XI

At twelve o’clock that night Sir Peter arrived at the tavern, and with

the pardon.

The expectation of his coming, and the greater matter upon which we

were engaged, prevented my mind from dwelling longer upon the strange

scene I had witnessed between Overton and Lady Arabella. Overton did

not speak her name to me, and showed much sympathy for us. When Sir

Peter’s chaise drove up to the door of the Bear and Churn, another

chaise with four horses was waiting, and into it we huddled, bidding

Overton a hurried farewell; and in another moment we were off for York,

the horses doing their best.

Sir Peter then told me the circumstances of his visit to Windsor. The

Prince, who was always most powerful when the king was on the verge

of madness, saw his father and found him comparatively rational. The

story being broached to him, he appeared interested, and even grew

more collected as his attention was chained. He recalled at once Sir

Peter Hawkshaw and the capture of the _Indomptable_ and _Xantippe_, and

corrected the Prince when he spoke of Sir Peter as Vice-Admiral of the

White. It was a very easy matter to get his signature to the pardon,

and the necessary seals and formalities took some little time but no

trouble, and when Sir Peter presented himself at the Castle on Sunday,

all was prepared for him.

We felt now comparatively safe. There was little doubt that we could

reach York at least twenty-four hours in advance of the date set for

the execution; our letters would precede us, giving positive assurances

of hope; and we looked for no accidents, having a new and strong chaise.

After Sir Peter had told me his story, I told him mine about Lady

Arabella and Overton. He was not much imbued with the kind of religion

that Overton preached, although he swore roundly by Church and State,

and was always a great churchman when he was slightly in liquor, which

did not happen often. He therefore condemned Overton’s sermon, which

I tried to repeat to him, as a damned, beastly low sort of religion,

unfit for a gentleman to practise; but he admitted that Overton lacked

neither brains nor courage. For Lady Arabella, though, he had the stern

disapproval of an honest heart, and in his excitement swore both long

and loud because of the short-sightedness of Providence in permitting

such women to exist for the undoing of his Majesty’s officers of both

services.

We made good progress that night and the next day, which was Monday,

and began to have strong hopes of reaching York Wednesday night. But

on Monday, in the afternoon, the weather suddenly changed, a violent

snow-storm set in, and our postboys wilfully, I think, drove us ten

miles out of the way, near a tavern where they hoped, no doubt, we

would agree to stop until the storm should be over. But Sir Peter,

putting one of his great horse-pistols to the postboy’s head, forced

him to turn back to the high-road. We lost three hours by this; and

when we got to our next posting stage, our horses, engaged two days

ahead, had been taken. We got others, after a frantic effort, but at

the end of that day’s journey we saw our margin of time diminished

exactly one-half.

I shall not attempt to describe the fierce and gnawing impatience which

consumed us, nor the awful and unspoken dread which began to overshadow

us. Sir Peter was a man of stout heart, and had no more notion of

giving up at this stage of the affair than he dreamed of surrendering

when he saw the _Indomptable_ to windward and the _Xantippe_ to leeward.

The weather, however, grew worse instead of better, and even four

horses could scarcely drag us through the mire made by the snow and

rain. In spite of all we could do our progress diminished, although at

no time did it seem hopeless, until--O God! twenty miles from York,

at midnight on the Thursday, Sir Peter himself suddenly gave out; the

strain had proved too much for his brave heart and sturdy frame. It

came as the horses were wallowing along the road in the darkness, and

I, holding my watch in my hand, was glancing at it every ten minutes,

by the feeble light of the traveling lamp. I spoke to Sir Peter as he

lay back in the chaise wrapped in his boat-cloak, and got no answer.

He was unconscious. Without stopping the chaise, I got some brandy,

which I tried to pour down his throat, but could not. I grew much

alarmed,--it was not like Sir Peter to refuse good brandy, and as we

were passing a farmstead, I stopped the chaise, knocked the people up,

and had Sir Peter carried into the house. I met with kindness, and I

repaid it with coin of the realm. Sir Peter soon revived, and his first

words were,--

“Push on, my lad. Don’t wait to repair damages.”

I found that his seizure was really trifling, and he assured me he

would be able to resume the journey by daylight, the farmer agreeing to

furnish him horses; so, in half an hour I had again taken the road.

And ten miles from York, the chaise broke down!

I had the horses taken out, and, mounting the best beast, made for York

at the top of his speed, which was poor,--the creature was already

spent with traveling.

It was just daylight, and streaks of golden glory were lighting up

the pallid dawn; I urged the poor beast onward. Seven miles he went,

then he dropped dead, just as the sun was gilding the spires of York

Cathedral. Before me, along the road, jogged an itinerant tinker on a

rather good-looking horse, the tools of a tinker’s trade hanging from

a moth-eaten saddle. I was young and strong,--he was middle-aged and

ill-fed and feeble. I ran up to him, holding five guineas in my hand.

“Lend me this horse to ride to York!” I cried.

The man, astonished at my abrupt address, stopped, but gave me no

answer. I made my own answer, though, by dragging him off the beast,

dashing the five guineas on the ground, and clattering off, throwing

away the tools and kettles as I galloped along.

Already there were great crowds in the streets, and as I made my way

madly toward the jail, I was often impeded. I shrieked, I screamed

at the people, and waved aloft my precious paper, shouting, “Pardon!

Pardon!” The cry was taken up, and swelled in a great roar that came

from a thousand friendly throats. As I galloped along on the tinker’s

horse, in a frenzy, through the crowded streets, an awful unspeakable

Thing loomed up before me. It was the gibbet, and it was empty!

I felt the hot tears run down my cheeks at this, and some recollection

of the God that Overton had preached to me caused me to utter an

inarticulate thanksgiving! But if my tongue faltered, my heart did not.

At last I pushed my way through shouting crowds, to the jail. The

people parted, and I saw a black cart drawn by a white horse, and Giles

Vernon, with pinioned hands, sitting in it, by the side of the hangman.

I noticed--as I did all the trifles of that dreadful time--that the

jailer was ashy pale, and Giles was fresh-colored. I flung myself off

my horse, rushed toward the cart, holding the paper above my head. Oh,

the roaring and the shouting! I thrust it in Giles’ face; the hangman,

in a second, cut the thongs that bound the prisoner’s hands. Giles took

the pardon and kissed it, and then threw his arms around me and kissed

me, and smiled and waved his hat in the air, while voices thundered,

men shouting like demons, and women screaming and weeping. And the

next thing I knew Daphne appeared, as if dropped down from Heaven, and,

springing into the cart, clasped Giles; and Lady Hawkshaw, a little

slower, but yet quick, descended from the coach, in which she and

Daphne had come, and embraced all of us; and then, the cheering seemed

to rend the skies.

[Illustration: I saw Giles Vernon with pinioned hands. _Page 236_]

In a little while, the mood of the crowd changed. They began to clamor

for the blood of Sir Thomas Vernon. He was known to be away from home,

but, as if by a preconcerted movement, a dash was made for Vernon

Court, which was but five miles away. The military were called out, and

the crowd stopped; but not without a collision, and several persons

were badly injured, which did not tend toward better feeling for Sir

Thomas.

For ourselves, I remained with Giles until he was duly released by the

officers of the law, while Daphne and Lady Hawkshaw set off to meet Sir

Peter on the road. They met him, five miles off, and brought him back

to York in their coach. I shall never forget the scene when they drove

up to the inn where Giles and I were already, the crowd, however, not

allowing him to remain indoors at all. When the coach hove to, the

people, in their delight, picked Sir Peter up and carried him bodily

up stairs, to an open balcony, and demanded a speech, followed by

“Parliament! Parliament! Our next member!” and so on. Sir Peter made a

speech,--the most wonderful I ever heard,--standing with one hand on

Giles’ shoulder, and the other on mine, with Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne

in the background.

He began by roundly damning Sir Thomas Vernon, “and a lady who shall

be nameless.” Nevertheless, in spite of some vagaries, the speech was

full of sound sense, and he promised the people, if they gave him

their suffrages for parliament, he would do all in his power for the

abolition of the barbarous law from which Giles Vernon had suffered

so cruelly. He averred that it was impossible for a seaman, alone and

unaided, to take care of himself on dry land, Jack ashore being a

helpless creature at best, and but for Lady Hawkshaw he would probably

have been hanged himself, long ago. This allusion to Lady Hawkshaw, who

fairly divided the honors with Giles, brought forth yells of delight

from the crowd. Her ladyship appeared and bowed magnificently, and it

was a regular triumph for us all, from beginning to end.

Next day, with Giles, we all started for London, the happiest

coach-load of people in the three kingdoms.

Two days after our arrival, we read the announcement of the marriage,

at St. George’s, Hanover Square, of Sir Thomas Vernon to Lady Arabella

Stormont.

Sir Peter was delighted at this match, and so was Lady Hawkshaw, and

for once they were agreed. The position of the newly-married couple in

London was anything but a pleasant one; for Giles became the object

of public sympathy, and of popular and royal approval. The Prince of

Wales sent for him, and our visit to Windsor, whither we all went to

thank the king, was made a triumph for us. Sir Thomas and Lady Vernon

were forbidden the court and Carlton House, and were frequently hissed

in public. I saw them myself at Drury Lane, when they were hissed. Sir

Thomas merely grinned, while Lady Arabella surveyed the scowling faces

before her with a slow sweet smile, and calmly played with the diamonds

in her stomacher.

We had a whole year of happiness. The dreadful experience Giles had

been through began to tell on him, and he was permitted to remain

quietly a year on shore. And I, because of Giles, was given a year with

my bride before I had to leave her. And what a year of blessedness it

was to all! We all lived with Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw in Berkeley

Square, and those two honest souls took delight in us. Lady Hawkshaw

became a heroine, and the worthy woman enjoyed it thoroughly. Overton

came sometimes to see us. A persecution had been set on foot against

him; and he was several times arrested and sentenced for unlawful

assemblage. But persecution was not the way to prevail with Overton.

It was very well understood who instigated these continued

prosecutions, and that did not help to increase the popularity of Sir

Thomas and his beautiful wife. At last, a year to the month after

the trial at York, the last indignity was offered to Overton. He was

sentenced to be whipped at the cart’s-tail, and set in the pillory.

There was a general rally of his friends; and on the winter morning

when this barbarous sentence was to be carried out, a number, including

many persons of note, were assembled at the prison, when Sir Peter and

I joined them.

We soon heard that the government would not permit the first part of

the sentence to be carried out; but when Overton emerged from the

prison, he was unaware of this, and prepared for the worst. The holy

calmness of his countenance and air brought even Sir Peter to admit

that “the pious dog is a man, after all.” When informed that he would

not be whipped, Overton only remarked,--

“My Master was scourged. Why should I rebel?”

Arrived at the place of punishment, we found a great crowd assembled,

of all sorts of persons, among them some of the highest quality.

Overton saluted them, and with the utmost dignity submitted to the

cruel and hateful punishment. He had, however, the undisguised sympathy

of the officers of the law, as well as of the crowd, and was treated

with the utmost tenderness.

He was to spend three hours pilloried, and it was made the greatest

triumph of his life.

It is possible for a good man undergoing unjust punishment to be

dignified, even in the pillory; and so it was with Overton. His

singular beauty, the mildness of his countenance, the uncomplaining

fortitude with which he submitted to an odious and miserable position,

the remembrance of his past military services, showed him to be

every inch a man. Many of his friends came in their coaches, and,

descending and going up to Overton, saluted him respectfully and

expressed their sympathy, to which Overton gently returned thanks. At

last a very splendid coach appeared. It was magnificently horsed with

four thoroughbreds, and had outriders, besides two huge footmen with

nosegays. It drew up in front of the pillory, and within it sat Lady

Vernon, superbly dressed; and in her arms she held a very young infant

in a great robe of lace and satin. Two nurses sat on the front seat;

and Sir Thomas’ saturnine countenance glared behind Lady Vernon’s

beautiful, triumphant face. The coach stopped; and Lady Vernon, holding

the child up in her arms, directly in front of Overton’s eyes, gave him

a smile and a meaning look, as much as to say,--

“Poor wretch! your inheritance is gone!” The crowd, which was never

in a good humor with the Vernons, began to hiss vigorously. This they

appeared not to mind; but when hisses were followed by a shower of

stones and sticks, the equipage rolled off at the top of its speed.

At twelve o’clock Overton was released, and at once he was exhorting

the people to fear God and live truly to Him. He was not interrupted

by the constables who were present, and was listened to with solemn

attention. He has preached ever since, and has never again been

molested. And when a dear little girl came to my Daphne,--I was then

at sea, fighting the French,--Overton was at the christening, and made

a prayer over her infant head, which my Daphne believes will keep that

dear child good and holy all her life.

Giles Vernon, now Captain Vernon, in command of his Majesty’s ship

_Acasta_, forty-four, is counted the smartest of the young captains

in the British service. The women still love him; but Giles has grown

a little shy of going too far with them, and swears he will die a

bachelor. However, there appears to be an affair forward between my

little Daphne, who is now four years and six months old, and Captain

Vernon, and I think something will come of it when she is of a

marriageable age--and so thinks her mother too.