I MAKE MYSELF KNOWN TO LADY BIDDY, WITH DIVERS OTHER MATTERS.
Scarce had this piteous moan passed her tender lips when Rodrigues (as I
am told), opening the door, made her a mighty respectful reverence, and,
says he--
"Madam, I am delighted you have recovered of your swoon, and I trust you
feel no ill-effect of the rough usage we were forced to exercise in
bringing you hither."
"Where am I?" cried Lady Biddy, fiercely. "Why have you brought me
here?"
"You are on board the _Robin Goodfellow_," says he, gravely, "or, as my
fellows prefer to call it, the _Black Death_; and I have brought you
here because I had not the heart to leave you on the _Faithful Friend_,
to endure the hardships to which her company must be reduced."
"Where is my uncle? Get you hence and bring him to me!" she cries, with
the same impetuous fury.
"In anything else I shall obey you punctually," says he; "but it is
impossible for me to comply with this demand, for Sir Bartlemy Pengilly
is in the ship yonder, which we are leaving behind."
"You gave him your promise that not one of those who were in the
roundhouse should be injured in any way if he laid down his arms. It was
to save me from the violence of your crew that he submitted himself with
the brave men who stood by him."
"Madam, it was to that very end I gave my promise. Undoubtedly, had your
uncle stood out, I could not have stayed my company from firing into the
roundhouse and putting an end to the obstinate resistance there,
notwithstanding you were likely to have fallen a victim with your
friends."
"Would to God we had met that fate, rather than trust to your promises,
dastard villain!" says she; "for then had there been an honorable end to
their woes and mine."
"Patience, patience, lady!" says he, in a tone calculated only to arouse
her greater indignation. "You are much too young to die, and too
beautiful. Trust me, your fate will be a happier one than you can at
present conceive. When your spirits are calmer you will see that this
unfortunate business is due to the impetuosity of your uncle, and that I
am the best friend you could have found, in the midst of deplorable
circumstances. Your uncle fired the first shot, and the first man who
fell in the conflict was on board this ship. Could you expect my men to
see their innocent comrades slaughtered with indifference, or me to make
no effort for their preservation from further mischief? We fought, and
having overcome those who would have overcome us, we did all that a
magnanimous victor could reasonably afford to do. We forgave those who
laid down their arms, and gave them a ship to continue their journey in.
I had promised no injury should be inflicted upon you, and for that
reason I brought you hither, where, as you see, you will be not
ill-lodged, and shall have the best nurture and service the stores and
my company can offer. Had I left you on the _Faithful Friend_ your case
would have been different, for the vessel is badly injured, and I fear
the company will be sorely put to it for provisions, as, to supply our
own wants, we were obliged to take from her stores--a poor recompense
for the loss and injury inflicted upon us. I have been careful to have
your personal effects brought hither for your use; they are here. If
anything is short of your requirements, or if--"
"Silence!" cried Lady Biddy, who, turning her back on Rodrigues, had
tried to turn a deaf, indifferent ear to his harangue, but was at length
by his long-winded perseverance and mock-humility wrought to an
intolerable degree of impatience. "Silence!" cries she, turning upon him
and stamping her little foot. "Leave me, or, by my soul, I'll put an end
to this torment another way," and indeed (as I learn) she did look
around in desperation for some instrument wherewith to destroy herself,
being very bitterly aggrieved by this hypocrite.
Again this Rodrigues makes her a low reverence, and with his hand on the
door says, "I shall hope to find your spirits easier when I next give
myself the pleasure to inquire after your condition. I have had
refreshment placed in this next cabin, and should you need anything, you
have but to pull the bell. And so good-morning to your ladyship."
Lady Biddy gave him no reply, but as soon as he had closed the second
door after him--turning the key in the outside, she ran to the bed, and
casting herself upon it, gave vent to her feeling in an agony of tears.
And to hear her sobbing above me, yet striving to smother the sound,
lest Rodrigues should know that her pride had broken down, would have
touched any stony heart. It was so pitiful to my ear that the tears
coursed down my own cheeks as I listened.
Thus she sobbed in a great tumult for some while, and then her passion
softening into mere maiden's sorrow, she murmured in a low tone, still
smothering her sweet voice in the pillow lest it should be heard, and
yet not able to keep quite silent either--"Oh, my heart! Oh, my poor
heart!" and this she said over and over again--"Oh, my poor heart! Oh,
my heart!" with mournful tremor, unable to find other words to express
the commotion of her feelings.
Now would I have given anything to be of comfort to her, yet I dared not
come forth from where I lay, lest my sudden appearance should move her
to cry out with terror ere she discerned who I was, which would have
brought Rodrigues back in a twinkling, and ruined all. So I waited
patiently awhile, and when she ceased to make moan, and only sobbed at
intervals, like a child exhausted with weeping, I began to gently
scratch the tick of the bed with my finger-nail, making no more noise
than might a mouse nibbling.
Of this she at first took no notice, but anon I observed she smothered a
sob, as if to listen with greater attention, and then by the movement
above I noticed she had started up as if resting on her elbow; as I
still continued the scratching, she presently made a movement of the
clothes, as if to frighten the thing away, for the bravest of women do
greatly fear a mouse; upon which, ceasing to scrape the tick, I said
quickly, in a very low whisper--
"Do not cry out, a friend is here--I, Benet Pengilly!"
Then whipped she off the bed, yet making no sound, and I, putting my
hands and feet as I have aforesaid against the wall, pushed myself out
from my cramped hiding-place, and got upon my feet before her, raising
my finger and casting my eyes about for fear of discovery.
I must have been very villainous and horrid to look upon, my hair
untrimmed and hanging about my face in dank wisps clotted with blood
from my wound, my clothes in a like pickle, and no cleaner in my flesh
than the sea had washed me the day before; but such horrors had she seen
that her senses were, as it were, the accustomed to such dreadful
images, and she saw me no worse than others, but rather better, for
being there a friend where she thought was none but enemies.
Catching the meaning of my gesture, she went quickly to the panel door
and spied into the next cabin, whence she came back light of foot,
nodding to assure me all was safe. Then she gave me her hand, and I
taking no heed whether mine was reasonably clean or proper to hold so
dainty, delicate a thing, took it; and to feel those soft, cool fingers
clinging tightly to my rough palm, did seem to contract every muscle of
my back with physical delight. Also was my heart quickly moved with joy
to perceive in her dear eyes--though they were swollen and red with
weeping--a bright beam of hope and satisfaction, whilst the corners of
her lips curved with a little smile.
Coming quite close to me, she whispered eagerly in my ear--
"You will save me, Benet, won't you? You will be my good friend?"
"Ay," says I as softly as she (if that might be). "With God's help, no
harm shall befall you."
On this she presses my hand a little closer, and then goes again to the
door, from which she returns with almost a child's glee to tell me all
is safe, and to ask by what miracle I came to her succor.
This joy in the midst of such trouble and peril, this kindness to me for
whom she had shown little liking hitherto, but rather detestation for
the most part, will seem unnatural, as being contrary to the proud, high
spirit and independence of Lady Biddy, and so would it have been at any
other time; but there is none--be he a man and never so strong--but
grief and terrible anxiety will reduce to the unresisting soft temper of
a child; so I do think and thus explain this truth. And, indeed, she
gave present proof of weakness, for while the smile was yet on her lips,
she clasps her hand to her heart and sinks down, sitting on the bed as
if she could no longer hold her footing.
Seeing she was faint, I went with all speed and reckless into the next
chamber for that refreshment Rodrigues said was set there for her
use--than which no madder thing fool ever did, for there were windows
opposite the gallery looking on to the deck, and had one been prying
there I must have been seen, for all the two curtains were drawn, there
being space enough for one to peep through from the outside if he were
so minded. But--thanks be to God!--there was no one spying, and so I got
the tray of refreshments from the table where it lay and carried it into
the next cabin with no mischance.
This tray I set on the bed beside Lady Biddy, and she ate and drank with
appetite, poor soul, for all the time they had been shut up in the
roundhouse--she, with her uncle, and the poor remnant of his
company--not one had broken fast, for there was neither bit nor sup to
be got. Which also is a reason for that behavior of Lady Biddy's to
which I have spoken as seeming unnatural.
While she satisfied her own cravings she made me eat likewise, whereto I
was nowise loth myself, having eaten nothing for many hours but a few
paltry raisins.
As she sat on the bed, I knelt on the ground by her feet for my better
convenience in eating and also conversing in that low tone to which we
were constrained. So as we ate I told her how I had come aboard and
hidden myself, with other matters which there is no necessity to repeat;
and this I did with reasonable calm, but the abounding joy and gladness
of my heart to be there alone with that dear lady, kneeling at her very
feet, listening to her whisper, feasting my eyes when hers were on the
refreshment and I dared to do so unseen, no pen can describe, as I doubt
also no imagination can conceive.
After she had eaten and drunk and would no more, being much refreshed
and invigorated, I was for taking the tray back; but here her quick wit
appearing where my dullness showed, she pointed out the danger, and
taking the tray, carried it herself into the next chamber.
Coming back she seated herself on a settle that ran along one side of
the cabin and bidding me sit beside her, asked how I meant to contrive
her escape, which indeed would have been a poser for me at another time,
but did now to my excited imagination appear the easiest thing in the
world. For when one's spirits are filled with joy there seems nothing
insurmountable, as, on the other hand, in grief we can see no way out of
our trouble.
"Why," says I, "we need not fear but we shall get away safe enough, and
shortly too. For, as Rodrigues obligingly told you, the company is short
of victuals, and must therefore lose no time in seeking a port where
they can refresh with meat and drink; besides that, the ship may need
looking to for the damage she has got. And being in a port where there
are Christian souls, what is to keep us here?"
"A rascal named Rodrigues," says Lady Biddy very pertinently.
"Pish!" says I. "I have escaped him times enough to know he is a fool,
for all his pretense to cleverness. Nay, have I not hid myself under his
own cot in broad day? Not dreaming but you are helpless, he will think
you sufficiently secured if he locks the door and sets one of his
rascals to watch it. But the stern gallery is open, and as I got in so
can I get out, with the night to give me help and better security."
"Do you think it will be as easy for me?" asks Lady Biddy doubtfully.
"Ay, I shall make it so, please God," says I. "For in the night that I
swim to shore will I bring back a boat, and by a ladder of ropes shall
you get down into it."
Lady Biddy here nodded her head in hopeful approval.
"Once on shore we may hide ourselves safely, I do not question, and
Rodrigues dare not waste a long time in looking for us, since the
necessity that brought him hither will also bring on Sir Bartlemy. Then
dare not these rascal pirates stay, lest they bring themselves to their
well-earned gallows."
Then again Lady Biddy nodded to show her satisfaction, clasping her
little hands at the same time, with a sigh in which all her trouble
seemed to be wafted away. But in this moment of our confidence on future
escape were we brought to consciousness of our present peril by the
sudden opening of the door in the further chamber.
Together we started to our feet, and my first thought was to fetch the
jack-knife from my pocket, but Lady Biddy, with that self-command which
does animate women above men in the hour of danger to do the right thing
and not the foolish one, quickly laid her hand on my arm to keep me
still, and putting on as stern an air as any tragic player, went to the
little betwixt door to ask Rodrigues why he dared disturb her.
But no Rodrigues was there; for it was only the little blackguard boy he
had sent in to know if madam would take a dish of chocolate.
When she had dismissed him, saying she needed no more today (it being
now pretty nigh sundown, for I have bridged over many things), but would
have her breakfast brought the next morning at seven, she came back to
me, and we continued to talk of our escape, like any children of
air-castles, till the light faded.
And then with some trouble I began to see that I must presently go out
of that chamber; and also I think Lady Biddy grew uneasy as to how I
might conduct myself in the darkness of night, and she, so to speak, at
my mercy.
Again the outer door opened; and this time the boy came to light the
hanging lantern. She left the between door open when the lamp was lit
and the boy again gone, and by a more cheerful bearing seemed to feel
more security for this light.
"Presently," says I, "you will go in and put out that lamp."
"Why? Is it not more cheerful to have a light?" says she.
"Yes," says I, "but with that light burning I dare not go through the
next cabin."
"Through it!" says she, in wonder, and yet with a little fear in her
tone; "whither are you going?"
"Out on the gallery," says I, "where I shall sleep very safely till the
morning."
This would she not hear of, but would have me lie in her room while she
reposed on the sofett in the next; that would I not allow, and so at
length we compromised it in this wise: she kept her own chamber after
putting out the lamp, and I, having bolted the door in the outer cabin,
lay myself on the cushions, she giving me her cloak that I might wrap it
about me and so seem to be she if by accident she so overslept herself
that she could not admit me to the inner chamber before daybreak.
And so with the cloak that she had worn on her dear body pressed to my
lips, I fell asleep that night a happier man than ever before I had been
in all my life.