There is no need for me to make a long story of how I fared across the
fen to Messic Mere, and, borrowing a punt belonging to Hollings
(without the owner's leave, not daring to show myself), poled up the
river Torne to within half a mile of Wroot, and then struck northward
over the quaking bog to Lindholme. I missed the right turn more than
once, and had some pretty tough work to do in getting on the track
again, and some narrow escapes from hidden pools and mire-pits; but I
reached Lindholme before darkness fell.
It is an island of gravelly limestone, surrounded by a sea of bog, soft
as sponge and full of water, on which I should not have ventured,
although I knew the course to take, but for my present peril. For nine
months of the year, Lindholme was then as much cut off from the rest of
the world as if it had been a lonely rock in mid-ocean, for ever beaten
by stormy waves. In the winter it was accessible by flat-bottomed
boats, and during a hard frost one might walk over, or go on skates.
The islet is about three-quarters of a mile long and an eighth of a
mile wide. Toward the northern end it rises into a small hill, near
the foot of which there is a spring of clear, sweet water. How it
comes to pass that there is such a spring, when all the water in the
bog around it is as brown as October ale, I do not understand. At the
time of which I write, a grove of oaks grew north of the hill, and a
pretty thick plantation of willows and alders occupied the southern
tongue of the island. The hermit inhabited a stud-bound house with
three rooms, roughly but curiously furnished. A little way off stood a
row of buildings--three low hovels of stone and half a dozen wooden
huts of different sizes. Here lived the hermit's servants--a man and
his wife and their son, a big lad of sixteen or seventeen years of age.
Here, too, were kept the hermit's farm-stock--a small bull and four
cows, a dozen sheep, and a large number of poultry.
Bland, or rather his man and boy, cultivated abut one half of the soil
of his domain with plough and spade, getting amazingly heavy crops of
corn and pulse.
The hermit was of middle stature, perhaps five feet eight inches,
strongly built, not remarkable but for his face, which was strangely
irregular, as though it had not been finished in the making. His nose
was not to be described as Roman, or aquiline, or by any term commonly
used in speaking of that feature. A child might make one like it in
modelling a face in clay. His mouth was large, the lower lip hanging.
The eyebrows projected far over his eyes, which had a peculiar look,
due, as one found on close observation, to the fact that the pupil of
one was of a bluish grey and that of the other almost black. His
abundant dark hair and great beard were streaked with silver.
Rumour assigned various causes for his lonely life, as that he had been
crossed in love; that he had been betrayed by a friend; that he had
sold himself to the devil. I had made acquaintance with him on Messic
Mere one day, when we happened to meet as both of us were fishing for
pike, and we fell into anglers' talk. He asked me to his house,
promising me rare sport in fowling, and he made good his word during a
week which I spent with him. We were much too busy by day, and
sometimes by night, for discourse on anything but our sport, and, when
not so engaged, we were too sleepy for conversation, so I knew no more
of him than that he was an accomplished sportsman, and, as one saw by
his fields and barn and stacks and livestock, a good farmer, though his
way of doing things was new and strange to me.
As I now drew near the hermitage, the dogs rushed out, a mastiff and a
nondescript more like a lurcher than any breed I knew. At first, they
came on furiously, but quickly knew me and changed their fierceness for
welcoming bark. Bland came to his door, seeming surprised by their
friendliness to a stranger, but he too knew me as soon as I spoke, and
received me with all kindness. He looked with some curiosity at my
plaistered face and marshman's attire, but he asked no question, making
me welcome to share his evening meal. I judged it best to tell him I
had fled from pursuit, and that a price was set on my head, and a ban
laid on any one who might aid and harbour me. He laughed a loud, sharp
laugh, which scarcely changed his countenance.
"You are none the less welcome for all that," said he. "Here we defy
the mad world's law. Eat your supper, and afterwards you shall tell me
as much as you choose."
When my host had heard the reason of my flight, he again assured me of
my welcome.
"Stay with me as long as suits you--the longer the better, so far as I
am concerned. Now that our work of harvesting is over, I am free to
enjoy myself in your company all day long, and what sport Lindholme can
give you already know."
Thanking my cordial host, I settled down to life in Lindholme, until it
might be possible to make a dash for freedom and safety abroad.
On the Wednesday, Bland would not hear of my venturing to Messic Mere,
as I had engaged to do, but he went himself and brought John Drury to
Lindholme, and conducted him to the Mere again in the evening.
John gave me the comforting news that my lady and her father had got
away to sea without let or hindrance. Mr. Ulceby sent me word that he
would have a vessel of some sort ready to convey me to Holland,
whenever it might be prudent for me to try to leave England. John
feared that it would be long before I might do so, for heaven and earth
would be moved to secure my capture, and he highly commended the wisdom
of my host in disallowing me to leave my retreat. He thought it more
than likely Boswell might have spied on me and guessed my destination.
"If so," he added, "the fellow will keep the knowledge to himself,
until he gives up hope of taking you single-handed. He will endeavour
so to do, rather than share the reward with others. Remember the offer
is equal for taking you 'dead or alive!' So prithee be on thy guard,
my friend."
Some of the earl's officers had visited Belshaw, but could not learn
anything from the women, and John's cousin knew nothing.
John had called at the Crowle vicarage to assure my aunt I was in no
present danger. There he heard news of Dick Portington, who had been
to London and the Bath with Ryther and his daughter for some time; and
it was commonly reported that Dick and Mistress Ryther were to be
married at Christmas. So it was not probable that Dick and I should be
on the old terms of close friendship any more.
We had some talk of the defeat of King Christian at Lutter, of which
John had heard in Hull, and of the purpose of King Charles to enroll a
body of volunteers to go to the assistance of his uncle and the cause
of Protestantism.
"If we could but smuggle you out of the Isle," said John, "here might
be an opening for you."
But of smuggling me away there seemed to be no chance just now. After
we had agreed on a plan of communication, John returned, and I resigned
myself with such composure as I could muster to a sojourn at Lindholme
for an uncertain time, which I must pass as best I could.
There was certainly plenty of such diversion as fowling affords, for at
that time the birds were more abundant all over the Isle than in these
days, and round about Lindholme more numerous than anywhere else, but
difficult to come by on account of the rottenness of the bog and the
height and thickness of the reeds. I have seen the surface of the
ground for a couple of roods blackened with brent geese, when it was
impossible to get within shot of them, and though flocks of hoopers
(which some call whistling swans) came to feed every evening of my stay
at Lindholme, returning to the seashore every morning, the only manner
of getting a shot was to find some spot beneath their line of flight,
where the ground would bear a man's weight, and there was cover in
which to hide, and such spots were bad to find. We often heard the
dunbirds (redheads, our marshmen call them) working all night within
half a mile of us, and might have had good sport, if we could have got
near to them in the morning twilight, when they head up together ready
to fly to their day quarters; but that could only be done when rain had
fallen so heavily that there was water sufficient to float a punt. So,
though game was plentiful, there was occasion for judgment and skill in
taking it, which gave zest to our diversion, and the hermit and I spent
most of the day in the open air, sometimes venturing on to the bog
where he had not dared to go alone. Of an evening we sat over the fire
awhile, he smoking his pipe and often drinking rather freely of
brandy-wine, until such time as he thought good to climb into his
hammock in the inmost room. At such times he talked very strangely,
when he had loosened his tongue by drinking, and one of his themes was
the madness of the world.
"'Tis a mad world, Mr. Vavasour," he would say, "consider it how you
will. The desires and pursuits of ninety-nine out of a hundred men are
so lunatical that we should die of laughing at one another, if we were
not all mad together. One man sets his heart on acquiring twenty
thousand pounds; he might just as wisely toil to accumulate twenty
thousand red pebbles. Nay, that would be better, for he might heap up
his pebbles without lying and cheating or harm to any of his
neighbours. He gets no more good of his pounds than if they were
pebbles, unless you can reckon the envy of his equally foolish
associates as an advantage. He eats no better than I, sleeps no
better, has no enjoyment which is not mine, and at last he dies,
leaving his pebbles--his pounds I mean--to be the subject of
heart-burning and wrangling among his heirs. Another idiot is bent on
learning, which means that he loads his memory with a pack of stuff
which is mainly false, and none of it of use for any conceivable
purpose. He reads what was written ages ago by the flatterers of some
man called great, or by those who took pleasure in defaming him, or by
those who were too cross and stupid to understand him. He reads of
prodigies which never happened, of monsters which never existed,
speeches which were never spoken, accounts of battles derived from
persons who did not see them. He is crammed with idle tales and fond
inventions; and other men, addicted to the same follies, give him a
cloak and a cap, and call him doctor. And the most outrageous part of
the farce is that the men who are appointed to teach poor folk to be
chaste and just and kind, are required to be well versed in tales about
gods and goddesses, which are so full of impurity and wickedness that
no one would dare to English them for the reading of the common people.
'Tis a mad world."
Thus he would go on by the hour when the humour took him, and had it
all his own way with me, for if I put in a word of objection, he
overwhelmed me with a torrent of eloquence, or nimbly skipped off in
some new direction.
One evening he strove to show me that Daft Jack was the sanest man in
our part of the world.
"He is free from the madness of gathering money, being content to live
as the birds and beasts do, without care for the morrow, as your
religion bids you to live. He has no wish to be talked about after he
is dead and buried, which madmen dignify by calling it desire for fame.
He has not racked his brain over books filled with lies and vain
imaginations; but he knows the whereabout and the ways of fish and
fowl, and how to find and use every herb and root which is good for
food. His bit of orchard is well kept and tilled, and if you were to
put him down in any quarter of the world, he would know how to get a
living. And to crown all, he accepts without murmur the name of fool,
which madmen give him."
"Not quite so," I interjected, remembering what the high and mighty
Tunstall had to suffer through calling him so. This led to my telling
the story, which provoked the hermit to one of his queer fits of
laughter--laughter which did not pucker his face or show in his eyes,
but came from his throat like the noise from a gun.
A few days later, my host spoke freely of his own history, telling me
that his relatives had obtained possession of his estate on the
allegation of his lunacy, and had attempted to shut him up in a bedlam.
He had contrived to effect his escape with money, which sufficed to
stock his farm in a small way; but he had long lived in fear of being
seized and carried off to a madhouse. Now he had lost the fear, having
been unmolested for some years. So, at least, he said; but from the
vehemence with which he spoke of the matter, and from some of his
actions, I doubted whether his assurance was as perfect as he affirmed.
He sometimes made the round of the island at night, gun in hand,
preferring to go alone, and on his return, he looked with great
carefulness to the bolts and bars of the door. That he should have
such fastenings in a place so remote and inaccessible had appeared
strange to me, but at first I set it down to force of habit.
Of the other denizens of the islet I saw little. The man was a sturdy
fellow of a hangdog look, and spoke mumblingly, so that I could not
make out one word in a dozen. The woman was of appalling ugliness, and
so unwomanlike as never to speak except when spoken to, and not always
then. Their son combined the qualities of sire and dam, a lout so
clumsy and hideous that he seemed hardly human, but of immense bodily
strength. All three gave a sullen obedience to the hermit, often
making surly answer to his commands, but appearing to go in dread of
him. It was evident they looked on me with disfavour, though why I had
no guess, and I did not give myself the trouble to learn.
A month lagged slowly by, Bland and I spending our days mainly in
shooting, and the short time between supper and bed in converse, or,
rather, in his talking and my listening. Toward the end of the month
he began to drink deeply, and to talk more wildly than ever. One
evening, after I had listened with my utmost patience to his railing on
this and that folly of mankind, or what he accounted such, he turned to
the subject of love, which he reckoned the veriest madness of all,
which had been artfully turned by priests and lawmakers for their
profit, and the subjection of their fellows to the institution of
marriage; of which he said many vile and abominable things, confounding
the divine affection of the soul with the instinct that leads animals
to pair, until my gorge rose, and I cried--
"Hold! I will not sit to listen to this foul raving."
Such fury seized him at my words as I hope I may never see again. He
sprang to his feet, his eyes glaring, his every limb trembling.
"Dare you call me madman?" he shouted. "You whom I have sheltered and
fed, lumpish mooncalf, unlettered bumpkin! Out of my house, or I will
make an end of you!"
As he turned, foaming at the mouth with rage, to reach his gun, I
deemed it best to put the door between us.
At length I saw that the hermit was a madman, whose mind was possessed
with the belief that he alone, of all human creatures, had his right
wits, and the rest of the world was mad. Some touch of his infirmity I
have seen in others, but nothing so colossal.
'Twas a keen and frosty night, the beginning of a spell of bitter
weather, as I surmised from the silence on the fen. Many birds, which
stay on the marshes till Christmas, or later in mild winters, I had
seen in flight during the last two or three days, and many more must
have taken their departure, for there to be such extraordinary
quietude. On the morrow it would be easy to return to Belshaw over the
frozen bog, but it would be foolhardy to venture now, for the thin
crescent of the moon was low down in the west. I did not choose to
rouse Bland's servants to ask for anything, so I paced up and down the
hill ten or twelve times to warm myself, and then lay down in the barn,
pulling hay over me, and waited for the dawn. When it came, I tried
Bland's door, and found it unbarred, so I stepped lightly in, and
gathered my belongings together without arousing him, or at least
without his giving any sign of being disturbed. I had no occasion to
enter the inner room, all my property being in the outer one. So I
turned my back on Lindholme, uncertain where to hide my head now, but
intending to take counsel with John and Bess.
When I reached Belshaw, soon after seven o'clock, for one could go
swiftly over the ground made firm by the frost, the sight of Dame
Drury's face told me bad news, for her eyes were swollen with weeping.
She broke into such crying and sobbing, when I asked what was amiss,
that she could scarcely tell me her doleful tidings. Late last night a
troop of musketeers had surrounded the house, and some of them had
entered and laid hold of Bess, whom they had strapped behind one of
their number, and carried her off to Castle Mulgrave. They had made no
secret of what was intended to be done with her; she was to be
"questioned" of her knowledge of my doings and present abode, as the
fellows had plainly said with many a coarse and brutal jest. While I
sat with my head in my hand, trying to think of what I should do, John
came to me.
"Nay, be not so utterly downcast, my friend," said he. "This is none
of Boswell's doing. Not even he can be such an unnatural fiend as to
give up his daughter to the torment of the rack, or even to look on
while she is tortured. He must have influence enough with the earl to
save her from that."
"You take too much for granted," I replied, "We don't know that Boswell
is in the earl's service, or that his utmost effort on her behalf would
have a feather's weight. I can trust to no such peradventure as that."
"But you can do nothing," urged John. "If Boswell's standing with the
earl avails nothing, what is yours? What can you offer to induce him
to spare poor Bess?"
"Thanks, ten thousand thanks for the enlightening word," I cried,
grasping John's hand. "I will offer him Frank Vavasour."
"But Frank Vavasour is not his own to offer. There are the rights of a
dear lady far away to be considered."
"If I know her, John, she would not think her property in me worth a
bad farthing, if I left Bess to the torture, if I did not do all that
may be done to save her. Give order for Trueboy to be saddled and
another horse. Come with me to Castle Mulgrave; we can talk as we
ride."
Dame Drury brought us something to eat and drink, while the horses were
saddled, and in a few minutes we were on our way. As we rode, I told
John how I had been driven from Lindholme, and we spoke of what was to
be the manner of procedure at the castle. My first thought had been
that John might deal with the earl, promising to give me up on
condition of the deliverance of Bess; but he had a word to say which
changed the face of affairs.
"A week after you took refuge in Lindholme, I thought we had been
foolish not to pay better attention to the proclamation issued by the
earl. Here it is. You see the description is of your appearance as it
was before that villain meddled with your face, and we might have
shipped you off under the eyes of men who had that description in their
hands. I should have ventured across to Lindholme to speak with you on
this; but feared I might lead the way for your pursuers, and waited
also for the slackening of the hue-and-cry."
"Thank Heaven for your delay. This may mean the salvation of Bess, and
better terms for me than I had any hope of when we set off. The earl
and those nearest him may know nothing of my mutilation. I will take
the chance to negotiate with the earl myself. I know him as you do
not. If my scheme prove good, Bess will be handed over to you within
an hour. What will come of me, remains to be seen. You will let every
one know where I am, and stir up all the help for me that can be found,
I know right well. Squire Stovin, Parson Graves, Mr. Ulceby, and
whomsoever else you can think of. Here we are! Take Trueboy. I must
not ride up to the castle, but enter as a marshman should."
We both alighted and gripped hands.
"God give you good luck!" said John. "I dare not gainsay you, my
friend, for you are doing what I hope I should do, if I were in your
place. Be sure I will not rest until all is done that may be done, to
snatch you from beneath the old lion's paw."