BEFORE THE ASSIZE.
Then we sat down and waited. 'Twas all that we could do. Day after
day we went to the prison, where my mother sat by my father, whose
condition never changed in the least, being always that of one who
slept, or, if his eyes were open, was unconscious, and though he
might utter a few rambling words, had no command of his mind or of
his speech. Wherefore we hoped that he suffered nothing. ''Twas a
musket ball had struck,' the surgeon said, 'in his backbone between
the shoulders, whereby his powers of motion and of thought were
suspended.' I know not whether anyone attempted to remove the ball,
or whether it was lodged there at all, because I am ignorant of
such matters; and to me, whether he had been struck in the back or
no, it was to my mind sure and certain that the Lord had granted my
father's earnest prayer that he should again be permitted to deliver
openly the message that was upon his soul; nay, had given him three
weeks of continual and faithful preaching, the fruits of which,
could we perceive them, should be abundant. That prayer granted, the
Lord, I thought, was calling him to rest. Therefore, I looked for no
improvement.
One other letter came from Robin, inclosing one for me, with which
(because I could not leave my mother at such a time) I was forced
to stay my soul, as the lover in the Canticle stayeth his soul
with apples. I have that letter still; it hath been with me always;
it lay hanging from my neck in the little leathern bag in which I
carried the Duke's ring; I read it again and again until I knew it
by heart; yet still I read it again, because even to look at my
lover's writing had in it something of comfort even when things were
at their worst, and Egyptian darkness lay upon my soul. But this
letter I cannot endure to copy out or suffer others to read it,
because it was written for mine own eye in such a time of trouble.
'Oh! my love!' he said. 'Oh, my tender heart!' and then a hundred
prayers for my happiness, and tears for my tears, and hopes for the
future (which would be not the earthly life but the future reserved
by merciful Heaven for those who have been called and chosen). As
for the sharp and painful passage by which we must travel from this
world to the next, Robin bade me take no thought of that at all, but
to think of him either as my lover walking with me as of old beside
the stream at home, or as a spirit waiting for me to join him in the
heavenly choir. And so ending with as many farewells (the letter
being written when he expected the Judges to arrive and the Assize
to begin) as showed his tender love for me. No--I cannot write down
this letter for the eyes of all to read. There are things which must
be kept hidden in our own hearts; and, without doubt, every woman
to whom good fortune hath given a lover such as Robin, with a heart
as fond and a pen as ready (though he could never, like Humphrey,
write sweet verses), hath received an epistle or two like unto mine
for its love and tenderness, but (I hope) without the sadness of
impending death.
It was four weeks after we were brought to Ilminster that the news
came to us of the coming trials. There were five Judges--but the
world knows but of one, namely, George Lord Jeffreys, Chief Justice
of England--and now, indeed, we began to understand the true misery
of our situation. For everyone knew the character of the Judge, who,
though a young man still, was already the terror alike of prisoners,
witnesses, and juries. It promised to be a black and bloody Assize
indeed, since this man was to be the Judge.
The aspect of the prison by this time was changed. The songs and
merriment, the horseplay and loud laughter by which the men had at
first endeavoured to keep up their hearts were gone. The country
lads pined and languished in confinement; their cheeks grew pale
and their eyes heavy. Then, the prison was so crowded that there
was barely room for all to lie at night, and the yard was too small
for all to walk therein by day. In the morning, though they opened
all the shutters, the air was so foul that in going into it from
the open one felt sick and giddy, and was sometimes fain to run out
and drink cold water. Oh! the terrible place for an old man such
as Sir Christopher! Yet he endured without murmuring the foulness
and the hardness, comforting the sick, still reproving blasphemies,
and setting an example of cheerfulness. The wounded men all died, I
believe; which, as the event proved, was lucky for them. It would
have saved the rest much suffering if they had all died as well.
And to think that this was only one of many prisons thus crowded
with poor captives! At Wells, Philip's Norton, Shepton Mallet, Bath,
Bridgwater, Taunton, Ilchester, Somerton, Langport, Bristol and
Exeter, there was a like assemblage of poor wretches thus awaiting
their trials.
I said that there was now little singing. There was, however,
drinking enough, and more than enough. They drank to drown their
sorrows, and to forget the horrid place in which they lay and the
future which awaited them. When they were drunk they would bellow
some of their old songs; but the brawling of a drunkard will not
communicate to his companions the same joy as the music of a merry
heart.
While we were expecting to hear that the Judge had arrived at
Salisbury, the fever broke out in the prison of Ilminster. At Wells
they were afflicted with the small-pox, but at Ilminster it was jail
fever which fell upon the poor prisoners. Everybody hath heard of
this terrible disorder, which is communicated by those who have it
to those who go among them--namely, to the warders and turnkeys,
and even to the judges and the juries. On the first day after it
broke out--which was with an extraordinary virulence--four poor men
died and were buried the next morning. After this, no day passed
but there were funerals at the churchyard, and the mounds of their
graves--the graves of these poor countrymen who thought to fight
the battles of the Lord--stood side by side in a long row, growing
continually longer. We--that is, good Mrs. Prior and myself--sat at
the window and watched the funerals, praying for the safety of those
we loved.
So great was the fear of infection in the town that no one was
henceforth allowed within the prison, nor were the warders allowed
to come out of it. This was a sad order for me, because my mother
chose to remain within the prison, finding a garret at the house of
the Chief Constable, and I could no longer visit that good old man,
Sir Christopher, whose only pleasure left had been to converse with
me daily, and, as I now understand, by the refreshment the society
of youth brings to age, to lighten the tedium of his imprisonment.
Henceforth, therefore, I went to the prison door every morning and
sent in my basket of provisions, but was not suffered to enter; and
though I could have speech with my mother or with Barnaby, they were
on one side the bars and I on the other.
[Illustration: '_I was standing at the wicket waiting for my basket
to be taken in._']
It was at this time that I made the acquaintance of Mr. George
Penne. This creature--a villain, as I afterwards discovered, of
the deepest dye--was to external appearance a grave and sober
merchant. He was dressed in brown cloth and laced shirt, and carried
a gold-headed stick in his hand. He came to Ilminster about the
end of August or the beginning of September, and began to inquire
particularly into the names and the circumstances of the prisoners,
pretending (such was his craftiness) a great tenderness for their
welfare. He did the same thing, we heard afterwards, wherever the
Monmouth prisoners were confined. At Ilminster, the fever being in
the jail, he did not venture within, but stood outside and asked of
any who seemed to know, who were the prisoners within, and what were
their circumstances.
He accosted me one morning when I was standing at the wicket waiting
for my basket to be taken in.
'Madam,' he said, 'you are doubtless a friend of some poor prisoner.
Your father or your brother may unhappily be lying within?'
Now I was grown somewhat cautious by this time. Wherefore, fearing
some kind of snare or trap, I replied gravely, that such, indeed,
might be the case.
'Then, Madam,' he said, speaking in a soft voice and looking full
of compassion, 'if that be so, suffer me, I pray you, to wish him a
happy deliverance; and this, indeed, from the bottom of my heart.'
'Sir,' I said, moved by the earnestness of his manner, 'I know not
who you may be, but I thank you. Such a wish, I hope, will not
procure you the reward of a prison. Sir, I wish you a good day.'
So he bowed and left me, and passed on.
But next day I found him in the same place. And his eyes were more
filled with compassion than before and his voice was softer.
'I cannot sleep, Madam,' he said, 'for thinking of these poor
prisoners; I hear that among them is none other than Sir Christopher
Challis, a gentleman of great esteem and well stricken in years.
And there is also the pious and learned--but most unfortunate--Dr.
Comfort Eykin, who rode with the army and preached daily, and is
now, I hear, grievously wounded and bedridden.'
'Sir,' I said, 'Dr. Comfort Eykin is my father. It is most true that
he is a prisoner, and that he is wounded.'
He heaved a deep sigh and wiped a tear from his eyes.
'It is now certain,' he said, 'that Lord Jeffreys will come down to
conduct the trials. Nay, it is reported that he has already arrived
at Salisbury, breathing fire and revenge, and that he hath with him
four other Judges and a troop of horse. What they will do with so
many prisoners I know not. I fear that it will go hard with all;
but, as happens in such cases, those who have money, and know how to
spend it, may speedily get their liberty.'
'How are they to spend it?'
'Why, Madam, it is not indeed to be looked for that you should
know. But when the time comes for the trial, should I, as will
very likely happen, be in the way, send for me, and whatever the
sentence I warrant we shall find a way to 'scape it--even if it be a
sentence of death. Send for me--my name is George Penne, and I am a
well-known merchant of Bristol.'
It was then that Barnaby came to the other side of the wicket. We
could talk, but could not touch each other.
'All is well, Sis,' he said: 'Dad is neither better nor worse, and
Sir Christopher is hearty, though the prison is like the 'tween
decks of a ship with Yellow Jack aboard--just as sweet and pleasant
for the air and just as merry for the crew.'
'Barnaby,' I said, 'the Judges are now at Salisbury.'
'Ay, ay; I thought they would have been there before. We shall be
tried, they tell me, at Wells, which it is thought will be taken
after other towns. So there is still a tidy length of rope. Sis,
this continual smoking of tobacco to keep off infection doth keep a
body dry. Cider will serve, but let it be a runlet, at least.'
'He called you "Sister," Madam,' said Mr. Penne curiously. 'Have you
brother as well as father in this place?'
'Alas! Sir, I have not only my father, my mother, and my brother
in this place, but my father-in-law (as I hoped soon to call him);
and in Exeter Jail is my lover and his cousin. Oh! Sir, if you mean
honestly'----
'Madam'--he laid his hand upon his breast--'I assure you I am all
honesty. I have no other thought, I swear to you, than to save, if
possible, the lives of these poor men.'
He walked with me to my lodging, and I there told him not only
concerning our own people, but also all that I knew of the prisoners
in this jail--they were for the most part poor and humble men.
He made notes in a book, which caused me some misgivings; but he
assured me again and again that all he desired was to save their
lives. And I now understand that he spoke the truth indeed, but not
the whole truth.
'Your brother, for instance,' he said. 'Oh! Madam, 'twere a thousand
pities that so brave a young man, so stout withal, should be
hanged, drawn, and quartered. And your lover at Exeter, doubtless
a tall and proper youth; and the other whom you have named, Dr.
Humphrey Challis, and your grandfather (as I hope he will be) Sir
Christopher; and your own father--why, Madam,' he grew quite warm
upon it, 'if you will but furnish some honest merchant--I say not
myself, because I know not yet if you would trust me--but some
honest merchant with the necessary moneys, I will engage that they
shall all be saved from hanging. To be sure, these are all captains
and officers, and to get their absolute pardon will be a great
matter--perhaps above your means. Yet, Sir Christopher hath a good
estate, I am told.'
This George Penne was, it is true, a Bristol merchant, engaged in
the West India trade; that is to say, he bought sugar and tobacco,
and had shares in ships which sailed to and from Bristol and
the West Indies, and sometimes made voyages to the Guinea Coast
for negroes. But, in common with many Bristol merchants, he had
another trade, and a very profitable trade it is, namely, what is
called kidnapping: that is, buying or otherwise securing criminals
who have been pardoned or reprieved on condition of going to
the Plantations. They sell these wretches for a term of years to
the planters, and make a great profit by the transaction. And,
foreseeing that there would presently be a rare abundance of such
prisoners, the honest Mr. George Penne was going from prison to
prison finding out what persons of substance there were who would
willingly pay for their sentence to be thus mitigated. In the event,
though things were not ordered exactly as he could have wished, this
worthy man (his true worth you shall presently hear) made a pretty
penny, as the saying is, out of the prisoners. What he made out of
us, and by what lies, you shall learn; but, by ill-fortune for him,
he gat not the fingering of the great sums which he hoped of us.
And now the news--from Winchester first, and from Dorchester
afterwards--filled the hearts of all with a dismay which it is
beyond all power of words to tell. For if an ancient lady of good
repute (though the widow of a regicide), such a woman as Lady Lisle,
seventy years of age, could be condemned to be burned--and was, in
fact, beheaded--for no greater offence than harbouring two rebels,
herself ignorant of who they were or whence they came, what could
any hope who had actually borne arms? And, again, at Dorchester,
thirty who pleaded not guilty were found guilty and condemned to be
hanged, and nearly three hundred who pleaded guilty were sentenced
to be hanged at the same time. It was not an idle threat intended to
terrify the rest, because thirteen of the number were executed on
the following Monday, and eighty afterwards. Among those who were
first hanged were many whom we knew. The aged and pious Mr. Sampson
Larke, the Baptist Minister of Lyme, for instance, was one; Colonel
Holmes (whom the King had actually pardoned) was another; and young
Mr. Hewling--whose case was like that of Robin. This terrible news
caused great despondency and choking in the prison, where also the
fever daily carried off one or two.
Oh! my poor heart fell, and I almost lost the power of prayer, when
I heard that from Dorchester the Judge was riding in great state,
driving his prisoners before him to Exeter, where there were two
hundred waiting their trial. And among them Robin--Alas! alas!--my
Robin.