OF MY AMAZING AND MIRACULOUS ESCAPE FROM MOST IMMINENT DEATH.
Now after this last audit, I waited day and night with great
expectation for the _Aucto de Fie_,[74] as the Portugals call that
chief holy-day of theirs wherein they set at large for ever the
prisoners of the Inquisition, the words meaning _Act of Faith_. I
slept but little of nights at this time, for there come ringing down
the galleries the shrieks of those under the hands of the tormentors,
so that I would lie awake and pray for those poor souls to whom God
had awarded that further agony he had spared to me. For I knew from
much that I had heard and read before coming to this place that ’twas
customary to condemn obstinate heretics, before burning them, to
undergo many and severe tortures, and this out of pure spite and
devilish malice, as one might say, since recantation would now do them
no good. From these I was only exempted lest I should die under ’em,
and not live to the _Aucto_.
Thus waiting, and thus disturbed by these mournful sounds, the days
seemed to me to pass mighty slowly, and I was fain to occupy myself in
casting up my calendar on the wall, though I had lost many days
therein during my sickness; but by making allowance for this, I made
out that I had spent over three years in the Holy House. I gave much
time also to finishing my inscription in the wall, on which I had
bestowed extraordinary pains, being careful to write it not alone in
English, but also in the best Portuguese I could frame, setting forth
the day wherein I had entered the House, and likewise that I should
leave it for the flames of the burning-place on St James’s day 1672.
And on the day that I finished the carving of this record, the which
was performed with a certain nail that I had by chance picked up, when
as a carpenter was a-mending the lock on my door, I sat looking upon
it long, until the daylight ceased, and the _alcaide_ brought in my
supper. Now this was the day whereon he was wont to ask for and carry
away such clothes as I might desire to have washed, and I looked for
him to do this as usual. But he spake not of the matter, and when I
did put him in mind thereof, made answer in a surly enough fashion,
that he would see to’t on the morrow. Methought I knew then what
should happen; nevertheless, that I might be sure, I asked of him--
“What day is this, _Seignior alcaide_?”
“The Vigil of St James,” says he, and I knew that I was right.
This also I observed on this same evening, that after the chiming of
vespers from the cathedral near at hand, the bells began to ring
again, as though for matins, as I had never heard them before at this
hour, but why this should be done I don’t know. Nevertheless, despite
these warnings, so dulled was my senses become through my long
imprisonment, that I laid myself down and slept as usual, but at
midnight I was rudely awaked by the _alcaide_ and divers other persons
coming in with lights. They brought also a suit of clothes, the which
they laid down, and bid me put it on, and be ready when they should
come for me. And they departing, I did put on the habit they had
brought me, which was of black stuff adorned with stripes or lines of
white, long to my ankles and my wrists. I had no shoes nor stockings,
as never having worn ’em, but during my audiences of their lordships,
while I was in the Holy House, and my hat I had never seen since the
day that I was took thither. Thus I made myself ready so far as I
might, and so waited until the _alcaide_ and his company returned,
which was in the space of about two hours.
The _alcaide_ bid me come with ’em, and so carried me to the great
gallery, wherein was some hundred and fifty or two hundred men
standing, all being apparelled as I was. But I was not allowed to join
myself to these, for they brought me to a chamber shut off from the
end of the gallery, wherein there was but some fifteen or twenty
prisoners, and as many religious persons. And looking across the open
space to the opposite gallery as I entered, I saw that there was there
some sixty women, that were guarded after the same manner by priests.
I could well judge that the persons in the smaller chamber with me
were those sentenced to the flames, while in the long galleries were
those destined only to the galleys, to whipping and branding, and to
such other slighter torments as the Inquisition keeps for those guilty
only of small offences. There was a few lamps set here and there for
to light the place, and presently there come along two men that
delivered to each of us a long taper of yellow wax, but these were not
yet kindled. And now there come up to me two priests, Jesuits or
Paulistins, that addressed me very gently and affectionately, calling
me “Dear brother,” and besought me to convert, and so save my soul.
And when I refused, and entreated of them that they would leave me in
peace, they would not consent to do this, but came about me like bees,
and so pestered me that I had much ado to keep my temper with ’em. For
it seemed to me that I had much whereon to meditate, namely, all my
friends, notably those in Surat, beside my dear father and my little
cousin in England, but these gentlemen would not allow me so much as a
minute free for to think upon them. And at last I told them that I
would never convert; but that in case I should ever desire to do so, I
had given a solemn promise to send for one especial confessor, and
therefore could not pleasure them, whereat they left me alone for a
little while.
Now after some long time there come into the gallery several persons
bearing a great pile of garments, whereof they did distribute to every
prisoner. And I saw that the habits given to those outside the chamber
were those yellow gowns, with a red cross before and behind upon them,
that I had seen the _fetisceros_ wear that wrought at the
powder-mills, and that they call _sambenitos_. But coming into our
chamber among us, they brought forth another kind of gown, that was
fashioned of a grey stuff, and was painted with firebrands, flames,
and devils, and on each man’s gown his own portrait, depicted with
great taste, and very natural, but all encompassed with flames, and
this habit they call a _samarra_. And my _samarra_ I admired a long
while before putting it on, which one of the priests seeing, he took
occasion to rebuke me for my delay, saying--
“Ah, miserable heretic, think, as you contemplate this feeble picture,
that within a very few hours your soul will be tormented in real
flames, whose power you can’t conceive, and among devils to which
these are nothing in hideousness and ferocity.”
To which I answered him in a prodigious heat--
“Sir, I han’t neither asked nor desired your interference. I was but
contemplating the curious work of your artists, though I could have
wished that they testified more charity towards those that differ from
’em; but now I see from whom they learn their unkind imaginations.”
“You are sharp and impudent with your tongue, young man,” said he,
“and in a sorry state to await death,” and with that he passed on,
forgetting that ’twas not my fault that I could not prepare myself for
death quietly, as I had wished, but theirs, who disturbed me so soon
as I had collected my thoughts. And now they did give to us caps
called _carochas_, of a yellow colour and shaped like unto a loaf of
sugar, and painted like the gowns with fire and devils, and after this
they bade us sit down on the floor and wait in silence. Yet even here
and at this moment there was still some kindness to be found, for the
_alcaide_, that had always appeared to me but a surly fellow, came to
the chamber where I was, bringing a provision of bread, together with
raisins of the sun and figs, the which he did divide unto me and to as
many of the rest as he could reach. And having eaten this, we remained
sitting silent until the dawn, which happens in these climates about
five o’clock in the morning.
Now as the dawn appeared, the great bell of the cathedral in the
square, opposite to the Holy House, begun to toll, and there was a
mighty great stir and bustle at the further end of the gallery. Then
the names were called out of the prisoners there, and they passed out
one by one where we might no longer see them. And after this we in the
chamber apart were summoned, and came, one after the other, to the
door of the gallery, where were set the Lord Inquisidor and his
secretary, reading to each man his sentence as he passed. In the hall
beyond there was standing many gentlemen of Goa in their richest
array, having offered themselves to act as common constables or
tipstaves and guard the prisoners on their way to their execution.
Here an officer of the House did bind my hands with a cord, and
calling on one of the gentlemen aforesaid, delivered to him the end
thereof for to hold, and bade him lead me on. And I looking at this
gentleman, could not be sure that I had ever seen him before, and
finding that he was to be called my godfather for the time, I thought
he should by rights have some acquaintance with his godson, and so
asked him whether I had ever met with him in the company of Dom Lewis,
that was once my friend. But he started and drew away from me, making
no answer, though signifying with his hand that I must not presume to
address myself to him, and I recognised him as a nobleman that I had
seen more than once at his highness the Viceroy’s court. But since he
would not have me speak with him, this availed me nothing.
We were now come into the great square, where they were forming the
procession, and I had as much opportunity as I desired for noting the
changes three years had made. And yet I cared not to look at the
cathedral, nor at the rich mansions that bordered the other two sides
of the square, but only at the sky and the trees, whereof I had seen
none for so long a time. The place was very full of people, for the
Archbishop is at extraordinary pains to make the festival known
beforehand even in the remotest parishes of the province, so that
countless numbers of the lower sort do journey to the city from all
parts for to behold the sight. The balconies all round were decked
with flags and carpets, and crowded full with ladies, habited in
stuffs of many colours, very rich and fine, and wearing an
extraordinary great quantity of diamonds and other jewels, their
_cavalieros_[75] standing behind their chairs. So new and strange to
me after my long silence and loneliness was the noise and turmoil of
the press, that I was fain to shrink back into the doorway of the Holy
House until I was called for with my godfather to take my place in the
procession. And this was ordered as follows. First come the
Dominicans, in their garb of black and white, bearing with them their
great banner, the which has a portrait of Saint Dominic their founder,
holding in his two hands a sword and a branch of olive, and the words
underneath, _Justitia et Misericordia_. Then come the prisoners, each
one led by his godfather (that is, as I have said, a gentleman of some
one of the first families of Goa), the least guilty being placed
first, and the rear brought up by those condemned to the flames, among
whom was I. Behind come their lordships the Inquisidors, and the
lesser officers of the Holy House. And these being all marshalled in
their order, the procession set forth, the religious in the front
chanting slowly that Latin hymn beginning _Vexilla Regis
prodeunt_,[76] passing through all the chief streets of the city. I
have said that I was barefooted, as was also the other prisoners, and
we found that the streets was paved with a kind of small, sharp
flints, the which caused us a prodigious pain and annoyance, while
everywhere the people of the lower sort, that thronged the ways,
laughed and jeered at us as we limped over the stones with our
bleeding feet.
We come at last to the great church of St Francis, where was a
monstrous noise and tumult from the arriving of so many great persons,
for his highness the Viceroy and the Provost of the Jesuits were but
entering the church when we arrived. And here we had the chance to
observe the truth of that which is so often said--viz., that in Goa
the Inquisition is greater than the Viceroy himself. For his highness
rid up on a great horse with rich trappings and furniture, and the
Jesuit Provost came with great solemnity in his sedan-chair, with
eight _clericos_ on foot and bareheaded on either side; but the Grand
Inquisidor rid in his coach, which is as fine as any I have ever seen,
and whose use is allowed to him alone in the city. Some long time
passed while all these grandees entered the church and were disposed
therein according to their several degrees, we all the while standing
without in the great and grievous heat of the sun. But at last we were
brought into the place, that was hung with black, mighty solemn, and
on the high altar six great silver candlesticks with tapers of white
wax. On either side was there a throne set, that on the right hand of
the altar for the Grand Inquisidor, and that on the left for his
highness the Viceroy. Nearer the door was another altar, lesser than
the first one, and benches set all down the church for the prisoners.
As I have said, those adjudged the least guilty were in the front of
the procession, so as they sat nearest to the altar, while before us,
the last, being condemned to the flames, there was carried a great
crucifix, with the face turned away.
Now when we were all set down upon our benches, there went up into the
pulpit the prior of the White or Austin Friars,[77] and preached a
sermon, whereof the part that I heard concerned chiefly the wicked and
enormous deeds of us prisoners, and the mercy and placability of the
Holy Inquisition. But I may freely confess that I paid to this
discourse no such attention as I should, nor was I able so to compose
my mind as to meditate on those eternal matters most suitable to my
situation, but only the most foolish and impertinent subjects would
come in my head. Such as, Whether the _samarras_ and _carochas_ should
be burned with us, or no? and Whether the Inquisition was wont to
furnish for those gentlemen that served them for sheriff’s officers
the unguents whose perfume they dispersed around them, and the snuff
and succades whereof they brought out boxes for to comfort them during
the sermon?
In such trifling thoughts, and in gaping and staring about me, the
time passed away, and the sermon being over, there come into the
pulpit, one after the other, two persons to whom it pertained to read
out the accusations brought against the prisoners, and the punishments
that were adjudged to ’em. Last of all, as in the order of place, come
those destined to the flames, whose processes when he had read, the
officer went on to repeat that notorious and hypocritical
saying--viz., that since the Inquisition dared not show mercy to these
persons on the account of their impenitence, and found itself
indispensably obliged to punish them according to the rigour of the
law, it delivered them over to the secular arm and justice, whom it
earnestly entreated to use clemency and mercy towards these miserable
wretches, and that if there should be imposed upon them the penalty of
death, it might at the least be carried out without effusion of blood.
And as the name of each unfortunate was read (all having their name
and crime wrote upon their _samarras_), he was led up to the lower
altar, and there the _alcaide_ of the Holy House held him while as the
rest was said. And all having been gone through, the _alcaide_ struck
him a light blow on the breast, whereupon the tipstaff of the lay
court seized and led him away. And this they call delivering him to
the secular power, since the Inquisition has no authority to take
life. And I saw that some of the condemned, that were said to have
refused to confess their crimes, but yet to have submitted themselves
humbly to the Inquisition, and acknowledged the doctrine of Holy
Church, had their sentences changed from burning to branding and the
galleys, whereupon their godfathers did testify extreme delight,
embracing them and making them very many compliments. But with me
there was neither embracing nor compliments, and my godfather led me
away sullenly enough.
Thus we went again through the streets, passing always fresh crowds of
people, until we come to that same bridge where I had stood with
Father Sebastian and Dom Lewis and his cousin on that day wherein I
was arrested. So then we reached the burning-place, and the Viceroy
and his court was set in their stone seats, and the Grand Inquisidor
in his tribune, and the people of the poorer sort pressing everywhere
around. And in the midst was the stakes set up, one for each person of
those condemned to be burned, and piled about ’em was faggots of wood
and furzes. Then before they attempted anything against any of us,
there was many ceremonies necessary to be performed, such as his
highness’ rehearsing afresh his oath of office, and the like, while as
the priests were most zealously exhorting us to recant and confess
before it should be too late. Then they demanded of us in turn in what
religion we wished to die, and to those that declared they died
Catholics, it was granted that they should be strangled before they
were burnt. But I declared myself to die as I had lived, a Protestant,
and so prepared myself for that last and greatest torment.
But on a sudden, as I stood there, waiting to be led and fastened to
my stake, I observed a stir in the crowd, and certain men on the
outskirts thereof crying something with loud voices. Then all the
people swayed and eddied hither and thither, and some cried one thing,
and some another, and then the crowd began to melt away, like a heap
of sand when the waves reach it, and the voice of their crying came to
us where we stood, and sent the hands of all the nobles and gentlemen
to their swords, and set all the common sort shrieking and treading
down one another, in their desire to flee. For they were crying--
“Seva Gi! Seva Gi! the Morattys are coming!” in all their outlandish
tongues.
Then, when all around that were not fled were turning their eyes
across the river, for to discover the original of this tumult, I felt
myself suddenly severed from those unfortunates among whom I stood,
and surrounded altogether by a company of men, that wore the
slops[78] and doublets of our English sailors. And before I had time
to think what this might mean, they had cut the cord that bound my
hands, and torn off from me that shameful dress, the _samarra_ and
_carocha_, and flung it over the gentleman of Goa that had the
ill-luck to be called my godfather, and elbowed and nudged him out of
their way. Then he that seemed the chief among them wrapped me in a
cloak, for to hide the strange striped habit that I still wore, and
said in a hoarse whisper in my ear--
“Stoop, Master Ned; stoop, and we will hide you among us. You are too
tall.”
This I did, though still in an extreme confusion of mind, and the
troop of sailors gathered round me, and, keeping close together,
pushed through the crowd, swaggering mightily, and using their fists
not a little, and reviling the Portugals in good round English for not
making a way for them. Thus we passed through the crowd, that was now
thronging every street and bridge that led from the burning-place, and
pouring into the city itself. Prisoners and tipstaves and nobles and
officers and godfathers were all pressed and thwacked together, and
all ran and cried to take refuge in the fortress, and to shut the
gates on the Morattys. Now all this seemed very greatly to divert the
honest fellows that had me in charge, so that I heard them laughing
and jesting among themselves as if the whole matter were but a play.
But when at last we got clear of the bridges and causeys, and come to
the place where a ship’s boat was moored with two men left in her,
they stopped for a moment, and mounted upon a great pile of timber
that lay hard by for to see better. Then as they became quiet, looking
and hearkening, there seemed to be borne to me upon the air the sound
of fighting, and a great cry, as of rage or victory, that was in no
Christian tongue, but had the sound of--
“_Hoor! Hoor! Mohawdio!_”[79] and this we heard again and again.
Then he that seemed the chief of the seamen swore a great oath, and
came down from the wood-pile with a pale face, for, “On my life” (says
he), “the Morattys are really there.”
“And why not there, sir?” says I. “Sure that is what the people have
been crying all the time.”
“Ay,” says he, “but they wan’t there until now. We raised a false
alarm for to get your honour away safely.”
“Then how came the Morattys?” I asked, with much amazement.
“Nay, that you must ask of their father the devil, for I can’t tell,”
says he.
But I preferred to ascribe this marvel rather to the direction of
Almighty God, who, knowing, as I have no doubt, that the confusion
raised by a false alarm should not suffice for to convey me away to a
place of safety, used the designs of the Morattys to bring ’em to that
spot at the very time they were needed.
The sailors would willingly have stayed long watching the fight, but
their leader called them away, and we rowed down the river in the
boat, I being laid in the bottom and covered with a sail. So at last
we come to a ship, and when we went on board of her, I seemed to
myself to have seen her before, but so confused was I in my
intellectuals that I could neither recollect when nor how. Then the
master carried me into his cabin, and poured out for me a dram of
cordial water, and bade me drink it, and thereafter slapped me on the
back and demanded of me whether I had forgot my old friends. But I
could only gaze upon him bewildered, and answer nothing.
“Alack, poor lad!” cried he; “have the devilish wretches robbed you of
your wits? Sure this is a sorry sight. Poor lad! poor lad!” and the
great tears rolled down his face for very pity.
“Sir,” says I, “I entreat your pardon; but though your countenance
seem familiar to me, yet I can’t recall your name.”
“Tom Freeman is my name,” says he, “skipper of the Boscobel, the
tightest craft as ever left Graves-End. You sailed with me to the
Indies, Master Ned, for all you have forgot me now, and you were used
to talk of some day coming with me to the furthest East.”
But by this time I had recollected my old friend Captain Freeman, and
was embracing him most heartily, and crying shame on my dulled and
blind eyes, that had not known him at first. And so glad was he to
find that I had not, as he feared, been bereft by cruel usage of my
senses, that he forgave me willingly my seeming callousness. Then he
bade me sit down and tell him all that had befell me since the day I
left Surat, though first he asked my pardon while he went on deck and
bade the seamen keep good watch, and let no vessel nor boat approach
without alarming him. So I told my story as shortly as I might, and
then inquired of him concerning the happy chance that brought him to
the burning-place, since I had not thought him one to go to look on
willingly or for sport at an _Aucto de Fie_. And when I asked him
this, he brake out in a great laugh.
“Why,” said he, “we heard from one of those Inquisition dogs ’emselves
what was to be done--dragged it out of him, indeed, for he had no
choice.”
“Pray tell me how you compassed this, captain,” says I.
“Well,” says he, “we were in one of the taverns near the river last
night, the mate and I, and two or three of the crew, and there was
drinking there with us three or four Portugals, merchants’ clerks with
whom we had traded, and the like. We had ended all our business, and
right glad we were to think that the morrow should see us leave this
pestiferous place. Two of the men was mighty lively in their cups, and
must needs brag concerning the greatness and power of England, little
heeding that they were shaming her by their drunken ways. The other
guests turned to look at ’em after a while, and presently a Jesuit
priest, that was set at a table near at hand to us, spake out
prodigious wrathfully in English. ‘Ye may boast of your country,
gentlemen,’ says he, ‘but sure all her power can’t save the Englishman
that’s to be burnt by the Inquisition to-morrow.’ Now at this we were
very much moved, and cried out that the thing should be stopped, and
we would see to’t. ‘Ough!’ says the priest, after the Irish manner,
‘’tis not nowadays that the English cannons will be heard at the gates
of Goa, if such a thing be done.’ ‘By heaven!’ says I, ‘but they
shall, if we can’t hinder this shameful deed.’ And with that we got
the priest up in a corner, and threatening him with our hangers and
fists, demanded that he should satisfy us whether that he said was
true. And he held out stoutly against us for some time (the innkeeper
meanwhile dancing about behind us like one possessed, and imploring of
us not to bring disgrace and ruin upon his house by attacking a priest
there), and I was much afraid lest some one should think to send and
call the watch. But at last, seeing that all the other guests were
fled, our men being prodigious ready with their blows, our friend
vouchsafed to tell us that this Englishman came out of Surat, and that
he should be burned at the third stake on the right-hand side of the
line; ‘and as for his name’ (says he), ‘’tis wrote plain and large
upon his _samarra_, the which ye would call a gown or cope. And more
than this’ (quoth he), ‘I’ll not tell ye though ye keep me here until
doomsday.’ And at that some with me wished to rend his gown, and chase
him down the street with their swords; but I believed that he had told
us that which we needed to know, and bade ’em leave him to me. So then
I had him out of his corner, and bade him make the best of his way
home, warning him, moreover, that if he should ever declare what he
had told us, the Inquisition would have him. And at this he smiled in
my face, with a mighty agreeable smile, and says he, ‘Ye know a
prodigious deal concerning the Inquisition, though not so much as your
friend that’s to be burnt to-morrow knows by this time. My blessing
upon ye, my son.’ And with that he lift up his hand, and muttered some
Latin _hocus-pocus_, and departed, the men making no attempt for to
stop him, since they believed he had been muttering evil spells
against us.”
“’Twas surely Father Theodorus!” I cried.
“Who is he?” asked Captain Freeman.
“An Irish priest that showed me much kindness, for my father’s sake,
as he saith,” said I.
“Then if he showed you kindness, Master Ned, I would counsel you, for
the good man’s own sake (for good he must be, though a Papist), tell
no one of his good deeds, or he will surely suffer as you should have
done.”
“I will take good heed thereto,” says I. “But prythee tell me,
captain, how goes it with all at Surat? How fares good Mr Martin and
Mr Spender, and all other my friends in the Factory? and did my
servant Loll Duss ever return from this place with the message I gave
him?”
“Mr Martin is well,” says he, “and looks to be made Accountant
shortly, when Mr Accountant Cuthell, that now is, shall return to
England with his fortune made. Mr Spender is well advanced in the
service, though not by his own fault (for there an’t no diligence nor
prudence in him), but by the indirect procuring of Mr Secretary his
cousin. And of the other gentlemen I can’t speak without you ask me of
’em particularly, for I have clean forgot which on ’em you know, and
which are strange to you.”
“But what do they say touching me?” asked I; “and have they ever heard
what befell me?”
“Why truly,” says he, “that Gentue servant of yours, Loll Duss,
carried the news of your seizure to Mr Martin, who hath made divers
efforts to get news of you since that time, but in vain. Then at last
it got abroad that you had converted, and were gone to the Brasils in
one of the Portugal plate-carracks, for to end your days there, and it
was advised, upon this being rumoured, that word on’t should be sent
to the Committee, and that your friends should be told that you were
as good as dead. But because Mr Martin and one or two more held out
very stoutly against such a treatment of you, they must needs be
content with taking your name off the books of the Factory, and by
this means stopping your pay, and in this, I believe, they was
justified by ancient custom. Yet Mr Martin demanded that his protest
should be entered in writing against their so doing, and this was
punctually performed, he still believing that you would return. And
’tis thus the matter stands at this present. Mr Secretary and his
cousin Mr Spender are prodigious bitter against you, and have moved
his honour the President and the Council to their acts of harshness;
but Mr Martin is confident in your honesty, and will by no means
suffer it to be impugned in his presence.”
“Then my course now,” says I, “must be to return to Surat and declare
all my ill fortune.”
“Not so fast,” says he, “for we are but just sailed from Surat, and I
must take the Boscobel to the Factory at Bengall before she can drop
anchor again in Swally. You must needs come with me, Master Ned, and
see those parts, for I can’t turn back, and there an’t no other way
for you to journey safely to Surat. I don’t doubt but we shall speak
some one of the Company’s ships on our way, and then we may put you
aboard of her; but if not, then you shall go with me to Bengall, and
if the factor there send me on a further voyage, perhaps even to Syam
and the Eastern Islands.”
“But,” said I, “should I not hire for myself a _baloon_, and so leave
this place and go to Surat?”
“You an’t yet out of Goa river, Master Ned,” quoth he, “and as I
think, will undergo not the least of your perils in the leaving on’t.
You could not take your journey in a boat, as you purpose, without
awaking suspicion, and this should land you again in the clutches of
the Inquisition. Come and sail with me, and go back only in an English
ship.”
“So be it,” said I.