In these times of macadamized roads and railways, we can scarcely
appreciate the difficulties our ancestors had to encounter a century
ago in accomplishing a journey. To travel a distance of fifty miles
was so serious a thing that it was only undertaken on urgent
occasions; and we need not wonder that, when the figures increased to
hundreds, it was customary for our forefathers to settle their
affairs with more care and completeness than men do now-a-days when
leaving home for the antipodes. The roads were wretched in the
extreme; in some parts, at certain seasons of the year, they were all
but impassable, and this, combined with the strength and weight of
vehicles built to contend with rough usage, rendered locomotion a
slow and tedious process. No one will be surprised to learn,
therefore, that Mr. Phillipson and the captain's wife were two days
on the road, and did not reach Exeter until the shades of evening had
drawn in, and the dusky oil lamps were twinkling in the streets of
the city, on the second evening.
Their journey, however, was a delightful one, as far as externals
were concerned. A frosty morning, sharp and crisp, gave omen, as the
merchant thought, of propitious experiences, and was regarded as a
special boon. It braced up nature marvellously, turning dangerous
sloughs into solid roadways; and even if the jolting was thereby
augmented, the anxieties of sunken wheels and floundering cattle were
escaped. Instead of a host of forebodings in anticipation of untold
depths of soaked clay and sludgy mire, there was the prospect of
keeping to the earth's surface, and of doing better than the
Devonshire traveller of a certain century, who is reported to have
'rode fourteen miles in fifteen days.'
The sun shone out most brightly and cheerily on the scene as the
travellers wended their way from Northam to Bideford, and enabled
them, after they had climbed the old Torrington road, to gaze on a
landscape which, though familiar, would have been anew enchanting,
had the nature of their errand permitted them to enjoy it. It seemed
as if the contagion of ocean's society had greatly affected those
highlands, for not more wavy was the Atlantic itself, and up and down
they went, until at length they dived into a true Devonian lane, with
its towering hedges of furze, hazel, and tangled weed, its sharp
descent, its labyrinthine windings, its rough and rocky pavement, and
emerged in a shady dell in which a rustic village nestled, surrounded
by woody hills and rock-capped heights, on which the grey mists of
morning continued to hover.
These sylvan and picturesque districts were succeeded by bleak moors,
or 'commons,' as they are called, where Mary was glad of additional
wrappings, and the merchant made frequent appeals to a bottle with
which he had considerately furnished himself. These wild, exposed
regions stretch away for miles, affording a scanty pasturage for
cattle, and supplying the villagers in the neighbourhood with peat
and furze. They are for the most part covered with rough grass,
ferns, and rushes, and here and there a morass may be met with, as
well as a sprinkling of granite boulders, whilst loftier specimens of
this primitive rock occasionally spring up in fantastic forms, the
hiding-place of highwaymen in days of yore, who drove a good business
on these desolate wastes.
And so the face of the country alternated between the romantic and
the sterile until they reached the neighbourhood of Exeter, where the
former has it all its own way. But the evening was too far advanced,
and our travellers were too wearied to do homage to beauties of
scenery, and gladly did they exchange the biting air for the inviting
comforts of the London Inn.
As soon as Mr. Phillipson had breakfasted the next morning, he made
his way to the jail. Unfeeling and selfish as he was, strong qualms
of conscience troubled him as he strode along, despite his infidel
theories; nor was he able, with all his efforts, to command in full
the powers of his scheming, reckless mind. For two days he had been
travelling with a woman of a sorrowful spirit, whose meek sadness and
high-toned Christian principle had embarrassed and cowed him. Her
sensitiveness had put to shame his stolidity; her simple-hearted
confidence in her husband had roused into spasmodic action the dying
pity of his heart. If ever regret had place within him it was now;
but, ashamed of these softer emotions, he took a little time to shake
them off before visiting the prisoner, and walked for an hour in the
streets, recalling more congenial feelings, which might enable him to
act his part becomingly. Having obtained permission to see the
captain, he was admitted through a heavy-looking gateway, strongly
secured, into a yard which disclosed on all sides grim-visaged doors
frowning implacably, and small rusty gratings which looked like
devouring eyes--the outward and visible signs of dark and saddening
scenes within. There may now, perhaps, be the extreme of pitying
benevolence in prison accommodation and usage; but at that time there
was the extreme of unpitying neglect.
Through one of these surly-faced doors the merchant passed with his
conductor into a low dark passage, where his ears were assailed by
the chilling music of clinking manacles resounding from cells on
either side; and the application of a massive key introduced him to
his victim. The captain was stretched on his hard bed, as the most
satisfactory position he could discover; but he rose when the
merchant entered, and, recognising his visitor, made room for him on
his pallet of straw.
'I have brought,' said Mr. Phillipson, scarcely knowing in what shape
to open the conversation,--'I have brought your wife to see you,
Stauncy. I thought it would be a satisfaction to her, poor woman,
and to you also. Why, cap'n, I can't believe my own senses. I
wouldn't have had this happen for all the world.'
'Our wisdom comes too late sometimes,' replied Stauncy, 'and that's
my case. If I could only undo one thing, I could be happy even in a
prison. The darkness within is the worst darkness now to me. The
iron in my soul is a thousand times more humiliating and painful than
these bars and doors, believe me. I could have wished, for her own
sake, that my wife had not had an opportunity of witnessing my
degradation; but her wisdom and love will comfort me.'
'As for myself,' the merchant remarked, 'I came to Exeter mainly for
the purpose of securing the best counsel the city will afford; and
it's impossible that those Ortops can make head against the
searching, withering cleverness of Mr. Whitehead.'
'No cleverness will be of any avail, Mr. Phillipson,' said the
captain mournfully. 'I thought the Sarah Ann was mute for ever, but
she has been made to speak. Did you notice that lumbering vessel in
the Pool? There are those on board of her who could hang both of us.'
The merchant's cheeks blanched at this intelligence. With the
rapidity of lightning the true state of the case flashed upon his
perception, and in an instant exposure and punishment confronted him.
The light which struggled for existence in the cell was too dim,
however, to reveal his ashy features, and, contriving to maintain an
air of composure, he said,--
'Were the remarks made before Squire Hart confined to the scuttling
of the brig?'
'I believe so; at least, when I was present.'
'No one, then, was implicated but yourself?'
'No one, as far as I know. Not a word escaped my lips that would
implicate any one. I simply denied that I was _guilty_; for acts are
to be judged of by circumstances--at least, you have taught me so.
If you had done it, it would have been a different thing. I did as I
was _ordered_, and therefore draw a line between duty and crime.'
'A distinction,' responded the merchant, momentarily startled at his
own doctrine when presented in such a practical form, and wishing to
rid himself of all responsibility arising from the lessons he had
inculcated, 'which the law would scarcely acknowledge as a
difference. That kind of casuistry, Stauncy, often satisfies a
fellow's conscience, and is something to keep the spirits up; but
there its utility ends.'
'Then you have doubly deceived me,' replied the captain scornfully;
'and there's a strong temptation to turn king's evidence.'
'It wouldn't help you, cap'n. Everybody knows that the biggest
rogues always do that, and judges them accordingly; and as I am at
the top of the ladder, and you are at the bottom, it would be all the
worse for you. A little palm-grease and a little hard swearing would
upset you, depend upon it.'
'I don't know,' said the captain. 'It would go hard with you, Mr.
Phillipson, if all I know were to come out; and far better would it
be for you to devise a plan for my protection, if money and station
can do it, than to let an implied threat tread on the heels of a
snakish bribe.'
The merchant was silent, because he was mortified. His mind
oscillated between his two theories of bluster and blarney. Should
he defy or conciliate, threaten or cajole? His prudence, however,
got the better of his vexation, and he answered, after a short pause,
'I admit all you say, Stauncy; but suppose the worst comes to the
worst, it's no use for both of us to put our heads into one noose;
and though life is as precious to you as to me, yet consider for a
moment the merits of the case. _You_ did the deed; so that, if I
were put up as a breastwork before you, you would be sent to Botany
Bay for life,--as good as dead to your wife and family,--whilst I
should be placed beyond the possibility of acting as a husband and a
father to them. And then there's your oath, Stauncy. How can you
get over that? whilst, by letting me down helm, that I may pay off,
you would leave some one behind who could provide for the widow and
the orphan; and I give you my oath here, against yours.'
'You would, Mr. Phillipson? Do you say that sincerely? The widow
and the orphan have not had much of your sympathy and care hitherto;
and the book which I have so little heeded says, "Can the Ethiopian
change his skin, or the leopard his spots?"'
'If I give you my oath, Stauncy, what can I do more? That's not a
thing to wriggle out of. You might put my life in the scale against
it.'
The bolt grated harshly in the lock as the merchant uttered these
words, and the turnkey apprised them that the interview must
terminate. Bidding the prisoner farewell, Mr. Phillipson hastily
retreated from a place where all the while he seemed to hear accusing
voices--endeavouring to feel self-satisfied, but in reality
self-condemned; and as the door closed once more on the captain, the
prisoner stretched himself again on the hard mattress, to weigh the
chances that favoured him and the worth of the merchant's promise.