I MAKE MYSELF KNOWN TO LADY BIDDY, WITH DIVERS OTHER MATTERS.
Scarce had this piteous moan passed her tender lips when Rodrigues (as I am told), opening the door, made her a mighty respectful reverence, and, says he—
"Madam, I am delighted you have recovered of your swoon, and I trust you feel no ill-effect of the rough usage we were forced to exercise in bringing you hither."
"Where am I?" cried Lady Biddy, fiercely. "Why have you brought me here?"
"You are on board the Robin Goodfellow," says he, gravely, "or, as my fellows prefer to call it, the Black Death; and I have brought you here because I had not the heart to leave you on the Faithful Friend, to endure the hardships to which her company must be reduced."
"Where is my uncle? Get you hence and bring him to me!" she cries, with the same impetuous fury.
"In anything else I shall obey you punctually," says he; "but it is impossible for me to comply with this demand, for Sir Bartlemy Pengilly is in the ship yonder, which we are leaving behind."
"You gave him your promise that not one of those who were in the roundhouse should be injured in any way if he laid down his arms. It was to save me from the violence of your crew that he submitted himself with the brave men who stood by him."
"Madam, it was to that very end I gave my promise. Undoubtedly, had your uncle stood out, I could not have stayed my company from firing into the roundhouse and putting an end to the obstinate resistance there, notwithstanding you were likely to have fallen a victim with your friends."
"Would to God we had met that fate, rather than trust to your promises, dastard villain!" says she; "for then had there been an honorable end to their woes and mine."
"Patience, patience, lady!" says he, in a tone calculated only to arouse her greater indignation. "You are much too young to die, and too beautiful. Trust me, your fate will be a happier one than you can at present conceive. When your spirits are calmer you will see that this unfortunate business is due to the impetuosity of your uncle, and that I am the best friend you could have found, in the midst of deplorable circumstances. Your uncle fired the first shot, and the first man who fell in the conflict was on board this ship. Could you expect my men to see their innocent comrades slaughtered with indifference, or me to make no effort for their preservation from further mischief? We fought, and having overcome those who would have overcome us, we did all that a magnanimous victor could reasonably afford to do. We forgave those who laid down their arms, and gave them a ship to continue their journey in. I had promised no injury should be inflicted upon you, and for that reason I brought you hither, where, as you see, you will be not ill-lodged, and shall have the best nurture and service the stores and my company can offer. Had I left you on the Faithful Friend your case would have been different, for the vessel is badly injured, and I fear the company will be sorely put to it for provisions, as, to supply our own wants, we were obliged to take from her stores—a poor recompense for the loss and injury inflicted upon us. I have been careful to have your personal effects brought hither for your use; they are here. If anything is short of your requirements, or if—"
"Silence!" cried Lady Biddy, who, turning her back on Rodrigues, had tried to turn a deaf, indifferent ear to his harangue, but was at length by his long-winded perseverance and mock-humility wrought to an intolerable degree of impatience. "Silence!" cries she, turning upon him and stamping her little foot. "Leave me, or, by my soul, I'll put an end to this torment another way," and indeed (as I learn) she did look around in desperation for some instrument wherewith to destroy herself, being very bitterly aggrieved by this hypocrite.
Again this Rodrigues makes her a low reverence, and with his hand on the door says, "I shall hope to find your spirits easier when I next give myself the pleasure to inquire after your condition. I have had refreshment placed in this next cabin, and should you need anything, you have but to pull the bell. And so good-morning to your ladyship."
Lady Biddy gave him no reply, but as soon as he had closed the second door after him—turning the key in the outside, she ran to the bed, and casting herself upon it, gave vent to her feeling in an agony of tears.
And to hear her sobbing above me, yet striving to smother the sound, lest Rodrigues should know that her pride had broken down, would have touched any stony heart. It was so pitiful to my ear that the tears coursed down my own cheeks as I listened.
Thus she sobbed in a great tumult for some while, and then her passion softening into mere maiden's sorrow, she murmured in a low tone, still smothering her sweet voice in the pillow lest it should be heard, and yet not able to keep quite silent either—"Oh, my heart! Oh, my poor heart!" and this she said over and over again—"Oh, my poor heart! Oh, my heart!" with mournful tremor, unable to find other words to express the commotion of her feelings.
Now would I have given anything to be of comfort to her, yet I dared not come forth from where I lay, lest my sudden appearance should move her to cry out with terror ere she discerned who I was, which would have brought Rodrigues back in a twinkling, and ruined all. So I waited patiently awhile, and when she ceased to make moan, and only sobbed at intervals, like a child exhausted with weeping, I began to gently scratch the tick of the bed with my finger-nail, making no more noise than might a mouse nibbling.
Of this she at first took no notice, but anon I observed she smothered a sob, as if to listen with greater attention, and then by the movement above I noticed she had started up as if resting on her elbow; as I still continued the scratching, she presently made a movement of the clothes, as if to frighten the thing away, for the bravest of women do greatly fear a mouse; upon which, ceasing to scrape the tick, I said quickly, in a very low whisper—
"Do not cry out, a friend is here—I, Benet Pengilly!"
Then whipped she off the bed, yet making no sound, and I, putting my hands and feet as I have aforesaid against the wall, pushed myself out from my cramped hiding-place, and got upon my feet before her, raising my finger and casting my eyes about for fear of discovery.
I must have been very villainous and horrid to look upon, my hair untrimmed and hanging about my face in dank wisps clotted with blood from my wound, my clothes in a like pickle, and no cleaner in my flesh than the sea had washed me the day before; but such horrors had she seen that her senses were, as it were, the accustomed to such dreadful images, and she saw me no worse than others, but rather better, for being there a friend where she thought was none but enemies.
Catching the meaning of my gesture, she went quickly to the panel door and spied into the next cabin, whence she came back light of foot, nodding to assure me all was safe. Then she gave me her hand, and I taking no heed whether mine was reasonably clean or proper to hold so dainty, delicate a thing, took it; and to feel those soft, cool fingers clinging tightly to my rough palm, did seem to contract every muscle of my back with physical delight. Also was my heart quickly moved with joy to perceive in her dear eyes—though they were swollen and red with weeping—a bright beam of hope and satisfaction, whilst the corners of her lips curved with a little smile.
Coming quite close to me, she whispered eagerly in my ear—
"You will save me, Benet, won't you? You will be my good friend?"
"Ay," says I as softly as she (if that might be). "With God's help, no harm shall befall you."
On this she presses my hand a little closer, and then goes again to the door, from which she returns with almost a child's glee to tell me all is safe, and to ask by what miracle I came to her succor.
This joy in the midst of such trouble and peril, this kindness to me for whom she had shown little liking hitherto, but rather detestation for the most part, will seem unnatural, as being contrary to the proud, high spirit and independence of Lady Biddy, and so would it have been at any other time; but there is none—be he a man and never so strong—but grief and terrible anxiety will reduce to the unresisting soft temper of a child; so I do think and thus explain this truth. And, indeed, she gave present proof of weakness, for while the smile was yet on her lips, she clasps her hand to her heart and sinks down, sitting on the bed as if she could no longer hold her footing.
Seeing she was faint, I went with all speed and reckless into the next chamber for that refreshment Rodrigues said was set there for her use—than which no madder thing fool ever did, for there were windows opposite the gallery looking on to the deck, and had one been prying there I must have been seen, for all the two curtains were drawn, there being space enough for one to peep through from the outside if he were so minded. But—thanks be to God!—there was no one spying, and so I got the tray of refreshments from the table where it lay and carried it into the next cabin with no mischance.
This tray I set on the bed beside Lady Biddy, and she ate and drank with appetite, poor soul, for all the time they had been shut up in the roundhouse—she, with her uncle, and the poor remnant of his company—not one had broken fast, for there was neither bit nor sup to be got. Which also is a reason for that behavior of Lady Biddy's to which I have spoken as seeming unnatural.
While she satisfied her own cravings she made me eat likewise, whereto I was nowise loth myself, having eaten nothing for many hours but a few paltry raisins.
As she sat on the bed, I knelt on the ground by her feet for my better convenience in eating and also conversing in that low tone to which we were constrained. So as we ate I told her how I had come aboard and hidden myself, with other matters which there is no necessity to repeat; and this I did with reasonable calm, but the abounding joy and gladness of my heart to be there alone with that dear lady, kneeling at her very feet, listening to her whisper, feasting my eyes when hers were on the refreshment and I dared to do so unseen, no pen can describe, as I doubt also no imagination can conceive.
After she had eaten and drunk and would no more, being much refreshed and invigorated, I was for taking the tray back; but here her quick wit appearing where my dullness showed, she pointed out the danger, and taking the tray, carried it herself into the next chamber.
Coming back she seated herself on a settle that ran along one side of the cabin and bidding me sit beside her, asked how I meant to contrive her escape, which indeed would have been a poser for me at another time, but did now to my excited imagination appear the easiest thing in the world. For when one's spirits are filled with joy there seems nothing insurmountable, as, on the other hand, in grief we can see no way out of our trouble.
"Why," says I, "we need not fear but we shall get away safe enough, and shortly too. For, as Rodrigues obligingly told you, the company is short of victuals, and must therefore lose no time in seeking a port where they can refresh with meat and drink; besides that, the ship may need looking to for the damage she has got. And being in a port where there are Christian souls, what is to keep us here?"
"A rascal named Rodrigues," says Lady Biddy very pertinently.
"Pish!" says I. "I have escaped him times enough to know he is a fool, for all his pretense to cleverness. Nay, have I not hid myself under his own cot in broad day? Not dreaming but you are helpless, he will think you sufficiently secured if he locks the door and sets one of his rascals to watch it. But the stern gallery is open, and as I got in so can I get out, with the night to give me help and better security."
"Do you think it will be as easy for me?" asks Lady Biddy doubtfully.
"Ay, I shall make it so, please God," says I. "For in the night that I swim to shore will I bring back a boat, and by a ladder of ropes shall you get down into it."
Lady Biddy here nodded her head in hopeful approval.
"Once on shore we may hide ourselves safely, I do not question, and Rodrigues dare not waste a long time in looking for us, since the necessity that brought him hither will also bring on Sir Bartlemy. Then dare not these rascal pirates stay, lest they bring themselves to their well-earned gallows."
Then again Lady Biddy nodded to show her satisfaction, clasping her little hands at the same time, with a sigh in which all her trouble seemed to be wafted away. But in this moment of our confidence on future escape were we brought to consciousness of our present peril by the sudden opening of the door in the further chamber.
Together we started to our feet, and my first thought was to fetch the jack-knife from my pocket, but Lady Biddy, with that self-command which does animate women above men in the hour of danger to do the right thing and not the foolish one, quickly laid her hand on my arm to keep me still, and putting on as stern an air as any tragic player, went to the little betwixt door to ask Rodrigues why he dared disturb her.
But no Rodrigues was there; for it was only the little blackguard boy he had sent in to know if madam would take a dish of chocolate.
When she had dismissed him, saying she needed no more today (it being now pretty nigh sundown, for I have bridged over many things), but would have her breakfast brought the next morning at seven, she came back to me, and we continued to talk of our escape, like any children of air-castles, till the light faded.
And then with some trouble I began to see that I must presently go out of that chamber; and also I think Lady Biddy grew uneasy as to how I might conduct myself in the darkness of night, and she, so to speak, at my mercy.
Again the outer door opened; and this time the boy came to light the hanging lantern. She left the between door open when the lamp was lit and the boy again gone, and by a more cheerful bearing seemed to feel more security for this light.
"Presently," says I, "you will go in and put out that lamp."
"Why? Is it not more cheerful to have a light?" says she.
"Yes," says I, "but with that light burning I dare not go through the next cabin."
"Through it!" says she, in wonder, and yet with a little fear in her tone; "whither are you going?"
"Out on the gallery," says I, "where I shall sleep very safely till the morning."
This would she not hear of, but would have me lie in her room while she reposed on the sofett in the next; that would I not allow, and so at length we compromised it in this wise: she kept her own chamber after putting out the lamp, and I, having bolted the door in the outer cabin, lay myself on the cushions, she giving me her cloak that I might wrap it about me and so seem to be she if by accident she so overslept herself that she could not admit me to the inner chamber before daybreak.
And so with the cloak that she had worn on her dear body pressed to my lips, I fell asleep that night a happier man than ever before I had been in all my life.
CHAPTER XX.
BY GOOD HAP I DISCOVER A FRESH PIECE OF VILLAINY.
I say I fell asleep the happiest of men, with sweet, delightful thoughts of that dear creature who lay separated from me but by the thickness of a few paneled boards; yet were my senses not so completely lulled to forgetfulness but that they were quick to take alarm at that which menaced her security, for suddenly I awoke, hearing a sound at that door which opened to the deck which I had, as aforesaid, made fast on the inner side.
Sitting bolt upright I could see naught, for the darkness was impenetrable; but it was enough that I had ears to know some one was trying the door. Slowly I heard the latch grating as it was lifted in the catch, and then the door creak as it was pressed from without; but, thanks be to God, the bolt held firm. There was no light on the deck, or I should have caught some glimmer through the silk blinds of the windows; I could see no more than if I had been stone blind. And the only other sound I heard was a sweeping down of rain upon the deck overhead. Presently the latch fell again, as my strained hearing could well perceive, and then there was a pause of some minutes, when again the latch was lifted slowly, and the door gave a smart crack under the pressure against it.
At the first sound I had started to my feet and opened my jack-knife; and thus I stood all the while this attempt was making, with my hair on end and my tongue cleaving to my gullet in a terrible fear, not of the mischief that might befall me, but that in such darkness I might fail to kill him who would harm Lady Biddy.
The latch fell for the second time, and there was no further attempt to open the door, but for a long while I stood there with my knife clenched in my hand.
When I came to reason on this attempt, I concluded that Rodrigues had no hand in it, for it was not his manner to go that way to work, but rather some villain of his crew; whosoever it was, that bolt saved his life for the time, for I do believe that had he been powerful as Hercules, I should have rent him to pieces before he set foot in the chamber where Lady Biddy lay.
I slept no more that night, you may be sure, nor did I deem it safe to put up my knife until the windows in the gallery becoming faintly visible showed that day was at hand. And now, feeling there was no further danger for the present, I opened the little gallery door, and creeping out into the rain, made a shift to cleanse myself somewhat, and set my hair in order, using my fingers for a comb.
By the time this was done, and I had gone back into the cabin, and got my coat, etc., our common safety demanded that I should arouse Lady Biddy, which I did by scratching gently against the partition as we had arranged overnight, and she replied by scratching the wainscot on her side. When she was dressed she came out from her room, and I saw the upper part of her graceful figure and her small head, revealed against the light, now pretty well advanced, on the gallery windows. Then stooping low that I might not likewise be revealed to any one peering through the fore windows, I crept into the cabin she had left, which, to my senses, was like any flower-garden with the fresh perfume of her breath.
Anon she came back to that chamber, and giving me her hand told me (to my questioning) that she had slept well; and I told her nothing of what had happened in the night, that no trouble should disturb her repose if it pleased Providence to keep us prisoners there another night.
Then we fell to discoursing (very low) as to our conduct during the day. With reluctance I advised her to keep in the outer chamber, that Rodrigues might suspect nothing, owning that for our deliverance I saw no better help than to be guided by circumstances as they arose.
She made no objection to this counsel. "But," says she, "What shall I do if that villain comes to me?" (meaning Rodrigues.)
To this I replied (though it went against the grain), that whilst he behaved civilly she would do well to tolerate his visits and listen to what he said. "For," says I, "though you hold the door, and exclude him for a minute, he can, if he will, burst it open, and by thus bringing about one act of violence may you lead to another. To force we can only oppose force, and his power is out of all proportion to ours; wherefore it behoves us to use such strategy as we may, for only thus can we live to take advantage of a better opportunity."
"You are right," says she, with such submissiveness in her voice as I had never expected to hear. "I will do as you bid me. But should he overstep the bounds of civility?"
"Then," says I, grinding my teeth, "be sure that, whatever may afterwards befall, he shall die."
Soon after this the boy raps at the outer door, and brings in Lady Biddy's breakfast. Having set it on the table and placed a chair for her very orderly, he moves as if he would go into the inner cabin, when Lady Biddy, catching him quickly by the arm, cries:
"Where are you going, child? What do you want in there?"
"Why, madam," says he, "I am but going to make your bed, and set your cabin in order, as my master bade me."
"Nay," says she, "I can do all there is to be done myself."
With that she leads the boy to the door and sends him away; so was I again saved from discovery.
To make sure that no one was watching her, Lady Biddy pulled up the blinds in the fore windows, and finding she was unobserved, this kind soul, even before she tasted a morsel herself, whips a portion of her victuals into a dish and brings it to me for my comfort, and sure no food was ever so seasoned to excite the appetite as this to which her kindness gave its savor.
As she brought the dish to me, so she took it away, and at the same time a book from the store of her goods which Rodrigues had caused to be brought into the cabin.
Seating herself on the sofett, she disposed herself to read, yet with little ability to distract her thoughts, for every moment she expected to see Rodrigues; and while she was thus employed, the boy comes to take away the dishes, etc., and this being done and the crumbs swept up, he again crosses towards the inner cabin. Whereupon, in a terrible taking, Lady Biddy, starting up once more, checks him—
"Why will you persever in entering my chamber?" cries she, "when I tell you I will do all that is necessary there?"
"'Tis no fault of mine," says the child. "My master told me to fetch some clothes of his from the chest, and I must do his bidding."
"Tell me what you need and I will get it," says Lady Biddy, going to the betwixt door; and then seeing at a glance that I had concealed myself, she adds, in a tone of indifference, "Nay, fetch them yourself," and so goes back with her book to the sofett.
I had crept to my old hiding-place under the cot when the boy first came into the next cabin, for fear of accident, and now, as I lay there, I could see all that he did. First of all, he went to the chest and duly laid out a suit of clothes; then taking a quick glance through the half-open door to make sure Lady Biddy was not observing him, he turns about, and going to one corner of the cabin, strips up the carpet, does something to the boards (which I could not see for my position), and then as swiftly turns back the carpet to its place. This done, the little villain shuts to the drawer of the chest with a bang, and goes out of the room with the clothes in his arms, as if that had been all his errand.
I lost no time in creeping out and crossing to that corner of the cabin to see what that boy had been about; and, at a glance, I perceived the whole business as I turned back the carpet. Here, in the boards, was a hinged hatch or trap door with a ring whereby to raise it, and a bolt to make it secure—ring, bolt, and hinge being sunk in the boards, flush, and neatly done as any joiner's work. The bolt was slipped back so that the trap could be opened from below, and I doubted not that this had been the work of that little villain boy. Moreover, as I had concluded that he who tried the door in the night was not Rodrigues, so I surmised that this undoing of the hatch was not of his ordering (since there was no reason for his going about in this fashion), but rather the independent measures of the boy to get into the cabin for pilfering purposes, or of some one of the crew who had won over the boy to his will for more villainous purpose. For the present I contented myself with shooting back the bolt, returning the carpet to its place, and getting back to my hiding-place under the cot.