Now in this manner we did journey on during certain days, going as fast as we might without awaking suspicion of our designs, the viscount riding always in my palenkeen, and able to walk about and refresh himself only at night and at noonday. But on arriving at the great fortress of Gualleyor, we dismissed our Agra cooleys and saw them safely on their way home again, with a liberal present and encamped ourselves in a grove of trees without the city, for I feared prodigiously being shut up with walls and bars, like rats in a trap. For this town of Gualleyor is a place of much strength, and the Moguls use to keep their prisoners of state there, so that ten times in a day, when I looked up to the great fortress that has the air of some huge lion crouching on his hill, I felt a chill in my very bones to think of being shut up there, for our friend the doctor had told us many fearful tales respecting it. Nevertheless, I went to and fro in the place, and observed it so far as I might for Mr Kidder, and bought there a horse, ready for my friend when he should be able to ride, as I said to him that sold it me. And at this place we hired cooleys for to go with us as far as to Zauncy, the viscount now, when we were gat well beyond the city, riding part of the day on horseback instead of in the palenkeen, for to seem as though he were just recovering of his illness.
At Zauncy we hired new cooleys to go with us the whole of the way as far as to Broach, which is near the sea-coast not much north of Surat, and began to hope that we were pretty well beyond the danger of pursuit. And now the viscount left using the palenkeen at all, and rid all day beside me, and a mighty agreeable fellow I found him. His looks also was now much amended, since Loll Duss had dressed his hair for him, and trimmed his beard into a neat picked[124] shape, for he would not have it shaved off, since (says he) the beard is a badge of our Hugonot religion in France. We were both habited after the Moorish fashion, so as to escape remark from the people, that are prodigious fanatical in these parts, and thus disguised, we hoped to pass for Moguls from the north, in especial as both our faces were now much darkened with the sun. Thus we rid on, enjoying much goodly and profitable discourse together by day, and at night sojourning always in villages or on the outskirts of towns, but never in the caravan-serawes within their walls. This measure of precaution seemed to me quite necessary, but since we were come so far in safety, I thought little of taking any other; but in these things my friend was wiser than I, he looking at ’em with the eye of a soldier, that sees everywhere an enemy save where he knows a friend to be. I had observed that the viscount was always forward to examine narrowly every new tract of country that we reached before ever we passed through it, but this I set down to his desire for knowledge, little guessing that he was planning and rehearsing battles, surprises, ambuscadoes, retreats, and divers other such warlike notions. But this ignorance and carelessness of mine was to receive a wholesome rebuke, and my friend’s foresight a most signal justification.
“Sir,” says he, riding back to me one day when as we were coming down a steep hillside into a valley very thick with woods, “do you perceive the nature of the place through which our road now lies? Here is a spot most convenient of all for an ambuscado, and ’twill surprise me much if it ben’t made use on. With your permission, I’ll take three or four of the servants as skirmishers, and send ’em in advance on either side of the train.”
“Methinks the Moors are scarce like to look at this point with your eye, which is that of a captain, sir,” said I; “but prythee, take the servants as you desire, and do your will. There is little possibility that those we have most cause to fear are here before us, but it may be that there is Rashpoot robbers laying wait for us, conceiving that we carry with us greater riches than we do.”
“Let me entreat you to keep your servants well in line, sir,” said he, “and to suffer no loitering, for I am persuaded there is danger before us in this valley.”
With that he took as many of the servants as he desired (for beside cooleys, we had now with us some ten or a dozen Moors, hired at Zauncy for to protect us through this wild country, and furnished with bucklers of skins and their strange crooked cimeters), and bid them search the wood on either side of the road, proceeding with great circumspection, and seeking to surprise the surprisers. Now our cooleys, observing these precautions, did not, as you would expect, feel all the safer by reason of the caution of their masters, but became pale and trembled greatly, so as their knees knocked together, and I saw that they were ready to run away if the slightest mischance should occur. Wherefore I placed the Moors so as to hinder them in this intention, and bade ’em cut down the first cooley that tried to flee; and having mustered the whole train into as compact a body as I could, we entered upon the road through the valley. Now at our first entrance thereon, I noted this, that whereas in such places the birds of the forest were used to rise up and fly about on our appearing, here they were already seeming troubled and disturbed, and wheeling about among the trees as if distressed. Loll Duss come close to me on seeing this, and Master, says he, there’s men in this jungle (which is their name for a wood). And on this strange confirming of my friend’s suspicions I was at first took aback, but quickly reflecting that there wan’t no way of continuing our journey save by passing through this wood, we went on without remark.
But now, when we were about coming to a spot where the road lay very low between two high banks, there come to our ears on a sudden a noise from that on the right hand, as of a struggle and a fall, and then the firing of a pistol. Looking immediately to our arms, we halted for to await the foe, and ’twas well indeed we did so, for with a most dreadful noise there come about our ears a whole hail of matchlock-bullets, and before we might even determine whence these were, men began rushing upon us from both banks with divers weapons. It so happened that I had under my Moorish cassock my own hanger and pistols girt about my waist, beside the dagger that the Moors carry, and these stood me in good stead, for the robbers all come at me, and for a time I was in the midst of a whole rabblement of ’em, they trying to drag me from off my horse or to disable me, but not anxious, so far as I could see, to kill me. So desperate was their attempt, that for a time I thought myself lost; but succeeding in maintaining my ground against their assaults, I did withstand them until Loll Duss came to my help, my two other servants and the hired Moors being engaged upon the outskirts of the crowd, and the viscount and his skirmishers in a brisk battle on the banks above, where some of the ambushment had stayed for to resist ’em.
So close was we all packed in the narrow road, that there was no room for any battle-array nor show of military skill, for each man must needs fight hand-to-hand for his own life. And this we did without much result for some time, the cooleys baulking us grievously in our movements, and raising lamentable cries to their false gods to save ’em; but at length the viscount, having vanquished his foes upon the heights, brought his men down to our assistance, who fell upon the enemy with such hearty goodwill that such of them as was able quickly made shift to flee away by the road which we were come. And we, dreading their return with greater numbers, did only collect our own wounded to carry with us, making no attempt to secure any prisoners, and so went on again. But when we were started, up come to me and my friend my servant, Loll Duss.
“Master,” says he, “these men that we have conquered an’t Rashpoots. They are Moors, the emperor’s men, and they were sent to carry your honours back to Agra, alive or dead.”
“How do you know this, Loll Duss?” says I, in a grievous trouble of mind, for (thought I), if the news of the viscount’s evasion be gone before, sure the whole country will be raised against us.
“I have questioned one on ’em who is wounded,” said he, and returned to his place.
“What think you of this turn, sir?” says I to my friend.
“That ’tis a move of our adversary that will need some calculation for the defeating on’t,” says he, smiling, and taking his figures from the game of chess; “with your permission, sir, we will meditate our counter-move.”
And he rid on in silence, yet pondering deeply, as his face showed. And with this I was content, knowing that he was well seen in all manner of warlike shifts and devices, having been trained in the Low Countries under that most famous captain, the Mareschal Turenne, so that I could not doubt but that he would find some means for to extricate us from our perils. And indeed, before we had left the valley, he turned himself towards me with a smile.
“I don’t doubt, sir,” says he, “that you are already arrived at the same decision as I—namely, that we must avoid all the towns, where the Moguls have garrisons, and seek shelter only in the small villages, where there an’t sufficient force for to detain us, even though the bruit concerning us may have reached ’em. Nor is this all, for we must leave all thoughts of travelling with a safe-conduct in virtue of the emperor’s pharmaund, which should ruin us the rather, and instead of going on our way, and proceeding to the sea-coast, where we are looked for, must turn our steps to the south, and our minds to Seva Gi, the only man that can help us at this pinch.”
“But, sir,” I cried, “do you propose to traverse all India? Here are we in the Mogul’s dominions, and you speak quite coolly of seeking refuge in the Moratty country.”
“On this,” says he, “hangs our lives, so far as I can see. Pray, sir, if the sea-coast be closed against us, what chance have we but to outgo the emperor’s commands and reach the border before ’em? Rumours spread quickly in this country, but I dare be bound that they won’t be so quick nor so precise but we may succeed in outrunning ’em by means of forced marches. Hereon turns our fate. In the way we have pursued hitherto, they are watching against our passage, while in turning to the south we may make a certain distance before they suspect our design.”
I could not bring forward any reason sufficiently strong to weigh against this, though it irked me much to think that an Englishman must needs present himself as a suppliant at the court of this Moratty king; but I admired prodigiously the quick motions of the viscount’s mind, perceiving that Seva Gi was in truth the only man that in this strait could avail to protect us against the Moguls, and could further, by his power over the country of Conchon, bring us safely without let or hindrance to the very gates of Surat. Therefore I consented with my friend to the plan; and after consulting with Darah and Loll Duss, we turned off our road towards the south, purposing to seek out some trustworthy person that might guide us on our journey, since we knew next to nothing of the way we must take, nor even whether the Moguls were posted thickly therein or not. And herein were we in a strait, for we were resolved to avoid all towns and places where much people should be likely to be gathered.
Towards evening we arrived in a certain small village, where we found lodging, though poor and mean enough, hard by the mosch[125] where the people worshipped, and here we were glad enough to rest—the viscount placing sentinels and seeing to their relief with an air of as great gravity as if in some great war of Europe. The night passed without any alarm; but in the morning, when we were about breaking our fast, Loll Duss come to us wearing a lamentable countenance, and saying that certain of our hired servants refused to go with us any further, being afraid to disoblige the emperor. They also, said Loll Duss, had discovered by the discourse of the wounded what they would be at; and having advised together in the night touching the matter, had consented[126] to have no further hand in our adventure. I looked at the viscount on hearing this, as wondering how he should take it, for indeed I, as a simple merchant, did give up to him the conduct of affairs now that we were in a strait wherein he, as a soldier, was so much fitter to act than I.
“Let ’em go,” says he. “We might carry ’em on with us by force of arms, but they should be a weakness rather than a strength to us, and might destroy us at some critical point. Do you advise with ’em, sir, and dismiss ’em, as many as desire to leave us.”
Upon this I went out to the men, and found them to look both surly and rebellious, so that I saw them to be capable of much mischief if they pleased; but I was ready to disappoint them, if they desired to come to a tussle with us, and did but tell them (though I won’t say but that I did handle them pretty roughly in what I said) that we desired no cowards to company with us, nor men false to their salt, and bid ’em return from whence they came. Then the greater part of them departed, though with much muttering and some angry words; but there remained certain honest fellows that said they had ate of my salt (which is their way of saying that they were bound to me in honour), and would not go. Then with these I ordered afresh the burdens that must be carried, leaving behind such things as we could well do without, and with this diminished band we prepared to set forth.
But here we were met by a new difficulty, for the people of the village, though we had rewarded ’em richly for the lodging they had furnished us, gathered themselves together across our path, and would not suffer us to pass, declaring that we were enemies of the emperor, and that they would stop us and give us up to him. And at first I did essay to win them over by smooth words and much persuading in their own tongue, but in vain, and then gave place to the viscount. He, commanding four of our men to prepare torches, and to stand with ’em close to the nearest houses, drew up the train in array, with the carriers in the midst, and setting himself at the head, spake to the villagers, promising them that he would set their houses on fire if they did not give place immediately. And when the people, being mightily concerned for their dwellings—for these were but poor huts roofed with grass, that was dry and would burn like tinder—brake their rank and began to consult together, he gave the signal to start, and so led on with a great rush that took us well past ’em before they so much as perceived our intention.
Now after this escape we went on pretty steadily, keeping ourselves as remote as possible from the vicinage of men, and prolonging our two marches as late as we might with safety. Towards evening we met with an encounter which at first cost us no little alarm, but which proved to be excessively to our advantage. For riding in the shade of a grove of great trees, we saw coming towards us an ancient Brachmine, very meanly apparelled. Compassionating his sorry appearance, the viscount saluted him courteously, and offered him an alms, which he accepting, turned, and looked shrewdly at my friend.
“Master,” says he, “we have met before.”
“Nay?” says the viscount, speaking lightly, though his countenance changed somewhat. “I han’t no recollection on’t. Where was it that we met, old man?”
“In the hole of the Mountain-Rat,” says the Brachmine, meaning that strong place or fortress of Seva Gi’s called Rairey.
“Is’t possible?” saith my friend. “I can’t yet call your face to mind. Stay,—is it indeed Vincaly Row[127]?”
“I am he,” says the old man, not without pride.
“I had not looked to find Seva Gi’s chief friend and manager alone and disguised in the Mogul’s country,” says the viscount. “Sure you can’t have forgot that jest of the courtiers which said that where Vincaly Row was found, there Seva Gi himself might be looked for not long after?”
“That jest is still true,” said the old man. “I am here, and my lord an’t far behind me.”
“What! in the Mogul’s dominions?” cried my friend.
“If he ben’t in ’em yet, he soon will be,” says the Brachmine.
“Is he marching on Dhilly?” asked my friend, his eyes flashing. “Sure here will be feats of arms such as the world hath rarely seen. I am well pleased to find myself here at such a time.”
“Nay, he goes not to Dhilly,” saith Vincaly Row. “He is here only on a private errand, the taking of his revenge on Cogia Bux,[128] the governor of Tashpour.”
“I have heard of him,” said the viscount. “He led the Mogul’s army in Conchon some years since, and was highly esteemed as a person of much valour and prudence.”
“Ay,” saith the old Brachmine, “but he came once too near to Seva Gi for his safety now. The king was out on a hunting expedition, and halted for the night, with but two or three followers, at the house of a certain landowner. Hither, after midnight, come Cogia Bux with a great force, guided by a treacherous slave, and was got as far as the threshold of the king’s chamber before an alarm was raised. There was but three men with my lord, one of ’em being Madda Gi,[129] his cousin, a young man of extreme promise. He sprang to the door of the chamber, crying out to Seva Gi, ‘Escape, my lord! We will keep the door.’ And thereupon the king, tying together coverlets and turbants for to make a rope, did let himself down through the lattice and escaped (the house standing on the margent of a steep), but the two soldiers and Madda Gi were slain fighting. Which, when the king heard, he was prodigiously grieved, and made haste to send a message to Cogia Bux, saying, ‘Tell Cogia Bux that when he visited upon me the door was shut’ ” (speaking of their manner of civilly denying oneself to a troublesome visitor), “ ‘but I swear on my good sword Bowanny that I will do myself the honour of returning his visit, and when I come to Tashpour the door will not be shut.’ ”
“And ’tis on this errand he is now come?” says my friend.
“Ay,” says the old man, “for he was minded to go against the King of Gulconda at this time, but the tears and entreaties of Seta Bye,[130] the mother of young Madda Gi, declaring that her son was left to die unavenged, prevailed upon him to proceed first against Cogia Bux. As you may well perceive, all his hopes of success hang on his being speedy and secret, but in these two things my master wan’t never yet found wanting.”
“And we may hope to reach him?” asked the viscount.
“If you come on him before he make his attempt on Tashpour,” says the old Brachmine. “If you be later than that, there will be but smoking ruins for to greet you. But at present he is only some three or four days’ journey from you by this road, and little over two days’ by a rough way that I will show you.”
Then by means of drawing with his staff in the dust, he showed us the way he meant, and presently departed on his journey again, with our much thanks. And that night we encamped ourselves in a thick wood, where we lay in much discomfort for fear of the wild beasts, hearing them howling around us. And indeed, so greatly terrified was our men by the alarms of that night that they prayed of us to spend the next among human creatures. And though we did this with great fear and trembling, lest our evil fame should have spread before us, yet we found that this wan’t needed, for the whole place was already in a ferment, and that for a reason that lay in front of us, and not behind. For the Gentues were all mighty gratified and proud, as having heard of Seva Gi’s advance, while the Moors were anxious and uneasy.
All this was pleasing to us, as confirming that we had learned from Vincaly Row, and when we were safely lodged that night in the rest-house of the village, and had supped well, though not extravagantly, my friend and I discoursed much of the means whereby we might soonest place ourselves in security. For it seemed, by what the Brachmine had told us, that to reach the Moratty army by the shortest way we must needs pass through a rugged country, extreme difficult to traverse with such a train as ours, while the other way, where there was a good road enough, should occupy us still two or three days. And moreover, between us and Seva Gi there lay the strong fortress of Tashpour, whence, as we had no doubt, Cogia Bux would be looking forth for us, and our train being so large, it was little like that we should be able to slip past him. These difficulties that threatened us we discussed with great freedom, at one time even purposing to abandon all our stuff (which, though valuable, was little in comparison with life), and take the short road with only our men. But telling this to Loll Duss, who was making ready where we should lie that night, he showed himself prodigiously concerned, and entreated with much respect that we would allow him to make a certain proposition to us. Which we permitting, he begged of us to leave our train in his care, both the men and all the beasts, that he might conduct it to the camp of Seva Gi by the longer road, while we, the viscount and I, rid on without encumbrance by the short way. It went to his heart (said the honest fellow) that we should be left without the attendance suited to our quality, but by submitting to this trifling inconvenience we should be secure of regaining in the space of a few days all our goods, in the stead of being compelled to undertake the rest of our journey without ’em. And this plan of his seeming to us very good and well-considered, we gave to’t our attention, and went to bed resolved upon adopting it.
And setting out in the morning as usual, lest the villagers should perceive our divided forces, we separated from one another at some distance from the place where we had slept, our servants and cooleys taking the road to the left hand, and my friend and I that to the right. Meanwhile, I was not a little exercised in my mind as to whether we were doing the best we might, and did give Loll Duss many commands touching what he should do in respect to certain dangers, as that in case of any pursuit made of them, they must all leave their packs and escape into the woods, not rashly perilling their lives for such poor silly stuff as beds and kettles. In all this he heard me very patiently, though I am well assured he would never have suffered any such thing to be done, and so we separated from them, my friend and I riding on in the sweet morning air, the which was mighty soft and agreeable, with as little concern as if that were not to be the most weighty day of both of our lives, or at least of mine.
Through all the morning we held on at a good pace, our horses being sound and swift, and at noon or thereabouts halted for a rest of two hours, for more we dared not take, if we were to reach Seva Gi and his army by sunset. Setting out again on our journey after this time of repose, we found that we must needs progress with great circumspection, since we now beheld very clearly the great citadel of Tashpour frowning from its lofty steep before us. And here the viscount showed very evidently the value of that training he had received, for his eye told him of every ridge and every grove that might afford us concealment in our riding, and we were well abreast of the fortress before we were forced to relinquish our cover. But here that which we had hailed as our salvation became, so to speak, a destruction unto us, for we had been riding in the shadow of the edge of a certain great wood, so that even had any been watching for us from the castle they had scarce been able to perceive us against the dark trees, and now we come full upon a huge quag or morass, wherein my horse had like to have sunk before I could turn him and get him out. And looking to see where this quag might end, we found that it spread into the wood for some distance (making a dark and loathsome mire and mud, very hideous to behold), nay, we could not reach with our eyes the furthest limits on’t, so that our sole plan was to ride out upon the plain and fetch a compass about it. And this, because time pressed, and we might not search in the wood, to seek the other end on’t, we did set about immediately, though doing our best to ride leisurely, so as any perceiving us might take us only for honest countrymen bent on their occasions. But when we come out upon the plain, our beasts and we were evidently visible against the clear green colour of the rushes by the side of the quag, and before we could even circle round the end on’t, the viscount bid me look round, and I obeying saw a troop of horse coming out of a gate of the castle in pursuit of us.
Now these men were so close after us that they arrived at the side of the quag nearest to the fortress when we were still riding along the further margent thereof with all possible haste for to regain our road, so that they did let fly at us with their matchlocks, as hoping thereby to cripple and so delay us. But by God’s great mercy they hit neither my friend nor me, their bullets all falling short of us, save one only, which did strike my friend’s horse, making it halt and stagger for a moment. But he calling out to it cheerfully, for he was used always to speak to his beast as though it were indeed a rational creature that could understand him, it went on again bravely, and we two rid away at our utmost speed along our road.
“At any rate, sir,” says the viscount, laughing, “this shrewd pursuit saves us from the need of seeking cover for ourselves. Our safety now hangs on speed, and not on concealment.”
“You are right, sir,” says I, and we rid on at a brisk pace, though holding our beasts well in hand in case of any fresh danger’s threatening us in front. Looking back upon occasion to see our pursuers, we beheld them at an agreeable distance enough, for their horses wan’t so good as ours, and themselves heavier armed.
“If we can but keep up this pace, sir,” says I, “we shall hold our own well.”
“Our beasts can do more than this, sir, if need be,” says the viscount, not knowing of the misfortune that was about to befall us. For as we rid, we came suddenly upon a river, which, though not very deep in appearance, had its banks so high and steep that we must needs ride along some distance to find a place where to descend them, whereas our enemies knew the spot, and made straight for it. Happily, we reached it first, though with no time to spare, and putting our horses to the water, swam them over, mounting the other bank in safety only a moment before the pursuers reached the first one. ’Twas well for us that they had not tarried to load their matchlocks again after firing ’em off, so that they could not shoot at us, but they were so close behind us that we set our horses to their utmost speed and tasked them sorely that we might get a good start once more. So well did the good beasts obey us that we gained rapidly upon them, and had soon near resumed our former lead, though we durst not slacken our pace again as yet.
“We shall distance ’em yet, sir,” cried the viscount, casting a glance behind him, but even as he spoke, his horse began to totter and breathe heavily. My friend’s face grew pale, but he said nought to me, only cheering the beast with his voice. But I, remembering the bullet that had struck it beside the quag, saw that the gallop across the plain had pressed it too hard, and that it must soon fail, and at the same time there come into my mind a thought that did set my heart a-beating quickly. So strongly did it seize upon me, that I saw at once it must be obeyed, and yet (I am almost ashamed to write it) I felt myself hang back from following it. Sure you would think that this life of mine, that was of so little value even to myself, and still less to others, would be resigned without a pang; but ’twas not so, and in that moment I did learn the foolishness of all those idle vapourings of mine touching my blighted existence, and the ease and carelessness wherewith I would depart from it. For I found myself cling even to that precarious hope on’t which now remained, and ’twas with a prodigious effort that I made up my mind to do the thing that now presented itself to me, and so make the only amends in my power for my former presumption towards Madam Heliodora, and for the evil thoughts I had cherished against her servant. Now while these thoughts was yet in my mind, the viscount’s beast was becoming more and more feeble, so as I saw it could not long keep on its feet, and even as we were about mounting a slight ascent, it reared up and fell dead beneath him. And upon this I did dismount, as though to help him to arise from the ground.
“Come, sir,” says I, pulling him to his feet, for he was fallen partly under the beast, though mercifully not much hurt, “mount my horse. We han’t no time to lose.”
“Will he carry double?” says he, looking round as though dazed by his fall, but obeying me. “ ’Tis but a chance, but we may essay it.”
I helped him into the saddle, and would fain have started the horse with a blow, but he suspected my design, and turned round.
“Why don’t you mount, sir?” says he.
“The beast can’t carry both of us,” says I, starting the horse and running by his side, as though accompanying him, “and your life is of more value than mine.”
“Sir,” he cried, very angry, and striving to stop the horse, “have you forgot that I am a gentleman, and I hope, a Christian, and do you look for me to leave you to perish?”
“Sir,” says I, “I owe a great obligation to Mademoiselle de Tourvel, and do desire to acquit myself on’t. And moreover, you have her ladyship to consider, to whom you owe love and protection for the rest of your life, and I have no one that need care whether I live or die. I have often been weary of my life, and I am well pleased for’t to end in such a manner as this.”
“Am I to forsake you, my friend, the man that saved me out of my captivity and brought me back to hope?” cries he. “Never, sir! Let us mount together, if you will, and seek to escape so long as we may, and then die fighting back to back, like men.”
“No, sir,” says I, “for this I will tell you, which I had not looked ever to tell any living soul again. There has come to me in my past life an irreparable loss, so great as nothing imaginable can avail to compensate me therefor, and after this I don’t care to live longer. Mademoiselle de Tourvel will unfold my meaning to you if you ask her; but I pray you, ask no more of me.”
The viscount looked down into my face, and saw, as I fancy, my history wrote there plain, for he took away his eyes, and “May God help you, sir,” says he.
“You perceive by this, sir,” says I, “that ’tis your duty to live for her ladyship, and mine to enable you so to do. Go on and reach safety, and enjoy your happiness with Madam Heliodora, and bid her forgive me and think kindly of me. Farewell, and God be with you.”
But he would not depart thus, and stopping the horse, catched me in his arms and embraced me, after the French fashion, weeping the while, until I bid him hasten on, or he should yet be taken. And at this he went on, yet with many tears, and turning round for to bid me farewell once more, and I was left behind, panting from the running and the turmoil of my thoughts, but joyful and glad of heart for that by my sacrifice I had secured the happiness of that noble lady and her servant.
Now my constant enemies (for indeed my enemies are as constant and as curious in their arts as were ever the friends of Job) are accustomed to declare that I acted thus from I don’t know what wicked design, or else that I had good reason to suppose the means of rescue to be near at hand, which indeed I could not, unless by the aid of prophetic powers, to the which I don’t pretend. But in answer to these persons, I may confess, although it be but a sorry confession for an Englishman and one that hath seen many climates, that when I had suffered my friend to depart, and turned my eyes to behold the advance of those bloody and brutal men, that were now close upon me, ’twas with the greatest trembling that ever I felt in my life.
Then they, coming up quickly, did lay hold upon me with little gentleness and many ill words, and after binding my arms behind me, and also making me fast with a thong of leather to one of their saddles, did hale me with ’em back to the castle. And in this journey I did endure such discomforts from the heat, the dust, and the smart pace that my captors kept up, that I had no leisure to ponder over my situation, nor even to do anything but continue the march. Yet this I was glad to perceive—viz., that before we reached the castle there catched us up certain of the band that had been sent for to pursue the viscount further, and declared that they must needs let him go, for that all their chasing was of no avail. And I, understanding their Persian tongue, wondered much what new thought had seized my friend, that he should so soon have forgot his prudent design of saving his beast in case of some fresh danger, and be now riding so fast as to have distanced thus easily and thus quickly all that were following him. But such speculation as this was of little moment, and I forgot it speedily when I was carried up that steep and winding road, commanded at every point from the ramparts above, which leads into the castle of Tashpour. This is the only way whereby the fortress may be approached, for on all the other sides the rock is so high and steep as even a goat could not make shift to climb it, and the fortifications at the top, which were built by the Moguls on their first settlement of the country, are in every way worthy of the repute of that famous and warlike nation, and equal to any in Europe.
Now I being brought up into the castle, they did take me before Cogia Bux the governor, a person of so ferocious an aspect and discourse that I looked for nothing else than immediate death at his hands; but I soon perceived that he durst not hurt me, being commanded to deliver me up alive at Agra, there to be dealt with as the emperor himself might determine. And at this I was sorry, both as anticipating a more dreadful and lingering death than any they had skill to devise here, and also as finding prolonged this disagreeable space of waiting and looking for death. But for all this, I would not seem to show myself afeared before these heathens, but did talk very big, telling them that those I served would never suffer me to be badly used. But at this they did laugh mightily, telling me that none of my friends should so much as stir a finger to help me, since ’twas those of ’em that were at Agra had given the intelligence that led to my apprehension. And in this, methought, I perceived the hand of Mr Spender, but forbore to dwell upon it in my thoughts, desiring to die in peace and charity with all mankind. Then they did cast me into a very deep and noisome dungeon, reminding me rather of the Aljuvar at Goa than of my cell in the Holy House, and bid me be prepared to set out the next day for Agra. And I, being thus left to myself, and foreseeing that in travelling with profane and heathen guards around me I should have little opportunity for profitable meditation and such as suited with my case, gave my mind to consider my situation.
Now the thought of my present estate brought to me some little comfort, inasmuch as my misfortune was due to no fault of my own, and had, as I hoped, secured the happiness of two much worthier persons. But next my meditations turned upon my past life, and here I found little to console me, for it seemed that since my marvellous deliverance at Goa I had done little but go from bad to worse. And first I considered my temptation at St Thomas, and recalled with shame how easily I had been led by the nose, as we say, by my lord marquis, almost to the betraying my duty and the dishonouring myself. And after this I thought of my life at Amidavat, and of the pain I had caused to my good friend Mr Martin, and likewise his attempts to lead me into a more worthy and Christian course, and my declaration that I was no worse than others. Then that come into my mind which the strange old seaman, Substitution Darrell, had said to me aboard the Boscobel—namely, that where force had failed to rob me of my faith, other measures might succeed—and I perceived at last that this was not far removed from being true with me. I saw, also, how I had come forth from my imprisonment at Goa proud and haughty, reckoning myself one that had suffered great things for God, and counting it only just that God should recompense me by giving me in future all things to my liking, so that that word of the apostle’s might have been wrote with an eye to me, Though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Then I saw how that, applying this fancy of mine to my mad and presumptuous passion for Madam Heliodora, I had conceived myself defrauded of my due in not obtaining her, and had therefore fallen foul of all around me, both God and men, accusing the first of injustice, and regarding the last with scorn and even hatred.
By this means I had wasted, and worse than wasted (not indeed in a material, but a spiritual sense), four of the best years of my life, spending them in peevishness of spirit and in unworthy pleasures, such as might best avail to drown my persuasion of the inequality of my lot to my deserts. Now, when ’twas too late to amend, though not to repent, I perceived my fault, seeing clearly, not only that I had not been fitted for the happiness I sought, but also that it had needed four years to teach me that I had no right to seek happiness at all, but only duty. And this also I saw—viz., that in my repinings after the happiness I could not have, I had lost that which I might have had, as the company of worthy friends, the discourse of ingenious men, the delights of research and discovery, and the like, wherewith many, no better situated than I, have made their lives result not only in good to themselves and solace to their own intimates, but also in great store of elegant observations for the informing of persons in England.
And this thought, moreover, to the which I was come, did bring into my mind that occasion wherein I had most grievously failed in my duty—namely, in breaking my contract with my cousin Dorothy at the bidding of a rash and selfish presumption, and leaving her desolate and bereaved of the hope in the which she was grown up. ’Twas not the first time that this thought was come to me, but before this I had been wont to turn a deaf ear to’t, seeking to stifle it, and thus making my unworthy behaviour worse still. Now, however, I was minded to do this no longer, and as they say that amendment and restitution is the surest sign of repentance, so now I solemnly vowed to myself (though little likely ever to be able to fulfil it), that if by God’s mercy I should ever be released alive from this second captivity, I would at the expiration of the term of my service return to Dorothy, if she should still be unwedded, and marrying her, make to her the best amends in my power for my former evil carriage towards her. And having entered into this resolve, I found myself somewhat easier in my mind, though still bowed down with shame and grief for my unworthy courses, unworthy both in respect to the good teaching I had in my childhood and the honourable traditions of our house, and also with regard to God’s marvellous goodness and care for me throughout my life. Thus then I was brought to cast myself humbly upon the mercy of God through our Lord Jesus Christ, and confessing my sins and entreating pardon of Him, to receive an assurance of forgiveness and grace, bringing great peace into my soul. And having thus attained that which my troubled conscience had long lacked, I laid myself down in the dungeon, and so fell asleep.
I don’t know how long I continued in this happy oblivion of my situation, but I awoke at last, hearing what seemed to me strange noises. Now you must know that this dungeon, wherein I lay, was dug deep down in the bowels of the hill whereon the fortress stood, and beside the door whereby I had entered, had intercourse with the outer world only by means of a long and narrow passage, in bigness no more than a hand’s breadth, but leading out in some way to the open air. And it seemed to me now that there come to me through this passage, or air-hole, sounds as of scrambling and of stealthy voices. And first I thought that the Moguls of the place, being determined to secure me while I was in their power, were minded to murder me secretly, and were approaching my dungeon by stealth in this intent. But while I lay with this thought in my mind, trembling and shaking all over, as is the wont of those that awake from sleep by reason of any alarm, the noises seemed to rise higher above me, and so at last to cease. But I, listening with all my ears, heard on a sudden a most dreadful cry or shriek, as of one hurled past my window (if I may call the air-hole so), from above. By this I was assured that there was some fearful work on foot, and rising up from my place, I came as near to the window as my chains would allow me, desiring to assure myself more particularly of what should be happening. But now there come to me from above a great and confused noise of shouting and the clash of arms, so that I could discern that some great battle was going forward.
But though I heard the cries and shrieks (nay, I could even discern from the sounds the moment of each advance and retreat), yet I might not discover who the parties should be, that thus met and fought, until the noises ceased somewhat and the roar of battle was become fainter. Then I heard hollowed[131] lustily, as though by many throats, that battle-cry which had met my ears at the time of my rescue at Goa—namely, “Hoor! Hoor! Mohawdio!” This sound recalled to me at once that former scene, and did cast me into a state of great confusion of mind, so that when the cry was growing less loud to my ears, as though they that used it had gathered themselves together and were marching away, I did sink down in a corner trembling and perplexed. And thereafter heard I many such confused and strange noises as never before out of my dreams, but there was no means for me to determine what was the issue of all that had happened. For I could not but suppose that Seva Gi and the Morattys, whose war-cry I had heard, had made an attempt by night on the place, and succeeded in surprising the sentinel, and so gaining a footing on the walls, but how they fared thereafter, and whether they still held their ground, or had been drove over the cliffs, I could not discover, not though the question was of the deepest moment to me. With such patience, then, as I could muster, I waited until the sun’s rays began to pierce feebly into the dungeon through the air-hole, when also I heard footsteps in the passage outside my door, and other doors opening and closing, as though a jail-delivery were taking place. More than once I heard the footsteps pass my very threshold, but they never tarried there, and at last seemed to depart, while my heart cried out to me that though others was to find enlargement, I was forgot. And this bred in me a terrible frenzy and passion, insomuch that I beat upon the wall with my hands, and called aloud unto them without, my chains not suffering me to approach the door. And this I did, never considering that my fellow-prisoners might only be led out to execution, but possessed with the fear that I was to be left behind to starve. And the sound of the footsteps having now ceased, there was a great silence, while I lay in my corner, plunged in despair. But presently I heard a voice cry very loud in French—
“Mr Carlyon, are you here? If you hear me, cry out aloud, and we will release you.”
I could not mistake the voice of my friend the viscount, and for answer I flung myself again at the wall and battered it with kicks and blows, calling out the while to my friend that if he loved me he should not leave me to perish. And at this he and the men that were with him came and burst open the door, for the key on’t could not be found, and he embraced me very tenderly, and then led me out into the passage, and up many steps to the daylight. And because I was much overcome by the sudden passing from hopelessness to hope, so that for a moment I did cling to his arm and could not stand upright, he would have me sit down, and brought me with his own hand a dram of some cordial, and carried himself so gently and kindly towards me as no woman could have been more tender. And after this he carried me into the great hall, where I had seen the governor, and here was a very stately person of middle age sitting upon a throne, to whom the Morattys were bringing all their spoils from all quarters of the place. And the viscount bowing very low, I perceived that here must be the great Seva Gi, of whom I had so often heard speak. And rising to meet us, I saw that he was of small stature, having arms very long in proportion thereto, and an air of great activity rather than strength, his countenance lively and handsome. Who welcomed me kindly enough, speaking very agreeably to my friend in the Moratty tongue, he answering in the same, which I understood not.
Then the viscount led me away, and brought me into an upper chamber of the castle, sending one of the soldiers for food and wine, and while I did eat and drink, he told me of his doings after our parting. For he said that he had made straight for the Moratty camp, as Vincaly Row had informed us on’t, and speaking in their own tongue to the soldiers that he met, desired of them to carry him at once to their prince, who, recognising him from of old, did receive him with great kindness, and promised to do all in his power for my deliverance. And this promise the king redeemed right nobly, for he called together those of his choicest soldiers that he had brought with him, men well seen in all manner of sieges and escaladoes, and led them himself to surprise Tashpour. And this they accomplished by the help of ladders of ropes, ascending in this way the cliffs deemed unsurmountable, as hath often been done before by the Morattys, and having gained a footing on the ramparts, as I had surmised, beat back the Moguls, and at length made themselves masters of the place. And my friend then seeking among the dungeons for me, had almost missed me, from my cell’s being set in an obscure angle of the passage, had it not been for his assuring himself by his calling to me that I was there.
This, then, was my second great deliverance, but to me ’twas even greater than the first, since now I was set free also from those unhappy thoughts and imaginations that had been my torment for years, and was resolved, so far as lay in my power, to pursue duty alone for the future. And that I might the better do this, I begged of the viscount to make interest with Seva Gi to give us quickly a guard to the coast, that I might bear to Surat the message I was charged withal, and return to my business there. And this the king was good enough to do, although he had at first been minded to have us both, and in especial the viscount, go with him on this campaign, and assist him with our counsel. Now this my friend had been right glad at any ordinary time to fall in with, but he was now so possessed (as well he might be) with the thought of Madam Heliodora, and the desire to hasten to her side, that he delayed not an instant to refuse the Moratty’s invitation, although in the most civil manner imaginable, so that we parted from him the best of friends. So courteously did this barbarian carry himself towards us, that while we tarried with him, he appointed a butcher for our sole service, and had him slay a goat for us every day, since the Gentues eat no flesh-meat, but he, knowing that we Europe men was accustomed thereto, would not suffer us to miss it. And on our departing, he did give us many gifts, yea, even to our servants and cooleys, for Loll Duss was arrived at the camp in safety with his train two days after us. Then sending with us a sufficient guard, that should escort us to the gates of Surat, he did bid us farewell, and went on to prosecute that war which for him ended only with his death, the same occurring some three years later than this adventure of ours.
Now we came to Surat, my friend and I, having dismissed our Morattys at a convenient distance outside the city, with thanks and a genteel present, and were received with great amazement by the gentlemen at the Factory, and this amazement was not diminished when our story was told. My good friend Mr Martin, hearing it narrated by the viscount, was fit to embrace us both in his joy and happiness, and made his comment thereon in many strange proverbs, culled from divers tongues. I delivered the message I brought to his honour the President, and as ’twas now manifestly impossible for me to return into the Mogul’s immediate dominions (though here out of danger, as being supposed to have fallen in the sack of Tashpour), another gentleman was sent to convey the answer on’t to Mr Kidder at Agra, and I was given his place in the Factory for the time. The viscount also did his best to repay our Factory for their entertainment of him by instructing divers of the Company’s servants there in the Moratty tongue, I being one of these; but so great was the prejudice wherewith the reported deeds and purposes of the French Factory had invested all their nation in our eyes (the said French Factory being at once so crowded with merchants and so poor that they were thankful to leave the viscount to us for hospitality), that I could not be sorry for my friend’s sake when a means offered for his return to France.
This was a ship of Havre-de-Grace, coming from Phoolcherry and returning home, whose master offered a passage to the viscount, and he departed in her, bidding me farewell with much sorrow, the which I also did experience for his leaving me. But although he did promise to write me concerning all his affairs, so little commerce[132] was there betwixt us and the French that near three years passed before I heard from him, and then I learned that he had found on his arrival in France my lord marquis dead, and this, as they said, rather of a broken heart upon some disgrace he was fallen into with the court, such as had made him be recalled and kept him idle, than of any more exact disease. Madam Heliodora the viscount found dwelling in Paris with a lady of quality that was some kin to her, and they were wedded almost immediately upon his return, departing thereafter to his estate, which was situate on the borders of the provinces of Languedoc and Gascoign,[133] and where (says he), we shall endeavour, with God’s blessing, to spend our lives in alleviating the miseries and amending the situation of such as depend upon us. And this letter my friend did close with so many and such lofty expressions of the gratitude that both he and his lady experienced towards me, that I can’t quote from ’em; yet I won’t deny but they were very pleasant to me, and that I loved to flatter myself with the belief that these two persons, whom I did so greatly esteem, thanked me for some of the happiness I now contemplated in them by means of this letter. And with this persuasion of the good fortune of both my friends I did content myself during several years that I heard naught from them, believing them to be so greatly busied with their gracious designs for their tenants that they lacked the time to write to me, and never suspecting that first of all their letters had miscarried, nor later that evil was befallen them, until I heard it from their own lips.
Now about a year after my return to Surat our ambassadors came back from Agra, their business well ended, and I, who conceived myself to have, as you may remember, a crow to pick, as we say, with Mr Spender, did demand of him his reason for denouncing me to the Mogul, and thereby imperilling both my life and my friend’s. But instead of betraying shame or confusion, such as you might expect, at my knowledge of his treason, he turned aside my question with the greatest coolness in the world, saying only that ’twas a person’s bounden duty to use any means in his power to succeed in his designs. And I then leaving him, fearing lest in my rage at his effrontery I should lay violent hands upon him, learned from others of the ambassage that the viscount’s escape was at first kept as a secret by the Moguls, but that when it came to the ears of the ambassadors, Mr Spender gained an audience of the emperor, and all for to tell him that our cooleys returned from Gualleyor had spoke of a second Europe man in my train, whose face they had never seen, and this (said Mr Spender), might well be the escaped prisoner. And the Mogul, hearing this, did take those measures to stop us whereof you know already, and showed himself very favourable towards Mr Spender and the rest of the ambassage.
Now after my friend was departed I did spend seven years, more or less, in the service of the Company at Surat, serving them to the best of my ability, and enjoying at the last the dignity of warehouse-keeper, which is a place of some honour and profit. Yet I wan’t, during all this time, tied, so to speak, to my desk in the Factory, for I made three short voyages to the Further East on the Company’s occasions, sailing once to Bengall, and again to Bantam in the island of Java, and once again to the great kingdom of Syam, from all of which journeys I did bring back experience and profit for myself, as well as advantage to my employers.
Now it so happened that there was at Surat, at the time of our sailing on the third of these voyages, a certain Popish priest, a Portugal, that did take passage with us to one of the Portugals’ settlements lower down the coast, and from this gentleman, that showed himself very agreeable, and no bigot, in spite of his creed, I learned somewhat touching an old friend that I had of late years (I shame to say it) near forgot. For asking of him some question touching divers persons at Goa, though cautiously lest he should recognise me and denounce me to the Inquisition, and I should thus again come into their hands, he told me of a band of Jesuit missionaries that was sent to convert the savage people of a certain great island lying not far from Java. Of these Paulistins (says my priest), there was one that had shown himself extreme devoted, more than all the rest, and very forward in all the work that was undertook, so that when the savages turned against them and ill-treated them, as they did after the space of some six months, they did torment him in especial with great tortures, which did so work upon his frame that soon after, being rescued by a Spanish ship of war, he died in great suffering and in the odour of sanctity, and the name of this person was Theodorus. Furthermore, it was whispered among the other fathers that this Father Theodorus was wont to use himself thus hardly by reason of a certain monstrous sin that he had once committed, and this (said my priest to me in great confidence), was said to be some inadvertence or lightness of speech of his whereby some heretic had been enabled to escape the punishment due to his evil deeds, but this was gathered only from his sayings on his deathbed, and could not be confirmed. But I, as you may well guess, knew the truth of this matter, though I would not reveal it to my friendly priest, and grieved myself much to think that the good man should have conceived that this piece of kindness needed to be so hardly atoned for. But the priest never knew that he had told his tale to one so closely involved therein, and he left us at his journey’s end without remark.
This, then, was a result of one of my journeys, but I wan’t idle now when at home, even during the slack times of our business at Surat, for I laid up great store of observations touching the Indians and their ways, and also the Europe men settled among ’em, all to be employed later in a way that I shall show you. And in all this I had the help and countenance of my good friend Mr Martin, who displayed as great an alacrity to assist me regain my earliest dispositions as many men’s friends do to lead ’em into ruin, so as I must ever be grateful to him. Likewise among the other gentlemen at the Factory, with but few exceptions, I did find much kindness and friendship, and had also another friend, that was a faithful though a humble one, in my servant Loll Duss. This man, shortly before my leaving Surat, professed himself openly a convert to Christianity, and was admitted into our holy religion with the use of that form set forth of late years for the baptising of natives in our plantations, and suchlike cases. The minister of the Factory had willingly took him into his service when I departed, but such a prodigious affection had this faithful fellow conceived for me, that he must needs forsake his country and friends, and follow me in my return to my native land, whereof I will now unfold to you the particulars.
Now you must know that though I had, as in honour bound, wrestled with and conquered my passion for Madam Heliodora, that was now my friend’s wife, yet this had not wrought in me any reviving of my former affection for my cousin Dorothy. Though I still persisted in my design of marrying her, considering this to be my duty, I had not announced it in my letters to Mr Sternhold, conceiving it to be only just that she should have the chance to find a servant more to her liking, and that loved her better, if she so willed it. Yet I did read with a certain anxiety each epistle of the old lawyer, whereof he writ to me regularly one in the year, and wan’t by no means displeased to perceive therein that my cousin still remained a maid; for, strange though it may appear, yet the thought of a life at Ellswether with this beautiful and virtuous woman for my wife wan’t at all disagreeable to me, though I loved her not. ’Twas a pleasant dream to admire at times, when I had little else to do, and sat alone in my chamber, but so little did it touch my heart that I was content to work on year after year and never seek to go home, until a simple chance awaked some spark in me, and kindled it to a flame. And that you may perceive how this come about, it may be as well for me to relate the substance of a discourse that was had one evening between Mr Martin and myself.
“Ned,” says my friend, when I found him sitting in the gallery outside his chamber on my return from a ride, “have you forgot that to-morrow you must needs declare whether you will accept of the proffer of the agency at Carwar, or not?”
“I han’t forgot it, sir,” says I, “and until to-day ’twas my design to accept on’t, but (though I am almost ashamed to tell it you) I have this evening been led altogether to change my mind.”
“Come!” says he, “sure this is a sudden determination, lad. What hath led you to’t? and what do you purpose to do if you don’t accept of the agency? It an’t every day that such places go a-begging.”
“Well, sir,” says I, “I don’t doubt but you will be prodigious astonished to hear that I feel myself very strongly drawn towards home.”
“Home? England?” saith he. “Why now, Ned, you do indeed astonish me. I can’t blame you, and yet it seems strange you should desire to leave the service so young.”
“Not so monstrous young, sir,” quoth I. “I am thirty-eight years old, under your favour.”
“So you are,” says he. “ ’Tis twenty years and more since the day I met you upon the landing-place at Swally. But prythee, Ned, tell me, whence come this new plan?”
“Why, sir,” says I, “I am almost ashamed to tell you, as I said. But indeed I was visiting upon our friend Mr Stokes but now, and entered his house suddenly, sending no word of my approach. Coming then into the inner court, I found him at supper with his wife and children (for, as you know, he is married to a country-born woman, half Portugal and half Gentue, and hath several children by her), and they had no time, by reason of my hasty entrance, to retire, as is their custom when his friends appear. And—(but this, sir, must appear to you so strange and foolish that I ask your pardon for’t beforehand) the sight seemed to breed in me a certain longing and desire for such a home of my own, and recalled to me that I might have had such an one now had I wished it, and in fine, it did awake in me a vehement design of returning at once to England and espousing my cousin.”
“So, so!” says Mr Martin, looking upon me jestingly, “is this your mind, lad? Well, Every man knowes where his shooe wrings him, but I’ll own I han’t looked that yours should wring you here. You will wait, I presume, for the Boscobel, that is expected every day at Swally on her homeward voyage, or are your occasions so urgent that you must needs charter a country junk, and perform your journey in her?”
“Sir,” says I, “I perceive that you regard this sudden determination on my part as foolish and laughable, and indeed I can scarce see it otherwise myself. But give me leave to remind you that the purpose for the accomplishing whereof I came hither is much more than performed, for I have long since heard from my attorney that all the burdens and mortgages on my father’s estates are paid off, through the sums that I have remitted to him, and all necessary improvements effected, and now I have a genteel competence assured me from my rents as well as from the moneys I have put out to interest at home and adventured in divers cargoes, &c., here. I have no desire for prodigious wealth, and do now possess more than any of my family has done, though what I have invested here must needs continue to increase, so long as our trade subsist. Why, then, should I tarry longer in the Indies, becoming strange to my own country and growing old and crabbed, when at Ellswether I may live in modest comfort, cheered by the company of one of the best women in the world?”
“Why,” says he, “your argument of your case is mighty convincing. But I pray you remember, Ned, that He that reckons without his host, must reckon twice. What if the lady of whom you speak don’t care to wed you?”
“Oh, but that is understood, sir,” says I.
“Well, Ned,” says he, “go, and may you enjoy all the good fortune you look for. ’Tis well you can disengage yourself from the pursuit of wealth thus early, in the stead of toiling on for the mere sake of toiling, as ’tis with others, and with me amongst ’em. How shall I do without you, lad?”
“Nay, sir,” says I, “come home with me, and sure we will show the world a modern example of that friendship which they say is now passed away.”
“Nay,” said he, “not yet. I have no bride awaiting me, Ned, nor no cause for haste. In five years or so, if it please God, I may come home and pay you a visit. But Surat is as dear a place to me now as any save one, and that I trust to see once more before I die. My parents lie buried there, and one that I had hoped should be all, and more than all, to me that Mrs Brandon is to you, lad. That spot I would fain see again, but little time will be required for that, and I look still to be of some use here. Though Mr Ned Carlyon ben’t my fellow no longer, I may yet find some young writer but newly arrived hither that will bear with an old man’s infirmities and listen to his counsel. But your work lies at Ellswether, Ned, as I see now clearly, and therefore I can but bid you go home to’t immediately. Take time when Time commeth, lest Time steale away.”
Now this advice assorting so well with my inclination, I made haste to follow it, to the extent even of sending in my resignation of my place to Mr President and the Council, and calling in such moneys as I had that I did not design to leave in Mr Martin’s hands. Three days after this sudden determination of mine, the Boscobel did cast anchor in Swally Road, and up come Captain Freeman to the Factory, much moved by the prospect of having my company on his voyage home. ’Twas his last voyage also, says he, for he was growing old, and might no longer depend on his bodily strength in any strait, as he had once done, and therefore he was minded to ask a decent pension from the Company, and with his savings build him a likely house by the riverside down Deptford way, and live there with his old wife, laying down the law to the younger skippers, and shaking his head with the old ones over the new-fangled ways favoured by the officers of his majesty’s dockyard. And here, said he, must I come to visit upon him, and we would smoke a pipe together in an arbour by the water, with the smell of tar and rope all about us, and talk of our former voyages in the Eastern Seas the while we watched the king’s ships floating down with the tide. And I was well pleased to humour my old friend in this simple dream of his, so that we spake on’t many an evening on deck during our voyage. For I was able to make an end of all my occasions before the ship sailed, and therefore embarked in her, with Loll Duss my servant, and many great chests and boxes filled with precious merchandises and strange toys[134] that I had lit upon in my travels.
Thus, then, did I bid farewell to that most rich and pleasant town of Surat, and to my fellow-servants of the Company there, that had showed themselves, with scarce any exception, as genteel and agreeable persons as any man need desire for his fellows. And I am right glad now that I departed from East India before this famous city lost her pre-eminence in our trade, the which was given over to that low and sultry island of Bombaim, to the great scandal of all in the Factory. But this, as I have said, happened only after I had left the place.
Now this last voyage of mine with Captain Freeman was a mighty prosperous and agreeable one, so that from the day we left Swally to that wherein we were able with our perspective glasses to discern the white cliffs of our own island, we met with little rough weather, and no calamitous accidents. And on this quietness and lack of danger our captain did much felicitate me, saying that had the pirates and the Barbary rovers, whom he feared, but known of the wealth that I brought home with me, it had gone hard with them if they had not come against us in so great force as to overpower us, when we must all have ended our days as slaves in Algier or Sallee. But this danger, like the others on our path, we passed without encountering ’em, and so arrived safely at Graves-End, and there landed, where I had embarked more than twenty years before, on the third day of October 1684.
Now in London I must needs repair to the Company’s House in Leadenhall Street, and there give some account of myself, delivering, moreover, the letters wherewith I had been charged by Mr President at Surat, and ’twas also only fitting that I should pay my respects to my lord Duke of London, the son of my own learned and virtuous patron; and when these things was done, and likewise much business of my own, with respect to that merchandise I had with me, Captain Freeman would have me visit him at his inn where he lodged, and make the acquaintance of his wife and children. But I can declare to you that I hurried through these duties with the greatest haste in the world, desiring nothing so much as to have ’em over, and so feel myself free to ride into Northamptonshire and seek my own home. For during all our voyage, that longing that had seized me at Surat did but grow stronger and stronger, so that Captain Freeman told me I was like a sailor-lad coming home to his sweetheart, with so great eagerness did I watch for favouring winds and desire the first sight of the shore. And now that I was once more in town, and saw on every side the spots where I had wandered as a lad, with my head full of glory and of Dorothy, the spirit of those past days seemed to return upon me, and I could scarce wait to complete my business before I bid Loll Duss have the horses saddled for a start betimes one morning.
I had been careful to send to Ellswether no word of my coming, for I desired to take my friends by surprise (alas! to what evil discoveries hath this same desire led many!), and now I could scarce bring myself to allow of the needful halts upon the road, nor to refrain from riding our poor beasts to death. I had brought with me only such things as was strictly necessary, that so we might travel the lighter, and had bought two good horses for myself and Loll Duss and our saddle-bags, and our journey wan’t thus a long one, though it seemed so to me. ’Twas on an evening near the end of the month of October that I reached Puckle Acton, and then found myself in such a heat and excitement from being so near my journey’s end that I could not resolve to lie there the night and ride to Ellswether in the morning as I had purposed, but leaving Loll Duss and the horses at the inn, set out to walk thither at once. Now this was a time when the town was very quiet, and the people all agog for news, and ’twas quickly reported amongst ’em that a strange gentleman with a blackamoor servant was arrived at the inn, whereupon there come together a great company of the lower sort for to talk with Loll Duss in the kitchen; but I had bid him tell them nothing, and therefore he feigned not to understand them, so that they were forced to let him alone, though they tried him even with broken English, thinking to make him conceive them easier, so that I laughed to hear them. And before I could get away from the place, come the landlord with a message from certain gentlemen that were wont to spend an hour or two of an evening in the parlour there, asking the favour of my company to drink a bottle of Porto-Porto with ’em; but this I made haste to decline, though with all due civility, saying that I had friends near that ’twas a great concernment to me to see at once. And upon this the landlord, desiring to know who these were, offered to guide me in case I knew not their dwelling; but this also I did refuse, saying to him that I knew my way well.
And thus at last I set out, but found to my surprise that there was so many changes in the town since I had seen it last that I had been well advised to accept of mine host’s offer, for I lost my way in the darkness, and could not find it again. Seeing then an ancient person coming along the street, very reverend in his bearing, and apparelled with an air of great seemliness and prosperity, with his servant carrying a lantern before him, I approached him and asked of him the way to Ellswether, the which he told me very kindly.
“My house lies on that very road, sir,” says he, “and if you’ll give yourself the pains to accompany me thus far, I can direct you from thence with more conveniency than here. Pray, may I ask whether you be charged with any letter or message for the ladies at Ellswether?”
“No letter, sir,” says I, “but a message, maybe.”
“Sir,” says he, looking into my face very hard, “your voice seems known to me, but your features I can’t recall. You will pardon me if I should know you.”
“You may well be pardoned, sir,” says I, “for twenty years’ absence is like to change men beyond recognition.”
“Twenty years?” said he. “Tom, come hither. Sir, pardon my rudeness,” and he took the lantern from the servant’s hand and held it up so as the light thereof fell upon my face. “Why, as I live, ’tis Mr Carlyon! Welcome home, sir; glad I am to be the first to greet your honour in this place.”
“Sure ’tis a happy omen, sir,” says I, “that the first person to greet me should be so tried and faithful a friend as yourself. Pray, how do Mrs Sternhold and your daughters find ’emselves? I trust they are all three in good health?”
“The best of health, sir, I thank you,” said Mr Sternhold, for he it was. “My daughter Sisley is married to Frank Packworth, that your honour was wont to fight with at the Grammar School, but is now my partner, and a very worthy man. Diony dwells still with her mother and me, and is the very light of our eyes.”
“I am rejoiced to hear your good news, sir,” says I. “Pray make my most respectful compliments to the gentlewomen, and assure ’em that I shall find myself impatient until I may be able to renew my acquaintance with ’em.”
“You are very good, sir,” says Mr Sternhold. “May we hope that you are now returned to abide among us as did your honoured father?”
“That is my design,” said I, “though I don’t dare hope to approach my father’s virtues. Will it be surprising to you, sir, to learn that after all my wanderings I am returned to my port of departure, determined to marry my cousin and settle down in my place here?”
“I account, sir, that the question of your honour’s marriage hangs in some slight degree upon Mrs Brandon’s inclinations?” says he, and seemed to hint at something, though what I could not tell.
“Oh, without doubt, sir,” says I, carelessly enough.
“Ah, well,” says Mr Sternhold cautiously, “I can’t pretend to answer for Mrs Brandon’s resentiments,” and with that he stopped, and I could not frame to question him further on the point, though I had fain known whether he sought only to check my too-eager assurance, as had Mr Martin, or whether he did hint obscurely at some actual and apparent rival. But now we were come to Mr Sternhold’s house, and though he would fain have borne me company to the Hall, I would not suffer it, accepting only his proffer of his servant and lantern for to light me thither. And we walking on together—viz., the servant Tom and I—I desired much to question him touching Dorothy, with the view to learn the truth regarding the matter that puzzled me, but refrained, thinking shame to encourage a serving-lad to play the spy on my cousin. Arriving then at the gate, I dismissed him with a present, and went on alone up the fir-walk, remembering how the last time I had rid down it Dorothy had stood and cried to me, saying, “True knight for true lady, Cousin Ned!” With these words of hers in my ears, I rang the bell at the great hall-door, and presently heard the bolts and bars undone within, and an ancient serving-man opened the door a small space, and looked out for to see who was there. And I seeing it to be Miles, that I had known well of old, it was in my mind to play him a trick.