BETSEY FRADDAM AND CAP'N JACK MEET--I GO TO FALMOUTH AND MEET
NAOMI--AFTERWARD I SEE MR. JOHN WESLEY
"Well, Betsey, my deear," I heard Cap'n Jack say, "still on yer ould
gaame. I hop' we've brok' the spell, my deear. Ted'n vitty, I tell 'ee.
A pious man like me do nat'rally grieve over the sins of the flesh. But
'ere's Cap'n Billy Coad; you ain't a spoke to 'ee 'et."
I wished that there had been a hole in the door, for I had a great
desire to see Billy Coad, of whom I had heard Cap'n Jack speak so often.
I heard his voice, however. It was softer even than Cap'n Jack's, and
was of a wheedling tone, as though he wanted to get on comfortably with
every one.
"Hope you be braave, Cap'n Billy," croaked Betsey. "Eli, put away this
broth; thews booys doan't want none of that soort."
"No, Betsey, it do grieve me, yer nearest blood relation, to zee 'ee
follin' in such ways."
"You've bin glad ov me, though," retorted Betsey.
"Iss, you be a gifted woman. You got et from Granfer. He tould 'ee a lot
ov things, ded'na then?"
"Mor'n I shell tell."
"Come now, Betsey, laive us be oal comfortable like. You've got your
gifts, and I've got mine. I doan't care 'bout sperrits to-night, Betsey;
but you've got some good wine--that I knaw. Ah! Cap'n Billy ded some
good trade on his laast voyage."
"Good traade," sneered Betsey. "What's your traade nowadays? Zee wot
Granfer ded."
"Iss, I've wanted to talk to 'ee 'bout et, Betsey, my deear. I've bin
very good to you."
I heard some clinking of glass, and I knew they were drinking. I had
heard only two voices, but by the footsteps I judged that more than two
might have entered the cottage. In this, however, I was mistaken, for
the others who had come with him left at the door.
"Iss, I've bin very good to you and Eli," repeated Cap'n Jack. "You've
never wanted summin' warm to drink."
"A fat lot I've 'ad from 'ee," retorted Betsey, "and I ain't a wanted
nothin' nuther. I've got my 'ouse, and I've got summin' to ait, so've
Eli."
"Iss. I sh'll make a man o' Eli."
I heard Eli laugh in his strange, gurgling way.
"I've made money, more'n Tamsin 'll want; well, and why sha'ant Eli 'ave
some ov it?"
"What 'ee'll git from you'll be good for sore eyes," snarled the old
woman. "Ugh, ef I wanted money--aw, aw!--well, I knaw!"
"You'm thinkin' 'bout the treasure. But you caan't git et, Betsey. Ef
ould Granfer ded bury it some where out to say--well, you caan't git et.
But ded a bury a treasure, Betsey, ef 'ee ded, why ded a die so poor?"
Betsey did not reply.
"Doan't you think 'tes oal lies, Betsey? Where's the paper weth the
dreckshuns? I knaw 'ee sailed weth Cap'n Blackbeard, everybody do knaw
that, and it's zed that the Cap'n was very rich--took oal soarts of
things from the Spaniards and the Portugeese; but then where ded a put
et? Zum zay on Lundy Island, others that he found a caave in Annette
Island, and others that he found a place on the South Says; but ed'n et
oal a taale, Betsey, my deear?"
Betsey remained silent, while Eli grunted.
"Granfer zaid that he stailed the dreckshuns," continued Cap'n Jack; "ef
a ded, where be um?"
"'Spoase I was to tell 'ee?" sneered Betsey. "Well, you'd git et. As fur
Eli, 'ee cud go a-beggin'."
"Eli shud 'ave aaf," said Cap'n Jack, with a most terrible oath, "and
Billy and we'd 'ave the other aaf far our share. Tha's fair, Betsey."
"No, no, no!" cried Eli, "it's oal lies, oal lies!" And there was, I
thought, a note of fear in his voice.
"Mind, Betsey," cried Cap'n Jack, "whether you tell me or no, we'll vind
out. Ef you've eed away they dreckshuns, we'll vind um, mind that!"
"You've zaid zo afore," sneered Betsey.
"'Ave us? Zo we 'ave," replied Cap'n Jack, "but I be a religious man. I
want to trait my relaashuns fair, I do; everybody that do knaw me, do
knaw that, doan't 'em, Cap'n Billy? An' Billy is a religious man, too;
hes religious experience es a powerful sermon. Well, I've talked oal
soarts of ways 'bout that treasure, Betsey--I 'ave. I've zaid I doan't
bleeve in et, zo I 'ave. But wot then? Well, I'm a-goin' to vind et!"
"Aw, aw!" chuckled Betsey.
"I'm a man to my word, zo's Billy. Whenever I've zaid a thing I've done
it."
"Aw, tha's ev et es et. I've 'eerd you zay that any man who runned away
from your gang you'd kill. I've 'eerd you zay you'd do fur Jasper
Penninton. 'Ave 'ee, Jack Fraddam? Why, 'ee got off bootiful--jist
through a maid--iss, and went to say, and no one stopped un!"
"And why, Betsey, why? 'Cos I am a fond and lovin' vather, that's why.
Tamsin made a vool ov me, tha's why. I maade a mistake in takin' Jasper
to Kynance, 'cos Tamsin got to like un. Well, I lowed un to git away. I
promist Tamsin that while he kipt his tongue 'atween hes teeth I'd laive
un go. But laive un tell things, laive un tell anybody where our caaves
be, laive un split 'bout other things he do know--well!" and Cap'n Jack
grunted significantly.
"Aw, aw," sneered Betsey, "he strangled Israel Barnicoat, and thrawed
the lantern ovver the cliff. An' ther' was no wreck that night. Aw, aw!
You be a man, you be!"
"A merciful, pious man, tha's wot I be. But doan't 'ee laugh, Betsey. Do
'ee think I dunnaw that Jasper landed in Fammuth to-day? He's watched, I
tell 'ee."
At this the sweat streamed out over every part of my body, and I
hardened my muscles to fight for dear life. I felt that Cap'n Jack's was
no vain threat, and that I owed my life to Tamsin.
"Where es a now, then?" queried Betsey.
"He's lyin' luff in Fammuth town, my deear; but 'ee must be very
careful."
At this I breathed more freely again.
"I'm a kind man," continued Cap'n Jack; "I've bin kind to you, Betsey. I
knaw that ef you've got they dreckshuns you've kipt 'em for Eli. But,
Betsey, my deear, 'ee caan't do nothin' by hisself. We'll share fair,
Betsey; I'll give my Bible oath to that."
"I taake no noatice ov yur Bible oaths," snarled Betsey, "but I knaw
you'd kipt to what yer promised. Ef you ded'n, I'd make yer flesh drop
off yer boans bit by bit; I'd make yer joints twist wrong way 'bout; I'd
make 'ee suffer pains wuss'n the fires ov the bottomless pit; I'd raise
the sperrits of--"
"Doan't 'ee, Betsey," cried Cap'n Jack, and his voice trembled with
fear. "I knaw you be a gifted woman; I knaw you can do terrible things.
Ef there's a treasure, Betsey, laive me vind et, and Eli sh'll live in
the finest state o' land in this blessed county."
"I'll think 'bout it. I caan't raid, that you knaw--but, but come out
'ere in the gar'n, Jack."
With that, Billy Coad, Cap'n Jack, and Betsey went into the garden,
while Eli sat by the chimney and chuckled as though a great joy had come
into his heart.
They did not stay long, and I suspected that Betsey told them something
she did not wish me to know. When they came back again I heard Betsey
tell Eli to fetch the crock and brandis into the middle of the room.
After that Betsey blew on the pot again, as I had seen her blow, and she
made the two men repeat things after her which I did not hear
distinctly, and all the time I heard Eli chuckling and grunting as
though he enjoyed himself vastly.
After this all the four went into the garden, and they stayed there a
long while, leaving me to muse over the strange things I had heard. Not
that it came altogether as a surprise to me, for I had often heard of
Granfer Fraddam knowing something about a treasure. I do not think any
one had taken much notice of it, for there were scores of meaningless
stories about lost treasures that passed from lip to lip among the
gossips in the days when I was young.
Now, however, that which I had heard caused me much food for thought,
and I wondered whether there was any truth in the story. I determined,
too, that I would ask Eli, for I believed that what Betsey knew he would
know. I saw, too, that he loved me, and I was sure that he was anxious
to serve me.
When Betsey and Eli came back the two men had gone, and then I came from
my hiding-place, and began to ply them with questions. But neither of
them would give me answers. Betsey seemed very thoughtful, while Eli
pulled some sacks from under the settle, so that I might have a bed.
Before Betsey climbed the creaky stairs which led to the room where she
slept, she fixed her whitey, shining eyes upon me, and, holding up her
hand, she bade me be silent about what I had seen and heard.
"Ef you tell, Jasper Penninton," she croaked, "ef you tell--you've eerd
ov fallin' flesh a'ant 'ee? Well, think ov it."
"I shall say nothing," I replied.
"No," she said, continuing to look steadily on me, "no, you wa'ant. I
c'n zee you wa'ant."
Then she left me, while I lay down on the sacks fearing nothing living,
but fearing the dead terribly. For it seemed to me as though Betsey had
been doing that which was unlawful, and that I was a party to her plans.
And so I could not sleep for a long time; not, indeed, until the light
of morning began to stream through the cottage window, and then I felt
to laugh at it all. Betsey's signs and Betsey's words were so much
foolery, while the conversation about the buried treasure was no more
true than the stories which were believed in superstitious days.
Besides, thoughts of Naomi drove away all else, although everything came
back to me afterward. When my fears went, however, sleep came to my
eyes, and I did not awake until I felt Eli fondling my hands, and heard
him telling me that breakfast was ready.
Then I arose, upbraiding myself for having slept so long, for I had
intended finding my way to Pennington in the early morning. I know this
seemed very foolish, for if the Tresidders found me on the land they
called theirs all my purposes would be frustrated.
"Breakfas', breakfas', Jasper," said Eli.
"No, I'm going out," I replied.
"Ted'n no use, ted'n no use," grunted the poor dwarf, "she ed'n there."
"Where is she, then?"
"Jist agone by, ridin' to Fammuth town."
"How do you know?"
"I zeed um. She and Maaster Tresidder, and Maaster Nick Tresidder, and
Miss Em'ly."
"Are you sure, Eli?"
"Iss."
Then I quickly ate what had been prepared for me, and when I had given
Betsey a guinea out of the few I had been able to earn during the time I
had been away, I tramped to Falmouth. I arrived there in less than two
hours from the time I had left Betsey's cottage, trying to make plans as
I went. I walked up and down Falmouth street several times, all the time
looking around in the hopes of finding her, not because I could do
anything if I found her, but because I longed greatly to see her, longed
more than words can tell. At length noonday came and still my eyes
continued to ache for a sight of her, while my heart grew heavy. I
found, too, that the streets became more and more crowded every minute,
until I asked myself if it were a fair. But such was not the case. The
reason of the crowd was that Mr. John Wesley had come to Falmouth, and
his coming had caused a great uproar. I heard all sorts of stories about
him, and many were the threats that were made. Some said he was a
Papist, who wanted to bring back Popery to the country, while others
declared that he wanted to raise a rebellion against the king and crown.
Several clergymen from distant parishes had come into the town, and
these, almost without exception, were very bitter toward him; while the
publicans, who did a very big trade that day because of his coming,
cried out against him very loudly. On the other hand, I heard that many
people had come because of the great good he had done, and because
through him they had been led, to use their own language, to become new
creatures. This I will say, those who befriended Mr. Wesley seemed very
steady folks. They used no bad language, neither were they mad with
drink as many of the others were.
I did not pay as much heed to the state of the town as I might have paid
under other circumstances, for I cared for little but the sight of
Naomi's face, while to hear her voice I felt I would give anything.
Now as I walked disconsolately along the street, finding my way among
the crowd that grew greater and greater, I stopped outside a
linen-draper's shop, which was kept by one Humphry Bolitho, and to my
great joy I saw Naomi coming therefrom. By her side was Emily Tresidder,
and I was wondering how I could speak to my love, when the woman in the
shop called Richard Tresidder's daughter back just as Naomi's eyes met
mine.
She gave no start of surprise at seeing me, so that even then I was sure
that the Tresidders knew of my return, but she seemed, I thought, in
doubt as to whether she should speak to me. But I had found my
opportunity, and I determined not to be baulked in my purpose,
especially as Emily Tresidder had gone back into the shop again. And yet
at that moment I knew not what was fitting to say, for my heart seemed
in my mouth, and every inch of my body quivered with a strange joy.
"Miss Naomi," I stammered, hardly knowing the words that came from my
mouth, "thank you for what you did months ago. I loved you then, I love
you a thousand times more now."
I saw the blood mount to her brow, and for a moment I could not tell
whether she was angry or no. She looked anxiously back into the shop,
then up and down the street.
"You are in danger here," she said.
"I care not, now I see you," I cried. "I have done nothing wrong, except
that I am doing wrong in loving you. I have not won back Pennington yet,
but I will do it, God helping, I will, if--if you will give me just one
word of promise."
I spoke in a low tone so that no one could hear, and indeed the crowd
seemed too much bent on other things to notice me.
"It is no use," she said--"it is no use. Do not try any more, it is
hopeless."
"I shall never give up hope," I said.
"Even now my guardian is seeking to do you harm," she cried. "This I
know."
"I am not afraid of him," I cried. "You know what I told you--that
night--last November. You did not scorn me then. I hoped then that some
day you might care for me; it is my hope still."
"It is no use," she cried again, looking anxiously around her--"it is
no use. I am to be married to Nick Tresidder; at least they all want me
to marry him."
"No!" I cried. "No!"
"I cannot help myself," she said, piteously.
"Do you love him?" I asked.
"No," she said, again looking eagerly around.
"Then!" I cried, "you shall not marry him. I will keep you from that,
even if I found you by his side at the church communion-rails."
Then my heart jumped for joy, for I saw a look of gladness flash into
her eyes.
"Come with me," I continued; "come away where it is quiet. No one will
notice us among all this crowd."
"No, no, I dare not; I am watched everywhere, and you are watched. We
may be safe here for a few minutes longer, for when Emily is talking
about finery she is forgetful of all else, but I must not leave here."
"Look here," I cried, "Betsey Fraddam told me last night that all sorts
of lying stories have been told about me."
"I have believed none of them," she cried.
"Also that Nick Tresidder has told the parson to have your banns called
at the parish church."
"But not with my consent," she said, eagerly, and again my heart thumped
aloud because of my joy.
"Naomi Penryn," I cried, "I know I seem a worthless, thriftless sort of
fellow, for as yet I have done nothing to get back Pennington, but if
you could love me just a little"--and I looked toward her appealingly.
"Anyhow, trust me," I continued, "and be not afraid. Remember I shall
love you till I die, and I will be always near you to be your friend."
I said this in the heat of my love and youth, for nothing seemed
impossible to me then. Somehow, I knew not how, a greater strength had
seemed to come into my life, and I laughed at difficulty and danger.
"Go!" she cried--"go; Emily Tresidder is coming. Go!"
"Not yet, the woman is showing her something else," and I felt thankful
because of this girl's love for finery. "Promise me," I continued, "that
you will not yield to those Tresidders. Stand firm, and they will be
afraid to force you. Remember, I will be always near, if I can, and that
they dare not harm you. Besides--oh, if you knew all you are to me!"
She looked at me eagerly while a film seemed to come over her eyes, and
I thought she was about to say something. Then a look of terror flashed
across her face. "Go!" she cried--"go! There is my guardian! Oh, take
care of yourself!" and then she rushed into the shop, leaving me
standing by the door, and only partially hidden from the crowd by some
things which had been placed by the door.
I quickly got among the crowd, but I know that both Nick Tresidder and
his father saw me, and I knew, too, that if they went into Humphry
Bolitho's shop they would find out that Naomi had spoken to me. And yet
I felt very joyous. I knew, although Naomi had not told me she loved me,
that she thought of me with more than passing kindness, while the flash
of her eyes told me that she could not be moulded at will, even by such
men as the Tresidders and such a woman as Richard Tresidder's mother.
Naturally I felt afraid for her, and for all she would have to suffer,
and yet the remembrance of the fact that she would speak to me kindly,
and had told me to take care of myself, as though she were anxious for
my welfare, filled me with a great hope, and hope giveth wings of
strength to those who are weighted with great burdens.
I had not been in the crowd above a minute before I felt myself carried
along the street, as if by the force of a mighty torrent. I was hemmed
in on every side by a seething mass of men and women, some of whom were
praying and singing, while others used many profane words, and uttered
threats which would not be seemly for me to write down. I quickly
learned that the people were making their way toward the house of a lady
who, I was told, was called Mrs. Bennetto, although I am not sure that
this was the correct name. I asked why they wanted to get there, and was
told that Mr. John Wesley was there, and that many were determined to
kill him. Most of the crowd, as I have said before, seemed exceedingly
bitter toward him, but others were loud in their praises of the great
man, and although they were severely buffeted they kept singing the
hymns he had composed, some of which seemed very fine in their
sentiment, although I must confess that the meaning of some of the
verses I could not understand.
When we arrived at the house where he was there was a great amount of
shouting, so great that had a storm been raging at sea close by I do not
think we could have heard it.
"Laive us git to un, laive us git to un!" shouted the crowd, eagerly and
angrily.
Now I have always loved fair play, and so I asked why they wanted to get
to Mr. Wesley, and at that moment there being a lull, and my voice being
deep and strong, my question was heard.
"He's a Canorum," they shouted; "he's a Papist, he drives men and women
maazed, he keeps 'em from goin' to church, he destroys honest trade!"
These among other things I heard as I struggled to get to the door.
There was no law or order in the place. Not a single constable seemed to
be near, and for the moment the friends of the preacher seemed to be
afraid to act in his defence.
Presently I got to the door of the house, and I think my great
proportions frightened some of them.
"Look you," I said, "he is one and you are many. I do not know this man,
but I have heard up and down the country that he hath done much good. If
any man dares molest him, I will strike him down as I would strike down
a yelping cur."
For a moment there was a quiet, and the friends of Mr. Wesley took
heart, for although it seems like boasting to say so, I think the sight
of one strong, courageous man, as I thank God I have ever been, always
has a tendency to quell the anger of an unreasoning mob.
"He's not a friend to the people," they cried. "He's destroyed the trade
of Jemmy Crowle, who do kip a kiddleywink over to Zennor. Ted'n no use
kippin' a public 'ouse after he've bin to a plaace. He do turn people
maazed. He do convert 'em, and then they waan't zing songs, nor git
drunk, nor do a bit of smugglin', nor nothin'."
This was said not as I have written it down, but came to me in confused,
excited ejaculations from many quarters.
"If that is all he has done," I said, "there is no reason for anger."
For a moment there was a silence among the crowd, and I heard voices
from within the house.
Said a woman, "Oh, sir, what must we do?"
"We must pray," was the reply. This was in a man's voice, and was
strangely sweet and strong, and even then it thrilled me greatly.
I believe that many, angry as they had been, would have turned away at
that moment, but some drunken privateers were among the mob, and one of
them came and pushed me savagely. I caught the man up and lifted him
above my head and threw him from me. This angered the privateers
greatly, and they smashed down the door while others swore great oaths
at me.
"What will em do weth the Canorum?" I heard the people cry, and then
there was a silence again. I think they were subdued, as I was subdued,
by the sound of a man's voice.
"Here I am," I heard Mr. Wesley say, "which of you has anything to say
to me? To whom have I done wrong? To you, to you?"
At this the people seemed eager beyond measure to catch sight of him,
and they shouted, "Come out, come out. Lev us zee 'ee."
Others again shouted, "Ef we can git to un, we'll kill un. We doan't
want no Canorums, we doan't want no new sort ov religion. We like our
beer and wrastlin', we do."
"Look," I shouted, "give every man fair play. Let him speak for himself.
If he has anything to tell us, let him tell it."
"Iss, iss," shouted the crowd; "lev un spaik."
With that I heard the same voice speaking which I had heard inside the
house, only this time it was louder. It was not panic-stricken, it was
perfectly calm and fearless. It was strangely sweet, too, and it
reached, I should think, to the very outskirts of the crowd. A strange
hush fell upon the people as they heard it. It was like a stormy sea
which had suddenly become calm.
"Neighbours and countrymen," said the voice, "do you desire me to
speak?"
"No, no," shouted some; "put un in stocks, throw un in the say."
Then I spoke again. "Fair play, Cornishmen," I said, "give the stranger
fair play, let him speak."
"Iss, iss," cried the larger part of the crowd; "he sh'll 'ave fair
play, he sh'll spaik."
With that a gangway was made, and then I turned and saw the man who had
created such a great commotion in the country come bareheaded into the
middle of the street, while the surging crowd hustled each other, some
eager to do him injury, but many more anxious to hear what he had to
say.
As for myself, I was silent, for the sight of him impressed me greatly.