CHAPTER XXXII
THE MORNING AFTER A FALL—THE TEAPOT—UNPRETENDING HOSPITALITY—THE CHINESE STUDENT
It might be about eight o’clock in the morning when I was awakened by the entrance of the old man. ‘How have you rested?’ said he, coming up to the bedside, and looking me in the face. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘and I feel much better, but I am still very sore.’ I surveyed him now for the first time with attention. He was dressed in a sober-coloured suit, and was apparently between sixty and seventy. In stature he was rather above the middle height, but with a slight stoop, his features were placid, and expressive of much benevolence, but, as it appeared to me, with rather a melancholy cast—as I gazed upon them, I felt ashamed that I should ever have conceived in my brain a vision like that of the preceding night, in which he appeared in so disadvantageous a light. At length he said, ‘It is now time for you to take some refreshment. I hear my old servant coming up with your breakfast.’ In a moment the elderly female entered with a tray, on which was some bread and butter, a teapot and cup. The cup was of common blue earthenware, but the pot was of china, curiously fashioned, and seemingly of great antiquity. The old man poured me out a cupful of tea, and then, with the assistance of the woman, raised me higher, and propped me up with pillows. I ate and drank; when the pot was emptied of its liquid (it did not contain much), I raised it up with my left hand to inspect it. The sides were covered with curious characters, seemingly hieroglyphics. After surveying them for some time, I replaced it upon the tray. ‘You seem fond of china,’ said I to the old man, after the servant had retired
with the breakfast things, and I had returned to my former posture; ‘you have china on the mantelpiece, and that was a remarkable teapot out of which I have just been drinking.’
The old man fixed his eyes intently on me, and methought the expression of his countenance became yet more melancholy. ‘Yes,’ said he, at last, ‘I am fond of china—I have reason to be fond of china—but for china I should—’ and here he sighed again.
‘You value it for the quaintness and singularity of its form,’ said I; ‘it appears to be less adapted for real use than our own pottery.’
‘I care little about its form,’ said the old man; ‘I care for it simply on account of—However, why talk to you on a subject which can have no possible interest for you? I expect the surgeon here presently.’
‘I do not like that surgeon at all,’ said I. ‘How strangely he behaved last night, coming back, when I was just falling asleep, to ask me if I would sell my horse.’
The old man smiled. ‘He has but one failing,’ said he, ‘an itch for horse-dealing; but for that he might be a much richer man than he is; he is continually buying and exchanging horses, and generally finds himself a loser by his bargains: but he is a worthy creature, and skilful in his profession—it is well for you that you are under his care.’
The old man then left me, and in about an hour returned with the surgeon, who examined me and reported favourably as to my case. He spoke to me with kindness and feeling, and did not introduce the subject of the horse. I asked him whether he thought I should be in time for the fair. ‘I saw some people making their way thither to-day,’ said he; ‘the fair lasts three weeks, and it has just commenced. Yes, I think I may promise you that you will be in time for the very heat of it. In a few days you will be able to mount your saddle with your arm in a sling, but you must by no means appear with your arm in a sling at Horncastle, as people would think your horse had flung you, and that you wanted to dispose of him because he was a vicious brute. You must, by all means, drop the sling before you get to Horncastle.’
For three days I kept my apartment by the advice of the surgeon. I passed my time as I best could. Stretched on my bed, I either abandoned myself to reflection, or
listened to the voices of the birds in the neighbouring garden. Sometimes, as I lay awake at night, I would endeavour to catch the tick of a clock, which methought sounded from some distant part of the house.
The old man visited me twice or thrice every day to inquire into my state. His words were few on these occasions, and he did not stay long. Yet his voice and his words were kind. What surprised me most in connection with this individual was, the delicacy of conduct which he exhibited in not letting a word proceed from his lips which could testify curiosity respecting who I was, or whence I came. All he knew of me was, that I had been flung from my horse on my way to a fair for the purpose of disposing of the animal; and that I was now his guest. I might be a common horse-dealer for what he knew, yet I was treated by him with all the attention which I could have expected had I been an alderman of Boston’s heir, and known to him as such. The county in which I am now, thought I at last, must be either extraordinarily devoted to hospitality, or this old host of mine must be an extraordinary individual. On the evening of the fourth day, feeling tired of my confinement, I put my clothes on in the best manner I could, and left the chamber. Descending a flight of stairs, I reached a kind of quadrangle, from which branched two or three passages; one of these I entered, which had a door at the farther end, and one on each side; the one to the left standing partly open, I entered it, and found myself in a middle-sized room with a large window, or rather glass-door, which looked into a garden, and which stood open. There was nothing remarkable in this room, except a large quantity of china. There was china on the mantelpiece—china on two tables, and a small beaufet, which stood opposite the glass-door, was covered with china—there were cups, teapots, and vases of various forms, and on all of them I observed characters—not a teapot, not a teacup, not a vase of whatever form or size, but appeared to possess hieroglyphics on some part or other. After surveying these articles for some time with no little interest, I passed into the garden, in which there were small parterres of flowers, and two or three trees, and which, where the house did not abut, was bounded by a wall. Turning to the right by a walk by the side of the house, I passed by a door—probably the one I had seen at the
end of the passage—and arrived at another window similar to that through which I had come, and which also stood open. I was about to pass by it, when I heard the voice of my entertainer exclaiming, ‘Is that you? Pray come in.’
I entered the room, which seemed to be a counterpart of the one which I had just left. It was of the same size, had the same kind of furniture, and appeared to be equally well stocked with china; one prominent article it possessed, however, which the other room did not exhibit—namely, a clock, which, with its pendulum moving tick-a-tick, hung against the wall opposite to the door, the sight of which made me conclude that the sound which methought I had heard in the stillness of the night was not an imaginary one. There it hung on the wall, with its pendulum moving tick-a-tick. The old gentleman was seated in an easy chair a little way into the room, having the glass door on his right hand. On a table before him lay a large open volume, in which I observed Roman letters as well as characters. A few inches beyond the book on the table, covered all over with hieroglyphics, stood a china vase. The eyes of the old man were fixed upon it.
‘Sit down,’ said he, motioning me with his hand to a stool close by, but without taking his eyes from the vase. ‘I can’t make it out,’ said he, at last, removing his eyes from the vase, and leaning back on the chair—‘I can’t make it out.’
‘I wish I could assist you,’ said I.
‘Assist me,’ said the old man, looking at me, with a half smile.
‘Yes,’ said I, ‘but I don’t understand Chinese.’
‘I suppose not,’ said the old man, with another slight smile; ‘but—but—’
‘Pray proceed,’ said I.
‘I wished to ask you,’ said the old man, ‘how you knew that the characters on yon piece of crockery were Chinese; or, indeed, that there was such a language?’
‘I knew the crockery was china,’ said I, ‘and naturally enough supposed what was written upon it to be Chinese; as for there being such a language—the English have a language, the French have a language, and why not the Chinese?’
‘May I ask you a question?’
‘Do you know any language besides English?’
‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I know a little of two or three.’
‘May I ask their names?’
‘Why not?’ said I. ‘I know a little French.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes, a little Welsh, and a little Haik.’
‘What is Haik?’
‘Armenian.’
‘I am glad to see you in my house,’ said the old man, shaking me by the hand; ‘how singular that one coming as you did should know Armenian!’
‘Not more singular,’ said I, ‘than that one living in such a place as this should know Chinese. How came you to acquire it?’
The old man looked at me, and sighed. ‘I beg pardon,’ said I, ‘for asking what is, perhaps, an impertinent question; I have not imitated your own delicacy; you have never asked me a question without first desiring permission, and here I have been days and nights in your house an intruder on your hospitality, and you have never so much as asked me who I am.’
‘In forbearing to do that,’ said the old man, ‘I merely obeyed the Chinese precept: “Ask no questions of a guest;” it is written on both sides of the teapot out of which you have had your tea.’
‘I wish I knew Chinese,’ said I. ‘Is it a difficult language to acquire?’
‘I have reason to think so,’ said the old man. ‘I have been occupied upon it five-and-thirty years, and I am still very imperfectly acquainted with it; at least, I frequently find upon my crockery sentences the meaning of which to me is very dark, though it is true these sentences are mostly verses, which are, of course, more difficult to understand than mere prose.’
‘Are your Chinese studies,’ said I, ‘confined to crockery literature?’
‘Entirely,’ said the old man; ‘I read nothing else.’
‘I have heard,’ said I, ‘that the Chinese have no letters, but that for every word they have a separate character—is it so?’
‘For every word they have a particular character,’ said the old man; ‘though, to prevent confusion, they have arranged their words under two hundred and fourteen
what we should call radicals, but which they call keys. As we arrange all our words in a dictionary under twenty-four letters, so do they arrange all their words, or characters, under two hundred and fourteen radical signs; the simplest radicals being the first and the more complex the last.’
‘Does the Chinese resemble any of the European languages in words?’ said I.
‘I am scarcely competent to inform you,’ said the old man; ‘but I believe not.’
‘What does that character represent?’ said I, pointing to one on the vase.
‘A knife,’ said the old man; ‘that character is one of the simplest radicals or keys.’
‘And what is the sound of it?’ said I.
‘Tau,’ said the old man.
‘Tau!’ said I—‘tau!’
‘A strange word for a knife! is it not?’ said the old man.
‘Tawse!’ said I—‘tawse!’
‘What is tawse?’ said the old man.
‘You were never at school at Edinburgh, I suppose?’
‘Never,’ said the old man.
‘That accounts for your not knowing the meaning of tawse,’ said I; ‘had you received the rudiments of a classical education at the High School, you would have known the meaning of tawse full well. It is a leathern thong, with which refractory urchins are recalled to a sense of their duty by the dominie. Tau—tawse—how singular!’
‘I cannot see what the two words have in common, except a slight agreement in sound.’
‘You will see the connection,’ said I, ‘when I inform you that the thong, from the middle to the bottom, is cut or slit into two or three parts, from which slits or cuts, unless I am very much mistaken, it derives its name—tawse, a thong with slits or cuts, used for chastising disorderly urchins at the High School, from the French tailler, to cut; evidently connected with the Chinese tau, a knife—how very extraordinary!’
CHAPTER XXXIII
CONVALESCENCE—THE SURGEON’S BILL—LETTER OF RECOMMENDATION—COMMENCEMENT OF THE OLD MAN’S HISTORY
Two days—three days passed away—and I still remained at the house of my hospitable entertainer: my bruised limb rapidly recovering the power of performing its functions. I passed my time agreeably enough, sometimes in my chamber, communing with my own thoughts; sometimes in the stable, attending to, and not unfrequently conversing with, my horse; and at mealtime—for I seldom saw him at any other—discoursing with the old gentleman, sometimes on the Chinese vocabulary, sometimes on Chinese syntax, and once or twice on English horseflesh; though on this latter subject, notwithstanding his descent from a race of horse traders, he did not enter with much alacrity. As a small requital for his kindness, I gave him one day, after dinner, unasked, a brief account of my history and pursuits. He listened with attention; and when it was concluded, thanked me for the confidence which I had reposed in him. ‘Such conduct,’ said he, ‘deserves a return. I will tell you my own history: it is brief, but may perhaps not prove uninteresting to you—though the relation of it will give me some pain.’ ‘Pray, then, do not recite it,’ said I. ‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘I will tell you, for I wish you to know it.’ He was about to begin when he was interrupted by the arrival of the surgeon. The surgeon examined into the state of my bruised limb, and told me, what indeed I already well knew, that it was rapidly improving. ‘You will not even require a sling,’ said he, ‘to ride to Horncastle. When do you propose going?’ he demanded. ‘When do you think I may venture?’ I replied. ‘I think, if you are a tolerably good horseman, you may mount the day after to-morrow,’ answered the medical man. ‘By-the-by, are you acquainted with anybody at Horncastle?’ ‘With no living soul,’ I answered. ‘Then you would scarcely find stable room for your horse. But I am happy to be able to assist you. I have a friend there who keeps a small inn, and who, during the time of the fair, keeps a stall vacant for any quadruped I may bring, until he
knows whether I am coming or not. I will give you a letter to him, and he will see after the accommodation of your horse. To-morrow I will pay you a farewell visit, and bring you the letter.’ ‘Thank you,’ said I; ‘and do not forget to bring your bill.’ The surgeon looked at the old man, who gave him a peculiar nod. ‘Oh!’ said he, in reply to me, ‘for the little service I have rendered you I require no remuneration. You are in my friend’s house, and he and I understand each other.’ ‘I never receive such favours,’ said I, ‘as you have rendered me, without remunerating them; therefore I shall expect your bill.’ ‘Oh! just as you please,’ said the surgeon; and, shaking me by the hand more warmly than he had hitherto done, he took his leave.
On the evening of the next day, the last which I spent with my kind entertainer, I sat at tea with him in a little summer-house in his garden, partially shaded by the boughs of a large fig-tree. The surgeon had shortly before paid me his farewell visit, and had brought me the letter of introduction to his friend at Horncastle, and also his bill, which I found anything but extravagant. After we had each respectively drank the contents of two cups—and it may not be amiss here to inform the reader that though I took cream with my tea, as I always do when I can procure that addition, the old man, like most people bred up in the country drank his without it—he thus addressed me: ‘I am, as I told you on the night of your accident, the son of a breeder of horses, a respectable and honest man. When I was about twenty he died, leaving me, his only child, a comfortable property, consisting of about two hundred acres of land and some fifteen hundred pounds in money. My mother had died about three years previously. I felt the death of my mother keenly, but that of my father less than was my duty; indeed, truth compels me to acknowledge that I scarcely regretted his death. The cause of this want of proper filial feeling was the opposition which I had experienced from him in an affair which deeply concerned me. I had formed an attachment for a young female in the neighbourhood, who, though poor, was of highly respectable birth, her father having been a curate of the Established Church. She was, at the time of which I am speaking, an orphan, having lost both her parents, and supported herself by keeping a small school. My attachment was returned,
and we had pledged our vows, but my father, who could not reconcile himself to her lack of fortune, forbade our marriage in the most positive terms. He was wrong, for she was a fortune in herself—amiable and accomplished. Oh! I cannot tell you all she was’—and here the old man drew his hand across his eyes. ‘By the death of my father, the only obstacle to our happiness appeared to be removed. We agreed, therefore, that our marriage should take place within the course of a year; and I forthwith commenced enlarging my house and getting my affairs in order. Having been left in the easy circumstances which I have described, I determined to follow no business, but to pass my life in a strictly domestic manner, and to be very, very happy. Amongst other property derived from my father were several horses, which I disposed of in this neighbourhood, with the exception of two remarkably fine ones, which I determined to take to the next fair at Horncastle, the only place where I expected to be able to obtain what I considered to be their full value. At length the time arrived for the commencement of the fair, which was within three months of the period which my beloved and myself had fixed upon for the celebration of our nuptials. To the fair I went, a couple of trusty men following me with the horses. I soon found a purchaser for the animals, a portly, plausible person [199] of about forty, dressed in a blue riding coat, brown top boots, and leather breeches. There was a strange-looking urchin with him, attired in nearly similar fashion, with a beam in one of his eyes, who called him father. The man paid me for the purchase in bank-notes—three fifty-pound notes for the two horses. As we were about to take leave of each other, he suddenly produced another fifty-pound note, inquiring whether I could change it, complaining at the same time of the difficulty of procuring change in the fair. As I happened to have plenty of small money in my possession, and as I felt obliged to him for having purchased my horses at what I considered to be a good price, I informed him that I should be very happy to accommodate him; so I changed him the note, and he, having taken possession of the horses, went his way, and I myself returned home.
‘A month passed; during this time I paid away two of
the notes which I had received at Horncastle from the dealer—one of them in my immediate neighbourhood, and the other at a town about fifteen miles distant, to which I had repaired for the purpose of purchasing some furniture. All things seemed to be going on most prosperously, and I felt quite happy, when one morning, as I was overlooking some workmen who were employed about my house, I was accosted by a constable, who informed me that he was sent to request my immediate appearance before a neighbouring bench of magistrates. Concluding that I was merely summoned on some unimportant business connected with the neighbourhood, I felt no surprise, and forthwith departed in company with the officer. The demeanour of the man upon the way struck me as somewhat singular. I had frequently spoken to him before, and had always found him civil and respectful, but he was now reserved and sullen, and replied to two or three questions which I put to him in anything but a courteous manner. On arriving at the place where the magistrates were sitting—an inn at a small town about two miles distant—I found a more than usual number of people assembled, who appeared to be conversing with considerable eagerness. At sight of me they became silent, but crowded after me as I followed the man into the magistrates’ room. There I found the tradesman to whom I had paid the note for the furniture, at the town fifteen miles off, in attendance, accompanied by an agent of the Bank of England; the former, it seems, had paid the note into a provincial bank, the proprietors of which, discovering it to be a forgery, had forthwith written up to the Bank of England, who had sent down their agent to investigate the matter. A third individual stood beside them—the person in my own immediate neighbourhood to whom I had paid the second note; this, by some means or other, before the coming down of the agent, had found its way to the same provincial bank, and also being pronounced a forgery, it had speedily been traced to the person to whom I had paid it. It was owing to the apparition of this second note that the agent had determined, without further inquiry, to cause me to be summoned before the rural tribunal.
‘In a few words the magistrates’ clerk gave me to understand the state of the case. I was filled with surprise and consternation. I knew myself to be perfectly
innocent of any fraudulent intention, but at the time of which I am speaking it was a matter fraught with the greatest danger to be mixed up, however innocently, with the passing of false money. The law with respect to forgery was terribly severe, and the innocent as well as the guily occasionally suffered. Of this I was not altogether ignorant; unfortunately, however, in my transactions with the stranger, the idea of false notes being offered to me, and my being brought into trouble by means of them, never entered my mind. Recovering myself a little, I stated that the notes in question were two of three notes which I had received at Horncastle, for a pair of horses, which it was well known I had carried thither.
‘Thereupon, I produced from my pocket-book the third note, which was forthwith pronounced a forgery. I had scarcely produced the third note, when I remembered the one which I had changed for the Horncastle dealer, and with the remembrance came the almost certain conviction that it was also a forgery; I was tempted for a moment to produce it, and to explain the circumstances—would to God I had done so!—but shame at the idea of having been so wretchedly duped prevented me, and the opportunity was lost. I must confess that the agent of the bank behaved, upon the whole, in a very handsome manner; he said that as it was quite evident that I had disposed of certain horses at the fair, it was very possible that I might have received the notes in question in exchange for them, and that he was willing, as he had received a very excellent account of my general conduct, to press the matter no farther—that is, provided—. And here he stopped. Thereupon, one of the three magistrates, who were present, asked me whether I chanced to have any more of these spurious notes in my possession. He had certainly a right to ask the question, but there was something peculiar in his tone—insinuating suspicion. It is certainly difficult to judge of the motives which rule a person’s conduct, but I cannot help imagining that he was somewhat influenced in his behaviour on that occasion, which was anything but friendly, by my having refused to sell him the horses at a price less than that which I expected to get at the fair; be this as it may, the question filled me with embarrassment, and I bitterly repented not having at first been more explicit. Thereupon
the magistrate, in the same kind of tone, demanded to see my pocket-book. I knew that to demur would be useless, and produced it, and forthwith amongst two or three small country notes, appeared the fourth which I had received from the Horncastle dealer. The agent, took it up and examined it with attention. “Well, is it a genuine note,” said the magistrate? “I am sorry to say that it is not,” said the agent; “it is a forgery, like the other three.” The magistrate shrugged his shoulders, as indeed did several people in the room. “A regular dealer in forged notes,” said a person close behind me; “who would have thought it?”
‘Seeing matters begin to look so serious, I aroused myself, and endeavoured to speak in my own behalf, giving a candid account of the manner in which I became possessed of the notes; but my explanation did not appear to meet much credit: the magistrate, to whom I have in particular alluded, asked, why I had not at once stated the fact of my having received a fourth note; and the agent, though in a very quiet tone, observed that he could not help thinking it somewhat strange that I should have changed a note of so much value for a perfect stranger, even supposing that he had purchased my horses, and had paid me their value in hard cash; and I noticed that he laid a particular emphasis on the last words. I might have observed that I was an inexperienced young man, who meaning no harm myself, suspected none in others, but I was confused, stunned, and my tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth. The men who had taken my horses to Horncastle, and for whom I had sent, as they lived close at hand, now arrived, but the evidence which they could give was anything but conclusive in my favour; they had seen me in company with an individual at Horncastle, to whom by my orders they had delivered certain horses, but they had seen no part of the money transaction; the fellow, whether from design or not, having taken me aside into a retired place, where he had paid me the three spurious notes, and induced me to change the fourth, which throughout the affair was what bore most materially against me. How matters might have terminated I do not know, I might have been committed to prison, and I might have been—. Just then, when I most needed a friend, and least expected to find one, for though amongst those
present there were several who were my neighbours, and who had professed friendship for me, none of them when they saw that I needed support and encouragement came forward to yield me any, but, on the contrary, appeared by their looks to enjoy my terror and confusion—just then a friend entered the room in the person of the surgeon of the neighbourhood, the father of him who has attended you; he was not on very intimate terms with me, but he had occasionally spoken to me, and had attended my father in his dying illness, and chancing to hear that I was in trouble, he now hastened to assist me. After a short preamble, in which he apologized to the bench for interfering, he begged to be informed of the state of the case, whereupon the matter was laid before him in all its details. He was not slow in taking a fair view of it, and spoke well and eloquently in my behalf—insisting on the improbability that a person of my habits and position would be wilfully mixed up with a transaction like that of which it appeared I was suspected—adding, that as he was fully convinced of my innocence, he was ready to enter into any surety with respect to my appearance at any time to answer anything which might be laid to my charge. This last observation had particular effect, and as he was a person universally respected, both for his skill in his profession and his general demeanour, people began to think that a person in whom he took an interest could scarcely be concerned in anything criminal, and though my friend the magistrate—I call him so ironically—made two or three demurs, it was at last agreed between him and his brethren of the bench, that, for the present, I should be merely called upon to enter into my own recognizance for the sum of two hundred pounds, to appear whenever it should be deemed requisite to enter into any farther investigation of the matter.
‘So I was permitted to depart from the tribunal of petty justice without handcuffs, and uncollared by a constable; but people looked coldly and suspiciously upon me. The first thing I did was to hasten to the house of my beloved, in order to inform her of every circumstance attending the transaction. I found her, but how? A malicious female individual had hurried to her with a distorted tale, to the effect that I had been taken up as an utterer of forged notes; that an immense number had been found in my possession; that I was already committed,
and that probably I should be executed. My affianced one tenderly loved me, and her constitution was delicate; fit succeeded fit, she broke a blood-vessel, and I found her deluged in blood; the surgeon had just been sent for; he came and afforded her every possible relief. I was distracted; he bade me have hope, but I observed he looked very grave.
‘By the skill of the surgeon, the poor girl was saved in the first instance from the arms of death, and for a few weeks she appeared to be rapidly recovering; by degrees, however, she became melancholy; a worm preyed upon her spirit; a slow fever took possession of her frame. I subsequently learned that the same malicious female, who had first carried to her an exaggerated account of the affair, and who was a distant relative of her own, frequently visited her, and did all in her power to excite her fears with respect to its eventual termination. Time passed on in a very wretched manner. Our friend the surgeon showing to us both every mark of kindness and attention.
‘It was owing to this excellent man that my innocence was eventually established. Having been called to a town on the borders of Yorkshire to a medical consultation, he chanced to be taking a glass of wine with the landlord of the inn at which he stopped, when the waiter brought in a note to be changed, saying, “That the Quaker gentleman who had been for some days in the house, and was about to depart, had sent it to be changed, in order that he might pay his bill.” The landlord took the note and looked at it. “A fifty-pound bill,” said he; “I don’t like changing bills of that amount, lest they should prove bad ones; however, as it comes from a Quaker gentleman, I suppose it is all right.” The mention of a fifty-pound note aroused the attention of my friend, and he requested to be permitted to look at it; he had scarcely seen it, when he was convinced that it was one of the same description as those which had brought me into trouble, as it corresponded with them in two particular features, which the agent of the bank had pointed out to him and others as evidence of their spuriousness. My friend, without a moment’s hesitation, informed the landlord that the note was a bad one, expressing at the time a great wish to see the Quaker gentleman who wanted to have it changed. “That you can easily do,” said the
landlord, and forthwith conducted him into the common room, where he saw a respectable-looking man, dressed like a Quaker, and seemingly about sixty years of age.
‘My friend, after a short apology, showed him the note which he held in his hand, stating that he had no doubt it was a spurious one, and begged to be informed where he had taken it, adding, that a particular friend of his was at present in trouble, owing to his having taken similar notes from a stranger at Horncastle; but that he hoped that he, the Quaker, could give information, by means of which the guilty party, or parties, could be arrested. At the mention of Horncastle, it appeared to my friend that the Quaker gave a slight start. At the conclusion of this speech, however, he answered, with great tranquillity, that he had received it in the way of business at ---, naming one of the principal towns in Yorkshire, from a very respectable person, whose name he was perfectly willing to communicate, and likewise his own, which he said was James, and that he was a merchant residing at Liverpool; that he would write to his friend at ---, requesting him to make inquiries on the subject; that just at that moment he was in a hurry to depart, having some particular business at a town about ten miles off, to go to which he had bespoken a post-chaise of the landlord; that with respect to the note, it was doubtless a very disagreeable thing to have a suspicious one in his possession, but that it would make little difference to him, as he had plenty of other money, and thereupon he pulled out a purse, containing various other notes, and some gold, observing, “that his only motive for wishing to change the other note was a desire to be well provided with change;” and finally, that if they had any suspicion with respect to him, he was perfectly willing to leave the note in their possession till he should return, which he intended to do in about a fortnight. There was so much plausibility in the speech of the Quaker, and his appearance and behaviour were so perfectly respectable, that my friend felt almost ashamed of the suspicion which at first he had entertained of him, though, at the same time, he felt an unaccountable unwillingness to let the man depart without some farther interrogation. The landlord, however, who did not wish to disoblige one who had been, and might probably be again, a profitable customer, declared that he was perfectly satisfied; that he had no wish to detain the note, which he made no doubt the gentleman had received in the way of business, and that as the matter concerned him alone, he would leave it to him to make the necessary inquiries. “Just as you please, friend,” said the Quaker, pocketing the suspicious note, “I will now pay my bill.” Thereupon he discharged the bill with a five-pound note, which he begged the landlord to inspect carefully, and with two pieces of gold.
‘The landlord had just taken the money, receipted the bill, and was bowing to his customer, when the door opened, and a lad, dressed in a kind of grey livery, appeared, and informed the Quaker that the chaise was ready. “Is that boy your servant?” asked the surgeon. “He is, friend,” said the Quaker. “Hast thou any reason for asking me that question?” “And has he been long in your service?” “Several years,” replied the Quaker. “I took him into my house out of compassion, he being an orphan, but as the chaise is waiting, I will bid thee farewell.” “I am afraid I must stop your journey for the present,” said the surgeon; “that boy has exactly the same blemish in the eye which a boy had who was in company with the man at Horncastle, from whom my friend received the forged notes, and who there passed for his son.” “I know nothing about that,” said the Quaker, “but I am determined to be detained here no longer, after the satisfactory account which I have given as to the note’s coming into my possession.” He then attempted to leave the room, but my friend detained him, a struggle ensued, during which a wig which the Quaker wore fell off, whereupon he instantly appeared to lose some twenty years of his age. “Knock the fellow down, father,” said the boy, “I’ll help you.”
‘And, forsooth, the pretended Quaker took the boy’s advice, and knocked my friend down in a twinkling. The landlord, however, and waiter, seeing how matters stood, instantly laid hold of him; but there can be no doubt that he would have escaped from the whole three had not certain guests who were in the house, hearing the noise, rushed in, and helped to secure him. The boy was true to his word, assisting him to the best of his ability, flinging himself between the legs of his father’s assailants, causing several of them to stumble and fall. At length, the fellow was secured, and led before a magistrate; the boy, to whom he was heard to say something which
nobody understood, and to whom, after the man’s capture, no one paid much attention, was no more seen.
‘The rest, as far as this man was concerned, may be told in a few words; nothing to criminate him was found on his person, but on his baggage being examined, a quantity of spurious notes were discovered. Much of his hardihood now forsook him, and in the hope of saving his life he made some very important disclosures; amongst other things, he confessed that it was he who had given me the notes in exchange for the horses, and also the note to be changed. He was subsequently tried on two indictments, in the second of which I appeared against him. He was condemned to die; but, in consideration of the disclosures he had made, his sentence was commuted to perpetual transportation.
‘My innocence was thus perfectly established before the eyes of the world, and all my friends hastened to congratulate me. There was one who congratulated me more than all the rest—it was my beloved one, but—but—she was dying—’
Here the old man drew his hand before his eyes and remained for some time without speaking; at length he removed his hand, and commenced again with a broken voice: ‘You will pardon me if I hurry over this part of my story; I am unable to dwell upon it. How dwell upon a period when I saw my only earthly treasure pine away gradually day by day, and knew that nothing could save her! She saw my agony, and did all she could to console me, saying that she was herself quite resigned. A little time before her death she expressed a wish that we should be united. I was too happy to comply with her request. We were united, I brought her to this house, where, in less than a week, she expired in my arms.’