A SCARE.
There is between the condition of the mind and that of the body an
interdependence which cannot but be recognised by every physician.
So greatly has this connection affected some of the modern
physicians, as to cause doubts in their minds whether there be any
life at all hereafter, or if, when the pulse ceases to beat, the
whole man should become a dead and senseless lump of clay. In this,
they confuse the immortal soul with the perishable instruments of
brain and body, through which in life it manifests its being and
betrays its true nature, whether of good or ill.
Thus, the condition in which Robin now lay clearly corresponded, as
I now understand, with the state of his mind induced by the news
that Alice, to save his life, had been betrayed into marrying his
cousin. For at the hearing of that dreadful news he was seized with
such a transport of rage (not against that poor innocent victim,
but against his cousin) as threatened to throw him into madness;
and on recovering from this access, he presently fell into a kind
of despair, in which he languished during the whole voyage. So also
in a corresponding manner, after a fever, the violence of which
was like to have torn him to pieces, he fell into a lethargy, in
which, though his fever left him, he continued to wander in his
mind, and grew, as I could not fail to mark, daily weaker in his
body, refusing to eat, though Alice brought him dainty broth of
chicken, delicate panadas of bread and butter, fruit boiled with
sugar, and other things fit to tempt a sick man's appetite, provided
by the goodness of Madam. This lady was in religion a Romanist; by
birth she was a Spanish Quadroon. To escape the slavery to which
the colour of her grandmother doomed her, she escaped from Cuba and
found her way to Jamaica, where she met with our master. And whether
she was lawfully married unto him I will not, after her kindness to
Alice and her faithfulness to myself as regards Robin, so much as
ask.
Robin, therefore, though the fever left him, did not mend. On the
contrary, as I have said, he grew daily weaker; so that I marvelled
at his lasting so long, and looked to see him die, as so many die,
in the early morning, when there is a sharpness or eagerness in the
air, and the body is exhausted by long sleep. Yet he died not.
And now you shall hear how, through the Duke of Monmouth's ring, we
escaped from our servitude. 'God grant,' said the Duke, 'that it
bring thee good luck!' This was a light and unconsidered prayer,
forgotten as soon as uttered, meant only to please the ear of a
child. And yet, in a manner most marvellous to consider, it proved
the salvation of us all. What better luck could that ring cause than
that we should escape from the land of Egypt--the House of Bondage?
'I have disposed of the ring,' Barnaby told me a few days later.
'That is to say, John Nuthall has secretly pledged it with a
merchant for twenty guineas. He said that the ring belongs to a
convict; but many of them have brought such precious things with
them in order to buy their freedom. He owns that the stones are
fine, and very willingly gave the money on their security.'
'Then nothing remains,' I said, 'but to get away.'
'John Nuthall has bought provisions and all we want, little by
little, so as to excite no suspicion. They are secretly and safely
bestowed, and half the money still remains in his hands. How goes
Robin?'
'He draws daily nearer to his grave. We cannot depart until either
he mends or dies. 'Tis another disaster, Barnaby.'
'Ay; but of disaster we must not think. Robin will die. Yet our own
case may be as bad if it comes to scuttling the ship. Cheer up,
lads; many men die, but the world goes on. Poor Robin! Every man for
himself and the Lord for us all. Sis will cry; but even if Robin
recovers he cannot marry her: a consideration which ought to comfort
her. And for him--since nothing else will serve him--it is best that
he should die. Better make an end at once than go all his life with
hanging head for the sake of a woman, as if there are not plenty
women in the world to serve his turn.'
'I know not what ails him that he does not get better. The air is
too hot for him; he hath lost his appetite. Barnaby,' I cried,
moved to a sudden passion of pity such as would often seize me at
that time, 'saw one ever ruin more complete than ours? Had we been
fighting for Spain and the accursed Inquisition we could not have
been more heavily punished. And we were fighting on the Lord's side!'
'We were--Dad was with us too. And see how he was served! The
Lord, it seems, doth not provide His servants with arms, or with
ammunition, or with commanders. Otherwise, the Duke this day would
be in St. James's Palace wearing his father's crown, and you would
be a Court physician with a great wig and a velvet coat, instead of
a Monmouth cap and a canvas shirt. And I should be an admiral. But
what doth it profit to ask why and wherefore? Let us first get clear
of the wreck. Well; I wish we were to take Robin with us. 'Twill be
a poor business going back to Bradford Orcas without him.'
We waited, therefore, day after day, for Robin either to get better
or to die, and still he lingered, seemingly in a waste or decline,
but such as I had never before seen; and I know not what would have
happened to him, whether he would have lived or died, but then there
happened a thing which caused us to wait no longer. It was this.
The master having, according to his daily custom, gone the round
of his estate--that is to say, having seen his servants all
at work under their drivers; some planting with the hoe, some
weeding, some cutting the maize, some gathering yams, potatoes,
cassavy, or bonavist for provisions, some attending the ingenio
or the still-house--did unluckily take into his head to visit the
sick-house. What was more unfortunate, this desire came upon him
after he had taken a morning dram, and that of the stiffest: not,
indeed, enough to make him drunk, but enough to make him obstinate
and wilful. When I saw him standing at the open door, I perceived
by the glassiness of his eyes and the unsteadiness of his shoulders
that he had already begun the day's debauch. He was now in a most
dangerous condition of mind. Later in the day, when he was more
advanced in drink, he might be violent, but he would be much less
dangerous, because he would afterwards forget what he had said or
done in his cups.
'So, Sir Doctor,' he said, 'I have truly a profitable pair of
servants!--one who pretends to cure everybody, and so escapes work;
and your cousin, who pretends to be sick, and so will do none! A
mighty bargain I made, truly, when I bought you both!'
'With submission, sir,' I said, 'I have within the last week earned
for your honour ten guineas' worth of fees.'
'Well, that is as it may be. How do I know what hath gone into your
own pocket? Where is this malingering fellow? Make him sit up! Sit
up, I say, ye skulking dog; sit up!'
'Sir,' I said, still speaking with the greatest humility, 'nobody
but the Lord can make this man sit up.' And, indeed, Robin did not
comprehend one word that was said.
'I gave fifty pounds for him only a month ago. Am I to lose all
that money, I ask? Fifty pounds! because I was told that he was a
gentleman and would be ransomed by his family. Hark ye, Doctor, you
must either cure this man for me--or else, by the Lord! you shall
have his ransom added to your own. If he dies, I will double your
price! Mark that!'
I said nothing, hoping that he would depart. As for Alice, she had
turned her back upon him at his first appearance (as Madam had
ordered her to do), so that he might not notice her.
Unfortunately he did not depart, but came into the room, looking
about him. Certainly he was not one who would suffer his servants to
be negligent, even in the smallest things.
'Here is fine work!' he said. 'Sheets of the best--a pillow; what
hath a servant to do with such luxuries?'
'My cousin is a gentleman,' I told him, 'and accustomed to lie in
linen. The rug which is enough for him in health must have a sheet
to it as well, now that he is sick.'
'Humph! And whom have we here! Who art thou, madam, I wish to know?'
Alice turned.
'I am your honour's servant,' she said. 'I am employed in this
sick-house when I am not in the sewing-room.'
'A servant? Oh! madam, I humbly crave your pardon. I took you for
some fine lady. I am honoured by having such a servant. All the rest
of my women servants go in plain smock and petticoat. But,' here
he smiled, 'to so lovely a girl as Alice Eykin--fair Alice, sweet
Alice--we must give the bravest and daintiest. To thee, my dear,
nothing can be denied. Those dainty cheeks, those white hands, were
never made to adorn a common coif. Mistress Alice, we must be better
acquainted. This is no fit place for you. Not the sick-house, but
the best room in my house shall be at thy service.'
'Sir, I ask for nothing but to sit retired, and to render such
service as is in my power.'
'To sit retired? Why, that cannot be longer suffered. 'Twould be
a sin to keep hidden any longer this treasure--this marvel, I
say, of beauty and grace. My servant! Nay; 'tis I--'tis the whole
island--who are thy servants. Thou to render service! 'Tis for me,
madam, to render service to thy beauty.' He took off his hat and
flourished it, making a leg.
'Then, sir,' said Alice, 'suffer me, I pray, to go about my
business, which is with this sick man, and not to hear compliments.'
He caught her hand and would have kissed it, but she drew it back.
'Nay, coy damsel,' he said; 'I swear I will not go without a kiss
from thy lips! Kiss me, my dear.'
She started back, and I rushed between them. At that moment Madam
herself appeared.
'What do you here?' she cried, catching his arm. 'What has this girl
to do with you? Come away! Come away, and leave her in peace!'
'Go back to the house, woman!' he roared, breaking from her and
flourishing his stick, so that I thought he was actually going to
cudgel her. 'Go back, or it will be the worse for you. What? Am I
master here or you? Go back, I say.'
Then a strange thing happened. She made no reply, but she turned
upon him eyes so full of authority that she looked like a queen. He
shifted his feet, made as if he would speak, and finally obeyed, and
went out of the place to his own house with the greatest meekness,
soberness, and quietness.
Presently Madam came back.
'I blame thee not, child,' she said. 'It is with him as I have
told thee. When he begins to drink the Devil enters into him. Dost
think he came here to see the sick man? No, but for thy fair eyes,
inflamed with love as well as with drink. At such times no one can
rule him but myself, and even I may fail. Keep snug, therefore.
Perhaps he may forget thee again. But, indeed, I know not.'
She sighed, and left us.