The MS. in a Red Box

by John A. Hamilton

John gave me the comforting news that my lady and her father had got away to sea without let or hindrance. Mr. Ulceby sent me word that he would have a vessel of some sort ready to convey me to Holland, whenever it might be prudent for me to try to leave England. John feared that it would be long before I might do so, for heaven and earth would be moved to secure my capture, and he highly commended the wisdom of my host in disallowing me to leave my retreat. He thought it more than likely Boswell might have spied on me and guessed my destination.

"If so," he added, "the fellow will keep the knowledge to himself, until he gives up hope of taking you single-handed. He will endeavour so to do, rather than share the reward with others. Remember the offer is equal for taking you 'dead or alive!' So prithee be on thy guard, my friend."

Some of the earl's officers had visited Belshaw, but could not learn anything from the women, and John's cousin knew nothing.

John had called at the Crowle vicarage to assure my aunt I was in no present danger. There he heard news of Dick Portington, who had been to London and the Bath with Ryther and his daughter for some time; and it was commonly reported that Dick and Mistress Ryther were to be married at Christmas. So it was not probable that Dick and I should be on the old terms of close friendship any more.

We had some talk of the defeat of King Christian at Lutter, of which John had heard in Hull, and of the purpose of King Charles to enroll a body of volunteers to go to the assistance of his uncle and the cause of Protestantism.

"If we could but smuggle you out of the Isle," said John, "here might be an opening for you."

But of smuggling me away there seemed to be no chance just now. After we had agreed on a plan of communication, John returned, and I resigned myself with such composure as I could muster to a sojourn at Lindholme for an uncertain time, which I must pass as best I could.

There was certainly plenty of such diversion as fowling affords, for at that time the birds were more abundant all over the Isle than in these days, and round about Lindholme more numerous than anywhere else, but difficult to come by on account of the rottenness of the bog and the height and thickness of the reeds. I have seen the surface of the ground for a couple of roods blackened with brent geese, when it was impossible to get within shot of them, and though flocks of hoopers (which some call whistling swans) came to feed every evening of my stay at Lindholme, returning to the seashore every morning, the only manner of getting a shot was to find some spot beneath their line of flight, where the ground would bear a man's weight, and there was cover in which to hide, and such spots were bad to find. We often heard the dunbirds (redheads, our marshmen call them) working all night within half a mile of us, and might have had good sport, if we could have got near to them in the morning twilight, when they head up together ready to fly to their day quarters; but that could only be done when rain had fallen so heavily that there was water sufficient to float a punt. So, though game was plentiful, there was occasion for judgment and skill in taking it, which gave zest to our diversion, and the hermit and I spent most of the day in the open air, sometimes venturing on to the bog where he had not dared to go alone. Of an evening we sat over the fire awhile, he smoking his pipe and often drinking rather freely of brandy-wine, until such time as he thought good to climb into his hammock in the inmost room. At such times he talked very strangely, when he had loosened his tongue by drinking, and one of his themes was the madness of the world.

"'Tis a mad world, Mr. Vavasour," he would say, "consider it how you will. The desires and pursuits of ninety-nine out of a hundred men are so lunatical that we should die of laughing at one another, if we were not all mad together. One man sets his heart on acquiring twenty thousand pounds; he might just as wisely toil to accumulate twenty thousand red pebbles. Nay, that would be better, for he might heap up his pebbles without lying and cheating or harm to any of his neighbours. He gets no more good of his pounds than if they were pebbles, unless you can reckon the envy of his equally foolish associates as an advantage. He eats no better than I, sleeps no better, has no enjoyment which is not mine, and at last he dies, leaving his pebbles—his pounds I mean—to be the subject of heart-burning and wrangling among his heirs. Another idiot is bent on learning, which means that he loads his memory with a pack of stuff which is mainly false, and none of it of use for any conceivable purpose. He reads what was written ages ago by the flatterers of some man called great, or by those who took pleasure in defaming him, or by those who were too cross and stupid to understand him. He reads of prodigies which never happened, of monsters which never existed, speeches which were never spoken, accounts of battles derived from persons who did not see them. He is crammed with idle tales and fond inventions; and other men, addicted to the same follies, give him a cloak and a cap, and call him doctor. And the most outrageous part of the farce is that the men who are appointed to teach poor folk to be chaste and just and kind, are required to be well versed in tales about gods and goddesses, which are so full of impurity and wickedness that no one would dare to English them for the reading of the common people. 'Tis a mad world."

Thus he would go on by the hour when the humour took him, and had it all his own way with me, for if I put in a word of objection, he overwhelmed me with a torrent of eloquence, or nimbly skipped off in some new direction.