MY EXPERIENCE IN MY PRISON--I AM TOLD TERRIBLE NEWS ABOUT NAOMI
I looked eagerly toward the direction from which I had heard the sound,
and saw a door opening. A little old man entered. Evidently he was a
serving-man, just as one sees in most old houses. Even then I concluded
that he was one who had spent most of his life in some well-ordered
house. His clothes were spotlessly clean, the buckles on his shoes
shone, his stockings were without blemish. His wig, too, was powdered
carefully, and all his linen was faultless.
All this made me wonder the more greatly as to where I was.
He met my questioning look calmly, and looked at me critically.
"Ah, you are better," he remarked, quietly.
"Would you tell me where I am?" I asked.
"You are safe from harm," he replied, vaguely.
"And why am I here?" I asked.
"To be kept from harm."
"And how long have I been here?"
"It is not for me to tell you. You have been very ill."
"What has been the matter with me?"
"You have had fever. Once I thought you would have died; but you have
been nursed safely through it, and I have doctored you successfully."
"Are you a doctor, then?"
"I have some knowledge of the human system and of medicines. It is well,
otherwise you would never have lived through your sickness."
His face showed no emotion whatever, neither did it in the slightest
degree indicate his thoughts. He spoke in perfectly measured tones, and
each word was enunciated clearly. Many thoughts flashed through my mind,
and many questions rose to my lips, but the old man's presence seemed to
check them. Moreover, I felt very weak.
"I shall be well and strong soon," I said.
He came to me, felt my pulse, examined me in various ways, and said,
quietly, "Yes, I think you will soon be well. You are a very strong
man."
"What will become of me then?"
"You will stay here."
"How long?"
"I do not know."
"But why was I brought here?"
"To be kept from harm."
"What harm?"
"It is not for me to say."
"By whose command was I brought here?"
"I shall not tell you."
"But you can tell me where I am. This seems a part of a big house, an
old house. Whose is it, and where is it?"
"I shall not tell you. You will receive nothing but kindness while you
behave seemingly, if not, means will be used to check you."
"I am a prisoner, then?"
"Yes, you are a prisoner, if you are pleased to call it so."
"But am I to have no liberty? Am I not to leave this room? I cannot live
penned up here."
"I shall speak no further to you. Food will be brought, and no harm will
happen to you."
With that he left the room as quietly as he came, and I heard his
footsteps echoing again as I had heard them when he came to me. For a
time my brain seemed to grow weak again, and in spite of my anxiety I
dropped into a fitful sleep, from which I was aroused by the chinking of
crockery near me.
My sleep made me feel stronger; I felt far better than when the old man
had visited me. I looked around the room again, and saw a hard-featured
woman. She, too, was elderly, fast beating on toward sixty. She placed a
basin of gruel at my side.
"'Ere," she said, "ait this."
"Ah," I thought, "I am still in Cornwall. Anyhow, the woman speaks with
a Cornish accent."
I thought I might fare better with her than with the old man, so I tried
to gain some information from her.
"Let's see," I said, "what part of Cornwall are we in?"
"Ait yer mait, an' ax no questions," was her response.
I ate the gruel with a good appetite. It was carefully made, and seemed
to be seasoned with some pleasant-tasting cordial. When I had finished
the old woman grunted with satisfaction.
"It is very nice," I said--"very nice. Whoever made it knows her work.
Did you make it?"
"Who es ther' that knaweth how to make sich stuff as that but me?" she
said.
Her answer set me thinking, and I drew two conclusions. One was that the
old woman was vulnerable to flattery, the other was that she did not
hail from that part of the county in which I was reared. The word
"knaweth" told me that she belonged to the northern part of the county.
I put another question in order to test the truth of both these
conclusions.
"You look too much of a lady to be the cook," I said, "and yet I thought
the cook would naturally make such things."
"Ther's no cook. Her's gone. I'm in charge."
She said this proudly, but although her answer was brief, it confirmed
me in my suspicions. People in the western part of the county would say
"She's gone," so when she said, "Her's gone," I was sure that she hailed
from either Devon or from somewhere in the region of Tintagel and
Boscastle.
"It must be a place of importance," I said. "Have you lived here long?"
"I was born in this parish."
"Let's see, this is near St. Minver, isn't it?"
"Ax me no questions and I'll tell 'ee no lies," was the reply.
But she had let me know more than she imagined. She had told me that she
was born in the parish where my prison was situated, and I knew by her
brogue that the parish was situated a good many miles north of St. Eve.
I asked her many more questions, but she would answer none that gave me
any further information concerning my whereabouts. As to why I was
there she seemed as ignorant as myself.
After this I lay many days on my bed--how many I do not know. The
mornings dawned and the daylight departed by; I did not pay much heed.
From the remarks of the little man, who constantly visited me, I judged
that some complication had arisen in my case, and so my recovery was
delayed. At length, however, I felt myself grow stronger again, and then
daily health came to my blood and vitality to my being.
By and by I was able to rise from my bed, and a suit of clothes of
antiquated cut was given me to wear.
"What month is this?" I asked one day of the old man when he came to see
me.
"It would do you no good to know," he replied.
"Yes it would," I replied; "I should have got better before this if I
had not been harassed by so many doubts and questionings."
"Well, then, it is October."
"October! What part of the month?"
"Yes, October. To-day is the fifteenth of the month."
"Then I have been here three months."
He was silent.
"What is the year?" I asked, eagerly.
The little man smiled. "Oh, you need not fear. This is the year 1745.
You have been here three months. I see you wish to ask more questions,
but I shall not answer them."
For several days after that I asked no questions, for a great despair
laid hold of me. Although I had not been told, I was sure I knew why I
had been kidnapped and made a prisoner. I believed, too, that my illness
was not a natural one, and I could have sworn that I was kept out of
the way because Richard Tresidder feared me. This thought was not
altogether unpleasant. It could not be because of the Pennington
estates--there was no immediate danger concerning that--it was because
of Naomi. He had discovered that she and I had met, and I believed that
he had concluded what I fondly hoped, although the foundation seemed
poor, that Naomi loved me. If this were so, I could understand why he
should want to keep me away from Pennington, for if Naomi loved me, and
was willing to wed me, even although she could not marry until she was
twenty-one, the position was a constant menace to Richard Tresidder; for
if, when she came of age, she became my wife, Trevose Estate would at
once be wrested from his hands, while I should be able to buy back
Pennington.
I considered these matters many times as I lay there. They came to me
not clearly, but in a vague way; not quickly, but slowly and at rare
intervals, while my strength came gradually back to me.
All this time I knew not where I was, for I was not allowed to go
outside the room in which I had been imprisoned. Neither had my strength
been sufficient to climb to the little window I have mentioned in order
to look out. I was kindly treated, my food was good, and brought
regularly; my room was kept clean, and I was carefully attended to. But
not one of my attendants would tell me anything. Moreover, as I became
stronger they seemed to watch me more closely.
One morning after breakfast, I judged that the sky was bright by the
light which streamed into my room, and as I felt very much better, and
knowing that no one would come to my prison for an hour or two, I
decided to try and climb to the window, so that I might see what my
surroundings were. This proved to be a harder task than I anticipated,
but after many vain endeavours I at length reached the little aperture
and looked out.
My head became almost dizzy as I looked. Outside a great sea was
running. I saw the breakers lash themselves into foam upon the rocks,
and I saw a bold, ragged cliff stretching, as I judged, southward as far
as my eyes could reach. Then I looked beneath me, and I saw that my
prison had been built on the edge of the cliff. So high was I above the
beach beneath that at first I could not measure the distance, but
presently, as my eyes became accustomed to the sight, I was able to make
my calculation. As far as I could judge I was at least two hundred feet
above the roaring, rushing torrent beneath--probably the distance was
greater. Escape by that means, then, was an impossibility.
I looked long and eagerly at the boiling surf and the weather-beaten
cliffs which stretched far away in each direction. I watched the
breakers as they hurled themselves on the rocks far, far down beneath
me. The sight filled me with dull despair.
I tried to open the window, but it was fastened firmly. After repeated
efforts, however, I managed to remove it about three inches from the
frame, but I could not move it more owing to the iron bars that had been
placed across. The fresh air blew in from the sea, which gave me great
pleasure; it also cleared my mind somewhat, and acting on the impulse of
the moment I tied my handkerchief to the iron bar. I did not see how it
could do any good, but it could do no harm, and might possibly attract
attention.
I looked again at the great waste of water, and marked the tumultuous
tossing of the waves, and then I closed the window again, feeling that I
could do nothing to effect my liberty.
I went back to my bed again and began to consider my condition. My mind
for the moment seemed clear, and I was able to understand my position,
and all the events I have related came back to my memory. Then I
remembered that I always became dazed and drowsy after drinking the
medicine which was given me. A torpor always crept over me, and I was
incapable of definite action. This made me wonder still more.
I heard the sound of footsteps echoing along a passage, and a minute
later the little old man I have mentioned came to me.
"It is time for you to have your medicine," he said.
Hitherto I had drunk it without demur; now I determined to avoid taking
it.
"I will attend to it presently," I said, "but for the present I want us
to talk together. I suppose you know you are placing yourself in great
danger by keeping me here?"
He was silent.
"Of course," I went on, "I know that you are only the tool of others. My
enemy's name begins with T, doesn't it?"
He gave a start, but did not speak.
"This cannot last much longer," I said; "I have friends who will be
searching for me. Hanging's a serious matter. I shall take serious steps
when I get away from here."
"When you do," he replied, significantly.
"Do you think I shall stay here always?" I retorted.
"How can you get away? This morning you climbed up and looked out of
that window. You did not know I saw you, but I did. Well, what did you
see? You know you are on the top of a cliff, and it is nearly three
hundred feet to the beach. Well, you cannot escape that way; if you
tried you would break your neck. Very well; the only other way to escape
is to try and escape through that door. Well, what would happen then?
You would not get up the passage a dozen steps before you would be
shot."
"By whom?"
"By those who guard a dangerous madman."
"Oh, I see. I'm mad, am I?"
"Certainly."
"And is this an asylum?"
"It's not for you to know."
"Still it would go hard with Richard Tresidder if his perfidy should
come out."
"It can never come out. Yes, I know what is in your mind. Well,
supposing you get well enough to be set at liberty? You would be taken
to Pendennis Castle as mysteriously as you have been taken here. But
where are you? You cannot tell. Are you in England, Ireland, or
Scotland? You do not know."
"How long shall I be kept here, then?"
"Not, I should think, more than a week. You seem to be very much
improved in your health."
Now this set me wondering greatly, for I did not expect such a
revelation. Still I managed to remain calm.
"You know why I am here, then?"
"Certainly. You have been a madman; as such you have been a constant
menace to Miss Naomi Penryn. She has been much afraid of you, and has
dreaded the thought of your being at liberty."
"Little man," I said, "you know this is a lie."
"I wish it were. I have nothing whatever against you; on the contrary, I
rather like you."
He spoke this kindly, and I detected, as I thought, a friendly look in
his face, so acting on the impulse of the moment I said to him, "Will
you listen to what I have to tell you?"
"Yes," he said, "I will listen."
Then I told him briefly all I thought necessary to tell, and yet I felt
that I had not the power to tell the truth well.
"Your history seems very plausible, young man," he said, "but I have
been warned against you."
"But Miss Naomi Penryn knows that I am not a madman, neither have I
annoyed her in any way."
"You lie. I myself received a letter from her before you were brought
here."
"Let me see that letter."
"No. Enough that I have told the truth. She fears you; she pleaded that
you might be guarded until such time as it should be safe for you to be
at liberty."
"Are you sure the letter was written by her own hand? Do you know her
handwriting?"
"Know her handwriting! Why?" Then he added, quietly, "Yes, I know her
handwriting."
"But why do you think I shall be set at liberty in a week?"
"Because she will have a protector."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that to-day she is being married to Master Nicholas Tresidder."
"To-day?"
"Yes, to-day."
"Go away," I said--"go away, for the sake of God. I want to be alone to
think."
He looked at me I thought pitifully and kindly; then he heaved a sigh
and went away.
When he was gone I lay for hours like one stunned. Food was brought to
me, but I took no notice. Had poison been left in the room I believe I
should have taken it, so weary of life was I. They had worked their
will, then, and Naomi had been forced into an unholy marriage with the
man who I was sure she did not love.
I thought of trying to climb to the window, of breaking the glass,
wrenching the iron bars from the wall, and falling headlong upon the
rocks below, but I was too weak. I made a score of futile plans, each
madder than the other.
Presently I became more calm. Might not this be all lies? Or, again,
even if it were true, ought I not, instead of contemplating suicide, to
be brave and watchful, so that I might be able to protect her? Would she
not as Nick Tresidder's wife need a friend? Besides--and then a score of
conflicting thoughts seethed in my brain.
Presently I began to try and understand the meaning of the old man's
words about being set at liberty in a week. What did it mean? If she was
to be married that day, why was I not set at liberty at once? Then I
came to the conclusion that the man who was my gaoler would have to wait
for orders. Richard Tresidder would wait until the marriage was
consummated before he would communicate with him.
But I will not try and recount all my thoughts. Many of them were
doubtless wild and foolish, neither would they interest those who may
chance read this narrative.
For the next week, in spite of my despairing thoughts, I looked forward
to my being set at liberty. I counted the days eagerly, and daily did I
ask questions of the little old man who came to see me when my captivity
should be ended. But he always shook his head, neither could I get from
him any other answer.
When the week ended I expected something to happen. I should be probably
blindfolded, pinioned, and conveyed to the walls of Pendennis Castle.
But I was disappointed. A fortnight passed away, and still there was no
change in my condition.
"What is the meaning of this?" I asked. "Why am I not liberated as you
promised?"
But he gave no reply. Once I thought he would have spoken, for he seemed
strangely moved, as though his mind were filled with doubts, but he left
me without telling me the doubts which were in his mind.
Another week passed away, and in spite of myself I began to hope. If my
captivity were to continue until Naomi was wedded to Nick Tresidder, did
not my continued imprisonment show that the marriage had not taken
place? I remembered Naomi's words. I thought of the look she gave me
when she bade me good-bye. Yes, I felt sure she loved me, and that she
had refused to wed my enemy! I still fretted and fumed at my
imprisonment; I longed with a longing beyond words to be free, but this
thought was like a beacon light to a shipwrecked sailor. It gave me
strength, too. In spite of everything health surged back into my being.
But my release did not come.
The days began to grow very cold, and I asked for a fire, but none was
given me, and my captivity was hard to bear. I think I should have gone
mad but for a Bible that had been given me. I read again and again the
Book of Job; especially did my mind rest upon his latter days when the
sun shone upon him again.
One day the little man, who had told me to call him Jonathan, came into
my cell weeping.
"What ails you, Jonathan?" I said.
"Alas!" was his reply.
"What?" I cried eagerly.
"My little Naomi is dead!" he said.
"Your little Naomi--dead!" I repeated, like one dazed. "What do you
mean?"
He started as though he had told me too much.
But I was not to be trifled with. I caught him and held him fast.
"You have made me desperate," I said; "I must know all now. Who told you
that she was dead? What do you mean by calling her your Naomi? I must
know everything."
"I dare not!" he cried, distractedly--"I dare not, I am afraid."
"Afraid of whom?"
"Richard Tresidder. He will be master of--" He stopped, and then he wept
bitterly.
My hands dropped from him, for my strength had gone.
"Tell me," I said--"tell me, Jonathan, all you know."
He kept sobbing, and this made me pity him, but no tears came to my own
eyes. My heart became cold and seemed as hard as a stone.
"She did not wed Master Nicholas Tresidder," he said; "and--and, oh,
God forgive me, but since then she has died."
For a time I could not collect my thoughts, the news seemed to have
unhinged my mind, but presently I remembered. I thought of what I had
heard Richard Tresidder say, and many wild thoughts came into my mind.
"If she is dead," I said at length, "you can set me free."
"No, no, I--" He got up from the stool on which he had been sitting and
left the room. I heard him lock the door behind him, and I had no
strength to hinder him. At that moment I cared for nothing.