know not what I thought, all being strange and dreadful. 
 
 At the top of the stairs we found ourselves in a room of the 
 same size as the lower chamber, but not so high, and darker, be- 
 ing a gloomy place indeed, insomuch that it was not for some 
 minutes that one could plainly discern things. It was lighted 
 by a low, long window, set very close with thick bars, the shut- 
 ters thrown open so that all the light and air possible to be ad- 
 mitted might come in. It had a great fireplace, but there was 
 no fire burning, and the air of the room struck raw, though out- 
 side it was a warm and sunny day. The roof was supported, as 
 in the room below, by means of thick square pillars, studded 
 with great nails, set close together, for what purpose I know not. 
 Every part of the woodwork in the room was in the same way 
 stuck full of nails. On the floor lay half a score of mattresses, 
 the property of those who could afford to pay the warders an 
 exorbitant fee for the luxury. At Ilminster, as, I am told, at 
 Newgate, the chief prison in the country, the same custom ob- 
 tains of exacting heavy fees from the poor wretches clapped into 
 ward. It is, I suppose, no sin to rob the criminal, the debtor, 
 the traitor, or the rebel. For those who had nothing to pay 
 there were only a few bundles of straw. And on these were ly- 
 ing half a dozen wretches whose white faces and glazed eyes 
 showed that they would indeed cheat Tom the Hangman, though 
 not in the way that Barnaby hoped. These were wounded 
 either in Sedgemoor fight or in their attempt to escape. 
 
 My father lay on a pallet bed. His face showed not the least 
 change. His eyes were closed, and you would have thought him 
 dead. And beside him, also on a pallet, sat, to my astonishment, 
 none other than Sir Christopher himself.
 
 198 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 He rose and came to meet us, smiling sadly. 
 
 *' Madam," lie said, taking my mother's hand, " we meet in a 
 doleful place, and we ai'e indeed in wretched plight. I cannot 
 bid you welcome ; I cannot say that I am glad to see you. There 
 is nothing that I can say of comfort or of hope, except, which 
 you know already, that we are always in the hands of the 
 Lord." 
 
 " Sir Christopher," said my mother, " it was kind and neigh- 
 borly in you to come. But you were always his best friend. 
 Look at his poor, white face" — she only thought upon her hus- 
 band. " You would think him dead. More than a fortnight he 
 hath lain thus — motionless. I think he feels no pain. Husband, 
 if thou canst hear me, make some sign, if it be but to shut one 
 eye. No," she cried. " Day after day have I thus entreated 
 him and he makes no answer. He neither sees nor hears. Yet 
 he doth not die, wherefore I think that he may yet recover speech 
 and sit up again, and presently, perhaps, walk about and address 
 himself again unto his studies." 
 
 She waited not for any answer, but knelt down beside him and 
 poured some drops of milk into the mouth of the sick man. Sir 
 Christopher looked at her mournfully and shook his head. 
 
 Then he turned to me and kissed me without saying a word. 
 
 " Oh, sir !" I cried, " how could you know that my father 
 would be brought into this place ? With what goodness of heart 
 have you come to our help." 
 
 " Nay, child," he replied, gravely. " I came because I had no 
 choice but to come. Like your father and your brother, Grace, 
 I am a prisoner." 
 
 " You, sir ? You a prisoner ? Why, you were not with the 
 duke." 
 
 " That is most true, and yet a prisoner. Why, after the news 
 of Sedgemoor fight I looked for nothing else. They tried to ar- 
 rest Mr. Speke, but he has fled ; they have locked up Mr. Prideaux 
 of Ford Abbey ; Mr. Trenchard has retired across the seas. Why 
 should they pass me over ? Nay, there were abundant proofs of 
 my zeal for the duke. My grandson and my grandnephew had 
 joined the rebels. Your father and brother rode over to Lyme 
 on my horses ; Avith my grandson rode off a dozen lads of the 
 village. What more could they want ? Moreover, I am an old 
 soldier of Lord Essex's army ; and, to finish, they found in the
 
 " She waited not for any answer, but knelt dawn beside him, and 'poured soma 
 drops of milk into the mouth of the sick man."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 199 
 
 window-seat a copy of Monmouth's declaration, which, indeed, I 
 had forgotten, or I might have destroyed it." 
 
 '• Alas ! alas !" I cried, wringing my hands with tears. 
 " Your honor, too, a prisoner !" 
 
 Since the sergeant spoke to Barnaby about the interest of 
 friends, I had been thinking that Sir Christopher, whose power 
 and interest, I fondly thought, must bo equal to those of any 
 lord in the land, would interpose to save us all. And he was 
 now a prisoner himself, involved in the common ruin. One who 
 stands upon a bridge and sees with terror the last support car- 
 ried away by the raging flood, feels such despair as fell upon my 
 soul. 
 
 " Oh, sir," I cried again. " It is line upon line — woe upon 
 woe." 
 
 He took my hand in his and held it tenderly. 
 
 "My child," he said, "to an old man of seventy-five what 
 doth it matter whether he die in his bed or whether he die upon 
 a scaffold ? Through the pains of death, as through a gate, we 
 enter upon our rest." 
 
 " It is dreadful !" I cried again. " I cannot endure it." 
 
 " The shame and ignominy of this death," he said, " I shall, I 
 trust, regard lightly. We have struck a blow for freedom and 
 for faith. Well, we have been suffered to fail. The time hath 
 not yet come. Yet, in the end, others shall carry on the cause, 
 and religion shall prevail. Shall we murmur, who have been 
 God's instruments ?" 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" I cried asfain. 
 
 " To me, sweet child, it is not terrible to contemplate my end. 
 But it is sad to think of thee, and of thy grave and bitter loss. 
 Ilast thou heard news of Robin and of Humphrey ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, are they also in prison ? They are here ?" 
 
 " No, but I have news of them. I have a letter brought to 
 me but yesterday. Read it, my child, read it." 
 
 He pulled the letter out of his pocket and gave it to me. 
 Then I read aloud, and thus it ran : 
 
 "HoNOUED Sir and Grandfather, — I am writing tliis letter from the 
 prison of Exeter, where, with Humplircy and about two hundred or more 
 of our poor fellows, I am laid by the heels and shall so continue until we 
 shall all be tried. 
 
 " It is rumored that Lord Jeffreys will come down to try us, and we are as-
 
 200 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 sureJ by rumor that the king shows himself revengeful and is determined 
 that there shall be no mercy shown. After Sedgemoor fight they hanged, as 
 you will have heard, many of the prisoners at Weston Zoyland, at Bridgwater, 
 and at Taunton, without trial. If the king continue in this disposition it is 
 very certain that, though the common sort may be forgiven, the gentlemen 
 and those who were officers ia the rebel army will certainly not escape. 
 Therefore, I have no hopes but to conclude my life upon the gallows, a thing 
 which, I confess, I had never looked to do. I hope to meet my fate with 
 courage and resignation. 
 
 "Humphrey is with me ; and it is some comfort (though I know not why) 
 that we shall stand or fall together; for if I was a captain in the army, he 
 was a chirurgeon. That he was also a secret agent of the exiles, and that he 
 stirred up the duke's friends on his way from London to Sherborne, that 
 they know not, or it would certainly go hard with him. What do I say? 
 Since they will liang him, things cannot very well go harder. 
 
 " When the fight was over and the duke and Lord Grey fled, there was 
 nothing left but to escape as best wc might. I hope that some of our Brad- 
 ford lads will make their way home in safety; they stood their ground and 
 fought valiantly. Nay, if we had been able to arm all who volunteered and 
 would have enlisted, and if our men had all shown such a spirit as your 
 valiant lads of Bradford Orcas, then, I say, the enemy must have been cut to 
 pieces. 
 
 "When I had no choice left but to run I took the road to Bridgwater, intend- 
 ing to ride back to that place Avhere, perhaps, our forces might be rallied. 
 But this proved hopeless. There I found, however, Humphrey, and we re- 
 solved that the safest plan would be to ride by way of Taunton, leaving be- 
 hind us the great body of the king's army, and so escape to London, if pos- 
 sible, where we should certainly find hiding-places in plenty until the pur- 
 suit should be at an end. Our plan was to travel along byways and bridle- 
 paths, and that by night only, hiding by day in barns, linneys, and the 
 like. We had money for the charges of our journey. Humphrey would 
 travel as a physician returning to London from Bath, as soon as we had got- 
 ten out of the insurgent's country. I was to be his servant. Thus we ar- 
 ranged the matter in our minds, and already I thought that we were safe and 
 in hiding somewhere in London, or across the seas in the Low Countries 
 again. 
 
 " Well, to make short my story, we got no farther than Exeter, whore we 
 were betrayed by a rascal countryman who recognized us, caused us to be ar- 
 rested, and swore to us. Thereupon we v.-ere clapped into jail, where we 
 now lie. 
 
 " Hon'd sir, Humphrey, I am sorry to write, is much cast down, not be- 
 cause he dreads death, which he doth not, any more than to lie upon his bed ; 
 but because he hath, he says, drawn so many to their ruin. He numbers me 
 among those, though, indeed, it was none of his doing, but of my own free 
 will, that I entered upon this business, which, contrary to reasonable expecta- 
 tion, hath turned out so ill. Wherefore, dear sir, since there is no one in the 
 world whose opinion and counsel Humphrey so greatly considers as your own, 
 I pray you, of your goodness, send him some words of consolation and cheer."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 201 
 
 " That ■will I, riglit readily," said Sir Cliristoplier. " At least 
 the poor lad cannot accuse himself of dragging me into the 
 clink." 
 
 "I hear" [continued Robin's letter] " that my mother hath gone with Mr. 
 Boscorel to London to learn if aught can be done for us. If she do not re- 
 turn before we are finished, bid her think kindly of Humphrey, and not to lay 
 these things to his charge. As for my dear girl, my Grace, I hear nothing of 
 her. Miss Blake, who led the maids when they gave the flags to the duke, 
 is, I hear, clapped into prison. Grace is not spoken of. I am greatly per- 
 turbed in spirit concerning her, and I would gladly, if that might be compassed, 
 have speech with her before I die. I fear she will grieve and weep, but not 
 more than I myself at leaving her, poor maid ! I hear, also, nothing concern- 
 ing her father, who was red-hot for the cause, and therefore, I fear, will not 
 be passed over or forgotten ; nor do I hear aught of Barnaby, who I hope 
 hath escaped on shipboard, as he said that he should do if things went ajar. 
 Where are they all ! The roads are covered with rough men, and it is not 
 fit for such as Grace and her mother to be travelling. I hope that they have 
 returned in safety to Bradford Orcas, and that my old master. Dr. Eykin, 
 hath forgotten his zeal for the Protestant duke and is already seated again 
 among his books. If that is so, tell Grace, honored sir, that there is no hour 
 of the day or night but I think of her continually ; that the chief pang of my 
 approaching fate is the thought that I shall leave her in sorrow, and that 
 I cannot say or do anything to stay her sorrow. Comfort her I cannot, save 
 ■with words which will come better from the saintly lips of her father. 
 I again pray thee to assure her of my faithful love. Tell her that the 
 recollection of her sweet face and steadfast eyes fills me with so great 
 a longing that I would fain die at once so as to bring nearer the moment 
 when we shall be able to sit together in heaven. My life hath been sancti- 
 fied, if I may say so in humility, by her presence in my heart, which drove 
 away all common and unclean things. Of such strength is earthly love. Nay, 
 I could not, I now perceive, be happy even with the joys of heaven if she were 
 not by my side. Where is she, my heart, my love ? Pray God she is in 
 safety. 
 
 "And now, sir, I have no more to say. The prison is a hot and reeking 
 place; at night it is hard to bear the foulness and the stench of it. Humph- 
 rey says that we may shortly expect some jail fever or small-pox to break 
 out among us, in which case the work of the judges may be lightened. The 
 good people of this ancient city are in no way afraid of the king's vindictive- 
 uess, but send in of their bounty quantity of provisions — fruit, eggs, fresh 
 meat, salted meat, ale and cider — every day for the poor prisoners, which 
 shows which way their opinions do lean even although the clergy are against 
 us. Honored sir, I am sure and certain that the miscarriage of our enter- 
 prise was caused by the conduct of those who had us in hand. In a year or 
 two there shall be seen (but not by us) another uprising, under another 
 leader, with another end. 
 
 " So no more. I send to thee, dear and honored sir, my bounden duty and 
 9*
 
 202 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 my grateful thanks, for all that I owe to your tender care and affection. 
 Pray my mother, for me, to mourn no more for me than is becoming to one 
 of her purity and virtue. 
 
 " Alas ! it is in thinking upon her, and upon my poor lost dear, that my 
 heai't is well-nigh torn in pieces. But (tell Humphrey) through no fault — 
 no — through no fault of his. 
 
 " From thy dutiful and obedient grandson, R. C." 
 
 I read tliis all through. Then I folded up the letter and re- 
 turned it to Sir Christopher. As he took it the tears came into 
 his dear and venerable eyes and rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 " My dear, my dear," he said, " it is hard to bear. Every 
 one who is dear to thee will go ; there is an end of all ; unless 
 some way, of which we know nothing, be opened unto us." 
 
 " Why," I said, " if we were all dead and buried and our 
 souls together in heaven — " 
 
 " Patience, my dear," said the old man. 
 
 " Oh, must they all die — all ? My heart will burst. Oh, sir, 
 will not one suffice for all ? Will they not take me and hang 
 me, and let the rest go free ?" 
 
 " Child," he took my hand between his own, " God knows that 
 if one life would suffice for all, it should be mine. Nay, I would 
 willingly die ten times over to save thy Robin for thee. He is 
 not dead yet, however. Nor is he sentenced. There are so 
 many involved that we may hope for a large measure of mercy. 
 Nay, more. His mother hath gone to London, as he says in 
 his letter, with my son-in-law, Philip Boscorel, to see if aught 
 can be done, even to the selling of my whole estate, to procure 
 the enlargement of the boys. I know not if anything can be 
 done, but be assured that Philip Boscorel will leave no stone 
 unturned." 
 
 " Oh, can money buy a pardon ? I have two hundred gold 
 pieces. They are Barnaby's — " 
 
 " Then, my dear, they must be used to buy pardon for Bar- 
 naby and thy father ; though I doubt whether any pardon need 
 be bought for one who is brought so low." 
 
 Beside the bed my mother sat crouched, watching his white 
 face as she had done all day long in our hiding-place. I think 
 she heeded nothing that went on around her, being wrapped in 
 her hopes and prayers for the wounded man. 
 
 Then Sir Christopher kissed me gently on the forehead.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 203 
 
 " They say the king is unforgiving, my dear. Expect not, 
 therefore, anything. Say to thyself, every morning, that all 
 must die. To know the worst brings with it something of con- 
 solation. Robin must die ; Humphrey must die ; your brother 
 Barnaby must die ; your father, but he is well-nigh dead al- 
 ready, and myself — all must die upon the scaffold, if we escape 
 this noisome jail. In thinking this, remember who will be left. 
 My dear, if thou art as a widow, and yet a maiden, I charge 
 thee that thou forget thine own private griefs, and minister to 
 those who will have none but thee to help them. Live not for 
 thyself, but to console and solace those who, like thyself be- 
 reaved, will need thy tender cares." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVH. 
 
 BEFORE THE ASSIZE. 
 
 Then we sat down and waited. Day after day we went to 
 the prison where my mother sat by my father, whose condition 
 never changed in the least, being always that of one who slept, 
 or, if his eyes were open, was unconscious, and, though he might 
 utter a few words, had no command of his mind or of his speech. 
 Wlierefore we hoped that he suffered nothing. 'Twas a musket- 
 ball had struck, the surgeon said, in his backbone between the 
 shoulders, whereby his powers of motion and of thought were 
 suspended. I know not whether it was attempted to remove 
 the ball, or whether it was lodged there at all, because I am ig- 
 norant, and to me, whether he had been struck in the back or 
 no, it was to my mind certain that the Lord had granted my 
 father's earnest prayer that he should again be permitted to 
 deliver openly the message that was upon his soul ; nay, had 
 given him three weeks of continual and faithful preaching, the 
 fruits of which, could w^e perceive them, should be abundant. 
 That prayer granted, the Lord, I thought, was calling him to 
 rest. Therefore I looked for no improvement. 
 
 One other letter came from Exeter, with one for me, with 
 which (because I could not leave my mother at such a time) 
 I was forced to stay my soul, as the lover in the canticle stays 
 his soul with apples. I have that letter still ; it hath been with
 
 204 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 mc always ; it lay bung from my neck in tlie little leathern bag 
 in wbicli I carried tbe duke's ring. I read it again and again 
 until I knew it by heart ; yet still I read it again, because even 
 to look at my lover's writing had in it something of comfort 
 even when things were at their worst and Egyptian darkness 
 lay upon my soul. But the letter I cannot endure to copy out, 
 or suffer others to read it, because it was written for mine own 
 eye, and none other's. " Oh, my love !" he said ; " oh, my ten- 
 der heart," and then a hundred prayers for my happiness, and 
 tears for my tears, and hopes for the future, which would be 
 not the earthly life, but the future reserved by merciful Heaven 
 for those who have been called and chosen. As for the sharp 
 and painful passage by which we must travel from this world 
 to the next, Robin bade me take no thought of that, but to think 
 of him either as my lover walking with me beside the stream, 
 or as a spirit waiting for me to join him in the heavenly choir. 
 And so with so many farewells (the letter being written when 
 they expected the judges to arrive and the assize to begin) as 
 showed his tender love for me. No, I cannot write down this 
 letter for the eyes of all to read. There are things which must 
 be kept hidden in our own hearts ; and, without doubt, every 
 woman to whom good-fortune hath given a lover like Robin, with 
 a heart as fond and a pen as ready (though he could never, like 
 Humphrey, write sweet verses), hath received an epistle or two 
 like unto mine for the love and tenderness, but (I hope) without 
 the sadness of impending death. 
 
 It was four weeks after we were brought to Ilminster that the 
 news came to us of the coming trials. There were five judges, 
 but the world knows but of one, namely, George, Lord Jeffreys, 
 Chief-Justice of England ; and now, indeed, we began to under- 
 stand the true miseiy of our situation. For every one knew 
 the character of the judge, who, though a young man still, was 
 already the terror alike of prisoners, witnesses, and juries. It 
 promised to be a black and bloody assize indeed, since this man 
 was to be the judge. 
 
 The aspect of the prison by this time was changed. The 
 songs and merriment, the horseplay and loud laughter, by which 
 the men had at first endeavored to keep up their hearts, were 
 gone. The country lads pined and languished in confinement ; 
 their cheeks grew pale, and their eyes heavy. Then the prison
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 205 
 
 was SO crowded that there was barely room for all to lie at night, 
 and the yard was too small for all to walk therein by day. In 
 the morning, though they opened all the shutters, the air was 
 so foul that in going into it from the open, one felt sick and 
 giddy, and was sometimes fain to run out and drink cold water. 
 Oh, the terrible place for an old man such as Sir Christopher ! 
 Yet he endured, without murmuring, the foulness and the hard- 
 ness, comforting the sick, still reproving blasphemies, and set- 
 ting an example of cheerfulness. The wounded men all died, 
 I believe ; which, as the event proved, was lucky for them. It 
 would have saved the rest much suffering had they all died as 
 well. And to think that this was only one of many prisons 
 thus crowded with poor captives ! At Wells, Philip's Norton, 
 Shepton Mallet, Bath, Bridgwater, Taunton, Ilchester, Somer- 
 ton, Langport, Bristol, and Exeter, there was a like assemblage 
 of poor wretches thus waiting their trials. 
 
 I said that there was now little singing. There was, however, 
 drinking enough, and more than enough. They drank to drown 
 their sorrows and to forget the horrid place in which they lay, 
 and the future which awaited them. When they were drunk 
 they would bellow some of their old songs, but the bawling of 
 a drunkard will not communicate to his companions the same 
 joy as the music of a merry heart. 
 
 While we were expecting to hear that the judge had arrived 
 at Salisbury the fever broke out in the prison of Ilminster. At 
 AVells they were afflicted with the small-pox, but at Ilminster it 
 was jail fever which fell upon the poor prisoners. Everybody 
 hath heard of this terrible disorder, which is communicated by 
 those who have it to those who go among them, namely, to the 
 warders and turnkeys, and even to the judges and the juries. 
 On the first day after it broke out, which v/as with an extraor- 
 dinary virulence, four poor men died and were buried the next 
 morning. After this no day passed but there were funerals at 
 the churchyard, and the mounds of their graves — the graves of 
 these poor countrymen who thought to fight the battles of the 
 Lord — stood side by side in a long row growing continually 
 longer. We — that is, good Mrs. Prior and myself — sat at the 
 window and watched the funerals, praying for the safety of 
 those we loved. 
 
 So great was the fear of infection in the town that no one
 
 206 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 was licncefortli allowed within the prison, nor were the warders 
 allowed to come out of it. This was a sad order for me, because 
 my mother chose to remain within the prison, finding a garret 
 at the house of the chief constable, and I could no longer visit 
 that good old man Sir Christopher, whose only pleasure left had 
 been to converse with me daily, and, as I now understand, by 
 the refreshment the society of youth brings to age, to lighten 
 the tedium of his imprisonment. 
 
 Henceforth, therefore, I went to the prison door every morn- 
 ing and sent in my basket of provisions, but was not suffered to 
 enter, and though I could have speech with my mother or with 
 Barnaby, they were on one side the bars and I on the other. 
 
 It was at this time that I made the acquaintance of Mr. G-eorge 
 Penne. This creature (a villain, as I afterwards discovered, of 
 the deepest dye) was to external appearance a grave and sober 
 merchant. He was dressed in brown cloth and carried a gold- 
 headed stick in his hand. He came to Ilminster about the end 
 of August or the beginning of September, and began to inquire 
 particularly into the names and the circumstances of the prison- 
 ers, pretending (such was his craftiness) a great tenderness for 
 their welfare. He did the same thing, we heard afterwards, 
 wherever the Monmouth prisoners were confined. At Ilminster, 
 the fever being in the jail, he was not permitted to venture 
 within, but stood outside and asked of any who seemed to 
 know, who and what were the prisoners within and what were 
 their circumstances. 
 
 He accosted me one morning when I was standing at the 
 wicket waiting for my basket to be taken in. 
 
 " Madam," he said, " you are doubtless a friend of some poor 
 prisoner. Your father or your brother may unhappily be lying 
 within." 
 
 Now I was grown somewhat cautious by this time. Where- 
 fore, fearing some kind of snare or trap, I replied, gravely, that 
 such indeed might be the case. 
 
 " Then, madam," he said, speaking in a soft voice and looking 
 full of compassion, " if that be so, suffer me, I pray you, to Avish 
 him a happy deliverance ; and this indeed from the bottom of 
 my heart." 
 
 " Sir," I said, moved by the earnestness of his manner, " I 
 know not who you may be, but I thank you. Such a wish, I am
 
 " He accosted me one morning when I was standing at the wicket waiting 
 for my basket to be taken in."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 207 
 
 sure, will not procure you the reward of a prison. Sir, I wish 
 you a good-day." 
 
 So he bowed and left me and passed on. 
 
 But next day I found him in the same place. And his eyes 
 were more filled with compassion than before, and his voice was 
 softer. 
 
 " I cannot sleep, madam," he said, " for thinking of these poor 
 prisoners ; I hear that among them is none other than Sir Chris- 
 topher Challis, a gentleman of great esteem and well stricken in 
 years. And there is also the pious and learned (but most un- 
 fortunate) Dr. Comfort Eykin, who rode with the army and 
 preached daily, and is now, I hear, grievously wounded and 
 bedridden." 
 
 " Sir," I said, " Dr. Comfort Eykin is my father. It is most 
 true that he is a prisoner, and that he is wounded." 
 
 He heaved a deep sigh and wiped a tear from his eyes. 
 
 " It is now certain," he said, " that Lord Jeffreys will come 
 down to conduct the trials. Nay, it is reported that he has 
 already arrived at Salisbury, breathing fire and revenge, and that 
 he hath with him four other judges and a troop of horse. AVhat 
 they will do with so many prisoners I know not. I fear that it 
 will go hard with all ; but, as happens in such cases, those who 
 have money, and know how to spend it, may speedily get their 
 liberty." 
 
 " How are they to spend it ?" 
 
 "Why, madam, it is not indeed to be looked for that you 
 should know. But when the time comes for the trial, should I, 
 as will very likely happen, be in the way, send for me, and what- 
 ever the sentence, I warrant we shall find a way to 'scape it — 
 even if it be a sentence of death. Send for me ; my name is 
 George Penne, and I am a well-known merchant of Bristol." 
 
 It was then that Barnaby came to the other side of the wicket. 
 We could talk, but could not touch each other. 
 
 " All is well, sis," he said, " dad is neither better nor worse, 
 and Sir Christopher is hearty, though the prison is like the 
 'tween decks of a ship with yellow- jack aboard, just as sweet 
 and pleasant for the air and just as merry for the crew." 
 
 " Barnaby," I said, " the judges are now at Salisbury." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; I thought they would have been there before. We 
 shall be tried, they tell me, at Wells, which it is thought will be
 
 208 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 talvcn after other towns. So there is still a tidy Icngtli of rope. 
 Sis, this continual smoking of tobacco to keep ofE infection doth 
 keep a body dry. Cider will serve, but let it be a runlet at 
 least." 
 
 " He called you sister, madam," said Mr. Penne, curiously. 
 " Have you brother as well as father in this place ?" 
 
 " Alas ! sir, I have not only my father, my mother, and my 
 brother in this place, but my father-in-law (as 1 hoped soon to 
 call him), and in Exeter jail is my lover and his cousin. Oh, 
 sir, if you mean honestly — " 
 
 " Madam," he laid his hand upon his breast, " I am all honesty. 
 I have no other thought, I swear to you, than to save, if possible, 
 the lives of these poor men." 
 
 He walked with me to my lodging and I there told him not 
 only concerning our own people, but also all that I knew of the 
 prisoners in this jail ; they were for the most part poor and hum- 
 ble men. He made notes in a book, which caused me some 
 misgivings, but he assured me again and again that all he de- 
 sired was to save their lives. And I now understand that he 
 spoke the truth indeed, but not the whole truth. 
 
 " Your brother, for instance," he said ; " oh, madam, 'twere a 
 thousand pities that so brave a young man, so stout withal, 
 should be hanged, drawn, and quartered. And your lover at 
 Exeter, doubtless a tall and proper youth ; and the other whom 
 you bave named. Dr. Humphrey Challis, and your father-in-law 
 (as I hope he will be). Sir Christopher, and your own father. 
 Why, madam," he grew quite warm upon it, " if you will but 
 furnish some honest merchant — I say not myself, because I 
 know not if you would trust me — but some honest merchant 
 with the necessary moneys, I will engage that they shall all be 
 saved from hanging. To be sure these are all captains and 
 officers, and to get their absolute pardon will be a great matter, 
 perhaps above your means. Yet Sir Christopher hath a good 
 estate I am told." 
 
 This George Penne was, it is true, a Bristol merchant, en- 
 gaged in the East India trade ; that is to say, he bought sugar 
 and tobacco, and had shares in ships which sailed to and from 
 Bristol and the West Indies, and sometimes made voyages to 
 the Guinea Coast for negroes. But, in common with many 
 Bristol merchants, he had another trade, and a very profitable
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREKDOM. 209 
 
 trade it is, namely, what is called kidnapping ; that is, buying or 
 otherwise securing criminals who have been pardoned or re 
 prieved on condition of going to the plantations. They sell 
 these wretches for a term of years to the planters and make 
 a great profit by the transaction. And, foreseeing that there 
 would presently be a rare abundance of such prisoners, the 
 honest Mr. George Penne was going from prison to prison, find- 
 ing out what persons of substance there were who would pay 
 for their sentence to be thus mitigated. In the event, though 
 things w^ere not ordered exactly as he could have wished, this 
 worthy man (his true worth you shall presently learn) made a 
 pretty penny, as the saying is, out of the prisoners. What he 
 made out of us, and by what lies, you shall learn. But, by ill- 
 fortune, he got not the fingering of the great sums which he 
 hoped of us. 
 
 And now the news, from Winchester first, and from Dorches- 
 ter afterwards, filled the hearts of all with a dismay which is be- 
 yond all power of words to tell. For if an ancient lady of good 
 repute (though the widow of a regicide), such a woman as Lady 
 Lisle, seventy years of age, could be condemned to be burned, 
 and was in fact beheaded, for no greater oifence than harboring 
 two rebels herself, ignorant of who they were, or whence they 
 came, what could any hope who had actually borne arms ? And, 
 again, at Dorchester, thirty who pleaded not guilty were found 
 guilty and condemned to be hanged, and nearly three hundred 
 who pleaded guilty were sentenced to be hanged at the same 
 time. It was not an idle threat intended to terrify the rest, be- 
 cause thirteen of the number were executed on the following 
 Monday, and eighty afterwards. Among those who were first 
 hanged were many whom we knew. The aged and pious Dr. 
 Sampson Larke, the Baptist minister of Lynn, for instance, Avas 
 one. Colonel llolmes (whom the king had actually pardoned) 
 was another, and young Mr. Ilewling, whose case w^as like tliat of 
 Robin's. This terrible news caused great despondency and choking 
 in the prison, where also the fever daily carried off one or two. 
 
 Oh, my poor heart fell, and I almost lost the power of prayer, 
 when I heard that from Dorchester the judge was riding in great 
 state, driving his prisoners before him, to Exeter, where there 
 were two hundred waiting their trial. And among them Robin 
 — my Robin. 
 
 O
 
 210 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 BENJAMIN. 
 
 It was the evening of September the sixteenth, about nine of 
 the clock. I was sitting alone in my lodging. Down-stairs I 
 heard the voice of the poor widow, Mrs. Prior, who had received 
 us. She was praying aloud with some godly friends for the 
 safety of her sons. These young men, as I have said, were 
 never more heard of, and were therefore already, doubtless, past 
 praying for. I, who ought to have been praying with them, 
 held Robin's last letter in my hands. I knew it by heart, but I 
 must still be reading it again and again ; thinking it was his 
 voice which was indeed speaking to me, trying to feel his pres- 
 ence near me, to hear his breath, to see his very eyes. In the 
 night, waking or sleeping, I still would hear him calling to me 
 aloud. " My heart — my life — my love !" he would cry. I heard 
 him, I say, quite plainly. By special mercy and grace this 
 power was accorded to me, because I have no doubt that in his 
 mind, while lying in his noisome prison, he did turn his 
 thoughts, yea, and the yearnings of his fond heart, to the 
 maid he loved. But now the merciless judge Avho had sen- 
 tenced three hundred men to one common doom — three hun- 
 dred men ! was such a sentence ever known ? — had left Dor- 
 chester, and was already, perhaps, at Exeter. Oh ! Perhaps 
 Robin had by this time stood his trial ; what place was left for 
 prayer? For if the poor ignorant clowns were condemned to 
 death, how much more the gentlemen, the officers of Monmouth's 
 army. Perhaps he Avas already executed — my lover — my boy — 
 my Robin — taken out and hanged, and now a cold and senseless 
 corpse. Then the wailings and prayers of the poor woman 
 below, added to the distraction of these thoughts, made me 
 feel as if I were indeed losing my senses. At this time it was 
 blow upon blow ; line upon line ; the sky was black ; the heav- 
 ens were deaf. Is there, can there be, a more miserable
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 211 
 
 tiling than to feel tliat the very heavens are deaf ? The mercy 
 of the Lord, his kindly hearkening to our cries and prayers, 
 these we believe as we look for the light of day and the warmth 
 of the sun. Nay, this belief is the very breath of our life, so 
 that there is none but the most hardened and abandoned sinner 
 who doth not still feel that he hath in the Lord a Father as 
 well as a Judge. To lose that belief — 'twere better to be a 
 lump of senseless clay. The greatest misery of the lost soul, 
 even greater than his continual torment of fire, and his never- 
 ending thirst, and the gnawing of remorse, must be to feel that 
 the heavens are deaf to his prayers ; deaf forever and forever. 
 
 At this time my prayers were all for safety. " Safety, good 
 Lord, give them safety. Save them from the executioner. Give 
 them safety." Thus, as Barnaby said, the shipwrecked mari- 
 ner clinging to the mast asks not for a green, pleasant, and fer- 
 tile shore, but for land — only for land. I sat there musing 
 sadly, the Bible on the table and a lighted candle. I read not 
 in the Bible, but listened to the wailing of the poor soul below, 
 and looked at the churchyard without, the moonlight falling 
 upon the fresh mounds which covered the graves of the poor, 
 dead prisoners. Suddenly I heard a voice — a loud and harsh 
 voice — and footsteps. 1 knew both footsteps and voice, and I 
 sprang to my feet trembling, because I was certain that some 
 new disaster had befallen us. 
 
 Then the steps mounted the stairs, the door was opened, and 
 Benjamin — none other than Benjamin — appeared. AYhat did 
 he here ? He was so big, with so red a face, that his presence 
 seemed to fill the room. And with him — what did this mean ? — 
 came madam herself, Avho I thought to have been at Exeter. 
 Alas ! her eyes were red with weeping, her cheeks were thin 
 and wasted with sorrow ; her lips were trembling. 
 
 " Grace !" she cried, holding out her hands. " Child, these ter- 
 rible things are done, and yet we live. Alas! we live. Are 
 our hearts made of stone that we still live ? As for me, I can- 
 not die, though I lose all — all — all." 
 
 " Dear madam, what hath happened ? More misery ! more 
 disaster ! Oh, tell me — tell me." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, they have been tried ; they have been tried 
 and they are condemned to die, both Robin — my son Robin — 
 and with him Humphrey, who dragged him into the business
 
 212 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 and alone ought to suffer for both. But there is now no justice 
 in the land. No — no more justice can be had. Else Humphrey 
 should have suffered for all." 
 
 There was something strange in her eyes ; she did not look 
 like a mother robbed of her children ; she gazed upon me as if 
 there were something else upon her mind, as if the condemna- 
 tion of her son was not enough ! 
 
 " Robin will be hanged," she went on. " He hath been the 
 only comfort of my life since my husband Avas taken from me, 
 when he was left an infant in my arms. Robin will be hanged 
 like any common gypsy caught stealing a sheep. He will be 
 hanged and drawn and quartered, and those goodly limbs of his 
 will be stuck upon poles for all to see." 
 
 Truly I looked for nothing less. Barnaby bade me look for 
 nothing less than this, but at the news I fell into a swoon. So 
 one who knoweth beforehand that he is to feel the surgeon's 
 knife, and thinks to endure the agony without a cry, is fain to 
 shriek and scream when the moment comes. 
 
 When I recovered I was sitting at the open window, madam 
 applying a wet cloth to my forehead. 
 
 " Have no fear," Benjamin was saying. " She will do what 
 you command her, so only that he may go free." 
 
 " Is there no way but that ?" she asked. 
 
 " None." And then he swore a great oath. 
 
 My eyes being open and my sense returned, I perceived that 
 Mrs. Prior was also in the room. And I wondered (in such 
 moments the mind finds relief in trifles) that Benjamin's face 
 should have grown so red and his cheeks so fat. 
 
 " Thou hast been in a swoon, my dear," said madam, " but 
 'tis past." 
 
 " Why is Benjamin here ?'' I asked. 
 
 He looked at madam, who cast down her eyes, I knew not 
 whv. 
 
 " Benjamin is now our only friend," she replied, without look- 
 ing up. " It is out of his kindness — yes, his kindness of heart — 
 that he hath come." 
 
 "I do not understand. If Robin is to die, what kindness 
 can he show ?" 
 
 " Tell her, Benjamin," said madam, " tell her of the trials at 
 Exeter."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 213 
 
 " His lordship came to Exeter," Benjamin began, on the even- 
 ing of September the thirteenth, escorted by many country 
 gentlemen and a troop of horse. I had the honor of riding 
 with him. The trials began the day before yesterday, the 
 fourteenth." 
 
 " Pray, good sir," asked the poor woman who had lost her 
 son, " did you observe my boy among the prisoners ?" 
 
 " How the devil should I know your boy ?" he replied, turn- 
 ing upon her roughly, so that she asked no more questions. " If 
 they were rebels they deserve hanging," here she shrieked aloud 
 and fled the room. " The trials began with two fellows who 
 pleaded, ' not guilty,' but were quickly proved to have been in 
 arms and Avere condemned to death. One of them being sent 
 out to instant execution, the rest who were brought up that day, 
 among whom were Kobin and Humphrey, pleaded guilty, being 
 partly terrified and partly persuaded that it was their only chance 
 of escape. So they, too, were condemned, two hundred and forty 
 in all, every man Jack of them, to be hanged, drawn, and quar- 
 tered, and their limbs to be afterwards stuck on poles for the 
 greater terror of evil-doers ;" he said these words with such a 
 fire in his eyes, and in such a dreadful threatening voice as made 
 me tremble. " Then they were all taken back to jail, where they 
 will lie until the day of execution, and the Lord have mercy 
 upon their souls !" 
 
 The terrible Judge Jeffreys himself could not look more ter- 
 rible than Benjamin when he uttered the prayer with which a 
 sentence to death is concluded. 
 
 " Benjamin, were you in the court to see and hear the con- 
 demnation of your own cousins ?" 
 
 " I was. I sat in the body of the court, in the place reserved 
 for counsel." 
 
 " Could you say nothing that would help them ?" 
 
 " Nothing. Not a word from any one could help them. Con- 
 sider, one of them was an oflicer, and one of them was a surgeon 
 in the army. The ignorant rustics whom they led may some 
 of them escape, but the officers can look for no mercy." 
 
 " Madam," I cried, " I must see Robin before he dies, though 
 God knows there are those here who want my services daily. 
 Yet I must see Robin. He will not die easy unless he sees me 
 and kisses me once."
 
 214 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 Madam made no reply. 
 
 *' For a week," said Benjamin, " they are safe. I do not 
 tliink they will be executed for a week at least. But it is not 
 wise to reckon on a reprieve even for an hour ; the judge may 
 at any time order their execution." 
 
 " I will go to-morrow." 
 
 " That will be seen," said Benjamin. 
 
 " My dear," said madam, " my nephew Benjamin is a friend 
 of the judge. Lord Jeffreys." 
 
 " Say rather a follower and admirer of that great, learned, and 
 reliffious man. One who is vet but a member of the outer bar 
 must not assume the style and title of friend to a man whose 
 next step must be the woolsack." 
 
 Heavens ! He called the inhuman wretch who had sentenced 
 an innocent old woman of seventy to be burned alive, and five 
 hundred persons to be hanged, and one knows not how many 
 to be inhumanly flogged — great and religious ! 
 
 " If interest can save any," madam said, softly, " Benjamin 
 can command that interest, and he is on the side of mercy, es- 
 pecially where his cousins are concerned," 
 
 I now observed that madam, who had not formerly been wont 
 to regard her nephew with much affection, observed towards 
 him the greatest respect and submission. 
 
 " Madam," he replied, " you know the goodness of my heart. 
 What man can do shall be done by me, not only for Robin, but for 
 the others who are involved with him in common ruin. But there 
 are conditions with which I have taken pains to acquaint you." 
 
 Madam sighed heavily and looked as if she would speak, but 
 refrained, and I saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. 
 
 " What conditions, Benjamin ?" I asked him. " Conditions ! 
 For trying to save your own cousins, and your own grandfather ! 
 Conditions ! Why, you should be moving heaven and earth for 
 them instead of making conditions." 
 
 " It needs not so much exertion," he replied, with an unbe- 
 coming grin. " First, Grace, I must own, child, that the two 
 years or thereabouts since I saw thee last have added greatly to 
 thy charms, at which I rejoice." 
 
 " Oh, what have my charms to do with the business ?" 
 
 "Much, as thou wilt presently discover. But let me re- 
 mind you both that there threaten — nay, there are actually over-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 215 
 
 hanging — disasters, the like of which never happen save in time 
 of civil war and of rebellion. My grandfather is in prison, and 
 will be tried on a charge of sending men and horses to Join 
 Monmouth. Nay, the duke's proclamation was found in his 
 house ; he will be certainly condemned, and his estates confis- 
 cated. So there will be an end of as old a family as lives in 
 Somerset. Then there is thy father, child, who was preacher to 
 the army, and did make mischief in stirring up the fanatical 
 zeal of many. Think you that he can escape ? Then there is 
 thy brother, Barnaby, who was such a fool as to meddle in what 
 concerned him not, and now will hang therefor. AYhat can we 
 expect ? Are men to go unpunished who thus rebel against the 
 Lord's Anointed ? Is treason, rank treason, the setting-up of a 
 pretender prince (who is now lying headless in his coffin) as 
 the rightful heir to be forgiven? We must not look for it. 
 Alas ! madam, had I been with you instead of that conceited, 
 fanatical, crookback Humphrey, whom I did ever detest, none 
 of these things should have happened." 
 
 " Humphrey," I said, " has more worth in his finger than you 
 in your great body, Benjamin." 
 
 " My dear, my dear, do not anger Benjamin. Oh, do not 
 anger our only friend." 
 
 " She may say what she pleases. My time will come. Listen, 
 then. They must all be hanged unless I can succeed in getting 
 them pardoned." 
 
 " Nay, but forgive my rudeness, Benjamin ; they are your 
 own cousins ; it is your own grandfather. What need of con- 
 ditions? Oh, what does this mean? Are you a man of flesh 
 and blood ?" 
 
 " My conditions, child, will assure you that such is truly the 
 nature of my composition." 
 
 '< If money is wanted " — I thought of my bag of gold, and of 
 Mr. Penne's hints — " how much will suffice ?" 
 
 " I know not. If it comes to buying them off, more thou- 
 sands than could be raised on the Bradford Orcas estates. Put 
 money out of mind." 
 
 " Then, Benjamin, save them if thou canst." 
 
 " His lordship knows that I have near relations concerned in 
 the rebellion. Yet, he assured me, if his own brothers were 
 among the prisoners he would hang them all."
 
 21G FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 
 
 " Nay, then, Benjamin, I say no more. Tell me what are 
 these conditions, and if we can grant or contrive them, v/e will 
 comply." I had no thought of what was meant by his condi- 
 tions. Nor did I even guess until the morning when madam 
 told me. "Oh, madam, is there' anything in the world — any- 
 thing, that we would not do to save them ?" 
 
 Madam looked at me with so much pity in her eyes that I 
 wondered. It was pity for me, and not for her son that I read 
 in that look. Why did she pity me ? 
 
 I understood not. 
 
 "My dear," she said, "there are times when women are called 
 upon to make sacrifices which they never thought to make, 
 which seem impossible to be even asked." 
 
 " Oh, there are no sacrifices which we would not gladly make. 
 What can Benjamin require that we should not gladly do for 
 him? Nay, he is Robin's cousin, and your nephew, and Sir 
 Christopher's grandson. He will, if need be, join us in making 
 these sacrifices." 
 
 " I will," said Benjamin. " I will join you in making that 
 sacrifice with a willing heart." 
 
 " I will tell her to-morrow," said madam. " No, I cannot tell 
 her to-night. Let us rest. Go, sir, leave us to our sorrow. It 
 may be that we may think the sacrifice too great even for the 
 lives and safety of those we love. Go, sir, for to-night, and re- 
 turn to-morrow." 
 
 " Surely, child," said madam, presently, when he was gone, and 
 we were alone, " we are the most unhappy women in the world." 
 
 " Nay," I replied. " There have been other women before us 
 who have been ruined and widowed by civil wars and rebel- 
 lions. If it be any comfort to think that others have suffered 
 like ourselves, then we may comfort ourselves. But the thought 
 brings no consolation to me." 
 
 " Hagar," said madam, " was a miserable woman because she 
 was cast out by the man she loved, even the father of her son. 
 Rachel was unhappy until the Lord gave her a son. Jephthah's 
 daughter was unhappy, my dear ; there is no case except hers 
 which may be compared with ours, and Jephthah's daughter was 
 happy in one circumstance, that she was permitted to die. Ah ! 
 happy girl, she died. That was all her sacrifice, to die for the 
 sake of her father. But what is ours ?"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 217 
 
 So she spoke in riddles, or dark sayings, of which I under- 
 stood nothing. Nevertheless, before lying down, I did solemn- 
 ly, and, in her presence and hearing, aloud, upon my knees, offer 
 unto Almighty God myself — my very life — if so that Robin 
 could be saved. And then, with lighter heart than I had known 
 for long, I lay down and slept. 
 
 At midnight or thereabouts madam woke me up. 
 " Child," she said, " I cannot sleep. Tell me truly, is there 
 nothing: that thou wouldst refuse for Robin's sake ?" 
 " Nothing, verily. Ah, madam, can you doubt it ?" 
 " Even if it w^ere a sacrifice of which he would not approve ?" 
 " Believe me, madam, there is nothing that I would not do 
 for Robin's safety." 
 
 " Child, if we were living in the days of persecution wouldst 
 thou hear the mass and adopt the Catholic religion to save thy 
 lover's life «" 
 
 " Oh, madam, the Lord will never try us above our strength." 
 " Sleep, my child, sleep. And pray that as thy temptation, 
 so may be thy strength." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 ON WHAT CONDITIONS? 
 
 In the morning I awoke with a lighter heart than I had known 
 for a long time. Benjamin was going to release our prisoner ; 
 I should go to meet Robin at the gate of his prison ; all would 
 be well, except that my father would never recover. We should 
 return to the village, and everything should go on as before. 
 Oh, poor fond wretch ! IIow was I deluded, and oh, miser- 
 able day that ended with such shame and sadness, yet began 
 with so much hope. 
 
 Madam was already dressed. She was sitting at the window 
 looking into the churchyard. She had been crying. Alas, 
 how many women in Somersetshire were then weeping all day 
 long! 
 
 " Madam," I said, " we now have hope. We must not weep 
 and lament any more. Oh, to have at least a little hope, when 
 we have lived so long in despair, it makes one breathe again. 
 10
 
 218 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 Benjamin will save our prisoners for us. Oh, after all, it is 
 Benjamin who will help us. We did not use to love Benjamin 
 because he was rude and masterful, and wanted everything for 
 himself, and would never give up anything. Yet, you see, he 
 had after all a good heart" — madam groaned — "and he can- 
 not forget, though he followeth not his grandfather's opinions, 
 that he is his honor's grandson — the son of his only daughter — 
 and your nephew, and first cousin to Robin and second cousin 
 once removed to Humphrey and Barnaby, playfellows of old. 
 Why, these are ties which bind him as if with ropes. He needs 
 must bestir himself to save their lives. And since he says 
 that he can save them, of course he must have bestirred himself 
 to some purpose. Weep no more, dear madam. Your son 
 will be restored to us. We shall be happy again, thanks to 
 Benjamin." 
 
 " Child," she replied, " my heart is broken ; it is broken, I 
 say. Oh, to be lying dead and at peace in yonder church- 
 yard ! Never before did I think that it must be a happy thing 
 to be dead and at rest, and to feel nothing and to know noth- 
 ing." 
 
 " But, madam, the dead are not in their graves ; there lie only 
 the bodies, their souls are above." 
 
 " Then they still think and remember. Oh, can a time ever 
 come when things can be forgotten ? Will the dead ever cease 
 to reproach themselves?" 
 
 She wrung her hands in an ecstasy of grief, though I knew 
 not what should move her so. Indeed, she Avas commonly a 
 woman of sober and contained disposition, entirely governed 
 both in her temper and in her words. What was in her mind 
 that she should accuse herself? Then, while I was dressing, 
 she went on talking, being still full of this strong passion. 
 
 " I shall have my boy back again," she said. " Yes, he will 
 come back to me. And what will he say to me when I tell him 
 all ? Yet I must have him back. Oh, to think of the hang- 
 man tying the rope about his neck " — she shuddered and trem- 
 bled — " and afterwards the cruel knife " — she clasped her hands 
 and could not say the words. " I see the comely limbs of my 
 boy — oh, the thought tears my heart — it tears me through and 
 through ; I cannot think of anything else day or night ; and 
 yet in the prison he is so patient and so cheerful. I marvel
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 219 
 
 that men can be so patient with this dreadful death before 
 them." She broke out again into another passion of sobbing 
 and crying. Then she became calmer and tried to speak of 
 things less dreadful. 
 
 " When first I visited my boy in prison," she said, " Humphrey 
 came humbly to ask my pardon. Poor lad ! I have had hard 
 thoughts of him. It is certain that he was in the plot from the 
 beginning. Yet had he not gone so far, should we have sat 
 down when the rising began ? But he doth still accuse himself 
 of rashness and calls himself the cause of all our misfortunes. 
 He fell upon his knees, in the sight of all, to ask forgiveness, 
 saying that it was he and none other who had brought ruin 
 upon us all. Then Robin begged me to raise him up and com- 
 fort him, which I did, putting aside my hard thoughts and tell- 
 ing him that being such stubborn Protestants our lads could 
 not choose but join the duke whether he advised it or whether 
 he did not. Nay, I told him that Robin would have dragged 
 him willy-nilly. And so I kissed him, and Robin took him by 
 the hand and solemnly assured him that his grandfather had 
 no such thought in his mind." 
 
 " Nay," I said, " my father and Barnaby would certainly have 
 joined the duke, Humphrey or not. Never were any men more 
 eaofer for rebellion." 
 
 " I have been to London," she went on. " 'Tis a long 
 journey and I effected nothing, for the mind of the king, I was 
 assured, is harder than the nether millstone. My brother-in- 
 law Boscorel went wdth me, and I left him there. But I have 
 no hope that he will be able to help us, his old friends being 
 much scattered and many of them dead, and some hostile to the 
 court and in ill favor. So I returned, seeing that if I could not 
 save my son I could be Avith him until he died. The day be- 
 fore yesterday he was tried, if you call that a trial when hun- 
 dreds together plead guilty and are all alike sentenced to 
 death." 
 
 " Have you been home since the trial ?" 
 
 " I went to the prison as soon as they were brought back 
 from court. Some of the people — for they w^ere all condemned 
 to death, every one — were crying and lamenting. And there 
 were many women among them, their wives or their mothers, 
 and these were shrieking and wringing their hands, so that it
 
 220 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 was a terrible spectacle. But some of the men called for drink 
 and began to carouse, so that tliey might drown the thought of 
 impending death. My dear, I never thought to look upon a 
 scene so full of horror. As for our own boys, Robin was 
 patient and even cheerful, and Humphrey, leading us to the 
 most quiet spot in that dreadful place, exhorted us to lose 
 no time in weeping or vain laments, but to cheer up and con- 
 sole our hearts with the thought that death, even violent death, 
 is but a brief pang, and life is but a short passage, and that 
 heaven awaits us beyond. Humphrey should have been a 
 minister, such is the natural piety and goodness of his heart. 
 So he spoke of the happy meeting in that place of blessedness 
 where earthly love would be purged of its grossness and our 
 souls shall be so glorified that we shall each admire the beauty 
 of the other. Then Robin talked of you, my dear, and sent 
 thee a loving message, bidding thee grieve for him, but not 
 without hope, and that a sure and certain hope of meeting 
 again. There are other things he bade me tell thee, but now 
 I cannot — oh, I must not." 
 
 " Nay, madam, but if they are words that he wished me to hear ?" 
 
 " Why, they were of his constant love and — and — no, I can- 
 not tell them." 
 
 " Nay," I said, " fret not thy poor heart with thinking any 
 more of the prison, for Benjamin will surely save him, and 
 then we shall love Benjamin all our lives." 
 
 "He will perhaps save him. And yet — oh, how can I tell 
 her? — we shall shed many more tears. How can I tell her? 
 How can I tell her ?" 
 
 So she broke off again, but presently recovered and went on 
 talking. In time of great trouble the mind wanders back- 
 ward and forward, and though one talks still, it is disjointedly. 
 So she went back to the prison. 
 
 " The boys have been well, though the prison is full and the 
 air is foul. Yet there hath been as yet no fever, for which 
 they are thankful. At first they had no money, the soldiers 
 who took them prisoners having robbed them of their money, 
 and indeed stripped them, as well, to their shirts, telling them 
 that shirts were good enough to be hanged in. Yet the people 
 of Exeter have treated the prisoners with great humanity, bring- 
 ing them, daily, food and drink, so that there has been nothing
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 221 
 
 lacking. The time, however, doth hang upon their hands in a 
 place where there is nothing to do all day but to think of the 
 past and to dread the future. One poor lady, I was told, hath 
 gone distracted with the terror of this thought. Child, every 
 day that I visited my son, while he talked with me, always 
 cheerful and smiling, my mind turned continually to the scaffold 
 and the gibbet." Then she returned to the old subject, from 
 which she could in no way escape. " I saw the hangman. I 
 saw my son hanging to the shameful tree — oh ! my son ! my 
 sou ! — till I could bear it no longer and would hurry away from 
 the prison and walk about the town over the fields — yea, all 
 night long — to escape the dreadful thought. Oh, to be blessed 
 with such a son and to have him torn from my arms for such a 
 death. If he had been killed upon the field of battle 'twould 
 have been easier to bear. But now he dies daily, he dies a 
 thousand deaths in my mind. My child " — she turned again to 
 the churchyard — " the rooks are cawing in their nests ; the 
 sparrows and the robins hop among the graves ; the dead hear 
 nothing ; all their troubles are over, all their sins are forgiven." 
 
 I comforted her as well as I could. Indeed, I understood 
 not at all what she meant, thinking that perhaps all her trouble 
 had caused her to be in that frame of mind when a woman doth 
 not know whether to laugh or to cry. And then, taking my 
 basket, I sallied forth to provide the day's provisions for my 
 prisoners. 
 
 " Barnaby," I said, when he came to the wicket, " I have good 
 news for thee." 
 
 " What good news ? That I am to be flogged once a year in 
 every market town in Somersetshire, as will happen to young 
 Tutchin?" 
 
 " No, no, not that kind of news ; but freedom, brother, hope 
 for freedom." 
 
 He laughed. " Who is to give us freedom ?" 
 
 " Benjamin hath found a way for the enlargement of all." 
 
 " Ben Boscorel ? What, will he stir finger for the sake of 
 anybody ? Then, Sis, if I remember Ben aright, there will be 
 something for himself. But if it is upon Ben that we are to 
 rely we are truly well sped. On Ben, quotha !" 
 
 " Brother, he told me so himself." 
 
 " 'Ware hawks, sister. If Ben is at one end of the rope and
 
 222 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 the hangman at the other, I think I know who will be stronger. 
 Well, child, believe Ben if thou wilt.' Thy father looks strange 
 this morning ; he opened his eyes and seemed to know me. I 
 wonder if there is a change. 'Tis wonderful how he lasts. 
 There are six men sickened since yesterday of the fever ; three 
 of them brought in last week are already dead. As for the 
 singing that we used to hear, it is all over, and if the men get 
 drunk they are dumb drunk. Sir Christopher looks but poorly 
 this morning. I hope he will not take the fever. He staggered 
 when he arose, which is a bad sign." 
 
 "Tell mother, Barnaby, what Benjamin hath undertaken 
 to do." 
 
 " Nay, that shall I not, because, look you, I believe it not. 
 There is some trick or lie at the bottom, unless Ben hath re- 
 pented and changed his disposition, which used to be two parts 
 wolf, one part bear, and the rest fox. If there were anything 
 left it was serpent. Well, sister, I am no grumbler, but I ex- 
 pect this job to be over in a fortnight or so, when they say the 
 Wells Assizes will be held. Then we shall all be swinging ; and 
 I only hope that we may carry with us into the court such a 
 breath of jail fever as shall lay the judge himself upon his back 
 and end his days. In the next world he will meet the men 
 whom he has sentenced, and it will fare worse for him in their 
 hands than with fifty thousand devils." 
 
 So he took a drink of the beer, and departed within the pris- 
 on, and for three weeks I saw hira no more. 
 On my way home I met Benjamin. 
 
 "Hath madam told you yet of my conditions?" he asked, 
 eagerly. * 
 
 "Not yet. She Avill doubtless tell me presently. Oh, what 
 matter for the conditions. It can only be something good for 
 us, contrived by your kind heart. Ben, I have told Barnaby, 
 who will not believe in our good-fortune." 
 
 " It is, indeed, something very good for you, Alice, as you 
 will find. Come with me, and walk in the meadows, beyond 
 the reach of this doleful place, where the air reeks Avith jail 
 fever, and all day long they are reading the funeral service." 
 
 So he led me out upon the sloping sides of a hill, where we 
 walked awhile upon the grass very pleasantly, my mind being 
 now at rest.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 223 
 
 " You liavc licard of notliing," lie said, " of late, but of the 
 rebellion and its consequences. Let us talk about London." 
 
 So he discoursed concerning his own profession and his pros- 
 pects, which, he said, were better than those of any other young 
 lawyer, in his own opinion. " For my practice," he said, " I al- 
 ready have one which gives me an income far beyond my wants, 
 which are simple. Give me plain fare, and for the evening a 
 bottle or two of good wine, with tobacco, and friends who love 
 a cheerful glass. I ask no more. My course lies clear before 
 me ; I shall become a king's counsel ; I shall be made a judge ; 
 presently I shall become lord chancellor. What did 1 tell thee, 
 child, long ago ? Well, that time has now arrived." 
 
 Still I was so foolish, being so happy, that I could not under- 
 stand what he meant. 
 
 " I am sure, Benjamin," I said, " that we at home shall ever 
 rejoice, and be proud of your success. Nobody will be more 
 happy to hear of it than Robin and L" 
 
 Here he turned very red, and muttered something. 
 
 " You find your happiness in courts and clubs and London," 
 I went on ; " as for Robin and myself, we shall find ours in the 
 peaceful place which we have always decided to have." 
 
 " What the devil — " he cried : " hath she not told you the 
 condition ? She came with me for no other purpose. I have 
 borne with her company all the way from Exeter for this only. 
 Go back to her, and ask what it is. Go back, I say, and make 
 her tell. What, am I to take all this trouble for nothing ?" 
 
 His face was purple with sudden rage. His eyes were fierce, 
 and he roared and bawled at me. Why, what had I said ? How 
 had I angered him ? 
 
 " Benjamin," I cried, " what is the matter ? How have I an- 
 gered you '?" 
 
 " Go back," he roared again. " Tell her that if I presently 
 come and find thee still in ignorance 'twill be the worse for all. 
 Tell her that I say it ; 'twill else be worse for all."
 
 224 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A SLIGHT THING AT THE BEST. 
 
 So I left Benjamin mucli frightened, and marvelling botli at 
 his violent passion and at the message which he sent to madam. 
 
 She was waitina; for me at the lodsfino:. 
 
 " Madam," I said, " I have seen Benjamin. He is very angry. 
 He bade me go home and ask you concerning his conditions. 
 We must not anger our best friend, dear madam." 
 
 She rose from her chair and began to walk about, wringing 
 her hands, as if torn by some violent emotion, 
 
 " Oh, my child !" she cried ; " Grace, come to my arms — if it 
 is for the last time — my daughter ! More than ever mine, though 
 I must never call thee daughter." She held me in her arms, 
 kissing me tenderly. " My dear, we agreed that no sacrifice is 
 too great for the safety of our boy. Yes, we agreed to that. 
 Let us kiss each other before we do a thing after which we can 
 never kiss each other again. No, never again." 
 
 " Why not again, madam ?" 
 
 " Oh !" — she pushed me from her — " it is now eight of the 
 clock. He will be here at ten. I promised I would tell thee be- 
 fore he came. And all is in readiness." 
 
 " For what, madam ?" 
 
 Why, even then I guessed not her meaning, though I might 
 have done so ; but I never thought that so great a wickedness 
 was possible. 
 
 " No sacrifice should be too great for us," she cried, clasping 
 her head with her hands, and looking wildly about ; " none too 
 great. Not even the sacrifice of my own son's love ; no, not 
 that. Why, let us think of the sacrifices men make for their 
 country, for their religion. Abraham was ready to offer his 
 son Isaac ; Jephthah sacrificed his daughter ; King Mesha slew 
 his eldest son for a burnt-offering. Thousands of men die every 
 year in battle for their country. What have we to offer? If
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 225 
 
 we give ourselves it is but a sliglit thing that we offer, at the 
 best." 
 
 " Surely, madam," I cried, " you know that we would willingly 
 die for the sake of Robin." 
 
 " Yes, child, to die — to die were nothing. It is to live — we 
 must live for Robin." 
 
 " I understand not, madam." 
 
 " Listen, then, for the time presses ; and if he arrive and lin<l 
 that I have not broken the thing to thee he will perhaps ride back 
 to Exeter in a rage. When I left my son, after the trial, being 
 very wretched and without hope, I found Benjamin waiting for 
 me at the prison gates. He walked with me to my lodging, and 
 on the Avay he talked of what was in my mind. First he said 
 that, for the better sort, there Avas little hope, seeing that the 
 king was revengeful and the judge most wratliful, and in a mood 
 which allowed of no mercy. Therefore it would be best to dis- 
 miss all hopes of pardon or of safety either to these two or to 
 the prisoners of Ilminster. Now, when he had said this a great 
 many times, we being now arrived at my lodging, he told me 
 that there was, in my case, a way out of the trouble, and one 
 way only ; that if we consented to follow that way, which, he 
 said, would do no manner of harm to either of us or to our pris- 
 oners, he would undertake, and faithfully engage to secure, the 
 safety of all our prisoners. I prayed him to point out this way, 
 and after much entreaty he consented." 
 
 " What is the w^ay ?" I asked, having not the least suspicion. 
 And yet the look in her eyes should have told me what was 
 coming. 
 
 " Is it true, child, that long ago you were betrothed to Ben- 
 jamin ?" 
 
 " No, madam. That is most untrue." 
 
 " He says that, when you were quite a little child, he informed 
 you of his intention to marry you, and none but you." 
 
 " AVhy, that is true, indeed." And now I began to under- 
 stand the way that was proposed, and my heart sank within me. 
 " That is true. But to tell a child such a thing is not a be- 
 trothal." 
 
 " He says that only three or four years ago he renewed that 
 assurance." 
 
 " So he did, but I gave him no manner of encouragement." 
 10* P
 
 226 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " He says that he promised- to return and marry you when he 
 had arrived at some practice, and that he engaged to become 
 lord chancellor, and make you a peeress of the realm." 
 
 " All that he said, and more, yet did I never give him the 
 least encouragement, but quite the contrary, for always have I 
 feared and disliked Benjamin. Never at any time was it possi- 
 ble for me to think of him in that way. That he knows, and 
 cannot pretend otherwise. Madam, doth Benjamin wish evil to 
 Robin because I am betrothed to him ?" 
 
 " He also says, in his rude way — Benjamin was always a rude 
 and coarse boy — that he had warned you long ago that if any 
 one else came in his way he would break the head of that man." 
 
 " Yes, I remember that he threatened some violence." 
 
 "Mv dear" — madam took my hand — "his time of revenge is 
 come. He says that he has the life of the man whom you love 
 in his own hands, and he will, he swears, break his head for 
 him, and so keep the promise made to you by tying the rope 
 round his neck. My dear, Benjamin has always been stubborn 
 and obstinate from his birth. Stubborn and obstinate was he as 
 a boy ; stubborn and obstinate is he now ; he cares for nobody 
 in the world except himself ; he has no heart, he has no ten- 
 derness, he has no scruples ; if he wants a thing he will tram- 
 ple on all the world to get it, and break all the laws of God. I 
 know what manner of life he leads. He is the friend and com- 
 panion of the dreadful judge who goeth about like a raging lion. 
 Every night do they drink together until they are speechless, 
 and cannot stand. Their delight it is to drink and smoke to- 
 bacco, with unseemly jests and ribald songs which would dis- 
 grace the play-house or the country fair. Oh, 'tis the life of a 
 hog that he delights in. Yet for all that he is, like his noble 
 friend, full of ambition. Nothing will do but he must rise in 
 the world. Therefore he works hard at his profession, and — " 
 
 " Madam, the condition — what is the condition ? For Heav- 
 en's sake, tell me quickly. Is it — is it — oh, no, no, no ! Any- 
 thing but that." 
 
 " My child ! my daughter !" — she laid her hand upon my head 
 — " it is that condition ; that, and none other. Oh, my dear, it is 
 laid upon thee to save us ; it is to be thy work alone ; and by 
 such a sacrifice as, I think, no woman ever yet had to make. 
 Nay, perhaps it is better not to make it, after all. Let all die
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 227 
 
 together, and let us live out our allotted lives in sorrow. I 
 thought of it all night, and it seemed better so ; better even 
 that thou wert lying in thy grave. Ilis condition ! Oh, he must 
 be a devil thus to barter for the lives of his grandfather and his 
 cousins ; no human being, surely, would do such a thing. The 
 condition, my dear, is, that thou must marry him, now, this very 
 morning ; and, this once done, he will at once take such steps — 
 I know not what they may be, but I take it that his friend, the 
 judge, will grant him the favor — such steps, I say, as will release 
 unto us all our prisoners." 
 
 At first I made no answer, 
 
 " If not," she added, after a while, " they shall all be surely 
 hanged." 
 
 I remained silent. It is not easy, at such a moment, to col- 
 lect one's thoughts and understand what things mean. I asked 
 her, presently, if there was no other way. 
 
 " None," she said ; there was no other way. 
 
 " What shall I do ? what shall I do f I asked. " God, it seems, 
 hath granted my daily prayer. But how ? Oh, what shall I do ?" 
 
 " Think of what thou hast in thy power." 
 
 " But to marry him ; to marry Benjamin. Oh, to marry him ! 
 How should I live ? How should I look the world in the face ?" 
 
 " My dear, there are many other unhappy wives. There are 
 other husbands brutal and selfish ; there are other men as wick- 
 ed as my nephew. Thou wilt swear in church to love, honor, 
 and obey him. Thy love is already hate ; thy honor is contempt ; 
 thy obedience will be the obedience of a slave. Yet death com- 
 eth at length, even to a slave and to the harsh taskmaster," 
 
 " Oh, madam, miserable indeed is the lot of those whose only 
 friend is death." 
 
 She was silent, leaving me to think of this terrible condition. 
 
 " What would Robin say ? What would Humphrey say ? 
 Nay, what would his honor himself say ?" 
 
 "Why, child," she replied, with a kind of laugh, "it needs 
 not a wizard to tell what they would say. For one and all, they 
 would rather go to the gallows than buy their lives at such a 
 price. Thy brother Barnaby would mount the ladder with a 
 cheerful heart rather than sell his sister to buy his life. That 
 we know already. Nay, we know more. For Robin will never 
 forgive his mother who suffered thee to do such a thing. So
 
 228 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 shall I lose what I value more than life— the love of my only 
 son. Yet would I buy his life at such a price. My dear, if you 
 love your lover I lose my son. Yet we will save him whether 
 he will or no." She took my hands and pressed them in her 
 own. " My dear, it will be worse for me than for you. You 
 will have a husband, it is true, whom you will loathe ; yet you 
 will not see him, perhaps, for half the day at least, and perhaps 
 he will leave thee to thyself for the other half. But for me, I 
 shall have to endure the loss of my son's affections all my life, 
 because I am very sure and certain that he can never forgive 
 me. Think, my dear. Shall they all die — all ; think of father 
 and brother and of your mother ; or will you willingly endure a 
 life of misery with this man for husband in order that they may 
 live?" 
 
 " Oh, madam," I said, " as for the misery, any other kind 
 of misery I would Avillingly endure ; but it is marriage — mar- 
 riage. Yet who am I that I should choose my sacrifice ? Oh, 
 if good works were of any avail, then would the way to heaven 
 be opened wide for me by such an act and such a life. Oh, 
 what will Robin say of me ? What will he think of me ? Will 
 he curse me and loathe me for being able to do this thing? 
 Should I do it ? Is it right ? Doth God command it ? Yet to 
 save their dear lives ; only to set them free ; to send that good 
 old man back to his home ; to suffer my father to die in peace. 
 I must do it — I must do it. Yet Robin could never forgive me. 
 Oh, he told me that betrothal was a sacrament. I have sworn 
 to be his. Yet to save his life — I cannot hesitate. If it is 
 wrong, I pray that Robin will forgive me. Tell him that — oh, 
 tell him that it is I who am to die, instead of him. Perhaps 
 God will suffer me to die quickly. Tell him that I loved him 
 and only him ; that I would rather have died ; that for his life 
 alone I would not have done this thing because he would not 
 have suffered it. But it is for all— it is for all. Oh, he must 
 forgive me. Some day you will send me a message of forgive- 
 ness from him. But I must go away and live in London far 
 from all of you, never to see him or any one of you again, not 
 even my own mother. It is too shameful a thing to do. And 
 you will tell his honor, who hath always loved me, and would 
 willingly have called me his granddaughter. It was not that I 
 loved not Robin — God knoweth that— but for all — for him and
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 229 
 
 Robin and all — to save liis gray hairs from the gallows, and to 
 send him back to his home. Oh, tell him that — " 
 
 " My dear, my dear," she replied, but could say no more. 
 
 Then for a while we sat in silence with beating hearts. 
 
 " I am to purchase the lives of five honest men," I said, pres- 
 ently, " by my own dishonor. I know very well that it is by 
 my dishonor and my sin that their lives are to be bought. It 
 doth not save me from dishonor that I am first to stand in the 
 church and be married according to the Prayer Book. Nav, 
 does it not make the sin greater and the dishonor more certain, 
 that I shall first swear what I cannot ever perform, to love and 
 honor that man ?" 
 
 " Yes, girl, yes," said madam ; " but the sin is mine more 
 than yours. Oh, let me bear the sin upon myself." 
 
 " You cannot ; it is my sin and my dishonor. Nay, it is a 
 most dreadful wicked thing that I am to do. It is all the sins 
 in one. I do not honor my parents in thus dishonoring myself ; 
 I kill myself — the woman that my Robin loved. I steal the 
 outward form which belonged to Robin and give it to another. 
 I live in a kind of adultery. It is truly a terrible sin in the 
 sight of Heaven. Yet I will do it. I must do it. I love him 
 so that I cannot let him die. Rather let me be overwhelmed 
 with shame and reproach if only he can live 1" 
 
 " Said I not, my dear, that we two could never kiss each other 
 again ? When two men have conspired together to commit a 
 crime they consort no more together, it is said, but go apart and 
 loathe each other. So it is now with us." 
 
 So I promised to do this thing. The temptation was beyond 
 my strength. Yet had I possessed more faith I should have 
 refused. And then great indeed would have been my reward. 
 Alas ! IIow was I punished for my want of faith ! Well, it 
 was to save my lover. Love makes us strong for evil as well as 
 strong for good. 
 
 And all the time to think that we never inquired or proved 
 his promises ! To think that we never thought of doubting or 
 of asking how he, a young barrister, should be able to save the 
 lives of four active rebels, and one who had been zealous in the 
 cause ? That two women should have been so simple is now 
 astonishing. 
 
 When the clock struck ten I saw Benjamin walking across
 
 230 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 the churcliyard. It was part of the brutal nature of the man 
 that he should walk upon the graves, even those newly made 
 and not covered up with turf, lie swung his great burly form, 
 and looked up at the window with a grin which made madam 
 tremble and shrink back. But for me I was not moved by the 
 sight of him, for now I was strong in resolution. Suppose one 
 who hath made up her mind to go to the stake for her religion, 
 as would doubtless have happened unto many had King James 
 been allowed to continue in his course, do you think that such 
 a woman would begin to tremble at the sight of her executioner ? 
 Not so. She would arise and go forth to meet him with pale 
 face, perhaps (because the agony is sharp), but with a steady 
 eye. Benjamin opened the door and stood looking from one 
 to the other. 
 
 "Well," he said to madam, roughly, "you have by this time 
 told her the condition." 
 
 " I have told her. Alas ! I have told her, and already I re- 
 pent me that I have told her." 
 
 " Doth she consent ?" 
 
 " She does. It shall be as you desire." 
 
 " Ila !" Benjamin drew a long breath. " Said I not, sweet- 
 heart," he turned to me, " that I would break the head of any 
 who came between us ? What ! Have I not broken the head 
 of my cousin when I take away his girl ? Very well, then. And 
 that to good purpose. Very well, then. It remains to carry out 
 the condition." 
 
 " The condition," I said, " I understand to be this. If I be- 
 come your wife, Benjamin, you knowing full well that I love an- 
 other man, and am already promised to him — " 
 
 " Ta, ta, ta," he said. " That you are promised to another 
 man matters not one straw. That you love another man I care 
 nothing. What ? I promise, sweetheart, that I will soon make 
 thee forget that other man. And as for loving any other man 
 after marrying me, that, d'ye see, my pretty, will be impossible. 
 Oh, thou shalt be the fondest wife in the Three Kingdoms." 
 
 " Nay, if such a thing cannot move your heart, I say no more. 
 If I marry you, then all our prisoners will be enlarged ?" 
 
 " I swear " — he used a great round oath, very horrid from the 
 lips of a Christian man — " I swear that if you marry me, the 
 three, Robin, Humphrey, and Barnaby shall all save their lives.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 231 
 
 And as for Sir Christopher and your father, they also shall be 
 enlarged. Can I say aught in addition f ' 
 
 I suspected no deceit. I understood, and so did madam, that 
 this promise meant the full and free forgiveness of all. Yet 
 there was something of mockery in his eyes which should have 
 made us suspicious ; but I, for one, was young and ignorant, and 
 madam was country-bred and truthful. 
 
 " Benjamin," I cried, falling on my knees before him, " think 
 what it is vou ask ! think what a wicked thinar you would have 
 me do ! To break my vows, who am promised to your cousin ! 
 and would you leave your grandfather to perish all for a whim 
 about a silly girl ? Benjamin, you are playing with us. You 
 cannot, you could not sell the lives — the very lives of your 
 motlier, father, and your cousins for such a price as this ! The 
 play has gone far enough, Benjamin. Tell us that it is over, 
 and that you never meant to be taken seriously. And wc will 
 forgive you the anguish you have caused us." 
 
 "Get up," he said, "get up, I say, and stop this folly." He 
 then began to curse and to swear. " Playing, is it I You shall 
 quickly discover that it is no play, but serious enough to please 
 you all, Puritans though you be. Playing ? Get up, I say, and 
 have done." 
 
 " Then," I said, " there is not in the whole world a more in- 
 human monster than yourself." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, my dear, do not anger him," cried madam. 
 
 " All is fair in love, my pretty," said Benjamin, with a grin. 
 " Before marriage call me what you please — inhuman monster 
 — anything that you please. After marriage my wife will have 
 to sing a different tune." 
 
 " Oh, Benjamin, treat her kindly," madam cried. 
 
 "I mean not otherwise. Kindness is my nature; I am too 
 kind for my own interests. Obedience I expect, and good tem- 
 per and a civil tongue, with such respect as is due to one who 
 intends to be lord chancellor. Come, child, no more hard words. 
 Thou shalt be the happiest woman, I say, in the world. What ? 
 Monmouth's rebellion was only contrived to make thy happi- 
 ness. Instead of a dull country-house thou shalt have a house 
 in London ; instead of the meadows thou shalt have the parks ; 
 instead of skylarks, the singers at the play-house ; in due course 
 thou shalt be my lady — "
 
 232 FOB FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Oh, stop, stop ! I must marry you since you make me, but 
 the partner in your ambitions will I never be." 
 
 " My dear," madam whispered, " speak him fair. Be humble 
 to him. Remember he holds in his hand the lives of all." 
 
 " Yes " — Benjamin overheard her — " the lives of all. The 
 man who dares to take my girl from me — mine — deserves to 
 die. Yet so clement, so forgiving, so generous am I, that I am 
 ready to pardon him. lie shall actually save his life. If, there- 
 fore, it is true that (before marriage) you love that man and are 
 promised to him, come to church with me out of your great 
 love to him in order to save his life. But if you love him not, 
 then you can love me, and therefore can come to please your- 
 self. Willy-nilly — what ? am I to be tliwarted in such a ti'itle ? 
 Willy-nilly, I say, I will marry thee. Come, we waste the time." 
 
 He seized my wrist as if he would have dragged me towards 
 the door. 
 
 " Benjamin," cried madam, " be merciful. She is but a girl, 
 and she loves my poor boy. Be merciful. Oh, it is not yet 
 too late." She snatched me from his grasp and stood be- 
 tween us — her arms outstretched. " It is not too late. They 
 may die and we will go in sorrow, but not in shame. They may 
 die. Go, murderer of thy kith and kin. Go, send thy grand- 
 father to die upon the scaffold, but at least leave us in peace." 
 
 " No, madam," I said. " AVith your permission, if there be 
 no other way, I will save their lives." 
 
 " Well, then," Benjamin said, sulkily, " there must be an end 
 of this talk and no further delay. Else, by the Lord, I know 
 not what may happen. Will Tom Boilman delay to prepare his 
 caldron of hot pitch ? If we Avait much longer Robin's arms 
 and legs will be seething in that broth. Doth the judge delay 
 with his warrant ? Already he signs it. Already they are put- 
 ting up the gibbet on which he will hang. Come, I say." 
 
 Benjamin was sure of his prey, I suppose, because we found 
 the clergyman waiting for us in the church, ready with surplice 
 and book. The clerk was standing beside him, also with his 
 book, open at the service for marriage. While they read the 
 service madam threw herself prostrate on the communion steps, 
 her head in her hands, as one who siiffers the last extremities 
 of remorse and despair for sin too grievous to be ever forgiven.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 233 
 
 Let us hope that sometimes we may judge ourselves more liarslily 
 than Heaven itself doth judge us. 
 
 The clerk gave me away, and was the only vt'itness of the 
 marriage besides that poor distracted mother. 
 
 'Twas a strange wedding. There had been no banns put up ; 
 the bride was pale and trembling ; the bridegroom was gloomy ; 
 the only other person present wept upon her knees, while the 
 parson read through his ordered prayer and psalm and exhor- 
 tation ; there was no sign of rejoicing. 
 
 " So," said Benjamin, when all was over. " Now, thou art 
 my wife. They shall not be hanged therefore. Come, wife, v/c 
 will this day ride to Exeter, where thou shalt thyself bear the 
 joyful news of thy marriage and their safety to my cousins. 
 They will own that I am a loving and a careful cousin." 
 
 He led me, thus talking, out of church. Now, as we left the 
 churchyard there passed through the gates — oh, baleful omen ! — 
 four men carrying between them a bier ; upon it was the body 
 of another poor prisoner dead of jail fever. I think that even 
 the hard heart of Benjamin — now my husband ! oh, merciful 
 Heavens, he was my husband ! — quailed, and was touched with 
 fear at meetinof this most sure and certain sia'n of comino; woe, 
 for he muttered something in his teeth, and cursed the bearers 
 aloud for not choosing another time. 
 
 My husband then — I must needs call him my husband — told 
 me brutally that I must ride with him to Exeter, where I should 
 myself bear the joyful news of their safety to his cousins. I 
 did not take that journey, nor did I bear the news, nor did I 
 ever after that moment set eyes upon him again ; nor did I ever 
 speak to him again. His wife I remained, I suppose, because 
 I was joined to him in church. But I never saw him after that , 
 morning, and the reason why you shall now hear. 
 
 At the door of our lodging, which was, you know, hard by the 
 church, stood Mr. Boscorel himself. 
 
 " "What means this ?" he asked, with looks troubled and con- 
 fused. " What doth it mean, Benjamin ? What hath happened, 
 in the name of God V 
 
 "Sir," said Benjamin, "you know my character. You will 
 acknowledge that I am not one of those who are easily turned 
 from their purpose. Truly, the occasion is not favorable for a 
 wedding, but yet I present to you my newly-married wife."
 
 234 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Thy wife, child ! he thy husband ? Why, thou art betrothed 
 to Itobiu ! Ilath the world gone crazy ? Do I hear aright ? Is 
 this — this — this — a time to be marrying ? Hast thou not heard ? 
 — hast tliou not heard, I say ?" 
 
 " Brother-in-law," said madam, " it is to save the lives of all 
 that this is done." 
 
 " To save the lives of all ?" Mr. Boscorel repeated. " Why — 
 why — hath not Benjamin, then, told what hath happened, and 
 what hath been done ?" 
 
 " No, sir, I have not," said his son ; " I had other fish to 
 fry." 
 
 " Not told them ? Is it possible ?" 
 
 " Benjamin hath promised to save all their lives if this child 
 would marry him. To save their lives hath Grace consented, 
 and I with her. He will save them through his great friend- 
 ship with Judge Jeifreys." 
 
 " Benjamin to save their lives ! Sirrah," he turned to his 
 son with great wrath in his face, " what villainy is this ? Thou 
 hast promised to save their lives ? What villainy, I say, is this ? 
 Sister-in-law, did he not tell you what hath been done ?" 
 
 " He has told us nothing. Oh, is there new misery ?" 
 
 " Child " — Mr. Boscorel spoke with the tears running down 
 his cheeks — " thou art betrayed, alas ! most cruelly and foully 
 betrayed. My son — would to God that I had died before that 
 I should say so ! — is a villain. For, first, the lives of these young 
 men are already saved, and he hath known it for a week and 
 more. Learn, then, that with the help of certain friends I have 
 used such interest at court that for these three I have received 
 the promise of safety. Yet they will not be pardoned. They 
 are given, among other prisoners, to the courtiers and the ladies- 
 in-waiting. One Mr. Jerome Nipho hath received and entered 
 on his list the names of Robin and Humphrey Challis and 
 Barnaby Eykin ; they will be sold by him, and transported to 
 Jamaica, or elsewhere, for a term of years." 
 
 " They were already saved !" cried madam. " He knew, then, 
 when they were tried and sentenced that their lives were al- 
 ready spared ? Oh, child ! poor child ! oh, Grace ! oh, my daugh- 
 ter ! what misery have we brought upon thee !" 
 
 Benjamin said nothing. On his face lay a sullen scowl of 
 obstinacy. As for me, I was clinging to madam's arm. This
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 235 
 
 man wns my husband, and Robin Avas already saved ; and by 
 lies and villainy be bad cbcatod us. 
 
 " They were already saved," Mr. Boscorel continued. " Ben- 
 jamin knew it. I sent him a letter that he might tell his cous- 
 ins. My son — alas ! I say again — my only son — my only son — 
 my son is a villain !" 
 
 " No one shall take my girl," said Benjamin. " What ? All 
 is fair in love." 
 
 " He has not told you either what bath happened in the 
 prison ? Thou hadst speech I hear with Barnaby, early this 
 morning, child? The other prisoners" — he lowered his voice, 
 and folded his hands, as in prayer — " they have since been 
 enlarged." 
 
 " How ?" madam asked ; " is Sir Christopher free ?" 
 
 " He hath received bis freedom from One who never fails to 
 set poor prisoners free. My father-in-law fell dead in the court- 
 yard at nine o'clock this morning ; weep not for him. But, 
 child, there is much more ; about that same time thy father 
 breathed bis last. He, too, is dead. He, too, bath his freedom. 
 Benjamin knew of this as well, Alice, my child ;" the kindly 
 tears of compassion rolled down his face. " I have loved thee 
 always, my dear ; and it is my son who liath wrought this wick- 
 edness — my own son — my only son — " He shook his cane in 
 Benjamin's face. " Oh, villain !" he cried, " oh, villain !" 
 
 Benjamin made no reply. But his face was black and his 
 eyes obstinate. 
 
 " There is yet more — oh, there is more. Thou hast lost thy 
 mother as well, for at the sight of her husband's death his poor 
 patient wife could no longer bear the trouble, but she, too, fell 
 dead of a broken heart ; yea, she fell dead upon his dead body — 
 the Lord showed her this great and crowning mercy, so that 
 they all died together. This, too, Benjamin knew. Oh, villain ! 
 villkin !" 
 
 Benjamin heard unmoved, except that liis scowl grew blacker. 
 
 " Go !" his father continued ; " I load thee not, my son, with 
 a father's curse. Thy wickedness is so great that thy punish- 
 ment will be exemplary. The judgments of God descend upon 
 the most hardened. Get thee gone out of my sight ! Let me 
 never more behold thee until thou hast felt the intolerable pain 
 of remorse. Get thee hence, I say ! Begone !"
 
 236 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " I go not," said Benjamin, " without my loving- wife. I budge 
 not, I say, without my tender and loving wife. Come, my dear." 
 
 He advanced with outstretched hands, but I broke away and 
 fled, shrieking. As I ran, Mr. Boscorel stood before his son 
 and barred the way, raising his right hand. 
 
 " Back, boy — back !" he said, solemnly. " Back, I say ; be- 
 fore thou reach thy most unhappy wife, thou must first pass 
 over thy father's body." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE VISION OF CONSOLATION. 
 
 I RAN SO fast, being then young and strong, that Benjamin, 
 I am sure, could not have overtaken me had he tried, because 
 he was already gross of body and short of breath in conse- 
 quence of his tippling. I have since heard that he did not fol- 
 low me, nor did he dare to push aside his father. But he 
 laughed, and said, " Let her run ; let her run. I warrant I 
 shall find her and bring her back," thinking, I suppose, that 
 I had run from him as a girl in play runs from her companions. 
 I ran also so long, fear lending me strength, that the sun was 
 getting even into the afternoon before I ventured to stop. I 
 looked round from time to time, but saw no one following me. 
 I do not remember by what road, track, or path I went ; past- 
 ure-fields and plantations, I remember ; twice I crossed a stream 
 on stepping-stones ; once I saw before me a village with a 
 church tower, but this I avoided for fear of the people. When 
 I ventured to stop I was in a truly wild and desolate country — 
 our county of Somerset hath in it many such wild places given 
 over to forests, fern, and heather. Presently I remembered 
 the place, though one forest is much like another, and I knew 
 that I had been in this place before, on that day when we rode 
 from Lyme to Taunton, and again on the day when we walked 
 prisoners with the soldiers to Ilminster. I was on the Black 
 Down hill again. 
 
 When, therefore, I understood where I was, I began to re- 
 cover a little from the first horror which had driven me to fly 
 like one possessed of an evil spirit, and seeing that no one was
 
 '],- ■' 
 
 I 
 
 ! T 
 
 
 "As Iran, Mr. Boscorel stood before 1m son and barred tJie way, raising Ms 
 
 right hand."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 237 
 
 in pursuit, I began to collect my senses, and to ask myself 
 whither I was going and what I sliould do. I was then in that 
 ancient enclosure called Castle Ratch, from whose walls one 
 looks down upon the broad vale of Taunton Dean. In the 
 distance I thought I could discern the great tower of St. Mary's 
 Church, but perhaps that was only my imagination. I sat down 
 upon the turf under these ancient walls, and set myself to con- 
 sider my condition, which was indeed forlorn. 
 
 First, I had no friends or protectors left in the whole world, 
 because after what I had done I could never look upon Robin, 
 or even Humphrey again ; nor could I importune madam, be- 
 cause she would not anger her son (I represented him in my 
 mind as most unforgiving) ; nor could I seek the help of Mr. 
 Boscorel, because that now might help his son to find me out, 
 and everybody knows that a husband may command the obedi- 
 ence of his wife. And Sir Christopher was dead, and my father 
 was dead, and my mother was dead, and I could not even 
 weep beside their coffins, or follow their bodies to the grave. 
 A woman without friends in this world is like unto a traveller 
 in a sandy desert without a bottle of water. 
 
 Yet was I so far better than some of these poor friendless 
 creatures, because I had, concealed upon me, a bag containing 
 all the money whicb Barnaby had given me, two hundred and 
 fifty gold pieces, save a little which we had expended at Taun- 
 ton and Ilminster. This is a great sum, and by its help I could, 
 I thought with satisfaction, live for a long time, perhaps all my 
 life, if I could find some safe retreat among godly people. 
 
 No friends ? AVhy, there was Susan Blake, of Taunton ; she 
 who walked with the maids when they gave Monmouth the 
 Bible, the sword, and the flags. I resolved that I would go 
 to her and tell her all that had happened. Out of her kindness 
 she would take me in, and help me to find some safer hiding- 
 place, and perhaps some honest way of living, so as to save his 
 money against Barnaby's return from the plantations. 
 
 Then I thought I would find out the valley where we had 
 lived for a fortnight, and rest for one night in the hut, and in 
 the early morning before daybreak walk down the comb, and so 
 into Taunton, while as yet the town was still sleeping ; and 
 this I did. It was very easy to find the head of the comb, and 
 the source of the stream where we had made our encampment.
 
 238 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 Close by, beneath the trees, was Barnaby's hut ; no one had 
 been there to disturb or destroy it, but the leaves upon the 
 boughs which formed its sides were now dead. Within it the 
 fern and the heath, which had formed my bed, were still dry. 
 Outside, the pot hung over the black embers of our last fire ; 
 and, to my great joy, in the basket which had contained our 
 provisions, I found a large crust of bread. It was, to be sure, 
 dry and hard, but I dipped it in the running water of the stream, 
 and made my supper with it. For dessert I had blackberries, 
 which were now ripe, and are nowhere bigger or sweeter than 
 on Black Down. There were also filberts and nuts also ripe, 
 of which I gathered a quantity, so that I had breakfast pro- 
 vided for me, as well as supper. 
 
 When I had done this I was so tired, and my head so giddy 
 with the terror of the day, that I lay down upon the fern in the 
 hut and there fell fast asleep, and so continued until far into 
 the night. 
 
 Now, in my sleep, a strange thing liappened unto me. For 
 my own part I account it nothing less than a vision granted 
 unto me by mercy and special grace of Heaven. Those who 
 read of it may call it what they please. It was in this wise : 
 There appeared before my sleeping eyes (but they seemed wide 
 open), as it were, a broad and open campaign ; presently there 
 came running across the plain in great terror, shrieking and 
 holding her hands aloft, a girl whose face I could not see. She 
 ran in this haste and terrible anguish of fear because there fol- 
 lowed after her a troop of dogs barkmg and yelping. Behind 
 the dogs rode on horseback one whose face I saw not any more 
 than that of the girl. lie cursed and swore (I knew the voice, 
 but could not tell in my dream to whom it belonged), and 
 cracked a horrid whip, and encouraged the dogs, lashing the 
 laggards. In his eyes (though his face was in some kind of 
 shadow), there was such a look as I remembered in Benjamin's 
 when he put the ring upon my finger — a look of resolute and 
 hungry wickedness, which made me tremble and shake. 
 
 Now, as I looked, the dogs still gained upon her who ran 
 and screamed, as if in a few moments they would spring upon 
 her and tear her flesh from her bones. Then, suddenly, be- 
 tween her who ran and those who pursued there arose an awful 
 form. He was clad in white, antl in his hand he bore a sword^
 
 FOU FAITH AND FREEDOM. 239 
 
 find lie turned upon that hunter a face filled with wrath. Liglit- 
 nings shot from his eyes, and a cloud of thunder lay upon his 
 brow. At the sight of that face the dogs stopped in their run- 
 ning, cowered, and fell dead. And at the dreadful aspect of 
 that face the hunter's horse fell headlong, and his rider, falling 
 also, with a shriek of terror, broke his neck, and so lay prostrate 
 and dead. Then this dreadful minister of God's wrath turned 
 from him to the flying figure ; and lo ! his face was now trans- 
 formed ; his eyes became soft and full of love ; he smiled gra- 
 ciously ; a crown of glory v/as upon his head ; white robes 
 flowed downward to his feet ; his fiery sword was a palm-branch : 
 he was the Angel of Consolation. " Have no more fear," he 
 said, " though the waves of the sea rise up against thee and the 
 winds threaten to drown thee in the deep. Among the ungodly 
 and the violent thou shalt be safe : in all times of peril the Lord 
 will uphold thee : earthly joy shall be thine. Be steadfast unto 
 the end." 
 
 And then I looked again, those blessed words ringing in my 
 ears : and behold ! I saw then, which I had not seen before, that 
 the flying figure was none other than myself ; that he who 
 cruelly hunted M'ith the dogs and the whip was none other 
 than my husband ; and that the Angel of AVrath, who became 
 the Angel of Consolation, was none other than my father liim- 
 self. But he was glorified. Oh, the face was his face, that 
 any one could see, but it was changed with something — I know 
 not what — so far brighter and sweeter than the earthly face that 
 I marvelled. Then the vision disappeared, and I awoke. 
 
 So bright and clear had it been that I seemed to see it still, 
 though I was sitting up with my eyes open and it was night. 
 Then it slowly vanished. Henceforth, however, I was assured 
 of two things : first, that no harm would happen unto me, but 
 that I should be protected from the malice of my enemies, what- 
 ever they might design (indeed, 1 had but one enemy, to wit, 
 the man who had that morning sworn to love and cherish me) ; 
 and, next, that I had seen with mortal eyes what, indeed, liad 
 been vouchsafed to few — the actual spiritual body — the glorified 
 body, like to the earthly, but changed — with which the souls of 
 the elect are clothed. 
 
 So I arose now without the least fear. It was night, but in 
 the east tlierc showed the first gray of the dawn, and the birds
 
 240 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 were already beginning to twitter as if they were dreaming of 
 the day. The wind was fresli and I was lightly clad, but the 
 splendor of the vision made me forget the cold. Oh, I had re- 
 ceived a voice from heaven. Plow could I henceforth fear any- 
 thing? Nay, there was no room even for grief, though those 
 terrible things had fallen upon me, and I was now alone and 
 friendless, and the world is full of ungodly men. 
 
 It must have been about half-past four in the morning. It 
 grew lighter fast, so that not only the trees became visible, but 
 the black depths between them changed into glades and under- 
 wood, and I could see my way down the comb beside the 
 stream. Then, without waiting for the sun to rise (which he 
 presently did in warmth and splendor), I started, hoping to get 
 into Taunton before the people were up and the streets became 
 crowded. But I did not know the distance, which must have 
 been seven miles at least, because it was nearly eight o'clock 
 when I reached the town, having followed the course of the 
 stream through three villages, which I have since learned must 
 have been those of Pitminster, Troll, and Wilton. 
 
 It was market-day and the streets were full of country people 
 — some of them were farmers, with bags of corn in their hands, 
 going to the corn-market, and some with carts full of fresh fruit 
 and other things. Their faces were heavy and sad, and they 
 talked in whispers, as if they were afraid. They had, indeed, 
 good cause for fear, for the prison held over five hundred un- 
 fortunate men waiting for their trial, and the terrible judge was 
 already on his way, with his carts filled with more prisoners 
 rumbling after him. Already Colonel Kirke had caused I know 
 not how many to be hanged, and the reports of what had been 
 done at Dorchester and Exeter sufliciently prepared the minds 
 of the wretched prisoners at Taunton for what was about to be 
 done there. Among them was the unfortunate Captain Ilucker, 
 the serge-maker, who had looked for a peerage and was now to 
 receive a halter. There was also among them that poor man, 
 Mr. Simon Hamlyn, who was hanged only for riding into Taun- 
 ton in order to dissuade his son from joining Monmouth. This 
 the Mayor of Taunton pointed out to the bloodthirsty judge, but 
 in vain. The whole five hundred prisoners were in the end 
 sentenced to death, and one hundred and forty-five actually suf- 
 fered, to the great indignation of those who looked on, even of 
 
 I
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 241 
 
 the king's party. Nay, at one of the executions, when nineteen 
 were hanged at the same time, and a great fire was made so that 
 the sufferers might actually see before their death the fire that 
 was to burn their bowels, the very soldiers wept, saying that it 
 was so sad a thing they scarce knew how to bear it. Three 
 years later the hard heart of the king met with its proper pun- 
 ishment. 
 
 The soldiers were among the crowd, some leaning against 
 bulkheads, some drinking at the alehouses, some haggling for 
 the fruit ; some were also exercising upon Castle Green. They 
 looked good-natured, and showed in their faces none of the cru- 
 elty and rage which belonged to their officers. But what a 
 doleful change from the time when Monmouth's soldiers filled 
 the town, and all hearts were full of joy and every face shone 
 with happiness ! What a change indeed ! 
 
 As I passed among the crowd one caught me by the arm. It 
 Avas a little old woman, her face all wrinkled and puckered. She 
 Avas sitting on a stool beside a great basket full of apples and 
 plums, and a little pipe of tobacco Avithin her lips. 
 
 " Mistress," she Avhispered, taking the pipe from her mouth, 
 " thou wert with the maids the day of the flags. I remember 
 thy pretty face. What dost thou here abroad among the peo- 
 ple ? The air of Taunton town is unwholesome. There may be 
 others who will remember thee as well as I. Take an old wom- 
 an's advice and get thee gone. How fares it with thy father, 
 the worthy Dr. Eykin ?" 
 
 " Alas !" I said, " he died in Ilminster jail." 
 
 " 'Tis pity. But he was old and pious. He hath gone to 
 glory. Whither will those poor lads in the jail go when they 
 are hanged ? Get thee gone — get thee gone. The air is al- 
 ready foul with dead men's bodies. They tell strange stories 
 of Avhat hath been done by women for the safety of their broth- 
 ers. Get thee gone, pretty maid, lest something worse than 
 prison happen to thee. And Judge Jeffreys is coming hither 
 like the devil, having much wrath." 
 
 I could not tell her that nothing would happen to me because 
 I was protected by a heavenly guard. 
 
 . " I was in the town forty years agone," the old woman went 
 on, " when Blake defended it, and we were well-nigh starved ; 
 but never have I seen such things as have been done here since 
 11 Q
 
 242 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 the dute was routed. Get thee gone ; haste away as from the 
 mouth of hell ; get thee gone, poor child." 
 
 So I left her and went on my way, hanging my head in hopes 
 that no one else would recognize me. Fortunately no one did, 
 though I saw many faces which I had seen in the town hefore. 
 They were then tossing their caps and shouting for Monmouth, 
 but were now gloomily Avhispering, as if every man feared that 
 his own turn would come next. Over the great gateway of the 
 castle was stuck up a high row of heads, arms, and legs of reb- 
 els blackened with pitch — a horrid sight. Unto this end had 
 come those brave fellows who went forth to dethrone the king. 
 No one noticed or accosted me, and I arrived safely at Susan's 
 house. The door' seemed shut, but when I pushed I found that 
 it was open, the lock having been broken from its fastening. 
 Barnaby did that, I remembered. I went in, shutting it after 
 me. No doubt Susan was with her children in the schoolroom. 
 Strange that she should not repair her lock, and that at a time 
 when the town was full of soldiers, who always carry with them 
 their riotous and lawless followers. 'Twas unlike her orderly 
 housekeeping. * 
 
 There was no one in the back parlor, where Susan commonly 
 took her meals and conducted the morning and evening prayers. 
 The dishes were on the table as if of last night's supper, or yes- 
 terday's dinner. Tliis Avas also unlike a tidy housewife. I 
 opened the door of the front parlor. Though it was already 
 past the hour for school, there were no children in the room : 
 the lesson-books and copying-books and slates lay about the 
 floor. What did this untidy litter mean ? Then I went up- 
 stairs and into the bedrooms, of which there were three ; name- 
 ly, two on the floor above and one a garret. No one was iu 
 thein, and the beds had not been made. There remained only 
 the kitchen ; no one was there. The house was quite empty. 
 I observed also that the garden, which was wont to be kept with 
 the greatest neatness, now looked neglected ; the ripe plums 
 were dropping from the branches trained upon the wall ; the 
 apples lay upon the grass ; the flower-beds were cumbered with 
 weeds ; grass grew in the walks ; the lawn, which had been so 
 neat and trim, was covered with long grass. 
 
 What had happened ? Where was Susan ? Then I seemed 
 to hear her voice above chanting God for the victory, as she
 
 "As I pmsed anionff the crowd, one caught me hy the arm. It was a little 
 old woman, Iter face all wrinkled and puckered."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 243 
 
 had done when Barnaby burst in upon us ; and I heard her 
 singing a hymn with the children, as she had done while we all 
 sat embroidering the flags. Oh ! the pretty flags ! And oh ! 
 the pretty sight of the innocents in white and blue carrying 
 those flags ! The house was filled with the sounds of bygone 
 happiness. Had I stayed another moment I am certain that I 
 should have seen the ghosts of those who filled the rooms in the 
 happy days when the army was in the town. But I did not 
 stay. Not knowing what to do or whither to fly, I ran quickly 
 out of the house, thinking only to get away from the mournful 
 silence of the empty and deserted rooms. Then, as I stepped 
 into the street, I met, face to face, none other than Mr. George 
 Penne, the kind-hearted gentleman who had compassionated the 
 prisoners at Ilminster. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 MR. GEORGE PENNE. 
 
 " 'Tis no other than the Fair Maid of Ilminster !" said Mr. 
 Penne, with surprise. " Madam, with submission, is it safe — is 
 it prudent — for one who walked with the maids of Taunton on 
 a certain memorable day to venture openly into the streets of 
 this city at such a time ? Judge Jefiireys doth approacli to hold 
 his court. Thy friends are in prison or in hiding. The maids 
 are scattered all." 
 
 " I sought shelter," I said, " at the house of Susan Blake, the 
 schoolmistress." 
 
 " How ? You have not heard, then. Miss Susan Blake is 
 dead." 
 
 " She is dead ?" 
 
 " She died in Dorchester Jail, whither she was sent, being 
 specially exempted from any pardon. 'Twas fever carried her 
 off. She is dead. Alas ! the waste of good lives. She might 
 have bought her freedom after a while, and then — but — w'ell — 
 'tis useless to lament these mishaps." 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" I cried, wringing my hands. " Then am I in 
 evil plight indeed. All, all are dead — all my friends are dead." 
 
 "Madam," he replied, very kindly, "not all your friends, if I
 
 244 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 may say so. I have, I assure you, a most compassionate licart. 
 I bleed for the sufferings of others ; I cannot rest until I have 
 brought relief. This is my way. Oh, I take not credit to my- 
 self therefor ; it is that I am so constituted. I am not proud 
 or uplifted on this account. Only tell me your case ; intrust 
 your safety to me. You may do so safely, if you reflect for one 
 moment, because — see — one word from me and you would be 
 taken to prison by yon worthy clergyman, who is none other 
 than the Rev. Mr. Walter Ilarte, the Rector of Taunton. No 
 one is more active against the rebels, and he would rejoice in 
 committing thee on the charge of having been among the maids. 
 A word from me would, I say, cause you to be hauled to jail. 
 But, observe, I do not speak that word. God forbid that I 
 should speak that word !" 
 
 " Oh, sir," I said, " this goodness overwhelms me." 
 
 " Then, madam, for greater privacy, let us go back into the 
 house, and converse there." 
 
 So we went back to the empty house and sat in the back 
 parlor. 
 
 " As for the nature of your trouble, madam," he began, " I 
 hope you have no dear brothers or cousins among those poor 
 fellows in Taunton Jail." 
 
 " No, sir, my only brother is at Ilminster ; and my cousins 
 are far away in New England." 
 
 " That is well. One who, like myself, is of a compassionate 
 disposition, cannot but bewail the grievous waste in jail fever, 
 small-pox, scarlet fever, or putrid throat (to say nothing of the 
 hangings) which now daily happens in the prison. What doth 
 it avail to hang and quarter a man, when he might be usefully 
 set to work upon his majesty's plantations ? It is a most sinful 
 and foolish waste, I say " — he spoke with great sincerity and 
 warmth — " and a robbing of the pockets of honest merchants." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," I said, " your words prove the goodness of 
 your heart." 
 
 " Let my deeds, rather than my words, prove that. How fare 
 the prisoners with whom you are most concerned ?" 
 
 " Alas ! Sir Christopher is dead ; and my father hath also died 
 of his wound." 
 
 "So — indeed — more waste. They are dead. More waste. 
 But one was old. Had Sir Christopher been sent to the plan-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 245 
 
 tations his value would have but a small — though, indeed, a ran- 
 som — but he is dead ; and your father being wounded — but they 
 are dead, and so no more need be said. There are, however, 
 others, if I remember aright." 
 
 " There is my brother in Ilminster prison, and — " 
 
 " Yes, the two young gentlemen, Challis is their name, in 
 Exeter. I have seen them and conversed with them. Strong 
 young men, especially one of them. 'Tis sad indeed to think 
 that they may be cut off in the very bloom of their age, when 
 they would command so high a price in Jamaica or Barbadoes. 
 I ventured to beg, before their trial, that they would immedi- 
 ately begin to use whatever interest they might be able to com- 
 mand, in order to get their sentence (which was certain) com- 
 muted. Many will be suffered to go abroad ; Avhy not these 
 young gentlemen ? But they have no interest, they assured me, 
 and therefore I fear that they will die. 'Tis most sad. They 
 cannot hang all, that is quite true ; but, then, these young gen- 
 tlemen were officers in the army, and therefore an example will 
 be made of them, if they have no interest at court." 
 
 " Well, sir," I told him, pleased to find him of such a kindly 
 and thoughtful disposition, " you will be glad to hear that 
 they are already pardoned, and have been presented by the king 
 to a gentleman at court." 
 
 " Aha ! Sayest thou so ?" His eyes glittered, and he rubbed 
 his hands. "This is indeed joyful news. One of them, Mr. 
 Robin Challis is a goodly lad, like to whom there are few sent 
 out to the plantations. He will certainly fetch a good price. 
 The other, Mr. Humphrey, who is somewhat crooked, will go 
 for less. Who hath obtained the gift of these young gentle- 
 men?" 
 
 " It is a person named Mr. Nipho." 
 
 " Mr. Jerome Nipho. I know him well. He is a good Catho- 
 lic — I mean a papist — and is much about the court. He is 
 lucky in having had many prisoners given to him. And now, 
 madam, I hope you will command my services." 
 
 " In what way, sir ?" 
 
 " In this way. I am, as I have told you," here he wagged his 
 head, and winked both eyes, and laughed pleasantly, " one of 
 those foolish busybodies who love to be still doing good to their 
 fellow-creatures. To do good is my whole delight. Unfortu-
 
 246 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 natcly tlie opportunities arc rare of conferring exemplary bene- 
 fit upon my fellow-men. But liere the way seems clear." 
 
 He rubbed his hands and laughed again, repeating that the 
 way was clear before him, so that I believed myself fortunate in 
 falling in with so virtuous a person. 
 
 " Oh, sir," I cried, " would that the whole world would so 
 live and so act !" 
 
 " Truly, if it did, we should have the prisons cleared. There 
 should be no more throwing away of good lives in hanging; no 
 more waste of stout fellows and lusty wenches by fever and 
 small-pox. All should go to the plantations — all. Now, madam, 
 to our business, Avhich is the advantage of these young gentle- 
 men. Know, therefore, that Mr. Jerome Nipho, with all those 
 who have received presents of prisoners, straightway sell them 
 to persons who engage to transport them across the seas to his 
 majesty's plantations in Jamaica, Virginia, or elsewhere. Here 
 they arc bound to work for a certain term of years. Call it not 
 work, however," he added, quickly ; " say, rather, that they are 
 invited every day to exercise themselves in the cott©n and the 
 sugar fields. The climate is delightful; the sky is seldom 
 clouded ; there are never any frosts or snows ; it is always sum- 
 mer ; the fruits are delicious ; they have a kind of spirit dis- 
 tilled from the sugar-canes, which is said to be finer and more 
 wholesome than the best Nantz ; the food is palatable and plenti- 
 ful, though plain. The masters, or employers (call them rather 
 friends), are gentlemen of the highest humanity, and the society 
 is composed of sober merchants, wealthy planters, and gentle- 
 men, like your brother, who have had the misfortune to differ 
 in opinions with the government." 
 
 " Why, sir," I said, " I have always understood that the 
 transported prisoners are treated with the greatest inhumanity, 
 forced to work in heat such as we never experience, driven with 
 the lash, and half starved, so that none ever come back." 
 
 He shook his head gently. " See now," he said, " how preju- 
 dices arise! Who could have thought that the plantations 
 should be thus regarded ? 'Tis true that there are estates culti- 
 vated by convicts of another kind ; I mean robbers, highway- 
 men, petty thieves, and the like. Bristol doth, every year, send 
 away a ship-load at least of such. Nay ; 'tis reported that rather 
 than hang murderers and the like, the Bristol merchants buy
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 247 
 
 them of tlic magistrates ; but this is out of the kindness of their 
 hearts. Madam," he thrust his hand into his bosom, and looked 
 me in the face, " I, myself, am sometimes engaged in that trade, 
 I, myself, buy these unhappy ^irisoners, and send them to estates 
 where, I know, they will be treated with the greatest kindness. 
 Do I look like a dishonest man, madam ? My name it is George 
 Penne, and I am known by every man of credit in Bristol. Do I 
 talk like one who would make money out of his neighbors' suf- 
 ferings ? Nay, if that is so, let us part at once, and say no 
 more. Madam, your humble servant ; no liarm is done, your 
 humble servant, madam." lie put his hat under his arm, and 
 made as if he would go. But I begged him to remain, and to 
 advise me further in the matter. 
 
 Then I asked him if transported persons ever came home again. 
 
 " Surely," he replied, " some of them come home laden with 
 gold. Some possessed of places both of honor and of profit, 
 who return to visit their friends, and then go back to the new 
 country. It is a very Eldorado, or Land of Gold, to those who are 
 willing to work ; and for those who have money, and choose to 
 buy exemption from work, it is only an agreeable residence, 
 in cheerful society, for a certain term of years. Have you, 
 by chance, madam, any friends who can influence Mr. Jerome 
 Nipho ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; I have none." 
 
 " Then will T, myself, communicate with that gentleman. 
 Understand, madam, that I shall have to pay him so much a 
 head for every prisoner ; that 1 shall be engaged to place every 
 man on board ship ; that the prisoners will then be taken across 
 the seas, and again sold. But in the case of those who have 
 money, a ransom can be procured by means of which they will 
 not have to work." 
 
 So far he had spoken in the belief that I was at Taunton on 
 my brother's business, or that of my friends. I told him, there- 
 fore, that certain events had occurred which would prevent me 
 from seeing the prisoners at Exeter. And, because I could not 
 forbear from weeping while I spoke, he very earnestly begged 
 me to inform him fully, in every particular, as to my history ; 
 adding that his benevolence was not confined to the unhappy 
 case of prisoners, but that it was ready to be extended in any 
 other direction that happy chance might offer.
 
 248 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 Therefore being, as you liave seen, so friendless and so igno- 
 rant, and so fearful of falling into my husband's hands, and, at 
 the same time, so grateful to this good man for his kindly offers 
 (indeed, I took him for an instrument provided by Heaven for 
 the safety promised in my vision of the night), that I told him 
 everything exactly, concealing nothing ; nay, I even told him of 
 the bag of gold which I had tied round my waist ; a thing which 
 I had hitherto concealed, because the money was not mine, but 
 Barnaby's. But I told it to Mr. Penne. 
 
 While I related my history he interrupted me by frequent 
 ejaculations, showing his abhorrence of the wickedness with 
 W'liich Benjamin compassed his design ; and when I finished he 
 held up his hands in amazement. 
 
 " Good God !" he cried, " that such a wretch should live ! 
 That he should be allowed still to cumber the earth ! What 
 punishment were fitting for this devil in the shape of man ? 
 Madam, your case is indeed one that would move the heart of 
 Nero himself. What is to be done ?" 
 
 " Nay, that I know not. For if I go back to our village he 
 will find me there ; and if I find out some hiding-place he will 
 seek me out and find me ; I shall never know rest or peace again. 
 For of one thing am I resolved ; I will die, yea, I will indeed 
 die, before I will become his wife more than I am at present." 
 
 " I cannot but commend that resolution, madam. But (to be 
 plain with you) there is no place in the world more unsafe for 
 you than Taunton at this time. Therefore, if you please, I will 
 ride Avith you to Bristol without delay." 
 
 " Sir, I cannot ask this sacrifice of your business." 
 
 " My business lies at Bristol. I can do no more here until 
 Judge Jeffreys hath got through his hangings, of which, I fear, 
 there may be many, and so more sinful waste of good convicts. 
 Let us therefore hasten away as quickly as may be. As for 
 what shall be done afterwards, that we will consider on the 
 way." 
 
 Did ever a woman in misfortune meet with so good a man ? 
 The Samaritan himself was not of better heart. 
 
 Well, to be brief, half an hour afterwards we mounted and 
 rode to Bristol, by Avay of Bridgwater (this tow^i was even more 
 melancholy than Taunton), taking three days, the weather being 
 now wet and raining, so that the Avays were bad. Now, as we
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 249 
 
 rode along, Mr. Penne and I side by side, and his servant be- 
 hind, armed with a blunderbuss, our conversation was grave, 
 turning chiefly on the imprudence of the people in following 
 Monmouth, when they should have waited for the gentry to 
 lead the way. I found my companion (whom I held to be my 
 benefactor) sober in manners and in conversation ; no drunkard ; 
 no use of profane oaths ; and towards me, a woman whom he 
 had (so to say) in his power, he behaved always with the great- 
 est ceremony and politeness. So that I hoped to have found in 
 this good man a true protector. 
 
 When we reached Bristol he told me that, for my better 
 safety, he would lodge me apart from his own house ; and so 
 took me to a house in Broad Street, near St. John's Gate, where 
 there was a most respectable old lady of grave aspect, though 
 red in the cheek. 
 
 " I have brought you, madam," he said, " to the house of a 
 lady whose virtue and piety are well known." 
 
 " Sir," said the old lady, " this house is well known for the 
 piety of those who use it. And everybody knows that you are 
 all goodness." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Penne. " No man is good. We can but try 
 our best. In this house, however, madam, you will be safe. I 
 beg and implore you not at present to stir abroad, for reasons 
 which you very well know. This good woman has three or 
 four daughters in the house who are sometimes, 1 believe, 
 merry — " 
 
 " Sir," said the old lady, " children will be foolish." 
 
 " True ; true," he replied, laughing. " Take care, then, that 
 they molest not madam." 
 
 " No, sir, they shall not." 
 
 " Then, madam, for the moment I leave you. Rest and be 
 easy in your mind. I have, I think, contrived a plan which will 
 answer your case perfectly." 
 
 In the evening he returned and sent me word, very ceremoni- 
 ously, that he desired the favor of a conversation with me. As 
 if there could be anything in the world that I desired more. 
 
 " Madam," he said, " I have considered carefully your case, 
 and I can find but one advice to give." 
 
 " Wliat is it, sir ?" 
 
 " We might," he went on, " find a lodging for you in some 
 11*
 
 250 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 quiet Welsh town across tlie channel. At Chepstow, for instance, 
 or at Xewport, you might find a home for a while. But the 
 country being greatly inflamed with dissensions, there Avould 
 everywhere be the danger of some fanatical busybody inquiring 
 into your history — whence you came, v,hy you left your friends, 
 and so forth. And again, in every town there are women (sav- 
 ing your presence, madam) w^hose tongues tittle-tattle all day 
 long. Short work they make of a stranger. So that I see not 
 much safety in a small town. Then again you might find a 
 farmhouse where they would receive you. But your case is not 
 that you wish to be hidden for a time, as one implicated in the 
 Monmouth business. Not so ; you desire to be hidden all your 
 life, or for the life of the man who, if he finds you, may compel 
 you to live with him ; and to live for — how long ? Sixty years, 
 perhaps, in a dull and dirty farmhouse, among rude boors, 
 would be intolerable to a person of your manners and accom- 
 plishments." 
 
 " Then, sir, in the name of Heaven " — for I began to be 
 wearied with this lengthy setting up of plans only to pull them 
 down again — " what shall I do ?" 
 
 " You might go to London. At first I thought that London 
 offered the best hope of safe retreat. There are parts of Lon- 
 don Avhere the gentlemen of the robe are never seen, and where 
 you might be safe. Thus, about the eastern parts of the city 
 there are never any lawyers at all. There you might be safe. 
 But yet, it would be a perpetual risk. Your face, madam, if I 
 may say so, is one which will not be quickly forgotten when it 
 hath once been seen. You would be persecuted by would-be 
 lovers ; you would go in continual terror, knowing that one you 
 fear was living only a mile away from you. You would have to 
 make up some story to maintain, which would be troublesome ; 
 and presently the time would come when you would have no 
 more money. What then would you do ?" 
 
 "Pray, sir, if you can, tell me what you think I should do, 
 since there are so many things that I cannot do." 
 
 " Madam, I am going to submit to you a plan which seems to 
 me at once the safest and the best. You have, you tell me, 
 cousins in the town of Boston, which is in New England." 
 
 " Yes ; I have heard my father speak of his cousins." 
 
 " I have, myself, visited that place, and have heard mention
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 251 
 
 of certain Eykins as gentlemen of substance and reputation. I 
 propose, madam, tliat you should go to these cousins, and seek 
 a home among them." 
 
 " Leave England ? You would have me leave this country 
 and go across the ocean to America ?" 
 
 " That is my advice. Nay, madam," he assumed a most seri- 
 ous manner, " do not reject this advice suddenly. Sleep upon 
 it. You are not going among strangers, but among your own 
 people, by whom the name of your pious and learned father is, 
 doubtless, held in great honor. You are going from a life (at 
 best) of danger and continual care, to a place where you will be 
 certainly free from persecution. Madam, sleep upon it." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ON BOARD THE " JOLLY THATCHER." 
 
 I LAY awake all night, thinking of this plan. The more I 
 thought ujjon it the more I was pleased with it. To fly from 
 the country was to escape the pursuit of my husband, who would 
 never give over looking for me, because he was so obstinate and 
 masterful. I should also escape the reproaches of my lover, 
 Robin, and break myself altogether from a passion which was 
 now, through my own rashness, become sinful. I might also 
 break myself from the loathing and hatred which I now felt 
 towards my wicked husband, and might even, in time, and after 
 much prayer, arrive at forgiving him. At that time, yea, and 
 for long afterwards, I did often surprise myself in such a fit of 
 passion as, I verily believe, would have made me a murderess, 
 had opportunity, or the Evil One, sent that man my way. Yea, 
 not once, or twice, but many times, have I thus become a mur- 
 deress in thought and wish and intention. I confess this sin 
 with shame, though I have long since repented of it : to have 
 been so near unto it, nay, to have already committed it in my 
 imagination, covers me with shame. And now, when I some- 
 times — my lord, the master of my affections, doth allow it — 
 visit the prison of Ilchester, and find therein some poor wretch 
 who hath yielded to temptation and sudden wrath, which is the 
 possession by the devil, and so hath committed what I only im-
 
 252 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 agined, my lieart goes fortli to that poor creature, and I cannot 
 rest until I liave prayed with lier, and softened lier lieart, and 
 left lier to go contrite to tlie shameful tree. Nay, since, as you 
 shall hear, I have been made to pass part of my life among the 
 most wicked and profligate of my sex, I am filled with the thought 
 that the best of us are not much better than the worst, and that 
 the worst of us are in some things as good as the best, so that 
 there is no room for pride and self-sufficiency, but much for 
 humiliation and distrust of one's own heart. 
 
 Well, if I would consent to fly from the country, across the 
 seas I should find kith and kin who would shelter me. There 
 should I learn to think about other things. Poor wretch ! as if 
 I could ever forget the village ; and, Robin, oh, that I should 
 have to try, even to try, to forget Robin. I was to learn that 
 though the skies be changed, the heart remains the same. 
 
 How I fled, and whither, you shall now hear. 
 
 Mr. George Penne came to see me next morning — sleek and 
 smiling and courteous. 
 
 " Madam," he said, " may 1 know your decision, if you have 
 yet arrived at one ?" 
 
 " Sir, it is already made. I have slept upon it ; I have prayed 
 upon it. I will go." 
 
 " That is well. It is also most opportune, because a ship sails 
 this very day ; it is most opportune, I say ; even providential. 
 She will drop down the Channel with the coming tide. You 
 will want a few things for the voyage." 
 
 " It will be winter when we arrive, and the winters in that 
 country are cold. I must buy some thicker clothing. Will 
 there be any gentlewoman on board ?" 
 
 "Surely" — he smiled — "surely. There will be, I am told, 
 more than one gentlewoman on board that ship ; there will be, 
 in fact, a large and a cheerful company, of that you may be as- 
 sured. Well, since that is settled, a great load of care is re- 
 moved, because I have heard that your husband rode into Taun- 
 ton with Judge Jeffreys ; that he learned from some one, I know 
 not from whom, of your presence in the town, and of your de- 
 parture with me." 
 
 " It must have been the market-woman." 
 
 " Doubtless, the market-woman." (I have often asked myself 
 whether this was a falsehood or not.) " And he is even now
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 253 
 
 speeding* towards Bristol, hoping- to find you. Pray Heaven 
 that he hath not learned with whom you fled." 
 
 " Oh !" I cried, " let us go on board the ship at once ; let us 
 hasten." 
 
 " Nay, there is no hurry for a few hours. But stay within 
 doors. Everything that is wanting for the voyage shall be put 
 on board for you. As for your meals, you Avill eat with " — here 
 he paused for a moment — " with the rest of the company, under 
 the care of the captain. For your berth, it will be as comfort- 
 able as can be provided. Next, as to the money. You have, I 
 understand, two hundred pounds and more." 
 
 I took the bag from my waist, and rolled out the contents. 
 There were in all two hundred and forty-five pounds and a few 
 shillings. The rest had been expended at Ilminster. 
 
 He counted it carefully, and then replaced the money in the 
 bag. 
 
 " The Eykins, of Boston, in New England," he said, " are peo- 
 ple of great credit and substance. There will be no necessity 
 for you to take with you this money, should you wish it to be 
 expended to the advantage of your brother and your friends." 
 
 " Take it all, kind sir. Take it all, if so it will help them in 
 their need." 
 
 " Nay, that will not do, either," he replied, smiling, his hand 
 upon the bag ; " for, first, the captain of your ship must be paid 
 for his passage ; next, you must not go among strartgers, though 
 your own kith and kin, with no money at all in purse. There- 
 fore I will set aside, by your good leave, fifty pounds, for your 
 private purse. So, fifty pounds. A letter to my correspondent, 
 at Boston, which I will write, will cause him to pay you this 
 money on your landing. This is a safer method than to carry 
 the money in a bag or purse, which may be stolen. But if the 
 letter be lost another can be written. We merchants, indeed, 
 commonly send three such letters of advice, in case of shipwreck 
 and loss of the bags. This done, and the expenses of the voy- 
 age provided, there remains a large sum, which, judiciously 
 spent, will, I think, insure for your friends from the outset the 
 treatment reserved for prisoners of distinction who can afiord 
 to pay. Namely, on their arrival they Avill be bought, as it is 
 termed, by worthy merchants, who, having been previously paid 
 by me, will suffer them to live where they please without exact-
 
 254 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 ing of tliem the least service or work. Their relatives at home 
 Avill forward them the means of subsistence, and so their exile 
 will he softened for them. If you consent thereto, madam, I 
 will engage that they shall be so received, with the help of this 
 money." 
 
 If I consented, indeed ! With what joy did I give my con- 
 sent to such laying out of my poor Barnaby's money ! Every- 
 thing now seemed turning to the best, thanks to my new and 
 benevolent friend. 
 
 At his desire, therefore, I wrote a letter to Barnaby, recom- 
 mending him to trust himself, and to advise Robin and Hum- 
 phrey to trust themselves, entirely to the good offices of this 
 excellent man. I informed him that I was about to cross the 
 seas to our cousins in New England, in order to escape the 
 clutches of the villain who had betrayed me. And then I told 
 him how his money liad been bestowed, and bade him seek 
 me, when he should be released from the plantations, wherever 
 they might send him, at the town of Boston, among his cousins. 
 The letter Mr. Penne faithfully promised to deliver. (I^ota bene. 
 The letter was never given to Barnaby.) 
 
 At the same time he wrote a letter for me to give to his cor- 
 respondent at Boston, telling me that on reading that letter his 
 friend would instantly pay me the sum of fifty pounds. 
 
 Thus was the business concluded. And I could not find 
 words, I told him, to express the gratitude which I felt for so 
 much goodness towards one who was a stranger to him. I 
 begged him to suffer me to repay at least the charges to which 
 he had been put at the inns and the stabling, since he took me 
 into his own care and protection. But he would take nothing. 
 Money, he said, as payment for such services as he had been 
 enabled to render, would be abhorrent to his nature. Should 
 good deeds be bought ? was it seemly that a merchant of credit 
 should sell an act of common Christian charity ? 
 
 " What !" he asked, " are we to see a poor creature in danger 
 of being imprisoned if she is recognized, and of being carried 
 off against her will by a husband whom she loathes, if he finds 
 her — are we to see such a woman, and not be instantly fired by 
 every generous emotion of compassion and indignation to help 
 that woman at the mere cost of a few days' service and a few 
 guineas spent ?"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 255 
 
 I was greatly moved, even to tears, at these words and at all 
 tills generosity, and I told him that I could not sutiiciently thank 
 him for all he had done, and that he should have my prayers 
 always. 
 
 " I hope I may, madam," he said, smiling strangely. " When 
 the ship hath sailed, you will remember, perhaps, the fate of 
 Susan Blake, and whatever may be your present discomfort on 
 board a rolling ship, say to yourself that this is better than to 
 die in a noisome prison. You will also understand that you 
 have fallen into the hands of a respectable merchant, who is 
 much more lenient than Judge Jeffreys, and will not consent to 
 the v/asting of good commercial stuff in jails and on gibbets." 
 
 " Nay, sir," I said, " what doth all this mean ?" 
 
 " Nothing, madam, nothing. I was only anxious that you 
 should say to yourself, ' Thus and thus have I been saved from 
 a jail. Such was Mr. Penne's humanity.' " 
 
 " Understand it ? Oh, dear sir, I repeat, that my words are 
 not strong enough to express my gratitude." 
 
 " Now, madam, no doubt, your gratitude runs high. Whether 
 to-morrow — " 
 
 " Can I ever forget ? To-morrow ? To-morrow ? Surely, 
 sir—" 
 
 " Well, madam, we will wait until to-morrow. Meantime, lie 
 snug and quiet all day, and in the afternoon I will come for you. 
 Two hundred and forty-five pounds. 'Tis not a great sum, but 
 a good day's work — a good day's work — added to the satisfac- 
 tion of helping a most unfortunate young gentlewoman — most 
 unfortunate." 
 
 What did the good man mean by still talking of the morrow ? 
 
 At half -past twelve the good woman of the house brought me 
 a plate of meat and some bread. 
 
 " So," she said (her face was red, and I think she had been 
 drinking), "he hath determined to put you on board with the 
 rest, I hear." 
 
 " Hush ! If you have heard, say nothing." 
 
 " He thinks he can buy my silence. Come, madam, though, 
 indeed, some would rather take their chance with Judge Jeffreys 
 — they say he is a man who can be moved by the face of a 
 woman — than with — Well, as for mv silence, there — It is 
 usual, madam, to compliment the landlady, and though, I con-
 
 256 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 fess, you arc not of the kind wliicli do commonly frequent this 
 house, yet one may expect — " 
 
 "Alas, my good woman, I have nothing. Mr. Penne has 
 taken all my money." 
 
 " What, you had money ? And you gave it to Mr. Penne ? 
 You gave it to him ? Nay, indeed — Why, in the place where 
 thou art going — " 
 
 She was silent, for suddenly we heard Mr. Penne's step out- 
 side. And he opened the door. 
 
 " Come," he said, roughly. " The captain says that he will 
 weigh anchor in an hour ; the tide serves, come." 
 
 I hastened to put on my hat and mantle. 
 
 " Farewell," I said, taking the old woman's hand. " I have 
 nothing to give thee but my prayers. Mr. Penne, who is all 
 goodness, will reward thee for thy kindness to me." 
 
 " He all goodness !" repeated the old woman. " He ? why, if 
 there is upon the face of the whole earth — " 
 
 " Come, child," Mr. Penne seized my hand and dragged me 
 away. 
 
 "The woman," he said, "hath been drinking. It is a bad 
 habit she hath contracted of late. I must see into it, and speak 
 seriously to her. But a good nature at heart ; come, we must 
 hasten. You will be under the special care of the captain. I 
 have provided a boxful of warm clothing and other comforts. 
 I think there is nothing omitted that may be of use. Come." 
 
 He hurried me along the narrow streets until we came to a 
 quay, where there were a great number of ships, such as I had 
 never before seen. On one of them the sailors were running 
 about clearing away things, coiling ropes, tossing sacks and 
 casks aboard with such a yo-hoing and noise as I never in my 
 life heard before. 
 
 " 'Tis our ship," said Mr. Penne. Then he led me along a 
 narrow bridge, formed by a single plank, to the deck of the ship. 
 There stood a gentleman of a very fierce and resolute aspect, 
 armed with a sword hanging from a scarlet sash, and a pair of 
 pistols in his belt. 
 
 " Captain," said Mr. Penne, " are all aboard ?" 
 
 " Ay, we have all our cargo. And a pretty crew they are. Is 
 this the last of them ? Send her for'ard." 
 
 " Madam," said Mr. Penne, " suffer me to lead you to a
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 257 
 
 place where, until the ship sails and the officers have time to 
 take you to your cabin, you can rest and be out of the way. It 
 is a rough assemblage, but at sailing one has no choice," 
 
 Gathered in the forepart of what they called the waist there 
 was a company of about a hundred people. Some were young, 
 some old ; some were men, some women. Some seemed mere 
 children. All alike showed in their faces the extreme of misery, 
 apprehension, and dismay. 
 
 " Who are these ?" I asked, 
 
 " They will toll you themselves, presently. Madam, farewell," 
 With that Mr, Penne left me standing among this croAvd of 
 wretches, and, without waiting for my last words of gratitude, 
 hurried away immediately. 
 
 I saw him running across the plank to the quay. Then the 
 boatswain blew a shrill whistle ; the plank was shoved over ; 
 some ropes were cast loose, and the ship began to move slowly 
 down the river with the tide, now beginning to run out, and a 
 wind from the northeast. 
 
 I looked about me. What were all these people ? Why were 
 they going to New England ? Then, as the deck was now clearer, 
 and the sailors, 1 suppose, at their stations, I ventured to walk 
 towards the after-part of the ship, with the intention to ask the 
 captain for my cabin. As I did so, a man stood before me 
 armed with a great cane which he brandished, threatening with 
 a horrid oath to lay across my back if I ventured any further aft. 
 
 " Prisoners, for'ard," he cried, " Back you go, or, by the 
 Lord !" 
 
 " Prisoner ?" I said ; " I am no prisoner. I am a passenger." 
 
 " Passenger? Why, as for that, you are all passengers," 
 
 " All ? who are these, then ?" 
 
 He informed me with plainness of ^eech who and what they 
 were ; convicts taken from the prisons, branded in the hand, 
 and sentenced to transportation, 
 
 "But I am a passenger," I repeated, " Mr, Penne hath paid 
 for my passage to New England, He hath paid the captain," 
 
 " The ship is bound for Barbadoes, not New England, 'Tis 
 my duty not to stir from this spot, but here's the mate, tell 
 him." 
 
 This was a young man armed like the captain, with pistols 
 and sword. 
 
 B
 
 258 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Sir," I said, " I am a passenger brouglit on board by Mr. 
 Peune, whose passage Latli been paid to New England." 
 
 "■ By Mr. George Penne, you say ?" 
 
 " The same. He hath engaged a cabin for me, and bath pur- 
 chased clothes and — " 
 
 "Is it possible," said the mate, "that you do not know where 
 you are, and whither you are going?" 
 
 " I am going, under the special care of the captain, to the city 
 of Boston in New England, to my cousin Mr. Eykin, a gentle- 
 man of credit and substance of that town." 
 
 He gazed at me with wonder. 
 
 " I will speak to the captain," he said, and left me standing there. 
 
 Presently he returned. " Come with me," he said. 
 
 " You arc Grace Eykin," said the captain, who had with him 
 a paper from which he read. 
 
 " That is my name." 
 
 " On a certain day in July, your father being a preacher in 
 the army of the Duke of Moninouth, you walked with a pro- 
 cession of girls bearing flags which you presented to that rebel." 
 
 " It is true, sir." 
 
 " You have been given by the king to some great lord or 
 other, I know not whom, and by him sold to the man Penne, 
 who hath put you on board this ship, the Joll?/ Thatcher, port 
 of London, to be conveyed, with a hundred prisoners, all rogues 
 and thieves, to the island of Barbadoes, where you will presently 
 be sold as a servant for ten years, after which period, if you 
 choose, you will be at liberty to return to England." 
 
 Then, indeed, the captain before me seemed to reel about, 
 and I fell faintinof at his feet. 
 
 CHAPTEPt XXXIV. 
 
 THE GOOD SAMARITAN. 
 
 This was indeed the truth ; I had parted with my money on 
 the word of a villain ; I put myself into his power by telling 
 him the whole of my sad story ; and on the promise of sending 
 me by ship to my cousins in New England, he had entered my 
 name as a rebel sold to himself (afterwards I learned that he
 
 " W/iefi I came to my senses, the captain gave me a glass of cordial and made 
 me sit down on a gun-carriage."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 259 
 
 made it appear as if I was one of tlie hundred given to Mr. 
 Jerome Niplio, all of whom he afterwards bought and sent to 
 the plantations), and he had then shipped me on board a vessel 
 on the point of sailing with as vile a company of rogues, vaga- 
 bonds, thieves, and drabs as w^ere ever raked together out of the 
 streets and the prisons. 
 
 When I came to my senses the captain gave me a glass of 
 cordial, and made me sit down on a gun-carriage while he asked 
 me many questions. I answered them all truthfully, conceal- 
 ing only the reason of my flight, and of my visit to Taunton, 
 where, I told him truly, I hoped to see my unhappy friend, Miss 
 Blake, of whose imprisonment and death I knew nothing. 
 
 " Madam," said the captain, stroking his chin, " your case is 
 indeed a hard one. Yet your name is entered on my list, and I 
 must deliver your body at St. Michael's port, Barbadoes, or ac- 
 count for its absence. This must 1 do ; I have no other choice. 
 As for your being sold to Mr. George Penne by Mr. Jerome 
 Nipho, this may very well be without your knowing even that 
 you had been given to that gentleman by the king. They say 
 that the maids of Taunton have all been given away, mostly to 
 the queen's maids of honor, and must either be redeemed at a 
 great price, or be sold as you have been. On the other hand, 
 there may be villainy ; and in this case it might be dangerous 
 for you to move in the matter lest you be apprehended, and sent 
 to jail as a rebel, and so a worse fate happen unto you." 
 
 He then went on to tell me that this pretended merchant, 
 this Mr. George Penne, was the most notorious kidnapper in the 
 whole of Bristol ; that he was always raking the prisons of 
 rogues, and sending them abroad for sale on the plantations ; 
 that at this time he was looking to make a great profit because 
 there were so many prisoners that all could not be hanged, but 
 most must be either flogged and sent about their business, or 
 else sold to him and his like, for servitude. " As for any money 
 paid for your passage," he went on, " I assure you, madam, 
 upon my honor, that nothing at all has been paid by him, nor 
 has he provided you with any change of clothing, or provisions 
 of any kind for the voyage ; nor hath he asked or bargained for 
 any better treatment of you on board than is given to the rogues 
 below, and that, madam," he added, " is food of the coarsest, 
 and planks, for sleep, of the hardest. The letter which you
 
 260 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 have shown me is a mere trick. I do not think there is any 
 such person in Boston ; it is true, however, that there is a family 
 of your name in Boston, and that they are substantial mer- 
 chants. I make no doubt that as he hath treated you, so he 
 will treat your friends, and that all the money which he has 
 taken from you will remain in his own pocket." 
 
 " Then," I cried, " what am I to do ? Where, look for help ?" 
 
 "'Tis the damnedest villain!" cried the captain, swearing after 
 the profane Avay of sailors. " When next I put in at the port of 
 Bristol, if the Monmouth scare be over, I Avill take care that all 
 the world shall know what he hath done. But, indeed, he will 
 not care. The respectable merchants have nothing to say with 
 him ; he is now an open Catholic, who was formerly concealed 
 in that religion. Therefore he thinks his fortune is at the flood. 
 But what is to be done, madam ?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I know not." 
 
 He considered awhile. His face was rough, and colored like 
 a ripe plum with the wind and the sun ; but he looked honest, 
 and he did not, like Mr. Penne, pretend to shed tears over my 
 misfortunes. 
 
 *' Those who join rebellions," he said, but not unkindly, "gen- 
 erally find themselves out in their reckoning in the end. What 
 the deuce have gentlewomen to do with the pulling down of 
 kings? I warrant, now, you thought you were doing a grand 
 thing, and so you must needs go walking with those pretty fools 
 the maids of Taunton ; well, 'tis past praying for; George Penne 
 is such a villain that keel-hauling is too good for him. Flogged 
 through the fleet at Spithead he should be. Madam, I am not 
 one who favors rebels ; yet you cannot sleep and mess with the 
 scum down yonder. 'Twould be worse than inhuman — their 
 talk and their manners would kill you. There is a cabin aft 
 which you can have ; the furniture is mean, but it will be your 
 own ; Avhile you are aboard you shall mess at my table if you 
 will so honor me. You shall have the liberty of the quarter- 
 deck. I will also find for you, if I can, among the women 
 aboard, one somewhat less villainous than the rest, who shall be 
 your grumeta, as the Spaniards say ; your servant, that is, to 
 keep your cabin clean, and do your bidding. AYhen we make 
 Barbadoes there is no help for it but you must go ashore with 
 the rest and take your chance."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 261 
 
 This was truly generous of the captain, and I thanked liim 
 with all my heart. He proved as good as his word, for though 
 he was a hard man, who duly maintained discipline, flogging his 
 prisoners with rigor, he treated me during the whole voyage 
 with kindness and pity, never forgetting daily to curse the name 
 of George Penne, and to drink to his confusion. 
 
 The voyage lasted six weeks. At first we had rough weather, 
 with heavy seas and rolling waves. Happily I was not made 
 sick by the motion of the ship, and could always stand upon the 
 deck and look at the waves (a spectacle, to my mind, the grand- 
 est in the whole world). But I fear there was much suffering 
 among the poor wretches, my fellow-prisoners. They were hud- 
 dled and crowded together below the deck ; they were all sea- 
 sick ; there was no doctor to relieve their sufferings, nor were 
 there any medicines for those who were ill. Fever presently 
 broke out among them, so that we buried nine in the first fort- 
 night of our voyage. After this, the weather growing warm 
 and the sea moderating, the sick mended rapidly and soon all 
 were well again. 
 
 I used to stand upon the quarter-deck and look at them gath- 
 ered in the waist below. Never had I seen such a company. 
 They came, I heard, principally from London, which is the ren- 
 dezvous or headquarters of all the rogues in the country. They 
 were all in rags ; had any one among them possessed a decent 
 coat it would have been snatched from his back the very first 
 day ; they were dirty from the beginning ; many of them had 
 cuts and wounds on their heads gotten in their fights and quar- 
 rels, and these were bound about with old clouts ; their faces 
 were not fresh colored and rosy like the faces of our honest 
 country lads, but pale and sometimes covered with red blotches 
 caused by their evil lives and their hard drinking ; on their fore- 
 heads was clearly set the seal of Satan. Never did I behold 
 wickedness so manifestly stamped upon the human countenance. 
 They were like monkeys for their knavish and thievish tricks. 
 They stole everything that they could lay hands upon ; pieces 
 of rope, the sailors' knives when they could get them, even the 
 marlin spikes, if they were left about. When they were caught 
 and flogged they would make the ship terrible with their shrieks, 
 being cowards as prodigious as they were thieves. They lay 
 about all day, ragged and dirty, on deck in the place assigned to
 
 262 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 them, stupidly sleeping, or else silent and dumpish, except for 
 some of the young fellows who gambled with cards, I know not 
 for what stakes, and quarrelled over the game and fought. It 
 was an amusement amonir the sailors to make these lads fifjht 
 on the forecastle, promising a pannikin of rum to the victor. For 
 this miserable prize they would fight wath the greatest fury and 
 desperation, even biting one another in their rage, while the sail- 
 ors clapped their hands and encouraged them. Pity it is that 
 the common sort do still delight themselves with sport so brutal. 
 On shore these fellows would be rejoicing in cock-fights and 
 bull-baitings ; on board they baited the prisoners. 
 
 There were among the prisoners twenty or thirty women, the 
 sweepings of the Bristol streets. They, too, would fight as readily 
 as the men until the captain forbade it under penalty of a flog- 
 ging. These women were to the full as wicked as tlie men ; 
 nay, their language was worse, insomuch that the very sailors 
 would stand aghast to hear the blasphemies they uttered, and 
 would even remonstrate with them, saying, " Nan," or " Poll " — 
 they were all Polls and Nans — " 'tis enough to cause the ship 
 to be struck with lightning. Give over now ; wilt sink the ship's 
 company with your foul tongue ?" But the promise of a flog- 
 ging kept them from fighting. Men, I think, will brave anything 
 for a moment's gratification, but not even the most hardened 
 woman will willingly risk the pain of the whip. 
 
 The captain told me that of these convicts, of whom every 
 year whole ship-loads are taken to Virginia, to Jamaica, and to 
 Barbadoes, not one in a hundred ever returns. " For," he said, 
 " the work exacted from them is so severe, with so much ex- 
 posure to a burning sun, and the fare is so hard, that they fall 
 into fevers and calentures, and besides tlie dangers from the 
 heat and the bad food there is a drink called rum, or arrack, 
 which is distilled from the juice of the sugar-cane, and another 
 drink called mobbie, distilled from potatoes, which inflames their 
 blood and causes many to die before their time. Moreover, the 
 laws are harsh, and there is too much flogging and branding and 
 hanging. So that some fall into despair, and in that condition 
 of mind die under the first illness which seizes on them." 
 
 " Captain," I said, " you forget that I am also to become one 
 of these poor wretches." 
 
 The captain swore lustily that on his return he would seek
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 263 
 
 out the villaia Penne and break his neck for liim. Then he as- 
 sured me that the difference between myself and the common 
 herd would be immediately recognized, that a rebel is not a thief, 
 and must not be so treated, and that I had nothing to fear ; nay, 
 that he himself would say what he could in my favor. But he 
 entreated me with the utmost vehemence to send home an ac- 
 count of where I was and what I was enduring' to such of mv 
 friends as might have either money to relieve me from servi- 
 tude or interest to procure a pardon. Alas ! I had no friends. 
 Mr. Boscorel, I knew full well, would move heaven and earth to 
 help me. But he could not do that without his son finding out 
 where I was, and this thought so moved me that I implored the 
 captain to tell no one who I was or what was my history, and 
 for greater persuasion I revealed to him those parts of my his- 
 tory which I had hitherto concealed, naming my marriage, and 
 the reason of that rash step and my liight. 
 
 " Madam," he said, " I would that I had the power of reveng- 
 ing these foul wrongs. For them, I swear, I would kidnap both 
 Mr. George Penne and Mr. Benjamin Boscorel, and, look you, I 
 would make them mess with the scum and the sweepings whom 
 we carry f or'ard ; and I would sell them to the most inhuman 
 of the planters, by whom they would be daily beaten and cuffed 
 and flogged ; or, better still, would cause them to be sold at Havana 
 to the Spaniards, where they would be employed, as are the Eng- 
 lish prisoners commonly by that cruel people, namely, in fetch- 
 ing water under negro overseers. I leave you to imagine how 
 long they would live and what terrible treatment they would 
 receive." 
 
 So it was certain that I was going to a place where I must 
 look for very little mercy unless I could buy it, and where the 
 white servant was regarded as worth so many years of work ; not 
 so much as a negro, because he doth sooner sink under the hard- 
 ships of his lot, while the negro continues frolick and lusty, and 
 marries and has children, even though he has to toil all dav in 
 the sun, and is flogged continually to make him work with the 
 greater heart. 
 
 Among the women on board was a young woman, not more 
 than eighteen or thereabout, who was called Deb. She had no 
 other name. Her birthplace she knew not, but she had run 
 about the country with some tinkers, whose language, she said, is
 
 264 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 called Slielta by those people. This she could still talk. They 
 sold her in Bristol, after which her history is one which I learn 
 is common in towns. When the captain bade her come to the 
 cabin, and ordered her to obey me in whatsoever I commanded, 
 she looked stupidly at him, shrinking from him if he moved, as 
 if she were accustomed (which was indeed the case) to be beaten 
 at every word. I made her first clean herself and wash her 
 clothes. This done she slept in my cabin, and, as the captain 
 promised, became my servant. At first she was not only afraid 
 of ill-treatment, but she would wilfully lie ; she purloined things 
 and hid them ; she told me so many tales about her past life, 
 all of them different, that I could believe none. Yet when she 
 presently found out that I was not going to beat her, and that 
 the captain did never offer to cuff or kick her (which the poor 
 wretch expected), she left off telling falsehoods and became as 
 handy, obliging, and useful a creature as one could desire. She 
 was a great strapping girl, black eyed and with black hair, as 
 strong as any man, and a good-looking creature as well to those 
 who like great women. 
 
 This Deb, when, I say, she ceased to be afraid of me, began 
 to tell me her true history, which was, I suppose, only remark- 
 able because she seemed not to know that it was shameful and 
 wicked. She lived, as the people among whom she had been 
 brought up lived, without the least sense or knowledge of God. 
 Indeed, no heathen savatje could be more without religion than 
 the tinkers and gypsies on the road. They have no knowledge 
 at all ; they are born ; they live ; they die ; they are buried in a| 
 hedgeside and are forgotten. It was surj)rising to me to find 
 that any woman could grow up in a Christian country so igno- 
 rant and so uncared for. In the end she showed every mark of 
 penitence and fell into a godly and pious life. 
 
 My captain continued in the same kindness towards me through- 
 out the voyage, suffering me to mess at his table, where the pro- 
 visions were plain but wholesome, and encouraging me to talk 
 to him, taking pleasure in my simple conversation. In the morn- 
 ings when, with a fair wind and full sail the ship ploughed 
 through the water, while the sun was hot overhead, he would 
 make me a seat with a pillow in the shade, and would then en- 
 treat me to tell him about the rebellion and our flijxht to Black 
 Down. Or he would encourage me in serious talk (though his
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 265 
 
 own conversation with his sailors was overmuch garnished with 
 profane oaths), listening with grave face. And sometimes he 
 would ask me questions about the village of Bradford Orcas, my 
 mother and her wheel, Sir Christopher and the rector, showing 
 a wonderful interest in everything that I told him. It was 
 strange to see how this man, hard as he was with the prisoners 
 (whom it was necessary to terrify, otherwise they might mutiny), 
 could be so gentle towards me, a stranger, and a costly one too, 
 because he was at the expense of maintaining me for the whole 
 voyage, and the whole time being of good manners, never rude 
 or rough, or offering the least freedom or familiarity, a thing 
 which a woman in my defenceless position naturally fears. He 
 could not have shown more respect unto a queen. 
 
 One evening at sunset, when we had been at sea six weeks, he 
 came to me as I was sitting on the quarter-deck, and pointed to 
 what seemed a cloud in the west. " 'Tis the island of Barba- 
 does," he said. " To-morrow, if this wind keeps fair, we shall 
 make the port of St. Michael's, which some call the Bridge, and 
 then, madam, alas !" — he fetched a deep sigh — " I must put you 
 ashore and part with the sweetest companion that ever sailed 
 across the ocean." 
 
 He said no more, but left me as if he had other things to say 
 but stiiled them. Presently the sun went down and darkness 
 fell upon the waters ; the wind also fell and the sea was smooth, 
 so that there was a great silence. " To-morrow," I thought, 
 " we shall reach the port, and I shall be landed with these 
 wretches and sent perhaps to toil in the fields." But yet my 
 soul was upheld by the vision which had been granted to me 
 upon the Black Down hills, and I feared nothing. This I can 
 say without boasting, because I had such weighty reasons for 
 the faith that was in me. 
 
 The captain presently came back to me. 
 
 " Madam," he said, " suffer me to open my mind to you." 
 
 " Sir," I told him, " there is nothing which I could refuse you 
 saving my honor." 
 
 " I must confess," he said, " I have been torn in twain for 
 love of you, madam, ever since you did me the honor to mess 
 at my table — nay, hear nae out — and I have been minded a thou- 
 sand times to assure you, first, that your marriage is no marriage, 
 and that you have not indeed any husband at all ; next, that 
 12
 
 266 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 since you can never go back to your old sweetteart, 'tis better 
 to find another who would protect and cherish you ; and, third- 
 ly, that I am ready, ay, and longing, now to become your hus- 
 band and protector, and to love you with all my heart and 
 soul." 
 
 " Sir," I said, " I thank you for telling me this, which, indeed, 
 I did not suspect. But I am (alas ! as you know) already mar- 
 ried (even though my marriage be no true one), and can never 
 forget the love which I still must bear to my old sweetheart. 
 Wherefore I may not listen to any talk of love." 
 
 " If," he replied, " you were a woman after the common pat- 
 tern, you would right gladly cast aside the chains of this mar- 
 riage ceremony. But, madam, you are a saint, therefore I re- 
 frained," he sighed. " I confess that I have been dragged as by 
 chains to lay myself at your feet. Well, that must not be," he 
 sighed again ; " yet I would save you, madam, from the dangers 
 of this place. The merchants and planters do for the most part, 
 though gentlemen of good birth, lead debauched and ungodly 
 lives, and I fear that though they may spare you the hardships 
 of the field, they may offer you other and worse indignities." 
 
 I answered in the words of David : " The Lord hath delivered 
 me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, 
 he will deliver me out of the hand of the Philistines." 
 
 " Nay, but there is a way. You need not land at all. It is 
 but a scratch of the pen, and I will enter your name among 
 those who died upon the voyage. There will be no more in- 
 quiry any more than after the other names, and then I can carry 
 you back with me to the port of London, whither I am bound 
 after taking in my cargo." 
 
 For a space I was sorely tempted. Then I reflected. It 
 would be, I remembered, by consenting to the captain's treachery 
 towards his employers, nothing less, that I could escape this lot. 
 
 " No, sir," I said, " I thank you from my heart for all your 
 kindness and for your forbearance. But we may not consent 
 together unto this sin. Again I thank you. But I must suffer 
 what is laid upon me." 
 
 He knelt at my feet and kissed my hands, saying nothing 
 more, and presently I went to my cabin ; and so ended my first 
 voyage across the great Atlantic Ocean. In the morning, when 
 I awoke, we were beating off Carlisle Bay, and I felt like unto
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 267 
 
 one of those Christian martyrs of whom I have read, whom they 
 were about to lead forth and cast unto the lions. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE. 
 
 When we dropped anchor in the port or road of Carlisle Bay 
 we were boarded by a number of gentlemen who welcomed the 
 captain, asked him the news, and drank with him. I meantime 
 kept in my cabin, knowing that I must shortly come forth ; and 
 presently I heard the boatswain's pipe, and the order to all the 
 prisoners to come on deck. Then one knocked softly at my 
 door. It was the captain. 
 
 " Madam," he said, with a troubled voice, " it is not too late. 
 Suffer me, I pray you, to enter your name as one of those who 
 died on the voyage. It is no great deception ; the villain Penne 
 will alone be hurt by it ; and I swear to take you home, and to 
 place you, until better times, with honest and God-fearing peo- 
 ple in London." 
 
 " Oh, sir," I replied, " tempt me not, I pray you. Let me go 
 forth and take my place among the rest." 
 
 He entreated rae again ; but, finding that he could not pre- 
 vail, he suffered me to come out. Yet such was his kindness to 
 the last, that he would not place me with the rest, but caused 
 his men to give me a chair on the quarter-deck. Then I saw 
 that we were all to be sold. The prisoners were drawn up stand- 
 ing in lines, one behind the other, the men on one side and the 
 women on the other. The hardships of the voyage had brought 
 them so low that, with their rags and dirt, and their dull scowls 
 and savage faces, and their thin, pale cheeks, they presented a 
 forbidding appearance indeed. 
 
 Three or four gentlemen (they were, I found, planters of this 
 island) were examining them, ordering them to lift up their arms, 
 stretch out their legs, open their mouths, and, in short, treating 
 them like so many cattle, at which the women laughed with rib- 
 ald words, but the men looked as if they would willingly, if they 
 dared, take revenge. 
 
 ** Faugh I" cried one of the planters, " here is a goodly collec-
 
 268 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 tion indeed! The island is like to become the dust-heap of 
 Great Britain, where all the rubbish may be shot. Captain, 
 how long before these bags of bones will drop to pieces ? Well, 
 sweet ladies and fair gentlemen " — he made a mock bow to the 
 prisoners — " you are welcome. After the voyage, a little exer- 
 cise will do you good. You will find the air of the fields whole- 
 some, and the gentlewomen, I assure you, will discover that the 
 drivers and overseers will oblige any who want to dance with a 
 skipping-rope." 
 
 There were now twenty or thirty gentlemen, all of them mer- 
 chants and planters, on board, and a man stepped forward with 
 a book and pencil in hand, who was, I perceived, the salesman. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "this parcel of servants" (he called 
 them a parcel, as if they were a bale of dry -goods) " is consigned 
 to my care by Mr. George Penne, of Bristol, their owner. They 
 are partly from that city and partly from London, though shipped 
 at the port of Bristol. A tedious voyage, following after a long 
 imprisonment in Newgate and Bridewell, hath, it is true, some- 
 what reduced them. But there are among them, as you will find 
 on examination, many lusty fellows and stout wenches, and I 
 doubt not that what you buy to-day will hereafter prove good 
 bargains. They are to be sold without reserve and to the high- 
 est bidder. Robert Bull " — he read the first name on the list 
 — " Robert Bull, shoplifter. Stand forth, Robert Bull." 
 
 There arose from the deck, where he had been lying, a poor 
 wretch who looked as if he could hardly stand, Avasted with 
 fever and privation, his eyes hollow (yet they looked full of 
 wicked cunning). The planters shook their heads. 
 
 " Come, gentlemen," said the salesman, " we must not judge 
 by appearances. He is at present, no doubt, weak, but not so 
 weak as he looks. I warrant a smart cut or two of the whip 
 would show another man. Who bids for Robert Bull ?" 
 
 He was sold, after a little parley, for the sum of five pounds. 
 Then the speaker called another, naming his offence as a qualifi- 
 cation. No pillory could be more shameful. Yet the men looked 
 dogged and the women laughed. 
 
 The sale lasted for three or four hours, the prisoners being 
 knocked down, as they say, for various sums, the greatest price 
 being given for those women who were young and strong. The 
 reason (I have been told) is that the women make better ser-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 269 
 
 vants, endure the heat more patiently, do not commonly drink 
 the strong spirit which destroys the men, and though they are 
 not so strong, do more work. 
 
 Last of all the men called my name. " Grace Eykin, rebel. 
 Stand forth, Grace Eykin." 
 
 " Do not go down among them," said the captain. " Let 
 them see at once that yours is no common case. Stand here." 
 
 He led me to the top of the ladder or steps, which they call 
 the companion, leading from the waist to the quarter-deck. 
 
 " Madam," he said, " it will be best to throw back your hood." 
 
 This I did, and so stood before them all bareheaded. 
 
 Oh, you who are women of gentle nurture, think of such a 
 thing as thus to stand exposed to the curious gaze of rough and 
 ribald men ; to be bought and sold like a horse or an ox at the 
 fair. At first my eyes swam, and I saw nothing, and should 
 have fallen, but the captain placed his hand upon my arm, and 
 so I was steadied. Then my sight cleared, and I could look 
 down upon the faces of the men below. There was no place 
 whither I could fly and hide ; it would be more shameful still 
 (because it might make them laugh) to burst into tears. Why, 
 I thought, why had I not accepted the captain's offer, and suf- 
 fered my name to be entered as one of those who had died on 
 the voyage and been buried in the sea ? 
 
 Down in the waist the gentlemen gazed and gasped in aston- 
 ishment. It was no new thing for the planters to buy political 
 prisoners. Oliver Cromwell sent over a ship-load of Irishmen 
 first, and another ship-load of those engaged in the rising of 
 Penruddock and Grove (among them were gentlemen, divines, 
 and officers, of whom a few yet survived on the island). But as 
 yet no gentlewoman at all had been sent out for political rea- 
 sons. Therefore, I suppose, they looked so amazed, and gazed 
 first at me and then at one another and then gasped for breath. 
 
 " Grace Eykin, gentlemen," said the salesman, who had a tongue 
 which, as they say, ran upon wheels, " is a young gentlewoman, 
 the daughter, I am informed, of the Rev. Comfort Eykin, Doc- 
 tor of Divinity, deceased, formerly Rector of Bradford Orcas in 
 the County of Somerset, and sometime fellow of his college at 
 Oxford, a very learned divine. She hath had the misfortune to 
 have taken part in the Monmouth rebellion, and was one of those 
 maids of Taunton who gave the duke his flags, as you have heard
 
 270 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 by the latest advices. Therefore she is sent abroad for a term 
 of ten years. Gentlemen, there can be no doubt that her rela- 
 tions will not endure that this young lady, as beautiful as she is 
 unfortunate, and as tender as she is beautiful, should be exposed 
 to the same hard treatment as the rogues and thieves whom you 
 have just had put up for sale. They will, I am privately assured " 
 — I heard this statement with amazement — " gladly purchase her 
 freedom ; after which, unless she is permitted to return, the so- 
 ciety of our colony will rejoice in the residence among them of 
 one so lovely and so accomplished. Meantime she must be sold 
 like the rest." 
 
 " Did Monmouth make war with women for his followers ?" 
 asked a gentleman of graver aspect than most. " I, for one, 
 will have no part or share in such trafBc. Are English gentle- 
 women, because their friends are rebels, to be sent into the fields 
 with the negroes ?" 
 
 " Your wife would be jealous," said another ; and then they 
 all laughed. 
 
 I understood not, until afterwards, that the buying and sell- 
 ing of such a person as I appeared to be is a kind of gambling. 
 That is to say, the buyer hopes to get his profit, not by any 
 work that his servant should do, but by the ransom that his 
 friends at home should oifer. And so they began to bid, with 
 jokes rude and unseemly, and much laughter while I stood be- 
 fore them, still bareheaded. 
 
 " Ten pounds," one began. " Twelve," cried another. *' Fif- 
 teen," said a third, and so on, the price continually rising — and 
 the salesman, with honeyed tongue, continually declaring that 
 my friends (as he very well knew) would consent to give any 
 ransom, any, so only that I was set free from servitude — until, 
 for sixty pounds, no one offering a higher price, I was sold to 
 one whose appearance I liked the least of any. He was a gross, 
 fat man, with puffed cheeks and short neck, who had bought 
 already about twenty of the servants. 
 
 *' Be easy," he said, to one who asked him how he looked to 
 get his money back. "It is not for twice sixty pounds that I 
 will consent to let her go. What is twice sixty pounds for a 
 lovely piece like this ?" 
 
 Then the captain, who had stood beside me saying nothing, 
 interfered.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 271 
 
 *' Madam," he said, " you can put up your hood again. And 
 hark ye, sir" — be spoke to the planter — "remember that this 
 is a pious and virtuous gentlewoman, and " — here be swore a 
 round oath — " if I hear, when I make this port again, that you 
 have offered her the least freedom, you shall answer to me for 
 it. Gentlemen all," he went on, " I verily believe that you will 
 shortly have the greatest windfall that bath ever happened to 
 you, compared with which the Salisbury rising was but a iiea- 
 bite. For the trials of the Monmouth rebels were already be- 
 gun when I left the port of Bristol, and though the judges are 
 sentencing all alike to death, they cannot hang them all, there- 
 fore his majesty's plantations, and Barbadoes in particular, will 
 not only have Avhole cargoes of stout and able-bodied servants, 
 compared with whom these poor rogues are like so many worth- 
 less weeds, but there will also be many gentlemen, and perhaps 
 gentlewomen, like madam here, whose freedom will be bought 
 of you. So that I earnestly advise and entreat you not to treat 
 them cruelly, but with gentleness and forbearance, whereby you 
 will be the gainers in the end, and will make their friends the 
 readier to find the price of ransom. Moreover, you must re- 
 member that, though gentlemen may be flogged at whipping- 
 posts and beat over the head with canes, as is your habit with 
 servants both black and white, when the time of their de- 
 liverance arrives they will be no longer slaves, but gentlemen 
 again, and able once more to stand upon the point of honor, 
 and to run you through the body, as you will richly deserve for 
 your barbarity. And in the same way any gentlewomen who 
 may be sent here have brothers and cousins who will be ready 
 to perform the same act of kindness on their behalf. Remem- 
 ber that very carefully, gentlemen, if you please." 
 
 The captain spoke to all the gentlemen present, but in the 
 last words he addressed himself particularly unto my new mas- 
 ter. It was a warning likely to be very serviceable, the planters 
 being one and all notoriously addicted to beating and whipping 
 their servants. And I have no doubt that these words did a 
 great deal towards assuring for the unfortunate gentlemen who 
 presently arrived such consideration and good treatment as they 
 would not otherwise have received. 
 
 The island of Barbadoes, as many people know, is one of the 
 Caribby Islands. It is, as to size, a small place, not more than
 
 272 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 twenty miles in length by fifteen in breadth, but in population 
 it is a very considerable place indeed, for it is said to have as 
 many people in it as the city of Bristol. It is completely set- 
 tled, and of the former inhabitants not one is left. They were 
 the people called Indians, or Caribs, and how they perished I 
 know not. The island hath four ports, of which the principal 
 is that of St. Michael, or the Bridge, or Bridgetown, in Carlisle 
 Bay. The heat by day is very great, and there is no winter, but 
 summer all the year round. There is, however, a cool breeze 
 from the sea, which moderates the heat. A great number of 
 vessels call here every year (there is said to be one every day, 
 but this I cannot believe). They bring to the island all kinds 
 of European manufactures, and take away with them cargoes of 
 Muscovada sugar, cotton, ginger, and logwood. The island hath 
 its shores covered with plantations, being (the people say) al- 
 ready more thickly cultivated than any part of England, with 
 fewer waste places, commons, and the like. The fruits which 
 grow here are plentiful and delicious, such as the pineapple, the 
 papaw, the guava, the bonannow, and the like ; but they are 
 not for the servants and the slaves. The fertility of the country 
 is truly astonishing ; and the air, though full of moisture, where- 
 by knives and tools of all kinds quickly rust and spoil, is consid- 
 ered more healthy than that of any other West Indian island. 
 But for the poor creatures who have to toil in the hot sun the 
 air is full of fatigue and thirst ; it is laden with fevers, calent- 
 ures, and sunstrokes. Death is always in their midst ; and after 
 death, whatever awaits them cannot be much worse than their 
 condition on the island. 
 
 After the sale was finished the captain bade me farewell with 
 tears in his eyes, and we were taken into boats and conveyed 
 ashore, I, for my part, sitting beside my purchaser, who ad- 
 dressed no word at all to me. I was, however, pleased to find 
 that among the people whom he had bought was the girl Deb, 
 who had been my maid (if a woman who is a convict may have 
 a maid who is a sister convict). When we landed w-e walked 
 from the quay or landing-place to a great building like a barn, 
 which is called a barracoon, in which are lodged the negro slaves 
 and servants before they go to their masters. But at this time 
 it was empty. Hither came presently a certain important per- 
 son in a great wig and a black coat, followed by two negro bea-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 273 
 
 dies, and carrying a long cane or stick. After commanding 
 silence, this otiicer read to us in a loud voice those laws of the 
 colony which concern servants, and especially those who, like 
 ourselves, are transported for various offences. I forget what 
 those laws were, but they seemed to be of a cruel and vindictive 
 nature, and all ended with flogging and extension of the term 
 of service. I remember, for instance, because the thought of 
 escape from a place in the middle of the ocean seemed to me 
 mad, that, by the law, if any one should be caught endeavoring 
 to run away he should be first flogged, and then made to serve 
 three years after his term was expired, and that no ship was 
 allowed to trade with the island, or to put in for water, unless 
 the captain had given security with two inhabitants of the island 
 in the sum of £2000 sterling not to carry off any servant without 
 the owner's consent. 
 
 When these laws had been read the officer proceeded, further, 
 to inform us that those who were thus sent out were sent to 
 work as a punishment ; that the work would be hard, not light ; 
 and that those who shirked their work, or were negligent in 
 their work, would be reminded of their duties in the manner 
 common to plantations ; that if they tried to run away they 
 would most certainly be caught, because the island was but 
 small ; and that when they were caught, not only would their 
 term of years be increased, but that they would most certainly 
 receive a dreadful number of lashes. He added, further, that 
 as nothing would be gained by malingering, sulking, or laziness, 
 so on the other hand our lot might be lightened by cheerfulness, 
 honesty, and zeal. A more surly, ill-conditioned crew I think 
 he must have never before harangued. They listened, and on 
 most faces I read the determination to do no more work than 
 was forced from them. This is, I have learned, how the plan- 
 tation servants do commonly begin ; but the most stubborn 
 spirit is not proof against the lash and starvation. Therefore, 
 before many days they are as active and as zealous as can be 
 desired, and the white men, even in the fields, will do double 
 the work that can be got out of the black. 
 
 Then this officer went away, followed by his beadles, who cast 
 
 eyes of regret upon us, as if longing to stay and exercise their 
 
 wands of office upon the prisoners' backs. This done, we were 
 
 ordered to march out. My master's horse was waiting for him, 
 
 12* S
 
 274 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 led by a negro, and two of his overseers, also mounted, and car- 
 rying whips in their hands, waited his commands. He spoke 
 with them a few minutes, and then rode away. 
 
 They brought a long cart, with a kind of tilt to it, drawn by 
 two asses (here they call them assenegoes), and invited me cour- 
 teously to get into it. It was loaded with cases and boxes, and 
 a negro walked beside the beasts. Then we set out upon our 
 march. First walked the twenty servants, men and women, 
 newly bought by the master ; after them, or at their side, rode 
 the overseers, roughly calling on the laggards to quicken their 
 pace, and cracking their whips horribly. Then came the cart in 
 which I sat. The sun was high in the heavens, for it was not 
 more than three of the clock ; the road was white, and covered 
 with dust; and the distance was about six or seven miles, and 
 we went slowly, so that it was already nigh unto sunset when 
 we arrived at the master's estate. 
 
 Thus was I, a gentlewoman born, sold in the island of Barba- 
 does for a slave. Sixty pounds the price I fetched. Oh, even 
 now, when it is all past long since, I remember still with shame 
 how I stood upon the quarter-deck, my hood thrown back, while 
 all those men gazed upon me, and passed their ribald jests, and 
 cried the money they would give for me. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE FIRST DAY OF SERVITUDE. 
 
 Thus began my captivity. Thus I began to sit beside the 
 waters of Babylon, more wretched than the daughters of Zion, 
 because they wept together while I wept alone. I looked for 
 no release or escape until the Lord should mercifully please to 
 call me away by opening the gate of death. For even if I were 
 released, if by living out the ten years of servitude I could claim 
 my freedom, of what use would it be to me ? Whither could I 
 fly ? Where hide myself ? Yet you shall hear, if you will read, 
 how a way, terrible at first and full of peril, was unexpected- 
 ly opened, and in what a strange manner was wrought my 
 deliverance. 
 
 We arrived at our new master's estate, which was, as I have
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 275 
 
 said, about seven miles from the port, towards sundown. We 
 were marched (rather driven) to a kind of village, consisting of 
 a double row of huts or cottages, forming a broad street, in the 
 middle of which there were planted a large number of the fruit- 
 trees named here bonannows (they are a kind of plantain). The 
 green fruit was hanging in clusters, as yet unripe, but the leaves, 
 which are also the branches, being for the most part blown into 
 long shreds or rags by the wind, had an untidy appearance. 
 The cottages looked more like pigsties for size and shape ; they 
 were built of sticks, withes, and plantain-leaves both for sides 
 and for roof. Chimneys had they none, nor windows ; some of 
 them had no door, but an opening only. Thus are housed the 
 servants and slaves of a plantation. The furniture within is 
 such as the occupants contrive. Sometimes there is a ham- 
 mock or a pallet, with grass mats and rugs ; there are some 
 simple platters and basins ; in each hut there are two, three, or 
 four occupants. 
 
 Here let me, in brief, make an end of describing the buildings 
 on this estate, which were, I suppose, like those of every other. 
 If you were to draw a great square on which to lay down or 
 figure the buildings, you would have in one corner the street, 
 or village of the people ; next to the village lies the great pond 
 which serves for drinking water as well as for washing ; the 
 negroes are fond of swimming and bathing in it, and they say 
 that the water is not fouled thereby, which I could not under- 
 stand. In the opposite corner you must place the ingenio, or 
 house where the sugar-canes are brought to be crushed and 
 ground and the sugar is made ; there are all kinds of machines 
 with great wheels, small wheels, cogs, gutters for running the 
 juice, and contrivances which I cannot remember. Some of the 
 ingenios are worked by a wind-mill, others by horses and as- 
 senegoes ; there is in every one a still, where they make that 
 fiery spirit which they call kill-devil. Near the ingenio are the 
 stables, where there are horses, oxen, assenegoes, and the curious 
 beast, spoken of in Holy Writ, called the camel. It hath been 
 brought here from Africa, and is much used for carrying the 
 sugar. The open space around the ingenio is generally covered 
 and strewed with trash, which is the crushed stalk of the cane ; 
 it always gives forth a sour smell (as if fermenting) which I 
 cannot think to be wholesome. In the fourth corner is the
 
 276 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 planter's house. Considering that these people sometimes grow 
 so rich that they come home and buy great estates, it is wonder- 
 ful that they should consent to live in houses so mean and pal- 
 try. They are of wood, with roofs so low that one can hardly 
 stand upright in them ; and the people are so afraid of the cool 
 wind which hlows from the east that they have neither doors 
 nor windows on that side, but will have them all towards the 
 west, whence cometh the chief heat of the sun, namely, the af- 
 ternoon heat. Their furniture is rude, and they have neither 
 tapestry nor wainscoted walls, nor any kind of ornament. Yet 
 they live always in the greatest luxury, eating and drinking of 
 the best. Some of the houses (my master's among them) have 
 an open veranda, as they call it — in Somersetshire we should 
 call it a linney — running round three sides of the house, with 
 coarse canvas curtains which can be let down so as to keep out 
 the sun, or drawn up to admit the air. But their way of living, 
 though they eat and drink of the best, is rude even compared 
 with that of our farmers at home ; and a thriving tradesman, say 
 of Taunton, would scorn to live in such a house as contenteth a 
 wealthy planter of Barbadoes. Behind the house was a spa- 
 cious garden in which grew all kinds of fruits and vegetables, 
 and all round the buildings, on every side, stretched the broad 
 fields of sugar-canes, which when they are in their flower, or 
 blossom of gray and silver, wave in the wind more beautifully 
 than even a field of barley in England. 
 
 On the approach of our party, and the voices of the overseers, a 
 gentlewoman (so at least she seemed) came out of the house, and 
 stood upon the veranda shading her eyes and looking at the gang 
 of wretches. She was dressed splendidly in a silken gown and 
 flowered petticoat, as if she were a very great lady indeed ; over 
 her head lay a kerchief of rich black lace ; round her neck was a 
 gold chain. When she slowly descended the steps of the veranda 
 and walked towards us, I observed that she was of a darker skin 
 than is customary to find at home ; it was, indeed, somewhat 
 like the skin of the gypsy people ; her features were straight 
 and regular ; her hair was quite black ; her eyes were also black 
 and large, shaped like almonds. On her wrists were heavy gold 
 bracelets, and her fingers were loaded with rings. She seemed 
 about thirty years of age ; she was a woman of tall and fine 
 presence, and she stood and moved as if she were a queen. She
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 2'I'J 
 
 presently eaiiie forth from the veranda and walked across the 
 yard towards us. 
 
 " Let me look at them — your new batch," she said, speaking 
 languidly, and with an accent somewhat foreign. " How many 
 are there ? AVhere do they come from ? Who is this one, for 
 instance ? She took the girl named Deb by the chin, and looked 
 at her as if she were some animal to be sold in the market. " A 
 stout wench, truly. What was she over there ?" 
 
 The overseer read the name and the crimes of the prisoner. 
 Madam (this was the only name by which I knew her) pushed 
 her away disdainfully, 
 
 " Well," she said, " she will find companions enough here. 
 I hope she will work w^ithout the whip. Hark ye, girl," she 
 added, with, I think, kindly interest, " it goes still to my heart 
 when I hear that the women have been trounced, but the work 
 must be done. Remember that. And who are those ? and those ?" 
 She pointed with contempt to the poor creatures covered with 
 dirt and dust, and in the ragged, miserable clothes they had 
 worn all the voyage. " Street sweepings, rogues and thieves, 
 all. Let them know," she said, grandly, "w^hat awaits those 
 who skulk, and those who thieve. And whom have we here V 
 She turned to me. " Is this some fine city madam, fresh from 
 Bridewell ?" 
 
 " This prisoner," said the overseer, " is described as a rebel 
 in the late Monmouth rising." 
 
 " A rebel ? truly ?" she asked with curiosity. " Were Mon- 
 mouth's soldiers women ? We heard by the last ship something 
 of this. Madam, I know not why you must needs become a 
 rebel, but this, look you, is no place for gentlewomen to sit 
 down and fold their arms." 
 
 " Madam," I replied, " I look for nothing less than to work, 
 being now a convict, though I was never tried and condemned 
 — I know not by whom — to transportation in his majesty's 
 plantations." 
 
 " Let me look at your hands," she said, sharply. " Why, of 
 what use are those little fingers? they have never done any 
 work ; and your face — prithee, turn back your hood," I obeyed, 
 and her eyes suddenly softened. Indeed, I looked not for this 
 sign of compassion, and my own tears began to flow. " 'Tis a 
 shame 1" she cried. " 'Tis a burning shame to send so young
 
 278 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 a woman, a gentlewoman, and one with such a face to the plan- 
 tations ! Have they no bowels ? Child, who put thee aboard 
 the ship ?" 
 
 " I was brought on board by one Mr. Penne, who deceived 
 me, promising that I should be taken to New England where 
 I have cousins." 
 
 " We will speak of this presently. Meantime, since we must 
 by the law find you some work to do — can you sew ?" 
 
 " Yes, madam, I can perform any kind of needlework from 
 plain sewing to embroidery." 
 
 " What mean they," she cried again, " by sending a helpless 
 girl alone with such a crew ? The very Spaniards of whom they 
 talk so much would blush for such barbarity. They would send 
 her to a convent where the good nuns would treat her kindly. 
 Well, madam or miss, thou art bought, and the master may not, 
 by law, release you. But there is a way of which we will talk 
 presently. Meanwhile, thou canst sit in the sewing-room where 
 we may find thee work." 
 
 I thanked her; she would have said more. But there came 
 forth from the house with staggering step the man who had 
 bought us. He had now put off his wig and his scarlet coat, 
 and wore a white dressing-gown and a linen night-cap. He had 
 in his hand a whip, which he cracked as he walked. 
 
 " Child," said madam, quickly, " pull down your hood. Hide 
 your face. He hath been drinking, and at such times he is dan- 
 gerous. Let him never set eyes upon thee save when he is 
 sober." 
 
 He came rolling and staggering, yet not so drunk but he 
 could speak, though his voice was thick. 
 
 " Oho !" he cried. '* Here are the new servants. Stand up 
 every man and woman. Stand up, I say." Here he cracked 
 his whip, and they obeyed, trembling. But madam placed her- 
 self in front of me. " Let me look at ye." He walked along 
 the line calling the unhappy creatures vile and foul names. Oh, 
 shame thus to mock their misery ! " What !" he cried, " you 
 think you have come to a country where there is nothing to do 
 but lie on your backs and eat turtle and drink mobbie ; what ! 
 You shall find out your mistake !" Here he cracked his whip 
 again. " You shall work all day in the field, not because you 
 like it, but because you must. For your food it shall be lob-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 279 
 
 loUie, and for your drink water from the pond. What, I say ! 
 Those who skulk shall learn that the Newgate cat is tender 
 compared with her brother of Barbadoes. Tremble, therefore, 
 ye devils all, tremble !" 
 
 They trembled visibly. All were now subdued. Those of 
 them who swaggered, the dare-devil reckless blades, when first 
 we sailed, were now transformed into cowardly, trembling 
 wretches, all half starved, and some reduced with fevers, with 
 no more spirit left than enabled them still to curse and swear. 
 The feeblest of mortals, the lowest of human wretches, has still 
 left so much of strength and will that he can sink his immortal 
 soul lower still ; a terrible power, truly. 
 
 Then madam drew me aside, gently, and led me to a place 
 like a barn where many women, white and black, sat sewing, 
 and a great quantity of little black babies and naked children 
 played about under their charge. The white women were 
 sad and silent ; the blacks, I saw with surprise, were all chat- 
 tering and laughing. The negro is happy if he have enough 
 to eat and drink, whether he be slave or free. Madam sat down 
 upon a bench and caused me to sit beside her. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, kindly, " what this means. When did 
 women begin to rebel ? If men are such fools as to go forth 
 and fight, let them ; but for women — " 
 
 " Indeed," I told her, " I did not fight." 
 
 Then nothing would do but I must tell her all from the be- 
 ginning — my name, my family, and my history. But I told her 
 nothing about my marriage. 
 
 " So," she said, " you have lost father, mother, brothers, lover, 
 and friends by this pretty business, and all because they will 
 not suffer the king to worship in his own way. Well, 'tis hard 
 for you. To be plain, it may be harder than you think, or I 
 can help. You have been bought for sixty pounds, and that 
 not for any profit that your work will bring to the estate, be- 
 cause such as you are but a loss and a burden, but only in the 
 hope that your friends will pay a great sum for ransom." 
 
 " Madam, I have indeed no friends left who can do this 
 for me." 
 
 " If so, it is indeed unfortunate. For presently the master 
 will look for letters on your behalf, and if none come, I know 
 not what he may threaten or what he may do. But think —
 
 280 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 
 
 try to find some one. Consider, your lot here must be hard at 
 best, whereas if you are released you can live where you please ; 
 you may even marry whom you please, because beautiful young 
 gentlewomen like yourself are scarce indeed in Barbadoes. 
 'Tis Christian charity to set you free. Remember, child, that 
 money will do here what I suppose it will do anywhere. All 
 are slaves to money. You have six months before you in which 
 to write to your friends and to receive an answer. If in that 
 time nothing comes, I tell thee again, child, that I know not 
 what will happen. As for the life in the fields, it would kill 
 thee in a week." 
 
 " Perhaps, if the Lord so wills," I replied, helplessly, " that 
 may be best. Friends have I none now, nor any whom I could 
 ask for help, save the Lord alone. I will ask for work in the 
 fields." 
 
 " Perhaps he may forget thee," she said, meaning the mas- 
 ter. " But no ; a man who hath once seen thy face will never 
 forget thee. My dear, he told me when he came home that he 
 had bought a woman whose beauty will set the island in flames. 
 Pray Heaven he come not near thee when he is in liquor. Hide 
 that face, child, hide that face. Let him never see thee. 
 Oh, there are dangers worse than labor in the fields, worse 
 than whip of overseer." She sprang to her feet and clasped 
 her hands. "You talk of the Lord's will! What hath the 
 Lord to do with this place ? Here is nothing but debauchery 
 and drinking, cruelty and greed. Why have they sent here a 
 woman who prays ?" 
 
 Then she sat down again and took my hand. 
 " Tender maid," she said, " thy face is exactly such as the 
 face of a certain saint; 'tis in a picture which hangs in the 
 chapel of the convent where the good nuns brought me up long 
 ago, before I came to this place — long ago. Yes, I forget 
 the name of the saint ; thou hast her face. She stood, in the 
 picture, surrounded by soldiers who had red hair, and looked 
 like devils — English devils, the nuns said. Her eyes were raised 
 to heaven and she prayed. But what was done unto her I know 
 not, because there was no other picture. Now she sits upon a 
 throne in the presence of the mother of God." 
 
 The tears stood in her great black eyes. I take it that she 
 was thinking of the days when she was young.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 281 
 
 " Well, wc must keep thee out of his way. While he is so- 
 ber he listens to reason, and thinks continually upon his estate 
 and his gains. When he is drunk no one can hold him, and 
 reason is lost upon him." 
 
 She presently brought me a manchet of white bread and a 
 glass of Madeira wine, and then told me that she would give 
 me the best cottage that the estate possessed, and for my bet- 
 ter protection another woman to share it with me. I thanked 
 her again, and asked that I might have the girl called Deb, which 
 she readily granted. 
 
 And so my first day of servitude ended in thus happily find- 
 ing a protector. As for the cottage, it was a poor thing, but 
 it had a door and a window with a shutter. The furniture was 
 a pallet with two thick rugs and nothing more. My condition 
 was desperate indeed, but yet, had I considered, I had been so 
 far most mercifully protected. I was shipped as a convict (it 
 is true) by a treacherous villain, but on the ship I found a com- 
 passionate captain who saved me from the company among 
 whom I must otherwise have dwelt. I was sold to a drunken 
 and greedy planter, but I found a compassionate woman who 
 promised to do what she could. And I had for my companion 
 the woman who had become a most faithful maid to me upon 
 the voyage, and who still continued in her fidelity and her love. 
 And greater mercies yet were in store, as you shall see. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON. 
 
 Thus delivered from the slavery of the fields, I began to work, 
 an unprofitable servant, among those who made and mended the 
 garments of the servants and negroes. On an estate so large as 
 this there is always plenty to be done by the seamstresses and 
 needlewomen. Thus, to every woman is given by the year four 
 smocks, two petticoats, and four coifs, besides shoes, which are 
 brought from England by the ships. Those who wait in the 
 house have, in addition, six smocks and three waistcoats. To 
 the men are given six shirts ; and to every man and woman a 
 rug or gown of thick stuff to cast about them when they come
 
 282 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 home liot, SO that they may not catch cold, a thing -whicli throws 
 many into a fever. All these things have to be made and mend- 
 ed on the estate. 
 
 As for the children, the little blacks, they run about without 
 clothing, their black skin sufficing. The women who are en- 
 gaged upon the work of sewing are commonly those of the white 
 servants who are not strong enough for the weeding and hoeing 
 in the fields, or are old and past hard work. Yet the stuff of 
 which the smocks and shirts is made is so coarse that it tore the 
 skin from my fingers, which, when madam saw, she brought me 
 fine work, namely, for herself. She was also so good as to pro- 
 vide me with a change of clothes, of which I stood sadly in 
 need, and excused my wearing the dress of the other women. 
 I hope that I am not fond of fine apparel more than becomes a 
 modest woman ; but I confess that the thought of wearing this 
 livery of servitude, this coarse and common dress of smock, pet- 
 ticoat, and coif, all of rough and thick stuff, like canvas, with a 
 pair of shoes, and no stockings, filled ray very soul with dismay. 
 None of the many acts of kindness shown me by madam was more 
 gratefully received than her present of clothes — not coarse and 
 rough to the skin, nor ugly and common, befitting prisoners and 
 criminals, but soft and pleasant to wear, and fit for the heat of 
 the climate. 'Tvvas no great hardship, certainly, to rise early and 
 to sit all day with needle and thread in a great room well aired. 
 The company, to be sure, was not what one would have chosen, 
 nor was the language of the poor creatures who sat with me — 
 prison and Bridewell birds all of them — such as my poor mother 
 would have desired her daughter to hear. The food was coarse, 
 but I was often at the house when the master was away, and 
 there madam would constantly give me something from her own 
 table — a dish of chocolate, rightly called the Indian nectar, 
 made so thick and strong that a spoon stands upright in it, or a 
 glass of Madeira, if my cheeks looked paler than ordinary. In 
 this country the great heat of the air seems to suck out and de- 
 vour the heat of the body, so that those of European birth, if 
 they are not nourished on generous diet, presently fall into a 
 decline or wasting away, as is continually seen in the case of 
 the white servants, both men and women, who die early, and 
 seldom last more than five or six years. 
 
 Briefly, madam seemed to take great pleasure in my conver-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 283 
 
 sation, and would either seek me in tlie workroom or would 
 have me to the house, asking questions as to my former life. 
 For herself, I learned that she had been born in Cuba, and had 
 been brought up by nuns in a convent, but how or why she 
 came to this place I knew not, nor did I ask. Other gentle- 
 women of the island I never saw, and I think there were none 
 who visited her. Nor did she show kindness to the women- 
 servants (except to myself), treating them all, as is the fashion 
 in that country, as if they were so many black negroes, not con- 
 descending to more than a word or a command, and if this were 
 disobeyed they knew very well what to expect from her. But 
 to me she continued throughout to be kind and gracious, think- 
 ing always how she could lighten my lot. 
 
 In this employment, therefore, I continued with such content- 
 ment as may be imagined, which was rather a forced resignation 
 to the will of the Lord than a cheerful heart. But I confess 
 that I looked upon the lot of the other women with horror, and 
 was, indeed, thankful that I was spared the miseries of those 
 who go forth to the fields. They begin at six in the morning 
 and work until eleven, when they come home to dinner. At 
 one o'clock they go out again and return at sunset, which in 
 this country is nearly always about half-past six. But let no 
 one think that work in the fields in Barbadoes may be compared 
 with work in the fields at home. For in England there are 
 cloudy skies and cold, wintry days in plenty, but in Barbadoes, 
 save when the rain falls in prodigious quantities, the skies have 
 no clouds, but are clear blue all the year round ; the sun burns 
 with a heat intolerable, so that the eyes are well-nigh blinded, 
 the head aches, the limbs fail, and but for fear of the lash the 
 wretched toiler would lie down in the nearest shade. And a 
 terrible thirst (all this was told me by the girl Deb) seizes the 
 throat, all day long, which nothing can assuage but rest. For 
 the least skulking the whip is laid on, and if there be a word of 
 impatience or murmuring it is called stark mutiny, for which 
 the miserable convict, man or woman, is tied up and flogged 
 with a barbarity which would be incredible to any were it not 
 for the memory of certain floggings in our own country. Be- 
 sides the lash they have also pillory and the stocks, and the 
 overseers carry, in addition to their whip, a heavy cane, with 
 which they constantly belabor the slaves, both white and black.
 
 284 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 I say slaves, because the wliite servants are notliing less, save 
 that the negroes arc far better off, and receive infinitely better 
 treatment than the poor white creatures. Indeed, the negro be- 
 ing the absolute property of his master, both he and his chil- 
 dren, to ill-treat him is like the wanton destruction of cattle on 
 a farm, whereas there is no reason in making the convicts last 
 out more than the ten years of their servitude, or even so long, 
 because many of them are such poor creatures when they arrive, 
 and so reduced by the miseries of the voyage, and so exhausted 
 by the hard labor to which they are put, that they bring no profit 
 to the master, but quickly fall ill, and die like rotten sheep. 
 Like rotten sheep, I say, they die, without a word of Christian 
 exhortation, and like brute creatures who have no world to come 
 are they buried in the ground. Again, the food served out to 
 these poor people is not such as should be given to white people 
 in a hot climate. There is nothing but water to drink, and that 
 drawn from ponds, because in Barbadoes there are few springs 
 or rivers. It is true that the old hands, who have learned how 
 to manage, contrive to make plantain wine, and get, by hook 
 or by crook, mobbie (which is a strong drink made from pota- 
 toes), or kill-devil, which is the new spirit distilled from sugar. 
 Then, for solid food, the servants are allowed five pounds of 
 salt beef for each person every week, and this so hard and 
 stringy that no boiling will make it soft enough for the teeth. 
 Sometimes, instead of the beef, they have as much salt fish, for 
 the most part stinking ; with this, a portion of ground Indian 
 corn, which is made into a kind of porridge, and called loblol- 
 lie. This is the staple of the food, and there are no rustics at 
 home who do not live better and have more nourishing food. 
 
 I do not deny that the convicts are for the most part a most 
 horrid crew, who deserve to suflf(3r if any men ever did ; but it 
 was sad to see how the faces of the people were pinched with 
 hunger and wasted with the daily fatigues, and how their hollow 
 eyes were full of despair. Whatever their sins may have been, 
 they were at least made in God's own image ; no criminal, how- 
 ever wicked, should have been used with such barbarity as was 
 wreaked upon the people of this estate. The overseers were 
 chosen (being themselves also convicts) for their hardness of 
 heart. Nay, did they show the least kindness towards the poor 
 creatures whom they drove they would themselves be forced to
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 285 
 
 lay down the whip of office and to join the gang of those who 
 toiled. And over them was the master, jealous to exact the last 
 ounce of strength from the creatures whom he had bought. Did 
 the good people of Bristol who buy the sugar and molasses and 
 tobacco of the Indies know or understand the tears of despair 
 and the sweat of agony which are forced with every pound of 
 sugar, they would abhor the trade which makes them rich. 
 
 The companion of my sleeping-hut, the girl Deb, was a great, 
 strapping wench, who bade fair to outlast her ten years of ser- 
 vitude, even under the treatment to which, with the rest, she 
 was daily subjected. And partly because she was strong and 
 active, partly because she had a certain kind of beauty (the 
 kind which belongs to the rustic and is accompanied by good- 
 humor and laughter), she would perhaps have done well, as 
 some of the women do, and ended by marrying an overseer, but 
 for events which presently happened. Yet, strong as she was, 
 there was no eveninfj when she did not return worn out with 
 fatigue, her cheeks burning, her limbs weary, yet happy because 
 she had one more day escaped the lash, and had the night be- 
 fore her in which to rest. If it is worth noting, the women 
 were from the outset the most willing workers and the most 
 eager to satisfy their taskmasters ; the men, on the other hand, 
 went sullen and downcast, thinking only how to escape the 
 overseer's whip, and going through the work with angry and 
 revengeful eyes. I think that some great mutiny might have 
 happened upon this estate — some wild revenge — so desperate 
 were these poor creatures, and so horrible were the scourgings 
 they endured and the shrieks and cursings which they uttered. 
 Let me not speak of these things. 
 
 There are other things which make a residence in Barbadoes, 
 even to the wealthy, full of annoyances and irritations. The 
 place is filled with cockroaches, great spiders, horrid scorpions, 
 centipedes, and lizards. There are ants which swarm every- 
 where, and there are clouds of flies ; and at night there are 
 mosquitoes and merrywings, which by their bites have been 
 known to drive new-comers into fever, or else into a kind of 
 madness. 
 
 In the evenings, after supper, there reigned a melancholy si- 
 lence in the village, the people for the most part taking rest 
 with weary limbs. Sometimes there would be a quarrel, with
 
 286 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 horrid oaths and curses, and perhaps some fighting. But these 
 occasions were rare. 
 
 From the house there came often the noise of singing, drink- 
 ing, and loud talking when other planters would ride over for a 
 drinking-bout. There was also sometimes to be heard the mu- 
 sic of the theorbo, upon which madam played very sweetly, 
 singing Spanish songs ; so that it seemed a pity for music so 
 sweet to be thrown away upon this selfish crew. It made me 
 think of Humphrey and of the sweet and holy thoughts which 
 he would put into rhymes, and then fit the rhymes with music 
 which seemed to breathe those very thoughts. Alas ! in the 
 village of Bradford Orcas there would be now silence and deso- 
 lation : the good old squire was dead ; my father dead ; the 
 young men sent to the plantations ; no one left at all but the 
 rector and madam, his sister-in-law ; and I, alas ! a slave. Per- 
 chance at that moment the rector might be slowly drawing his 
 bow across the strings of his violoncello, thinking of those who 
 formerly played with him ; or perhaps he would be sorrowfully 
 taking out his cases and gazing for a little consolation upon the 
 figures of his goddesses and his nymphs — only to think of the 
 place and of those who once lived there tore my poor heart to 
 pieces. 
 
 One evening, when there was a great noise and talking at the 
 house, while we were sitting upon our beds, with no other light 
 than that of the moon, madam herself came to the cottage. 
 
 " Child," she said, " nothing will do but that the gentlemen 
 must see thy beauty. Nay, no harm shall happen while I am 
 there. So much they know. But he hath so bragged about 
 thy beauty, and the great price he will demand for ransom, that 
 the rest are mad to see thee. I swear that not the least rude- 
 ness shall be offered thee. They are drinking, it is true, but 
 they are not yet drunk. Come." 
 
 So I arose and followed her. First she took me to her own 
 room, where she took off my hood and threw over me a long 
 white lace mantilla, which covered my head and fell over my 
 shoulders and below the waist. 
 
 She sighed as she looked at me. 
 
 " Poor innocent !" she said, " if money could buy that face 
 there is not a man in the room but would give all he hath and 
 count it gain. Canst thou play or sing ?"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 287 
 
 I told lier tliat I had some knowledge of the theorbo. There- 
 fore she brought me hers, and bade me sing to the gentlemen 
 and then retire quickly. So I followed her into the living or keep- 
 ing room, where a dozen gentlemen were sitting round the table. 
 A bowl of punch was on the table, and every man had his glass 
 before him and a pipe of tobacco in his hand. Some of their 
 faces were flushed with wine. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said madam, " our prisoner hath consented to 
 sing one song to yon, after which she will ask permission to bid 
 you good-night." 
 
 So they all clapped their hands and rapped the table, and I, 
 being indeed terrified, but knowing very well that to show fear 
 would be the worst thing I could do, touched the strings and 
 began my song. I sang the song which Humphrey made, and 
 which he sang to the officers at Taunton when the duke was 
 there. 
 
 When I finished I gave back the theorbo to madam, courte- 
 sied to the gentlemen, and quickly stepped back to madam's 
 room, while they all bellowed and applauded, and roared for me 
 to come back again. But I put on my hood and slipped out to 
 the cottage, where I lay down beside Deb and quickly fell asleep. 
 (It is a great happiness in these hot latitudes that when a new- 
 comer hath once got over the trouble of the merrywings he fall- 
 eth asleep the moment he lies down, and so sleeps through the 
 whole night.) 
 
 But in the morning madam came to see me while I was sewing. 
 
 " Well, child," 'she said, laughing, " thou hast gotten a lover 
 who swears that he will soon have thee out of this hell." 
 
 " A lover !" I cried. " Nay ; that may God forbid !" 
 
 " 'Tis true. Young Mr. Anstiss it is. While thou wast sing- 
 ing he gazed on thy pretty face and listened as one enchanted. 
 I w^onder — but no, thou hast no eyes for such things. And 
 when thou wast gone he offered the master four times the sum 
 he paid for thee ; yea, four times, or six times, saying that he 
 meant honorably, and that if any man dared to whisper any- 
 thing to the contrary he would cut his throat." 
 
 " Alas, madam. I must never marry — either this Mr. Anstiss 
 or any other." 
 
 " Tut, tut ; this is foolish maid's nonsense. Granted you 
 ha.ve lost your old lover, there are plenty more. Suppose he
 
 288 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 hath lost his old sweethccart, there are plenty more, as I doubt 
 not he hath already proved. Mr. Anstiss is a very pretty young 
 gentleman ; but the master would not listen, saying that he 
 waited for the lady's friends." 
 
 And so passed six weeks, or thereabouts, for the only count 
 of time I kept was from Sunday to Sunday. On that day we 
 rested ; the negroes, who are no better than heathens, danced. 
 The Avhite servants lay about in the shade, and drank what they 
 could ; in one cottage only on that godless estate prayers were 
 offered. 
 
 And then happened that great event which in the end proved 
 to be a change of my whole life, and brought happiness out of 
 misery, and joy out of suffering, though at first it seemed only 
 a dreadful addition to my trouble. Thus is the course of things 
 ordered for us, and thus the greatest blessings follow upon the 
 most threatening juncture. "What this was I will tell in a few 
 words. 
 
 It was about the third week in September when I embarked, 
 and about the thii'd week in November when the ship made her 
 port. Therefore I take it that it was one day about the begin- 
 ning of the year 1686, when madam came to the workroom and 
 told me that a ship had arrived, carrying a cargo of two hundred 
 rebels and more, sent out to work upon the plantations, like 
 myself, for the term of ten years. She also told me that the 
 master was gone to the Bridge in order to buy some of them. 
 Not, she said, that he wanted more hands, but he expected that 
 there would be among them persons of quality who would be 
 glad to buy their freedom. He still, she told me, looked to 
 make a great profit out of myself, and was thinking to sell me, 
 unless my friends in England speedily sent proposals for my 
 ransom, to the young planter who was in love with me. This 
 did not displease me. I have not thought it necessary to tell 
 how Mr. Anstiss came often to the estate, and continually de- 
 vised schemes for looking at me, going to the ingenio, whence 
 he could see those who sat in the workroom, and even sending 
 me letters, vowing the greatest extravagance of passion ; I say 
 I was not displeased because there was in this young gentle- 
 man's face a certain goodness of disposition clearly marked, so 
 that even if I became his property I thought I might persuade 
 him to relinquish thoughts of love, even if I had to trust myself
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 289 
 
 entirely to his lienor, and tell liim all. But, as you sball liear, 
 this project of the master's was brought to naught. 
 
 As for the rebels, I was curious to see them. Some I might 
 recognize ; to some I might perhaps be of a little use at the 
 outset in guarding them against dangers. I did not fear, or think 
 it likely, that there would be any among them whom I might 
 know, or who might know me. Yet the thing which I least 
 suspected and the least feared — a thing which one would have 
 thought so unlikely as to make the event a miracle ; nay, call it 
 rather the merciful ordering of all — that thing I say, actually 
 happened. 
 
 The newly bought servants arrived at about five in the 
 evening. 
 
 I looked out of the workroom to see them. Why, I seemed 
 to know their faces — all their faces. They were our brave West 
 Country lads, whom I had last seen marching gallantly out of 
 Taunton town to victory and glory (as they believed) ; now, pale 
 with the miseries of the voyage, thin with bad food and disease, 
 hollow-cheeked and hollow-eyed, in rags and dirt, barefooted, 
 covered with dust, grimy for want of washing, their beards 
 grown all over their faces, with hanging heads stood these poor 
 fellows. There were thirty of them ; some had thrown them- 
 selves on the ground as if in the last extremity of fatigue ; 
 some stood with the patience that one sees in brute beasts who 
 arc waiting to be killed ; and in a group together stood three — 
 oh, merciful Heaven ! was this misery also added to my cup ? 
 They were Robin, Barnaby, and Humphrey. Robin's face, 
 heavy and pale, betrayed the sorrow of his soul, lie stood as 
 one who neither careth for nor regarded anything. My heart 
 fell like lead to witness the despair which was visible in his 
 attitude, in his eyes, in his brow. But Barnaby showed still a 
 cheerful countenance, and looked about him as if he were arriv- 
 ing a welcome guest instead of a slave. 
 
 " You know any of them, child ?" madam asked. 
 
 " Oh, madam," I cried, " they are my friends ; they are my 
 friends. Oh, help them ; help them." 
 
 " How can I help them ?" she replied, coldly. " They are 
 
 rebels, and they are justly punished. Let them write home for 
 
 money if they have friends, and so they can be ransomed. To 
 
 make them write the more movingly the master hath resolved 
 
 13 T
 
 290 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 to send them all to work in tlie fields. The harder they work, 
 he says, the more they will desire to be free again." 
 " In the fields ! Oh, Robin ! my poor Robin !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Humphrey's narrative. 
 
 With these words — " Oh, Robin ! Robin !" — the history as 
 set down in my mistress's handwriting suddenly comes to an 
 end. The words are fitting, because her whole heart was full 
 of Robin, and though at this time it seemed to the poor creat- 
 ure a sin still to nourish affection for her old sweetheart, I am 
 sure — nay, I have it on her own confession — that there was 
 never an hour in the waking day when Robin was not in her 
 mind, though between herself and her former lover stood the 
 dreadful figure of her husband. I suppose that, although she 
 began this work with the design to complete it, she had not the 
 courage, even when years had passed away, and much earthly 
 happiness had been her reward, to write down the passages 
 which follow. Wherefore (and for another reason, namely, a 
 confession which must be made by myself before I die) I have 
 taken upon myself to finish that part of Grace Ey kin's history 
 which relates to the Monmouth rising and its unhappy conse- 
 quences. You have read how (thanks to my inexperience and 
 ignorance of conspiracies, and belief in men's promises) we were 
 reduced to the lowest point of disgrace and poverty. Grace did 
 not tell, because till afterwards she did not know, that on Sir 
 Christopher's death his estate was declared confiscated, and 
 presently bestowed upon Benjamin by favor of Lord Jeffreys, 
 so that he whose ambition it was to become lord chancellor was 
 already (which he had not expected), the Lord of the Manor of 
 Bradford Orcas. But of this hereafter. 
 
 I have called her my mistress. Truly, all my life she hath 
 been to me more than was ever Laura to Petrarch, or even Bea- 
 trice to the great Florentine. The ancients represented every 
 virtue by a goddess, a grace, or a nymph. Nay, the arts were 
 also feminine (yet subject to the informing influence of the 
 other sex, as the Muses had Apollo for their director and chief).
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 291 
 
 To my mind every generous sentiment, every worthy thought, 
 all things that are gracious, all things 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 the practice of those 
 arts by which the soul is borne heavenwards. I mean the arts 
 of poetry and of music ; it was she who listened patiently when 
 I would still be prating of myself, and encouraged the ambi- 
 tions which had already seized my soul. So that if I turned a 
 set of verses smoothly, it was to Grace that I gave them, and for 
 her that I wrote them, "When Ave played heavenly music to- 
 gether the thoughts inspired by the strain were like the Italian 
 painter's vision of the angels which attend the Virgin. I mean 
 that, sweet and holy as they are, they fall far short of the holi- 
 ness and sweetness of her whom they honor. So whatevei- my 
 thoughts, or my ambitions, amid them all I saw continually the 
 face of Grace, always filled with candor and with sweetness. 
 That quality which enables a woman to think always about 
 others, and never about herself, was given to Grace in large and 
 plenteous measure. If she talked 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 in- 
 most thoughts, and divined all their wants. Nay, long after- 
 wards, in the daily exercise of work and study, at the University 
 of Oxford, in the foreign schools of Montpellier, Padua, and 
 Leyden, it was Grace who, though far away, encouraged me. I 
 could no longer hear her voice, but her steadfast eyes remained 
 in my mind like twin stars that dwell in heaven. This is a 
 wondrous" power given to a few women, that they should become, 
 as it were, angels sent from heaven, lent to the earth awhile, in 
 order to fill men's minds with worthy thoughts and to lead them 
 in the heavenly way. The Komish Church holds that the age 
 of miracles hath never passed, which I do also believe, but not 
 in the sense taught by that church. Saints there are among 
 us still, who daily work miracles, turning earthly clay into the 
 jasper and precious marble of heaven. 
 
 Again, the great poet Milton hath represented his Virtuous 
 Lady unharmed among the rabble rout of Comus, protected by 
 her virtue alone. Pity that he hath not also shown a young 
 man led by that sweet lady, encouraged, warned, and guarded 
 along that narrow way, beset with quag and pitfall, along which
 
 292 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 he must walk, who would willingly climb to higher place. And 
 all this apart from earthly love, as in the case of those two 
 Italian poets. 
 
 More, I confess, I would have had, and presumptuously longed 
 for it ; nay, even prayed for it with such yearnings and longings 
 as seemed 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 Lord Jeffreys. It Avas no true trial, for we were all advised 
 to plead guilty, upon which the judge bellowed and roared at 
 us, abusing us in such language as I never thought to hear from 
 the bench, and finally sentenced us all to death. (A great deal 
 has been said of this roaring of the judge, but I am willing to 
 excuse it in great measure, on the ground of the disease from 
 which he was then suffering. I myself, who had heard that he 
 was thus afflicted, saw the drops of agony upon his forehead, 
 and knew that if he was not bawling at us, he must have been 
 roaring on his own account.) So we were marched back to 
 prison, and began to prepare for the last ceremony, which is, I 
 think, needlessly horrible and barbarous. To cut a man open 
 while he is still living is a thing not practised even by the sav- 
 age Turk. At this gloomy time my cousin Robin set a noble 
 example of fortitude which greatly encouraged the rest of us. 
 Nor would he ever suffer me to reproach myself (as I was con- 
 tinually tempted to do) with having been the cause of the ruin 
 which had fallen upon the whole of our unfortunate house. 
 Nay, he went further, and insisted and would have it that had 
 I remained in Holland he himself would have joined the duke, 
 and that I was in no way to blame as an inciter to this unfortu- 
 nate act. We knew by this time that Sir Christopher had been 
 arrested, and conveyed to Ilminster jail, and that with him were 
 Dr. Eykin, greviously wounded, and Barnaby, and that Grace, 
 with her mother, was also at Ilminster. Mr. Boscorel, for his 
 part, was gone to London in order to exert whatever interest he 
 might possess on behalf of all. AVith him Avent madam, Robin's 
 mother, but she returned before the trial, much dejected, so that 
 we were not encouraged to hope for anything from that quarter. 
 Madam began to build some hopes at this time from Benjamin, 
 because he, who had accompanied the judges from London,
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 293 
 
 was the boon companion every night of Lord Jeffreys liimsclf. 
 But it is one thing- to be permitted to drink and sing with a 
 man at night, and another thing to procure of him the pardon 
 of rebels, and those not tlie common sort, but leaders and cap- 
 tains. That Benjamin would attempt to save us I did not 
 doubt, because in common decency and humanity he must needs 
 try to save his grandfather and his cousins. But that he would 
 effect anything, that indeed I doubted. Whether he did make 
 an attempt I know not. He came not to the prison, nor did he 
 make any sign that he knew we were among the prisoners. 
 What he contrived, the plot which he laid, and the villainy with 
 which he carried it out, you have already read. Well, I shall 
 have much more to say about Benjamin. For the moment, let 
 him pass, 
 
 I say, then, that we were lying in Exeter jail, expecting to be 
 called out for execution at any hour. We were sitting in the 
 courtyard on the stone bench, with gloomy hearts. 
 
 " Robin ! Humphrey ! lads both !" cried a voice we knew. It 
 was the rector, Mr. Boscorel, himself, who called us. " Courage, 
 lads !" he cried, yet looked himself as mournful as man can 
 look. " I bring you good news. I have this day ridden from 
 Ilminster. There is other news not so good. Good news, I 
 say ; for you shall live, and not die ! I have so far succeeded 
 that the lives are spared of Robin Challis, captain in the rebel 
 cavalry; Barnaby Eykin, captain of the green regiment; and 
 Humphrey Challis, chirurgeon to the duke. Yet must you go 
 to the plantations, poor lads ! there to stay for ten long years. 
 Well, we will hope to get your pardon and freedom long before 
 that time is over. Yet you must perforce sail across the seas." 
 
 " Lad," cried Robin, catching my hand, " cease to tear thy 
 heart with reproaches. 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 also enlarged, I hope, at last. And how is the learned Dr. 
 Eykin ? And Grace, my Grace, where is she ?" 
 
 " Young man," said the rector, " prepare for tidings of the 
 worst — yes, of the very worst. Cruel news I bring to you, boys 
 — and for myself." (He hung his head.) " Cruel news — shame- 
 ful news."
 
 294 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 
 
 Alas ! you know already what lie had to tell us. Worse than 
 the death of that good old man, Sir Christopher, worse than the 
 death of the unfortunate Dr. Eykin and his much-tried wife, 
 there was the news of Grace's marriage, and of her flight ; and 
 at hearing this we looked at each other in dismay, and Robin 
 sprang to his feet and cried aloud for vengeance upon the vil- 
 lain who had done this thing, 
 
 " It is my own son," said Mr. Boscorel, " yet spare him not. 
 He deserves all that you can call him and more. Shameful 
 news I had to tell you. Where the poor child liath found a re- 
 treat, or how she fares, I know not. Robin, ask me not to curse 
 my own son. What is done will bring its punishment in due 
 time. Doubt it not. But of punishment we need not speak. 
 If there were any way — any way possible — out of it. But there 
 is none. It is a fatal blow. Death itself alone can release her. 
 Consider, Humphrey, consider. You are not so distracted as 
 your cousin. Consider, I say, that unhappy girl is Benjamin's 
 lawful wife. If he can find her, he may compel her to live with 
 him. She is his lawful wife, I say. It is a case in which there 
 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 the madness which fell upon Robin at this news, nor of 
 the distracted things he said, nor how he wept for Grace at one 
 moment and the next cursed the author of this wickedness. 
 There was no remedy. Yet Mr. Boscorel solemnly promised to 
 seek out the poor innocent girl, forced to break her vows for 
 the one reason which could excuse her — namely, to save the 
 lives of all she loved. 
 
 " They were saved already," Mr. Boscorel added. " He knew 
 that they were saved. He had seen me. He had the news that 
 I brought from London. He knew it, and he lied unto her. 
 There is no single particular in which his wickedness can be ex- 
 cused or defended. Yet, I say, curses are of no avail. The 
 hand of God is heavy upon all sinners, and will presently fall 
 upon my unhappy son. I pray that before that hand shall fall 
 his heart may be touched with repentance." 
 
 But Robin fell into a melancholy from which it was impossi- 
 ble to rouse him. He Avho, while death upon the scaffold seemed 
 certain, was cheerful and brave, now, when his life was spared,
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 295 
 
 sat lieavy and gloomy, speaking to no one ; or if he spoke, tlien 
 in words of rage and impatience. 
 
 Mr. Boscorel remained at Exeter, visiting us daily until the 
 time came when we were removed. He brought with him one 
 day a smooth-tongued gentleman, in sober attire, who was, he 
 told us, a West 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, 
 for certain considerations, to assist you in your exile. You 
 have been given, among many others, by the king, to one Mr. 
 Jerome Nij^ho, who hath sold all his convicts to this gentleman. 
 In his turn, he is under bonds to ship you for the plantations, 
 where you will be sold again to the planters." 
 
 "Sirs" — Mr. Penne looked from one to the other of us with 
 compassionate eyes — " I have heard your melancholy case, and 
 it will be to my great happiness if I may be able in any Avay to 
 soften the rigors of your exile. Be it known to you that I have 
 correspondents in Jamaica, Barbadoes, and Virginia ; and that 
 for certain sums of money, these, my friends, will readily under- 
 take to make your servitude one merely in name. In other 
 words, as I have already informed his reverence, I have bought 
 you in the hope of being useful to you — I wish I could thus 
 buy all unhappy prisoners — and I can, on paying my friends 
 what they demand, secure to you freedom from labor, subject 
 only to the condition of remaining abroad until your term is ex- 
 pired or your friends at home have procured your pardon." 
 
 " As for the price, Humphrey," said Mr. Boscorel, " that shall 
 be my care. It is nearly certain that Sir Christopher's estates 
 will be confiscated, seeing that he died in prison under the 
 charge of high-treason, though he was never tried. Therefore 
 we must not look to his lands for any help. What this gentle- 
 man proposes is, however, so great a thing, that we must not 
 hesitate to accept his offer gratefully." 
 
 " I must have," said Mr. Penne, " seventy pounds for each 
 prisoner. I hear that there is a third young gentleman of your 
 party now in the same trouble at Ilminster. I shall, therefore, 
 ask for two hundred guineas — two hundred guineas in all. It 
 is not a large sum in order to secure freedom. Those who can- 
 not obtain this relief have to work in the fields or in the mill'
 
 296 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 under the hot sun of the Spanish Main. They are subject to 
 the whip of the overseer, they have wretched food ; they are 
 worse treated than the negroes, because the latter are slaves for 
 life and the former for ten years only. By paying two hundred 
 guineas only, you will all be enabled to live at your ease. Mean- 
 while, your friends at home will be constantly endeavoring to 
 procure your pardon, I myself, though but a simple merchant 
 of Bristol city, can boast some influence, which I will most 
 readily exert to the utmost in your behalf — " 
 
 " Say no more, sir," said Mr. Boscorel, interrupting him. 
 " The bargain is concluded. These young gentlemen shall not 
 be subjected to 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 treach- 
 erous heart — " I would to Heaven, sir," he said, " that I could 
 undertake this service for less. If my correspondents were men 
 of tender hearts the business should cost you nothing at all. 
 But they are men of business. They say that they live not 
 abroad for pleasure, but for profit ; they cannot forego any ad- 
 vantage that may offer. As for me, this job brings me no 
 profit. Upon my honor, gentlemen, profit from such a source 
 I should despise. Every guinea that you give 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 the presence of 
 this learned and pious clergyman, I am richly rewarded with the 
 satisfaction of doing a generous thing. That is enough, I hope, 
 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. Boscorel had learned many things during the journey to 
 London ; among others, that it would be possible to buy im- 
 munity from labor for the convicts. Therefore, he hesitated 
 not, but gave him what he demanded ; taking in return a paper, 
 which was to be shown to Mr. Penne's correspondents, in which 
 he acknowledged the receipt of the money, and demanded in re- 
 turn a release from actual servitude. This paper I put carefully 
 in my pocket with my note-book and my case of instruments. 
 
 It was, so far as my memory serves me, about six weeks after
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 297 
 
 our pardon was received when we heard that we were to be 
 marched to Bristol, there to be shipped for some port or other 
 across the ocean. At Taunton we were joined by a hundred 
 poor fellows as fortunate as ourselves ; and at Bridgwater by 
 twenty more, whose lives had been bought by Colonel Kirke. 
 Fortunate we esteemed ourselves, for everywhere the roads were 
 lined with legs, heads, trunks, and arms, boiled and blackened 
 in pitch, stuck up for the terror of the country. Well, you shall 
 judge how fortunate we were. 
 
 When we reached Bristol, we found Mr. Penne upon the quay 
 with some other merchants. He changed color when he saw us, 
 but quickly ran to meet us, and whispered that we were on no 
 account to betray his goodness in the matter of ransom, other- 
 wise it might be the undoing of us all, and perhaps cause his 
 own imprisonment. He also told me that the ship Avas bound 
 for Barbadoes, and we should have to mess with the other pris- 
 oners on the voyage, but that it would all be made up to us 
 when we arrived. He further added that he had requested his 
 correspondents to entertain us until money should arrive from 
 England, and to become our bankers for all that we should 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ROBIN, HUMPHREY, AND BARNABY REACH BARBADOES. 
 
 It was a numerous company gathered together on the deck of 
 the ship. By their dress they were country lads ; by their pale 
 cheeks they were prison birds like ourselves ; by their dismal 
 faces they were also, like ourselves, rebels condemned to the 
 plantations. Alas ! how many of these poor fellows have re- 
 turned to their homes, and how many lie in the graves of Ja- 
 maica, Virginia, and Barbadoes ? As for preparations for a voyage, 
 not one of us could make any, either of clothes or of provisions. 
 There was not among the whole company so much as a change 
 of clothes : nay, there was not even a razor, and our faces were 
 bristling horribly with the beards which before long made us 
 look like so many Heyducs, 
 13*
 
 298 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 Among them 1 presently discerned, to my great joy, no other 
 than Barnaby. His coat of scarlet was now so ragged and 
 stained that neither color nor original shape could be discerned ; 
 his ruffles and cravat of lace were gone, and the scarlet sash, 
 which had formerly carried his hanger, was gone also. In a 
 word, he was in rags and covered with the dust of the road. Yet 
 his jolly countenance showed a satisfaction which contrasted 
 greatly with the dejection of his companions. He snifEed the 
 scent of tar and ropes with a joy which was visible to all, and he 
 contemplated the ship and her rigging with the air of one who 
 is at home. 
 
 Then he saw us, and shouted to us while he made his way 
 among the rest. 
 
 "What cheer, ho ! Humphrey, brave lad of boluses?" — never 
 did any man grasp the hand of a friend with greater vigor. 
 " This is better, I say, than the accursed prison, where one gets 
 never a breath of fresh air. Here one begins to smell salt water 
 and tarred rope, which is a downright wholesome smell. Al- 
 ready I feel hearty again. I would willingly drink a tankard 
 of black beer. What, Robin, what ! We are not going to be 
 hanged after all. Lift up thy head therefore ; is this a time for 
 looking glum ? We shall live to hang Judge Jeffreys yet — 
 what ! Thy looks are poorly, lad. Is it the prison or is it thy dis- 
 appointment ? That villain Benjamin ! Hark ye, Robin " — some 
 men's faces look black when they threaten, but Barnaby's grew 
 broader, as if the contemplation of revenge made him the hap- 
 pier — " hark ye, this is my business. No one shall interfere with 
 me in this. Benjamin is my affair. No one but I myself must 
 kill Benjamin : not you, Humphrey, because he is your cousin ; 
 nor you Robin, because you must not kill Grace's husband, even 
 to get back your own sweetheart." Barnaby spoke wisdom here ; 
 in spite of Robin's vows, he could not get Grace for himself by 
 killing her husband, unworthy though he was. " Benjamin, "Jae 
 went on, " may call her wife, but if he seek to make her his wife, 
 if I know Sis aright, he will meet his match. As for her safety, 
 I know that she must be safe. For why ? Wherever there are 
 folks of her religious kidney there will she find friends. Cheer 
 up, Robin ; soon or late I will kill this fine husband of hers." 
 
 But Robin shook his head. 
 
 Barnaby then asked if I knew whither we were bound. I told
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 299 
 
 him Barbadoes, according to the information given me by Mr. 
 Penne. 
 
 " Why," said Barnaby, rubbing his hands, " this is brave news 
 indeed. There is no place I would sooner choose. 'Tis a small 
 island, to begin with ; give me a small island so that the sea run- 
 neth all around it, and is everywhere within easy reach. AYhere 
 there is sea there are boats : where there are boats there are the 
 means of escape. Cheer up, my lads ! I know the Spanish Main 
 right well. Give me a tight boat, I care not how small, and a 
 keg of water, and I will sail her anywhere. Ha ! We are bound 
 to Barbadoes, are we ? this is brave news !" 
 
 I asked him next what kind of place it is. 
 
 " 'Tis a hot place," he replied. " A man is always thirsty, and 
 there is plenty to drink except water, which is said to be scarce. 
 But the merchants and planters want none. They have wine of 
 the best, of Spain and France and of Madeira. Cider and strong 
 ale they import from England. And drinks they make in the 
 country — perino and mobbie, I remember, guppo and plantain 
 wine and kill-devil. 'Tis a rare country for drink, and many 
 there be who die of too much. Hold up thy head, Robin ; we 
 will drink damnation to Benjamin yet. But 'tis I who shall kill 
 him. Courage, I say. What ! Our turn will come again." 
 
 I told him, then, what had been done by Mr. George Penne, 
 namely, the ransom bought by the rector for us all. 
 
 " Why," he said, with some discontent, " we shall not be long 
 upon the island after all, and perhaps the money might have 
 been better bestowed. But 'twas kindly done of the rector. 
 As for the banishment, 1 value it not one farthing. One place is 
 as good as another, and for my own part I love the West India 
 islands. W^e shall have our choice among them all, because 
 where there are boats and the open sea a man can go whitherso- 
 ever pleaseth him best. The voyage out " — he glanced round 
 him — " will, I fear, be choking work ; the rations will be short, 
 there will be neither drink nor tobacco, and at nights we shall 
 lie close. A more melancholy company I never saw. Patience, 
 my lads, our turn will come." 
 
 Well, 'twas a special mercy that we had with us one man, at 
 least, who preserved his cheerfulness, for the rest of the com- 
 pany were as melancholy as King James himself could have de- 
 sired. Indeed, to look back upon the voyage is to recall the
 
 300 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 most miserable time that can be imagined. First of all, as I 
 have said, we were wholly unprepared for a voyage, having noth- 
 ing at all Avith us. Thus we had bad weather at the outset, 
 which not only made our people ill, but caused the biscuit to be 
 all spoiled, so that before the end of the voyage a few pease with 
 the sweepings of the biscuit-room, and sometimes a little tough 
 beef, was all our diet, and for drink nothing, not so much as a 
 pannikin of beer, but water, and that turbid and not too much 
 of it. 
 
 As for me, I kept my health chiefly by the method common 
 among physicians : namely, by watching the symptoms of others. 
 But mostly was I concerned with the condition of Robin. For 
 the poor lad, taking so much to heart the dreadful villainy which 
 had been practised upon Grace, never once held up his head, and 
 would talk and think of nothing else but of that poor girl. 
 
 " Where is she ?" he asked a hundred times. " Where hath 
 she found a shelter and a hiding-place ? How shall she escape 
 the villain, who will now do what he pleases, since we are out of 
 his way ? And no help for her ; not any until she die, or until 
 he dies. And we cannot even send her a letter to console her 
 poor heart. Humphrey, it drives me mad to think that every 
 day carries us farther from her. If I could but be with her, to 
 protect her against her husband ! Humphrey, Barnaby said well, 
 I could not get her back to me over the dead body of her hus- 
 band. But to protect her, to stand between her and the man 
 she hath sworn to obey !" 
 
 There is no more dangerous condition of the mind than that 
 which we call despair. It is, I take it, a disease, and that of the 
 most dangerous kind. I have observed many men in that con- 
 dition. With some the devil enters into them, finding all the 
 doors open and unguarded ; nay, and receives a warm welcome. 
 With others it is as if the body itself were left without its armor ; 
 a cheerful and hopeful mind being certainly an armor against 
 disease, capable of warding off many of those invisible arrows 
 which are always flying about the air, and striking us down with 
 fevers, agues, calentures, and other pains and grievous diseases. 
 
 I marvel that more of the men on board were not sick ; for, 
 to begin with, the water was thick and swarmed with wriggling 
 creatures, difficult to avoid in drinking ; and then, though during 
 the day we were supposed to be on deck (where the air was fresh
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 301 
 
 even if tlic sun was hot), at night we were terribly crowded below, 
 and lay too close for health or comfort. However, we finally 
 made Carlisle Bay, and the port of St. Michaels, or the Bridge. 
 And I must say this for Barnaby, that he maintained throughout 
 the whole voyage his cheerfulness, and that he never ceased to 
 make his plans for escape, drawing on a paper, which he pro- 
 cured, a rough chart of the Spanish Main, with as many islands 
 as he could remember. Of these there are hundreds, desolate and 
 safe for fugitives, some with neither water nor green trees, and 
 some with springs and woods, wild fruit, land turtles on the shore, 
 fish in the sea, and everything that man can desire. We made 
 the land one day in the forenoon. 
 
 " Barbadoes," said Barnaby, pointing to a little cloud far away 
 on the horizon. " Well, of this job I am well-nigh sick. To- 
 morrow, if the wind holds, we shall have sailed round the island, 
 and shall beat np for Carlisle Bay. Well, it is lucky for us that 
 we have this letter of Mr. Penne's. We will go — I know the 
 place well — to the sign of the Rock and Turtle, kept by old Moth- 
 er Rosemary, if she lives still, or if she be dead by one of her 
 daughters — she had fifty daughters at least, all buxom mulatto 
 girls. There will we put off these filthy rags, have a wash in a 
 tub of fine water, get shaven, and then with smooth chins and 
 clean shirts we will sit down to a dinner such as the old woman 
 knows how to make — a potato pudding and Scots collops, with 
 Rhenish wine, and afterwards a cool cup of beverage, which is 
 nothing in the world but squeezed limes with sugar and water, 
 fit for such a womanly stomach as yours, doctor. With this 
 and a pipe of tobacco, and perhaps a song and (when your wor- 
 ship hath gone to bed) a dance from one of the girls — I say, my 
 lad, with this I shall be ready to forget Sedgemoor, and to for- 
 give Judge Jeffreys. AVhen we are tired of Barbadoes, we will 
 take boat and sail away ; I know one island at least where they 
 care nothing for King James. Thither will we go, my lad." 
 
 Well, what we found at our port and how we fared was not 
 quite as Barnaby expected and hoped, as you shall hear. But I 
 must admire the cunning of the man Penne, who not only took 
 from Grace, poor child, all her brother's money, amounting to two 
 hundred and fifty pounds or thereabouts (which you have read) 
 on the pretext of bestowing it for the advantage of all, but also 
 received two hundred guineas from Mr. Boscorel on the same
 
 302 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 pretence. This made in all four hundred and fifty pounds. And 
 not one penny, not a single penny, of this great sum did the man 
 spend upon the purpose for which it was given him. 
 
 You have heard how the merchants and planters came aboard 
 the ships which put in with servants and slaves, and how these are 
 put for sale, one at a time. As was the sale described by Grace, 
 just such Avas ours. Though, I take it, our lads were not so miser- 
 able a company as were those on board her ship. Pale of cheek 
 tli"fey looked, and dejected, and some were sick with various dis- 
 orders, caused by the confinement of the prison or the sufferings 
 of the voyage. They put us up one after the other, and we were 
 sold. I forget what I myself fetched, and, indeed, it matters not, 
 save that many jests were passed at our expense, and that when 
 one was put up, as Robin, for instance, who had been a captain 
 in the rebel army, the salesman was eloquent in praise of his rich 
 and illustrious family, who would never endure that this unfort- 
 unate man should continue in servitude. But Barnaby put his 
 tongue in his cheek and laughed. 
 
 When the sale was concluded, we were bundled into boats and 
 taken ashore to the barracoon, of which you have heard from 
 Grace. Here the same officer as read to her party the laws con- 
 cerning servants and their duties, and the punishments which 
 await transgressions, read them also to ourselves. 
 
 "Faith," Barnaby whispered, "there will be great scoring of 
 backs before many days are done, unless their bark is worse 
 than their bite." 
 
 This done, I thought it was time to present my letter. There- 
 fore I stepped forward and informed the officer, who, by reason 
 of his gown and wig, and the beadles who were with him, I 
 judged to be some lawyer, that, with my cousin and another, I 
 held a letter which should hold us free from servitude. 
 
 "Ay, ay," he said. "Where is that letter?" 
 
 So I gave it to him. 'Twas addressed to one Jonathan Pol- 
 whele, and enjoined him to receive the three prisoners, named 
 Humphrey Challis, Robin Challis, and Barnaby Eykin, pay for 
 them such sums as would reasonably be required to redeem them 
 from servitude, and to advance them such moneys as they would 
 want at the outset for maintenance, the whole to be accounted 
 for in Mr. Jonathan Polwhele's next despatches to his obedient, 
 much obliged servant, G. P.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 303 
 
 " Sir," said the officer, when he had read the letter through, 
 " it is addressed to Mr. Jonathan Polwhele. There is no mer- 
 chant or planter of that name on the whole island." 
 
 He gave me hack the letter. " If this," he said, " is all you 
 have to show, there is no reason why you and your friends 
 should not march with the rest." 
 
 Truly, we had nothing else to show. Not only was there no 
 one named Polwhele on the island, but there never had been any 
 one of that name. Therefore it was plain that we had been 
 tricked, and that the man named George Penne was a villain. 
 Alas, poor Barnaby 1 Where now were his cool cups and his 
 pipe of tobacco ? Then the officer beckoned to a gentleman — a 
 sober and grave person — standing near him, and spoke to him. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the merchant, "permit me to read this 
 letter. So, it is the handwriting of Mr. George Penne, which I 
 know well. There is here some strange mistake. The letter is 
 addressed to Mr. Jonathan Polwhele. But there is no one of 
 that name in the place. I am, myself, Mr. Penne's correspon- 
 dent in this island ; my name, gentlemen, is Sefton ; not Pol- 
 whele." 
 
 " Sir," I said, " do you know Mr. Penne ?" 
 
 " I have never seen him. He consigns to my care once or 
 twice a year a cargo of transported servants, being rogues and 
 thieves sent here instead of to the gallows. He ships them to 
 my care, I say, as he hath shipped the company arrived this 
 morning, and I sell them for him, taking for my share a per- 
 centage, as agreed upon, and remitting to him the balance in 
 suffar and tobacco." 
 
 " Is there no letter from him ?" 
 
 " There is a letter in which he advises me of so many rebels 
 consigned to me in order to be sold. Some among them, he 
 says, were captains and officers in Monmouth's army, and some 
 are of good family, among whom he especially names Robin 
 and Humphrey Challis. But there is not a word about ransom." 
 
 " Sir," I said, knowing nothing as yet of Grace and her money, 
 " two hundred guineas have been paid to Mr. Penne by the Rev. 
 Philip Boscorel, Rector of Bradford Orcas, for our ransom." 
 
 " Nothing is said of this," he replied, gravely. " Plainly, 
 gentlemen, without despatches from Mr. Penne, I cannot act for 
 you. You have a letter. It is written by that gentleman ; it is
 
 304 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 addressed to Mr. Polwlicle ; it says nothing about Barbadoes, 
 and would serve for Jamaica or for Virginia. So great a sum 
 as two hundred guineas cannot have been forgotten. I exhort 
 you, therefore, to patience until other letters arrive. Why, two 
 hundred guineas would have gone far to redeem you all three, 
 and to maintain you for a great while. Gentlemen, I am grieved 
 for you, because there is no help for it, but that you must go 
 with the planter who hath bought you, and obey his orders. I 
 will, however, send to Mr. Penne an account of this charge, and 
 I would advise that you lose no time in writing to your friends 
 at home." 
 
 " Heart up, lad," cried Barnaby, for I turned faint upon this 
 terrible discovery, and would have fallen, but he held me up, 
 " Patience, our turn will come." 
 
 " Write that letter," said the merchant again — " write that 
 letter quickly, so that it may go with the next vessel. Other- 
 wise the work is sometimes hard and the heat is great." So 
 he turned and left us. 
 
 " Courage, man," said Barnaby. " To every dog his day. If 
 now, for live minutes only, I could have my thumb on Mr. 
 Penne's windpipe and my fingers round his neck ! And I 
 thought to spend the evening joyfully at Mother Rosemary's. 
 Courage, lad ; I have seen already," he whispered, " a dozen boats 
 in the bay, any one of which will serve our turn." 
 
 But Robin paid no heed, whatever happened. He stood up 
 when his name was called, and was sold without showing any 
 emotion. When we found that we had been tricked he seemed 
 as if he neither heard nor regarded. 
 
 When all was ready we were marched, twenty in number, 
 along a white and dusty road, to our estate. By great good- 
 fortune, rather than by Providence, we were all bought by the 
 same master. He was, it is true, a bad man, but to be together 
 was a happiness which we could not expect. He bought us all 
 because he understood that we belonged to the same family, and 
 that one of position, in the hope of receiving substantial ransom. 
 This man rode with us, accompanied by two overseers (these 
 were themseh^es under the same sentence), who cracked their 
 whips continually, and cursed us if we lagged. Their bark was 
 worse, we afterwards found, than their bite ; for it was only in 
 the master's presence that they behaved thus brutishly, and in
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 305 
 
 order to curry favor with liim, and to prevent being reduced 
 again to the rank of those who served in the field. There was 
 no doubt, from the very outset, that we were afflicted with a 
 master whose like, I would hope, is not to be found upon the 
 island of Barbadoes. Briefly, he was one whose appearance, 
 voice, and manner all alike proclaimed him openly to all the 
 world as a drunkard, a profligate, and a blasphemer, A drunk- 
 ard he was of that kind who are seldom wholly drunk, and yet 
 are never sober ; avIio begin the day with a glass, and go on tak- 
 ing more glasses all day long ; with small ale for breakfast, 
 strong ale and Madeira for dinner, a tankard in the afternoon, 
 and for supper more strong ale and Madeira, and before bed an- 
 other tankard. As for compassion, or tenderness, or any of the 
 virtues which a man who holds other men in slavery ought to 
 possess, he had none of them. 
 
 Let me speak of him with no more bitterness than is necessary. 
 We have, I think, all forgiven him, and he hath long since gone 
 to a place where he can do no more harm to any, but awaiteth 
 judgment, perhaps, in the sure and certain hope of which the 
 funeral service speaks. But this is open to doubt. 
 
 When we arrived at the estate the master dismounted, 
 gave his horse to a negro, and ordered us to be drawn up in 
 line. 
 
 He then made a short speech. He said that he had bought 
 us, rebels and villains as we were, and that he meant to get his 
 money's worth out of us, or he would cut us all to pieces. Other 
 things he told us which I pass over, because they were but repe- 
 titions of this assurance. He then proceeded to examine us in 
 detail. When he came to me, he cursed and swore because, he 
 said, he had been made to pay for a sound, proper man, and had 
 got a crookback for his bargain. I told him that, with submis- 
 sion, he might.find the crookback, who was a physician, a more 
 profitable bargain than many a stronger man. 
 
 "What!" he roared. "Thou art a physician, eh? Wouldst 
 slink out of the field-work and sit idle among bottles and bo- 
 luses ? John," he turned to one of the overseers, " pay particular 
 attention, I command thee, to this learned physician. If he so 
 much as turn round in his work, make his shoulders smart." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir," said the overseer. 
 
 "And what art thou, sirrah?" He turned next to Barnaby. 
 
 U
 
 306 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Another learned physician, no doubt ; or a divine, a bishop, 
 likely, or a dean at the least." 
 
 " As for what I was," said Barnaby, " that is neither here nor 
 there. For what I am — I suppose I am your servant for ten 
 years, until our pardons are sent us." 
 
 " Thou art an impudent dog, I dare swear," returned the 
 master. " I remember thou wast a captain in the rebel artiiy, 
 once a sailor ; well, take care, lest thou taste the cat." 
 
 " Gentlemen who are made to taste the cat," said Barnaby, 
 " are apt to remember the taste of it when their time is up." 
 
 '' What !" he cried. " You dare to threaten ? Take that, and 
 that," and so began to belabor him about the head. I trembled, 
 lest Barnaby should return the blows. But he did not. lie 
 only held up his arm to protect his head, and presently, when 
 the master desisted, he shook himself like a dog. 
 
 " I shall remember the taste of that wood," he said, quietly. 
 
 The master looked as if he would renew the cudcrellinfif, but 
 thought better of it. 
 
 Then, without more violence, we Avere assigned our quarters. 
 A cottage or hut was given to us ; we were served with a ham- 
 mock and a rug each ; a pannikin, basin, spoon, and platter 
 for each ; a Monmouth cap, two shirts, common and coarse, two 
 pair of canvas breeches, and a pair of shoes for each, so that 
 w^e looked for all the world like the fellows who live by loading 
 and unloading the ships in the port of Bristol. Yet the change 
 after the long voyage was grateful. They served us next with 
 some of the stuff they call loblollie, and then the night fell, and 
 we lay down in our hammocks, which were certainly softer than 
 the planks of the ship, and then fell fast asleep in spite of the 
 humming and the biting of the merrywings, and so slept till the 
 break of day. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 WITH THE HOE. 
 
 Before it was daylight we were aroused by the discordant 
 clang of the bell. Work was about to begin. 
 
 In these latitudes there is little twilight ; the day begins as it
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 307 
 
 ends, with a kind of suddenness. I arose, being thus summoned, 
 and looked out. Long rays of light were shooting up the sky 
 from the east, and, though the stars were still visible, the day 
 was fast breaking. In a few moments it became already so light 
 that I could see across the yard, or what the Italians would call 
 the piazza, with its ragged bonannow leaves, the figures of our 
 fellow-slaves moving about the huts, and their voices, alas ! — sad 
 and melancholy are the voices of those who work upon his maj- 
 esty's plantations. Two old negresses went about among the 
 new-comers carrying a bucket full of a yellow mess which they 
 distributed among us, and giving us to understand that this bowl 
 of yellow porridge or loblollie, made out of Indian corn, was all 
 we should have before dinner. They also gave us to under- 
 stand in their broken English, which is far worse than the jar- 
 gon talked by some of our country people, that we should have 
 to prepare our own meals for the future, and that they would 
 show us how to make this delectable mess. 
 
 " Eat it," said Barnaby. " A pig is better fed at home. Eat 
 it, Eobin, lest thou faint in the sun. Perhaps there will be 
 something better for dinner. Heigh-ho ! only to think of Mother 
 Rosemary's, Avhere I thought to lie last night ! Patience, lads." 
 
 One would not seem to dwell too long on the simple fare of 
 convicts, therefore I will say, once for all, that our rations con- 
 sisted of nothing at all but the Indian meal, and of salt beef or 
 salt fish. The old hands and the negro slaves know how to 
 improve their fare in many ways, and humane masters will give 
 their servants quantities of the fruits such as grow here in great 
 abundance, as plantains, lemons, limes, bonannows, guavas, and 
 the like. And many of the black slaves have small gardens be- 
 hind their huts, where they grow onions, yams, potatoes, and 
 other things, which they cultivate on Sundays. They are all 
 great thieves also, stealing, whenever they can, poultry, eggs, and 
 fruit, so that they grow fat and sleek, while the white servants 
 daily grow more meagre and fall into diseases by the poorness of 
 the food. Then, as to drink ; there are many kinds of drink 
 (apart from the wines of Spain, Portugal, Canary, Madeira, and 
 France) made in the country itself : such as mobbie, which is a 
 fermented liquor of potatoes ; and perino, from the liquor of 
 chewed cassava root; punch, which is water and sugar left to 
 work for ten days ; rum, which is distilled in every ingenio, and
 
 308 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 is a spirit as strong as brandy, but not so wholesome. Those 
 who have been long in the island, even the servants, though with- 
 out a penny, know how and where to get these drinks ; and 
 since there is no consoler, to the common sort, so good as strong 
 drink, those who are able to drink every day of these things be- 
 come somewhat reconciled to their lot. 
 
 " Come out, ye dogs of rebels and traitors !" It was the loud 
 and harsh voice of the master himself who thus disturbed us at 
 our breakfast. 'Twas his custom thus to rise early and to wit- 
 ness the beginning of the day's work. And 'twas his kindly 
 nature which impelled him thus to welcome and encourage his 
 newly bought slaves. " Come out, I say. Ye shall now show 
 of what stuff ye are made. Instead of pulling down your law- 
 ful king, ye shall pull up your lawful master and make him rich. 
 If ye never did a day's work in your lives, ye shall now learn 
 the how by the must. Come forth, I say, ye lazy, guzzling 
 skulkers." 
 
 " x\y, ay," said Barnaby, leisurely scraping his bowl. " We 
 are like, indeed, to be overfed here." He rolled, sailor-fashion, 
 out of the hut. 
 
 " Barnaby," I said, " for God's sake say nothing to anger the 
 master. There is no help but in patience and in hope." 
 
 So we too went forth. The master, redfaced as he was, looked 
 as if he had been drinking already. 
 
 " So," he cried. " Here is the learned physician. Your 
 health, doctor. And here is the gallant captain, who was once 
 a sailor. The air of the fields, captain, will remind you, per- 
 chance, of the quarter-deck. This young gentleman looks so 
 gallant and gay that I warrant he will ply the hoe with a light 
 and frolic heart. Your healths, gentlemen. Hark ye now. 
 You are come of a good stock, I hear. Therefore have I bought 
 you at a great price, looking to get my money back and more. 
 Some planters would suffer you to lie at your ease cockered up 
 with bonavist and Madeira till the money comes. As for me, I 
 shall now show you what you will continue to do unless the 
 money comes. Therefore you will at once, I doubt not, ask for 
 paper and pen and presently write. Sixty pounds a piece, gen- 
 tlemen, not one penny less, will purchase your freedom. Till 
 then, the fields. And no difference between white and black, 
 but one whip for both."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 309 
 
 We made no reply, but took the lioes which were given out 
 to us, and marched with the rest of the melancholy troop. 
 
 There were as many blacks as whites ; we were divided into 
 gangs, with every gang a driver armed with a whip ; and over 
 all the overseers, who, by their severity, showed their zeal for 
 the master. The condition of slavery hath in it something 
 devilish both for those who are slaves and those who are mas- 
 ters. The former it drives into despair and fills with cunning, 
 dishonesty, treachery, and revenge. Why, the slaves have been 
 known to rise in rebellion, and while they had the power have 
 inflicted tortures unheard of upon their masters. The latter it 
 makes cruel and unfeeling ; it tempts them continually to sins 
 of all kinds ; it puts into their power the lives, the bodies — nay, 
 the very souls of the poor folk whom they buy. I do maintain 
 and conceal not my opinion, that no man ought, in a Christian 
 country, to be a slave except for a term of years, and then for 
 punishment. I have been myself a slave, and I know the misery 
 and the injustice of the condition. But it is idle to hope that 
 the planters will abandon this means of cultivating their estates, 
 and it is certain that in hot countries no man will work except 
 by compulsion. 
 
 The whip carried by the driver is a dreadful instrument, long, 
 thick, and strongly plaited, with a short handle. It is coiled 
 and slunof round the shoulders when it is not bcinff used to ter- 
 rify or to punish, and I know well that its loud crack produces 
 upon the mind a sensation of fear and of horror, such as the 
 thunder of artillery or the sight of the enemy charging could 
 never cause even to a coward. The fellows are also extremely 
 dexterous in the use of it ; they can inflict a punishment not 
 worse than the flogging of a schoolboy ; or, with no greater out- 
 ward show of strength, they will cut and gash the flesh like a 
 Russian executioner with his cruel instrument which they call 
 the knout. 
 
 For slight offences, such as laziness or carelessness in the field, 
 the former is administered ; but for serious offences the latter. 
 One sad execution (I cannot call it less) I myself witnessed. 
 ' What the poor wretch had done I know not, but I can never for- 
 get his piercing shrieks as the whip cut into the bleeding flesh. 
 This is not punishment ; it is savage and revengeful cruelty. 
 Yet the master and the overseers looked on with callous eyes.
 
 310 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 They marclied us to a field about half a mile from our village 
 or camp, and there, drawing us up in line, set us to work. Our 
 task was with tlie hoe, to dig out square holes, each of the same 
 depth and size, in which the sugar-canes are planted, a small 
 piece of old cane being laid in each. These holes are cut with 
 regularity and exactness, in long lines and equally distant from 
 each other. It is the driver's business to keep all at work at 
 the same rate of progress, so that no one should lag behind, no 
 one should stop to rest or breathe, no one should do less than 
 his neighbors. The poor wretches, with bent bodies streaming 
 with their exertions, speedily become aiSicted with a burning 
 thirst, their legs tremble, their backs grow stiff and ache, their 
 whole bodies become full of pain ; and yet they may not rest 
 nor stand upright to breathe awhile, nor stop to drink, until the 
 driver calls a halt. From time to time the negroes, men and 
 women alike, were dragged out of the ranks and laid on the 
 ground, three or four at a time, to receive lashes for not making 
 the holes deep enough or fast enough. At home one can daily 
 see the poor creatures flogged in Bridewell ; every day there are 
 rogues tied to the cartwheel and flogged Avell-nigh to death; 
 but a ploughman is not flogged for the badness of his furrow, 
 nor is a cobbler flogged because he maketh his shoon ill. And 
 our men do not shriek and scream so wildly as the negroes, who 
 are an ignorant people, and have never learned the least self- 
 restraint. It was horrid also to see how their bodies were scarred 
 with the marks of old floggings, and branded with letters to 
 show by whom they had been bought. As for our poor fellows, 
 who had been brave recruits in Monmouth's army, they trem- 
 bled at the sight and worked all the harder, yet some of them 
 with the tears in their eyes, to think that they should be brought 
 to such a dismal fate, and to herd with these poor ignorant black 
 people. 
 
 'Twas the design of the master to set us to the very hardest 
 work from the beginning, so that we should be the more anxious 
 to get remission of our pains. For it must not be supposed that 
 all the work on the estate was so hard and irksome as that with 
 the hoes, which is generally kept for the strongest and hardiest 
 of the negroes, men and women. There are many other em- 
 ployments : some are put to weed the canes ; some to fell wood, 
 some to cleave it ; some to attend the ingenio, the boiling-house,
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 311 
 
 the still-house, the curing-house ; some to cut the maize ; some 
 to gather provisions, of bonavist, maize, yams, potatoes, cassava, 
 and the like ; some for the smith's forge ; some to attend to 
 the oxen and sheep ; some to the camels and assenegoes, and 
 the like — so that had the master pleased he might have set us 
 to work better fitted to English gentlemen. Well, his greedi- 
 ness and cruelty were defeated, as you will see. As for the do- 
 mestic economy of the estate, there were on it five hundred acres 
 of land, of which two hundred were planted with sugar, eighty 
 for pasture, one hundred and twenty for wood, twenty for to- 
 bacco, five for ginger, and as many for cotton-wool, and seventy 
 for provisions — viz., corn, potatoes, plantains, cassava, and bona- 
 vist, with a few for fruit. There were ninety-six negroes, two 
 or three Indian women with their children, and twenty-eight 
 Christian servants, of whom we were three. 
 
 At eleven o'clock we were marched back to dinner. At one 
 we went out again, the sun being at this time of the day very 
 fierce, though January is the coldest month in the year. We 
 worked till six o'clock in the evening, Avhen we returned. 
 
 *' This," said Robin, with a groan, " is what we have now to 
 do every day for ten years." 
 
 " Heart up, lad," said Barnaby. " Our time will come. Give 
 me time to turn round, as a body may say. Why, the harbor is 
 full of boats. Let me get to the port and look round a bit. If 
 we had any money now, but that is past praying for. Courage 
 and patience. Doctor, you hoe too fast. No one looks for zeal. 
 Follow the example of the black fellows who think all day long 
 how they shall get off with as little work as possible. As for 
 their lash, I doubt whether they dare to lay it about us, though 
 they may talk. Because you see, even if we do not escape, we 
 shall some time or other, through the rector's efforts, get a par- 
 don, and then we are gentlemen again, and when that moment 
 arrives I will make this master of ours fight, willy-nilly, and I 
 will kill him, d'ye see, before I go home to kill Benjamin." 
 
 He then went on to discourse, either with the hope of raising 
 our spirits, or because it cheered his mind just to set them forth, 
 upon his plans for the means of escape. 
 
 " A boat," he said, " I can seize. There are many which would 
 serve our purpose. But a boat without victuals would be of lit- 
 tle use. One would not be accused of stealing, yet we may have
 
 312 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 to break into the store and take therefrom some beef or biscuit. 
 But where to store our victuals ? We may have a voyage of 
 three or four hundred knots before us. That is nothing for a 
 tight little boat when the hurricane season is over. We have 
 no compass either, I must lay hands upon a compass. The first 
 Saturday night I will make for the port and cast about. Lift 
 up your head, Robin. Why, man, all bad times pass if only one 
 hath patience." 
 
 It was this very working in the field by which the master 
 thought to drive us into despair which caused in the long run 
 our deliverance, and that in the most unexpected manner. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 ON CONDITIONS, 
 
 This servitude endured for a week, during which we were 
 driven forth daily with the negroes to the hardest and most in- 
 tolerable toil, the master's intention being so to disgust us with 
 the life as to make us write the most urgent letters to our friends 
 at home. Since, as we told him, two hundred guineas had been 
 already paid on our account — though none of the money was 
 used for the purpose — he supposed that another two hundred 
 could easily be raised. Wherefore, while those of the new ser- 
 vants who were common country lads were placed in the in- 
 genio, or the curing-house, where the work is sheltered from 
 the scorching sun, we were made to endure every hardship that 
 the place permitted. In the event, however, the man's greed 
 was disappointed, and his cruelty made of none avail. 
 
 In fact, the thing I had foreseen quickly came to pass. When 
 a man lies in a lethargy of despair his body, no longer fortified 
 by a cheerful mind, presently falls into any disease which is lurk- 
 ing in the air. Diseases of all kinds may be likened unto wild 
 beasts — invisible, always on the prowl, seeking whom they may 
 devour. The young fall victims to some, the weak to others ; 
 the drunkards and gluttons to others ; the old to others ; and 
 the lethargic again to others. It was not surprising to me, there- 
 fore, when Robin, coming home one evening, fell to shivering 
 and shaking, chattering with his teeth, and showing every ex-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 313 
 
 ternal sign of cold, tliougli the evening was still warm and the 
 sun had that day been more than commonly hot. Also, he 
 turned away from his food and would eat nothing. Therefore, 
 as there was nothing we could give him, we covered him with 
 our rugs, and he presently fell asleep. But in the morning 
 when we awoke, behold ! Robin was in a high fever, his hands 
 and head burning hot, his cheek flushed red, his eyes rolling, 
 and his brain wandering. I went forth and called the overseer 
 to come and look at him. At first he cursed and swore, saying 
 that the man was malingering — that is to say, pretending to be 
 sick in order to avoid work — that, if he were a negro instead of 
 a gentleman, a few cuts with his lash should shortly bring him 
 to his senses ; that, for his part, he liked not this mixing of gen- 
 tlemen with negroes; and that, finally, I must go and bring 
 forth my sick man or take it upon myself to face the master, 
 who would probably drive him afield with the stick. 
 
 " Sir," I said, " what the master may do, I know not. Mur- 
 der may be done by any who are wicked enough. For my part, 
 I am a physician, and I tell you that to make this man go forth 
 to work will be murder. But, indeed, he is lightheaded, and 
 with a thousand lashes you could not make him understand or 
 obey." 
 
 Well, he grumbled, but he followed me into the hut. 
 
 " The man hath had a sunstroke," he said. " I wonder that 
 any of you have escaped. AVell, we can carry him to the sick- 
 house, where he will die. When a new hand is taken this way, 
 he always dies." 
 
 " Perhaps he will not die," I said, " if he is properly treated. 
 If he is given nothing but this diet of loblollie and salt beef, 
 and nothing to drink but the foul water of the pond, and no 
 other doctor than an ignorant old negress, he will surely die." 
 
 " Good Lord, man !" said the fellow, " what do you expect in 
 this country ? It is the master's loss, not mine. Carry him be- 
 tween you to the sick-house." 
 
 So we carried Robin to the sick-house. 
 
 At home we should account it a barn ; being a great place 
 with a thatched roof, the windows open, without shutter or lat- 
 tice, the door breaking away from its hinges. Within there 
 was a black, lying on a pallet, groaning most piteously. The 
 poor wretch, for something that he had done, I know not what, 
 14
 
 314 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 had liis flesli cut to pieces with the whip. With him was an old 
 negress, mumbling and mouthing. 
 
 We laid Robin on another pallet, and covered him with a rug. 
 
 " Now, man," said the overseer, " leave him there, and come 
 forth to your work." 
 
 " Nay," I said, " he must not be left. I am a physician, and 
 I must stay beside him." 
 
 " If he were your son I could not suffer you to stay with 
 him." 
 
 " Man," I cried, " hast thou no pity ?" 
 
 " Pity !" — the fellow grinned — " pity ! quotha, pity ! Is this 
 a place for pity ? Why, if I showed any pity I should be work- 
 ing beside you in the fields. It is because I have no pity that I 
 am an overseer. Look here !" (He showed me his left hand, 
 which had been branded with a red-hot iron.) " This was done 
 in Newgate, seven years ago and more. Three years more I 
 have to serve. That done, I may begin to show some pity, not 
 before. Pity is scarce among the drivers of Barbadoes. As well 
 ask the beadle for pity when he flogs a 'prentice." 
 
 " Let me go to the master, then ?" 
 
 " Best not — best not. Let this man die, and keep yourself 
 alive. The morning is the worst time for him, because last 
 night's drink is still in his head. Likely as not you will only 
 make the sick man's case, and your own, worse. Leave him in 
 the sick-house, and go back to him in the evening." 
 
 The man spoke with some compassion in his eyes. Just then, 
 however, a negro boy came running from the house, and spoke 
 to the overseer. 
 
 " Why," he said, " nothing could be more pat. You can 
 speak to the master if you please. He is in pain, and madam 
 sends for Dr. Humphrey Challis. Go, doctor. If you cure him, 
 you will be a lucky man. If you cannot cure him, the Lord have 
 mercy upon you ! Whereas, if you suffer him to die," he added, 
 with a grin and a whisper, *' every man on the estate will fall 
 down and worship you. Let him die — let him die." 
 
 I followed the boy, who took me to that part of the house 
 which fronts the west and north. It was a mean house of wood, 
 low and small, considering how wealthy a man was the master 
 of it ; on three sides, however, there was built out a kind of 
 loggia, as the Italians call it, of wood instead of marble, forming
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 315 
 
 a cloister, or open chamber, outside the house. They call it a 
 veranda, and part of it they hang with mats, made of grass, so 
 as to keep it shaded in the afternoon and evening, when the sun 
 is in the west. The boy brought me to this place, pointed to a 
 chair where the master sat, and then ran away as quickly as he 
 could. 
 
 It was easy to understand why he ran away. Because the 
 master, at this moment, sprang out of his chair, and began to 
 stamp up and down the veranda, roaring and cursing. He was 
 clad in a white linen dressing-gown and linen nightcap. On a 
 small table beside him stood a bottle of beer, newly opened, and 
 a silver tankard. 
 
 When he saw me, he began to swear at me for my delay in 
 cominof, thoucjh I had not lost a moment. 
 
 " Sir," I said, " if you will cease railing and blaspheYning, I 
 will examine into your malady. Otherwise, I will do nothing 
 for you." 
 
 " What !" he cried, " you dare to make conditions with me, 
 you dog, you !" 
 
 *' Fair words," I said, " fair words. I am your servant, to 
 work on your plantation as you may command. I am not your 
 physician ; and I promise you, sir, upon the honor of a gentle- 
 man, and without using the sacred name which is so often on 
 your lips, that if you continue to rail at me, I will suffer you to 
 die rather than stir a little finger in your help." 
 
 " Suffer the physician to examine the place," said a woman's 
 voice. " What good is it to curse and to swear ?" 
 
 The voice came from a hammock swinging at the end of the 
 veranda. It was made, I observed, of a kind of coarse grass 
 loosely woven. 
 
 The man sat down, and sulkily bade me find a remedy for the 
 pain which he was enduring. So I consented ; and examined 
 his upper jaw, where I soon found out the cause of his pain in 
 a good-sized tumor, formed over the fangs of a grinder. Such 
 a thing causes agony even to a person of cool blood, but to a 
 man whose veins are inflamed with strong drink the pain of it 
 is maddening. 
 
 " You have got a tumor," I told him. " It has been forming 
 for some days. It has now nearly, or quite, reached its head. 
 It began about the time when you were cursing and insulting
 
 316 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 certain unfortunate gentlemen who are for the time under your 
 
 power. Take it, therefore, as a divine judgment upon you for 
 
 your cruelty and insolence." 
 
 He glared at me, but said nothing, the hope of relief causing 
 
 him to receive this admonition with patience if not in good part. 
 
 Besides, my finger was still upon the spot, and if I so much as 
 
 pressed gently I could cause him agony unspeakable. Truly, 
 
 the power of the physician is great. 
 
 *' The pain," I told him, " is already grown almost intolerable. 
 
 But it will be much greater in a few hours unless something is 
 done. It is now like unto a little ball of red-hot fire in your 
 
 jaw ; in an hour or two it will seem as if the whole of your face 
 was a burning fiery furnace ; your cheek will swell out until 
 your left eye is closed ; your tortures, which now make you 
 bawl, will then make you scream; you now walk about and 
 stamp ; you will then lie down on your back and kick. No 
 negro slave ever suffered half so much under your accursed lash 
 as you will suffer under this tumor — unless something is done." 
 "Doctor" — it was again the woman's voice from the ham- 
 mock — " you have frightened him enough." 
 
 " Strong drink," I went on, pointing to the tankard, " will only 
 make you worse. It inflames your blood and adds fuel to the 
 raging fire. Unless something is done, the pain will be followed " 
 by delirium, that by fever, and the fever by death. Sir, are you 
 prepared for death ?" 
 
 He turned horribly pale, and gasped. 
 
 " Do something for me," he said. " Do something for me, 
 and that without more words." 
 
 " Nay, but I will first make a bargain with you. There is in 
 the sick-house a gentleman, my cousin, Robin Challis by name, 
 one of the newly arrived rebels, and your servant. He is lying 
 sick unto death of a sunstroke and fever, caused by your hellish 
 cruelty in sending him out to work in the fields with the negroes, 
 instead of putting him to light labor in the ingen,io or elsewhere. 
 I say, his sickness is caused by your barbarity. Wlierefore, I 
 will do nothing for you at all — do you hear? — nothing — noth- 
 ing — unless I am set free to do all I can for him. Yea, and I 
 must have such cordials and generous diet as the place can 
 afford, otherwise I will not stir a finger to help you. Otherwise 
 endure the torments of the damned ; rave in madness and in
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 317 
 
 fever. Die, and go to your own place. I will not help you. 
 So. Tliat is my last word." 
 
 Upon tliis I really thought that the man had gone stark star- 
 ing mad. For, at the impudence of a mere servant, though a 
 gentleman of far better family than his own, daring to make 
 conditions with him, he became purple in the cheeks, and, seiz- 
 ing his great stick, which lay on the table, be began belaboring 
 me with all his might about the head and shoulders. But I 
 caught up a chair and used it for a shield, while he capered 
 about, striking wildly and swearing most horribly. 
 
 At this moment the lady who was in the hammock stepped 
 out of it and walked towards us slowly, like a queen. She was 
 without any doubt the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. 
 She was dressed in a kind of dressing-gown of flowered silk, 
 which covered her from head to foot ; her head was adorned 
 with the most lovely glossy -black ringlets ; a heavy gold chain 
 lay round her neck, and a chain of gold with pearls was twined 
 in her hair so that it looked like a coronet ; her fingers were cov- 
 ered with rings, and gold bracelets hung upon her bare white 
 arms. Her figure was tall and full ; lier face inclined to the 
 Spanish, being full and yet regular, with large black eyes. 
 Though I was fighting with a madman, I could not resist the 
 wish that I could paint her. And I plainly perceived that she 
 was one of that race which is called quadroon, being most likely 
 the daughter of a mulatto woman and a white father. This was 
 evident by the character of her skin, which had in it what the 
 Italians call the morbidezza, and by a certain dark hue under the 
 eyes. 
 
 " Why," she said, speaking to the master as if he had been 
 a petulant schoolboy, " you only make yourself worse by all this 
 fury. Sit down and lay aside your stick. And you, sir," she 
 addressed herself to me, " you may be a great physician and 
 at home a gentleman ; but here you are a servant, and, therefore, 
 bound to help your master in all you can without first making 
 conditions." 
 
 " I know too well," I replied, " He bought me as his ser- 
 vant, but not as his physician. I will not heal him without 
 my fee. And my fee is that my sick cousin be attended to with 
 humanity." 
 
 " Take him away !" cried the master, beside himself with rage.
 
 318 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Clap him in tlie stocks. Let liim sit there all day long in the 
 sun. He shall have nothing to eat or to drink. In the even- 
 ing he shall be flogged. If it were the Duke of Monmouth him- 
 self he should be tied up and flogged. Where the devil are the 
 servants ?" 
 
 A great hulking negro came running. 
 
 " You have now," I told him quietly, " permitted yourself to 
 be inflamed with violent rage. The pain will therefore more 
 rapidly increase ; when it becomes intolerable you will be glad 
 to send for me." 
 
 The negro dragged me away (but I made no resistance), and 
 led me to the courtyard where stood the stocks and a whipping- 
 post. He pointed to the latter with a horrid grin, and then laid 
 me fast in the former. Fortunately he left me my hat, other- 
 wise the hot sun would have made an end of me. I was, how- 
 ever, quite easy in my mind. I knew that this poor wretch, who 
 already suffered so horribly, would before long feel in that jaw 
 of his, as it were, a ball of fire ; he would drink in order to 
 deaden the pain, but the wine would only make the agony more 
 horrible. Then he would be forced to send for me. 
 
 This, in fact, was exactly what he did. 
 
 I sat in those abominable stocks for no more than an hour. 
 Then madam herself came to me followed by the negro fellow 
 who had locked my heels in those two holes. 
 
 " He is now much worse," she said. " He is now in pain 
 that cannot be endured. Canst thou truly relieve his sufferings ?" 
 
 " Certainly I can. But on conditions. My cousin will die if 
 he is nefflected. Suffer me to minister to his needs. Give me 
 what I want for him and I will cure your — " I did not know 
 whether I might say " your husband " — so I changed the words 
 into " my master. After that I will cheerfully endure again his 
 accursed cruelty of the fields." 
 
 She bade the negro unlock the bar. 
 
 " Come," she said. " Let us hear no more about any bar- 
 gains. I will see to it that you are able to attend to your cous- 
 in. Nay, there is an unfortunate young gentlewoman here, a 
 rebel, and a servant like yourself ; for the last week she doth 
 nothing but weep for the misfortunes of her friends ; meaning 
 you and your company. I will ask her to nurse the sick man. 
 She will desire nothing better, being a most tender-hearted
 
 ' / sat in those abominable stocks for no more than an hour. Then 
 madam herself came to me. . . She bade the negro unlock the bar."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 319 
 
 woman. And as for yon, it will be easy for you to look after 
 your cousin and your master at tlie same time." 
 
 "Then, madam," I replied, "take me to bim, and I will 
 speedily do all I can to relieve bim." 
 
 I found my patient in a condition of mind and body most 
 dangerous. I wondered that be bad not already fallen into a 
 fit, so great was bis wratb and so dreadful bis pain. He rolled 
 bis eyes, bis cbeeks were purple, be clencbed bis fists, be 
 would bave gnasbed bis teetb but for tbe pain in bis jaws. 
 
 "Make yourself easy," said madam. " Tbis learned physi- 
 cian will cause your pain to cease. I bave talked witb bim, and 
 put bim into a better mind." 
 
 Tbe master sbook bis bead, as mucb as to say that a better 
 mind would bardly be arrived at without tbe assistance of tbe 
 whipping-post. But tbe emergency of the case prevented that 
 indulgence. Briefly, therefore, I took out my lancet and pierced 
 tbe place, which instantly relieved the pain. Then I placed him 
 in bed, bled him copiously, and forbade bis taking anything 
 stronger than small beer. Freedom from pain and exhaustion 
 presently caused bim to fall into a deep and tranquil sleep. Af- 
 ter all tbis was done, I was anxious to see Robin. 
 
 " Madam," I said, " I bave now done all I can. He will awake 
 at noon, I dare say. Give bim a little broth, but not much. 
 There is danger of fever. You bad better call me again when 
 be awakes. Warn bim, solemnly, that rage, revenge, cursing 
 and beating must be all postponed until such time as he is 
 stronger. I go to visit my cousin in tbe sick-house, where I 
 await your commands." 
 
 " Sir," she said, courteously, " I cannot sufficiently thank your 
 skill and zeal. You will find tbe nurse of whom I spoke in the 
 sick-room with your cousin. She took witb her some cordial, 
 and will tell me what else you order for your patient. I hope 
 your cousin may recover. But indeed — " she stopped and 
 sighed. 
 
 " You Avould say, madam, that it would be better for him, 
 and for all of us, to die ; perhaps so. But we must not choose 
 to die, but rather strive to live, as more in accordance with tbe 
 Word of God." 
 
 " Tbe white servants bave been hitherto tbe common rogues 
 and thieves, and sweepings of your English streets," she said.
 
 320 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Sturdy rogues arc they all, wlio fear nauglit but the lash, and 
 have nothing of tenderness left but tender skins. They rob 
 and steal ; they will not work, save by compulsion ; they are 
 far worse than the negroes for laziness and drunkenness. I 
 know not why they are sent out, or why the planters buy them, 
 when the blacks do so much better serve their turn, and they 
 can without reproach beat and flog the negroes, while to flog 
 and beat the whites is by some accounted cruel." 
 
 " All this, madam, is doubtless true, but my friends are not 
 the sweeping of the street." 
 
 " No, but you are treated as if you were. It is a new thing 
 having gentlemen among the servants, and the planters are not 
 yet accustomed to them. They are a masterful and a wilful 
 folk, the planters of Barbadoes ; from childhood upward they 
 have their own way, and brook not opposition. You have seen 
 into what a madness of wrath you threw the master by your 
 opi^osition. Believe me, sir, the place is not wholesome for 
 you and for your friends. The master looks to get a profit, not 
 from your labor, but by your ransom. Sir," she looked me very 
 earnestly in the face, " if you have friends at home, if you 
 have any friends at all, entreat them, command them, immedi- 
 ately to send money for your ransom. It will not cost them 
 much. If you do not get the money you will most assuredly 
 die, with the life that you will have to live. All the white ser- 
 vants die except the very strongest and lustiest, whether they 
 work in the fields or in the garden, or in the ingenio, or in the 
 stables — they die. They cannot endure the hot sun and the 
 hard fare. They presently catch fever, or a calenture, or a 
 cramp, and so they die. This young gentlewoman who is now 
 with your cousin will presently fall into melancholy and die. 
 There is no help for her, or for you— believe me, sir — there is 
 no hope but to get your freedom." She broke off here, and 
 never at any other time spoke to me again upon this subject. 
 
 In three weeks' time, indeed, we were to regain our freedom, 
 but not in the way madam imagined. 
 
 Before I go on to tell of the wonderful surprise which awaited 
 me, I must say that there was, after this day, no more any ques- 
 tion about field work for me. In this island there was then a 
 great scarcity of physicians — nay, there were none properly 
 qualified to call themselves physicians, though a few quacks ;
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 321 
 
 the sick servants on tlie estates were attended by the negresses, 
 some of whom have, I confess, a wonderful knowledge of herbs, 
 in which respect they may be likened to our countrywomen, 
 who, for fevers, agues, toothache, and the like, are as good as 
 any physicians in the world. It was therefore speedily rumored 
 abroad that there was a physician upon my master's estate, 
 whereupon there was immediately a great demand for his ser- 
 vices ; and henceforth I went daily, with the master's consent, 
 to visit the sick people on the neighboring estates ; nay, I was 
 even called upon by his excellency the lieutenant-governor him- 
 self, Mr. Steed, for a complaint from which he suffered. And I 
 not only gave advice and medicines, but I also received a fee, 
 just as if I had been practising in London. But the fees went 
 to my master, who took them all, and offered me no better diet 
 than before. That, however, mattered little, because wherever 
 I went I asked for and always received food of a more generous 
 kind, and a glass or two of wine, so that I fared well and kept 
 my health during the short time that we remained upon the 
 island. I had also to thank madam for many a glass of Ma- 
 deira, dish of cocoa, plate of fruit, and other things, not only 
 for my patient Robin, but also for myself, and for another, of 
 whom I have now to speak. 
 
 When, therefore, the master was at length free from pain, 
 and in a comfortable sleep, I left him, with madam's permission, 
 and sought the sick-house in a most melancholy mood, because 
 I believed that Robin would surely die whatever I should do. 
 And I confess that, having had but little experience of sunstroke, 
 and the kind of fever which followeth upon it, and having no 
 books to consult, and no medicine at hand, I knew not what I 
 could do for him. And the boasted skill of the physician, one 
 must confess, availeth little against a disease which hath once 
 laid hold upon a man. 'Tis better for him so to order the lives 
 of his patients while they are well as to prevent disease, just as 
 those who dwell beside an unruly river, as I have seen upon the 
 great river Rhone, build up a high levee, or bank, which it can- 
 not pass. 
 
 In the sick - house, the floor was of earth without boards ; 
 there was no other furniture but two or three wooden pallets ; 
 on each a coarse mattress with a rug ; and all was horribly filthy, 
 unwashed, and foul. Beside the pallet where Robin lay there
 
 322 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 knelt, praying, a woman with her head in her hands. Heavens ! 
 There was then in this dark and heathenish place one woman 
 who still remembered her Maker. 
 
 Robin was awake. His restless eyes rolled about, his hands 
 clutched uneasily at his blanket, and he was talking, Alas ! 
 the poor brain, disordered and wandering, carried him back to 
 the old village. He was at home again in imagination, though 
 we were so far away. Yea, he had crossed the broad Atlantic, 
 and was in fair Somerset among the orchards and the hills. 
 And only to hear him talk the tears rolled down my cheeks. 
 
 " Grace," he said. Alas ! he thought that he was again with 
 the sweet companion of his youth. " Grace, the nuts are ripe in 
 the woods. We will to-morrow take a basket and go gather 
 them. Benjamin shall not come to spoil sport; besides, he 
 would want to eat them all himself. Humphrey shall come, 
 and you, and I. That will be enough." 
 
 Then his thoughts changed again. " Oh, my dear," he said — 
 in a moment he had passed over ten years, and was now with 
 his mistress, a child no longer — " My dear, thou hast so sweet 
 a face. Nowhere in the whole world is there so sweet a face. 
 I have always loved thy face ; not a day but it has been in my 
 mind. Always my love, my sweetheart, my soul, my life. My 
 dear, we will never leave the country ; we want no grandeur of 
 rank and state and town ; we will always continue here. Old 
 age shall find us lovers still. Death cannot part us ; oh, my 
 dear ; save for a little while, and then sweet Heaven will unite 
 us again to love each other forever and forever — " 
 
 " Oh, Robin ! Robin ! Robin !'•' 
 
 I knew that voice. Oh, heavens ! Was I dreaming ? Was I 
 too, wandering ? Were we all back in Somerset ? 
 
 For the voice was none other than the voice of Grace herself. 
 
 . CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 " Grace !" I cried. 
 
 She rose from her knees and turned to meet me. Her face 
 was pale ; her eyes were heavy, and they were full of tears. 
 " Grace !"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 323 
 
 " I saw you when you came here, a week ago," she said. " Oh, 
 Humphrey, I saw you, and I was ashamed to let you know that 
 I was here." 
 
 " Ashamed ? My dear, ashamed ? But how — why — what 
 dost thou here ?" 
 
 " How could I meet Robin's eyes after what I had done ?" 
 
 " It was done for him, and for his mother, and for all of us. 
 Poor child, there is no reason to be ashamed." 
 
 " And now I meet him and he is in a fever and his mind wan- 
 ders. He knows me not." 
 
 " He is sorely stricken, Grace. I know not how the disease 
 may end — mind and body are sick alike. For the mind I can 
 do nothing, for the body I can do little ; yet, with cleanliness 
 and good food we may help him to mend. But tell me, child, 
 in the name of Heaven, how cameSt thou in this place ?" 
 
 But before anything she would attend to the sick man. And 
 presently she brought half a dozen negresses, who cleaned and 
 swept the place, and sheets were fetched, and a linen shirt, 
 in which we dressed our patient, with such other things as we 
 could devise for his comfort. Then I bathed his head with 
 cold water, continually changing his bandages, so as to keep 
 him cool ; and I took some blood from him, but not much, be- 
 cause he was greatly reduced by bad food and hard work. 
 
 When he was a little easier we talked. But, heavens ! to 
 think of the villainy which had worked its will upon this poor 
 child ! As if it were not enough that she should be forced to fly 
 from a man who had so strangely betrayed her ! And as if it 
 were not enough that she should be robbed of all her money, but 
 she must also be put on board falsely and treacherously, as one, 
 like ourselves, sentenced to ten years' servitude in the planta- 
 tions ! For, indeed, I knew and was quite certain that none of 
 the maids of Taunton were thus sent abroad. It was notorious, 
 before w^e were sent away, that, with the exception of Susan 
 Blake, who died of jail fever at Dorchester, all the maids were 
 given to the queen's ladies, and by them suffered to go free on 
 the payment by their parents of thirty or forty pounds apiece. 
 And as for Grace, she was a stranger in the place, and it was 
 not known that she had joined that unfortunate procession. So 
 that if ever a man was kidnapper and villain, that man was 
 George Penne.
 
 324 FOR FAITU AND FREEDOM. 
 
 It beliooves a pliysician to keep his mind, under all circum- 
 stances, calm and composed. He must not suffer himself to be 
 carried away by passion, by rage, hatred, or even anxiety ; yet 
 I confess that my mind was clean distracted by the discovery 
 that Grace herself was with us, a prisoner like ourselves. I was, 
 I say, distracted, nor could I tell what to think of this event 
 and its consequences. For, to begin with, the poor child was 
 near those who would protect her. But what kind of protection 
 could be given by such helpless slaves ? Then was she beyond 
 her husband's reach ; he would not, it was quite certain, get 
 possession of her at this vast distance. So far she was safe. 
 But then the master who looked to make a profit by her, as he 
 looked to make a profit by us — through the ransom of her 
 friends ! She had no friends to ransom her. There was but 
 one — the rector — and he was her husband's father. The time 
 would come when the avarice of the master would make him do 
 or threaten something barbarous towards her. Then she had 
 found favor with madam, this beautiful mulatto woman, whom 
 Grace innocently supposed to be the master's wife. And there 
 was the young planter, who wished to buy her with the honora- 
 able intention of marrying her. In short, I knew not what to 
 think or to say, because at one moment it seemed as if it were 
 the most providential thing in the world that Grace should have 
 been brought here, and the next moment it seemed as if her 
 presence only magnified our evils. 
 
 " Nay," she said, when I opened my mind to her, " seeing 
 that the world is so large, what but a special ruling of Provi- 
 dence could have brought us all to this same island, out of the 
 whole multitude of isles, and then again to this same estate, out 
 of so many ? Humphrey, your faith was wont to be stronger. I 
 believe — nay, I am quite sure — that it was for the strengthen- 
 ing and help of all alike that this hath been ordained. First, 
 it enables me to nurse my poor Robin ; mine, alas ! no long- 
 er. Yet must I still love him as long as I have a heart to 
 beat." 
 
 " Love him always, child," I said ; " this is no sin to love the 
 companion of thy childhood, thy sweetheart, from whom thou 
 wast torn by the most wicked treachery — " but could say no 
 more, because the contemplation of that sweet face, now so 
 mournful, yet so patient, made my voice to choke and my eyes
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 325 
 
 to fill with tears. Said I not that a physician must still keep 
 his mind free from all emotion ? 
 
 All that day I conversed with her. We agreed that, for the 
 present, she should neither actnowledge nor conceal the truth 
 from madam, upon whose good-will was now placed all our 
 hopes. That is to say, if madam questioned her she was to ac- 
 knowledge that we were her former friends ; but if madam nei- 
 ther suspected anything nor asked her anything she should keep 
 the matter to herself. Slie told me during this day all that had 
 liappcned unto her since I saw her last, when we marched out 
 of Taunton. Among other things, I heard of the woman called 
 Deb, who was now working in the corn-fields (she was one of a 
 company whose duty it was to weed the canes). In the evening 
 this woman, when the people returned, came to the sick-house. 
 She was a great, strapping woman, stronger than most men. 
 She was dressed, like all the women on the estate, in a smock 
 and petticoat, with a thick coif to keep off the sun, and a pair 
 of strong shoes. 
 
 She came to help her mistress, as she fondly called Grace. 
 She wanted to sit up and watch the sick man, so that her mis- 
 tress might go to sleep ; but Grace refused. Then this faithful 
 creature rolled herself up in her rug and laid herself at the door, 
 so that no one should go in or out without stepping over her ; 
 and so she fell asleep. 
 
 Then we began our night-watch, and talked in whispers, sit- 
 ting by the bedside of the fevered man. Presently I forgot the 
 wretchedness of our condition, the place where we were, our 
 hopeless, helpless lot, our anxieties and our fears, in the joy and 
 happiness of once more conversing with my mistress. She 
 spoke to me after the manner of the old days, but with more 
 seriousness, about the marvellous workings of the Lord among 
 his people, and presently we began to talk of the music which 
 we loved to play, and how the sweet concord and harmony of 
 the notes lifts up the soul ; and of pictures and painting, and 
 Mr. Boscorel's drawings and my own poor attempts, and my 
 studies in the schools, and so forth, as if my life were indeed but 
 just beginning, and instead of the Monmouth cap and the can- 
 vas breeches and common shirt I was once more arrayed in vel- 
 vet, with a physician's wig and a gold-headed cane. 
 
 Lastly, she prayed, entreating merciful Ileavcn to bestow
 
 326 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 health of mind and enlargement of body to the sick man upon 
 the bed, and her brother, and her dear friend (meaning myself), 
 and to all poor sufferers for religion. And she asked that, as it 
 had been permitted that she should be taken from her earthly 
 lover by treachery, so it might now be granted to her to lay 
 down her life for his, so that he might go free and she die in 
 his place. 
 
 Through the open window I saw the four stars which make 
 the constellation they call the Cruseroes, being like a cross 
 fixed in the heavens. The night was still, and there was no 
 sound save the shrill noise of the cigala, which is here as shrill 
 as in Padua. Slave and master, bondman and free, were all 
 asleep save in this house, where Robin rolled his heavy head 
 and murmured without ceasing, and Grace communed with her 
 God. Surely, surely, I thought, here was no room for doubt. 
 This my mistress had been brought here by the hand of God 
 himself to be as an angel or messenger of his own for our help 
 and succor — haply for our spiritual help alone, seeing that no 
 longer was there any help from man. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIIL 
 
 BARNABT HEARS THE NEWS. 
 
 The master, my patient, got up from his bed in a few days, 
 somewhat pale and weak after his copious blood-letting and the 
 drastic medicines with which I purged the grossness of his habit 
 and expelled the noxious humors caused by his many intemper- 
 ances. These had greatly injured what we call (because we 
 know not what it is nor what else to call it) the pure volatile 
 spirit, and, so to speak, turned sour the humor radicalis, the 
 sweet oil and balsamical virtues of the body. I gave him such 
 counsel as was fitting for his case, admonishing him urgently to 
 abstain from strong liquors, except in their moderate use ; to 
 drink only after his meals, to keep his head cool and sober, and, 
 above all things, to repress and govern his raging temper, which 
 would otherwise most certainly catch him by the throat like some 
 fierce and invisible devil, and throw him into a fit, and so kill 
 him. I told him, also, what might be meant by the wise man
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 32*7 
 
 (who certainly thought of all the bearings which his words could 
 have) when he said that one who is slow to wrath is of great un- 
 derstanding, namely, that many men do throw away their lives 
 by falling into excessive fits of rage. But I found that the 
 words of lloly Scripture had little authority over him, for he 
 lived without prayer or praise, trampled on the laws of God, 
 and gave no heed at all to the flight of time and the coming of 
 the next world. 
 
 For a day or two he followed my injunctions, taking a tank- 
 ard of small ale to his breakfast, the same quantity with his din- 
 ner, a pint of Madeira for his supper, and a sober glass or two 
 before going to bed. But when he grew well his brother plant- 
 ers came round him again, the drinking was renewed, and in the 
 morning I would find him again with parched throat, tongue 
 dry, and shaking hand, ready to belabor, to curse, and to rail at 
 everybody. If one wanted an example for the young how strong 
 drink biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder, here was 
 a case the sight of which might have caused all young men to 
 forswear drunkenness. Alas ! there are plenty of such examples 
 to be seen in every part of England, yet the younger men still 
 continue to drink, and that, I think, worse than their fathers. 
 This man, however, who was not yet five-and-thirty, in the very 
 prime of strong and healthy manhood, had his finger-joints swol- 
 len and stony from taking much wine ; he commonly ate but lit- 
 tle meat, craving continually for more drink ; and his understand- 
 ing, which was by nature, I doubt not, clear and strong, was now 
 brutish and stupid. Thinking over this man, and of the power, 
 even unto death, which he possessed over his servants and slaves, 
 the words came into my mind, "It is not for kings, O Lemuel, 
 it is not for kings to drink wine, nor for princes strong drink." 
 
 Nay, more (and this I say knowing that many godly men will 
 not agree with me), I am fully persuaded that there is no man 
 in the whole world so good and so strong in virtue and religion 
 that he should be suffered to become the master or despot over 
 any other man, even over a company of poor and ignorant blacks, 
 or a gang of transported thieves. When I think of those unhap- 
 py people, driven forth in the morning, heavy-eyed and down- 
 cast, to the hard day's work, and when I remember how they 
 crept home at night, after being driven, cursed, and beaten all 
 day long, and when I think upon their drivers, overseers, and
 
 328 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 masters, and of their hard and callous hearts, I am moved to cry 
 aloud (if any would hear me) that to be a slave is wretched in- 
 deed, but that to own and drive slaves should be a thing most 
 danarerous for one who would continue a member of Christ's 
 Church. 
 
 "When I told Barnaby the surprising news that his sister was 
 not only safe, but was a servant, like ourselves, upon the same 
 estate, I looked that he would rejoice. On the contrary, he fell 
 into a strange mood, swearing at this ill stroke, as he called it. 
 He said that he never had the least doubt as to her safety, see- 
 ing there were so many in the West Country who knew and re- 
 spected her father, and would willingly shelter her. Then he 
 dwelt upon certain evils of which, I confess, I had thought little, 
 which might befall her. And, lastly, he set forth with great 
 plainness the increased dangers in escaping when one has to 
 carry a woman or a wounded man — a thing he pointed out which 
 had caused his own capture after Sedgemoor. 
 
 Then he opened up to me the whole business of our escape. 
 
 " Last Saturday night," he said, " while you were sleeping, I 
 made my way to the port, and having a few shillings left, I 
 sought out a tavern. There is one hard by the Bridge, a house 
 of call for sailors, where I had the good-fortune to find a fellow 
 who can do for us all we want, if his money hold out, which I 
 doubt. He is a carver by trade, and a convict like ourselves, 
 but is permitted by his master to work at his trade in the town. 
 He hath been, it is true, branded in the hand, but. Lord, what 
 sio-nifies that ? He was once a thief ; well, he is now an honest 
 lad again, who asks for nothing but to get home again. John 
 Nuthall is his name." 
 
 " Go on, Barnaby. We are already in such good company 
 that another rogue or two matters little." 
 
 " This man came here secretly last night, while you were in 
 the sick-house, lad. He is very hot upon getting away. And 
 because I am a sailor, and can navigate a craft (which he cannot 
 do), he will take with him not only myself, but also all my party. 
 Now listen, Humphrey. He hath bought a boat of a Guinea 
 man in the harbor ; and because, to prevent the escape of ser- 
 vants, every boat is licensed, and her owner has to give security 
 to the governor's officers, he hath taken this boat, secretly, up a 
 little creek of which he knows, and hath there sunk her three
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 329 
 
 feet deep. The masts, tlie sails, the oars, and the other gear he 
 hath also bestowed in a secret place. But wo cannot sail with- 
 out water, provisions, nor without a compass, at least. If our 
 party is to consist of sister, Robin, you, John Nuthall, and my- 
 self, five in all, we shall have to load the boat with provisions, 
 and I must have a compass. I look for a boatful with ourselves 
 and John Nuthall. Now we have Sis as well ; and the boat is 
 but small. Where shall we get provisions ? and where shall we 
 lay our hands upon the money to buy what we want ?" 
 
 He could talk of nothing else, because his mind was full of 
 his plan. Yet it seemed to me a most desperate enterprise thus 
 to launch a small boat upon the wide ocean, and in this cockle- 
 shell to brave the waves which are often fatal to the tallest 
 ships. 
 
 " Tut, man," said Barnaby. " We are not now in the season 
 of the tornadoes, and there is no other danger upon these seas. 
 I would as lief be in an open boat as in a brigantine. Sharks 
 may follow us, but they will not attack a boat ; calamaries they 
 talk of, big enough to lay their arms round the boat, and so to 
 drag it under ; but such monsters have I never seen, any more 
 than I have seen the great whale of Norway or the monstrous 
 birds of the Southern Seas. There is only one danger, Humphrey, 
 my lad " — here he laid his hand upon mine, and became mighty 
 serious — " if we are taken we shall be flogged, all of us. Thir- 
 ty-nine lashes they will lay on, and they will brand us. For my- 
 self, I value not their thirty-nine lashes a brass farthing, nor 
 their branding with a hot iron, which can but make a man jump 
 for a day or two. To me this risk against the chance of escape 
 matters nothing. Why, wdien I was cabin-boy I got daily more 
 than thirty-nine lashes, kicks, cuffs, and rope's-endings. Nay, I 
 remember, when we sat over the Latin syntax together, my daily 
 ration must have been thirty-nine, more or less, and dad's arm 
 was stronger than you would judge to look at him. If they 
 catch me, let them lay on their thirty-nine, and be damned to 
 them. But you and Robin, I doubt, think otherwise." 
 
 " I would not willingly be flogged, Barnaby, if there were any 
 way of escape, even by death." 
 
 " So I thought. So I thought." 
 
 " And as for Robin, if he recovers, which I doubt, he, too, if 
 I know him, would rather be killed than be flogged."
 
 330 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " That comes of Oxford," said Barnaby. " And then there is 
 Sis. Humphrey, my Lad, it goes to my heart to think of Jjiat 
 poor girl, stripped to be lashed like a black slave or a Bristol 
 drab." 
 
 " Barnaby, she must never run that dreadful risk." 
 
 " Then she must remain behind. And here she runs that risk 
 every day. What prevents yon drunken sot — the taste of that 
 stick still sticks in my gizzard — I say, what prevents him from 
 tying her up to-day, or to-morrow, or every day ?" 
 
 " Barnaby, I say that she must never run that risk, for if we 
 are caught — " I stopped. 
 
 " Before we are caught you would say, Humphrey. We are 
 of the same mind there. But who is to kill her ? Not Robin, 
 for he loves her; not you, because you have too great a kind- 
 ness for her ; not I, because I am her brother. What should I 
 say to my mother when I meet her after we are dead, and she 
 asks me who killed Grace ?" 
 
 " Barnaby, if she is to die, let us all die together." 
 
 " Ay," he replied, " though I have, I confess, no great stom- 
 ach for dying, yet, since we have got her with us, it must be 
 done. 'Tis easy to let the water into the boat, and so, in three 
 minutes, with no suspicion at all, and my mother never to know 
 anything about it, she would have said her last prayers, and we 
 should be all sinking together with never a gasp left." 
 
 I took him, after this talk, to the sick-house, where Grace was 
 beginning her second night of nursing. Barnaby saluted his 
 sister as briefly as if her presence were the thing he most ex- 
 pected. 
 
 The room was lit by a horn lantern containing a candle, which 
 gave enough light to see Robin on the bed and Grace standing 
 beside him. The woman called Deb was sitting on the floor, 
 wrapped in her rug. 
 
 " Sis," said Barnaby, " I have heard from Humphrey how 
 thou wast cozened out of thy money and enticed on board ship. 
 Well, this world is full of villains, and I doubt whether I shall 
 live to kill them all. One I must kill, and one I must cudgel. 
 Patience, therefore, and no more upon this head. Sis, dost love 
 to be a servant ?" 
 
 " Surely not, Barnaby," 
 
 " Wouldst like to get thy freedom again ?"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 331 
 
 *' I know not the meaning of thy words, brother. Madam 
 says that those who have interest at home may procure pardons 
 for their friends in the plantations. Also that those whose 
 friends have money may buy their freedom from servitude. I 
 am sure that Mr. Boscorel would willingly do this for Robin 
 and for Humphrey, but for myself, how can I ask? How can 
 I ever let him know where I am and in what condition ?" 
 
 " Ay, ay. But I meant not that way. Child, wilt thou trust 
 thyself to us ?" 
 
 She looked at Robin. " I cannot leave him," she said. 
 
 " No, no. We shall wait until he is dead, or, perhaps, better" 
 — but he only added this to please his sister. "When he is bet- 
 ter. Sis, thou wilt not be afraid to trust thyself with us ?" 
 
 "I am not afraid of any danger, even of death, with you, if 
 that is the danger in your mind, Barnaby." 
 
 " Good ! Then we understand each other. There are other 
 dangers for a young and handsome woman, and may be worse 
 dangers. Hast any money at all, by chance ?" * 
 
 " Nay, the man Penne took all my money." 
 
 Barnaby, for five or six minutes, without stopping, spoke upon 
 this topic after the manner of a sailor. " My turn will come," 
 he added. " No money, child ? 'Tis a great pity. Had we a 
 few gold pieces now ! Some women have rings and chains. 
 But, of course — " 
 
 " Nay, brother, chains I never had ; and as for rings, there 
 were but two that ever I had — one from Robin the day that I 
 was plighted to him, and one from the man who made me marry 
 him, and put it on in church. The former did I break and throw 
 away when I agreed for your dear lives, Barnaby. Oh, for the 
 lives of all !" 
 
 " I know, I know," said Barnaby. " Patience, patience. Oh, 
 I shall get such a chance some day !" 
 
 " The other I threw away Avhen I fled from my husband at the 
 church door." 
 
 " Ay, ay. If we only had a little money ! 'Tis a pity that we 
 should fail for want of a little money." 
 
 " Why," said Grace, " I had quite forgotten. I have some- 
 thing that may bring money." She pulled from her neck a 
 black ribbon, on which was a little leathern bag. 'Tis the ring 
 the duke gave me at Ilchester long ago. I have never parted
 
 332 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 with it. ' God grant,' he said, when lie gave it to me, ' that it 
 may bring thee kick.' Will the ring help, Barnaby ?" 
 
 I took it first from her hand. 
 
 "Why," I said, "it is a sweet and costly ring. Jewels I 
 know, and have studied. If I mistake not, these emeralds must 
 be worth a great sum. But how shall we dispose of so valuable 
 a ring in this place, and without causing suspicion ?" 
 
 " Give it to me." Barnaby took it, looked at it, and laid it, 
 bag and all, in his pocket. " There are at the port merchants 
 of all kinds, who will buy a ship's cargo of sugar one minute, 
 and the next will sell you as red herrings. They will also ad- 
 vance money upon a ring. As for suspicion, there are hundreds 
 of convicts and servants here. 'Tis but to call the ring the prop- 
 erty of such an one, and no questions will be asked. My friend 
 John Nuthall, the carver, shall do this for us. And now. Sis, I 
 think that our business is as good as done. Have no fear, we 
 shall get away. First get Robin well, and then — " Here Bar- 
 naby gazed upon her face with affection and with pity. " But, 
 sister, understand rightly, 'tis no child's play of hide-and-go- 
 seek. 'Tis life or death — life or death. If we fly we must nev- 
 er come back again, understand that well." 
 
 " Since we are in the Lord's hands, brother, why should we 
 fear ? Take me with you ; let me die, if you must die ; and if 
 you live I am content to live with you, so that my husband never 
 finds me out." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 A SCARE. 
 
 There is between the condition of the mind and that of the 
 body an interdependence which cannot but be recognized by 
 every physician. So greatly has this connection affected some 
 of the modern physicians, as to cause doubts in their minds 
 whether there be any life at all hereafter, or if, when the pulse 
 ceases to beat, the whole man should become a dead and sense- 
 less lump of clay. In this they confuse the immortal soul with 
 the perishable instruments of brain and body through which, in 
 life, it manifests its being, and betrays its true nature, whether 
 of good or ill.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 333 
 
 Thus tlie condition in wliich Robin now lay clearly corre- 
 sponded, as I now understand, with the state of his mind in- 
 duced by the news that Grace to save his life had been betrayed 
 into marrying his cousin. For, at the hearing of that dreadful 
 news he was seized with such a transport of rage (not against 
 that poor innocent victim, but against his cousin) as threatened 
 to throw him into madness, and on recovering from this access 
 he presently fell into a kind of despair in which he languished 
 during the whole voyage. So also in a corresponding manner 
 after a fever, the violence of which was like to have torn him 
 to pieces, he fell into a lethargy in which, though his fever left 
 him, he continued to wander in his mind and grew, as I could 
 not fail to mark, daily weaker in his body, refusing to eat, 
 though Grace brought him daily broth of chicken, delicate pa- 
 nadas of bread-and-butter, fruit boiled with sugar, and other 
 things fit to tempt a sick man's appetite, provided by the good- 
 ness of madam. This lady was in religion a Romanist ; by 
 birth she was a Spanish quadroon ; to escape the slavery to 
 which the color of her grandmother doomed her, she escaped 
 from Cuba and found her way to Jamaica, where she met with 
 our master. And whether she was lawfully married unto him 
 I will not, after her kindness to Grace and her faithfulness 
 to myself as regards Robin, so much as ask. 
 
 Robin, therefore, though the fever left him, did not mend. 
 On the contrary, as I have said, he grew daily weaker, so that 
 I marvelled at his lasting so long, and looked to see him die, as 
 so many die, in the early morning, when there is a sharpness 
 or eagerness in the air, and the body is exhausted by long sleep. 
 Yet he died not. 
 
 And now you shall hear how, through the Duke of Mon- 
 mouth's ring, we escaped from our servitude. " God grant," 
 said the duke, " that it bring thee good luck." This was a 
 light and unconsidered prayer, forgotten as soon as uttered, 
 meant only to please the ear of a child. And yet, in a manner 
 most marvellous to consider, it proved the salvation of us all. 
 What better luck could that ring cause than that wc should 
 escape from the land of Egypt — the House of Bondage ? 
 
 " I have disposed of the ring," Barnaby told me a few days 
 later. " That is to say, John Nuthall hath secretly pledged it 
 with a merchant for twenty guineas. He said that the ring
 
 334 FOR, FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 belonged to a convict, but many of them have brought such prec- 
 ious things with them in order to buy their freedom. He owns 
 that the stones are fine, and very willingly gave the money on 
 their security." 
 
 " Then nothing remains," I said, " but to get away." 
 
 " John Nuthall has bought provisions and all we want, little 
 by little, so as to excite no suspicion ; they are secretly and safely 
 bestowed, and half the money still remains in his hands. How 
 goes Robin ?" 
 
 " He draws daily nearer to his grave. We cannot depart un- 
 til he either mends or dies. 'Tis another disaster, Barnaby." 
 
 " Ay, but of disaster we must not think. Robin will - die ; 
 yet our own case may be as bad if it comes to scuttling the ship. 
 Cheer up, lad ! many men die, but the world goes on. Poor 
 Robin ! Every man for himself, and the Lord for us all. Sis 
 will cry ; but even if Robin recovers, he cannot marry her, a 
 consideration which ought to comfort her. And for him, since 
 nothing else will serve him, it is best that he should die. Bet- 
 ter make an end at once than go all his life with hanging head 
 for the sake of a woman. As if there are not plenty of women 
 in the world to serve his turn." 
 
 " I know not what ails him that he doth not get better. The 
 air is too hot for him ; he hath lost his appetite. Barnaby," I 
 cried, moved to a sudden passion of pity such as would often 
 seize me at that time, " saw one ever ruin more complete than 
 ours ? Had we been fighting for Spain and the accursed Inqui- 
 sition we could not have been more heavily punished. And 
 we were fighting on the Lord's side." 
 
 " We were — dad was with us, too. And see how he was 
 served. The Lord, it seems, doth not provide his servants with 
 arms, or with ammunition, or with commanders. Otherwise, 
 the duke this day would be in St. James's Palace wearing his 
 father's crown, and you would be a court physician with a great 
 wig and a velvet coat, instead of a Monmouth cap and a canvas 
 shirt. And I should be an admiral. But what doth it profit 
 to ask why and wherefore ! Let us first get clear of the wreck. 
 Well, I wish we were to take Robin with us. 'Twill be a poor 
 business going back to Bradford Orcas without him." 
 
 We waited, therefore, day after day, for Robin either to get 
 better or to die, and still he lingered, seemingly in a waste or
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 335 
 
 decline, but such as I liad never before seen, and I know not 
 what would have happened to him, whether he would have lived 
 or died. But then there happened a thing which caused us to 
 wait no longer. It was this : 
 
 The master, having, according to his daily custom, gone the 
 round of his estate, that is to say, having seen his servants all 
 at work under their drivers — some planting with the hoe, some 
 weeding, some cutting the maize, some gathering yams, pota- 
 toes, cassava, or bonavist for provisions, some attending the 
 ingenio or the still-house — did unluckily take into his head to 
 visit the sick-house. What was more unfortunate, this desire 
 came upon him after he had taken a morning dram, and that of 
 the stifEest ; not, indeed, enough to make him drunk, but enough 
 to make him obstinate and Avilful. When I saw him standing 
 at the open door, I perceived by the glassiness of his eyes and 
 the unsteadiness of his shoulders that he had already began 
 the day's debauch. He was now in a most dangerous condition 
 of mind. Later in the day, when he was more advanced in 
 drink, he might be violent, but he would be much less danger- 
 ous, because he would afterwards forget what he had said or 
 done in his cups. 
 
 " So, Sir Doctor," he said, " I have truly a profitable pair of 
 servants — one who pretends to cure everybody and so escapes 
 work, and your cousin who pretends to be sick, and so will do 
 none. A mighty bargain I made, truly, when I bought you 
 both." 
 
 " With submission, sir," I said, " I have within the last week 
 earned for your honor ten guineas' worth of fees." 
 
 " Well, that is as it may be. How do I know what hath 
 gone into your own pocket ? Where is this malinger fellow ? 
 Make him sit up. Sit up, I say, ye skulking dog — sit up !" 
 
 " Sir," I said, still speaking with the greatest humility, " no- 
 body but the Lord can make this man sit up." And, indeed, 
 Robin did not comprehend one word that was said. 
 
 " I gave fifty pounds for him only a month ago. Am I to 
 lose all that money, I ask ? Fifty pounds, because I was told 
 that he was a gentleman, and would be ransomed by his family. 
 Hark ye, doctor, you must either cure this man for me, or else, 
 by the Lord ! you shall have his ransom added to your own. 
 If he dies, I will double your price ; mark that."
 
 336 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 I said nothing, hoping that ho would depart. As for Grace, 
 she had turned her back upon him at his lirst appearance (as 
 madam had ordered her to do), so that he might not notice her. 
 
 Unfortunately he did not depart, but came into the room, 
 looking about him. Certainly he was not one who would suffer 
 his servants to be negligent even in the smallest things. 
 
 " Here is fine work," he said. " Sheets of the best — a pil- 
 low ; what hath a servant to do with such luxuries ?" 
 
 " My cousin is a gentleman," I told him, " and accustomed 
 to lie in linen. The rug which is enough for him in health 
 must have a sheet to it as well now that he is sick." 
 
 " Humph ! x\ud whom have we here ? Who art thou, madam, 
 I wish to know ?" 
 
 Grace turned. 
 
 " I am your honor's servant," she said. *' I am employed in 
 this sick-house when I am not in the sewing-room." 
 
 " A servant ? oh, madam, I humbly crave your pardon. I 
 took you for some fine lady. I am honored by having such a 
 servant. All the rest of my women servants go in plain smock 
 and petticoats. But — " here he smiled — " to so lovely a girl 
 as Grace Eykin — fair Grace — sweet Grace — we must give the 
 bravest and daintiest. To thee, my dear, nothing can be de- 
 nied. Those dainty checks, those white hands, were never made 
 to adorn a common coif. Mistress Grace, we must be better 
 acquainted. This is no fit place for you. Not the sick-house, 
 but the best room in my house shall be at thy service." 
 
 " Sir, I ask for nothing but to sit retired, and to render such 
 service as is in my power." 
 
 " To sit retired ? Why, that cannot be longer suffered. 
 'Twould be a sin to keep hidden any longer this treasure, this 
 marvel, I say, of beauty and grace. My servant ? Nay, 'tis I, 
 'tis the whole island, who are thy servants. Thou to render 
 service ? 'Tis for me, madam, to render service to thy beauty." 
 He fook off his hat and flourished it, making a leg. 
 
 " Then, sir," said Grace, " suffer me, I pray, to go about my busi- 
 ness, which is with this sick man, and not to hear compliments." 
 
 He caught her hand and would have kissed it, but she drew 
 it back. 
 
 " Nay, coy damsel," he said, " I swear I will not go without 
 a kiss from thy lips. Kiss me, my dear,"
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 337 
 
 She started back and I ruslied between tbem. At that mo- 
 ment madam herself appeared. 
 
 " What do you here ?" she cried, catching his arm. '* What 
 has this girl to do with you ? Come away. Come away and 
 leave her in peace." 
 
 " Go back to the house, woman !" he roared, breaking from 
 her and flourishing his stick so that I thought he was actually 
 going to cudgel her. " Go back, or it will be the worse for you. 
 ^Vhat ! am I master here, or you ? Go back, I say !" 
 
 Then a strange thing happened. She made no reply, but she 
 turned upon him eyes so full of authority that she looked like 
 a queen. lie shifted his feet, made as if he would speak, and 
 finally obeyed and went out of the place to his own house w ith 
 the greatest meekness, soberness, and quietness. 
 
 I'rcsently madam came back. 
 
 " I blame thee not, child," she said. " It is with him as I 
 have told thee. When he begins to drink the devil enters into 
 him. Dost think he came here to see the sick man ? No, but 
 for thy fair eyes, inflamed with love as well as with drink. At 
 such times no one can rule him but myself, and even I may fail. 
 Keep snug, therefore. Perhaps he may forget thee again. 
 But, indeed, I know not." 
 
 She sighed and left us. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 BARNABY THE AVENGER. 
 
 The man did not come back. During the wliole day I re- 
 mained with Grace in fear. But he molested us not. 
 
 When the sun set and the fleld-hands returned, I was in two 
 minds whether to tell Barnaby what had happened or not. But 
 when I saw his honest face, streaked with the dust of the day's 
 work, and watched him eating his lump of salt beef and basin 
 of yellow porridge with as much satisfaction as if it had been a 
 banquet of all the dainties, I could not bear, without greater 
 cause, to disturb his mind. 
 
 " To-night," he told me, when there was no more beef and 
 the porridge was all eaten, " there is a great feast at the Bridge. 
 15 Y
 
 338 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 I would we had some of their sherries and Madeira. The 
 Governor of Nevis landed yesterday, and is entertained to-day 
 by our governor. All the militia are feasting, officers and men ; 
 nobody will be on the lookout anywhere ; and it is a dark night, 
 with no moon. What a chance for us, could we make our es- 
 cape to-night ! There may never again happen such a chance 
 for us. How goes Robin ?" 
 
 And so after a little more talk we lay down in our hammocks, 
 and I, for one, fell instantly asleep, having no fear at all for 
 Grace ; first, because the master would be now at the Bridge 
 feasting, and too drunk for anything but to sleep ; and next, be- 
 cause she had with her the woman Deb, as stout and lusty as 
 any man. 
 
 The master was not at the Bridge with the rest of the planters 
 and gentlemen. Perhaps the drink which he took in the morn- 
 ing caused him to forget the great banquet. However that may 
 be, he was, most unluckily for himself, drinking at home and 
 alone, yet dressed in his best coat and wig, and with his sword, 
 all of which he had put on for the governor's banquet. 
 
 After a while the devil entered into him, finding easy admis- 
 sion, so to speak — all doors thrown wide open and even a wel- 
 come in that debauched and profligate soul. About eight o'clock, 
 therefore, prompted by the Evil One, the master rose and stealth- 
 ily crept out of the house. 
 
 It was a dark night, but he needed no light to guide his foot- 
 steps. He crossed the court and made straight for the sick- 
 house. 
 
 He pushed the door open and stood for a little looking with- 
 in. By the light of the horn lantern he saw the girl whose im- 
 age Avas in his mind. The sight might have caused him to 
 return, repentant and ashamed. For she was on her knees, pray- 
 ing aloud beside the bedside of the sick man. 
 
 As he stood in the door the woman named Deb, who lay upon 
 the floor asleep, woke up and raised her head. But he saw her 
 not. Then she sat up, watching him with suspicion. But his 
 eyes were fixed on the figure of Grace. Then she sprang to her 
 feet, for now she knew that mischief was meant, and she stood 
 in readiness, prepared with her great strong arms to defend her 
 mistress. But he thought nobody was in the house but Grace 
 and the sick man. He saw nothing but the girl at the bedside.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 339 
 
 I say tliat I was sleeping. I was awakened at the sound of 
 a shriek ; I knew the voice ; I sprang from the hammock. 
 
 " God of mercy !" I cried. " It is Grace I Barnaby, aAvakc — 
 awake, I say ! It is the cry of Grace !" 
 
 Then I rushed to the sick-house. 
 
 There I saw Grace shrieking and crying for help. And be- 
 fore her the master struggling and wrestling with the woman 
 Deb. She had her arms round his neck, and made as if she were 
 trying to throttle him. Nay, I think that she would have throt- 
 tled him, so strong she was and possessed of such a spirit, and 
 by the light of the lantern gleaming upon the blade I saw that 
 his sword had either fallen from his hand or from the scabbard, 
 and now lay upon the floor. 
 
 " Stand back !" cried Barnaby, pushing me aside. " Leave go 
 of him, woman. Let me deal with him." 
 
 The thing was done in a moment. Merciful heavens ! To 
 think that thus suddenly should the soul of man be called to its 
 account 1 I had seen the poor fellows shot down and cut to 
 pieces on Sedgemoor, but then they knew that they were going 
 forth to fight and so might be killed. There was time before 
 the battle for a prayer ; but this man had no time, and he was 
 more than half drunk as well. 
 
 He lay at our feet, lifeless, Barnaby standing over him with 
 a broken sword in his hand. 
 
 For a while no one spoke or moved. But the woman called 
 Deb gasped and panted, and even laughed, as one who is well 
 pleased because she hath had her revenge. 
 
 Then madam herself, clad in a long white night-dress and 
 with bare feet, suddenly pushed us aside and fell upon her knees 
 beside the wounded man. 
 
 She lifted his head. The face was pale and the eyes closed. 
 She laid it gently down and looked round. 
 
 " You have killed him," she said, speaking not in a rage or 
 passion, but quietly. " You have killed him. To-morrow you 
 will hang. You will all hang." 
 
 We said nothing. 
 
 " Doctor," she turned to me, " tell me if he is dead or living." 
 
 She snatched the lantern and held it, while I made such ex- 
 amination as was possible. I opened his waistcoat and laid 
 back his shirt. The sword had run straight through him and
 
 340 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 broken off short, perhaps by contact with his ribs. The broken 
 point remained in the wound and the flesh had closed around it, 
 so that, save for a drop of blood or two oozing out, there was 
 no flow. 
 
 It needs not great knowledge to understand that when a man 
 hath six inches of steel in his body which cannot be pulled out, 
 and when he is bleeding inwardly, he must die. 
 
 Still, as physicians use, I did not tell her so. 
 
 "Madam," I said, "he is not dead, lie is living. While 
 there is life there is hope." 
 
 " Oh !" she cried, " why did he buy you when he could have 
 had the common sort ? You will hang — you will hang, every one." 
 
 "That shall we presently discover," said Barnaby. "Hum- 
 phrey, we have now no choice left ; what did I tell thee about the 
 chances of the night? We must go this night. As for this 
 villain, let him bleed to death." 
 
 " Go ?" said madam. " Whither, unhappy men, will you go ? 
 There is no place in the island where you can hide, but with 
 bloodhounds they will have you out. You can go nowhere in 
 this island but you will be found and hanged, unless you arc 
 shot like rats in a hole." 
 
 " Come, Humphrey," said Barnaby, " we will carry Robin. 
 This poor woman must go too ; she will else be hanged for trying 
 to throttle him. Well, she can lend a hand to carry Robin. 
 Madam, by your leave we will not hang, nor will be shot. In 
 the — in the — the cave — that I know of your bloodhounds will 
 never find us." 
 
 " Madam," I said, " it is true that we shall attempt to escape. 
 For what hath happened I am truly sorry. Yet we may not 
 suffer such a thing as was this night attempted without resist- 
 ance. Else should we be worse than the io;norant blacks. The 
 master will perhaps live and not die. Listen, and take heed 
 therefore." 
 
 " Doctor," she said, " do not leave me. Stay with me, or he 
 will die. Doctor, stay with me and I will save your life. I will 
 swear that you came at my call. Stay with me ; I will save 
 Grace as well. I will save you both. You shall be neither 
 flogged nor hanged. I swear it ; I will say that I called you for 
 help when it was too late. Only this man and this woman shall 
 hang. Who are they? a rogue and—"
 
 " ' Stand back !' cried Barnaby, pushing me aside. ' Leave go of Mm, 
 woman. Let me deal with him.' "
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 341 
 
 Barnaby laughed aloud. 
 
 " Doctor," she said, " if you stay, he will, perhaps, recover 
 and forgive you all — '' 
 
 Barnaby laughed again. 
 
 "Madam," I told her, "better death upon the gallows than 
 any further term of life with such a man." 
 
 " Oh !" she cried. " lie will die where he is lying." 
 
 " That may be, I know not." I gave her certain directions, 
 bidding her, above all, watch the man and cause him to lie per- 
 fectly quiet, and not to speak a word even in a whisper, and to 
 give him a few drops of cordial from time to time. 
 
 " Come," said Barnaby, " we lose time which is precious. 
 Madam, if your husband recover — and for my part I care noth- 
 ing whether he recover or whether he die ; but if he should re- 
 cover, tell him from me. Captain Barnaby Eykin, that I shall 
 very likely return to this island, and that I shall then, the Lord 
 helping, kill him in fair duello to wipe out the lash of the cudgel 
 which he was good enough once to lay about my head. If he 
 die of this trifling thrust with his own sword, he must lay that 
 to the account of my sister. Enough," said Barnaby, " we will 
 now make our way to the woods, and the cave." . 
 
 This said, Barnaby went to the head of Robin's bed and 
 ordered Deb to take the foot, and so between them they carried 
 him forth with them, while Grace followed, and I went last. 
 
 We heard, long afterwards, through one Mr. Anstiss, the same 
 young gentleman who loved Grace and would have married her, 
 what had happened when we were gone. An hour, or there- 
 abouts, afterwards, madam woke up one of the overseers, telling 
 him what had happened, and bidding him be ready at daybreak, 
 with the bloodhounds, horses, and loaded guns, to follow in 
 pursuit and bring us back. 
 
 There would be, they thought, no difficulty at all in catching 
 us, because we were encumbered by a sick man and two women. 
 
 There was, however, more difiiculty than they expected. For 
 the footsteps led the bloodhounds to the seashore, and here the 
 trace was lost, nor could it ever afterwards be recovered. And 
 though the hue and cry was out over all the island, and the 
 woods and the ravines and caves, where runaway negroes hide, 
 were searched, w^e were never found. Therefore, since no boat 
 at all was missing (the Guineaman had sailed away), it was cer-
 
 342 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 tain that we could not have escaped by sea. It was fortunate, 
 indeed, that Barnaby dropped no hint about the sea, otherwise 
 there would have been despatched some of the boats of the 
 port in search of us, and in that case the scuttling of our craft 
 might have been necessary. For, had we been caught, we should 
 certainly have been hanged for murder, after being flogged for 
 attempted escape. For the master died. He lay speechless 
 until the day broke ; then he became conscious, and presently 
 breathed his last in great anguish of body and terror of mind. 
 What hath since become of madam and of that miserable family 
 of servants and slaves I know not. Certain it is that they could 
 not find a more barbarous or a more savage master in place of 
 him whom Barnaby slew, if they were to search the whole of 
 the Spanish Main and the islands upon it. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 A PERILOUS VOYAGE. 
 
 In this way, unexpected and tragical, arrived our chance of 
 escape. We walked to Carlisle Bay by way of the seashore, so 
 that we might be met by none, and in order that the blood- 
 hounds (if they should use them) in the morning might be 
 thrown off the track. On the march that stout and lusty wench 
 who carried one end of the bed neither called for a halt nor 
 complained of the burden she carried all the way. It was nigh 
 unto midnight when we arrived at the creek in which the boat 
 lay sunk. This was within a stone's-throw of John Nuthall's 
 cottage, where were bestowed the mast, sails, oars, and gear, 
 with such provisions as he had gotten together for the voyage. 
 The man was sleeping when Barnaby called him, but he quickly 
 got up, and in less than an hour we had the boat hauled out of 
 the water, the provisions hastily thrown in, the mast stepped, 
 our sick man and the women placed in the bows, the stern and 
 middle of the boat being encumbered with our provisions ; we 
 had pushed down the muddy and stinking creek, we had hoisted 
 sail, and we were stealing silently out of Carlisle Bay under a 
 light breeze. Three or four ships were lying in the bay, but 
 either there was no watch kept aboard, or (which is more prob-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 343 
 
 able) it was no one's business to hail a small sailboat going 
 out, probably for fishing at dawn. Besides, the night was so 
 dark that we may very well have escaped notice. However that 
 might be, in a quarter of an hour we were well out at sea, 
 beyond the reach of the guns of Carlisle Bay, no longer visible 
 to the ships in port, and without any fear of being seen until 
 daybreak. The wind, which sometimes dropped altogether in 
 the night, still continued favorable, though very light, 
 
 " My lads," said Barnaby, presently, drawing a long breath, 
 " I verily believe that we have given them the slip this time. 
 In the morning they may go forth, if they please, with their 
 bloodhounds to hunt for us. Let them hunt. If any inquiry 
 is made for us at the Bridge, no boat will be missing, and so no 
 suspicion will be awakened. They will then, I suppose, search 
 for us among the caves and ravines of which I have heard, 
 where there are hiding-places in plenty, but no water to drink, 
 so that the poor devils who run away and seek a refuge there 
 are speedily forced to come out for water, and so are caught or 
 shot down. Well, they will hunt a long time before they find 
 us. This boat makes a little water, but I think not much. If 
 she proves water-tight and the breeze holds, by daylight we 
 should be well to the south of the island. Courage, therefore — 
 all will be well yet. How goes Robin ?" 
 
 He w^as lying as easily as we could manage for him, one rug 
 over him and another under him. Grace sat on one side of him, 
 and the woman they called Deb on the other. Then, because 
 the boat sometimes shipped a little w^ater when she dipped in 
 the waves, Barnaby rigged a tarpaulin round the bows to pre- 
 vent this, and (but this was not till next day) over the tarpaulin 
 he made out of a rug and a spare spar a low tilt which, unless 
 the weather grew bad, should shelter those three by night from 
 dew and spray, and by day from the sun overhead and the glare 
 and heat of the water. 
 
 " Deb," he said, softly, " art afraid ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; not wliile my mistress is here " (meaning Grace). 
 " If we are taken w^e shall all be flogged well-nigh unto death, 
 and very likely hanged as weU." 
 " I am not afraid, sir." ' 
 
 " We may spring a leak," said Barnaby, " and so all go to 
 the bottom and be devoured. Art not afraid to die ?"
 
 344 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " No, sir ; not if I hold my mistress by tlie Land, so that she 
 may take me whither she goes herself." 
 
 " Good," said Barnaby. " As for me, I shall have to go alone. 
 "Well, there will be a goodly company of us. Go to sleep, my 
 girl. In the morning we will serve around the first ration, with, 
 perha2)s, if all be well, a dram of cordial." 
 
 In the dim light of the stars I watched all night the three 
 figures in the bow. Robin lay white and motionless ; Grace sat 
 covered with her hood, bending over him ; and Deb, from whose 
 head her coif had fallen, lay head on arm sound asleep. She 
 had no fear, any more than a common soldier has when he goes 
 into action, because he trusts his captain. 
 
 Thus began our voyage, in an open boat, twenty feet long, 
 with a company of three sound men, two women, and a sick 
 man. For arms, in case we needed them, we had none at all. 
 If any ship crossed our track and should call upon us to sur- 
 render, we could not deny that we were escaped convicts, be- 
 cause the dress of all but one proclaimed the fact. Who, in 
 such a climate, would choose to wear a coarse shirt and canvas 
 breeches, with a Monmouth cap, except it was a servant or a 
 slave who had no choice, but must take what is given him ? 
 
 But we should not surrender, come what might. If we could 
 neither fight nor fly, we could sink. Said Barnaby in the dead 
 of night, whispering in my ear, " Lad, 'tis agreed between us, 
 we will have that clear. Sooner than be taken we will scuttle 
 the ship, and so sink altogether. If 'tis accounted murder, the 
 blame shall lie between us." 
 
 A little before daybreak the breeze freshened and the waves 
 began to rise, but not so high as to threaten the boat, which 
 proved indeed a most gallant little craft, dancing over the waters 
 as if she enjoyed being driven by the breeze. Some boats, as 
 sailors will tell you, being always apt to compare these craft 
 with living creatures, come thus frolic and sprightly from their 
 makers' hands, while others, built of the same material, and on 
 the same lines, are, on the contrary, and always remain, heavy 
 and lumpish, just as some children are lively and gay, while 
 others, born of the same parents, are dull and morose. 
 
 Then the sun rose, seeming to leap out of the water, a most 
 glorious ball of fire, which instantly warmed the cool air, and 
 began to burn and scorch our hands and faces. In these hot
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 345 
 
 latitudes one understands what the ancients meant when they 
 spoke of tlie dreadful sun-god, who both gives and destroys 
 life, and is so beneficial and yet so terrible. We, who live in a 
 cold country, are sometimes greatly comforted by the sun, but 
 are never burned ; we feel his warmth, but understand not his 
 power. 
 
 Then Barnaby began to gaze curiously all round the horizon. 
 We had no glass or telescope, but his eyes were to him as good 
 as any telescope is to most men. 
 
 " I thank the Lord," he said, drawing breath. (It was rare 
 for Barnaby thus openly to give praise.) " There is no sail in 
 sight. To be sure we have the day before us. But yet — " 
 here he began to talk as some men use when they desire to 
 place before their own minds, clearly, the position of affairs. 
 " Very well, then — Barbadoes laying thirty miles or more north- 
 east by north. Vessels bound for the island from Bristol, 
 commonly sailing round the north. Very well, then — we are out 
 of their track. Yet — then again — some are driven south by 
 stress of weather. Ay, there is our danger. Yet again, if one 
 should see us, would she bear down upon us ? I greatly doubt 
 it. The wind will continue, that is pretty sure. If they Avere 
 to discover that we had gone by boat, would they sail after us ? 
 Why, whom could they send ? And whither would they steer ? 
 And what boat have they that can sail faster than this little 
 craft? Yet we are pretty low down in the water. Humphrey, 
 lad," he turned upon me his broad and sunburnt face, full of 
 cheerfulness, " we are not within many hours of scuttling yet. 
 A tight boat, a fair wind, a smooth sea ; let us hope for the 
 best. How goes Robin ?" 
 
 There was no change in Robin, either for better or for worse. 
 
 " Sis," said Barnaby, " art sleeping still. Sis ? Wake up and 
 let us eat, drink, and be jolly. What ! Grace, I say ? Why, we 
 have escaped. We are far away at sea. Let us laugh and sing. 
 If there were room in this cockle I would dance also." 
 
 She lifted her head and threw back her hood. Ah ! what a 
 mournful face was there. 
 
 " Oh, brother," she said, " canst thou laugh and sing ? Hast 
 thou forgotten last night ?" 
 
 " Why, no," he replied, '' one must not forget last night, be- 
 cause it was the night of our escape. AH else, I own, I can for- 
 15*
 
 346 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 get. Let it not stick in thy gizzard, my dear, that the man 
 frightened thee. Rejoice rather that he thus afforded me a 
 chance of giving him a taste of his own cold iron." 
 
 " Nay, brother," she said, sliaking her head ; then she looked 
 round her. " We are a long way from the land," she said. 
 " When will they send out a ship to bring us back ?" 
 
 " Why, d'ye see ?" Barnaby replied. " Give us twelve hours 
 more, and they may send out all their fleet, if they have one, and 
 sail the wide world round for us, and yet not capture us. And 
 now let us overhaul the provisions, and examine the ship's 
 stores." Grace pulled her hood down again and said no more. 
 The woman they called Deb was now wide awake, and staring 
 about her wnth the greatest satisfaction. 
 
 " Come, John Nuthall," Barnaby went on. " We are hungry 
 and thirsty. Where is the list I made for thee ? Thou art our 
 purser, our supercargo, our cook, and our steward. Thou art also 
 bo's'n and carpenter and half the crew. Where is my list, I 
 say ? Give it me and we will examine our stores. Look up, 
 Sis ; never cry over what is done and over. What ! A villain 
 hath received a lesson, and thou hangest thy head therefore. 
 Look up, I say. There is now hope for all ; thou shalt merrily 
 dance at my wedding yet." 
 
 Then he read the list, and examined each parcel or box with 
 great care. 
 
 " A hundred and a half of bread ; a soft cheese ; plantains ; 
 a keg of water — nine gallons ; six bottles of Canary — not one 
 broken ; a compass ; a half-hour glass ; a spare rug — 'tis over 
 Robin's legs ; flint and steel ; a bit of tarpaulin ; a hatchet and 
 hammer ; a saw ; some nails ; a spar or two ; a coil of rope and 
 yarn ; a lump of tobacco — we can chew it, though I would rather 
 put it into a pipe. Candles — Faugh ! they are run together 
 in a lump ; they will serve to calk something presently." 
 
 We had, in fact, no light during our voyage, but the tallow 
 proved useful when (I think it was the next day) the boat 
 started a leak. 
 
 This was all our store. 'Twas not much for six people, but 
 Barnaby hoped that the voyage would be short. If he should 
 be disappointed, who would not put up with short rations for a 
 day or two for the sake of freedom ?" 
 
 " And now," he said, when everything was stowed away ac-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 347 
 
 cording to liis mind, " we will have breakfast. Our provisions 
 are no great things, but after the accursed loblollie, a bit of 
 bread and cheese will be a feast." 
 
 A feast indeed it was, and our captain gratified us by open- 
 ing a flask of Canary, which raised all our hearts. Strange 
 that men should be able to recover their spirits, which should 
 be independent of the creature comforts, by a dram of wine. 
 As for Barnaby, I thought he would have kissed the bottle. 
 
 " It is now three months and more," he said, " that we have 
 had nothing save a sup of kill-devil fresh from the still, and 
 now we are mercifully permitted to taste again a glass of Ca- 
 nary. 'Tis too much," he sighed, drinking his ration. " Well, 
 we have but a few bottles, and the voyage may be longer than 
 we hope. Therefore, we must go upon short allowance. But 
 fear not. Sis ; there shall always be enough for Robin, poor lad." 
 
 He then proceeded to tell us what he intended, and whither 
 he would steer. 
 
 " We have no chart," he said. " What then ? I can draw 
 one as good as they are made to steer by in these seas." He 
 could not draw one because he had no paper or pencil, but he 
 carved one with the point of his knife on the seat, and marked 
 out our course upon it day by day. " See," he said, " here is 
 Barbadoes. Our course all night hath been sou'west. She now 
 makes five knots an hour. It is now eight, I take it, and we 
 must therefore be about forty miles from Barbadoes. To-mor- 
 row morning we should make the Grenadilloes, which are a 
 hundred and fifty miles from Carlisle Bay. Hark ye ! there 
 may be a Bristol vessel sailing from Great Granada to Barba- 
 does, or the other way. That would be the devil. But such 
 ships are rare, and there is no trade between the two islands. 
 Well ; we shall give Granada as wide a berth as may be." Here 
 he considered a little. " Therefore, 'twill be our wiser plan to 
 bear more to the south. Once south of Granada, I take it, there 
 will be no more danger. Off the main of South America the 
 sea is covered with islands. They are No Man's Land. In- 
 habitants have they none. Navigators for the most part know 
 them not. English, French, and Spanish ships come never to 
 these islands. My purpose, therefore, is to put in at Great 
 Margaritos or Tortuga, for rest and fresh water, and so presently 
 make the Dutch island of CuraQao."
 
 348 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 "And after that?" 
 
 " Then, my lad, we shall take ship to some country where a 
 sailor may get a berth and a physician may find patients. It 
 must be to Holland first ; but never fear, we shall get back to 
 England some time, and, perhaps, fight another battle, with a dif- 
 ferent tale to tell afterwards." 
 
 As the day advanced the coast of Barbadoes continually re- 
 ceded, until, before sunset, the island lay like a purple cloud low 
 down in the horizon. The northeast breeze blew steadily, but 
 the sun caused a most dreadful heat in the air, and our eyes 
 smarted from the glare of the water and the spray that was 
 blown upon us. It was at this time that Barnaby constructed 
 the tilt of Avhich I have spoken. The sea lay spread out round 
 us in a broad circle of which we were the centre, and the cloud- 
 less blue sky lay over us like unto a roof laid there for us alone. 
 It is only in a ship one doth feel thus alone in the centre of crea- 
 tion — even as if there were nothing but the sea around, the sky 
 above, and our boat in the centre. Thus must the patriarch, 
 Noah, have felt when his ark floated upon the vast face of the 
 water, and even the tops of the high hills were hidden and cov- 
 ered over. All day Barnaby scanned the horizon anxiously, 
 but there came into sight no sail or ship whatever. To us, who 
 sometimes see the vessels lying in a crowded port and hear how 
 they bring argosies from every land, it seems as if every part of 
 the ocean must be covered with sails, driving before the wind 
 from whatever quarter it may blow. But he who considers the 
 mappa mundi will presently discover that there are vast expanses 
 of sea where never a sail is seen, unless it be the fugitive sail of 
 the pirate or the bark canoe of the native. We were now near- 
 ing such a lonely sea or part of the ocean. Barnaby knew, what 
 these planters did not, how to steer across the unknown water to 
 a port of safety beyond. 
 
 At midday our captain served out another drink of water, 
 and to Robin I gave a sop of bread in Canary, which he seemed 
 to suck up and to swallow with readiness. 
 
 In such a voyage, where there is nothing to do but to keep 
 the ship on her course and to watch the horizon for a strange 
 sail, one speedily falls into silence, and sits many hours without 
 speech ; sometimes falling asleep, lulled by the ripple of the 
 water as the boat flies through it.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 349 
 
 I have said notliing about the man John Nuthall. He was a 
 plain, honest-looking man, and we found him, throughout all 
 this business, faithful, brave, and patient, obedient to Barnaby, 
 and of an even temper, and contented with his share. That he 
 had formerly been a thief in his native country cannot be denied, 
 but I hope that we shall not deny to any man the right of re- 
 pentance. Barnaby divided the crew — namely, himself, John 
 Nuthall, and me — into three watches, of eight hours each, of 
 which each man kept two at a stretch. Thus, beginning the 
 day at noon, which was the only time we knew for certain, 
 Barnaby would himself — but this was after the first two days — 
 lie down and sleep till sunset or a little later. Then John Nut- 
 hall lay down and took his turn of sleep till Barnaby thought it 
 was two o'clock in the morning, when he woke him and I took 
 his place. But for the fii;st day or two Barnaby slept not at 
 all, and the v/hole of the voyage he slept as a good watch-dog 
 sleeps — namely, with one eye open. 
 
 At sunset he gave out another pannikin of cold water to each 
 of us, a ration of bread and cheese, and a dram of wine. Then 
 he commanded John Nuthall to lie down and sleep, while I took 
 the tiller, and he himself held the ropes. Then the night fell 
 once more upon us. 
 
 Presently, while we sat there in silence, Grace rose up from 
 her seat and came aft and sat down beside me. 
 
 " Humphrey," she whispered, " think you that he is truly 
 dead ?" She was speaking not of Robin, but of the master. 
 
 " I know not, my dear." 
 
 " I can think of nothing but of that man's sudden end, and of 
 what may happen to us. Say something to comfort me, Hum- 
 phrey. You always had some good word to say — like manna for 
 refreshment. My soul is low in the dust. I cannot even pray." 
 
 " AVhy, my dear, what could I say ? 'Tis true that the man 
 was struck down, and that suddenly. And yet — " 
 
 "To think that my brother — »that Barnaby — should have 
 killed him." 
 
 " Why," said Barnaby, " if some one had to kill him, why not 
 I as well as another ? What odds who killed him ?" 
 
 *' Oh," she said, " that a man should be called away at such 
 a moment, when his brain was reeling with wine and wicked 
 thoughts."
 
 350 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " He was not dead," I told her, though I knew very well what 
 would be the end, " when we came away. Many a man recovers 
 who hath had a sword thrust through the body. He may now 
 be on the mend — who can tell ?" yet I knew, I say, very well 
 how it must have ended. " Consider, my dear, he tempted the 
 wrath of God, if any man ever did. If he is destroyed, on his 
 own head be it, not on ours. If he recover, he will have had a 
 lesson which will serve him for the rest of his life. If he doth 
 not recover, he may have time left him for something of repent- 
 ance and of prayer. Why, Grace, if we get safely to our port 
 we ought to consider the punishment of this sinner, which was 
 in self-defence, as one may truly say, the very means granted by 
 Providence for our own escape. How else should we have got 
 away ? How else should we have resolved to venture all, even 
 to carrying Robin with us V All this, I repeat, I said to encour- 
 age her, because, if I know aught of wounds, a man bleeding 
 inwardly of a sword-thrust through his vitals would have short 
 time for the collecting of his thoughts or the repentance of his 
 sins, being as truly cut off in the midst of them as if he had 
 been struck down by a thunderbolt. A man may groan and 
 writhe under the dreadful torture of such a wound, but there is 
 little room for meditation or for repentance. 
 
 Then I asked her if she were in fear as to the event of the 
 voyage. 
 
 " I fear nothing," she told me, " but to be captured and taken 
 back to the place whence we came, there to be put in prison and 
 flogged. That is my only fear. Humphrey, we have suffered 
 so much that this last shame would be too great for me to bear. 
 Oh, to be tied up before all the men and flogged like the black 
 women. 'Twould kill me, Humphrey." 
 
 "Grace," I said, very earnestly, " art thou, indeed, brave enough 
 to endure death itself rather than this last barbarity ?" 
 
 " Oh, death, death !" she cried, clasping her hands, " what is 
 death to me, who have lost everything ?" 
 
 " Ay, but consider, my dear. To die at sea — it means to 
 sink down under the cold water, out of the light of day ; to 
 be choked for want of air ; perhaps to be devoured quick by 
 sharks ; to lie at the bottom of the water, the sea-weed growing 
 over your bones ; to be rolled about by the troubled waves — " 
 
 " Humphrey, these are old wives' tales. Why, if it had been
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 351 
 
 lawful, I would have killed myself long ago. But I must not 
 lose heaven as well as earth. A brief pang it is to die, and then 
 to be happy forever. What do I care whether the sea-weed 
 covers my bones or the cold clay ? Ob, Humphrey, Humphrey ! 
 why should I care any longer to live ?" 
 
 " My dear," I said, " if we escape in safety there may yet be 
 happiness in store. No man knoweth the future." She shook 
 her head. " Happiness," I told her, " doth not commonly come 
 to man in the way which he most desires and prays ; for if he 
 doth obtain the thing for which he hath so ardently prayed, he 
 presently finds that the thing bringeth not the joy he so much 
 expected. Or it comes too late, as is the case often with honors 
 and wealth, when one foot is already in the grave. I mean, my 
 dear, that we must not despair, because the thing which most 
 we desired is taken from us. Perhaps we ought not to desire 
 anything at all, except what the Lord shall provide. But that 
 is a hard saying, and if men desired nothing, it is certain that 
 they would no longer work." I talked thus at length to divert 
 her mind from her troubles. " To thee, poor child," I said, 
 " have been given afflictions many and great — the loss of godly 
 parents, a husband whom thou must avoid, and the deprivation 
 of earthly love. Yet, since thou art so brave, Grace, I will tell 
 thee. I thought not to tell thee anything of this — " 
 
 " What, Humphrey, what ?" 
 
 " Briefly, Grace, thou shalt not be taken alive." 
 
 " How, unless you kill me ?" 
 
 " We are agreed, my dear, Barnaby and I, that if we cannot 
 escape any boats which may pursue us, the boat shall be sunk, 
 and so we shall drown together. Indeed, Grace, I confess that 
 I am not myself so much in love with life as to return to that 
 captivity and intolerable oppression from which we have gotten 
 away. Therefore, be assured, we will all drown rather than go 
 back." 
 
 " Oh !" she sighed, heavily, *' now shall I fear nothing. I 
 have not lost everything since I have thee still — and Barnaby. 
 Alas ! my head has been so full of what madam said — that we 
 should be certainly caught, and all of us flogged. To be flogged ! 
 W^ho would not rather die ?" She shivered and trembled. " To 
 be flogged ! Humphrey, I could not bear the shame." She trem- 
 bled and shivered, at the very thought.
 
 352 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " Fear not, my dear," I said, " there are those on the boat who 
 love thee too well to suffer that extreme of barbarity. Put that 
 fear out of thy mind. Think only that we may have to die, but 
 that we shall not be taken. To die, indeed, is very likely our 
 fate, for we have but a quarter of an inch of frail wood between 
 us and the seas. If a storm should arise, we fill with water and 
 go down ; if the wind should drop we should be becalmed, and 
 so perish miserably of hunger and thirst ; if Barnaby steer not 
 aright — " 
 
 " Humphrey," said Barnaby, " fill not her innocent head with 
 rubbish. 'Tis not the time of tornadoes, and there will be no 
 storm ; the wind at this season never drops, therefore we shall 
 not lie becalmed ; and as for my steering aright, why, with a 
 compass — Am I a lubber ?" 
 
 " Brother," she said, " if I am not to bo flogged the rest con- 
 cerns me little. Let us say no more about it. I am now easy 
 in my mind. Robin sleeps, Humphrey. He hath slept since 
 the sun went down, and this afternoon he looked as if he knew 
 me. Also, he took the bread sopped in Canary eagerly, as if 
 he relished it." 
 
 " These seas," said Barnaby, " are full of sharks, I tell you." 
 
 I knew not what he meant, because we were speaking of 
 Robin. 
 
 " Sharks have got their share of sense as well as humans," he 
 went on. 
 
 Still I understood him not. 
 
 " When a man on board a ship is going to die the sharks find 
 it out, and they follow that ship until he does die and is flung 
 overboard. Then they devour his body and go away, unless 
 there is more to follow. I have looked for sharks, and there 
 are none following the boat, wherefore, though I am not a doc- 
 tor, I am sure that Robin will not die." 
 
 " I know not at all," I said, " how that may be. There are 
 many things believed by sailors which are superstitions, fond 
 beliefs nourished by the continual presence of perils. On the 
 other hand, the senses of man are notoriously as far below those 
 of creatures as their intellects are above them, yet a skilful man 
 may read the premonition of death in a sick man's face. There- 
 fore, I know not but a shark may have a sense like unto the eye 
 of a hawk, or the scent of a hound, with which to sniff the ap-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 353 
 
 proach of death afar off. Let us comfort ourselves, Grace, with 
 Barnaby's assurance." 
 
 " 'Tis a well-proved and tried thing," said Barnaby ; " and 
 sailors, let me tell thee, master doctor, have no superstitions or 
 idle beliefs." 
 
 " Well, that may be. As to Robin's disease, I can pronounce 
 nothing upon it. Nay, had I the whole library of Padua to con- 
 sult I could learn nothing that would help me. First, the mind 
 falls into a languishing and spiritless condition. That causeth 
 the body to lie open to attacks of any disease which may be 
 threatening. Then, the body, being ill at ease, works upon the 
 mind, and causes it to wander beyond control. So that the soul, 
 which is bound up with body and mind, cannot show herself or 
 manifest her will. It is the will which shows the presence of 
 the soul — the will which governs body and mind alike. But, if 
 I know aught of disease, if a change comes upon Robin, it will 
 either sv.iftly cure or swiftly kill." 
 
 "Humphrey," she whispered, "if he recover, how shall 1 
 meet his face ? How shall I reply when he asks me concerning 
 my faith ?" 
 
 " My dear, he knows all. 'Twas that knowledge, the pity of 
 it, and the madness of it, believe me, which threw him into so 
 low a condition." 
 
 " I have looked daily for reproaches in thy kind eyes, Hum- 
 phrey. I have found none, truly. But, from Robin. Oh ! I 
 dare not think of meeting those eyes of his." 
 
 " Reproach thee will he never, Grace. Sorrow and love, I 
 doubt not, will lie in his eyes all his life. What thou hast done 
 was for him and for thy father and thy brother and for all of 
 us. But oh, the pity and the villainy ! Fear not to meet the 
 poor lad's eyes, Grace." 
 
 " I long to see the light of reason in those dear eyes — and yet 
 I fear. Humphrey, I am married, but against my will. I am a 
 wife, and yet no wife. I am resolved that, come what may, I 
 will never, never go to my husband. And I love my Robin still. 
 Oh !" she sobbed, " I love my Robin still." 
 
 " If we die," 1 told her, " you shall go down with your arm 
 round his neck, and so you shall die together." 
 
 Then we sat silent awhile. 
 
 " My dear," I said, " lie down and take some sleep."
 
 354 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 " I cannot sleep, Humphrey, for tlie peace of mind wliich 
 hath fallen upon me. If Robin come to his senses again I shall 
 not fear him. And the night, it is so peaceful — so cool and so 
 peaceful." (The wind had dropped till there was barely enough 
 to fill the sail, and only enough way on the boat to make a soft 
 murmur of the water along her sides.) " The sea is so smooth ; 
 the sky is so bright, and so full of stars. Can there be any- 
 where a peace like this ? Alas ! if we could sail still upon a 
 silent and a peaceful ocean. But we must land somewhere. 
 There will be men ; and where there are men there is wicked- 
 ness, with drink and wrath and evil passions, such as we have 
 left behind us. Humphrey, oh, my brother Humphrey, it would 
 be sweet if the boat would sink beneath us now, and so, with 
 Robin's hand in mine, we could all go together to the happy 
 land where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage." 
 
 From beneath the tilt there cam-e a voice — I verily believe it 
 was the answer sent straight from heaven to comfort this poor, 
 faithful soul. " Grace " — it was the voice of Robin, in his right 
 mind at last. " Grace," he said, " we will continue to love each 
 other, yet without sin." 
 
 " Oh, Robin, Robin." She moved quickly to his side and fell 
 upon her knees. " Robin, thou wilt recover." 
 
 " Stay," I interposed. " Robin will first have a cup of cor- 
 dial." 
 
 " I have been sleeping," he said. " I know not what hath 
 happened. We are in a boat, it seems, and on the open sea. 
 Unless I am still dreaming, we are slaves to a planter in Barba- 
 does. And this is Grace, who was m England — and I know not 
 what it means." 
 
 " You have been ill, Robin," I told him. " You have been 
 nigh unto death. Many things have happened of which we will 
 speak, but not now. Grace is at your side and Barnaby is navi- 
 gating the boat. Drink this cup of wine — so. Sleep now, and 
 in the morning, if it please Heaven, you shall be so strong that 
 you shall hear everything. Ask no more questions, but sleep. 
 Give him your hand, Grace." 
 
 She obeyed me, sitting at his side and taking his hand in hers, 
 and so continued for the rest of the night, Robin sleeping peace- 
 fully. 
 
 In a word, he was restored. The fresh sea-breeze brought
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 355 
 
 liim back to life and reason ; and, tliongli lie was still weak, lie 
 was now as sound in his mind as any man could desire to be. 
 And in the morning we told liim all tbat had been done, where- 
 at he marvelled, 
 
 Grace might love him still. That was most true ; yet between 
 them stood the man. Why, there was another man in the boat 
 who also loved a girl he could never wed. His passion, I swear, 
 was full of constancy, tenderness, and patience. AVould Robin 
 be as patient ? 
 
 When the day broke again we were still sailing over a lovely 
 sea, with never a sail in sight and never a sign of land. 
 
 But now Robin was sitting up, his face pale and his hands 
 thin ; but the light of reason was in his eyes, and on his lips 
 such a smile of tenderness as we were wont to see there in the 
 days of old, 
 
 " Said I not," cried Barnaby, " that he would recover ? Trust 
 the sharks for common -sense. And again an open sea, with 
 never a sail in sight. Praise the Lord therefore," 
 
 But Grace, when the sun rose above the waves, threw back 
 her hood and burst forth into singing : 
 
 " Lord, how glorious is thy grace ! 
 And wondrous large thy love ! 
 At such a dreadful time and place 
 To such as faithful prove." 
 
 The tears came into my eyes only to see the change that had 
 fallen upon her gracious, smiling countenance ; it Avas not, truly, 
 the sweet and happy face that we remembered before her troubles 
 fell upon her, but that face graver with the knowledge of evil and 
 of pain. And now it was like unto such a face as one may see 
 in many an altar-piece in Italy, glorified with gratitude and love. 
 
 Then the woman called Deb fell to weeping and blubbering 
 for very joy that her mistress looked happy again. 'Twas a 
 faithful, loving creature, 
 
 " Humphrey," said Grace, " 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,"
 
 356 FOR FAITU AND FREEDOM. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIL 
 
 WE SAIL FOR THE BAHAMAS. 
 
 ' *' 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 
 stronsf. We will find thee another sweetheart shall make thee 
 lift up thy 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 re- 
 tired, 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 Tortu- 
 ga, 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
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 357 
 
 make for tlie island of Cura^oa and the protection of the Dutch- 
 
 men." 
 
 It needs not to tell much more about the voyage, in which we 
 were favored by Heaven with everything that we could desire — 
 steady breeze from the best quarter, a sea never too rough, pro- 
 visions 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 cocoa- 
 nuts ; 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 happi- 
 ness. '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 con- 
 tent, 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 lux- 
 urious dream the image of Grace could have any part. 
 
 We landed, therefore, on the desert island of Tortuga, where 
 we remained for several days, hauling up our boat and cover- 
 ing her with branches to keep off the sun. Here we lived lux- 
 uriously 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
 
 358 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 ever saw. Here Robin mended apace, and began to walk about 
 witli no more help from liis nurses. 
 
 We were minded, as I have said, to sail as far as tlie island 
 of Cura9oa, but an accident prevented this. 
 
 One day, when we had been ashore for ten days or there- 
 abouts, 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 undermanned, and I think that 
 we have nothing to fear from her, unless she is bound for Bar- 
 badoes, or for Granada 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 des- 
 perate 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 conversa- 
 tion 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 Curagoa, 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 brig- 
 antine, 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 Provi- 
 dence, 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 Kinsf James to reach. 
 What say ye all ? Grace, what sayest thou ?" 
 
 " Truly, brother, I say nothing."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 359 
 
 " Then we will agree, and go with them." 
 
 We went on board, taking with us a good supply of turtle, 
 clear w^ater, 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 have long been 
 the rendezvous of English privateers. Ten years before this the 
 Spaniards plucked up courage to attack and destroy the settle- 
 ment, 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 col- 
 onv, is re-established. 
 
 Thither, therefore, we sailed. It seemed as if we were be- 
 come a mere shuttlecock of fortune, beaten and driven hither 
 and thither upon the face of the earth. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVni. 
 
 THE ISLAND OF PROVIDENCE. 
 
 It was some time in the month of March, Anno Domini 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 peo- 
 ple 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 there- 
 abouts. 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 only one 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 about it, and repaired it, we lived in it. 
 Some of the people helped us to a porker or two and some chick- 
 ens. They also gave us some salt beef and maize to start with.
 
 360 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 That we had little money (only what was left over from the sale 
 of Grace'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 attend- 
 ing 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 un- 
 der 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 use, maize, to- 
 bacco, coffee, cocoa, plantains, pines, jDotatoes, and many other 
 fruits and vegetables. 
 
 Barnaby soon grew tired of this quiet life, and went on board 
 a vessel 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 the island. Nor were there any clothes, 
 so that the raggedness of our attire (we were dressed in the sail- 
 ors^ clothes our friends the privateers gave us) became incredi- 
 ble. I made some kind of guitar on which we played, and in 
 the evening we would have very good playing and singing to- 
 gether of such pieces and songs as we could remember. I read 
 verses, too, for amusement, and Grace learned them. We found 
 our brother-settlers a rough but honest folk ; to them we taught 
 many arts : how to procure sea-salt, how to make wine from 
 pineapples, how to cure the tobacco-leaf — things which great- 
 ly added to their comfort ; and seeing that there was no church 
 on the island, we every Sabbath had a meeting for prayer and 
 exhortation. 
 
 Seeing, then, that we had all that man could desire, with per- 
 fect freedom from anxiety, our liberty, a delightful climate, and
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREKDOM. 361 
 
 plenty to eat and drink — ay, and of tlae 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 grat- 
 itude 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 pigs (for we had now everything around us that is 
 wanting 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. Grace showed 
 hers in silence, sitting apart, and communing with herself. I 
 dare say I also showed my own 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 vk'ere 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, there- 
 fore, 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 mouth unto me. 
 
 Now I confess that at this time I was grievously tormented 
 with the thought that Grace'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 un- 
 happy lovers in such a sense they would have been compelled 
 to live for the rest of their lives on this island, and their off- 
 spring would have been illegitimate. So that, though the letter 
 of the law caused a most cruel injustice — summum jus, sumrnum 
 nefas — >it was better that it should be obeyed. In the end it was 
 a most happy circumstance that it was so obeyed. \ 
 
 16 -
 
 362 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 I have presently to relate the means by which this injustice 
 was removed. As for my own share in it, I shall neither exag- 
 gerate nor shall I extenuate it. I shall not defend it. I shall 
 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 on Barbadoes and partly on 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, rheuma- 
 tisms, 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 Ja- 
 maica, 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 perti- 
 nent. 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 up- 
 holders 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 indigna- 
 tion against the cruelties of the Bloody Assize that no one would 
 be again 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 continued, "my cousins, finding that I am 
 well skilled, and have already navigated a ship with credit, have
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 363 
 
 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. E." 
 
 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 Grace from her husband and to go back to Bos- 
 ton with Barnaby if we found no reason to stay in England. 
 But the woman called Deb, though she wept at leaving her mis- 
 tress, would not go back to the place where her past wick- 
 edness might be remembered, and as John Nuthall was also un- 
 willing, 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 min- 
 ister of religion, nor any magistrate or form of government what- 
 ever (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 sa- 
 cred 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 Mag- 
 dalen, and so they were well matched, I hope and believe that, 
 being well resolved for the future, they Avill 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
 
 364 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM, 
 
 had been discontented with our lot, when we sailed away Grace 
 fell to weeping. We had murmured, and our murmuring was 
 heard. We shall now live out what is left to us in England, and 
 we shall 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 free- 
 dom 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 Grace, of whose 
 cruel lot they had heard from Barnaby, they showed (but that 
 no one could help) an affection quite uncommon. They gener- 
 ously furnished us all with apparel becoming our station, and 
 with money for our daily occasions ; they approved of our go- 
 ing with Barnaby, but in the event of our finding no welcome, 
 or means of livelihood at home, and if Grace should be mo- 
 lested by her husband, they engaged us to return to New Eng- 
 land. Here, they said, Robin might become a farmer, if he had 
 no inclination for trade ; they would joyfully receive Grace 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 loath 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
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 365 
 
 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 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 Bar- 
 naby, who had then sat humbly in the waist, where the prison- 
 ers were confined, now walked the quarter-deck, a laced kerchief 
 round his neck, lace ruffles at his wrist, a scarlet coat, 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 w^as 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, in- 
 deed, 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 un- 
 happy 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 in which I was curious : namely, as to 
 
 . what Barnaby would do in the matter of the villain Penne. On 
 
 I 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.
 
 366 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 "Grace," 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 Brad- 
 ford Orcas) begin to laugh at intervals, rolling about in his sad- 
 dle, 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 winter 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, let- 
 ting blood, and so forth. At the sight of a sea-captain, many 
 of whom came to this place, the worthy merchant's servant with- 
 out suspicion opened the door of his 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, com- 
 manding the ship Pilgrim from Boston, at your service. I am 
 also brother to the young woman, Grace Eykin, whom you robbed 
 ('twas my money) of two hundred and fifty pounds, and after- 
 wards 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 honor those moneys were 
 sent to Barbadoes. Upon my honor, 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
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 367 
 
 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 in- 
 tend to kill thee, brother, for thy great villainy. 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 in- 
 jury 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 assist- 
 ance. 
 
 His laughter was caused by the remembrance of the twisting 
 of the man's features in this agony and by his meanings 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 wintry sun, now setting, lay upon the woods, yel- 
 low and red with the autumn leaves not yet fallen. As we 
 neared the village the sun went down and a mist began to rise. 
 The doors were closed and no one looked forth to greet us ; the 
 old cottage where Grace was born and 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
 
 368 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 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, was 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— 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 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 Grace, 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 Grace'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, 
 Grace singing treble, or first, and I the second part, 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 splendor she doth rise, 
 The lesser lights they hide.
 
 Tlic iiiait. With Jam dragging hia teeth out icith the jnncers, Barnaby 
 Iwlding the pistol to tJie poor wretch's head."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 369 
 
 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. 
 
 " My son, my son !" cried madam. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE GREAT LORD CHANCELLOR. 
 
 But the Prince of Orange had already landed. 
 
 We learned this news next day, and you may be sure that we 
 were in the saddle again and riding to Exeter, there to join 
 his standard. 
 
 This we did with the full consent of madam and of Grace ; 
 much as we had suffered already, they would not deter us, be- 
 cause this thing would have been approved by Sir Christopher 
 and Dr. Eykin. Therefore we went. 
 
 My second campaign, as everybody knows, was bloodless. 
 To begin with, we had an army, not of raw country lads armed 
 indifferently and untrained, but of veteran troops, fifteen thou- 
 sand strong, all well equipped, and with the best general in Eu- 
 rope at their head. At first, indeed, such was the dread in 
 men's minds caused by Lord Jeffrey's cruelties, few came in ; 
 yet this was presently made up by what followed, when, with- 
 out any fighting at all, the king's regiments melted away, his 
 priests fled, and his friends deserted him. This was a very dif- 
 ferent business from that other, when we followed one whom I 
 now know to have been a mere tinsel pretender, no better fitted ' 
 to be a king than a vagabond actor at a fair is fit to be a lord. 
 Alas ! what blood was wasted in that mad attempt, of which I 
 was myself one of the most eager promoters ! I was then young, 
 and I believed all that I was told by the conspirators in Hol- 
 land ; I took their list of well-wishers for insurgents already 
 16* ■ A A
 
 370 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 armed and waiting only for a signal ; I thought the roll of no- 
 ble names set down for sturdy Protestants as that of men al- 
 ready pledged to the cause ; I believed that the whole nation 
 would rise at the first opportunity to turn out the priests ; I 
 even believed in the legitimacy of the duke, and that against 
 the express statement of his father (if King Charles was in 
 reality his father), and I believed what they told me of his 
 princely virtues, his knowledge of the art of war, and his heroic 
 valor. I say that I believed all these things, and that I became 
 a willino: and zealous tool in their hands. As for what those 
 who planned the expedition believed, I know not ; nor will any 
 one now ever learn what promises were made to the duke, what 
 were broken, and why he was, from the outset, save for a few 
 days at Taunton, so dejected and disappointed. As for me, I 
 shall always believe that the unhappy man, unwise and soft- 
 hearted, was betrayed by those whom he trusted. 
 
 It is now an old tale, though King Monmouth will not speed- 
 ily be forgotten in the AVest Country, nor will the memory of 
 the Bloody Assize. The brave lads who followed him are dead 
 and buried, some in unhonored graves hard by the place where 
 they were hanged; some under the burning sun of the West 
 Indies ; the duke himself hath long since paid the penalty of 
 his rash attempt. All is over and ended, except the memory 
 of it. 
 
 It is now common history, known to everybody, how the Prince 
 of Orange lingered in the West Country, his army inactive, as 
 if he knew (doubtless he was well informed upon this particu- 
 lar) that the longer he remained idle, the more likely was the 
 king's cause to fall to pieces. There are some who think that 
 if King James had risked an action he could not but have gained, 
 whatsoever its event; I mean that, the blood of his soldiers 
 once roused, they would have remained steadfast to him and 
 would have fought for him. But this he dared not to risk, 
 wherefore the prince did nothing, while the king's regmients 
 fell to pieces, and his friends deserted him. It was in Decem- 
 ber when the prince came to Windsor, and I with him, once 
 more chirurgeon in a rebel army. While there I rode to 
 London, partly with the intention of judging for myself on the 
 temper of this people, partly because, after so long an absence, 
 I wished once more to visit a place where there are books and
 
 yOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 371 
 
 pictures, and partly because there were certain roots and lierbs 
 whicli I desired to communicate to tlie college of physicians in 
 Warwick Lane. It happened to be the very day when the 
 king's first flight — that, namely, when he was taken in the Isle 
 of Sheppey — became known. The streets in the city of London 
 I found crowded with people hurrying to and fro, running in 
 bands and companies, shouting and crying as if in the presence 
 of some great and imminent danger. It was reported, and cur- 
 rently believed, that the disbanded Irish soldiers had begun to 
 massacre the Protestants. There was no truth at all in the re- 
 port, but yet the bells were ringing from all the towers, the 
 crowds were exhorting each other to tear down and destroy the 
 Romish chapels, to hunt for and to hang the priests, and espe- 
 cially Jesuits (I know not whether they found any), and to shout 
 for the Prince of Orange. I stood aside to let the crowds (thus 
 religiously disposed) run past, but there seemed no end to them. 
 Presently, however (this was in the front of the new Royal Ex- 
 change), there drew near another kind of crowd. There marched 
 six or eight sturdy fellows bearing stout cudgels and hauling 
 along a prisoner. Round them there ran shrieking, hooting, and 
 cursing a mob of a hundred men and more ; they continually 
 made attacks upon the guard, fighting them with sticks and 
 fists, but they were always thrust back. I thought at first that 
 they had caught some poor wretched priest whom they desired 
 to murder. But it proved to be a prize worth many priests. 
 As they drew nearer, I discerned the prisoner. He was dressed 
 in the garb of a common sailor, with short petticoats (what they 
 call slops) and a jacket ; his cap had been torn off, leaving the 
 bare skull, which showed that he was no sailor (because common 
 sailors do not wear wigs) ; blood was flowing down his cheek 
 from a fresh wound ; his eyes rolled hither and thither in an 
 extremity of terror ; I could not hear what he said, for the shout- 
 ing of those around him, but his lips moved, and I think he was 
 praying his guards to close in and to protect him. Never, sure- 
 ly, was seen a more terror-stricken creature. 
 
 I knew his face. Once seen (I had seen it once) it could 
 never be forgotten. The red and bloated cheeks which even his 
 fear could not make pale ; the eyes, more terrible than have 
 been given to any other human creature, these I could not for- 
 get ; m dreams I see them still. I saw that face at Exeter,
 
 372 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 when the cruel judge exulted over our misery, and rejoiced over 
 the sentence which he pronounced. Yea, he laughed when he 
 told us how we should swing, but not till we were dead, and 
 then the knife — delivering his sentence so that no single point 
 of its horror should be lost to us. Yes ; it was the face of 
 Judge Jciireys — none other — this abject wretch was that great 
 judge. Why, when we went back to our prison, there were 
 some who cast themselves upon the ground, and for terror of 
 what was to come fell into a mere dementia. And now I saw 
 him thus humbled, thus disgraced, thus threatened, thus in the 
 last extremity and agony of terror. 
 
 They had discovered him thus disguised and in hiding at a 
 tavern in Wapping, and were dragging him to the presence of 
 the lord mayor. It is a long distance from Wapping to Guild- 
 hall, and they went but slowly, because they were beset and 
 surrounded by these wolves who howled to have his blood. And 
 all the way he shrieked and trembled for fear ! 
 
 Sure and certain is the vengeance of the Lord ! 
 
 This Haman, this unjust judge, was thus suffering, at the 
 hands of the savage mob, pangs far worse than those endured 
 by the poor rustics whom he had delivered to the executioner. 
 I say worse, because I have not only read, but have myself 
 proved, that the rich and the learned, those, that is, who live 
 luxuriously, and those who have power to imagine and to feel 
 beforehand, do suffer far more in disease than the common ig- 
 norant folk. The scholar dies of terror before ever he feels the 
 surgeon's knife, while the rustic bares his limb, insensible and 
 callous, however deep the cut, or keen the pain. I make no 
 doubt, therefore, that the great lord chancellor, while they 
 haled all the way from Wapping to Guildhall, suffered as much 
 as fifty ploughboys flogged at the cart-tail. 
 
 Many thousands there were who desired revenge upon him. 
 I know not what revenge would satisfy the implacable, because 
 revenge can do no more than kill the body ; but his worst ene- 
 my should be satisfied with this his dreadful fate. Even Bar- 
 naby, who was sad because he could get no revenge on his own 
 account (he wanted a bloody battle, with the rout of the king's 
 armies, and the pursuit of a flying enemy, such as had happened 
 at Sedgemoor), was satisfied with the justice which was done 
 to that miserable man. It is wonderful that he was not killed
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 373 
 
 amidst so many threatening cudgels ; but bis guards prevented 
 that, not from any love tbey bare bim, but quite tbe contrary 
 (more unforgiving faces one never saw) ; for tbey intended to 
 band bim over to tbe lord mayor, and tbat be sbould be tried 
 for all bis cruelties and treacberies, and perbaps experience him- 
 self that punishment of banging and disembowelling which be 
 bad inflicted on so many ignorant and misled men. 
 
 How he was committed to tbe Tower, where he shortly 
 died in the greatest torture of body as well as mind, everybody 
 knows. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 Now I am come to the last event of this history, and I have 
 to write down the confession of my own share in tbat event. 
 For the others — for Grace and for Robin — tbe thing must be 
 considered as tbe crown and completion of all tbe mercies. For 
 ixie — what is it? But you shall hear. When tbe secrets of 
 all hearts are laid open, then will Grace bear it also; what she 
 will then say, or what think, I know not. It w^as done for her 
 sake ; for her happiness have I laid this guilt upon my soul. 
 Nay, when the voice of conscience doth exhort me to repent, and 
 to confess my sin, then there still arisetb within my soul, as it 
 were, tbe strain of a joyful hymn, a song of gratitude that I was 
 enabled to return her to freedom and tbe arms of the man she 
 loved. If any learned doctor of divinity, or any versed in tbat 
 science which the Romanists love (they call it casuistry), should 
 happen to read this chapter of confession, I pray tbat tbey con- 
 sider my case, even though it will then be useless as far as I 
 myself am concerned, seeing that I shall be gone before a judge 
 who will, I hope — even though my earthly affections do not suf- 
 fer me to separate my sin from the consequences which followed 
 — be more merciful than I have deserved. 
 
 While, then, I stood watching this signal example of God's 
 wrath, I w^as plucked gently by tbe sleeve, and turning, saw one 
 whose countenance I knew not. He was dressed as a lawyer, 
 but his gown was ragged and his bands yellow. He looked sunk
 
 374 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 in poverty, and his face was inflated with those signs which pro- 
 claim aloud the habit of immoderate drinking, 
 
 " Sir," he said, " if I mistake not, you are Dr. Humphrey 
 Challis." 
 
 " The same, sir, at your service," I replied, with some misgiv- 
 ings ; and yet, being one of the prince's following, there needed 
 none. 
 
 " I have seen you, sir, in the chambers of your cousin, Mr. 
 Benjamin Boscorel, my brother learned in the law. We drank 
 together, though, I remember, you still passed the bottle. It is 
 now four or five years ago ; I wonder not that you have forgot- 
 ten me. We change quickly, we who are the jolly companions 
 of the bottle ; we drink our noses red, and we paint our cheeks 
 purple. Nay, we drink ourselves out of our last guinea and our 
 very apparel. What then, sir ? A short life and a merry. Sir, 
 yonder is a sorry sight. The first law officer of the crown thus 
 to be hauled along the street by a howling mob. Ought such a 
 thing to be suffered ? 'Tis a sad and sorry sight, I say," 
 
 " Sir," I replied, hotly, " ought such villains as Judge Jef- 
 freys to be suffered to live ?" 
 
 He considered a little, as one who is astonished and desires 
 to collect his thoughts. Perhaps he had already taken more 
 than a morning draught. 
 
 " I remember now," he said. " My memory is not so good as 
 it was. We drink that away as well. Yes, I remember ; I crave 
 your forgiveness, doctor. You were yourself engaged with 
 Monmouth. Your cousin told me as much. Naturally, you 
 love not this good judge, who yet did nothing but what the 
 king, his master, ordered him to do. I, sir, have often had the 
 honor of sitting over a bottle with his lordship. When his in- 
 firmities allowed — though not yet old he is grievously afflicted — 
 he had no equal for a song or a jest, and would drink so long as 
 any were left to keep him company. Ha ! They have knocked 
 him down, now they will kill him. No ; he is again upon his 
 feet. Those who protect him close in ; so, they have passed out 
 of our sight. Doctor, shall we crack a flask together ? I have 
 no money, unhappily, but I will, with pleasure, drink at thy 
 expense." 
 
 I remembered the man's face now, but not his name. 'Twas 
 one of Ben's boon companions. Well, if hard drinking brings
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 375 
 
 men so speedily to rags and poverty, even though it be a merry 
 life, which I doubt, give me moderation. 
 
 " Pray, sir," I said, coldly, " have me excused. I am no 
 drinker." 
 
 " Then, doctor, you will, perhaps, lend me, until we meet 
 again, a single guinea." I foolishly complied with this request. 
 " Doctor, I thank you," he said. " Will you now come and 
 drink with me, at my expense? Sir, I say plainly, you do not 
 well to refuse a friendly glass. I could tell you many things, if 
 you would but drink with me, concerning my Lord Jeffreys. 
 There are things which would make you laugh. Come, doctor, 
 I love not to drink alone. Your cousin, now, was always ready 
 to drink with any man, until he fell ill." 
 
 " IIow, is my cousin ill ?" 
 
 "Assuredly. He is sick unto death. Yesterday I went to 
 visit him, thinking to drink a glass with him, and, perhaps, to 
 borrow a guinea or two, but found him in bed and raving. If 
 you will drink with me, doctor, I can tell you many curious 
 things about your cousin. And now, I remember, you were sent 
 to the plantations ; your cousin told me so. You have returned 
 before your time. Well, the king hath run away ; you are 
 doubtless safe. Your cousin hath gotten his grandfather's es- 
 tate. Lord Jeffreys, who loved him mightily, procured that 
 grant for him. W^hen your cousin wakes at night he swears 
 that he sees his grandfather by his bedside, looking at him re- 
 proachfully, so that he drinks the harder — 'tis a merry life. He 
 hath also married a wife, and she ran away from him at the 
 church door, and he now cannot hear of her or find her any- 
 where. So that he curses her and drinks the harder — oh, 'tis 
 always the jolliest dog. They say that he is not the lawyer that 
 he was, and that his clients are leaving him. All mine have 
 left me long since. Come and drink with me, doctor." 
 
 I broke away from the poor toper who had drunk up his wits 
 as well as his money, and hurried to my cousin's chambers, 
 into which I had not thought to enter, save as one who brings 
 reproaches — a useless burden. 
 
 Benjamin was lying in bed ; an old crone sat by the fire, 
 nodding. Beside her was a bottle, and she was, I found, half 
 drunk. Her I quickly sent about her business. No one else 
 had been attending him. Yet he was laid low, as I presently
 
 376 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 discovered, witla that kind of fever wliich is bred in tlie villain- 
 ous air of our prisons — tlie same fever whicli had carried off 
 his grandfather. 
 
 Perhaps if there were no foul and stinking wards, jails, and 
 chinks, this kind of fever would be banished altogether, and be 
 no more seen. So, if we could discover the origin and cause of 
 all diseases we might, once more, restore man to his primitive 
 condition, which I take to have been one free from any kind of 
 disease or infirmity, designed at first by his Creator so to live 
 forever, and after the Fall, enabled, when medicine hath so far 
 advanced, to die of old age after such prolongation of life and 
 strength as yet we cannot even understand. 
 
 " Cousin," I said, " I am sorry to find thee lying in this 
 condition." 
 
 " Ay," he replied, in a voice weak and low, not like his old 
 blustering tones. " Curse me and upbraid me if you will. How 
 art thou come hither ? Is it the ghost of Humphrey ? Art thou 
 dead, like my grandfather ? Are we on the plantations of Bar- 
 badoes ?" 
 
 " Indeed I am no ghost, Benjamin. As for curses, I have 
 none ; and as for reproaches, I leave them to your conscience." 
 
 " Humphrey, I am sore afflicted. I am now so low that I can- 
 not even sit upright in my bed. But you are a doctor ; you 
 will bring me back to health. I am already better only for see- 
 ing you here." 
 
 I declare that as yet I had no thought, no thought at all, of 
 what I was to do. I was but a physician in presence of a sick 
 man, and therefore bound to help him if I could. 
 
 I asked him, first, certain questions, as physicians use, con- 
 cerning his disorder and its symptoms. I learned that, after 
 attending at the court, he was attacked by fits of shivering and 
 of great heat, being hot and cold alternately, and that in order 
 to expel the fever he had sat drinking the whole evening — a 
 most dangerous thing to do. Next, that in the morning he had 
 been unable to rise from his bed, and being thirsty had drunk 
 more wine — a thing enough of itself to kill a man in such a 
 fever. Then he lost his head, and could tell me no more what 
 had happened until he saw me standing by his bedside. In short, 
 he had been in delirium, and was now in a lucid interval, out 
 of which he would presently fall a-wandering again, and per-
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 377 
 
 haps raving ; and so another lucid interval, after -wliicli he would 
 die unless something could be done for him. 
 
 I liked not his appearance nor the account which he gave me, 
 nor did I like his pulse or the strange look in his eyes. Death 
 doth often show his coming by such a prophetic terror of the 
 eyes. 
 
 " Humphrey," he said, pitifully. " It was by no fault of 
 mine that thou wast sent to the plantations." 
 
 " That I know full well, cousin," I answered him. " Be easy 
 on that score." 
 
 <* And as for Grace," he went on. " All is fair in love." 
 
 I made no reply because, at this point, a great temptation as- 
 sailed my soul. 
 
 You have heard how I learned many secrets of the women 
 while I was abroad. Now, while we were in Providence Island, 
 I found a woman of the breed they call half-caste, that is, half 
 Indian and half Portuguese, living in what she called wedlock 
 with an English sailor, who did impart to me a great secret of 
 her own people. I obtained from her, not only the knowledge 
 of a most potent drug (known already to the Jesuits), but also 
 a goodly quantity of the drug itself. This, with certain other 
 discoveries and observations of my own, I was about to com- 
 municate to the college in Warwick Lane. 
 
 As for this drug, I verily believe it is the most potent medi- 
 cine ever yet discovered. It is now some years since it was 
 first brought over to Europe by the Jesuits, and is therefore 
 called Pulvis Jestciticics, and sometimes Peruvian Bark. When 
 administered at such a stage of the fever as had now been 
 reached by my unhappy cousin, it seldom fails to vivify the 
 spirits and so to act upon the nerves as to restore the sinking, 
 and to call back to life a man almost moribund. 
 
 Remembering this, I lugged the packet out of my pocket and 
 laid it on the table. 
 
 " Be of good cheer, cousin," I said. " I have a drug which 
 is strong enough, with the help of God, to make a dying man 
 sit up again. Courage, then." 
 
 When I had said these words my temptation fell upon me. 
 It came in the guise of a voice which whispered in my ear. 
 
 " Should this man die," it said, " there will be freedom for 
 Grace. She can then marry the man she loves. She will be
 
 378 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 restored to happiness. While he lives she must still continue 
 in misery, being cut ofi from love. Let him die, therefore." 
 
 " Humphrey," said Ben, " in this matter of Grace ; if she 
 will come to me, I will make her happy. But I know not where 
 she is hidden. Things go ill with me since that unlucky day. 
 I would to God I had not done it. Nothing hath gone well 
 since ; and I drink daily to hide her face. Yet at night she 
 haunts me, with her father who threatens, and her mother who 
 weeps, and my grandfather who reproaches. Humphrey, tell 
 me, what is it, man ? What mean your looks V 
 
 For while he spoke that other voice was in my ears also. 
 
 " Should he die Grace will be happy again. Should he live 
 she will continue in misery." At these words, which were but 
 my own thoughts, yet involuntary, I felt so great a pity, such 
 an overwhelming love for Grace, that my spirit was wholly car- 
 ried away. To restore her freedom ! Oh, what price was too 
 great for such a gift ? Nay, I was seized with the thought that 
 to give her so great a thing, even my own destruction would be 
 a light price to pay. Never, until that moment, had I known 
 how fondly and truly I loved her ; why, if it were to be done 
 over again — but this matters not — I have to make my con- 
 fession. 
 
 " Humphrey, speak !" I suppose that my trouble showed it- 
 self in my face. 
 
 " Thou art married to Grace," I said, slowly. " That cannot 
 be denied. So long as thou livest, Benjamin, so long will she 
 be robbed of everything that she desires ; so long will she be 
 unhappy. Now, if thou shouldst die — " 
 
 " Die ! I cannot die ; I must live." He tried to raise him- 
 self, but he was too weak. " Cousin, save my life !" 
 
 " If thou shouldst die, Benjamin," I went on, regardless of 
 his words, " she will be set free. It is only by thy death that 
 she can be set free. Say, then, to thyself, ' I have done this 
 poor woman so great an injury that nothing but my death can 
 atone for it. Willingly, therefore, will I lay down my life, hop- 
 ing thus to atone for this abominable wickedness.' " 
 
 " Humphrey, do not mock me. Give me — give me — give me 
 speedily the drug of which you spoke. I die — I die — oh, give 
 me of your drug !" 
 
 Then I took the packet containing the Pulvis Jesuiticus and
 
 " Titen I knelt beside his bed, and prayed aloud for Itim; but inces- 
 santly he cried for help, wearing himself out tmth prayers and curses."
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 379 
 
 threw it upon the fire, where in a moment it was a little heap of 
 ashes. 
 
 " Now, Benjamin," I said, " I cannot help thee. Thou must 
 surely die." 
 
 He shrieked, he wept, he implored me to do something to 
 keep him alive. He began to curse and to swear. 
 
 " No one can now save thee, Benjamin," I told him. " Not 
 all the College of Physicians, not all the medicines in England. 
 Thou must die. Listen and heed. In a short time, unless thy 
 present sickness causeth thee to expire, there will fall upon thee 
 another fit of fever and delirium, after which another interval of 
 reason. Perhaps another ; but yet thou must surely die. Pre- 
 pare thy soul, therefore. Is there any message for Grace that 
 thou wouldst send to her, being now at the point of death ?" 
 
 His only answer was to curse and weep alternately. 
 
 Then I knelt beside his bed, and prayed aloud for him ; but 
 incessantly he cried for help, wearing himself out with prayers 
 and curses. 
 
 " Benjamin," I said, when I had thus prayed awhile, but in- 
 effectually, " I shall take to Grace, instead of these curses, which 
 avail nothing, a prayer for pardon, in order to touch her heart 
 and cause her to think of thee with forgiveness, as of one who 
 repented at the end. This I shall do for her sake. I shall also 
 tell thy father that thy death was repentant, and shall take to 
 him also a prayer for forgiveness as from thee. This will light- 
 en his sorrow, and cause him to remember thee with the greater 
 love. And to Robin, too, so that he may cease to call thee vil- 
 lain, I will carry not these ravings, but a humble prayer, as from 
 thyself, for forgiveness." 
 
 This is my confession. /, who might have saved my cousin, 
 suffered him to die. 
 
 The sick man, when he found that prayers or curses would 
 not avail, fell to moaning, rolling his head from side to side. 
 When he was thus quiet I prayed again for him, exhorting 
 him to lift up his soul to his Judge, and assuring him of our 
 full forgiveness. But, indeed, I know not if he heard or un- 
 derstood. It was then about four of the clock, and growing 
 dark. I lit a candle and examined him again. I think that 
 he was now unconscious. He seemed as if he slept. I sat 
 down and watched.
 
 380 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 I think that at midnight, or thereabouts, I must have fallen 
 
 asleep. 
 
 When I awoke the candle was out and the fire was out. The 
 room was in perfect darkness. I laid my hand upon my cous- 
 in's forehead. He was cold and dead. 
 
 Then I heard the voice of the watchman in the street. " Past 
 two o'clock, and a frosty morning." 
 
 The voice which I had heard before whispered again in my 
 ear. 
 
 " Grace is free, Grace is free. Thou — thou — thou alone hast 
 set her free. Thou hast killed her husband." 
 
 I threw myself upon my knees, and spent the rest of that 
 long night in seeking for repentance. But, even as now, the 
 lamentation of a sinner was mingled with the joy of thinking 
 that Grace was free at last, and by none other hand than mine. 
 
 This is my confession. I might have saved my cousin, and I 
 suffered him to die. Wherefore I have left the profession in 
 which it was my ambition to distinguish myself, and am no 
 longer anything but a poor and obscure person living on the 
 charity of my friends in a remote village. 
 
 Two days afterwards I was sitting at the table looking through 
 the dead man's papers, when I heard a footstep on the stair. 
 It was Barnaby, who broke noisily into the room. 
 " Where is Benjamin ?" he cried. " Where is that villain ?" 
 *' Wliat do you want with him ?" 
 " I want to kill him. I am come to kill him." 
 " Look upon the bed, Barnaby." I laid back the sheet and 
 showed him the pale face of the dead man. " The hand of the 
 Lord — or that of another — hath already killed him. Art thou 
 now content?" 
 
 CHAPTER LIL 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 In the decline of years, when the sixtieth birthday is near at 
 hand, and one looks not to live much longer, and the future 
 hath no fresh joy to bring with it, but only infirmities of age
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 381 
 
 and pain, it is profitable and pleasant to look back upon the 
 past, to observe tlie guidance of the Unseen Hand, to repent 
 one's sins, and to live over again those seasons, whether of sor- 
 row or of joy, which we now perceive to have been providen- 
 tially ordered. 
 
 This have I done, both in reading the history of our lives, as 
 related by my mistress, and in writing this latter part. To the 
 former have I added nothing, nor have I subtracted anything 
 therefrom, because I would not suffer the sweet and candid soul 
 of her whom I have always loved to be tarnished by any words 
 of mine breaking in upon her own, as jarring notes in some 
 lovely harmony. It is strictly laid upou me to deliver her words 
 just as she hath Avritten them down. 
 
 Now, after the death of Benjamin, I took it upon myself, be- 
 ing his cousin, in the absence of his father, to examine the pa- 
 pers which he had left. Among them I found abundance of 
 songs, chiefly in praise of wine and women, with tavern bills. 
 Also, there were notes of legal cases, very voluminous ; and I 
 found notes of payment made to various persons engaged in in- 
 quiring after his wife in those towns of the West Country where 
 her father's name would procure friends for her. But there was 
 no will : Benjamin had died (never looking for so early an end) 
 without making any will. Therefore all his estate, including 
 the manor of Bradford Orcas — indeed, he had nothing else — 
 now belonged to Grace, a widow who had never been a wife. 
 
 It is thirty years ago and more. King William III. is dead. 
 Queen Anne is dead. King George, who cannot, they say, 
 speak English, but is a stout Protestant, sits upon our throne. 
 The Nonconformists are free, save that they cannot enter the 
 imiversities, and are subject to other disabilities, Avhicli will 
 doubtless be removed in the course of years. But English peo- 
 ple, I think, love power beyond all earthly things, and so long 
 as the Church is in a majority, the Churchmen will exercise their 
 power and will not part with it. To us of Bradford Orcas it 
 matters little. We worship at the parish church. Every Sun- 
 day I contemplate, as I did fifty years ago, the monument of 
 Filipa kneeling apart, and of her husband and his second wife 
 kneeling together. There is a new tablet in the chancel put up 
 to the memory of Sir Christopher, and another to that of Dr.
 
 382 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 
 
 Comfort Eykin. Their bodies lie somewhere amoug the mounds 
 on the north side of Ilminster church. 
 
 Forty years ago, as you have seen, there stood three boys in 
 the garden of the manor-house, discoursing on their future. 
 One wished never to go anywhere, but to remain always a coun- 
 try gentleman, like his grandfather ; one would be a great law- 
 yer, a judge, even the lord chancellor; the third would be a 
 great physician. Lo ! the end of all. The first, but after divers 
 miseries, perils, and wanderings, hath attained to his desire ; the 
 second lies buried in the churchyard of St. Andrews, Holborn, 
 forgotten long since by his companions — who indeed are now 
 with him in the pit — and remembered only among his own kin 
 for the great wickedness which he wrought before the Lord ; 
 and as for the third and last, no illustrious physician is he, but 
 one who lives obscure, but content, in a remote village, in the 
 very cottage where his mistress was born, with books and music, 
 and the society of the sweetest woman who ever graced this 
 earth for his solace. She was always gracious — she was gra- 
 cious in her childhood ; gracious as a maiden ; more gracious still 
 is she in these latter days when her hair is gray and her daugh- 
 ters stand about her tall and comely. 
 
 Now, had I administered that powder — that sovereign remedy 
 (the Pulvis Jesuiticus) — what would have been her lot ? 
 
 " Humphrey," said Robin, " a penny for thy thoughts." 
 
 "Robin, I was thinking — it is not a new thing, but thirty 
 years old — that Cousin Benjamin never did anything in his life 
 so useful as to die." 
 
 " Ay. Poor Benjamin ! That he had at the end the grace to 
 ask our forgiveness and to repent hath in it something of a 
 miracle. We have long forgiven him. But consider. We 
 were saved from the fight ; we were saved from the sea ; we 
 were saved from slavery ; we were enabled to strike the last 
 blow for the Protestant religion. What were all these blessings 
 worth if Benjamin still lived ? To think, Humphrey, that Grace 
 would never have been my wife, and never a mother, and all 
 these children should have remained unborn. I say, that though 
 we may not desire the death of a sinner, we were not human if 
 we rejoiced not at the death of our poor cousin." 
 
 Yes, that is the thought which will not suffer me to repent.
 
 FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. 383 
 
 A pinch of the Pulvis Jesuiticus, and he might have been living 
 unto this very day. Then would Grace have lost the crowning 
 blessing of a woman's life. 
 
 Yet I was, it is true, a physician, whose duty it is to save 
 life — even the life of the wretched criminal who is to die upon 
 the gallows. 
 
 Yet as-ain. If he had been saved. As I write these lines I 
 see my mistress walking down the village street. She looks 
 over my garden gate ; she lifts the latchet and enters, smiling 
 gravely and tenderly. A sober happiness sits upon her brow. 
 The terror of her first marriage has long been forgotten. 
 
 Why, as I watch her tranquil life, busy with her household 
 and her children ; full of the piety which asks not — as her father 
 was wont to ask — how and where the mercy of Heaven is lim- 
 ited, and if, indeed, it will embrace all she loves ; as I mark the 
 tender love of husband and of children, which lies around her 
 like a garment and prevents all her doings, there comes back to 
 me continually a bedroom in which a man lies dying. Again 
 in memory, again in intention, I throw upon the fire that hand- 
 ful of Pulvis Jesuiticus which should have driven away his fever 
 and restored him to health again. A great and strong man he 
 was, who might have lived till eighty years. Where then would 
 have been that love, where those children, where that tranquil 
 heart, and that contented mind ? " / will not save his life,'''' I 
 say again, in my mind, " / will not save him. He shall die^ 
 
 " Humphrey," my mistress says, " leave thy books awhile and 
 walk with me. The winter sun is warm upon the hills. Come, 
 dear cousin. It is the day when Benjamin died, repentant. 
 What better could we wish ? What greater blessing could have 
 been bestowed upon him and upon us than a true repentance and 
 to die ? Oh, dear brother, let us walk and talk of these bless- 
 ings which have been showered upon my undeserving head." 
 
 THE END.
 
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