“Why,” said he, “we heard from one of those Inquisition dogs ’emselves what was to be done—dragged it out of him, indeed, for he had no choice.”
“Pray tell me how you compassed this, captain,” says I.
“Well,” says he, “we were in one of the taverns near the river last night, the mate and I, and two or three of the crew, and there was drinking there with us three or four Portugals, merchants’ clerks with whom we had traded, and the like. We had ended all our business, and right glad we were to think that the morrow should see us leave this pestiferous place. Two of the men was mighty lively in their cups, and must needs brag concerning the greatness and power of England, little heeding that they were shaming her by their drunken ways. The other guests turned to look at ’em after a while, and presently a Jesuit priest, that was set at a table near at hand to us, spake out prodigious wrathfully in English. ‘Ye may boast of your country, gentlemen,’ says he, ‘but sure all her power can’t save the Englishman that’s to be burnt by the Inquisition to-morrow.’ Now at this we were very much moved, and cried out that the thing should be stopped, and we would see to’t. ‘Ough!’ says the priest, after the Irish manner, ‘’tis not nowadays that the English cannons will be heard at the gates of Goa, if such a thing be done.’ ‘By heaven!’ says I, ‘but they shall, if we can’t hinder this shameful deed.’ And with that we got the priest up in a corner, and threatening him with our hangers and fists, demanded that he should satisfy us whether that he said was true. And he held out stoutly against us for some time (the innkeeper meanwhile dancing about behind us like one possessed, and imploring of us not to bring disgrace and ruin upon his house by attacking a priest there), and I was much afraid lest some one should think to send and call the watch. But at last, seeing that all the other guests were fled, our men being prodigious ready with their blows, our friend vouchsafed to tell us that this Englishman came out of Surat, and that he should be burned at the third stake on the right-hand side of the line; ‘and as for his name’ (says he), ‘’tis wrote plain and large upon his samarra, the which ye would call a gown or cope. And more than this’ (quoth he), ‘I’ll not tell ye though ye keep me here until doomsday.’ And at that some with me wished to rend his gown, and chase him down the street with their swords; but I believed that he had told us that which we needed to know, and bade ’em leave him to me. So then I had him out of his corner, and bade him make the best of his way home, warning him, moreover, that if he should ever declare what he had told us, the Inquisition would have him. And at this he smiled in my face, with a mighty agreeable smile, and says he, ‘Ye know a prodigious deal concerning the Inquisition, though not so much as your friend that’s to be burnt to-morrow knows by this time. My blessing upon ye, my son.’ And with that he lift up his hand, and muttered some Latin hocus-pocus, and departed, the men making no attempt for to stop him, since they believed he had been muttering evil spells against us.”
“ ’Twas surely Father Theodorus!” I cried.
“Who is he?” asked Captain Freeman.
“An Irish priest that showed me much kindness, for my father’s sake, as he saith,” said I.
“Then if he showed you kindness, Master Ned, I would counsel you, for the good man’s own sake (for good he must be, though a Papist), tell no one of his good deeds, or he will surely suffer as you should have done.”
“I will take good heed thereto,” says I. “But prythee tell me, captain, how goes it with all at Surat? How fares good Mr Martin and Mr Spender, and all other my friends in the Factory? and did my servant Loll Duss ever return from this place with the message I gave him?”
“Mr Martin is well,” says he, “and looks to be made Accountant shortly, when Mr Accountant Cuthell, that now is, shall return to England with his fortune made. Mr Spender is well advanced in the service, though not by his own fault (for there an’t no diligence nor prudence in him), but by the indirect procuring of Mr Secretary his cousin. And of the other gentlemen I can’t speak without you ask me of ’em particularly, for I have clean forgot which on ’em you know, and which are strange to you.”
“But what do they say touching me?” asked I; “and have they ever heard what befell me?”
“Why truly,” says he, “that Gentue servant of yours, Loll Duss, carried the news of your seizure to Mr Martin, who hath made divers efforts to get news of you since that time, but in vain. Then at last it got abroad that you had converted, and were gone to the Brasils in one of the Portugal plate-carracks, for to end your days there, and it was advised, upon this being rumoured, that word on’t should be sent to the Committee, and that your friends should be told that you were as good as dead. But because Mr Martin and one or two more held out very stoutly against such a treatment of you, they must needs be content with taking your name off the books of the Factory, and by this means stopping your pay, and in this, I believe, they was justified by ancient custom. Yet Mr Martin demanded that his protest should be entered in writing against their so doing, and this was punctually performed, he still believing that you would return. And ’tis thus the matter stands at this present. Mr Secretary and his cousin Mr Spender are prodigious bitter against you, and have moved his honour the President and the Council to their acts of harshness; but Mr Martin is confident in your honesty, and will by no means suffer it to be impugned in his presence.”
“Then my course now,” says I, “must be to return to Surat and declare all my ill fortune.”
“Not so fast,” says he, “for we are but just sailed from Surat, and I must take the Boscobel to the Factory at Bengall before she can drop anchor again in Swally. You must needs come with me, Master Ned, and see those parts, for I can’t turn back, and there an’t no other way for you to journey safely to Surat. I don’t doubt but we shall speak some one of the Company’s ships on our way, and then we may put you aboard of her; but if not, then you shall go with me to Bengall, and if the factor there send me on a further voyage, perhaps even to Syam and the Eastern Islands.”
“But,” said I, “should I not hire for myself a baloon, and so leave this place and go to Surat?”
“You an’t yet out of Goa river, Master Ned,” quoth he, “and as I think, will undergo not the least of your perils in the leaving on’t. You could not take your journey in a boat, as you purpose, without awaking suspicion, and this should land you again in the clutches of the Inquisition. Come and sail with me, and go back only in an English ship.”
“So be it,” said I.
Now we talking in this wise, there come on board of us the skipper of a Dutch ship that lay near at hand, and told Captain Freeman that the Morattys were beat off for the present, but that the town was in an uproar for the escape of one of the prisoners sentenced to be burnt by the Inquisition, and that a search should be made for this person throughout the city, and also among the shipping lying in the river. And the captain returning to the cabin, and telling this news to me, we consulted together what we should do. And first the captain sent his mate on shore, bearing a message to the captain of the guard of that part of the city nearest us, offering to land some of his crew for to aid in defending the wall against the Morattys, but the mate was bid also to watch and see whether the search was yet begun, and how far it was come. And he returning presently told us that the captain of the guard had sworn at him for an impudent rascal, vowing that his majesty the King of Portingale and the Brasils had soldiers enough for to defend his cities without seeking the aid of English braggarts, but with regard to the matter nearest our minds, the mate had seen naught of any search, and believed that it should not begin until the morrow. And this being confirmed by one of the crew of a country ship that came to buy bread from us, I lay in the cabin that night, and slept there peacefully.
Now in the morning, while we still lay at anchor in the river, an Englishman on board of a Venice ship that was departing, calls out to us that they had been searched already, and that the captain of the port’s boat was visiting every ship in turn, and commanding all on board to be mustered on deck. Then were Captain Freeman and I in some affright, for he desired neither to perjure himself by denying my presence on board, nor yet to yield me up to my enemies, so that he begged of me to resort to a disguise that he would show me.
“For,” says he, “my apprentice is dead since leaving Surat, so that his name is still on the ship’s books, and you must needs take his place.”
And telling this to the seamen, they did lend very willingly certain of their clothes, so that I was dressed in a sailor’s shirt and slops, the which Captain Freeman was at the pains to pad and stuff out with rags and suchlike, that I might not, said he, look so nearly like a scare-the-crows. And because my close-cropped hair should have betrayed me in a moment, he brought out a great periwig that he was wont to wear to church when on shore, and hacked and jagged with his knife at the curls thereof until it was as untidy and ragged as a ship-boy’s hair was like to be, and so put it on my head. And I dare to say that the good man has that periwig yet, laid up among his chiefest treasures, and shows it with great pride to his grandchildren for the memorial of a marvellous deliverance. And next, because my hands was white and soft from so long idleness, he bid me dip them in the tar-bucket, and with tar and other such things besmeared my face and neck. Then he bade me call myself by the name of Samuel Needham of Deptford (this was the dead apprentice), and so sent me to the galley to wash the dishes for the cook.
Now almost before all this was done, we saw the Dutch ship boarded that lay next us, and her crew mustered and questioned, but finding nothing on board of her, they came on to us. And mounting the side, I trembled greatly when I saw them, for beside the captain of the port, in all his armour and feathers, there was there the alcaide of the Inquisition and one of his fellows, wearing those ghostly black gowns and hoods I have before mentioned. Now when these stood on the deck, and we were called to muster before them, my heart failed me, so that I stood looking upon them from the shelter of the galley, a dish-clout in my hand, and unable to move through fear. Then our good captain, seeing me thus astounded, did send a seaman for to fetch me forth, and finding me still gazing upon the visitors, gave me a blow on the head that sent me reeling, and bade me leave staring at the gentlemen, and go back to my work when I had answered to my name. And at this the Portugals laughed mightily, and counselled him to get a better apprentice, and so read out the names of the men, that all answered in their turn, and allowed us to depart. And after this great escape I thanked God, and wondered what could now hurt me, since I was delivered from so pressing danger. Truly (says I to myself), if I have the like good fortune in my adventures in the time to come, not Ferdinando Mendez Pinto himself will near match my traveller’s tales.
And all being now ready, we weighed our anchor, and the Boscobel stood down the river. Now when we come abreast of the fort that is called Marmagoun, and again of those four forts that guard the mouth of the river, my heart was in my mouth for fear, for (thought I), what if they have discovered our trick, and should be preparing to sink us with their cannons? But by good fortune, no such evil hap befell us, though I saw the captain look pale and fearful so long as we were under the guns of the forts. But when we were once gat past ’em, and steering for the south upon a favouring breeze, his countenance waxed cheerful once more, and he whistled lustily while he tramped to and fro upon the deck. Then coming to me, who was gazing with a joy and gratitude I had little thought ever to have the chance to feel, upon the disappearing of the stately towers and marble palaces of that most wicked and cruel city, he bade me lay aside that disguise I wore, and dress myself more seemly in such clothes as he should lend me. And this I did the more gladly that the seaman’s clothes I wore were not at all to my liking neither for appearance nor yet for comfort. And having put on a spare suit of the good skipper’s, I walked up and down upon the deck with him, and as we walked I asked of him whether he had heard aught touching my father since my starting for Goa, or no.
“Why,” says he in answer, “I ha’ heard something, but not much. For Mr Martin told me, one day when as he and I was speaking together concerning you, that he had wrote to Sir Harry Carlyon telling him of the misfortune that had overtook his son, and reminding him that ’twas possible he might never see you more, but there come such an answer as surprised him.”
“And pray, what was that?” says I.
“Why, sir, ’twas to say that the good gentleman knew that his son was engaged as he had bid him, and doing his best to fulfil the plan he had set before him, and that he should therefore come to no harm, nor would Sir Harry believe the same of him until he had spoke with one that had seen it.”
“Methinks there an’t many fathers that would speak thus,” said I, “and even with them, how seldom should their confidence in God be thus signally justified!”
“Ay,” says Captain Freeman, “ ’twas a narrow escape, Master Ned, and not even your good father’s trust in the integrity of your cause should maybe have availed to uphold him had he known how little was between you and death.”
“Tell me,” says I, “how you compassed my deliverance, for I know nothing but that ’twas done by means of the warning of Father Theodorus.”
“Why,” says he, “having heard him speak, we come back to the ship in great grief and heaviness, for no man could think to devise any plan for the saving you, save that the boatswain, that was over deep in his liquor, would fain have had us storm the Holy House and release all the prisoners there, and not you only. But the rest, of their own selves, saw that this was beyond our powers, and could only lead to our destruction as well as yours. Then as we went down to the ship, there fell in with us an Englishman, that is brother to my mate, and clerk to a trader in Goa, one that hath journeyed through all the Portuguese Indies, and seen many marvellous things. And chiefly he spake to us touching the Morattys, how prodigious fierce they are, and how warlike, and that the Portugals and their Indians here do fear ’em as the very devil, so that ’tis said the shadow of one Moratty will put to flight three Portugals. Likewise he told us that one of their captains was took prisoner a month ago and brought into Goa, and that their king, Seva Gi, as they call him, had sworn that he would take the Viceroy himself and hold him to ransom if so be as this his servant wan’t given up to him unharmed. And he said moreover that the Indians was saying that they had seen the spies of the Morattys creeping round about the city o’ nights more than once of late, but no credence was given to ’em, these Indians being timid and fearful in their minds. Now all this gave to us much food for thought, and so back to the ship, where we spent full half the night in making out our plan. And in the morning, having consented together upon what we should do, we left only some three or four men with the ship, and went upon our appointed ways. For I, with all the stoutest of the seamen, went to the burning-place, and there set ourselves in array, or as I might say, in ambush, close to that stake the priest had told us was yours, and waited there until the procession was arrived. But the mate, with four or five of the seamen, went and hired certain lads and men of the baser sort, such as would stick at nothing that was to earn ’em money, and ask no questions withal. And going outside the city with these, and waiting until the time was come for the burning, he bid ’em do even as he did, and rushed from the plantations into the road, crying, ‘Seva Gi! Seva Gi and the Morattys!’ Which when the multitude heard, that was come in for to see the sight, they were seized with fear, and rushed the other way into the town, crying out that the Morattys were coming. And thus, what with the men the mate had with him, and those he hired, and the crowd all crying out at once, the alarm was well spread, and you know how that in the panic terror and confusion we brought you away.”
“But what of the Morattys?” I asked.
“Ah, that I can’t tell,” says he. “I can scarce believe now that the devil raised ’em up, for to punish us for our false news, but that was the thought in my mind, seeing ’em at first. Howsoever it be, they took back their captain, that, as I heard from the skipper of the Dutch ship, was prisoned only in a block-house by the river, and I don’t know whether they have the more reason to thank us, or we them, for their coming. Yet tis now my belief that those tales of the Indians concerning spies and suchlike were true, and that the Morattys was hid in the plantations (it being a feast-day, and no work done), with the intent to fall upon the city that night, but that our men’s coming and crying disturbed ’em and made ’em see they were as well make what they might from the tumult. But I tell you, Master Ned, when I found they was truly there, you might have knocked me down with a feather, so astonished was I to behold ’em.”
“ ’Twas a mighty strange escape,” says I.
“Ay,” says he, “and a doubly lucky one, since it gives me your company, sir, on my voyage. And this I may say, that you need not to grieve over the interruption to your sojourning in Goa, for I can speak the Portuguese as well as most men, and you should by rights have learned something on’t during these three years, so that we will speak it together, if you so desire it. And moreover, sir, in so far as I have any skill, whether in matters touching cargoes and merchandises, or in things pertaining to the sea and the winds and the sailing of a ship, ’tis all at your service, and I shall account it an honour to impart to you of the same. And so long as it shall please you to abide on board of my ship, so long shall it please me if you will mess with me and share the cabin, and there must be no word said of passage-money, for the favour of your company answers that.”
I could not make a fitting answer to an offer made with so much delicacy and kindness, but I grasped my good friend by the hand, assuring him that I counted myself only too highly favoured, that I should enjoy the happiness of a voyage with him, and begged of him to teach me whatsoever he knew. And this pleasing him, as I was well assured it should (for I never met a seaman yet that did not love to teach others out of his own skill and experience), we agreed that I should be considered as supercargo, and I was thus entered on the ship’s books, instead of in the name of Samuel Needham of Deptford. And ’twas thus that I embarked upon a voyage that bid fair to be one of the happiest times of my life, but yet led me into grievous sorrow and peril, by the will of God, and as I cannot but think, by the hard disposition of man as well. But that you may understand my meaning in saying this, I must needs explain myself.
For there was on board of the Boscobel a seaman named Darrell, an ancient person, and one that had travelled in many seas and was much looked up to by Captain Freeman and the rest. And this man I was wont to hear arguing and exhorting his fellows with great diligence, but what he said to ’em I never troubled myself to learn, thinking that he was but declaring to them the perils and dangers through which he had passed in his many voyages. But one day, coming near where Darrell was discoursing to the rest, I saw that he had a great Bible upon his knee, and listening, heard him as it were preaching. Now this in itself stirred my mind, but when I heard his words, I began to be very wrathful. For the fellow was speaking most boldly and naughtily against his majesty the king and all his court, and declaring that such a sink of iniquity had ought to be swept away from off the face of the earth, and that before God should destroy the whole nation by reason on’t. And this I could by no means stomach, that a mean person of this sort should set up himself as a judge over the king and the nobility, and stepping before him, I bade him speak to his fellows of their own sins, but to leave his majesty’s alone.
“Ay so,” saith he, regarding me sternly, “that is what you and your like are alway wont to say, Master Carlyon. Prophesy unto us smooth things, say naught, though vice sit in high places, and Popery go unrebuked, yea, encouraged. But shall we say naught? shall we hold our peace? Han’t this keeping silence brought upon us already two of the Lord’s sore judgments, namely, the sword of the Dutch and the pestilence? and shall the other two on ’em be long delayed? Nay, sir, for so long as life be in me will I be among those that sigh and that cry for the abominations that are done in the land, until the Lord come to our help and drive out from before us that evil family once more and for ever.”
“Do you dare speak thus of your king’s house?” asked I.
“I do, sir, even of that wicked and bloody house of Stewart,[80] that is drunk with the blood of the saints and of the martyrs of Jesus. ’Twas an evil day when it returned among us, and God send that it may soon leave us again.”
“Are you so bold as to desire another rebellion?” I cried.
“Is rebellion worse than all that passes in England now?” asked he.
“But sure it an’t any concernment of yours,” says I. “You are here, and may stay away until there be a king to your mind.”
“Whence shall he come?” cried the old man. “One there was, even in this wicked family, in whom some good thing was found towards the God of Israel, and he was took away from the evil to come. Who is there beside?”
“But who is he of whom you speak?” I asked him.
“The men of this world called him Henry, Duke of Gloucester, but to us he was the young Josias, raised up for to destroy the idols of his fathers and the tombs of their false priests. But the Lord intended the overthrow of the house of Stewart, and left to it only those that to the wickedness of their fathers would add yet more.”
“Man,” says I, “you are prodigious bold to speak thus impudently of the royal house. I thank God that I and mine have never ceased to uphold his majesty’s cause, and will do so still. But ’tis you and your like that have brought God’s judgments upon Britain by that shameful deed of slaying the Lord’s anointed, that blessed martyr the late king.”
“Nay,” said he, “I had no hand in the well-merited death of that bloody and deceitful man, for I was far away from England at that time,—and even had I been at home, I don’t know that I had dared to counsel the taking of his life.”
“But ’tis to that point that your opinions lead you,” said I.
“Maybe,” says he, “but men should lead their opinions, not be led by ’em. And had I been then in England, and not aboard the good ship Covenant (Captain Godly-Fear Johnson, master), a-sailing the seas with that fleet whereof Colonel Blake took the command not long thereafter——”
“How?” says I, “did you sail with Blake?” For in very truth I had heard much concerning this famous admiral and obstinate rebel, and was minded to hear more. But this old man Darrell was not inclined to further my desires.
“Ay,” says he, “I sailed with Blake, sure enough; and look you, Master Carlyon, there was a ship and a ship’s company for you! Worship publicly conducted mornings and evenings, and all day of a Sabbath any man that felt himself moved thereto might open the Scriptures and exhort the rest. There was some difference betwixt free spiritual exercise of this sort, and the skipper here, reading on the Sabbath-day from the Prayer-book and the Homily against Rebellion!” This he said with a prodigious scorn.
“Nay,” said I, “doubtless he considered the homily as more profitable to you than the exercise you would prefer.”
But at this the old man waxed very wroth, and rose up and left me, saying that I was no better than a scoffer, and that Captain Freeman was yet in the gall of bitterness and in the bond of iniquity, and that ’twas not for him to judge what were profitable or not.
“What preacher of sedition have you on board here, captain?” says I, when I saw my friend next. “I looked not to find pestilent sectaries aboard the Boscobel.”
“ ’Tis old Substitution Darrell you would say,” said he. “A marvellous gift of exhortation he hath, and would sit up all the night arguing, so long as his fellows would hear him, and longer. But he is our best hand, and so staunch in his duty and punctual in the performing on’t as no one would ever believe. I have been near him in a storm, when all thought our last hour was come, but he was as cheerful as you may see him now. ’Twas one of his conditions of service that I should suffer him to expound the Scriptures to the rest of the crew, so long as he and they desired, and the Company’s occasions took no damage thereby, and I have heard him discourse so movingly concerning the love of God as that I was fain to depart so as he might not see me weep.”
“But sure you an’t at one with him in his opinions?” I asked.
“Nay,” says the skipper. “Darrell has told me once and again that I am in Babylon, by the which, as I take it, he signifieth the Church of England, and bids me come out therefrom, saying that God hath sent to me by his means for to warn me concerning my danger. And I seem to him to be a wilful sinner, thus contemning this saving grace. But yet, when I was once took sick with that evil disease of the plague of Egypt, Darrell stayed beside me for to tend me when all others fled from the very sight of me; yea, he also read to me divers most comfortable promises from his Bible, and in very deed saved my life. Yet he hath his strange points, for he holds to certain of the doctrines of that outlandish sect of the Fifth Monarchy Men, that will have it we are all Jews.”
“Doubtless he is mad concerning one or two points,” says I. “In fine, captain, I had rather that you had him always of your company than I.”
And so we, laughing, to dinner. But I was not yet done with this old man Darrell. For we were beset, as it chanced, on this voyage of ours, with many odious calms and contrary and baffling winds, so that we were sore impeded in our going. Then on the occasion of one of these calms the old man addressed himself to me once more.
“I fear lest I failed in my duty to you, sir, the t’other day,” says he, “for ’twas in my heart to declare to you divers inconsistencies in your walk and conversation,[81] and I refrained myself from so doing.”
“You were better do it now, then,” said I, somewhat angry that he asked no pardon for his presuming, and yet diverted by his words. He looked upon me sadly enough.
“Sir,” said he, “when you come on board I looked upon you as one whom the Lord had rid of great danger and peril that you might show forth His glory. But since we have left Goa I have observed in you a levity and a hardness of heart that hath given me much concernment. You have showed no signs of grace, and have displayed much sympathy with the wicked and a culpable laxity with regard to the Papistry and lewdness that abound in our unhappy country. I fear, young sir, that there is a grievous fall before you. The pride of your heart hath maybe kept you firm when your Protestant faith was threatened with force, but the devil can work with promises and allurements as well as with threatenings. If you be so minded, I am willing to show you more particularly wherein I think you err, to your profiting in the future.”
Now I won’t deny that I was much nettled by the boldness of his words, neither anticipating in my youth and vainglory that fall whereof he spake, nor yet foreseeing that in my later life I should confess that both in his rebukes and his prophecies this old man was wiser than I thought him, but still I made shift to answer him peaceably.
“My good man,” says I, “I have thanked God daily for my deliverance, and prayed of Him to keep me staunch in the future. What more I can do I don’t see, having an eye to the difference between your age and mine, which would make it strange were I in all things like unto you.”
“Nay,” says he, “I have known many young persons that showed forth in their lives the fruits of grace in a soberness of walk and a meekness of carriage that edified all about ’em. But of these you an’t one, and rejecting the counsel I offer you, will go your way to your own destruction.”
And with that he departed, and I, as you may well suppose, sought not his company overmuch thereafter. But it so chanced that time and the course of events placed it in his power to hurt me, though I don’t say, nor yet believe, that this was with his intention. For we were now passing into the Sea of Bengall, and having been so greatly delayed by the wind’s being contrary to us, were arriving at what they call in these seas the hurracan season, that is, the time when these tempestuous winds do most commonly use to blow. And although during some time we met with no hurracan, yet were we assailed and buffeted by divers fierce gales, that did much damage to the upper works of the ship, and served still further to delay us in our voyage. And on the account of these things I did condole with the captain, I myself also finding the delay irksome to me, but thought nothing in especial touching the gales until I heard one day the old seaman Darrell, that sat with his Bible on his knees, say to his fellows—
“It may be that aboard this ship also we have a Jonah among us,” and it seemed to me that he cast a look my way. Now I am ashamed to tell that at first I could not recall what Jonah should have to do with our present plight, but anon the old man himself come up to me, saying—
“Have you considered these gales that meet us so often of late, Master Carlyon?”
“I have,” said I, “since indeed they keep me back when I desire to reach Bengall, but what of that?”
“I don’t know,” says he, “what your past life may have been, but I counsel you to try yourself and see whether you have left any sins unrepented or unamended, for whose sake God is even now punishing this ship and all that are in her.”
“And if so,” said I, “am I to throw myself overboard?”
“Nay,” says he, “that must be settled by the decision of all of us, together with your own conscience.”
“But prythee tell me,” says I, “why you should single me out to be the cause of your misfortunes?”
“What but misfortune has befell us ever since our taking you on board?” asked he. “I dare not say that it wan’t the Lord’s will you should be released from the hands of the Inquisition, but if He did so intend it He is trying the faith of His servants very sorely.”
“I think you will scarce suffer for a deed of mercy,” said I. “I have done many sinful acts, as I must sorrowfully confess, but I can’t charge myself with any such unrepented crime as you speak of, nor do I perceive why you should all fasten upon me to be your Jonah, and no other person in the ship.”
But in spite of this discourse I had with him, the old man held very firm to his opinion, and the gales continuing, the other seamen began to believe him, so that I saw them casting black looks at me several times. The captain also, as I perceived, was sad and anxious of countenance, and I saw that he had his pistols ready charged in his cabin. ’Twas not until long time afterwards that I learned that the crew had demanded of him to set me on shore in some convenient place, for to live or die as I might, that their ill-fortune might thus be reversed, and that he refusing, they were wellnigh ready to fall upon him. But at last there come a favouring breeze, and for two days we sailed northward with good speed. But on the evening of the second day was there a mighty strange sunset, all of a fiery and copperish red, and as we looked upon it, there sailed between us and it, from the side where the land lay, a whole fleet of great ships, whereat we marvelled greatly.
“That,” says Captain Freeman, “must needs be the Dutch fleet that is besieging the Frenchmen in St Thomas,[82] for there an’t no other that I have heard on in these waters. But why are they putting out to sea? Sure they, coming from the shore, must see signs of an hurracan that we can’t perceive.”
“But are there Frenchmen in these seas?” says I.
“Ay so,” says he, “and at Surat too, where indeed their Factory is better stocked with mounseers than with cash. But what troubles me now is the putting forth of these Hollanders. I dare be bound we shall have an hurracan upon us before the night be over.”
And away he went to take counsel with the mate for the better preparing of the ship, whose head was quickly turned out to sea and away from the land, and divers changes made in the ordering of her spars and rigging, such as after this long lapse of time I won’t try to recount, lest I awaken laughter by my ignorance. But this I observed—viz., that every man looked upon me with scowls and hatred, regarding me as the cause of this new misfortune, and my friend the captain perceived this also, for he bade me fasten myself with cords to a part of the bulwarks close beside him, and remain with him through all that might chance to happen.
Now by this time the wind was whistling and moaning most pitifully in our rigging, and the light of the moon and stars was waxed pale and sickly. Looking from the deck towards the west, in which quarter the land lay, we could see as it were a great wall of blackness resting there, that then began to move, and advanced towards us. The air was prodigious hot, as though it came from the mouth of a furnace, so that until I had asked Captain Freeman, it seemed to me that the ship herself must needs be on fire. Then almost before our crew could furl all the sails, there come down upon us a great and mighty wind, so fierce that the ship only missed being turned over thereby; and this wind howling and roaring, there come also great flashes of lightning, now in one place, now in another, faster than a man could count, and brighter also than he could behold without shading of his eyes, but no thunder. The sea also wrought mightily, the waves being very great, and black channels of waters between, most tremendous to behold. And moreover the direction of the wind did so chop and change as we might almost believe we were carried round in a circle. And this continuing, and the waves rising higher and higher, Captain Freeman gave command that the masts should be cut away, the ship now rolling very much, and their heaviness imperilling her.
Now one of the masts, as it fell, brake away a part of the bulwarks close by where I was, so that I untied myself and fastened the cords again to a certain great spar that was held fast on the deck by a rope that belonged to it. And by this time the storm was so terrible that men had given up all hope, and I saw, by the flash of the lightning, old Darrell praying and calling upon God, though I might not hear aught that he said, from the noise of the waves and the wind. But in the light of the same flash I saw another seaman that shook his fist against me, and shouted certain words that I could not hear. Then I saw a greater wave than any before coming upon us, and I shut my eyes and gripped fast hold of my spar. Though the tumult all around was so great, yet I heard the sound of that great hill of water bursting over the ship, and then I felt myself swept away, with the spar to which I was tied, into the sea. But whether the rope that held the spar was broke by the prodigious force of the water, or cut by that seaman that shouted at me, I have never been able certainly to discover.
Now concerning the length of that time which passed while I was in the water, and all that happened to me therein, I know little on’t, for after but a short buffeting with the waves, I lost my senses, and knew no more until I found myself floating, upheld by that spar whereunto I was still tied, on a tranquil enough sea, in broad daylight. And the sun now shining very brightly, I was much incommoded with the heat, and sought to shelter myself beneath a projecting shelf or flap of wood that belonged to the spar, so that I might see where I was. Then shading my eyes with my hand, I saw that all around me was there naught but sea, save that on one side I could discern afar off that which might be the sail of some small boat. This seemed to me a prodigious piece of good fortune, so that I did unfasten myself from the rope, and clambered up, as well as I might, for I found myself prodigious weak and bruised all over, to the highest part of the spar, and there waved my handkercher and shouted.
Then while I watched and prayed in a frenzy, the boat came on its way and approached closer to me; but when it was come near, and they on board catched sight of me, they halted for awhile, and sailed round me, as though to make sure of my conditions, and then came on slowly, making a prodigious display of such weapons as they had, and all for fear lest I might be disposed to fight with ’em. But I holding up my hands empty, for to make it evident to them that I was unarmed, they came up close, and dragged me from my spar into their vessel, that was but a poor skiff or fishing-boat, with three men aboard on’t. But when they saw me clearly, they drew back from me and talked in whispers, then seized their arms, and made as though they would kill me. And upon this I cried out to them in Persian and Guzeratty and also in Portuguese that I was an Englishman and a shipwrecked traveller, and that they should show me pity and bring me to some one of our factories, where they should be suitably rewarded for their care. But ’twas all in vain, for the tongues of these parts of the Indies are altogether different from those of Surat, and the men came against me threatening me, and I thought that among their words I could make out that they spake of Hollanders. Now I was much exercised to know whether these men served the Dutch, and believed that I was their enemy, or whether they were hostile to ’em, and considered me a Dutchman. The utmost that I could do was to assure them by signs that I desired peace, and cast myself on their mercy, and at the last they bid me in gestures place myself in the stern of the boat and abide there quiet. Then, towing the spar behind, they made sail for the land, which I could now see, though at some miles’ distance.
Sailing then towards the coast, we come presently in sight of a great city that stood upon the shore, with a fair harbour wherein lay two or three ships. I could see that this place was well defended with great walls fitted for the working of cannons, and there was also a high fort that commanded the harbour. There was several spires, as of churches, to be seen above the walls, and some distance away from the town behind stood a great hill, with a church or temple upon the summit thereof. The walls and houses of the city, such parts at least as I could see of them, glistered and shone in the sunlight as though they had been built of marble, so that the whole place had an air of great elegance and dignity.
Passing then the mouth of the harbour, where was posted as watchman on a high stage an Indian that cried something to the men in whose boat I was, and was answered by them in return, we approached the city as the sun began to sink behind the hill. Then I saw that there was a ship’s barge coming towards us, very handsomely appointed, and rowed by Indians bearing a livery of white. In the stern on’t was fixed an ancient,[83] wherein were golden lilies on a field of white, and there was also a state[84] set up, under the which three persons sat. Now when the barge was come near to us, I saw that these was two ladies, very richly dressed, and a gentleman of a grave and haughty presence. And the men of the fishing-boat bowing themselves very humbly, after the manner of the Indians, I perceived that here must be some very great persons, and standing up where I was I bowed low. The gentleman then returned my salute mighty civilly, and spake unto the boatmen in their own tongue. And they answering him with great submission and respect, he stood up in his barge (so that I could see him to be of a high stature and of good proportions, and dressed very stately in black, after the Spanish fashion), and spake to me in French, asking me whether it were true that I was an Hollander. To which I replied No, but an English gentleman in the service of the India Company, that was shipwrecked and rendered desolate by sad misfortune. Then this gentleman testified great concern, saying that the English was good friends of theirs, and having asked me divers questions, invited me into his own boat with him, and bade one of his train see that the fishermen were rewarded for the saving me. And I sitting down among the gentlemen of his following, he asked of me certain questions concerning my life and my adventures hitherto, the ladies also listening with great kindness. But for all I was so occupied in answering in my best French to his honour’s inquiries, I could not help observing that one of these ladies was young and one old, and that she that was the younger was of a most beautiful countenance and a very majestic presence, and likewise that though both of them was habited like unto our own dames, yet upon their heads they did bear veils or mantles of lace, after the manner of the women of Spain. Now as we drew near to the marble steps at the end of the harbour, his honour said to me in the most affable manner—
“Sir, we will trouble you no further to-night. You are weary and need repose, but to-morrow we shall be enchanted if you will honour us with your company at supper, and relate your adventures in full. Mons. de Marigny” (addressing himself to one of his gentlemen), “to your care I commend this unfortunate gentleman. You will confer upon me a favour in allowing him to share your lodging, and I entreat you to see that he has every alleviation of his distresses that our poor town and fleet may be able to furnish. Sir, I have the honour to wish you a very good night, with agreeable dreams and sweet rest from your sorrows.”
Now in very truth I wan’t sorry to accept these kind offers of rest and lodging, for I was so dog-tired that I could scarce keep open my eyes; but I am glad that I was still sufficiently awake to thank his honour most humbly for all his kindness before I retired with that gentleman to whom he had commended me. This Mr Marigny (his Christian name Claudius) was a very gay and pleasant young gentleman, and did discourse most agreeably the while he led me to his lodging, not showing himself in the least angered to have so scurvy-looking a fellow thus suddenly thrust upon him, but spake to me of many matters whereof I knew naught, so that at the last I was constrained to ask his pardon and request that he would be so good as unfold to me everything on the morrow. And this, laughing mightily, he did promise to do, and so brought me to his lodging, where he called for food. And so tired was I, that while this was a-preparing, I fell asleep, with my head on my arms on the table, and Mr Marigny had much ado to wake me and advise me to take some broth. Then he brought me into his own chamber, and bade me repose myself upon his bed, which was made very elegant, after the Indian manner, and this command once given, I lacked no forcing to make me obey it.
Now the next day I did not awake until noon, and found myself then still so weary that I had gladly gone to sleep again, but a Gentue servant that was in the chamber came and invited me by signs to rise, offering me a very fine brocado nightgown[85] of Mr Marigny’s for to put on, since my own coat and doublet were nowhere to be seen. And wearing this gown, together with the night-cap that had been lent to me the night before, I went into the parlour, where was Mr Marigny drinking jacolet. He seeing me, came and bid me welcome with much kindness, and commanded the servant to bring in the portion of victuals that had been set aside for me, and so sat down for to talk with me the while I did eat.
“I see,” says he, “that you have questions without number for to ask me, though where you have spent the last few years, so as not to be aware of all that has happened in ’em, I can’t tell.”
“Alas, sir!” says I, “they were passed in the dungeons of the Inquisition, whereto little news penetrates. But pray tell me who is the noble gentleman that entreated me so civilly yesterday?”
“That,” says he, “is my lord Marquis of Tourvel, his most Christian majesty’s viceroy in the Indies.”[86]
“The King of France’s viceroy?” said I, in great astonishment.
“Even so,” says he.
“And the gentlewomen with him are his lady and his daughter, as I suppose?” said I, trying to digest that which he told me.
“Nay,” said he, “Mad. de Tourvel is dead these many years. The younger lady is my lord’s daughter, Mademoiselle de Tourvel, and the other is Mad. de Chesnac, her cousin, who is her governess, waiting-gentlewoman, what you will.”
“And hath his lordship any other children here?” asked I.
“Nay, he han’t none else at all. Mademoiselle Heliodore is the only one, and she hath abode so long unmarried that ’tis said she intends to devote herself altogether to my lord her father. But that——”
Here the Gentue servant entered the chamber, and brought in with him a young black page-boy, bearing a packet in his hand, the which he did deliver to me. In the packet was there a purse of cut velvet, very handsome, with twenty louis d’or therein, and with it a billet wrote in French very elegantly, saying that I had doubtless found myself incommoded by the loss of all my clothes and other necessaries, and that ’twould afford an infinite pleasure to Mademoiselle de Tourvel if I would permit her to supply my most pressing needs. Mr Marigny, seeing the purse and knowing the lad that brought it, made a sign to me to accept that which was sent me, and was good enough to furnish me with paper and ink, wherewith I writ that I did most gratefully accept the kindness of Mademoiselle de Tourvel, and looked forward with impatience to doing myself the honour of signifying my thanks in person to her ladyship that evening. And this letter wrote, and the servant and the page departed, Mr Marigny looked jestingly at me.
“O happy youth!” says he, “have you already won the favour of the peerless Heliodore, when no other can gain from her anything but coldness?”
“Methinks, sir,” says I, “you are unjust to the lady that has just dealt so kindly by me, to suspect her of such designs.”
“Sir,” says Mr Marigny, quickly, “I spake but in jest. I pray you to believe that I an’t altogether a fool. I honour and esteem Mademoiselle de Tourvel as if she were my own sister, and so do all here, but we know better than to expect her to look kindly on any of us.”
He seemed as if he might have said more, but stayed himself suddenly, and asked me whether I would choose to see the town. This set me a-laughing.
“ ’Tis prodigious strange,” says I, “but here have I been for a night and a day in this place without so much as knowing the name on’t.”
“This is the city of St Thomas, in the country of Gulconda,”[87] says he, “and hath its name from the blessed martyr St Thomas the apostle, who was murdered in this place by the pagans. There are here divers memorials of his life and death, and notably his sepulchre, that standeth on that great hill behind the town, where you may discern a fair chapel builded in his honour. And if we have good luck to-day, I will show you likewise a sign of the divine judgment upon the murderers of the blessed saint. For the Indians here, being descended from those that with their feet did stamp St Thomas to death, are all born with the right leg prodigiously swollen, and this deformity continues, and even increases, throughout their lives. Finding ’emselves thus marked with the token of heaven’s displeasure, these persons resolved long since to amend their lives, and becoming converted to the faith, are called by the name of him they slew—viz., the Christians of St Thomas—but do still bear about with ’em the mark of their fathers’ crime.”
“I thank you, sir, for this curious tale,” said I. “And what (if I may ask) do you and your fellows in this place?”
“Why,” says he, “my lord marquis holds it for his majesty against all the forces of the King of Gulconda by land and the fleet of the insolent Hollanders by sea.”
“Pray,” says I, “tell me how you come hither, sir. Three years ago I had looked for a viceroy from Muscovy in these seas as soon as for one from France.”
“That will I tell you when I carry you to see the walls,” says he. “But first, if you will give me leave, I will seek some clothes for you, and what is still lacking we will get when we go abroad. Your own clothes have been looked to by my servant, but I fear they will scarce be fit for you to wear to-day.”
And this I found to be true, for the plain suit of dark blue that Captain Freeman had lent me (and which was always something small, I being taller than he) was all shrunk up with the sea-water and so spoiled as I could never wear it again, wherefore Mr Marigny did lend me a coat of light cloth, laced with gold at all the seams very neat, and a beaver with a great plume. Thus bravely attired, I walked abroad with him, and he showed to me this great city, which was built first by the Portugals, but taken from them by the Moors, and has seven churches and seven great gates, and all its walls built of marble. We saw many shops, like unto those of Surat for the meanness of their appearance, and there laid out a part of Madam Heliodora’s gift on such things as I stood most in need of. Divers other matters in the way of clothes we ordered to be made (for these Indians are extreme skilful in copying any pattern you may give ’em), and desired the tailors to make all speed in sending them home. And after this we went and sat upon the walls, looking out to sea, and there, Mr Marigny’s servant holding a great umbrello over us the while, we discoursed touching this adventure of the Frenchmen that had brought them to St Thomas and kept them defending it.
“I pray you tell me first, sir,” says I, “whether this fleet of yours be despatched by the King of France, or by some private persons?”
“Truly,” says he, “the ships belong to our India Company, but they are sent forth with the approval and encouragement of the king and of the Lord Colbert, his minister.”
“And how long is’t since they were sent forth?” said I.
“Seven years ago they started,” says he, “in 1666. The first intention was to colonise the isle called Madegascar, where we have had settlements during many years, but finding this inexpedient, they that had the ruling of the business judged it well to proceed to the true Indies, and factories was set up at Surat and Mechlapatan.”[88]
“I had not looked,” says I, “to find a French factory at Surat on my return thither. And pray, sir, an’t you greatly troubled there, as we, by Seva Gi and the Morattys?”
“Nay,” says he, “we are well agreed with ’em, having been enabled to win their favour through one or two happy accidents. And with the emperor at Dhilly likewise do we stand very well, having obtained from him a pharmaund[89] (which is to say a charter), granting us divers immunities of traffic.”
“But sure,” says I, “with so peaceful and happy a beginning, you han’t needed your cannons and munitions of war?”
“Ah,” says Mr Marigny, “though we have found no trouble arise with the Indosthans[90] ’emselves, yet we have had much from the Dutch, that are as great haters of our adventures in these seas as they are of those of your own English Company. For we attempting to make a settlement upon the island of Ceilon, they did drive us off from Galle Point, yet we went on to Trincomalai, where we effected a landing, and did grievously discomfit the Hollanders. But they coming upon us with a great fleet before we had time for to victual the place, we were forced to forsake it for want of food, and so sailed up the coast of Coromandel, until we came to this city of St Thomas. And here demanding provisions from the Moors, they refused us with many ill words, whereupon our captain, filled with a noble rage, gave battle to ’em, and took the place, losing only five men.”
“His lordship must be both brave and discreet, sir,” said I.
“Both these he is, sir, indeed,” says Mr Marigny, “but so hurt and hampered in all his doings by the jealousy of those appointed to the command with him as no man ever yet was. As you have seen, he is a person of a very majestic carriage, and very high in his ways, and by this has done much to offend the other leaders. One of these, that was named Director-General of our trade in the Indies, hath been summoned to France to answer for himself, his majesty having doubtless heard tell of his injurious deeds.”
“And pray, sir,” said I, “tell me how his lordship and all of your company have fared since you took this place.”
“Why,” says he, “after driving out the Moors, we brake up the most of our ships, reserving only two or three of those that were soundest, and brought on shore their ordnance, wherewith we have armed these walls, as you see. Then there come against us the armies of the King of Gulconda, whose captain we had dispossessed, and for some time pressed us very close, so that we had little rest, either by day or by night. But at length, finding that we were not to be took unawares, they withdrew ’emselves a little, and do now keep up a continual watch and blockade upon us, with sometimes an open attempt, and this to our great weariness. Nevertheless, my lord appointed an ambassage unto ’em, that had near succeeded in coming to an accommodation with their king, but was baulked by the evil offices of the Dutch, that had sent ambassadors likewise, and gained his ear, so preventing him from acceding to us. Nor was these Hollanders contented with this, but must needs come with their great fleet and besiege us in our harbour here, though as yet they have gained little reward for their trouble, for we have been well able to make ’em keep their distance.”
“But how can you maintain the place without victuals,” asked I, “since these were come to an end even at Trincomalai?”
“We have been greatly helped,” says he, “by the chief of the English Factory at Maderas,[91] who has been so good as to bestow upon us aid of that sort more than once.”
“Why,” says I, “are you near to Maderas at this place?”
“Not far off,” said he. “ ’Tis some few miles to the north, that is all.”
“Then I shan’t be forced to trespass on your kindness so long as I had feared, sir,” said I. “Methought I must needs stay here until an English ship should chance to enter the harbour, or maybe a caphalay start for one of the Company’s posts.”
“You are mighty eager to leave us, sir,” says he. “At the least, I am assured that his lordship will never let you depart under fifteen days, and methinks he will desire you to tarry with us longer. It an’t so often that we see here one from Europe that we need hasten his departure when he comes.”
“You are very good, sir,” says I, “and sure I’m most grateful to his lordship,” and indeed I could not but admire the hospitableness wherewith these French gentlemen shared their scanty stores.
“We ourselves, sir,” says Mr Marigny, “are too much indebted to the English factories to be able to treat any Englishman ill. But it is now growing late, and we will, if you please, return to my lodging, that we may prepare for his lordship’s supper-party.”
To this I agreed without any ado, and the more as I was all eagerness to behold again the beautiful countenance of that lady who had carried herself so kindly towards me, and leaving the walls, we returned to Mr Marigny’s lodging. This I now perceived to be situate in one of the great houses of the place, its outward aspect mean enough, but its furnishings genteel and handsome after the Indian fashion, since it had belonged to a chief man among the Moors, and was now appointed to the use of some three or four of the younger gentlemen among my lord marquis his officers. Here we found set out a cold collation, to which, when we were sat down, we did excellent justice, and then made shift to dress ourselves fitly for appearing in my lord’s presence. And because I had no clothes meet for such an entertainment, and the suit which I had ordered of a Gentue tailor of the town not being likely to be finished for some days, Mr Marigny did lend me a tunic of his own, that was of a light blue damask, guarded with silver lace, very pretty, and had in a soldier of his troop, that was also a barber, for to trim my hair. And being now ready, we were carried in palenkeens to the palace, which is a great piece of building, used formerly by the Moorish governor of the King of Gulconda, and so large as all the six hundred Frenchmen in St Thomas might have found lodging therein easily. But my lord, for his punctilio’s sake, whereof he was prodigious jealous, had reserved it altogether for himself, his family and his guard, and everything was arranged very orderly, and with as great pomp and ceremony as at any court of Europe.
And this you may perceive, on my telling you that at the great gate we were met by the steward of my lord’s household, called the maistre d’hostel, and our names and dignities being noted by him, passed on through many courts and galleries, where were many servants, all habited very seemly in my lord’s livery, and all bowing, and so came at last to the great saloon, where his lordship received his guests. And in this chamber, that was hung with silk and tapestry, and the floor and pillars garnished with rich marbles, and all lighted with great candles of white wax, was there at one end a daïs or raised part, whereon was set an honourable seat, like unto a throne, with a state above it, for my lord marquis, likewise an armed chair for Madam Heliodora his daughter, and another chair, as stately, but without arms, for the gentlewoman that bare her company. And behind these chairs was there a crowd of servants waving their great fans for to keep the air cool, and on either side of the daïs the officers and merchant venturers that were come with my lord upon this business. And his lordship, standing before his throne (whereon was broidered very cunningly in needlework the arms of France), did receive me most graciously, and give me his hand, which I shook with great respect, but since then I have entertained misgivings thereabout, so that I can’t satisfy myself that his lordship did not intend me to kiss it.
And having paid our duty to my lord marquis, we passed on beyond the throne, and here sat Madam Heliodora, wearing a gown of flowered China silk, made in the French fashion (then new), called a sacque, and a collar of great pearls about her neck. Her hair was worn low, as the mode then was, and dressed in curls over the forehead and at the sides. Next to her was Mad. de Chesnac, in a gown of very rich brocado, the colour black with silver threads, and her hair powdered under a high cap. Likewise both these gentlewomen carried fans of wrought ivory, the carving so rich and delicate as I had never seen, and the lace in their ruffles, tuckers, and handkerchers was the finest imaginable. Now when Mr Marigny had presented me with all due form to Madam Heliodora, she showed herself very gracious to me, giving me her hand to kiss, and inquired of me extreme kindly whether I were refreshed from the fatigues of my shipwreck. And I replying in the best French I might frame, ventured also to thank her ladyship for her great kindness in anticipating my necessities, but which she bid me not mention, saying that she took shame to herself that she had need to be put in mind of my situation by some chance word of my lord her father, before she thought upon my wants. And this she said so humbly, but yet with so noble an air and tone, that I could but listen to her stupidly, and wonder at her beauty and the excellence of her good breeding. Mad. de Chesnac also, to whom my lady did me the honour to present me, carried herself very civilly towards me, and made me many pretty compliments, the which I was at much pains to return, though I can’t but fear that I stumbled sadly in my French.
And all the guests being now arrived, my lord marquis asked of me to be good enough to divert them with the relation of my adventures, but Madam Heliodora, observing that I still seemed weary, bade a servant bring a tabouret and set it for me before the daïs. And upon this my lord sat down upon his throne, and desired of all the company to be seated likewise, which was done according to their degrees, and indeed it was pretty to see the art with which each person took his own place, the better sort upon chairs, and the rest upon the long seat that ran round the saloon. And I being set in the midst upon my folding-stool, my lord requested of me to begin, and thereupon I told them in little that which I have already told you, saving that of course I made no mention of my private matters. And when I had done, all present testified much sympathy with me, for the French love the Inquisition no more than we do, nor hath it ever been allowed in their country of late years, and there was more than one there that could tell sad tales of that which had happened to friends or kin that had brought themselves under the power thereof in Portingale, Spain, or the Indies.
Now after my history was done went we to supper, that was set out in another chamber with great magnificence, and such ceremony was in the going thither as I never saw, my lord going first, leading Madam Heliodora his daughter, and after him his next in command with Mad. de Chesnac, and after them the rest of us according to our degrees. And at the supper, being the newest arrived of those there, it was granted me to sit beside Madam Heliodora, to my no small contentment, for I found my eyes and thoughts fixed continually upon this lady, so prodigiously was I constrained to admire both her countenance and her wit. And at different times she was so obliging as to honour me with her special attention, asking me concerning my home, and my father and Dorothy, with so much kindness, and yet with so great gravity withal, that I could no more have answered her falsely (even if I had had any mind thereto), nor sought evasion in my replies, than if an angel from heaven had been speaking with me. And she, receiving my answers, did speak with me concerning those my friends in England as gently and as wisely as if she had been a queen and I her subject, or she my sister and I her young brother. It seems likely to me now, that my three years in prison had made me look to be much younger than in reality I was, imparting to my complexion a certain delicacy and youthfulness, and this, though my face, when I saw it in the glass, had to me the appearance of that of an old man. Likewise my hair helped to this effect, not being yet grown again, but hanging in my neck like a schoolboy’s, so that I heard the Frenchmen all speak of me as Ce jeune Anglois, and sometimes (though I was bigger than any of ’em, saving his lordship and one other), Ce petit Anglois. But to-night I cared for none of their contempts, being altogether wrapped up in the talk of Madam Heliodora.
Now after supper, the guests being in the course of departing, his lordship carried me apart for a moment to speak with him in his private closet, and I observed how tall and seemly a person he was, and how stately in his velvet coat, with a great gold chain about his neck, and a medal hanging therefrom. He addressed himself to me mighty civilly, saying that my relation had entertained him prodigiously, and desiring that I would prolong my stay at St Thomas so long as it suited with my occasions. He promised me, moreover, to ask the chief of our English Factory at Maderas to send him sure word whenever an English ship bound for Surat or Bombaim should arrive there, that so I might take passage in her, and that thus I need be under no fear of missing any chance of returning to my place. This being so, I did accept of his lordship’s offer with many thanks, and so bid him good night, and returned home with Mr Marigny. This gentleman was full of pleasant wit touching the events of the evening, and talked on thus until bedtime, I answering him scarce a word, for I could think only of Madam Heliodora, and repeat in my mind those things that she had said to me.
And now that I am come to speak of a part of my life that displays the most intolerable presumption and foolishness in me, I desire (while humbly affirming that no man perceives clearer than I the folly of my doings) to disarm your censure in some degree by putting you in remembrance that I was extreme unused to ladies’ company, never having so much as seen a woman’s face for over three years. Even in the days of my favour at Goa, I saw but little of the ladies, as I have before said, they being kept so recluse, and at Surat there was only some few Dutchwomen and those unhappy English of whom Mr Martin had spoken to me, with whom I had consorted as little as might be. And so you must needs go back to Ellswether, and to the days when my cousin Dorothy and I played together in the fields, to find a time when I was in daily intercourse with any person not of my own sex. And although this plea can’t pardon my folly, yet it may be it can mitigate it.
Now it seems to me that before I proceed further I ought to set down in writing a character of Madam Heliodora as she appeared at this time, for the sake of those that don’t enjoy the felicity of her acquaintance, or that have known her only in the time of change and adversity. This lady, Madam Frances Mary Louise (I don’t know how to render this last name in English, for it an’t used among us, though very common in France) Anne Amanda Heliodora, daughter and only child to his lordship the most noble Gasper Deodatus, Marquis of Tourvel, and Madam Mary Margaret of Cheverenches, his wife, was born in the early part of the year 1645-46, and though thus no longer in the first bloom of her youth, preserved such an admirable beauty as might well make envious many younger dames. In stature, she was above the common height of women, but so just and excellent a proportion was observable in every several part of her frame as made her figure to seem absolutely perfect. Her eyes were brown, large and melting, her hair of a most lovely brown, tending to black, her skin of a marble whiteness not often seen by us in England. I might go on to write down every feature and describe its beauties, for all were beautiful; but when all is said, ’twas not so much the beauty of the several parts as the sweet and beautiful spirit of the lady herself that shone through and illuminated them with a double loveliness. There was in all her motions so exquisite a grace as drew your eyes to her irresistibly, so that did she but lift a glass from the table you were forced to look at her and admire, yet not so much for the beauty of her hand and arm (though these were the finest imaginable) as for the elegance of the action itself. Her constitution[92] was extreme devout, and a little inclined to sadness, yet in time of need she could display so indomitable a courage as I have never seen equalled. Of her kindness and goodness it would ill become me, who have profited so much by ’em, to say naught, and yet to describe them fitly were equally difficult, so that I can only say that both were excessive. At this time she was something wont, as Mad. de Chesnac complained, to affect a certain singularity and strangeness in her dress and carriage, choosing to dress herself in sad colours when she so could, and to resign herself to overmuch musing. But this, as it seems to me, is fully accounted for when all is known touching her, which won’t be yet for you, even as it wan’t for me.
Now in conclusion of this piece of description and vindication (being a description of Madam Heliodora, and a vindication, in so far as may be, of myself), I will add only this, that whereas those enemies that have left nothing undone to blacken even the most innocent actions of my life, have made foul charges against me, I do most solemnly declare that I never erred against that dear lady otherwise than by folly and presumption, and that those who speak to the contrary wrong not me only, but her also, whose virtues and misfortunes alone should protect her against calumny, let alone that desire for truth which should refrain from assailing her spotless name.