We had a tedious passage, for the wind was light, and we missed the
advantage of the tide; so it was after six o'clock when we arrived. My
guards took me to a large house in Mytongate, adjoining a butcher's
shop, the butcher, Acton by name, being the lessee of the prison. When
I had been some time in a little den which smelled vilely, my jailer
appeared--a lewd fellow, far gone in liquor.
"And you're come to pay us a visit once more," said he, with oaths
which I need not repeat. "We have not much accommodation to spare just
now, but we must find you a garret somewhere on the old terms, I
suppose."
This talk of accommodation was Greek to me. "I don't understand," said
I, "not having the honour of your acquaintance."
Acton laughed until his red face turned purple. "Oh, that's
good--'nation good! Gentleman Jim--Jim the bully-boy, hasn't the
honour of my acquaintance!"
As I stared at him he broke into laughter again, and gave me a
resounding smack on the shoulder.
"You do it so well, Jim! Might ha' been born with a coronet on your
head! 'Not having the honour of your acquaintance!'" Again he roared.
"You are going out as governor of the colony, are you! Oh, you'll be
the death of me with your jests!"
The fellow babbled on of the doings of Ulceby, of cheating at play and
other frauds, of street brawls and manslaughter, until he talked
himself dry and called for brandy, which was brought by a sluttish
wench and placed on the table, the only furniture of the room, save a
rickety chair which I occupied. Acton ceased his jabbering in order to
drink, and I tried to get in a word; but as soon as he had gulped his
dram, he went on unheeding me.
"The old man has more chink than ever, chandling and stockfish bring
him in a pretty penny; but now he's gone in for whale fishing in the
Greenland sea, and he has the devil's own luck. They say he is down
for sheriff next year, but whether he can get you out of this scrape,
Lord only knows."
"Of whom do you speak?" I asked.
Acton, seated on the table, was in the act of swallowing more brandy,
but my question brought him to his feet, laughing, sputtering and
coughing well-nigh to suffocation. When he regained breath, he vowed I
was the drollest fellow living. Then he changed his tone to one of
drunken gravity, inquiring what money I had, and continued--
"Look ye, Jim, a jest is all very well, but I must see your father's
money, or have his word for it, or out you go into the cellars."
I had hard work to draw a plain meaning out of the man, his tipsy head
being filled with the notion that I was the "Gentleman Jim" with whom
he had such familiarity; but little by little I gathered that Ulceby
the elder lived not far away, a man of substance and standing, who had
paid his son's debts two or three times, from whom Acton had received a
good deal of money for prison fees and food and lodging. This gave me
hope of liberty, so I demanded paper and pen and ink, and wrote a few
lines, asking Mr. Ulceby of his charity to come to see one, who was
falsely imprisoned under the name of his son.
This letter Acton undertook to despatch and relieved me of his
presence. Some two hours I spent alone in the darkening room, the wind
howling outside with a most melancholy sound, and hearing fitfully a
noise of talk and laughing from some room near, whenever a door was
opened. About eight o'clock, Mr. Ulceby came in, Acton attending him
with much obsequiousness. When the jailer had placed candles on the
table and a chair for the visitor, Mr. Ulceby signified his desire to
be left alone with me. On the first glance my spirits rose. He was a
tall man, somewhat portly, silver-haired, and bore himself with natural
dignity. He heard what I had to say of my capture and imprisonment at
Melwood, my escape and recapture, with grave attention, two or three
times asking a pertinent question, and at the end of it said smiling
half sadly--
"One thing can be easily proved. My testimony that you are not my son
should suffice, after legal forms have been observed, to obtain your
release. That shall be my first business to-morrow morning. Possibly
it may take a few days to set you free."
I thanked him heartily for his kindness in coming so speedily to my
help; but he cut short my thanks, making light of the matter of his
trouble.
"I wish I could take you out of this den of wretchedness," he went on;
"but as that is not possible, you must allow me to offer such
hospitality as may be had here." He rapped on the table with his cane,
and Acton entered. "Can you let us have a more comfortable room and a
bit of cheerful fire?" he asked.
Acton intimated that anything could be done which would be well paid
for; and Mr. Ulceby sent out to the Saracen's Head for the best supper
that could be furnished.
"Mr. Vavasour does me the honour to sup with me," he said to Acton, who
favoured me with a knowing wink and went about the business.
Presently we were in a room more spacious and airy, and after supper,
Mr. Ulceby gave me a short account of his son, which is no part of my
story, except that it was given so tenderly and sorrowfully as to make
me sure that here was a good man indeed. He ended by saying--
"There seems little doubt of his death, but I must be certified of it,
and if he met with foul play, bring his murderers to justice. My duty
to him can best be fulfilled by a partnership with you. Will you give
me confidence for confidence? You have told me of your imprisonment
and the horrible practice of your enemies, but nothing of the reason.
Since the desire of money, or the love of woman is at the bottom of
most mischief, perhaps there is a lady in the case. Believe me, though
I am hoary-headed, I am not too old to feel with a true lover."
Of that I felt well assured and poured out all my tale, to which he
listened with no sign of weariness, nodding and smiling now and then,
and once rising from his chair to pace the room and murmur something to
himself. At the end he stretched out his hand, saying--
"Let us strike a bargain. We two are partners: until we know the truth
concerning the fate of my poor, misguided lad, and you are avenged of
your enemies. Now that means," said he, as I put my hand in his, "that
there is no distinction between _meum_ and _tuum_ for the term of our
partnership. Nay, hear me," observant of the flush in my face as I
thought of my destitute condition. "I may have to ask you for more
than money can buy before we are at the end of our joint business. The
first thing I offer is counsel. Write a letter to Mistress Goel,
assuring her of your safety and of your speedy coming, but saying
nothing further, not even where you are, lest the letter should fall
into other hands. I will send it by a trusty messenger as fast as good
horseflesh ought to be ridden. To-morrow I will bring you a skilful
surgeon, who should be able to do somewhat to repair the injury to your
face. There will be no loss of time thereby, for your liberation can
scarcely be effected to-morrow; and if you have to go plaistered and
bandaged, there may be advantage in the disguise. We might dress you
like a shipmaster too. We must pounce on the enemy, if we may, for
they will stick at nothing, now that you hold their liberty, perhaps
their lives, in your hand."
I had nothing to say against these counsels, being in truth very
thankful to have a friend capable of advice and one so forward in my
cause. Mr. Ulceby laid his purse on the table.
"Such men as you have here to do with, will be the more respectful if
they know you have money at command, and you may have unforeseen
occasion for it."
When I had written a few words to my love, Mr. Ulceby left me, again
assuring me he would bestir himself about my business early in the
morning. It was long before I sought sleep, which indeed would have
been hard to come by until after midnight, for my fellow-lodgers in the
room next to mine, and in the one overhead, kept up such a noise of
shouting and singing and laughter as astounded me, seeing they were
prisoners. On Mr. Ulceby's departure, a maid looked in to ask whether
I had need of anything; and, as I had no orders to give, locked and
bolted the door on the outside, and I was left alone to my meditations.
Hitherto I had not been much given to reflection, and in these later
days I had been concerned with the present danger and what might impend
in the instant future, but now that the strain was relieved, thought
came upon me like a flood. A few hours ago I had been threatened with
the fate of a plantation slave. If any man had foretold on my coming
of age that such a peril would befall me, how incredible it would have
appeared! And I had been saved from such a doom not by the things in
which I had pride, not by my name or place, not by my strength or
courage, or by the staunchness of my friends, but by the kindness of a
stranger. How much reason I had for thankfulness to him, and how much
more to the Providence which had sent him for my deliverance! A great
awe crept on me of the eye which had been upon me when I had thought
myself buried out of sight, and of the hand which had brought me help
when I was most helpless; and I felt how utterly undeserved was the
kindness of God, and at the same time assuredly confident therein.
These things I hold are not to be much spoken of, but some record I am
bound to make of that which changed the face of the world to me, and
filled my heart with a new, strange, and solemn gladness.