THE LAST.
For, standing in the roadway there, she seemed to me the forlornest
figure that ever a man set eyes upon. There was something more than a
drooping sadness in the attitude, something strangely like remorse, as
though unaccountably she blamed herself. But I was not so curious to
unravel her thoughts at this moment, as I was fearful of the risk she
ran. She had sat alone in the court-house; no one had so much as
spoken to her, and she stood alone in the streets of Carlisle. The
knowledge of her danger rushed in upon me, and I had but one hope to
lighten it. I remembered that she had spoken to me of a Whiggish
relative who had given her shelter, and I trusted that she would find
a refuge with him.
And so it indeed proved. For I had not lain more than three days in
the castle before this very gentleman was admitted to see me, and
after a prosy exhortation on the nature of my crimes, he proceeded:
"I have thought it my duty to say this much to you, but I come at the
instance of a poor misguided friend of yours, who is anxious you
should have no fears for her safety." The worthy gentleman scratched
his forehead in some perplexity. "I cannot repeat to you all that this
friend said. A woman in tears--a man in delirium, they both say a
great deal which is not to be repeated. But her messages were of the
friendliest--of the friendliest. For the rest the _Swallow_ lies off
the mouth of the Eden, with your friend's father on board. It appears
that the ship sailed up the coast from a spot you maybe know of better
than I do. Our friend returns to it to-night, and it sails forthwith
to France." At the door he stopped, and scratched his head again. Then
he rapped for the turnkey to let him out.
"The messages were of the friendliest," he repeated, and as the door
was opened at that moment, assumed a judicial severity, and so marched
pompously out.
Left to myself, I fell straightway into a temper of amazing
contradictions. For whereas I had before been moved by the thought of
Dorothy's danger, now I was troubled that she should be in such haste
to use her liberty.
"This very night must she go?" I asked of myself indignantly. "Well,
there is no reason why she should stay. She will be safe in France,"
and so came perilously near to weeping over myself, who must remain
behind in prison. But to that thought succeeded another, which drove
the first clean from my head. Dorothy in tears! There was matter in
that notion for an indictment against the universe; and the indictment
I drew, and supported it with such arguments as I felt sure must
enforce conviction. From that pursuit I came very naturally to a
speculation, in the nature of those friendliest messages. I construed
them by the dictionary of her looks, as she had sat in the gallery of
the court-house. It was a task of which I did not tire, but drew great
comfort from it, and found it very improving.
The next day, however, I was taken out of the castle and sent forward
under an escort, to join my co-rebels who were being marched by easy
stages to London. I caught them up at St. Albans, and coming to Barnet
we had our hands tied, and halters thrown about our horses' necks, and
so were carried through the streets of London to Newgate gaol. Such a
concourse of people came to view us as I have never seen the like of.
The town was dressed for a holiday; and what with the banging of
drums, the hurrahing for King George, and the damning of the
"Pretender," the air so rang with noise, that it was as much as you
could to hear your neighbour speak. One sturdy Whig, I remember,
planted himself in our way, and with many jeers and imprecations
lifted up a jackdaw tricked out with white roses, which he carried on
a warming-pan, and so paced backwards and in front of us, until a
soldier cracked him on the chest with the butt of his firelock, and
toppled the fellow into the gutter.
In Newgate, there I remained a weary while, though this period was
made as light for us as well could be. We had the liberty of the
Press yard, and were allowed to receive visitors and to visit one
another--no inconsiderable privilege, one may think, if one counts up
the number imprisoned there. There it came about that I saw much of
Charles Ratcliffe, Lord Derwentwater's brother; and though he was not
of his brother's amiable and endearing disposition, grew to some
intimacy with him. He thought me, indeed, a great fool for running my
head into the noose at Carlisle for a beggarly painter, and never
scrupled to tell me so; but I think it was just that action which
inclined his friendship my way. There were other consolations came to
me, and one of them was lighted with a glimmering of hope; for one day
came Sir William Wyndham to see me, and informed me that Lord
Bolingbroke was very active in my behalf, urging upon his friends in
England to make representations for my release, or, if that failed, to
concert measures for my evasion. I set no great reliance upon either
alternative, but Sir William Wyndham came again in March of the year
1716, after the rebellion had closed in Scotland, and Lord Bolingbroke
had been dismissed from the service of King James.
"Mr. Secretary Stanhope encourages your kinsman," said he, "in the
hope that he may be pardoned. In which event something might be done
for you. Meanwhile, I have a message to deliver to you from him. 'Tell
Lawrence,' he says, 'that here in Paris I am much plagued and pestered
by a young friend of his, who tells me that unless I unlock Newgate, I
do not deserve to be related to him. I am greatly humiliated by so
much scolding, but will do what I can.'"
It was not very much, however, that he could do; and on the 8th of May
I was arraigned with Charles Ratcliffe at the Exchequer Bar at
Westminster, and tried there on the 18th, and taken back again a few
days later to receive sentence.
"But we shall not be hanged," said Ratcliffe. "You will see."
Indeed, he ever had the greatest confidence that he would escape. I
recollect that on the occasion when we were being carried from Newgate
to receive sentence at Westminster, our coach was stopped in Fleet
Street to make way for King George, who was setting out upon his first
visit to Herrenhausen since he had come to the English throne. We
stopped opposite a distiller's, and Ratcliffe, leaning from the
window, very coolly called for half a pint of aniseed, and drank it
off.
"There is some merit in the Dutchman, after all," he said with a
laugh, "for I was in great need of that."
The events, however, justified his confidence. Never shall I forget
the weeks which followed our condemnation--the intrigues with our
friends outside, the timorous bribing of the gaolers within. One day
the plan would be settled, the moment for its execution appointed, and
the next thing maybe we saw was the countenance of a new gaoler, and
so the attempt must needs be deferred and the trouble begin again. Or
at another time news would be brought to us that we should receive the
clemency of the Crown and only suffer transportation to the colonies;
or, again, that we were to be granted a free pardon; or, again, that
the sentence was to be carried out within a week. So that now we
kicked our heels upon the pinnacles of hope, now we sank into a bog of
despair, and either way we shivered with fever--all of us except
Charles Ratcliffe.
It was with his usual serenity that when at last all arrangements had
been made, he invited those of us who were in the plot to a grand
entertainment in a room called the Castle, in the upper part of the
prison.
"There are thirteen of us besides myself," said he, as soon as the
supper was served and we were left alone. "The rest must shift for
themselves. Mr. Clavering, do you help me with this file, and do you,
gentlemen, be sufficiently ill-mannered to make as much clatter with
the dishes and your talk as will drown the sound of it."
Whereupon he drew a file from his pocket, and I crossed over with him
to a little door in the corner of the room; and while the others
talked and clattered, I went to work with my file upon the screws of
the plate which held the lock to the door. When I was tired and my
fingers bleeding, Ratcliffe took my place, and after him another,
until at last the plate came away.
"Now," said Ratcliffe, "the passage leads to the debtors' side. We
have been to solace our good friend Mr. Tiverton, who has been most
unkindly committed by his creditors. Mr. Tiverton--pray do not forget
the name, gentlemen! For even the most obliging gaoler might cavil if
we forgot the name."
We followed him quickly along the passage, across the yard to the
porter's lodge.
"Poor man!" says Ratcliffe, "it is very barbarous and inhuman that a
man of genius should go to prison for lack of money."
"For my part, sir," says the gaoler, throwing open the wicket, "I pity
his tradesmen."
"But some men are born to be gulled," says Ratcliffe, with his tongue
in his cheek. "And here's five guineas for you," and he stepped into
the street.
We followed him quickly enough, and once there scattered without so
much as a single word of farewell. Each man had his own plant, no
doubt. For myself, I knew that a certain sloop was waiting for me on
the Thames, and I hurried down to the water's edge below London
Bridge. A boat was waiting by the steps.
"Lawrence," cried a voice which sent my heart leaping.
"Hush!" I whispered, and jumped into the stern.
Dorothy made room for me beside her.
"Push off," she said; and in a moment we were floating down the river,
in and out between the ships.
"Give me the tiller," said I.
"No," said Dorothy; "it was my doing that you were brought into peril.
Let me steer you out of it."
The number of ships diminished. Before they were about us like the
trees of a forest, now they were the trees of an alley down which we
passed; and ever the alley broadened and the trees grew scarce.
"I saw you that night at Carlisle," she began, "when you were taken to
the castle;" and at that she broke off suddenly and her voice
stiffened.
"My kinsman came to you at Carlisle. What did he say?"
"He said that he was charged with the friendliest messages from you."
"Is that all?"
Now, there was something more, but I thought it wise to make no
mention of it.
"He did not repeat the messages," was all I said, and she sat up as
though her pride was relieved, and for a little we were silent. A ship
was anchored some way ahead of us, and a lanthorn swung on its poop.
"Is it the _Swallow?_" I asked.
"Yes," said she; and then, "before I left Carlisle I saw her."
For a moment I wondered of whom she was talking.
"I saw her and her husband."
Then I understood.
"She is very plain," said Dorothy in a whisper.
"Oh no," said I, "indeed she is not. You do her an injustice."
"But she is," repeated Dorothy, "she is."
It would have been better had I left the matter thus, but I was
foolish enough to seriously argue the point with her, and so hot
became the argument that we overshot the ship.
"That is your fault," said Dorothy, as she turned the boat
We rowed to the ship's side, a ladder was hoisted over, and a lanthorn
held. By the light of it I could see Mr. Curwen, and behind him my
servant Ashlock. I rose to give a hand to Dorothy, but she sat in the
stern without so much as a pretence of movement.
"Come, Dorothy," said Mr. Curwen.
Dorothy looked steadily at me.
"She is very plain," she said, and then looked away across the river,
humming a tune.
I was in a quandary as to what I should do. For I knew that she was
not plain; but also I knew that Dorothy would not move until I had
said she was. So I stood then holding on to the ladder while the boat
rose and sank beneath my feet. I have been told since that there was
really only one expedient which would have served my turn, and that
was to tumble incontinently into the water and make as much pretence
of drowning as I could. Only it never occurred to me, and so I weakly
gave in.
Dorothy stepped on board. The boat was hoisted, the anchor raised, and
in the smallest space of time the foam was bubbling from the bows.
Overhead the stars shone steady in the sky and danced in the water
beneath us, and so we sailed to France.
"Dorothy," said I, "there is a word which has been much used between
us--friends."
"Yes!" said she in a low voice, "it is a good word."
And so it was many months afterwards before I came to her again in
Paris and pleaded that there was a better.
"I would you thought with me," I stammered out.
Dorothy, with the sweetest laugh that ever my ears hearkened to, began
to sing over to herself a verse of "The Honest Lover."
"Dear heart," she said, "I called you an owl, but it should have been
a bat."
Jervas Rookley I never came across again. But I know that he did not
win Blackladies, though whether a suspicion of his treachery is
accountable or the avarice of the Hanoverians, I cannot tell. I have
heard, too, that at one time he was the master of a ship trading in
the South Seas; but of this, again, I have no sure knowledge.
THE END.