“Until ye die or convert,” says he, mighty drily.
“Alack, then, I am undone!” I cried; “but how will they use me?”
“That also depends on yourself,” says he.
“Unhappy wretch that I am!” I said; “what shall become of me?”
“Sure I don’t know,” says Father Theodorus; “but for your own sake, I trust ye will convert. But that ye will determine for yourself. My business is but to talk to ye. As I said, ’tis sorry I am to see your father’s son in this place, but I’m glad to have an Englishman for to talk with. I can’t let ye out, indeed, but I can talk to ye, and maybe convert ye, and even if I can’t do that, I might do worse than try. Sure ye have yet some things to be thankful for.”
Such was the strange and laughable humour of the man, that I could scarce avoid a smile even then to hear him. He took such infinite delight in a jest, as I have never seen equalled, and had a droll fashion of playing the philosopher with regard to untoward chances, that brought some diversion and even consolation therein. But he could not now treat me with any more of his philosophy, for the officers, having finished the searching of my boxes, came now for to search me also. And so well was this searching done, that they took from me even such little matters as the thieves in the prison had left me, among them his highness the Viceroy’s ring, the which I had contrived to hide, and gave back to me only my handkercher, which was but a coarse one, and not laced. Seeing that they had placed aside my books, which, in truth, were not many, but very dear and precious to me, I entreated that they would suffer me to keep them; but the secretary, through Father Theodorus, told me that no books was allowed in the Holy House. My comb even they also took away from me, saying I should have no need on’t, which indeed was true, since they brought a barber at once for to cut off my hair. Now this was very thick and long, so that I was extreme loath to lose it, nor has it ever grown since as it should do.
“Sure, ’tis a Roundhead ye are become in your old age, my boy,” said Father Theodorus; but so grieved was I that I could not bring up a smile for his untimely jest. And thus cropped like unto a Puritan or a madman, they led me to my cell. And this was situate on the higher floor of one of the squares of buildings into the which this place is divided; for on each floor are seven or eight cells, opening on a gallery, and each cell is some ten foot square. And here they left me, desiring that I might find myself altogether comfortable there, and the two doors (whereof more hereafter) were locked.
Now until I had been left by myself in this wise, I had scarce considered in my mind that I was truly a prisoner of the Inquisition. The civility of the officers, the reverend presence of the Lords Inquisidors, the decency with which the audience was conducted, the pleasantry of Father Theodorus, all conspired to make me feel that I was but in some piece of trouble a little greater than ordinary, wherefrom I must speedily be released through the representations of my friends. And even now, remembering that I had seen naught of the savage cruelty I had looked for, I considered that perhaps this antique tribunal was changing with the times, and becoming more merciful, wherefore I had been subjected to no manner of torture. How was I doomed in after-days to be undeceived in regard to this matter! and truly, when I had been for some time locked into my cell, my old fears returned thick upon me. It seemed to me at first impossible that it should be I, Edward Carlyon, that found myself in such a situation, and that it was in truth an evil dream, wherefrom I should presently awake and discover myself in bed at my lodging, or at least in that stinking cave of the Aljuvar. But when I was risen up, and had walked from end to end of the chamber, and looked upon and touched all that was therein, I knew that ’twas no dream, but a dreadful truth that could bring to me (as I thought) only death or dishonour. And remembering the tales I had heard and read concerning the devilish doings of the Inquisition, I prayed to God that I might be enabled to make choice of the first rather than of the last.
Now when I had remained for some time plunged in these gloomy contemplations, the alcaide brought in my dinner, the which, since I had tasted naught that day, did mightily refresh me, so that when I had eaten I was minded to see all that was in my power. And first I applied myself to look at the chamber itself, which is still as clear imprinted on my mind as if I saw it now, as well it may be, since there was granted me so long time for to study the aspect on’t. The cell was, as I have said already, some ten feet square, and at one end the floor was raised, so as to be a platform for sleeping on, whereon was spread a mat, and a checked counterpane for me to wrap myself withal. And for all other furnishing was there only divers earthen vessels, some finer and some coarser, for to hold water for washing, drinking, and the like, and a brush wherewith to sweep the chamber. Beside these was there the lesser of my two trunks, with certain clothes in it and no more. The roof was vaulted with stone, and it and the walls washed white. Such light as there was came through a little window covered with a grating, so high that even standing on my trunk I could never reach it. The place was closed by two doors, whereof the inner had in it a window, whereby the turnkey might put in my food, but the outer was made all over of iron, and was very strong. And this is all that was to be remarked in my cell, without it were the joints in the stones of the walls and floor, which I may well know by heart, seeing that I abode in that cell for three years. Now, if this had been told me beforehand I had assuredly fainted in my courage, for it seemed to me then, and will always so seem, that those three years was the slowest that ever passed on earth.
It was not at the first that weariness pressed so heavily upon me, for I determined within myself to use my time profitably, and so lay it out to the best advantage. Wherefore I did set apart certain hours of each day for the recalling my past life, considering in especial how I might have ordered it better than I had, and deploring my occasional levities of speech or conduct. Likewise to the best of my power I called up such things as I had read touching the Popish controversy, and endeavoured to set in order in my mind such arguments on behalf of our Reformed Faith as are deemed most certain among us. And in order that I might not suffer altogether from the loss of my books, in case some fortunate chance should ever afford me enlargement, I gave some time to repeating over those passages which I knew by heart, whether of the Bible or of other good books, or of such poetry as had come in my way of late years. And lest I should suffer in my employment as a merchant, of every day I devoted also a part to the making and casting up of accounts, bills of lading, invoices and the like, such as it might fall to my lot to draw out again should I ever win release. And to all this employment of my mind I conceive it to be due that I was able to pass through these years with health and clearness of brain, in spite of the many cruel torments from the which I suffered, as you shall hear.
Now when I had been some five months in this place (I meanwhile marking the time by scratching with a broken potsherd a line upon the wall for each day), and hearing nothing nor receiving no summons from their lordships the Inquisidors, the alcaide told me that I must now petition for a trial. And I, being by no means desirous to bring upon myself those severities whereof I had read, yet neither wishing to be left to live out my appointed course of life in this manner, did ask that I might be visited by Father Theodorus. Now this good man I had already seen twice since the day I had entered the place, since once in every two months one of the Inquisidors, together with their lordships’ secretary, is wont to go round to all the cells, asking the prisoners whether there is aught whereof they would make complaint, and with these come Father Theodorus as interpreter. But on my sending to seek him he came again, and entering my cell with the alcaide (for no officer of the Inquisition may ever speak with a prisoner alone), he asked me with great eagerness whether I was willing to convert. And I replying that I had no such thought, he testified extreme pity and sadness, but advised me that I should put their lordships in mind of my case through him.
“Not that ’tis forgot,” says he, “for the articles of accusation are drawn up, and the witnesses have been duly examined; but their lordships were willing to grant ye a convenient space wherein to consider and repent of your deeds if ye so desired it.”
“But pray, sir,” says I, “who were the witnesses? For it hath always been told me that seven were required.”
“Why,” says he, “the chief is Dom Lewis de Bustamante, that brought ye hither. Then there is Father Sebastian, a Paulistin like myself, several gentlemen that heard ye speak blasphemies in his highness’s palace, and divers persons of the lower sort, convicts and soldiers and the like, that witnessed your carriage and heard your words on the bridge and in the square of the cathedral.”
“Truly,” said I, “you seem hard put to’t for witnesses, and yet, since you have so many, methinks Dom Lewis had done well to have made shift to resign his duty as one of ’em, which can scarce be pleasing to a gentleman of his quality.”
“Ye poor ignorant heretic!” cries Father Theodorus, “ ’tis his duty, and therefore his delight. Sure ’twas he accused ye.”
“Mine own familiar friend!” says I.
“What would ye have?” says the father. “He could do no otherwise; for if he had not done’t, sure he’d have been denounced himself by the priest. ’Tis the law that he that conceals heresy is himself a heretic, and earns the like punishment. And Dom Lewis, being an officer of this holy tribunal, must not set an example of failing in his duty.”
Now upon this I fear that I forgot myself, and uttered many things that should not have been said concerning both the Holy Office and its ministers, such as were little like to better my situation, since even Father Theodorus put his hands before his ears and besought me to cease, saying he could not stay to hear such blasphemies. And I, being loath to displease and fray away this good friend, did force myself to cease, and begged of him to take such steps as he saw best for the bringing my case before their lordships. And he departing, I felt all at once an extraordinary great grief that I should of myself have broke in upon my safe, though quiet life, and called myself a fool for my pains, and would have had him return if it had been possible.
But ’twas now too late for this, and some three days thereafter the alcaide advertised me that I was summoned to my second audience of the Inquisidors, and bade me dress myself very neat for to come before their lordships. He carried me with him then to the same chamber as before, and when we were arrived at the door on’t, knocked three times. At the third time a bell was rung from within, and the door opened by an officer, when their lordships were discovered sitting around their table as before, with the clerk ready at hand, and Father Theodorus also, bearing as solemn and devout an aspect as if he had never passed a word with me in private in his life. The Grand Inquisidor, by his means, then ordered me to kneel down and take upon a certain book the oath which they should administer to me. And this book was, in so far as I could judge, a Missale or office-book of the Roman Church. I then kneeling, they required of me to swear that I would conceal all the secrets of the Holy Office, and speak the truth. To whom I made answer that, knowing none of their secrets, it was not reasonable to suppose I could reveal ’em; but that to the second part I would swear willingly, though I needed no swearing to ensure the truth from me. Whereupon they administered the oath, and bade me again be seated.
And now they desired to know the names of all my kin, even so far as my grandparents, which were all wrote down with much ceremony, and then asked whether I had been baptised, which when I had answered, one of the officers thrust before me a crucifix, and demanded of me to take an oath of my confession of faith. This was so sudden and so little expected that I was for the moment taken aback, so that I saw Father Theodorus look glad and happy, as thinking that I was about to profess myself a Papist; but I thank God that strengthened me and enabled me to declare that I had been born and brought up a Protestant of the Reformed Church of England, in which, if it so pleased Him, I hoped also to die. And upon this the chief Inquisidor addressed me, Father Theodorus interpreting, and said that I must now be proceeded against for an heretic, and so remanded me to my cell, adjuring me to tax my memory and thus make a good confession when I next came before the Board of the Holy Office.
Now on returning to my cell, I experienced a great gladness and uplifting of heart, for that God had graciously given me power to witness a true confession, so that I was constrained to lift up my voice in praise to Him, singing one of David’s psalms, until the alcaide came with small patience to my door, and roughly told me that if I did not cease my singing, I should receive two hundred lashes. But although they might stop my mouth, yet could not they hinder me from making melody in my heart, so that I can truly say, that had the summons to the torture-chamber come that night, I had gone to the rack, yea, even to the stake itself, with as great constancy and as firm a heart as any of those blessed martyrs of whom we read. In this happy posture of mind I remained for some days, being so enwrapt in holy joy and confidence that I hailed every step in the passage as perchance that of one who might be sent to summon me to glorify God in the torment, and leaped up to meet the turnkey on his entrance.
But the summons did not come, and I returned by degrees unto my old ways, yet with a mind not so settled and a humour more melancholic than before. For there come to me in the night visions of the old house at Ellswether, and my father sitting in his great chair in the hall, and on the threshold little Dorothy watching for tidings of me, and wondering and grieving because none came. And the devil was not sparing of evil suggestions—viz., that I should purchase lasting ease and freedom by a seeming compliance, such as need not bind me in the future, and must needs be far better than to die unknown a shameful death, while those at home should never guess what had befell me. Night after night was I tormented with these evil dreams, engendered in great part, as I have no doubt, by the closeness of the place and the extreme desire I had to go abroad in the air, which not happening, I lacked at last even strength to perform the tasks I had set myself in the daytime. And when, after some three or four months, the Inquisidors summoned me again before them, so broken and weary was I that it had given me little pain to have gone straight to death instead.
And at the beginning of this third audit was there the same ceremony observed as before, but more persons was present, notably one that had the appearance of a proctor or advocate. And I being seated as heretofore, and after some questions asked of no importance, they showed me a great paper covered thick with writing and garnished with divers seals, and told me that there was therein contained the charges made against me, which I must now answer according to my oath. And upon this the secretary did read out one by one the accusations, to the number of two-and-twenty in all, and to these I did my best to answer, though no time was given me for the considering what I should say. And so trivial and foolish were some of these charges that I can’t now so much as remember them, but I will down set the chief of those that I recollect.
First, there was several accusations charging me with insulting the Host that was carried in the procession, with insulting the images of the saints by refusing to kiss them, and with insulting the Holy Church by saying that her monks might be better employed than in praying in their monasteries. To these, after some small changes made in the words, I confessed. And after these come another set of charges that wrought in me no small astonishment. For it seemed that my chance words said to the boy Peter in my walks with him, or to Dom Lewis and other young gentlemen, or merely remarked, and addressed to no one at all, had been twisted and turned to mean disrespect to the objects they worship. And this although no such disrespect had been intended nor thought on, for I always conceived it only due to civility to make no attempt upon the religion of the persons with whom I discoursed, without they should try to meddle with mine. And after this the Inquisidors accused me of coming to Goa with malicious and criminal designs of subverting the Viceroy and the authority of his majesty the king of Portingale,[70] and of overturning the Church, supporting their charges by reports gleaned from Portuguese merchants and sea-captains, and scraps they had pieced together from my books and papers. And these two classes of charges I steadfastly denied. But the last of all was that I was found to be an obdurate and contumacious heretic, that refused to mend my ways for all their gentleness and the opportunities they gave me, and this I must needs confess to be true.
This business then being finished, the Grand Inquisidor demanded of me whether I desired a counsellor for to plead my cause, and I answering that I did so desire, they pointed out to me a person that held, they said, that office, and was the one I had thought to be a lawyer. But I demanding when I should be permitted to consult with him upon my defence, they told me that this was not permitted. I looked then that this gentleman should essay some sort of defence out of his own wisdom, but he made no motion to speak, and Father Theodorus, the Lord Inquisidor commanding him, said, “Lawyers an’t allowed to speak before the Board of the Holy Office.” Then I, perceiving that their semblance of justice was but a blind and a pretence, did commend my soul to God, and told their lordships that I had no more to add unto what I had already said, and that if that didn’t satisfy them, then I was in their hands, and they must even do what they would with me. Then says the Grand Inquisidor, with a very evil and menacing air—
“You won’t confess? Remember that we have here means to force confession. Go, and think upon this, and God bring you to a better mind!”
Then the alcaide brought me back to my cell, where, seeing that I had no more any hope of enlargement, and that they purposed evil against me, I gave myself up for some time to an extreme grief and sadness. And this being observed, they sent to seek Father Theodorus, as thinking, no doubt, that fear was bringing me to yield, and this civil person and good Christian (although a Papist) made haste to visit me. And truly (though I hope it an’t in any spirit of boasting that I say it), had I been in any way inclined to turn, his words must have won me. For it seemed that the Portugals, having some slight inkling of the true reason for my errand to Goa, did credit me with much greater authority and insight than I possessed, and would have it that I was sent to concert plots for the revolting of the country by a league of the English with Seva Gi the Moratty king. Thus it appeared to them that if I would convert and join myself to them, they would become acquainted of all the plans and designs of the Company with respect to the Indies, and so be able to thwart ’em all.
And in this thought they made to me, through Father Theodorus, many flattering offers (too flattering, indeed, ever to be performed, had I been fool enough to be allured by them). For they were willing, said he, to settle upon me a pension, and upon my heirs after me, and to marry me to a kinswoman of the Viceroy’s (who was commended to me as extraordinary handsome and a great fortune, and had, so said Father Theodorus, caught sight of me from a balcony when I was at large, and become enamoured of me), and so to transport me safely to the Brasils, where a genteel estate and a convenient provision of slaves should be appointed me. And on the other side, says Father Theodorus, while as with the tears standing in his eyes he besought me to convert, there was the rack and other more fearful torments, and a miserable death at the burning-place. So moving were his pleadings that the alcaide himself joined in them, and entreated me with much earnestness not to throw away soul and body alike. But through God’s grace I was enabled to stand firm and refuse them, and so they left me, warning me that I should afterwards desire to have followed their advice.
Now you may look to hear that after this firm refusal to convert I should find myself most happy and strong in my mind, and await with patience and constancy the tortures that were to come. But so weak and feeble is our poor human nature, and mine in especial, that I was troubled night and day with dreams of the rack, so that at the last I could neither sleep nor eat. And doubtless, to those watching my situation, it seemed a hopeful thing to behold how weak and timid I was grown, and one night they haled me from my bed to the chamber where the Board sat. And here they did demand of me once more whether I would recant my heresies and confess the crimes wherewith I was charged. And I answering that any crimes I had committed I had already confessed, and did most willingly repent for ’em, but that I could neither confess nor repent for those whereof I was not guilty, they declared me an obstinate heretic, and commanded me to be carried to the torture-chamber.
This place, which was reached by divers galleries and damp passages, was long and low, so far as I might see (for all the light was but two candles), and the walls lined all over with a kind of quilting or tapestry. And here was six men, of a very hideous and ferocious aspect, beside those that had entered with me, to whom orders was given that they should prepare the torture, I in the meantime leaning myself against the wall, being too faint from fasting and terror to stand upright. And when their devilish machine was ready, I found myself seized by these men, who stripped off my clothes and laid me upon a stand raised above the floor, fastening me down with a collar of iron about my neck, and an iron ring round each foot. Then the Inquisidor, that was come hither with us, demanded of me once more whether I would confess and convert, which again I refused.
And thereupon the tormentors did wind two ropes around each of my arms and legs, and, on a signal given from the Inquisidor, drew them all tight at once. This caused me an intolerable anguish, and the blood gushed forth under all the ropes, these being very small and cutting even to the bone. Though I bit my lip through, I could not restrain myself from groaning, and at last the ropes were loosed. Then they asked of me again whether I would convert, but I still refused, though fearing greatly that I must yield if the ropes should be again drawn tight, so incredible was the pain. Wherefore I cried out aloud to God that He would keep me firm in truth and integrity, and not permit me to be forced either to renounce my faith, or to confess what I had never done, and so I resigned myself again to the tormentors. Now it may seem to you a strange piece of weakness, and one whereof an Englishman had reason to be ashamed, though ’twas to me a great and unlooked for mercy, that as soon as the ropes were pulled tight again I fainted away, from the pain and constriction thus caused, and so felt no more of their cruelties. And at last, the chirurgion[71] that was there certifying that I could bear no more and live, they unloosed me and carried me back to my cell, bleeding in many places from those wounds, whereof I shall carry the scars to my dying day.
’Tis the custom of the Inquisition, when those that come under their hands refuse to confess at the first application of the torture, to tend them carefully and recover them so far as may be, in order that they may entreat them even worse in the future, and this not a second time only, but also a third, if they can endure so long. ’Twas in accordance with this their custom, then, that I was conveyed again to my chamber, my wounds bound up, and such meat and drink ordered to be provided for me as I should desire. And this though there is truly no cause to complain touching the ordinary food, the while is most wholesome in its kind, being good bread, fish or fruit, and on Sundays and holy-days also a sausage, and abundant in quantity as well.
And because their lordships saw that I was dull and heavy of heart, they did send Father Theodorus to talk with me and comfort me, hoping also that he would bring me to convert, through his kindness working upon my weakness. And during some weeks his visits did indeed much cheer me; but the end thereof was not such as my lords looked for, though I can’t tell whether ’tis altogether to be charged to the good father’s account. Now on the last day of his coming that I can recollect at that time, I had but just lighted upon that in my cell which awoke in me great curiosity, so that I pleased myself with divers speculations concerning it. For while I lay upon my mat, scarce able to move through weakness, and my eyes wandering over the bare walls, there appeared to me on a stone close to the floor a certain writing, that had never caught my sight before. It cost me infinite pains to drag myself to that spot, and yet more to read the writing, which I could not do but only at noonday. Then looking at it closely, I saw that it was scratched with a nail or some such sorry tool, in the Portuguese. But between my disease and my small knowledge of that tongue, ’twas some time before I could understand it. Englished, it ran thus, so far as I can recollect:—
“I, Emmanuel da Lesminha, a New Christian, was brought hither on the 13th day of May 1659, being accused as a relapsed Jew. On St James’s day of this year, 1663, I shall be brought out, to the galleys or to the flames, God alone knows which. God of my fathers, defend my innocence!”
The former part of this inscription was drawn deeply, with much care and pains, as if the unhappy man had laboured long upon it, but the second piece was scratched as though in haste, and was barely to be read. I wondered much concerning this prisoner, whether the galleys or the fire had been his fate, and purposed in my own mind to engrave a like record of myself, when my strength should allow and a convenient tool offer. Then come in Father Theodorus with the alcaide, and I asked of him the name of the person that had lain in this cell before I had it. I was surprised to see that he observed me somewhat curiously before answering.
“Why?” says he, “have ye seen aught? The man that had this chamber before ye was a fetiscero,[72] a sorcerer, that is, a negro from Angola. I would not be telling ye how many good Christians in the city he had bewitched before the Holy Office gat hold of him. Sure he could make the rest of the cofferies do anything he wanted for fear of their lives, and even when he was brought here he never ceased his evil deeds. They tortured him until all the chirurgions declared him a living marvel, but ’twas the devil likely looked after his own. They could not kill him that way, and he’d not confess neither, though three ordinary men should have died under it. They burned him at last, and to several respectable persons in the crowd it was granted to behold his evil spirit rising from the flames in the form of a parti-coloured crow, and forsaking its earthly abode. By reason of this miracle, his death was much spoken about, and the more that three months later, to the very day, my lord the then Grand Inquisidor died suddenly, and ’twas remembered that the fetiscero, in passing to his burning, had bade his lordship meet him that day three months. And at this evident proof that the Evil One desired to oppress all good Christians in Goa, and had obtained a measure of power over ’em, there was great processions took place, with litanies and intercessions of the saints, for to move ’em to protect the city, and the Holy Office renewed its activity in hunting out and destroying all fetisceros. And one of these was taken, that had been friend to that arch-sorcerer that was now dead, and this man confessed under the torture that his friend had been wont to visit upon him at his house while he seemed to be lying in this cell, and that they had by this means plotted much devilish work together. Then the alcaide remembered how that fetiscero had been wont to sit crouched in that corner opposite to ye there, sometimes neither moving nor speaking for days, but wrapped in a trance as if dead, save that his body was not cold,—and we could not doubt but the devil had given him power to leave the Holy House, though his body remained here. ’Tis said the spirits of such wicked persons are wont to haunt the spots they have affected in life, and that was why I thought that ye’d maybe seen him when ye asked me who had this cell before ye.”
I moved somewhat uneasily, not over-pleased with this history, which Father Theodorus seeing, he went on eagerly, for all the world like a child with a ghost tale.
“Ay, and sure I’d forgot to tell ye that after the burning of this fetiscero, a fever brake out in this part of the Holy House, and though it carried off many, both guards and prisoners, could not be stopped. Then their lordships, remembering the dreadful power of that wretched man, caused the whole house, and especially this chamber, to be searched. And in this very cell, under that very mat ye are lying upon, just where your head is now, they found (’tis the truth I’m telling ye), his fetizo, his charms, his magic, don’t ye know?”
“And what was this like?” I asked him.
“Well,” says Father Theodorus, “to our eyes ’twas but a bundle of fish-bones and stones of fruits, with threads out of the mats, and feathers of birds, and divers other such common things; but there could be no doubt but that the devil had invested it with magical power, for so soon as it was removed, the fever ceased to spread.”
“And what was done with the fetizo?” said I.
“Sure I’ll tell ye,” says he. “His grace the lord Archbishop yonder ordained a special ceremony in the square before the cathedral, for to exorcise the evil spirit, and thereafter they did burn the fetizo with much solemnity. And as it burned it did send forth an extraordinary nasty stinking smell, showing to all that ’twas the devil’s own handiwork. And all the negroes that were present and saw it cried out that ’twas a mighty great fetizo.”
“But who lay in this cell before the fetiscero?” says I, trying to shake off the remembrance of the tale, though I won’t deny that I had been right glad had the fetiscero been lodged in any other cell than this of mine.
“Some poor wretch of a New Christian, as we call those Jews and Moors that adopt our holy faith,” says he. “They accused him of consorting with others of the like sort, and truly, since all his kin were like himself, and no others will company with ’em, he could not well avoid it, but ’twas said that they did practise among ’emselves Jewish ceremonies. He was in the Holy House for four years, and then was delivered over to the secular power,—ye know what that signifies. ’Twas said that the galleys should have been punishment enough, but he had been one of the richest persons in Goa, and his wealth was all come to the Holy Office. So ye see they could not let him go.”
I had heard before of the heavy trials of these New Christians, but I had never thought they should come so near to me as this. I would fain have asked Father Theodorus more concerning ’em, but he could not leave his tale of the fetiscero, and told me many more tales touching him, each one more horrid than the last, so that I was much disturbed and troubled in my mind, the more by reason of my sickness, which he seeing, made haste to say—
“ ’Tis well for ye that this fellow is dead now, and can’t return hither for to continue his evil deeds. If he had been a fetiscero of the common sort, they’d not have burnt him. The powder-mills should have been punishment enough. Ye have seen those convicted of practising magic working there, I wouldn’t wonder?”
“Those that bear gowns of yellow stuff, with a red cross before and behind?” asked I.
“They do so. But ye see, he was too great a person for that. The Holy Office must needs put him to death, and he is dead now, so he needn’t trouble ye.”
“But if his soul was able to leave his body in life, why can’t it wander at its will now, sir?” I asked him, “or maybe be conjured up by his fellows, for to assist ’em in their unlawful arts?” This I said more to perceive what he would say than because I believed that such a thing should be likely to happen, though indeed many of our wisest and most ingenious philosophers concur in ascribing extraordinary powers (conferred, of course, by the author of evil), to the practisers of witchcraft. My friend’s countenance took an air of trouble, and then cleared on a sudden.
“Sure, I’ll exorcise the evil spirit for ye, my lad,” and with that he walked to and fro in the chamber, and muttered his barbarous Latin hocus-pocus in all the four corners thereof, and then approached me, and would have made I know not what superstitious ceremonies over me, but that I besought him that he would not force upon me idolatrous rites when I was too feeble to resist him. And upon this he ceased his mummery, and departed with the alcaide, that had been bowing and muttering mighty devoutly in concert with him.
Now when they were departed, there come upon me so great terror and fear as I had willingly given all I possessed in the world for to have them back. The sun was about setting, and through the narrow grating of the cell there come strange shadows into all the corners, and there was in the air that great stillness which I have ofttimes noted at the approach of night. Not the tinkle of a single church-bell from the city disturbed the quiet, and in the Holy House itself was nothing to be heard. It seemed to me that there was some other person in the chamber beside myself, and I lay upon my mat looking fearfully into the growing blackness. And thus by degrees there seemed to shape itself to me (for my mind was mightily wrought upon by that tale of Father Theodorus’), the person of that fetiscero, sitting in that corner where he had been wont, as they had told me. And indeed I can’t even now determine whether that I saw were in reality the man’s evil spirit permitted to return to earth, though truly, considering that I have since beheld more than once the same phantom when I have been seized with an access of the nightmare, I am inclined to set it down as a delusion of my sick brain. Nevertheless, at that time, as it seemed to me, I saw him as plain as I had seen the Father and the alcaide but now. He was a great negro man, very broad of his shoulders, and he sat with his back turned towards me, and his chin upon his knees, his hands being clasped in front of his feet. I could see, as I lay staring upon him, that his body was all over seamed and scarred with the marks of many tortures, and there was a pair of heavy irons upon his feet.
So long he sat still there, and I watching him, not able to take my eyes from off him, lest he should move and approach me, that at the last I began to hope that he was in one of those trances whereof they had told me, and would remain thus until the alcaide might chance to look in, and having beheld him, should take him away. But even as I thought thus, he seemed to move, and his hands began to grope about as though in search for something that they did not find. Then I knew that he was seeking his fetizo, and my very blood ran coldly for to think that he had last left it hid under that same mat whereon I lay. I beheld him feeling about in the two corners at that end of the chamber where he was, and then he turned himself, and, still crouching, came towards me on his hands and knees. Now he could not lift up himself, both by reason of his fetters and of those torments that he had endured, so that his going seemed liker that of some savage beast of prey than a man, and as he came, I saw his evil eyes glitter, as though lit up by fire from within. He came very slow, creeping along the floor an inch at a time, but he came always nearer, while as I lay griping the coverlet with my fingers, and could not so much as stir to move away from him. I never doubted but he was there, yet even then it seemed strange to me that his irons made no sound upon the stone floor, but doubtless (thought I) the devil had helped him to be rid of the noise. Thus he continued to come on, slow and steadily, until he gat up on the platform where I was, and began feeling about on the mat. I could not discover that he had seen me, but I durst not remove my gaze from those dreadful eyes of his, that seemed to burn into my very marrow. He came crawling on, and when he reached the spot where I was laid, stretched out his skinny hand, and caught me by the throat. I felt him kneel upon my breast, I saw the fire that flashed from his eyes, I felt his burning breath upon my countenance, and then my voice returned to me, and with all my strength I shouted aloud for help.
As Father Theodorus told me later, my cries, echoing along the galleries, startled the alcaide, and brought him, hot-foot, to my cell, where he found me lying in a raging fever. Finding that he could not prevail upon me to cease my cries, nor hinder my engaging in fancied struggles with that ghostly assailant of mine, he bade fetch a stout blackamoor that was slave to one of the officers of the House and spake no English, who should tarry beside me and restrain me so far as he might. Which this poor fellow did, but though he could understand naught of what I said, yet my gestures and my manifest terror did inspire him with so much fear as made him recollect the evil reputation of the fetiscero that had last lain in this cell, and conceiving that his devilish influence still lingered there, he tried in vain to escape, and being securely locked in, was found near dead with fright in the morning.
Now after this, seeing that one of the common fevers of the place had seized upon me, being augmented by my trouble of mind and the pain of those wounds I had from the torture, they had in a pundit, that is, an Indian physician, for to endeavour to cure me. And I have since heard it said, that the science of these physicians is extreme ill-considered and like to be injurious, for they are wont to cure fevers by means of divers coolers, which, say our physicians in England, is mighty hurtful to the patient. I can’t tell whether they succeed in restoring many to health by such means, but all Europe persons in the Indies are forced to trust to them, saving in those two or three places where one or other of the trading companies hath provided a chirurgion of its own. And thus I can testify, for the credit of that most reverend pundit that tended me, that though he brought me to death’s very door by his blooding and his drugs, yet I am here alive this day, and who shall say that I should be so but for his medicines? Yet he let me blood so freely that, even after the fever had left me, ’twas many months before I could creep from end to end of my cell, and indeed, one night, the bandages being in some way loosened, I had like to have died from loss of blood, had it not been for Father Theodorus, that came for to recommend me a confessor, and found me needing a chirurgion. ’Tis well for me that this good man straightway forgat the confessor, and set himself to fasten my bandages again most deftly, he having some slight skill in the medical art, else had I never lived to write this book. But as for that matter of the confessor, this was not the first time, nor the last, that they pestered me by reason on’t, thinking me near my end, and desiring to have me die in their religion, so that they would come to me of mornings, when I was half dead after a restless night filled with evil visions, and beseech me to reconcile myself with the Church.
Now as I left the fever behind, these visions did not quit me. I suppose that I was still light-headed, by reason of the blood-letting, for I was continually tormented with the most frightful dreams, wherein the two fetisceros, and that poor New Christian of whom I knew only by hearsay, were mingled with their lordships the Inquisidors and the gentlemen of my acquaintance in Goa, and these again with the banyans of Surat and the Company’s servants there, and even with my father and my little cousin Dorothy, in the strangest and most fantastical drolleries, the which were no drolleries to me, but troubled me mightily. For being haunted by these phantasms night and day, and seeing them continually whirling and seething before me in uncouth dances and routs, and mocking me with extravagant gestures, like so many antics,[73] I became, as it were, distraught, so that in my frenzy I was at the pains to end my life by striking my head against the wall beside me. In this wicked design, as you may well perceive, I did not succeed, but only stunned myself, and was so found by the alcaide and my physician the pundit. And when these had revived me, I poured forth to them so much of my troubles and of the horrors that oppressed me as my Portuguese would convey, and they, perceiving that I was in danger of going mad by reason of my solitude, came to me the next day for to tell me that it had pleased their lordships to grant me a companion in my cell.
This companion was brought to me before long, and his presence proved a prodigious great cheer and solace to me, although we never spake one to the other save on our most needful occasions. And this because I had in my mind that common report which says that the Inquisidors do often send to a prisoner as companion one that may worm himself into his confidence and discover his secret matters with the intent to betray them to his hurt, though now, remembering this person’s silence towards me, I do believe that he feared me on the same grounds. Yet was I glad to behold a face that was not a jailer’s, and so long as this man was in the cell, my visions troubled me but little. I don’t know by what crimes he had brought himself under the power of the Holy Office, though Father Theodorus said he believed ’twas that he had espoused two wives at the same time; but though he had espoused a dozen, he did me a good turn in that he banished my dreams for me. When we had broken our fast of a morning, he was wont to lie on his mat, and I on mine, sleeping or meditating, but rarely speaking. So easy are we to accustom ourselves even to the drollest situations, that I found myself altogether solitary when I was deprived of my silent companion. The alcaide and another officer fetched him away one night, and I never saw him thereafter, nor heard nothing of his fate.
Nevertheless I had not too much time granted me, wherein to fall again under the power of my delusions, for about three weeks after taking away my companion, they came for me also. And I, remembering that he was never returned, considered that now at last death must be at hand, and called upon God to keep me steadfast, and so went with them, although my weakness was such that they must needs support me all the way. And being set once more before their lordships, they took occasion to remind me that much time had been granted to me, and likewise many incentives to repentance, and demanded whether I would now make a full confession, to all of which I returned the same answers as before. Then they had me away again to the torture-room, but God moved the heart of the chirurgion that stood by, so that he went up quickly to their lordships, and whispered them that I could bear no more, but should die under the first application of the torment, and at that they remanded me to my dungeon. But as I was departing, the Grand Inquisidor says suddenly—
“Take heed what you do, for except you confess, the next time you are brought here will be the signal for your death.”
But as I have told you, I was prepared for death already, so that this threat did not move me, and I tarried during a long space very calmly and contentedly in my cell. I considered that God was about accustoming my mind to the approach of death, and for this I was extreme thankful. I seemed to myself to look back on all my past life before coming into this place as though it had been another man’s, so that I felt that ’twas not I that had started out from Ellswether, sworn to redeem the estates and espouse Dorothy, but another. ’Twas not that I had forgot those at home, but ’twas as though I looked upon them from some great distance, yea, as though I were already dead, and watching ’em from heaven. It did not even trouble me what should come to them when I was dead, for I seemed to myself to have no more to do with the cares and concerns of earth. I would not say that this posture of mind was to be commended or admired, as is that holy uplifting of the spirit whereof we read in the histories of the last hours of martyrs; for indeed I think it was but that dead calmness born of certainty arriving after long suspense, yet neither was it to be despised. Now at last, while in this mood, there breaks in upon me Father Theodorus, that seemed to be as cheerfully disposed as ever.
“ ’Tis my last visit to ye, my lad,” says he. “Without ye are willing to satisfy their lordships, that is. And sure I’ll put it to ye quite fair, if ye are minded to convert, tell me, and I’ll convert ye quicker than any one else, but if ye an’t so, I’ll not trouble ye. ’Tis the confidence I have in ye makes me assured that ye wouldn’t give the pleasure of converting ye to one of the fat Franciscans in the town there, when poor old Father Theodorus has been visiting ye and watching over your soul for so long.”
“Sir,” said I, “I will certainly promise you that, should I ever desire to convert, you shall direct the operation.”
“Ye have satisfied me,” says he, “and sure that’s why I’m come to ye now, though I told their lordships that ye were obstinately fixed in your wicked heresies, but I’d bring ye to convert if any one could. Have ye considered the matter, my lad? There’s only death before ye if ye don’t convert before the next audit, for if ye convert after they’ve sentenced ye, ’tis only strangling instead of burning. Can ye endure it, think ye? Ye are but young yet.”
“Sir,” said I, “I seem to myself to have lived a lifetime within these walls, not to speak of the years that passed before I come hither. God has granted me now such contentment with my lot, that I am ready to die if He so wills it.”
“Alas!” says Father Theodorus, looking upon me strangely, “I could almost find it in my heart to wish that I might be like ye when my time comes. I have lived much longer than ye have, and sure I’m as fond of this life as ever, though this is a thing no Paulistin ought say. But concerning your friends, my lad? ’Tis sad I am to think of your father’s son cut off like this.”
“Pray, sir,” says I, “tell me how you knew my father. I have never heard that tale from you yet.”
“Why, ’tis soon told,” says he. “After one of those skirmishes in the West Country, wherein the king’s forces carried off the victory, I crept out at night on the field, seeking for a comrade that had been left for dead, hoping to be yet in time to administer the last sacraments to him. Having found him, I discovered that ’twas no question of the last rites as yet, seeing that he was not in the article of death, but only badly wounded with a sword-cut. I was about doing what I might for him and the other wounded near at hand, when I found myself seized monstrous roughly by several soldiers, that declared I was plundering the dead. Finding an enemy thus employed, as they supposed, they had surely slain me without mercy, but that your father chanced then to come up. And he, after hearing what I had to say, and inquiring concerning the truth of the same from those wounded I had succoured, bade ’em let me go, and so dismissed me with a caution, for the king’s forces, being hard put to’t to find food for ’emselves, desired no prisoners. And ’tis thus that I owe my life to Sir Harry Carlyon.”
“But pray, sir, how were you on the side of the rebels?” asked I. “Sure they was all mighty precise Puritans?”
“And why not I?” asks he. “Do ye think I could not sing psalms through my nose, nor shout The sword of the Lord and of Gideon! with the best of ’em? ’Twas for the Church’s sake, my lad. There was many of us did it, some even among the Ironsides ’emselves. We had received our orders, and how should it signify to us on whose side we fought?”
I was silent, turning over in my mind this strange matter. For I wondered much how that arch-rebel, Cromwell, should have taken it if any had told him that there was Popish priests (and they Jesuits), in his army, and what should have been the fate of the said priests had they been discovered. Which Father Theodorus seeing, he laughed his jolly laugh—
“Ye don’t know all the stratagems of Rome yet, Ned, nor ye won’t if ye live to be an hundred. Ough! sure I wan’t intending to say that, knowing what’s before ye as I do. I’ll try and see ye once more, my lad, even if ’tis only on the morning of the Aucto. I can’t save ye, ye see that, but I’m prodigious sorry for ye. Ah, Seignior alcaide, how much I shall miss the long disputes I have had with this gentleman for the good of his soul! Sure, I think that ye yourself can’t fail to have been edified by all that has been said, though ye couldn’t understand a word on’t.”
I believe that the alcaide must have seen the wink that Father Theodorus (even with his eyes full of tears) directed towards me while he said these words, for he took him out somewhat suddenly, and himself departed after him, reminding me that I was now enjoying the last opportunity of repentance that the clemency of the Lords Inquisidors could furnish me, since they must needs soon make an example of me, for the sake of others. But having heard these words more than once before, I did pay but slight heed to ’em, and so let him go.
Now some few evenings after this, I was brought suddenly from my bed before the Board of the Holy Office, being barely allowed time for to dress myself, and here I was for the last time asked whether I would make a good confession, and submit myself to their lordships’ direction, conforming myself to the doctrines of the Church and believing them in my soul, or no. And I answering after my former manner, the Grand Inquisidor, with a mighty solemn air, pronounced upon me the sentence, which ran that as a contumacious and incorrigible heretic I should be taken to the Church of St Francis, and there delivered over to the secular arm, for to be dealt with according to justice.
Now after this last audit, I waited day and night with great expectation for the Aucto de Fie,[74] as the Portugals call that chief holy-day of theirs wherein they set at large for ever the prisoners of the Inquisition, the words meaning Act of Faith. I slept but little of nights at this time, for there come ringing down the galleries the shrieks of those under the hands of the tormentors, so that I would lie awake and pray for those poor souls to whom God had awarded that further agony he had spared to me. For I knew from much that I had heard and read before coming to this place that ’twas customary to condemn obstinate heretics, before burning them, to undergo many and severe tortures, and this out of pure spite and devilish malice, as one might say, since recantation would now do them no good. From these I was only exempted lest I should die under ’em, and not live to the Aucto.
Thus waiting, and thus disturbed by these mournful sounds, the days seemed to me to pass mighty slowly, and I was fain to occupy myself in casting up my calendar on the wall, though I had lost many days therein during my sickness; but by making allowance for this, I made out that I had spent over three years in the Holy House. I gave much time also to finishing my inscription in the wall, on which I had bestowed extraordinary pains, being careful to write it not alone in English, but also in the best Portuguese I could frame, setting forth the day wherein I had entered the House, and likewise that I should leave it for the flames of the burning-place on St James’s day 1672. And on the day that I finished the carving of this record, the which was performed with a certain nail that I had by chance picked up, when as a carpenter was a-mending the lock on my door, I sat looking upon it long, until the daylight ceased, and the alcaide brought in my supper. Now this was the day whereon he was wont to ask for and carry away such clothes as I might desire to have washed, and I looked for him to do this as usual. But he spake not of the matter, and when I did put him in mind thereof, made answer in a surly enough fashion, that he would see to’t on the morrow. Methought I knew then what should happen; nevertheless, that I might be sure, I asked of him—
“What day is this, Seignior alcaide?”
“The Vigil of St James,” says he, and I knew that I was right.
This also I observed on this same evening, that after the chiming of vespers from the cathedral near at hand, the bells began to ring again, as though for matins, as I had never heard them before at this hour, but why this should be done I don’t know. Nevertheless, despite these warnings, so dulled was my senses become through my long imprisonment, that I laid myself down and slept as usual, but at midnight I was rudely awaked by the alcaide and divers other persons coming in with lights. They brought also a suit of clothes, the which they laid down, and bid me put it on, and be ready when they should come for me. And they departing, I did put on the habit they had brought me, which was of black stuff adorned with stripes or lines of white, long to my ankles and my wrists. I had no shoes nor stockings, as never having worn ’em, but during my audiences of their lordships, while I was in the Holy House, and my hat I had never seen since the day that I was took thither. Thus I made myself ready so far as I might, and so waited until the alcaide and his company returned, which was in the space of about two hours.
The alcaide bid me come with ’em, and so carried me to the great gallery, wherein was some hundred and fifty or two hundred men standing, all being apparelled as I was. But I was not allowed to join myself to these, for they brought me to a chamber shut off from the end of the gallery, wherein there was but some fifteen or twenty prisoners, and as many religious persons. And looking across the open space to the opposite gallery as I entered, I saw that there was there some sixty women, that were guarded after the same manner by priests. I could well judge that the persons in the smaller chamber with me were those sentenced to the flames, while in the long galleries were those destined only to the galleys, to whipping and branding, and to such other slighter torments as the Inquisition keeps for those guilty only of small offences. There was a few lamps set here and there for to light the place, and presently there come along two men that delivered to each of us a long taper of yellow wax, but these were not yet kindled. And now there come up to me two priests, Jesuits or Paulistins, that addressed me very gently and affectionately, calling me “Dear brother,” and besought me to convert, and so save my soul. And when I refused, and entreated of them that they would leave me in peace, they would not consent to do this, but came about me like bees, and so pestered me that I had much ado to keep my temper with ’em. For it seemed to me that I had much whereon to meditate, namely, all my friends, notably those in Surat, beside my dear father and my little cousin in England, but these gentlemen would not allow me so much as a minute free for to think upon them. And at last I told them that I would never convert; but that in case I should ever desire to do so, I had given a solemn promise to send for one especial confessor, and therefore could not pleasure them, whereat they left me alone for a little while.
Now after some long time there come into the gallery several persons bearing a great pile of garments, whereof they did distribute to every prisoner. And I saw that the habits given to those outside the chamber were those yellow gowns, with a red cross before and behind upon them, that I had seen the fetisceros wear that wrought at the powder-mills, and that they call sambenitos. But coming into our chamber among us, they brought forth another kind of gown, that was fashioned of a grey stuff, and was painted with firebrands, flames, and devils, and on each man’s gown his own portrait, depicted with great taste, and very natural, but all encompassed with flames, and this habit they call a samarra. And my samarra I admired a long while before putting it on, which one of the priests seeing, he took occasion to rebuke me for my delay, saying—
“Ah, miserable heretic, think, as you contemplate this feeble picture, that within a very few hours your soul will be tormented in real flames, whose power you can’t conceive, and among devils to which these are nothing in hideousness and ferocity.”
To which I answered him in a prodigious heat—
“Sir, I han’t neither asked nor desired your interference. I was but contemplating the curious work of your artists, though I could have wished that they testified more charity towards those that differ from ’em; but now I see from whom they learn their unkind imaginations.”
“You are sharp and impudent with your tongue, young man,” said he, “and in a sorry state to await death,” and with that he passed on, forgetting that ’twas not my fault that I could not prepare myself for death quietly, as I had wished, but theirs, who disturbed me so soon as I had collected my thoughts. And now they did give to us caps called carochas, of a yellow colour and shaped like unto a loaf of sugar, and painted like the gowns with fire and devils, and after this they bade us sit down on the floor and wait in silence. Yet even here and at this moment there was still some kindness to be found, for the alcaide, that had always appeared to me but a surly fellow, came to the chamber where I was, bringing a provision of bread, together with raisins of the sun and figs, the which he did divide unto me and to as many of the rest as he could reach. And having eaten this, we remained sitting silent until the dawn, which happens in these climates about five o’clock in the morning.
Now as the dawn appeared, the great bell of the cathedral in the square, opposite to the Holy House, begun to toll, and there was a mighty great stir and bustle at the further end of the gallery. Then the names were called out of the prisoners there, and they passed out one by one where we might no longer see them. And after this we in the chamber apart were summoned, and came, one after the other, to the door of the gallery, where were set the Lord Inquisidor and his secretary, reading to each man his sentence as he passed. In the hall beyond there was standing many gentlemen of Goa in their richest array, having offered themselves to act as common constables or tipstaves and guard the prisoners on their way to their execution. Here an officer of the House did bind my hands with a cord, and calling on one of the gentlemen aforesaid, delivered to him the end thereof for to hold, and bade him lead me on. And I looking at this gentleman, could not be sure that I had ever seen him before, and finding that he was to be called my godfather for the time, I thought he should by rights have some acquaintance with his godson, and so asked him whether I had ever met with him in the company of Dom Lewis, that was once my friend. But he started and drew away from me, making no answer, though signifying with his hand that I must not presume to address myself to him, and I recognised him as a nobleman that I had seen more than once at his highness the Viceroy’s court. But since he would not have me speak with him, this availed me nothing.
We were now come into the great square, where they were forming the procession, and I had as much opportunity as I desired for noting the changes three years had made. And yet I cared not to look at the cathedral, nor at the rich mansions that bordered the other two sides of the square, but only at the sky and the trees, whereof I had seen none for so long a time. The place was very full of people, for the Archbishop is at extraordinary pains to make the festival known beforehand even in the remotest parishes of the province, so that countless numbers of the lower sort do journey to the city from all parts for to behold the sight. The balconies all round were decked with flags and carpets, and crowded full with ladies, habited in stuffs of many colours, very rich and fine, and wearing an extraordinary great quantity of diamonds and other jewels, their cavalieros[75] standing behind their chairs. So new and strange to me after my long silence and loneliness was the noise and turmoil of the press, that I was fain to shrink back into the doorway of the Holy House until I was called for with my godfather to take my place in the procession. And this was ordered as follows. First come the Dominicans, in their garb of black and white, bearing with them their great banner, the which has a portrait of Saint Dominic their founder, holding in his two hands a sword and a branch of olive, and the words underneath, Justitia et Misericordia. Then come the prisoners, each one led by his godfather (that is, as I have said, a gentleman of some one of the first families of Goa), the least guilty being placed first, and the rear brought up by those condemned to the flames, among whom was I. Behind come their lordships the Inquisidors, and the lesser officers of the Holy House. And these being all marshalled in their order, the procession set forth, the religious in the front chanting slowly that Latin hymn beginning Vexilla Regis prodeunt,[76] passing through all the chief streets of the city. I have said that I was barefooted, as was also the other prisoners, and we found that the streets was paved with a kind of small, sharp flints, the which caused us a prodigious pain and annoyance, while everywhere the people of the lower sort, that thronged the ways, laughed and jeered at us as we limped over the stones with our bleeding feet.
We come at last to the great church of St Francis, where was a monstrous noise and tumult from the arriving of so many great persons, for his highness the Viceroy and the Provost of the Jesuits were but entering the church when we arrived. And here we had the chance to observe the truth of that which is so often said—viz., that in Goa the Inquisition is greater than the Viceroy himself. For his highness rid up on a great horse with rich trappings and furniture, and the Jesuit Provost came with great solemnity in his sedan-chair, with eight clericos on foot and bareheaded on either side; but the Grand Inquisidor rid in his coach, which is as fine as any I have ever seen, and whose use is allowed to him alone in the city. Some long time passed while all these grandees entered the church and were disposed therein according to their several degrees, we all the while standing without in the great and grievous heat of the sun. But at last we were brought into the place, that was hung with black, mighty solemn, and on the high altar six great silver candlesticks with tapers of white wax. On either side was there a throne set, that on the right hand of the altar for the Grand Inquisidor, and that on the left for his highness the Viceroy. Nearer the door was another altar, lesser than the first one, and benches set all down the church for the prisoners. As I have said, those adjudged the least guilty were in the front of the procession, so as they sat nearest to the altar, while before us, the last, being condemned to the flames, there was carried a great crucifix, with the face turned away.
Now when we were all set down upon our benches, there went up into the pulpit the prior of the White or Austin Friars,[77] and preached a sermon, whereof the part that I heard concerned chiefly the wicked and enormous deeds of us prisoners, and the mercy and placability of the Holy Inquisition. But I may freely confess that I paid to this discourse no such attention as I should, nor was I able so to compose my mind as to meditate on those eternal matters most suitable to my situation, but only the most foolish and impertinent subjects would come in my head. Such as, Whether the samarras and carochas should be burned with us, or no? and Whether the Inquisition was wont to furnish for those gentlemen that served them for sheriff’s officers the unguents whose perfume they dispersed around them, and the snuff and succades whereof they brought out boxes for to comfort them during the sermon?
In such trifling thoughts, and in gaping and staring about me, the time passed away, and the sermon being over, there come into the pulpit, one after the other, two persons to whom it pertained to read out the accusations brought against the prisoners, and the punishments that were adjudged to ’em. Last of all, as in the order of place, come those destined to the flames, whose processes when he had read, the officer went on to repeat that notorious and hypocritical saying—viz., that since the Inquisition dared not show mercy to these persons on the account of their impenitence, and found itself indispensably obliged to punish them according to the rigour of the law, it delivered them over to the secular arm and justice, whom it earnestly entreated to use clemency and mercy towards these miserable wretches, and that if there should be imposed upon them the penalty of death, it might at the least be carried out without effusion of blood. And as the name of each unfortunate was read (all having their name and crime wrote upon their samarras), he was led up to the lower altar, and there the alcaide of the Holy House held him while as the rest was said. And all having been gone through, the alcaide struck him a light blow on the breast, whereupon the tipstaff of the lay court seized and led him away. And this they call delivering him to the secular power, since the Inquisition has no authority to take life. And I saw that some of the condemned, that were said to have refused to confess their crimes, but yet to have submitted themselves humbly to the Inquisition, and acknowledged the doctrine of Holy Church, had their sentences changed from burning to branding and the galleys, whereupon their godfathers did testify extreme delight, embracing them and making them very many compliments. But with me there was neither embracing nor compliments, and my godfather led me away sullenly enough.
Thus we went again through the streets, passing always fresh crowds of people, until we come to that same bridge where I had stood with Father Sebastian and Dom Lewis and his cousin on that day wherein I was arrested. So then we reached the burning-place, and the Viceroy and his court was set in their stone seats, and the Grand Inquisidor in his tribune, and the people of the poorer sort pressing everywhere around. And in the midst was the stakes set up, one for each person of those condemned to be burned, and piled about ’em was faggots of wood and furzes. Then before they attempted anything against any of us, there was many ceremonies necessary to be performed, such as his highness’ rehearsing afresh his oath of office, and the like, while as the priests were most zealously exhorting us to recant and confess before it should be too late. Then they demanded of us in turn in what religion we wished to die, and to those that declared they died Catholics, it was granted that they should be strangled before they were burnt. But I declared myself to die as I had lived, a Protestant, and so prepared myself for that last and greatest torment.
But on a sudden, as I stood there, waiting to be led and fastened to my stake, I observed a stir in the crowd, and certain men on the outskirts thereof crying something with loud voices. Then all the people swayed and eddied hither and thither, and some cried one thing, and some another, and then the crowd began to melt away, like a heap of sand when the waves reach it, and the voice of their crying came to us where we stood, and sent the hands of all the nobles and gentlemen to their swords, and set all the common sort shrieking and treading down one another, in their desire to flee. For they were crying—
“Seva Gi! Seva Gi! the Morattys are coming!” in all their outlandish tongues.
Then, when all around that were not fled were turning their eyes across the river, for to discover the original of this tumult, I felt myself suddenly severed from those unfortunates among whom I stood, and surrounded altogether by a company of men, that wore the slops[78] and doublets of our English sailors. And before I had time to think what this might mean, they had cut the cord that bound my hands, and torn off from me that shameful dress, the samarra and carocha, and flung it over the gentleman of Goa that had the ill-luck to be called my godfather, and elbowed and nudged him out of their way. Then he that seemed the chief among them wrapped me in a cloak, for to hide the strange striped habit that I still wore, and said in a hoarse whisper in my ear—
“Stoop, Master Ned; stoop, and we will hide you among us. You are too tall.”
This I did, though still in an extreme confusion of mind, and the troop of sailors gathered round me, and, keeping close together, pushed through the crowd, swaggering mightily, and using their fists not a little, and reviling the Portugals in good round English for not making a way for them. Thus we passed through the crowd, that was now thronging every street and bridge that led from the burning-place, and pouring into the city itself. Prisoners and tipstaves and nobles and officers and godfathers were all pressed and thwacked together, and all ran and cried to take refuge in the fortress, and to shut the gates on the Morattys. Now all this seemed very greatly to divert the honest fellows that had me in charge, so that I heard them laughing and jesting among themselves as if the whole matter were but a play. But when at last we got clear of the bridges and causeys, and come to the place where a ship’s boat was moored with two men left in her, they stopped for a moment, and mounted upon a great pile of timber that lay hard by for to see better. Then as they became quiet, looking and hearkening, there seemed to be borne to me upon the air the sound of fighting, and a great cry, as of rage or victory, that was in no Christian tongue, but had the sound of—
“Hoor! Hoor! Mohawdio!”[79] and this we heard again and again.
Then he that seemed the chief of the seamen swore a great oath, and came down from the wood-pile with a pale face, for, “On my life” (says he), “the Morattys are really there.”
“And why not there, sir?” says I. “Sure that is what the people have been crying all the time.”
“Ay,” says he, “but they wan’t there until now. We raised a false alarm for to get your honour away safely.”
“Then how came the Morattys?” I asked, with much amazement.
“Nay, that you must ask of their father the devil, for I can’t tell,” says he.
But I preferred to ascribe this marvel rather to the direction of Almighty God, who, knowing, as I have no doubt, that the confusion raised by a false alarm should not suffice for to convey me away to a place of safety, used the designs of the Morattys to bring ’em to that spot at the very time they were needed.
The sailors would willingly have stayed long watching the fight, but their leader called them away, and we rowed down the river in the boat, I being laid in the bottom and covered with a sail. So at last we come to a ship, and when we went on board of her, I seemed to myself to have seen her before, but so confused was I in my intellectuals that I could neither recollect when nor how. Then the master carried me into his cabin, and poured out for me a dram of cordial water, and bade me drink it, and thereafter slapped me on the back and demanded of me whether I had forgot my old friends. But I could only gaze upon him bewildered, and answer nothing.
“Alack, poor lad!” cried he; “have the devilish wretches robbed you of your wits? Sure this is a sorry sight. Poor lad! poor lad!” and the great tears rolled down his face for very pity.
“Sir,” says I, “I entreat your pardon; but though your countenance seem familiar to me, yet I can’t recall your name.”
“Tom Freeman is my name,” says he, “skipper of the Boscobel, the tightest craft as ever left Graves-End. You sailed with me to the Indies, Master Ned, for all you have forgot me now, and you were used to talk of some day coming with me to the furthest East.”
But by this time I had recollected my old friend Captain Freeman, and was embracing him most heartily, and crying shame on my dulled and blind eyes, that had not known him at first. And so glad was he to find that I had not, as he feared, been bereft by cruel usage of my senses, that he forgave me willingly my seeming callousness. Then he bade me sit down and tell him all that had befell me since the day I left Surat, though first he asked my pardon while he went on deck and bade the seamen keep good watch, and let no vessel nor boat approach without alarming him. So I told my story as shortly as I might, and then inquired of him concerning the happy chance that brought him to the burning-place, since I had not thought him one to go to look on willingly or for sport at an Aucto de Fie. And when I asked him this, he brake out in a great laugh.