I lay in prison until the twenty-ninth day of May, Royal Oak Day. I
know not quite how it came to pass, but none of my brother's efforts
toward my release met with any success. I heard afterward some
whispers as to the cause, being that so many of high degree were
concerned in the riots, and that if I, a poor devil of a convict
tutor, were let off too cheaply, why then the rest of them must be
let loose only at a rope's end, and that it would never do to send
me back to Drake Hill scot free, while Sir Humphrey Hyde and Major
Robert Beverly and my Lord Estes, and others, were in durance, and
some high in office in great danger of discovery. At all events,
whatever may have been the reason, my release could not be effected,
and in prison I lay for all those days, but with more comfort, since
either Catherine or Mary--Mary I think it must have been--made a
curtain for my window, which kept out that burning eye of the
western sun, and also fashioned a gnat veil to overspread my pallet,
so the flies could not get at me. I knew there were others in
prison, but knew not that three of them were led forth to be hung,
which might have been my fate, had I been a free man, nor knew that
another was released on condition that he build a bridge over
Dragon's Swamp. This last chance, my friends had striven sorely to
get for me, but had not succeeded, though they had offered large
sums, my brother being willing to tax the estate heavily. Some
covert will there was at work against me, and it may be I could
mention it, but I like not mentioning covert wills, but only such as
be downright, and exercised openly in the faces of all men. I lay
there not so uncomfortably, being aware of a great delight that the
tobacco was cut, whether or no, as indeed it was on many
plantations, and the King cheated out of great wealth.
This end of proceedings, with no Bacon to lead us, did not surprise
nor disappoint me. Then, too, the fact that I was cleared of
suspicion of theft in the eyes of her I loved and her family, at
least, filled me with an ecstasy which sometimes awoke me from
slumber like a pain. And though I was quite resolved not to let that
beloved maid fling away herself upon me, unless my innocence was
proven world-wide, and to shield her at all costs to myself, yet
sometimes the hope that in after years I might be able to wed her
and not injure her, started up within me. She came to see me
whenever she could steal away, Madam Cavendish being still in that
state of hatred against me, for my participation in the riot, though
otherwise disposed enough to give her consent to our marriage on the
spot. And every day came my brother John and Catherine, and now and
then Parson Downs. And the parson used to bring me choice spirits in
his pocket, and tobacco, though I could touch only the latter for
fear of inflaming my wounds, and he used to sit and read me some of
Will Shakespeare's Plays, which he bore under his cassock, and a
prayer-book openly in hand, that being the only touch of hypocrisy
which ever I saw about Parson Downs.
"Lord, Harry, thou dost not want prayers," he would say, "but rather
being fallen as thou art, in an evil sink of human happenings,
somewhat about them, and none hath so mastered the furthest roots of
men's hearts as Will Shakespeare. 'Tis him and a pipe thou needst,
lad." So saying, down he would sit himself betwixt me and the fiery
western window, and I got to believe more in his Christianity, than
ever I had done when I had heard him hold forth from the pulpit.
'Twas from him I knew the sad penalty which they fixed upon for me,
for the 29th of May, that being Royal Oak Day, when they celebrated
the Restoration in England, and more or less in the colonies, and on
which a great junketing had been arranged, with races, and
wrestling, and various sports.
Parson Downs came to me the afternoon of the 28th, and sat gazing at
me with a melancholy air, nor offered to read Will Shakespeare,
though he filled my pipe and pressed hard upon me a cup of Burgundy.
"'Twill give thee heart, Harry," he said, "and surely now thy wounds
be so far healed, 'twill not inflame them, and in any case, why
should good spirit inflame wounds? Faith, and I believe not in so
much bleeding and so little stimulating. I'll be damned, Harry, if I
see what is left to inflame in thee, not a hint of colour in thy
long face. Stands it not to reason, that if no blood be left in thee
for the wounds to work upon, they must even take thy vitals? But I
am no physician. However, smoke hard as thou canst, poor Harry, if
thou wilt not drink, for I have something to tell thee, and there is
that about our good tobacco of Virginia--now we have rescued it,
betwixt you and me, from royal freebooters--which is soothing to
the nerves and tending to allay evil anticipations."
Then, as I lay puffing away something feebly at my pipe, still with
enjoyment, he unfolded his evil news to me. It seemed that my
brother had commissioned him so to do.
"'Tis a shame, Harry," he said, "and I will assure thee that all
that could be done hath been, and if now there were less on guard,
and a place where thou couldst hide with safety, the fleetest horse
in the Colony is outside, if thou wert strong enough to sit him. And
so thou escaped, I would care not if never I saw him again, though I
paid a pretty penny for him and love him better than ever I loved
any woman, since he springs to order and stands without hitching,
and with never a word of nagging in my ears to make me pay penance
for the service. What a man with a good horse, and good wine, and
good tobacco, wanteth a wife for, passeth my understanding, but I
know thou art young, and the maid is a fair one. Faith, and she was
in such sore affliction this morning because of thee, Harry, as
might well console any man. Had she been Bacon's widow, she had not
wedded again, but gone widow to her death. Thou shouldst have seen
her, lad, when I ventured to strive to comfort her with the
reflection that her suffering in thy behalf was not so grievous as
was Bacon's wife's for his death, for thou art to have thy life, my
poor Harry, and no great hurt, though it may be somewhat wearisome
if the sun be hot. But Mistress Mary Cavendish flew out at me in
such wise, though she hath known all along to what fate thou wert
probably destined, and said such harsh things of poor Madam Bacon,
that I was minded to retreat. Keep Mary Cavendish's love, when she
be wedded to thee, Harry, for there is little compromise with her
for faults, unless she loveth, and she hath found out that Cicely
Hyde betrayed the plans of the plant-cutters, and for her and Madam
Bacon her sweet tongue was like a fiery lash, and Catherine was as
bad, though silent. Catherine, unless I be greatly mistaken, will
wed thy brother John, but unless I be more greatly mistaken, she
loveth thee, and now, my poor Harry, wouldst know what they will do
to thee to-morrow?"