IN FURTHEST IND
THE NARRATIVE OF MR EDWARD CARLYON
OF THE HONOURABLE EAST INDIA COMPANY’S SERVICE
_EDITED, WITH A FEW EXPLANATORY NOTES_
BY
SYDNEY C. GRIER
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCXCIV
_All Rights reserved_
[NOTE.]
_The Narrative of_ Mr Edward Carlyon _of Ellswether, in the County of
Northampton, and late of the Honourable East India Company’s Service,
Gentleman; and comprising his most marvellous Escape from the Hands of
the_ Inquisition (_falsely called Holy_) _at_ Goa, _and his Journey to
the Court of the_ Great Mogul, _likewise the true Relation of his
Dealings with the_ Lord Marquis _of_ Tourvel, _and with_ Madam
Heliodora _his_ Daughter (_concerning which grievous Calumnies have of
late been forged by certain unfriendly Persons_), _together with
divers curious Observations on the Manners of the_ Indians, _and on
the Situation of his_ Majesty’s Subjects _at present resident among
them. Wrote by his own hand in the year of grace_ 1697.
_TO HIM THAT READS._
_I, Edward Carlyon of Ellswether, Esquire, being of sound mind and
body_ (_for the which I thank God_), _do take up my pen on this fourth
day of November, sixteen hundred and ninety-seven, to record the
history of my life, being moved thereto by divers considerations._
Imprimis. _I would desire to protect my children from such tribulation
as hath been brought lately upon myself and my dear wife, through the
evil offices of an enemy, from which we were hardly delivered by the
great kindness of my honoured and esteemed friend, Mr Robert Martin,
lately Accountant of Surat in East India._
Item. _I would do all that lies in my power to lighten the griefs of
an illustrious lady, whose trials, no less than the fortitude with
which she hath endured them, would seem to a man of honour to have
earned her exemption from cowardly attempts._
Item. _During my sojourn in the Indies, I met several marvellous
adventures, and had the felicity to enjoy the discourse of many
ingenious persons, the recounting whereof may serve both for the
instructing and the diverting those that shall come after me. By the
advice, therefore, of my aforesaid friend, Mr Robert Martin, I am
resolved, God helping me, on composing, from such notes and letters as
I have preserved, a book of my life._
CONTENTS.
I. OF MY DESCENT AND PARENTAGE, AND OF MY SENDING TO THE INDIES
II. OF MY TARRYING IN LONDON AND OF MY SAILING IN THE GOOD SHIP
BOSCOBEL, AND ALSO OF MY MAKING AN ENEMY IN MR VANE SPENDER
III. OF MY ARRIVING AT SURAT, AND OF THE POSTURE OF AFFAIRS THERE
IV. OF MY SENDING TO GOA BY MY EMPLOYERS, AND OF THOSE THINGS THAT
BEFELL ME THERE
V. OF THE EVENTS THAT BEFELL ME ON MY ARREST, AND IN THE HOLY HOUSE AT
GOA
VI. OF THE SECRET, DREADFUL, AND BLOODY DOINGS OF THE TRIBUNAL OF THE
HOLY INQUISITION
VII. OF MY AMAZING AND MIRACULOUS ESCAPE FROM MOST IMMINENT DEATH
VIII. OF MY SECOND VOYAGE IN THE BOSCOBEL, AND OF THE ENDING THEREOF
IX. OF MY FINDING THE NEW FRANCE IN THE INDIES
X. OF THE CONFIDENCE REPOSED IN ME BY MY LORD, AND OF THE PITFALL
WHEREIN I FELL
XI. OF MY CASTING OUT FROM MY FOOL’S PARADISE
XII. OF A PART OF MY LIFE THAT HAD BEEN BETTER SPENT OTHERWISE THAN IT
WAS
XIII. OF MY JOURNEYING TO THE CITY OF AGRA; OF MY COMING THITHER, AND
OF THE PERSON I FOUND THERE
XIV. OF MY LEAVING THE CITY OF THE GREAT MOGUL IN THE COMPANY OF ONE
THAT HAD NOT ENTERED THEREIN WITH ME
XV. OF MY SECOND DELIVERANCE FROM EXTREME PERIL OF DEATH
XVI. OF MY DEPARTING FROM EAST INDIA, AND RETURNING TO MY HOME AND
DOROTHY
XVII. OF MY SETTING TO REAP THE HARVEST I HAD SOWN
XVIII. OF MY ATTAINING MY DESIRED HAVEN AFTER LONG TRIAL OF STORMY
SEAS
XIX. OF CERTAIN ANCIENT FRIENDS OF MINE THAT WERE SUFFERERS FOR
CONSCIENCE’ SAKE
XX. A CHAPTER EXTRAORDINARY, ADDED ON THE ADVICE OF THE AUTHOR’S
FRIENDS, FOR TO DECLARE HOW IT COME ABOUT THAT THIS BOOK WAS WROTE
APPENDICES.
I. ON THE NATIVE RACES OF INDIA
II. ON THE SPELLING OF PROPER NAMES
III. ON PRIVATE TRADING BY THE COMPANY’S SERVANTS
IV. ON OLD AND NEW GOA AND MODERN GOA
V. ON THE FRENCH AT SAN THOMÉ
VI. ON THE HISTORICAL BASIS OF THIS STORY
ENDNOTES.
IN FURTHEST IND.
CHAPTER I.
OF MY DESCENT AND PARENTAGE, AND OF MY SENDING TO THE INDIES.
It will be convenient for me, before relating my history, to give
some account of my birth and parentage, and this I will proceed to do.
Our branch of the family of Carlyon, though not of the most
illustrious, is at least respectable in its antiquity, having been
settled at Ellswether (which at one time belonged to a branch of the
noble family of De Lovetot) for the space of four hundred years, ever
since the esquire Simon Carlyon wedded Dame Elianora, daughter and
heiress to Sir Walter de Lovetot. My honoured father was the fourth
and youngest son of Roger Carlyon, Esquire, and Margery Colepepper his
wife. Being but a younger son, he quitted his home early, and
adventured himself in the wars in foreign parts, together with his
cousin, my Lord Brandon. Under the banner of this nobleman my father
showed great valour and skill in arms, both in Bohemia and also in the
Palatinate, so that his assistance was much sought after by many
princes and captains of those parts. But on hearing of the troubles in
England, my father accompanied his kinsman to Oxford, to the intent to
place their swords at the disposition of his majesty. It was when on
this visit that my father first saw my mother, that was then Mrs
Margaret Brodie, daughter to Sir Nicholas Brodie of Rinnington in the
county of Durham, and Anne Delamere his wife. In her youth my mother
was bred up with a young lady of quality, Mrs Hyacinth Penfold, that
was sister’s daughter to my lord Duke of London, and dwelt at his
grace’s castle of Belfort in this county. Now when my lady duchess
(that was as truly honest a lady in her opinions as ever lived, though
his grace her husband was but a trimmer) came to pay her devoirs to
the king and queen at Oxford, she carried with her the two young
gentlewomen aforesaid, and they were to her as her own daughters.
My Lord Brandon, then, was presented to Mrs Penfold as a match she
should do well to accept, though he was well advanced in years, and
little beautified by the chances of war, and my father cast his eyes
upon the gentlewoman that bare this lady company. And Mrs Brodie,
hearing of his feats of arms in the wars of Germany, and finding his
person not disagreeable to her, was not loath to look kindly upon her
servant.[1] He then, discovering in her not only great beauty of
countenance, but also a sweet civility of manner and marvellous parts
of mind, did ask her hand of my lady duchess. Who did grant him, with
many kind words, the boon he craved; and my father and mother were
wedded at the same time and place with my lord and Mrs Penfold, and
lived together for over seven years thereafter in the enjoyment of a
rare peace and felicity, though troubled on all sides by the evil
chances of the time. This same year was memorable for that my father
was knighted on the field of battle by the hand of his sacred majesty
himself, after a certain skirmish near to the city of Bristow,[2]
since that he did, by his skill in war, save the king’s forces when
near to their destruction. ’Twas at Oxford that I was born, in the
year 1646, in a mean lodging in a certain poor street of that town,
since my mother was afraid to show herself in any more convenient
dwelling, and my father durst only visit her secretly by night for
fear of capture, my Lord-General Fairfax having but just then took the
city.
Shortly after this, also, by the deaths of my uncles, his three
brothers (whereof the eldest was slain with my grandfather in that
lamentable defeat of my Lord Astley at Stow-on-the-Wold, and the
second, having been taken at Leicester the year before, died in
prison, and the third was foully murdered in a tumult raised against
him in the streets of Northampton), my father found himself possessed
of Ellswether--that is to say, of the old house only, whereof all the
lands were sold or mortgaged for his majesty’s service. And he, taking
up his abode there with my mother and myself, fought still for the
king, until that day when the rebels consummated their iniquity by
that deed whereof no age hath ever seen the like for its enormity,
when he left fighting, being assured that God must shortly punish the
whole nation of England with utter destruction. Two years thereafter,
notwithstanding, he joined himself to the cause of his majesty King
Charles II., and at Worcester Fight was grievously wounded, and lay
for many days in danger of his life in a certain mean house of that
city. Being there found by the rebels, he was thrown into a dungeon,
but after a while, by the good offices of my lord Duke of London, was
released, and suffered to return home, being now incapable of fighting
more, for that his left leg had been shot off by a ball from a great
gun, and his right arm disabled by a pistol-shot, at Worcester Fight.
In the year 1653 there come sad news to Ellswether. My Lord Brandon,
heading a rising for the young king in the North, was taken and
beheaded; and my lady his wife, who had wearied herself in vain to
obtain his pardon, died after giving birth to a daughter. Their son
and heir had died in his infancy, and the barony must needs descend to
a distant cousin of my lord’s, that was a boon companion of the king
in France and Flanders. My lord’s estates and property was all
confiscated, and for the poor babe was nothing left, save that she
might have my lady’s gowns and suchlike. My lady had committed her
babe to the charge of the gentlewoman that bare her company, desiring
that she should be brought to Ellswether, and bred up by my mother.
Wherefore this gentlewoman, Mrs Sophronia Skipwith by name, took with
her the babe, together with my lady’s gowns and jewels, and the great
portraits of her and my lord which he had had painted for her on their
wedding, and divers tomes of French and English romances, and started
on her journey. Coming to Ellswether, she found there sore
lamentation, for that my dear mother had departed this life two days
before. And Sir Harry, my father, finding himself with my Lady
Brandon’s babe to keep, and discerning Mrs Skipwith to be a
gentlewoman of most discreet conversation and a sobriety suiting her
years (which were thirty-five at the least, and rather over than
under), did offer her to remain as governess to the babe, the rather
as the aforesaid Mrs Skipwith was an orphan and a distant kinswoman of
my lady’s. Now if you look to hear that Mrs Skipwith made use of Sir
Harry’s kindness to creep into his good graces, and thus marry him
thereafter, you shall be disappointed, for she behaved herself
throughout her life with a rare discreetness and wisdom, and hath left
behind her a memory full of praise.
My good father, then, adopted for his own the little Mrs Dorothy
Brandon (whose kinsman, even after the happy Restoration of his
majesty King Charles II., when he gat back his lands, never troubled
himself to inquire after her, lest for very shame he must settle on
her a portion out of the estates of my lord her father), my father, I
say, adopted her, intending in due time to marry her to me his son,
and we grew up together as brother and sister, but in that prospect.
Now at the Restoration, as I have said, there was many received back
their confiscated lands, but my father, who (with his brothers) had
sold and mortgaged all for the king’s service, gat nothing, since he
had done it all willingly. There remained to us, then, only the manor
of Ellswether itself, whereon was a heavy mortgage, that was fallen
into the hands of Mr Sternhold, the attorney that my grandfather had
been wont to employ. And again, if you look to hear in this place that
Mr Sternhold proved himself a cruel or an unrighteous creditor, you
will again receive a disappointment, for sure there was never no man
that served better either the father or the absent son. But if this
great burden of the mortgage was to be removed, it was needful for me
to make my fortune, and this in no unspeedy way. And if you shall be
surprised that my father allowed me, his only son, to undertake such a
distant and dangerous manner of life as that I have followed, I would
have you remember that Sir Harry, as was but natural in a gentleman of
his family and breeding, cared more for the honour and name of the
house than for him that might one day bear it, and that he sent me
forth in quest of wealth for to redeem the estates, as any father in
Rome might have sent forth his son in quest of warlike honour. After
this explanation, which I trust shall resolve any matters that might
otherwise seem to you obscure or contradictory, I will proceed to my
tale.
Since I have spoke to you of my father’s poverty, you will readily
perceive that he could not send me to any great school, nor was he
likely, in the dark days that then shadowed this poor realm of ours,
to commit me to the tuition of the schismatical minister that had
usurped the room of the vicar of our parish, wherefore he was
constrained to send me by the day to the grammar-school of Puckle
Acton, which town lieth in the vicinage of Ellswether. Here, in common
with the sons of many gentlemen of the country round, I gained a
slight acquaintance with Greek and Latin, and (for which my life hath
made me far more grateful) such a knowledge of the art of fence, of
boxing and shooting, as hath often stood me in good stead. When I was
not at the school, the time did often hang heavy for me, for the
gentlemen’s sons of whom I have spoken durst not admit me to their
company more than rarely, for fear of the suspicions of our tyrants,
that were wont to scent a conjuration or conspiracy whensoever any
number of Malignants (for so they called us) was met together. The
company of the boys of the town I neither sought nor would my father
have permitted me so to do, and I came thus, almost of necessity, to
use and enjoy that of my little cousin Dorothy Brandon, in all my
holidays and times of rest. ’Twas with her I learned from Mrs Skipwith
to read French, and we loved to pore together over the pages of the
‘Grand Cyrus,’ that magazine of brave thoughts and witty conceits, of
the ‘Cleopâtre’ and of the ‘Clélie.’ Of English books we had no
great store, but in Sir Philip Sidney his ‘Arcadia’ and in Mr Lyly’s
‘Euphues’ we found a rare delight. Add to this, that my little cousin
taught herself Latin in order to the reading it with me, and (her
youth remembered) was no mean scholar in the Greek, and you shall see
that we had no lack of fantastic and heroical reading for to divert
ourselves withal.
Nor was this all our diversion, for we had, beside, our especial
romance, or rather romancical drama, since we never writ our
incidents, but, if I may so speak, lived them. In this piece my cousin
was called Polyxandra, a wood-nymph vowed to Dian’s service, and I
Cleombrocles, her faithful knight. The action of the plot was mighty
tragical, and full of moving scenes and incidents, for we were beset
not alone by the horrid monster Anthropophage, whose castle I have
ofttimes besieged, and whose self (as presented by Bevis our
house-dog) I often slew, but also by Sophronysius, the tyrannic
governor of Mycene, whose part, unknown to herself, was played by Mrs
Skipwith. This tyrant was wont to carry off the amiable Polyxandra
whensoever as our romance was most alluring; and many fearful vows
have I breathed against her, the poor victim weeping meanwhile over
her task of presenting in needlework the history of Sisera and Jael.
My father performed the part of the _Deus ex machinâ_, stepping in to
grant Polyxandra an holiday when all my intercessions failed; but even
he could do little against a certain terrible enchanter, named
Virgilius Tully, to whom the renowned Cleombrocles was bound by a
solemn vow, that he should attend upon him daily in his cave, and
there serve him. Yet was not all our life spent in wars, for to us the
meadows and woods around Ellswether were those of Arcady and
Thessalia, and we wandered through them engaged in heroic discourse,
carried on in extreme picked and delicate language, and garnished with
many euphuisms and other pretty conceits, such as I now hear the
learned ladies of France do mightily affect. Oh! the vows of
never-dying devotion these woods have echoed, the coy answers of the
nymph, and the renewed passion of Cleombrocles, interrupted by the
approach of the fell Sophronysius!
After the joyful and happy Restoration of his majesty King Charles
II., I was able to meet with my fellows without molestation, and also
to join with them in many noble sports; but so great was the ruin and
poverty brought upon us by the dominion of the rebels (though now
happily past), that of the common usages and hospitalities of the
country was there next to none among us. ’Twas but rarely that my
little cousin and I visited upon any, and ’twas fewer still that came
to the Hall, save now and then an ancient cavalier that had known my
father in the days of his youth. Yet ’twas one of these ancient
gentlemen, as I believe, that must have stirred Sir Harry’s mind to
see that I, his only son, was growing up in idleness, and thus
embarked him, if I may so speak, on that long voyage of treaties and
negotiations, whereof I was only made aware when all was complete.
Two or three times in the year, it was our custom (my little cousin’s
and mine) to go to Puckle Acton and take supper with good Mr
Sternhold, the attorney. There was never there for us any lack of
welcome on the part of Mrs Sternhold or himself; and their two comely
daughters, Mrs Diony and Mrs Sisley, were wont to make much of me, and
to show great kindness to my little cousin. It did much please them
that we, being so young, were deemed troth-plight; and they did
delight to set us side by side, and to cry out how pretty a couple we
made, and then to incite me to show myself a courteous servant to that
my little lady. But always after this was Dorothy wont to behave
herself so coy and disdainful as ’tis impossible to conceive, and
would try me with as many grievous slights as did ever the coldest and
cruellest maid in the romances, so as I would threaten to go away into
some foreign kingdom, and seek my fortune, far from my untender love,
as did the knights of whom we read so often. And this also did
mightily divert the two young damsels and their mother. ’Twas on my
eighteenth birthday, at the close of the year 1664, that that occurred
which enabled me, though without any knowledge of mine beforehand, to
perform this frequent threat--nay, rather compelled me so to do. We
had been supping at Mr Sternhold’s house, Dorothy and I, and as we
returned she did most steadfastly refuse to take my hand through the
woods, because, said she, I had had the misfortune to turn my back on
her during the evening. And we wrangling and quarrelling over this
mighty matter, the dispute lasted until we were come to the Hall,
where I spake after my usual fashion, but Dorothy tossed her saucy
head, and must needs say that I talked much of going to foreign parts,
but should never go there. Then upon this scornful humour of hers
brake in the voice of my father, that was sitting in his great chair
in the study, with many papers upon the table before him.
“Son Edward,” says he, “I would fain speak with you.”
“At your pleasure, sir,” says I. “When shall I attend upon you?”
“Now,” says my father; “so soon as little Doll here be gone to bed.”
Dorothy kissed my father, though with a pout, made me a curtsey, and
ran away, I shutting the door after her.
“You are now arrived at your eighteenth year, Ned?” says my father.
“Yes, sir,” says I. “I was born in the year that my Lord Fairfax took
Oxford city, as I have heard you say.”
“True,” saith Sir Harry, “and you are come to this age without being
bred to any trade or calling. Not that ’tis your fault, lad, but mine.
’Tis no news to you, my son, that we abide here truly only on
sufferance of Sternhold, and that ’tis all I can do to keep up the
house as we live at present. Wherefore you won’t be surprised when I
say that I can neither send you to the university, even had you
displayed any leaning thereto, nor yet maintain you while you seek a
place in his Majesty’s service in foreign parts.”
“Indeed, no, sir,” says I.
“There remains, then,” said my father, “the life of a soldier; but now
that the wars of Germany are ended, that an’t any longer a road to
wealth by the means of large spoils and larger ransoms, and moreover,
you are too old, for I hold that a lad should be bred to that calling
from fourteen years, or fifteen at the most. Also there are now no
such masters in the art of war as those I had the honour to observe in
my young days, nor any such noble theatre as that wherein I observed
’em. And with regard to his majesty’s navy, I fear there is but little
glory to be won there nowadays. The rebels were good sailors, even I
will say that for ’em. And beside these, which we need not consider,
there is two other places offer ’emselves to your choice, for I am
willing you should choose which you will accept. Being lately reminded
of your age and stature (and sure ’tis well I was reminded on’t, for I
had clean forgot it), I writ to my lord Duke of London, son to my Lady
Brandon’s uncle that did deal with me so kindly after Worcester Fight,
and asked him to use his good offices with his majesty to gain for you
some place or preferment. And to this my lord duke hath replied, with
many civil words touching my care of little Doll there, his kinswoman,
that places be now so few, and they that seek ’em so many, that he
knows none for which he might make interest with his majesty on your
behalf. Yet out of his remembrance of his parents’ ancient love for
our house, his grace is good enough to offer you his nomination to the
post of writer[3] in the India Company’s service, which if I accept
on’t for you, his majesty hath been graciously pleased to command that
the bond of £500, which must be entered into for your good behaviour,
shall be pledged from his privy purse. Had it been but five hundred
pence instead of pounds, I had never been able to pay ’em, and this,
no doubt, in his singular great kindness, his majesty hath guessed.
And with regard to this offer, I can say naught but good on’t. As for
wealth, this is one of the straightest roads to’t, for though the wage
be but £10 by the year for five years, and after that a convenient
increase, yet are there many places of trust to be obtained, and, as I
hear, many chances of trading on your own account, so that many
gentlemen of that service are become by this means very rich. ’Tis
true that you must needs leave your country for a term of years, but
that is no more than I did myself, and many other noblemen and
gentlemen that fought in that long war.”
“And the other place, sir?” said I, when my father left speaking.
“The other place, Ned,” said Sir Harry, “an’t such as I could desire
for a Carlyon of Ellswether. Mr Sternhold is so good as to say that he
will find you work as his clerk, and although you should at the first
receive nothing by way of wage, yet afterwards, I make no doubt, you
may rise to wealth. The lawyers have gained much by the troubles of
these days, and stand to gain much more. Still, what say you?”
I need scarce say to you that I had not to think for long. When the
choice lay between the Indies and Mr Sternhold’s clerkship (the which,
as I well knew, should never have been proffered by him had not my
father asked it), you won’t wonder that I sprang joyfully at my lord
duke his offer. Which also did hugely please my father, he saying that
he was glad to find he had a son that would show himself no laggard in
seeking to repair the fortunes of his house. And before aught else in
the next morning, my father writ to the aforesaid nobleman to signify
his grateful acceptance of his singular kindness, I myself also
writing to express my duty to his grace and my desire to comport
myself suitably in that place he destined for me. And this letter
wrote, and set in readiness for my Lord Harmarthwaite’s messenger,
that was, by the especial kindness of his lordship, to carry it to
London, and there deliver it into his grace’s hands, I found time to
consider what great change in my manner of life one day had brought.
For but yesterday was I a masterless man (saving, of course, the
authority of that my good father), too old for school, and yet without
a calling, but to-day I was pledged to the Hon. East India Company,
the which was now my master. And notwithstanding the joy that was in
my heart, that I should at last have good hope of freeing my father’s
estates, in process of time, from the burdens that oppressed them,
there come upon me some natural sorrow that I must part from my good
father, and from Dorothy, that quarrelled with me and loved me as she
had been indeed my sister.
Standing on the staircase in some disquiet, and thinking thus with
myself, there came running to me on a sudden my said little cousin
Dorothy herself, dressed up mighty fine in a laced waistcoat[4] and
petticoat of white satin, with cherry-coloured knots, and cried
laughing to me, all our quarrels forgot--
“Why so sad and solemn, Cousin Ned? Do you see my new gown? How doth
it please you?”
“Why so fine, little lady, rather let me ask?” says I, bowing low,
lest she should again reproach me of lack of courtesy.
“Mrs Skipwith hath ripped a gown of my mother’s, and made this for
me,” says she. “Come with me to the picture-room, Cousin Ned. I would
have you tell me whether I am like my mother.”
So we two to the oaken gallery, where Dorothy held me by the hand, and
we stood before the portraits of my Lord and Lady Brandon, he in his
harness,[5] with a battlefield behind him, and she in her
wedding-gown.
“Help me with this chair, Ned,” quoth my little cousin, and I dragged
the great chair for her between the two portraits, when she climbed up
on it, and stood thus between them.
“Tell me, Cousin Ned, am I like her?” she cries.
Truly there was a marvellous likeness, they both wearing white satin
and lace, though there was pearls in my Lady Brandon’s dark hair in
the stead of the cherry-coloured ribbons; nor did I find in her
countenance that intrepidity and firmness that was displayed in my
little cousin’s, and which she hath, I take it, from that gallant
cavalier my lord her father.
“Well, Cousin Ned?” cries Dorothy, tired of standing.
“_O matre pulchrâ filia pulchrior_,” quoth I, with a low bow.
“Speak to me in good English,” cries she, pouting.
“’Tis but to say (as you very well know) that my lady your mother was
fair, but you are fairer, little Doll.”
“Nay,” cries she, “I won’t be called that. Sure I an’t Miss Doll any
more. Sir Harry saith I am to be called Mrs Dorothy always, for I am
nearly eleven. Oh, Cousin Ned, is it true that you are going to the
Indies?”
“Ay, sweet Doll,” says I; “to furthest Ind, and to the kingdoms of
Cathay, perhaps.”
“You are ever teasing me,” she saith. “I would I had a fan here, that
I might give you a tap therewith, Master Ned. But I will have one some
day. When you come back from your voyages and adventures, I shall be a
court lady, like my Lady Penelope Harrington, so”--and she held up her
hand like a fan, and made great eyes over the edge on’t at me.
“God forbid!” cried I, in a grievous heat.
“And why, prithee?” she asked, somewhat angered. “My mother was a
court lady, so why not I?”
“That was in better days,” says I, much disquieted by her speech, yet
little caring to tell her what I meant; “but now times are changed. I
can’t tell you much, little Doll, but this I will say, that rather
than know you such as my Lady Penelope is now become, I would see you
in your grave.”
“Then I won’t be like her,” says Dorothy, putting her hand in mine,
“for when you have wrought all your great deeds you are coming back to
marry me, Ned, an’t you?”
“Ay,” said I, “so that I find you a gentle and comely maiden, caring
for my father, and seeking no court gaieties. I would not, with my
goodwill, wed a court lady.”
“As you will,” says she. “And you will bring me back a parrot, Cousin
Ned, and a pearl chain for to wear on Sundays, and an _escrotore_[6]
of Indian work wherein to keep my jewels?”
“Ay so,” quoth I; “and when I go to London, as this next month, I will
send you a fan and a cherry-coloured girdle for to hold it withal, as
fine as any in the county, if you will give me one of your knots
whereby to choose it.”
“Nay,” says she, “not for that only, but to keep for yourself. Sure
after this goodness of yours, I must make you some return on’t. See
here,” and she unfastened with great gravity her breast-knot, kissed
it, and gave it to me, “now are you my knight, Cousin Ned, and you
must enter upon all your adventures for my honour, as did Ambixules
for Mizalinza, in the book[7] wherein Mrs Diony read to us last
night. And I have made for you, beside, a badge in gum-work, for to
carry with you and wear on Royal Oak Day, and you must needs keep ’em
both for ever for my sake.”
“So be it, little cousin. But is my departure naught to you?” says I,
somewhat grieved. “You have no farewell for me, Doll?”
“Come back with your shield, or else upon it,” quoth she slowly, and,
as it seemed, with difficulty.
“Truly a Spartan message!” I cried. “Is there naught beside, little
Doll?”
“I shall miss you,” she said, and climbed down from the chair, walking
to the window away from me. And I, looking after her, saw that her
face was pale and her shoulders heaving, the while she held her head
as high as ever, and clenched her hand for to keep back the tears. And
with this I was ashamed.
“Dorothy, my little cousin,” says I, going after her and taking her by
the hand, “I beg your pardon. Trust me, I did not mean to hurt you.”
“Why--why,” cries Dorothy, turning round upon me in anger, and then on
a sudden falling into a passion of weeping and tears, and hiding her
face in my sleeve--“why will you make me cry, Cousin Ned, when I have
been essaying to send you forth with all composure of mind, as a lady
should her knight? ’Tis all spoilt now.”
“Not so,” says I, admiring the child’s insistence in her romancical
dreams. “I am going forth as your knight, my Lady Doll, to forge my
weapons, and with ’em to fight the great and cruel giant Poverty, and
to release my noble father, whom he holds in his toils. You also the
giant keeps in durance, but not so strong but you are allowed to help
and solace the other captive, and to send words of cheer to your
knight. Here is a noble tale, indeed!”
“True knight for true lady?” asks she.
“There is our motto,” says I. “Now are we indeed well provided with
all that a romance could lack, little cousin.”
“I would I were going too,” says she, looking up at me with her eyes
yet shining with tears; “I would fain be your page, Cousin Ned, like
the ladies in the romances, for you will see all the marvels, the
tigers and the wild men of the woods, and the elephants, and the Great
Mogul himself, and I must stay here. But be sure, if you fall, that I
shall don armour and avenge you, as did Parthenia for Argalus in the
‘Arcadia.’”
“But that, we may hope, shall not be needful,” said I. “Come into the
garden with me now, Doll, and we will slay Anthropophage once more
before I depart,” and we left speaking, and went down into the garden,
holding each other by the hand.
Now this relation of all those things that preceded my setting out in
search of fortune I have set down at length, to the end that all may
see how falsely ’tis said that I went to East India in pursuance of my
own way and against my father’s will, and also that I was already
tired of the match my said father had prepared for me, and desired to
rid myself of my cousin Dorothy. Such is the malice of my enemies,
that they don’t scruple to say even this, whereas I have showed to you
that my father did wellnigh force me to set out, and that I departed
in the full intention to return and fulfil my contract with my cousin.
And this relation I do hereby declare to be true of all things therein
contained.