IN FURTHEST IND
THE NARRATIVE OF MR EDWARD CARLYON
OF THE HONOURABLE EAST INDIA COMPANY’S SERVICE
EDITED, WITH A FEW EXPLANATORY NOTES
BY
SYDNEY C. GRIER
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCXCIV
All Rights reserved
[NOTE.]
The Narrative of Mr Edward Carlyon of Ellswether, in the County of Northampton, and late of the Honourable East India Company’s Service, Gentleman; and comprising his most marvellous Escape from the Hands of the Inquisition (falsely called Holy) at Goa, and his Journey to the Court of the Great Mogul, likewise the true Relation of his Dealings with the Lord Marquis of Tourvel, and with Madam Heliodora his Daughter (concerning which grievous Calumnies have of late been forged by certain unfriendly Persons), together with divers curious Observations on the Manners of the Indians, and on the Situation of his Majesty’s Subjects at present resident among them. Wrote by his own hand in the year of grace 1697.
TO HIM THAT READS.
I, Edward Carlyon of Ellswether, Esquire, being of sound mind and body (for the which I thank God), do take up my pen on this fourth day of November, sixteen hundred and ninety-seven, to record the history of my life, being moved thereto by divers considerations.
Imprimis. I would desire to protect my children from such tribulation as hath been brought lately upon myself and my dear wife, through the evil offices of an enemy, from which we were hardly delivered by the great kindness of my honoured and esteemed friend, Mr Robert Martin, lately Accountant of Surat in East India.
Item. I would do all that lies in my power to lighten the griefs of an illustrious lady, whose trials, no less than the fortitude with which she hath endured them, would seem to a man of honour to have earned her exemption from cowardly attempts.
Item. During my sojourn in the Indies, I met several marvellous adventures, and had the felicity to enjoy the discourse of many ingenious persons, the recounting whereof may serve both for the instructing and the diverting those that shall come after me. By the advice, therefore, of my aforesaid friend, Mr Robert Martin, I am resolved, God helping me, on composing, from such notes and letters as I have preserved, a book of my life.
CONTENTS.
[I. OF MY DESCENT AND PARENTAGE, AND OF MY SENDING TO THE INDIES]
[III. OF MY ARRIVING AT SURAT, AND OF THE POSTURE OF AFFAIRS THERE]
[IV. OF MY SENDING TO GOA BY MY EMPLOYERS, AND OF THOSE THINGS THAT BEFELL ME THERE]
[V. OF THE EVENTS THAT BEFELL ME ON MY ARREST, AND IN THE HOLY HOUSE AT GOA]
[VI. OF THE SECRET, DREADFUL, AND BLOODY DOINGS OF THE TRIBUNAL OF THE HOLY INQUISITION]
[VII. OF MY AMAZING AND MIRACULOUS ESCAPE FROM MOST IMMINENT DEATH]
[VIII. OF MY SECOND VOYAGE IN THE BOSCOBEL, AND OF THE ENDING THEREOF]
[IX. OF MY FINDING THE NEW FRANCE IN THE INDIES]
[X. OF THE CONFIDENCE REPOSED IN ME BY MY LORD, AND OF THE PITFALL WHEREIN I FELL]
[XI. OF MY CASTING OUT FROM MY FOOL’S PARADISE]
[XII. OF A PART OF MY LIFE THAT HAD BEEN BETTER SPENT OTHERWISE THAN IT WAS]
[XIII. OF MY JOURNEYING TO THE CITY OF AGRA; OF MY COMING THITHER, AND OF THE PERSON I FOUND THERE]
[XV. OF MY SECOND DELIVERANCE FROM EXTREME PERIL OF DEATH]
[XVI. OF MY DEPARTING FROM EAST INDIA, AND RETURNING TO MY HOME AND DOROTHY]
[XVII. OF MY SETTING TO REAP THE HARVEST I HAD SOWN]
[XVIII. OF MY ATTAINING MY DESIRED HAVEN AFTER LONG TRIAL OF STORMY SEAS]
[XIX. OF CERTAIN ANCIENT FRIENDS OF MINE THAT WERE SUFFERERS FOR CONSCIENCE’ SAKE]
[I. ON THE NATIVE RACES OF INDIA]
[II. ON THE SPELLING OF PROPER NAMES]
[III. ON PRIVATE TRADING BY THE COMPANY’S SERVANTS]
[IV. ON OLD AND NEW GOA AND MODERN GOA]
[V. ON THE FRENCH AT SAN THOMÉ]
[VI. ON THE HISTORICAL BASIS OF THIS STORY]
IN FURTHEST IND.
CHAPTER I.
OF MY DESCENT AND PARENTAGE, AND OF MY SENDING TO THE INDIES.
It will be convenient for me, before relating my history, to give some account of my birth and parentage, and this I will proceed to do. Our branch of the family of Carlyon, though not of the most illustrious, is at least respectable in its antiquity, having been settled at Ellswether (which at one time belonged to a branch of the noble family of De Lovetot) for the space of four hundred years, ever since the esquire Simon Carlyon wedded Dame Elianora, daughter and heiress to Sir Walter de Lovetot. My honoured father was the fourth and youngest son of Roger Carlyon, Esquire, and Margery Colepepper his wife. Being but a younger son, he quitted his home early, and adventured himself in the wars in foreign parts, together with his cousin, my Lord Brandon. Under the banner of this nobleman my father showed great valour and skill in arms, both in Bohemia and also in the Palatinate, so that his assistance was much sought after by many princes and captains of those parts. But on hearing of the troubles in England, my father accompanied his kinsman to Oxford, to the intent to place their swords at the disposition of his majesty. It was when on this visit that my father first saw my mother, that was then Mrs Margaret Brodie, daughter to Sir Nicholas Brodie of Rinnington in the county of Durham, and Anne Delamere his wife. In her youth my mother was bred up with a young lady of quality, Mrs Hyacinth Penfold, that was sister’s daughter to my lord Duke of London, and dwelt at his grace’s castle of Belfort in this county. Now when my lady duchess (that was as truly honest a lady in her opinions as ever lived, though his grace her husband was but a trimmer) came to pay her devoirs to the king and queen at Oxford, she carried with her the two young gentlewomen aforesaid, and they were to her as her own daughters.
My Lord Brandon, then, was presented to Mrs Penfold as a match she should do well to accept, though he was well advanced in years, and little beautified by the chances of war, and my father cast his eyes upon the gentlewoman that bare this lady company. And Mrs Brodie, hearing of his feats of arms in the wars of Germany, and finding his person not disagreeable to her, was not loath to look kindly upon her servant.[1] He then, discovering in her not only great beauty of countenance, but also a sweet civility of manner and marvellous parts of mind, did ask her hand of my lady duchess. Who did grant him, with many kind words, the boon he craved; and my father and mother were wedded at the same time and place with my lord and Mrs Penfold, and lived together for over seven years thereafter in the enjoyment of a rare peace and felicity, though troubled on all sides by the evil chances of the time. This same year was memorable for that my father was knighted on the field of battle by the hand of his sacred majesty himself, after a certain skirmish near to the city of Bristow,[2] since that he did, by his skill in war, save the king’s forces when near to their destruction. ’Twas at Oxford that I was born, in the year 1646, in a mean lodging in a certain poor street of that town, since my mother was afraid to show herself in any more convenient dwelling, and my father durst only visit her secretly by night for fear of capture, my Lord-General Fairfax having but just then took the city.
Shortly after this, also, by the deaths of my uncles, his three brothers (whereof the eldest was slain with my grandfather in that lamentable defeat of my Lord Astley at Stow-on-the-Wold, and the second, having been taken at Leicester the year before, died in prison, and the third was foully murdered in a tumult raised against him in the streets of Northampton), my father found himself possessed of Ellswether—that is to say, of the old house only, whereof all the lands were sold or mortgaged for his majesty’s service. And he, taking up his abode there with my mother and myself, fought still for the king, until that day when the rebels consummated their iniquity by that deed whereof no age hath ever seen the like for its enormity, when he left fighting, being assured that God must shortly punish the whole nation of England with utter destruction. Two years thereafter, notwithstanding, he joined himself to the cause of his majesty King Charles II., and at Worcester Fight was grievously wounded, and lay for many days in danger of his life in a certain mean house of that city. Being there found by the rebels, he was thrown into a dungeon, but after a while, by the good offices of my lord Duke of London, was released, and suffered to return home, being now incapable of fighting more, for that his left leg had been shot off by a ball from a great gun, and his right arm disabled by a pistol-shot, at Worcester Fight.
In the year 1653 there come sad news to Ellswether. My Lord Brandon, heading a rising for the young king in the North, was taken and beheaded; and my lady his wife, who had wearied herself in vain to obtain his pardon, died after giving birth to a daughter. Their son and heir had died in his infancy, and the barony must needs descend to a distant cousin of my lord’s, that was a boon companion of the king in France and Flanders. My lord’s estates and property was all confiscated, and for the poor babe was nothing left, save that she might have my lady’s gowns and suchlike. My lady had committed her babe to the charge of the gentlewoman that bare her company, desiring that she should be brought to Ellswether, and bred up by my mother. Wherefore this gentlewoman, Mrs Sophronia Skipwith by name, took with her the babe, together with my lady’s gowns and jewels, and the great portraits of her and my lord which he had had painted for her on their wedding, and divers tomes of French and English romances, and started on her journey. Coming to Ellswether, she found there sore lamentation, for that my dear mother had departed this life two days before. And Sir Harry, my father, finding himself with my Lady Brandon’s babe to keep, and discerning Mrs Skipwith to be a gentlewoman of most discreet conversation and a sobriety suiting her years (which were thirty-five at the least, and rather over than under), did offer her to remain as governess to the babe, the rather as the aforesaid Mrs Skipwith was an orphan and a distant kinswoman of my lady’s. Now if you look to hear that Mrs Skipwith made use of Sir Harry’s kindness to creep into his good graces, and thus marry him thereafter, you shall be disappointed, for she behaved herself throughout her life with a rare discreetness and wisdom, and hath left behind her a memory full of praise.
My good father, then, adopted for his own the little Mrs Dorothy Brandon (whose kinsman, even after the happy Restoration of his majesty King Charles II., when he gat back his lands, never troubled himself to inquire after her, lest for very shame he must settle on her a portion out of the estates of my lord her father), my father, I say, adopted her, intending in due time to marry her to me his son, and we grew up together as brother and sister, but in that prospect. Now at the Restoration, as I have said, there was many received back their confiscated lands, but my father, who (with his brothers) had sold and mortgaged all for the king’s service, gat nothing, since he had done it all willingly. There remained to us, then, only the manor of Ellswether itself, whereon was a heavy mortgage, that was fallen into the hands of Mr Sternhold, the attorney that my grandfather had been wont to employ. And again, if you look to hear in this place that Mr Sternhold proved himself a cruel or an unrighteous creditor, you will again receive a disappointment, for sure there was never no man that served better either the father or the absent son. But if this great burden of the mortgage was to be removed, it was needful for me to make my fortune, and this in no unspeedy way. And if you shall be surprised that my father allowed me, his only son, to undertake such a distant and dangerous manner of life as that I have followed, I would have you remember that Sir Harry, as was but natural in a gentleman of his family and breeding, cared more for the honour and name of the house than for him that might one day bear it, and that he sent me forth in quest of wealth for to redeem the estates, as any father in Rome might have sent forth his son in quest of warlike honour. After this explanation, which I trust shall resolve any matters that might otherwise seem to you obscure or contradictory, I will proceed to my tale.
Since I have spoke to you of my father’s poverty, you will readily perceive that he could not send me to any great school, nor was he likely, in the dark days that then shadowed this poor realm of ours, to commit me to the tuition of the schismatical minister that had usurped the room of the vicar of our parish, wherefore he was constrained to send me by the day to the grammar-school of Puckle Acton, which town lieth in the vicinage of Ellswether. Here, in common with the sons of many gentlemen of the country round, I gained a slight acquaintance with Greek and Latin, and (for which my life hath made me far more grateful) such a knowledge of the art of fence, of boxing and shooting, as hath often stood me in good stead. When I was not at the school, the time did often hang heavy for me, for the gentlemen’s sons of whom I have spoken durst not admit me to their company more than rarely, for fear of the suspicions of our tyrants, that were wont to scent a conjuration or conspiracy whensoever any number of Malignants (for so they called us) was met together. The company of the boys of the town I neither sought nor would my father have permitted me so to do, and I came thus, almost of necessity, to use and enjoy that of my little cousin Dorothy Brandon, in all my holidays and times of rest. ’Twas with her I learned from Mrs Skipwith to read French, and we loved to pore together over the pages of the ‘Grand Cyrus,’ that magazine of brave thoughts and witty conceits, of the ‘Cleopâtre’ and of the ‘Clélie.’ Of English books we had no great store, but in Sir Philip Sidney his ‘Arcadia’ and in Mr Lyly’s ‘Euphues’ we found a rare delight. Add to this, that my little cousin taught herself Latin in order to the reading it with me, and (her youth remembered) was no mean scholar in the Greek, and you shall see that we had no lack of fantastic and heroical reading for to divert ourselves withal.
Nor was this all our diversion, for we had, beside, our especial romance, or rather romancical drama, since we never writ our incidents, but, if I may so speak, lived them. In this piece my cousin was called Polyxandra, a wood-nymph vowed to Dian’s service, and I Cleombrocles, her faithful knight. The action of the plot was mighty tragical, and full of moving scenes and incidents, for we were beset not alone by the horrid monster Anthropophage, whose castle I have ofttimes besieged, and whose self (as presented by Bevis our house-dog) I often slew, but also by Sophronysius, the tyrannic governor of Mycene, whose part, unknown to herself, was played by Mrs Skipwith. This tyrant was wont to carry off the amiable Polyxandra whensoever as our romance was most alluring; and many fearful vows have I breathed against her, the poor victim weeping meanwhile over her task of presenting in needlework the history of Sisera and Jael. My father performed the part of the Deus ex machinâ, stepping in to grant Polyxandra an holiday when all my intercessions failed; but even he could do little against a certain terrible enchanter, named Virgilius Tully, to whom the renowned Cleombrocles was bound by a solemn vow, that he should attend upon him daily in his cave, and there serve him. Yet was not all our life spent in wars, for to us the meadows and woods around Ellswether were those of Arcady and Thessalia, and we wandered through them engaged in heroic discourse, carried on in extreme picked and delicate language, and garnished with many euphuisms and other pretty conceits, such as I now hear the learned ladies of France do mightily affect. Oh! the vows of never-dying devotion these woods have echoed, the coy answers of the nymph, and the renewed passion of Cleombrocles, interrupted by the approach of the fell Sophronysius!
After the joyful and happy Restoration of his majesty King Charles II., I was able to meet with my fellows without molestation, and also to join with them in many noble sports; but so great was the ruin and poverty brought upon us by the dominion of the rebels (though now happily past), that of the common usages and hospitalities of the country was there next to none among us. ’Twas but rarely that my little cousin and I visited upon any, and ’twas fewer still that came to the Hall, save now and then an ancient cavalier that had known my father in the days of his youth. Yet ’twas one of these ancient gentlemen, as I believe, that must have stirred Sir Harry’s mind to see that I, his only son, was growing up in idleness, and thus embarked him, if I may so speak, on that long voyage of treaties and negotiations, whereof I was only made aware when all was complete.
Two or three times in the year, it was our custom (my little cousin’s and mine) to go to Puckle Acton and take supper with good Mr Sternhold, the attorney. There was never there for us any lack of welcome on the part of Mrs Sternhold or himself; and their two comely daughters, Mrs Diony and Mrs Sisley, were wont to make much of me, and to show great kindness to my little cousin. It did much please them that we, being so young, were deemed troth-plight; and they did delight to set us side by side, and to cry out how pretty a couple we made, and then to incite me to show myself a courteous servant to that my little lady. But always after this was Dorothy wont to behave herself so coy and disdainful as ’tis impossible to conceive, and would try me with as many grievous slights as did ever the coldest and cruellest maid in the romances, so as I would threaten to go away into some foreign kingdom, and seek my fortune, far from my untender love, as did the knights of whom we read so often. And this also did mightily divert the two young damsels and their mother. ’Twas on my eighteenth birthday, at the close of the year 1664, that that occurred which enabled me, though without any knowledge of mine beforehand, to perform this frequent threat—nay, rather compelled me so to do. We had been supping at Mr Sternhold’s house, Dorothy and I, and as we returned she did most steadfastly refuse to take my hand through the woods, because, said she, I had had the misfortune to turn my back on her during the evening. And we wrangling and quarrelling over this mighty matter, the dispute lasted until we were come to the Hall, where I spake after my usual fashion, but Dorothy tossed her saucy head, and must needs say that I talked much of going to foreign parts, but should never go there. Then upon this scornful humour of hers brake in the voice of my father, that was sitting in his great chair in the study, with many papers upon the table before him.
“Son Edward,” says he, “I would fain speak with you.”
“At your pleasure, sir,” says I. “When shall I attend upon you?”
“Now,” says my father; “so soon as little Doll here be gone to bed.”
Dorothy kissed my father, though with a pout, made me a curtsey, and ran away, I shutting the door after her.
“You are now arrived at your eighteenth year, Ned?” says my father.
“Yes, sir,” says I. “I was born in the year that my Lord Fairfax took Oxford city, as I have heard you say.”
“True,” saith Sir Harry, “and you are come to this age without being bred to any trade or calling. Not that ’tis your fault, lad, but mine. ’Tis no news to you, my son, that we abide here truly only on sufferance of Sternhold, and that ’tis all I can do to keep up the house as we live at present. Wherefore you won’t be surprised when I say that I can neither send you to the university, even had you displayed any leaning thereto, nor yet maintain you while you seek a place in his Majesty’s service in foreign parts.”
“Indeed, no, sir,” says I.
“There remains, then,” said my father, “the life of a soldier; but now that the wars of Germany are ended, that an’t any longer a road to wealth by the means of large spoils and larger ransoms, and moreover, you are too old, for I hold that a lad should be bred to that calling from fourteen years, or fifteen at the most. Also there are now no such masters in the art of war as those I had the honour to observe in my young days, nor any such noble theatre as that wherein I observed ’em. And with regard to his majesty’s navy, I fear there is but little glory to be won there nowadays. The rebels were good sailors, even I will say that for ’em. And beside these, which we need not consider, there is two other places offer ’emselves to your choice, for I am willing you should choose which you will accept. Being lately reminded of your age and stature (and sure ’tis well I was reminded on’t, for I had clean forgot it), I writ to my lord Duke of London, son to my Lady Brandon’s uncle that did deal with me so kindly after Worcester Fight, and asked him to use his good offices with his majesty to gain for you some place or preferment. And to this my lord duke hath replied, with many civil words touching my care of little Doll there, his kinswoman, that places be now so few, and they that seek ’em so many, that he knows none for which he might make interest with his majesty on your behalf. Yet out of his remembrance of his parents’ ancient love for our house, his grace is good enough to offer you his nomination to the post of writer[3] in the India Company’s service, which if I accept on’t for you, his majesty hath been graciously pleased to command that the bond of £500, which must be entered into for your good behaviour, shall be pledged from his privy purse. Had it been but five hundred pence instead of pounds, I had never been able to pay ’em, and this, no doubt, in his singular great kindness, his majesty hath guessed. And with regard to this offer, I can say naught but good on’t. As for wealth, this is one of the straightest roads to’t, for though the wage be but £10 by the year for five years, and after that a convenient increase, yet are there many places of trust to be obtained, and, as I hear, many chances of trading on your own account, so that many gentlemen of that service are become by this means very rich. ’Tis true that you must needs leave your country for a term of years, but that is no more than I did myself, and many other noblemen and gentlemen that fought in that long war.”
“And the other place, sir?” said I, when my father left speaking.
“The other place, Ned,” said Sir Harry, “an’t such as I could desire for a Carlyon of Ellswether. Mr Sternhold is so good as to say that he will find you work as his clerk, and although you should at the first receive nothing by way of wage, yet afterwards, I make no doubt, you may rise to wealth. The lawyers have gained much by the troubles of these days, and stand to gain much more. Still, what say you?”
I need scarce say to you that I had not to think for long. When the choice lay between the Indies and Mr Sternhold’s clerkship (the which, as I well knew, should never have been proffered by him had not my father asked it), you won’t wonder that I sprang joyfully at my lord duke his offer. Which also did hugely please my father, he saying that he was glad to find he had a son that would show himself no laggard in seeking to repair the fortunes of his house. And before aught else in the next morning, my father writ to the aforesaid nobleman to signify his grateful acceptance of his singular kindness, I myself also writing to express my duty to his grace and my desire to comport myself suitably in that place he destined for me. And this letter wrote, and set in readiness for my Lord Harmarthwaite’s messenger, that was, by the especial kindness of his lordship, to carry it to London, and there deliver it into his grace’s hands, I found time to consider what great change in my manner of life one day had brought. For but yesterday was I a masterless man (saving, of course, the authority of that my good father), too old for school, and yet without a calling, but to-day I was pledged to the Hon. East India Company, the which was now my master. And notwithstanding the joy that was in my heart, that I should at last have good hope of freeing my father’s estates, in process of time, from the burdens that oppressed them, there come upon me some natural sorrow that I must part from my good father, and from Dorothy, that quarrelled with me and loved me as she had been indeed my sister.
Standing on the staircase in some disquiet, and thinking thus with myself, there came running to me on a sudden my said little cousin Dorothy herself, dressed up mighty fine in a laced waistcoat[4] and petticoat of white satin, with cherry-coloured knots, and cried laughing to me, all our quarrels forgot—
“Why so sad and solemn, Cousin Ned? Do you see my new gown? How doth it please you?”
“Why so fine, little lady, rather let me ask?” says I, bowing low, lest she should again reproach me of lack of courtesy.
“Mrs Skipwith hath ripped a gown of my mother’s, and made this for me,” says she. “Come with me to the picture-room, Cousin Ned. I would have you tell me whether I am like my mother.”
So we two to the oaken gallery, where Dorothy held me by the hand, and we stood before the portraits of my Lord and Lady Brandon, he in his harness,[5] with a battlefield behind him, and she in her wedding-gown.
“Help me with this chair, Ned,” quoth my little cousin, and I dragged the great chair for her between the two portraits, when she climbed up on it, and stood thus between them.
“Tell me, Cousin Ned, am I like her?” she cries.
Truly there was a marvellous likeness, they both wearing white satin and lace, though there was pearls in my Lady Brandon’s dark hair in the stead of the cherry-coloured ribbons; nor did I find in her countenance that intrepidity and firmness that was displayed in my little cousin’s, and which she hath, I take it, from that gallant cavalier my lord her father.
“Well, Cousin Ned?” cries Dorothy, tired of standing.
“O matre pulchrâ filia pulchrior,” quoth I, with a low bow.
“Speak to me in good English,” cries she, pouting.
“ ’Tis but to say (as you very well know) that my lady your mother was fair, but you are fairer, little Doll.”
“Nay,” cries she, “I won’t be called that. Sure I an’t Miss Doll any more. Sir Harry saith I am to be called Mrs Dorothy always, for I am nearly eleven. Oh, Cousin Ned, is it true that you are going to the Indies?”
“Ay, sweet Doll,” says I; “to furthest Ind, and to the kingdoms of Cathay, perhaps.”
“You are ever teasing me,” she saith. “I would I had a fan here, that I might give you a tap therewith, Master Ned. But I will have one some day. When you come back from your voyages and adventures, I shall be a court lady, like my Lady Penelope Harrington, so”—and she held up her hand like a fan, and made great eyes over the edge on’t at me.
“God forbid!” cried I, in a grievous heat.
“And why, prithee?” she asked, somewhat angered. “My mother was a court lady, so why not I?”
“That was in better days,” says I, much disquieted by her speech, yet little caring to tell her what I meant; “but now times are changed. I can’t tell you much, little Doll, but this I will say, that rather than know you such as my Lady Penelope is now become, I would see you in your grave.”
“Then I won’t be like her,” says Dorothy, putting her hand in mine, “for when you have wrought all your great deeds you are coming back to marry me, Ned, an’t you?”
“Ay,” said I, “so that I find you a gentle and comely maiden, caring for my father, and seeking no court gaieties. I would not, with my goodwill, wed a court lady.”
“As you will,” says she. “And you will bring me back a parrot, Cousin Ned, and a pearl chain for to wear on Sundays, and an escrotore[6] of Indian work wherein to keep my jewels?”
“Ay so,” quoth I; “and when I go to London, as this next month, I will send you a fan and a cherry-coloured girdle for to hold it withal, as fine as any in the county, if you will give me one of your knots whereby to choose it.”
“Nay,” says she, “not for that only, but to keep for yourself. Sure after this goodness of yours, I must make you some return on’t. See here,” and she unfastened with great gravity her breast-knot, kissed it, and gave it to me, “now are you my knight, Cousin Ned, and you must enter upon all your adventures for my honour, as did Ambixules for Mizalinza, in the book[7] wherein Mrs Diony read to us last night. And I have made for you, beside, a badge in gum-work, for to carry with you and wear on Royal Oak Day, and you must needs keep ’em both for ever for my sake.”
“So be it, little cousin. But is my departure naught to you?” says I, somewhat grieved. “You have no farewell for me, Doll?”
“Come back with your shield, or else upon it,” quoth she slowly, and, as it seemed, with difficulty.
“Truly a Spartan message!” I cried. “Is there naught beside, little Doll?”
“I shall miss you,” she said, and climbed down from the chair, walking to the window away from me. And I, looking after her, saw that her face was pale and her shoulders heaving, the while she held her head as high as ever, and clenched her hand for to keep back the tears. And with this I was ashamed.
“Dorothy, my little cousin,” says I, going after her and taking her by the hand, “I beg your pardon. Trust me, I did not mean to hurt you.”
“Why—why,” cries Dorothy, turning round upon me in anger, and then on a sudden falling into a passion of weeping and tears, and hiding her face in my sleeve—“why will you make me cry, Cousin Ned, when I have been essaying to send you forth with all composure of mind, as a lady should her knight? ’Tis all spoilt now.”
“Not so,” says I, admiring the child’s insistence in her romancical dreams. “I am going forth as your knight, my Lady Doll, to forge my weapons, and with ’em to fight the great and cruel giant Poverty, and to release my noble father, whom he holds in his toils. You also the giant keeps in durance, but not so strong but you are allowed to help and solace the other captive, and to send words of cheer to your knight. Here is a noble tale, indeed!”
“True knight for true lady?” asks she.
“There is our motto,” says I. “Now are we indeed well provided with all that a romance could lack, little cousin.”
“I would I were going too,” says she, looking up at me with her eyes yet shining with tears; “I would fain be your page, Cousin Ned, like the ladies in the romances, for you will see all the marvels, the tigers and the wild men of the woods, and the elephants, and the Great Mogul himself, and I must stay here. But be sure, if you fall, that I shall don armour and avenge you, as did Parthenia for Argalus in the ‘Arcadia.’ ”
“But that, we may hope, shall not be needful,” said I. “Come into the garden with me now, Doll, and we will slay Anthropophage once more before I depart,” and we left speaking, and went down into the garden, holding each other by the hand.
Now this relation of all those things that preceded my setting out in search of fortune I have set down at length, to the end that all may see how falsely ’tis said that I went to East India in pursuance of my own way and against my father’s will, and also that I was already tired of the match my said father had prepared for me, and desired to rid myself of my cousin Dorothy. Such is the malice of my enemies, that they don’t scruple to say even this, whereas I have showed to you that my father did wellnigh force me to set out, and that I departed in the full intention to return and fulfil my contract with my cousin. And this relation I do hereby declare to be true of all things therein contained.
CHAPTER II.
OF MY TARRYING IN LONDON AND OF MY SAILING IN THE GOOD SHIP BOSCOBEL, AND ALSO OF MY MAKING AN ENEMY IN MR VANE SPENDER.
’Twas in the month of January 1663-64,[8] that I rid away from Ellswether, mounted on my father’s war-horse Gustavus, with our servant Miles behind me, on a beast taken from the plough, and bade farewell to my home for more than twenty long years. And looking back for to view the Hall once more, I did see my cousin Dorothy waving her handkercher, and heard her cry to me, “True knight for true lady, Cousin Ned!” which words of hers did much move me, so that I rid in silence for some time. But passing Mr Sternhold his house, there come out that good attorney himself, and would ride with me some miles of my way, parting from me at the last with much sorrow, and asking my acceptance of a book of wise counsels (said he) for young gentlemen that were going to foreign parts, called ‘The Merchant’s Avizo,’ which I received with much thanks, and have often found cause to be grateful for the same. And Mr Sternhold leaving us, we journeyed on without remark nor disaster, and in process of time came to London town. Here the first night I lay at an inn (whose name I have now forgot), and in the morning I did send Miles for to acquaint my lord duke of my being arrived, and to inquire when it should be convenient for me to wait upon his grace, and testify my gratefulness for his kindness. But in less than an hour Miles came back, not alone, but with him my lord duke’s chaplain, Dr Ruthven, in his grace’s coach, for to carry me to Belfort Place (which leadeth off from the Strand), there to abide while as I should be in town. So I with the chaplain in the coach, Miles following with the beasts, to his grace’s mansion, where I lay so long as I remained in London, eating with the family,[9] and once or twice at my lord duke’s own table, where his grace showed himself mighty condescending towards me, and asked of my father’s health, and likewise of that of Mrs Dorothy Brandon, his grace’s kinswoman.
“I had thought,” said he, “of having the young damsel here, for to breed her up with my own little girls; but there was some that showed me divers difficulties in the way.”
Methought, as I looked upon the visage of her grace the duchess, that I saw who she was that had showed the difficulties, and truly Dr Ruthven informed me thereafter that I was right.
“Well,” says my lord duke, more cheerfully, “there is plenty of time yet. Perchance, should Mrs Dorothy wed suitably with her quality, we may be able to provide her a marriage portion.”
But looking again upon the duchess, I foresaw that she would have her say concerning this also, and indeed we have heard no more of the marriage portion up to this present time of my writing.
Now in other matters also was my lord duke very gracious to me, in especial in carrying me into his privy cabinet, where he was wont to make experiment into the secrets of Nature, and did discourse to me mighty ingeniously concerning humours and transmutations and efficient and material causes and radical heat and the like, all which I do now much regret that I set them not down at the time; but having once let slip, the years between have blotted out the clear recollection thereof. And at other times I was under the particular charge of Dr Ruthven, that had known my mother, having been in the service of my late lady duchess before that his grace the now duke had attained to his title, and entreated me most gently for her sake. ’Twas with him I paid a visit to that place of much resort, the New Exchange, where I must needs buy for Dorothy her fan and her girdle, and truly I had not believed that there could be so many fans in the world, and Dr Ruthven and I were sorely troubled to choose one among ’em all. ’Twas also with Dr Ruthven that I presented myself in Leadenhall Street, at the house of the Honourable Company I should serve from thenceforth, and having testified my thanks to the gentlemen of the Committee for their acceptance of me, was enrolled on their books. Here, while I was waiting in an outer room while Dr Ruthven visited upon one of his friends, that was a clerk or factor in the house, I fell in with a young gentleman, by name Mr Vane Spender, who wished to put a quarrel upon me, and all because my nomination had been received before his own. By this means I gained I know not what immunity or privilege, but ’twas such as made Mr Spender conceive himself deeply injured at my hands. But I, foreseeing that if we should be cameradoes (as the soldiers say) in the Indies, we were well to endeavour ourselves to live in peace, did address myself to speak him fair, so that his anger cooled before we parted. And here again you shall see how false it is to say that on my first falling in with Mr Spender, I incited him to wrath by the arrogancy and haughtiness of my behaviour, since I did my best to conduct myself handsomely towards him.
Some two or three days after this meeting was the 30th of January, being the day set apart for ever for the remembrance and deploring of that dreadful, bloody, and tremendous crime, the murder of our late sovereign lord, King Charles the Martyr, which was then but lately appointed as a fast-day by authority for the continual reprobating of the same. So in the morning to his grace’s chapel, where was preached a most moving sermon by Dr Ruthven, such as was like to teach us all the horror and wickedness of rebelling against the Lord’s anointed. And after dinner, it not being fit to go to see shows on such a day, I was left idle, and chose to walk abroad in my mourning habit, meditating in myself upon the observance of this day at home. For there it had been my duty in the afternoon to read aloud to my father the later chapters of that most truthful and pathetic book, the ‘Eikon Basilike,’ until Dorothy and Mrs Skipwith was moved to tears, and Sir Harry would look lovingly at his sword and armour on the wall. Walking thus, I heard on a sudden my name called, and looking up, saw Mr Vane Spender at the window of a tavern, bidding me come in and drink with him. And I, answering that I had no list to drink that day, did walk on, but in a moment come Mr Spender running after me, and cries—
“Nay, Mr Carlyon, sure you must come. Here is his lordship desires to speak with you.”
Then I, being fain, as I have said, to keep well with Mr Spender, and being moreover curious to know who his lordship should be, that desired to speak with me, made answer that I would sit a while in their company willingly, but would not drink. So he, and I after him, to an upper room of the tavern, where was Mr Spender’s elder brother, Mr Hampden Spender, and with him a gentleman in a very rich habit, as little mourning as could well be worn that day by any loyal person.
“Come, sir,” says Mr Hampden Spender, “call for what you will.”
“I thank you, sir,” says I, “but with your permission I won’t drink. Your brother hath fetched me in to pleasure his lordship yonder, which I’m desirous to do so far as my power allow.”
“Oh, come,” saith he again, “even though your grandmother be dead, Mr Carlyon, there’s none here will carry home tales of your drinking in a tavern on her funeral-day.”
“Sir,” said I, “ ’tis because this is a fast-day appointed that I don’t drink, and if it wan’t, I trust I should be little like to forget what happened thereon.”
“You are putting an affront upon me, sir,” cries Mr H. Spender, mighty fierce. “Pray, are you too nice to drink with us? Do you know in whose company you are, sir?”
“Sir,” says I, “you are seeking to put a quarrel upon me, as I call his lordship to witness. If you desire me to settle this matter by force of arms, I am ready to pleasure you, if his lordship will certify me that I am right in so doing.”
I saw Mr Spender’s countenance change at this, as I had looked it should, since, as I discovered afterwards from Dr Ruthven, his father had been but an attorney, who, meddling with great business in the troubles of the last reign, had gained for himself a high place and some esteem among the rebels. This son of his, Mr Hampden Spender, attained to a seat in the Commons’ House of that Parliament which was jestingly called the Rump, and had showed himself exceeding eager in the matter of the conferring upon my lord Duke of Albemarle of power to treat with the king on behalf of his Commons. Now that his majesty was happily returned, Mr H. Spender was in good favour with him, and was wont to take occasion by this favour to aspire higher than his original[10] might seem to us loyal gentlemen to warrant.
“Come, Spender, let the lad be,” says my lord, not ill-humouredly, on our reaching this pass. “ ’Twas you brought him here; why should you press him to drink? You han’t no cause to pick a quarrel, even if Mr Carlyon thought fit to fight you.”
“I bow to your lordship,” says Mr Spender, and gulps down his wine with an angry face.
“Pray, sir,” says his lordship, turning to me, “tell me whether I ben’t speaking to the son of Sir Harry Carlyon of Ellswether?”
“You are, my lord,” says I.
“And pray, sir,” says he, “an’t it true that Sir Harry hath in his family a young gentlewoman that is some kin to my late Lord Brandon, that was ’headed ten years since?”
“You are right, my lord; he hath,” said I, much marvelling who this might be that spake thus acquaintedly of Dorothy.
“And I trust, Mr Carlyon, that this Mrs Dolly or Mrs Molly, or whatever her name be, is a young damsel of good conditions, and shows herself dutiful towards her kind guardian?”
“I’m glad to be able to assure your lordship that Mrs Brandon gives every satisfaction to those set over her,” says I. “But give me leave, my lord, to ask who you may be that are so well acquainted with a young gentlewoman’s family that you don’t scruple to mention her name in a place of public resort? If you be one of Mrs Brandon’s kin, permit me to say that after so many years of neglect you choose a strange time and place for to show an interest in her welfare, and one that justifies me to inquire your designs.”
Thus far I, in grievous fear lest while I was away in the Indies my little cousin should be took away from my father at Ellswether, and delivered unto some of her noble kin for to bring up.
“Tut, tut, Sir Spitfire!” saith my lord, but not unkindly; “go tilt with windmills. As for my name, I don’t doubt Mr Spender will be pleased to tell it you when I am gone. But you need have no fear that I mean to claim little Mrs Brandon from Sir Harry. What should I do with a modest, well-brought-up young damsel? ’Twould be worse than Daniel in the den of lions. No, that an’t what I meant.”
“The lady among the rabble rout of Comus, perhaps, my lord,” I said, as he hesitated; and he gave a great laugh, and vowed that I was as much a Puritan as Mr Milton himself, and with that arose, and took up his sword and beaver to depart, saying that the king should require his attendance in an hour’s time.
“ ’Tis the usual way,” says Mr Hampden Spender, when his lordship was departed. “My Lord Brandon drinks, and I pay.”
“Pray, sir,” says I, “is that my Lord Brandon?” and went to the window and looked after him. This was the first and last time that I beheld that nobleman, my cousin Dorothy’s kinsman, who was slain not long thereafter in a duel, and the barony became extinct, the estates thereof passing to the Crown.
“Ay, sir, indeed is’t,” saith Mr Vane Spender. “Pray who else should be so kind and condescending, and recognise so abundantly the services that my brother hath the honour to render him? Why, my brother is his right hand in all he doth. At present he is his attorney in his case of——”
“Oh, hush, my dear brother!” quoth Mr Hampden Spender; “the word hath an ugly sound. Prythee, name it not in the ears of our dear young friend here. Sure, I’ll never have it said of us that we corrupted youth.”
“Sir,” said I, “I vow I don’t understand you. Do you wish to pick a quarrel again?”
“No, sir,” saith Mr Spender, standing up mighty grand, but somewhat fuddled with the wine he had drank. “We wish no quarrels with persons too nice to drink with us, and too proud for our company, nor no conversation with ’em neither.”
“Then, sir,” says I, “you’ll allow me to bid you good day, if you please,” and so left the place before they could stop me. But to this day I have never found myself able to determine whether these gentlemen, the Messieurs Spender, were in reality desirous to put a quarrel upon me, and having compelled me to fight first one and then t’other of ’em, thus to rid themselves of me, or whether ’twas but the natural heat of their temper that moved them to provoke me to a dispute—a heat that hath led to many grievous troubles between us since that time.
Now some days after this, my lord duke would carry me with him in his coach to White Hall, there to wait upon the king, that I might thank his majesty for his singular great kindness towards me. And on our arriving, his majesty being in his Cabinet Council, we walked up and down, and his grace did point out to me many ladies and gentlemen of whom I had often heard speak, yea, and presented me to such as had known my honoured parents in their youth, who treated me with great gentleness, and wished me a short service and a great fortune. And presently, the Council being up, his majesty come out, and my lord duke did present me to him, who graciously allowed me to kiss his hand. And thereafter was his majesty pleased to jest with me, saying that he had heard by a sure hand that I was as much of a Puritan as any rebel among ’em. And this to my much heat and grief, for I perceived that the report of my adventure in the tavern (small though it were), had gone ahead of me, so that I made bold to say to the king that no man but he should have said such words to me, for that my father had shed his blood for his majesty’s father, and that I asked nothing better than to have occasion given me to do the like for himself, and so took it hard to be likened to a rebel. Whereat his majesty laughed prodigiously, and was good enough to say to me that I was a proper fellow, and he had liever I were staying in England than going forth to the Indies, for the realm had need of more such. And speaking thus, and saying that he hoped I should ever keep strictly the fast-day of the blessed King Charles the Martyr, and draw sword in defence of the ladies when their names was lightly used, his majesty left us, and my lord duke advised me to be proud and thankful for his condescension. Which indeed I was, only feeling sorrowful that so kindly a king should have so scant respect shown him, for verily among his courtiers was none that accorded him any reverence, but all elbowing and cursing one another as well in his presence as without it. And from such disorder and looseness as I saw in the Court, good Lord deliver us!
Now despite the good counsel of his grace and of Dr Ruthven, that reproach did still rankle in me, that I should be called a Puritan, and in order to the showing it untrue, I must needs go to the play. And this notwithstanding that the aforesaid Dr Ruthven did much advise me to the contrary, saying that I might well prove my loyalty to Church and King in many other and more reputable ways, but finding me set upon the thing, he desisted at last, considering that my wilfulness should bring its own punishment. And this indeed it did, for going with one of his grace’s gentlemen to the playhouse, we saw presented a comedy newly translated out of the French; but so debased was the sentiment, so indecent and unseemly the action of the piece, so vile the painting and so immodest the clothes of the women that played in’t (sure this in itself is a new thing, and of revolting newness), that I was fain to leave the place before even the first act was gone through. But this my companion would by no means suffer, so that I turned my eyes from the stage to the company present, but found little comfort there. For indeed, to see the gentlemen laughing hugely at the wickedness and profaneness of the piece, and the ladies feigning to cover their faces with their fans, as though it were to hide their blushes (but truly there was but little need of this), when the action was beyond ordinary unseemly, and yet peeping through holes cut in these same fans, for to view the stage still, was monstrous shameful. And in fine, when the play was finished, and I had refused my companion’s proffer to carry me with him behind the scene and present me to the lady that played the chief part (whose name is, alas! too well known in this kingdom), I returned unto Belfort Place, well determined never again to go to the play. And this resolve, so made, I have kept.
And after this, the spring now coming on, Dr Ruthven and I made a part of several parties of pleasure that were given by divers gentlemen and gentlewomen of the doctor’s acquaintance, for to visit his majesty’s palaces at Greenwich and Hampton, the docks at Deptford, and other places. In all which I found myself well entertained, and did gain, I hope, some knowledge that hath served me well since; but the time was now drawing near when I must needs start for the Indies. I then receiving one day a command to present myself on board of the Hon. Company’s ship Boscobel, lying in the Thames, for to embark for the factory at Surat, did make haste to bid farewell to their graces the duke and duchess, thanking them humbly for their singular kindness, and likewise to that curious scholar and good friend to me, Dr Ruthven. Miles, also, I despatched back to Ellswether with the horses, and such letters and gifts for my father and Dorothy, as well as for Mrs Skipwith and the others of the family, as I had gat together, and then gathered up my trunks, and took boat to Graves-End. At the which place, as I had been advertised by the Committee, I found the ship, whose master (his name Captain Freeman) received me with much civility, desiring me to choose my cabin and my seat at table where I might desire. For (says he to me), there’s another young gentleman bound for Surat with us, but he an’t yet appeared, and ’tis first come, first served, aboard of the Boscobel. Not to appear to slight his goodness, I complied with this desire of his, and did choose my place next to my kind captain’s own, which pleased him mightily, and me no less, for he was a person of very curious discourse, and one that had gone through infinite wanderings and perils.
And of these he was nothing loath to tell me, while as we lay a-waiting in the river, for ’twas yet two full days before my fellow-traveller come on board, so that the master swore we should lose our convoy by this delay, and that he would tarry no longer—nay, not for the President of the Indies himself. In these two days I was much entertained in visiting all parts of the vessel, which was a fine new ship of the Company’s own, and in learning from my good friend Captain Freeman many of the duties of a supercargo. Moreover, this good man did several times carry me with him in the ship’s boat, for to wait upon divers merchants with whom he had to do, and did so divert me with histories of his travels, that I vow this delay was no sorrow for me, but rather a pleasure. But at last, when Captain Freeman had but just now said that he would up anchor with the morning tide, and wait no longer, my fellow-traveller arrived on board in a monstrous rage, and cursing very loudly the waterman that brought him off, and had lost (says he) one of his trunks. Methought I knew my gentleman’s voice at once, and when I went on deck to assure myself of the matter, sure enough ’twas my old acquaintance, Mr Vane Spender. Who, seeing me, greeted me with an oath, and desired me bid the master to have the waterman soundly cudgelled by the seamen, which on Captain Freeman refusing, he was excessive vexed. And coming to us into the cabin, when this affair was settled, he took umbrage again to find me in the highest seat next to the captain, declaring that he was second cousin to the Secretary of the Indies at Surat, and must needs sit highest. Which I, for peace’ sake, was willing to suffer, but Captain Freeman would not hear on’t, and I kept that chiefest place. And herein also you shall see that I went not about to provoke Mr Spender, but contrariwise, did all in my power to pleasure him.
So then the next day we left Graves-End, and in the Downs did fall in with the East India fleet, which was ten in number, whereof six ships, ours being one, carried letters of mart[11] for protection against enemies. In our company was no king’s ships, for these use to meet only the homeward-bound fleet at Sancta Helena, for the better protecting of their incomparable rich cargoes; but we did believe ourselves secure from any foe that was like to come against us. And in this confidence were we well justified so long as we sailed in company the one with the other, but when alone and separated, we were like to have fallen an easy prey, as you shall hear. But of the exact history of this matter I am not well informed, and for this reason. For while we were yet in the Channel, Mr Spender was seized with that grievous disease of seasickness, whereof none knows the misery that han’t felt it, and did lie groaning in his cot, a-cursing at me if I did so much as speak to him. Seeing which, I left him to himself, and did continue to enjoy the ingenious discourse of Captain Freeman, the which did much divert me. But when, leaving behind the Narrow Seas, we were entered that great bay which is called from the Spanish province of Vizcaya, or by our seamen, Biskay, the complexion of things changed, so that Mr Spender arose and played the jolly sailor, whereas I was obliged to yield myself to the dreadful malady. And this made it the more irksome to me, that Mr Spender must needs come continually and make a mock at me, casting in my teeth all manner of nasty jests such as the seamen use to provoke one another withal, and deriding me in my misery, who could not frame so much as to answer, much less to punish him, until our good captain found him one day at his tricks, and threatened him with divers pains and penalties, in case he should annoy me again. And thereafter was I left in peace, though I was like to wish to die, so long as the master told me the ship was flying along with a fair wind, and making a fine course.
Yet, had I but known it, I had ought to have been thankful for that rough progress of ours, but of this I never thought until it was stopped. For one day methought I heard a prodigious great noise on deck, running and trampling and setting of sails and the like, and much loud talk and swearing. And in a moment in come Mr Spender with a pale face, telling me that we had outrun our consorts in the night, and were now chased by a Sallee rover, so that we were all like to be taken and made slaves to the Moors. Now upon this, though it seem to you a thing incredible, yet truly the disease, the which had heretofore weighed me down, and made me to long for death, left me on a sudden, so that I leaped up and dressed myself, and seizing my sword, ran upon deck, Mr Spender following after with his pistols. And upon deck I found the seamen busied in making ready the two cannons that our ship carried, and Captain Freeman a-serving out cutlasses and fusees.[12] Then looking behind, I saw the rover that chased us, the which was a long vessel of a monstrous outlandish build, mighty low in the water, and moving with a most marvellous swiftness. And asking our captain whether we were like to escape, “Mr Carlyon,” says he, “we have left our course and are now running for Tangier. If we can come at it, maybe a king’s ship or two will put out to our aid and drive off the black devils; but if not, I see no help but we shall end our days in Barbary.”
Now this catching the ear of a young boy, that was on board for to serve Captain Freeman in his cabin, he falls a-blubbering because the master said we must all end our days in Barbary, and this being heard by the seamen, they were taken with a mighty trembling and despair, so as to leave handling the ropes and charging their pieces, and stand gazing upon the rover. So that Captain Freeman, Mr Spender, and I were fain to go among them with our drawn swords, and so force them to return to their duty, which when they did we quickly made way upon the rover. And upon this the pirates tried to knock away our masts with a shot, but they was too far removed from us, and did but lose ground in the trying, while as the Boscobel flew on towards the coast, which we could now clearly discern. And now our captain caused the ship’s cannons to be fired again and again, and that not so much with the intent to hit the enemy, for of this, indeed, there was but little hope, but that those in the harbour, hearing the noise, might perceive our plight, and make haste to come to our help.
Now, as we learned thereafter, it chanced, in the great goodness of God, that there was at this time lying in the port the Royal Charles and the Navarre, king’s ships, whose captains, hearing the noise of cannons and perceiving its cause, made haste to put to sea and come to our help. We then, beholding these two great ships sailing towards us, gave thanks to God for His mercy, and left firing at the rover, the which was, indeed, no longer needful, since he, perceiving our reinforcement of strength, did incontinent turn himself about and seek to escape. But for all his subtlety and swiftness, our two ships were better than he, and sailing in such a manner as to cut him off from the port that he aimed at (I would I might describe this action in seamanlike terms, but this lies not within my power), had the mastery over him, and succeeded to bring him in and all his crew as captives. Who, in due course, were set a-working in chains upon the ramparts of the town of Tangier, a singular and worthy instance of God’s confounding the designs of the wicked, in bestowing upon them that very doom they thought to have prepared for us. And this all have acknowledged, to whom I have told this history, though many of them were (I fear) careless persons, and little like at ordinary times to observe and admire the Providence of God.
But ’tis not alone on the account of this marvellous escape and deliverance of ours that I shall always be mindful of this town of Tangier, but for an evil chance that was like to have befell me there. For we casting anchor in the port for to await our consorts, that were all to take in water at this place, the master of the Boscobel did grant to his seamen leave to go on shore, which leave we passengers also enjoyed. And I going in a boat of the place with Mr Spender, he met upon the landing-stage a gentleman of his friends among the officers of his majesty’s troops there quartered, and tarried to drink with him. But I, desiring to see somewhat of the city, went on apace, and found it a mighty pretty town, standing on a fair bay, and surrounded by fortifications of a tolerable strength, and that seemed apt to resist a siege. But the streets of the place are extreme narrow and dirty, so that one can scarce pass through them, from the great multitude of camels, asses, and other beasts that dispute passage with him. And the people of the city are so lazy and ragged as I had never before beheld, and the crowds of beggars beyond belief.
Passing at last through all this nastiness, I came to the ramparts on the land side of the place, whence was a fair prospect of desert and remote hills, such as I then saw for the first time. And here I sat me down for to examine and admire that I saw, and did watch the soldiers at their exercises close under the city walls with much diversion, in especial the Moorish part of them, whose riding and sword-play was very pretty. Now, as I sat there, there come up Mr Spender, none the better for the wine that he had of a rascally fellow, half Spaniard and half Moor, that kept a tavern under pretence of an inn. And you must know that ’twas now the 29th day of May, Royal Oak Day as we call it, so long had I tarried in London before the ship sailed. In remembrance, then, of the most miraculous happy escape, as on that day, of his majesty King Charles the Second, I was arrayed in a brave habit, with my cousin Dorothy’s badge on the forefront thereof, for to testify to all men that loyalty whereof our house is proud. And Mr Spender, coming up, did assail me suddenly with many evil words, miscalling me a penniless knave and a beggarly Malignant and many other such ill names. Nay, moreover, he gathered up dirt and cast it at me, and did even spit upon my Royal Oak badge, insulting me and it the while with such revilings as I won’t write down. And I, who was, despite my good advice given to my little cousin, and my temperate behaviour in London, but a youth, and hot-headed at that, was so wrought upon with his reproaches as to draw my hanger and run upon him with intent to slay him. And though now I am covered with shame to have desired to take away a fellow-creature’s life on such a cause, yet then I was ready to have killed him on the spot. And he, drawing his sword also, was prepared to fight, and I make no doubt but there should have been blood shed between us, had not Captain Freeman on a sudden come up with another shipmaster of his acquaintance, and thrown himself upon us.
“How, lads! young gentlemen!” cries he, mighty angry, “swords out? What’s this? You would pink one another, for all the world like a couple of Portugals or two Italian bravos in a play? And for what? For a few bad words? Fight it out with your fists, like honest Englishmen. Here’s Captain Branter and I will see fair.”
’Twas well indeed that they was there, for as I put up my sword, Mr Spender, mad with passion and the wine he had drank, flew upon me with his drawn blade, and I had much ado to defend myself. But Captain Branter pulling him off, I was able to make ready, and we did set to in good earnest. But, thanks to my fights with young rebels at school, it was not long before I made him admit himself mastered, and caused him take back all his naughty words. And Captain Freeman then enjoining upon us to shake hands and have it over, the which was done but with a poor grace on either side, we returned to the ship, so ending this affair.
CHAPTER III.
OF MY ARRIVING AT SURAT, AND OF THE POSTURE OF AFFAIRS THERE.
The other vessels coming in that same evening, we left Tangier the next day, and continued in company our voyage along the Africk coast. And although we caught sight not once nor twice of the galleys of those pirates that infest these waters, yet they dared not attempt us, seeing our force, and we had opportunity to admire the strange things that met our view. For in these climates there is many things are not as they are with us, as the sea and the weather and the length of day, and the very stars themselves, not to speak of the poor heathens that boarded us more than once, more especially off the colony of the Gamboa.[13] And on crossing of the Line, moreover we were made initiate in those mysteries which, as I suppose, are a relic of antique superstition, but which the seamen do hug mightily; yea, even the wisest among ’em. In all these matters, then, was there much to instruct us, and our good master and his mate were always willing to tell us whatever we desired. But as we drew further to the south, and neared again the temperate climates, and in especial as we passed that cape called by the Portugals Bon Esperanzo,[14] where the Dutch have a few forts, we were assailed by such storms as we were like to have left our bones in the South Seas. Also the continual tossing and rolling of the ship did bring on again, both in Mr Spender and myself, such an access of that dread malady whereof we had dreamed ourselves cured, as we could do little else but lie and groan, desiring that death which seemed at once too close to us and too far away. But when we had left well behind us that evil and dangerous Cape, and were entered the Indian Ocean, the which we found, in our traversing it, prodigious still and pleasant, we revived, and did begin to look forward with great anticipation to our arriving in East India.
Now during this part of our voyage the nights were extreme clear and mild, so that I was wont to stay long upon the deck with Captain Freeman, who, as he smoked his pipe, would tell me many strange tales. For one thing, he told me of the mermaids in the Eastern Seas, whereof he himself had seen one, sitting on a rock and combing her long hair, and likewise of the dolphins and other monsters of the deep. Likewise he told me of the wild men of the woods, whereof (said he) he had seen many in the great islands, but all at a distance, and also of the anthropophagi or man-eaters, of which he had never seen none, but had heard of them from the most respectable persons. Of tigers, also, and crocodiles, and great serpents, he told me much, especially with regard to the empire of Birma and the eastern islands. And passing to the islands of Japan, he spoke much of the Japanners, that are a marvellous polite[15] people, and mighty inquisitive concerning strangers, but so cruel and barbarous as could never be imagined. Two emperors they have, whereof one may never be seen by the vulgar, and as many princes, lords and grandees, as they could furnish forth even Spain with ’em. But into their country may none travel, neither merchant nor Jesuit missionary, nor even visit their ports, excepting only the Dutch, and these must needs, when they come thither, abide on one small island, whither their merchandises are brought them for to load their ships withal. And if I should tell you all that Captain Freeman told me concerning the manners and aspect of the inhabitants of the great city Cangoxima,[16] methinks you should set him down as a worse liar than Seignior Ferdinando Mendez Pinto himself, the which should be grievously unjust, seeing that he had visited these parts and this city as a lad in a ship of Holland, wherefore I will say naught on’t. Of China and the Chineses, likewise, our good master spake much, but this also I will not put down, lest I should have confused therewith other matters I learned later from divers shipmasters at Surat. But this I may say, that all this talk of mine with Captain Freeman was wont to end in one way—viz., that when the captain was through with his pipe and his tale, clapping me on the shoulder, “Master Ned” (he would say), “when you list to make a venture, come and sail with me to the eastwards, and I will put you in the way of such markets and bargains as none but the Company’s captains knows on.”
Now truly this prospect was in no way displeasant to me, but I little dreamed that I should ever make a voyage eastwards (though never such a short one) with Captain Freeman. And having now sailed northwards for a great while, and passed, at an inconvenient distance, that fair island called Ceilon,[17] the which I had a great desire to see, we come near to our port. And to me, who had thought Surat to be on the sea-shore, ’twas a most monstrous surprise to find that we must needs cast anchor in Swally[18] Road, and from thence find means to get ourselves conveyed to the town, the which stands at some small distance up the river Taptee. But this delay was by no means displeasing to us, for there was many strange things and persons to be seen, such as we admired mightily.
And we reaching the shore in the master’s boat, and paying the tax of half a rupee that was demanded from each passenger, found there Mr Spender’s cousin, the Secretary, that was come to fetch him in an hackery, which is an Indian coach drawn by two white oxen. But since Mr Spender made no offer to present me to Mr Secretary, and I cared little to force myself upon this gentleman’s notice, I was left desolate, defending my trunks against a rout of swarthy rascals, both Moors and Gentues,[19] that fought with one another, and would have carried off my baggage before my eyes, had I so suffered it. But at last Captain Freeman, coming on shore and finding me contending with these fellows at great odds, from my having no knowledge of the Indostan tongue, and much incommoded with the great heat of the sun, was very wroth against Mr Spender, and made haste to call to my help a gentleman that was walking to the landing-place, bearing a great white umbrello over his head for to shield him from the sun. And by great good fortune, who should this gentleman be but Mr Martin, one of the Company’s senior factors, to whom I had a letter wrote from Dr Ruthven? He received me with great kindness, and made haste to hire certain of the troublesome rogues for to carry my trunks to his hackery, and bade me take my place therein, and so carried me to the city, after bidding farewell to my good friend Captain Freeman. Dr Ruthven had assured me that I should be much pleased with Mr Martin, and in truth, in that short space of our journey together I did discover him to be a person of most varied and ingenious learning, and so full of proverbs and wise sayings as I had never imagined could be. Coming, then, to the gate of Surat, we must needs pass through the Custom-house, where the customers[20] are so strict that they must perforce search in all my pockets as well as my trunks and mails. And this done, we went on into the city, Mr Martin displaying to me divers strange sights, until we come to the Factory, which is a large and fair house, builded after the Moorish fashion, and well defended by great walls.
And being arrived, Mr Martin was so good as to say that if I would, he would make interest for me to be under him in the business, and to lie in the chamber next to him of nights. And of this offer when I had gratefully accepted, I had my trunks brought to the place he shewed me, and was assigned a Gentue servant for to wait upon me, and was carried by Mr Martin to view the whole of the Factory. Which Factory is, as I have said, a great house, given to the English many years since by the king of Guzeratta, but whereto they have added go-downs[21] and storehouses, built on hired land. And the house itself is built after the Indian mode, of two storeys, and the upper and lower rooms opening on two long galleries, the floors being of the best cement, and near half a yard thick, all this for the sake of coolness. The walls are part of stone and part of timber, whereof the last is adorned with tolerable carvings, after their heathenish fashion. There is a neat oratory, or chapel, where divine service is held twice in the day, and on Sundays three times, and a convenient dining-room, open on all sides, but shaded at the top, wherein all the Company’s servants do eat together, being placed according to their degree in the service. The President’s rooms are very finely furnished, in part after the Oriental style, and Mr Secretary’s are likewise decent and comely enough, close to which was Mr Spender’s chamber. And we happening upon the President about this time, Mr Martin did present me to his honour, and ask his leave to keep me under him, which his honour was pleased to grant. And on that same evening, Mr Martin carried me to the garden belonging to the English, which is situated without the town, and should have been very fair and pleasant but for the doings whereof I will tell you. For as Mr Martin and I rid to the garden, he discovered to me all the trials and troubles wherefrom this poor town and Factory had lately suffered, which I will set down, that so you may perceive in what an evil case was his majesty’s poor subjects in Surat at this time.
Now first you must know that near the whole of East India (and now, for aught I know, the entire country) is subject to the Moors, that are akin to the Scythian Tartars, and come from the north, and the chiefest nation of these Moors is called the Moguls. And the ruler of these Moguls is a mighty emperor, that hath his court in the great cities of Agra and Dhilly,[22] and reigns there with such magnificence as no sovereign of Europe can equal, far less surpass. And the emperor when I came to Surat, and that is still (in 1697) reigning, was the great Auren Zeeb,[23] said by the Moors to be so wise and just as no prince hath been since Solomon, and by the Gentues the most cruel and tyrannical ruler that did ever oppress a nation for its sins. Now of these Gentues, the most warlike and bravest tribe is that called the Morattys,[24] dwelling in a province named, so far as I can spell it, Moruchtraw.[25] And of this province the boundaries are uncertain, but it lies in great part in the kingdom of Guzeratta. The Morattys are said by some to be a most bloodthirsty and treacherous people, but ’twould ill become me to indorse this opinion without more strict inquiry, since it hath pleased God by their means to give me great deliverance, and this not once only, as I shall shew hereafter in its place.
Now these Morattys had at this time a great king, or chief, by name Seva Gi,[26] son to a famous captain of the king of Visiapour’s,[27] called Shaw Gi, surnamed the Bounceloe,[28] from the caste or family whereto he belonged, and his mother was descended from the ancient kings of that country. He, rising up against the king of Visiapour, defeated and murdered by treachery Abdul Caun[29] his general, and had thereafter great success, taking many considerable places, even fortified towns, so that at one time he was master both of Duccan and also of Conchon,[30] which is the rugged country lying between the mountains and the sea. But neither he nor any leader of the Morattys hath ever been able to retain his hold on the plain country, but hath always been forced to seek refuge again in the hills, which, indeed, is the native land of the Moratty, where he is most at home. Now with such craft and subtilty did this Seva Gi go to work, that he was able for some years to maintain his peace with the Mogul emperor, while all the while warring with him that should have been his ally—viz., the king of Visiapour. It may well be that the mighty Auren Zeeb felt no grief to see two powerful princes destroying the one the other, and he did observe the fighting with no small diversion, calling the said Seva Gi his Mountain-rat, because he must needs retreat always to the hills. Now with regard to the town of Surat, I must premise that there is set over it on the behalf of the Great Mogul a governor, whose government is a byword among all the Europe merchants for its injustice. But whatever may be this person’s iniquities, he is, at the least, faithful to his master, and spurned all the offers made him from Seva Gi, that he should take his part. Wherefore Seva Gi made a road[31] into the place, and took and plundered the town, holding it for six days, and taking from it a prodigious booty. But the English, being retired into their Factory, and using that for a citadel, did show so fierce a front, and upon occasion defend themselves so bravely, as Seva Gi was forced to leave ’em in peace. But their fair garden, lying, as I have said, outside of the city, was overrun and ruined, and was not yet recovered when I first saw it, all this happening but shortly before my coming.
“But pray, sir,” says I to Mr Martin, “how can you have any comfort of life, knowing that you are all the time placed between an unjust governor and a murderous robber?”
“Beggers should be no chusers, sir,” quoth Mr Martin. “Sure we are in better case here than under the eye of the Inquisition at Goa, or even than quarrelling with my Lord Malbery[32] and the king’s officers at Bombaim.”[33]
“At the least you are your own masters here, sir,” says I.
“Not so fast, if you please, sir,” says he. “Not many months ago were we held under grievous oppression by the Dutch, that would have us acknowledge ’em to be lords of the Eastern Seas. Not being contented with the most injurious conduct towards ourselves, they must needs hoist their ancient[34] above our St George’s cross, as though we were surrendered to ’em. And not a warship had we for to defend us against their injuries. Had they but had Old Noll to deal withal, he should have punished ’em first and made ’em ask pardon after.”
“I trust, sir, that you an’t regretting the most fortunate death of that rebel?” said I. Mr Martin looked upon me jestingly.
“He that hath an ill name is half-hanged, an’t he?” said he. “Old Noll was a rebel, sir, but the Dutch feared him as the very devil.”
While thus discoursing, we walked to and fro in the garden, wherein had stood divers choultries, or summer-houses, very pleasant to take the air within, but now heaps of ruins, together with grottoes of many fantastical forms, and fountains, whereof the sound and the coolness was mighty agreeable. But the wildness of the place surprised me (though now I know that the Indian gardeners do not affect neatness and symmetry of arrangement, as do ours), nor had the ruins been cleared away, but the flowers were springing and growing up around them. And of the flowers themselves was nothing extraordinary, but only mallows and stocks and jessamines and suchlike common things, for so cursed with idleness are the lower sort here, that they won’t take the trouble even to grow roses. Nevertheless, this garden is a mighty pretty and pleasant place, and were it only better dressed and kept, might be a very paradise.
And we returning to the Factory, Mr Martin pointed out to me the English burying-ground, wherein are many monuments of extreme elegance, and likewise the Dutch Factory, where were many stout mynheers, that showed us, on our passing them, no more courtesy than they need. Likewise Mr Martin bade me note the devastation wrought in the city by that freebooter Seva Gi, so that the great walls were in part broken down, and many fine mansions laid in ruins, and the houses of the poorer sort almost all destroyed, though being but of mud and stubble, they were fast beginning to build ’em up again. And moreover, Mr Martin told me of one John Smith, who, being captured by Seva Gi’s ruffians before he could escape into the Factory, was carried before their prince himself, and heard him give orders for the beheading of divers, both Moors and Gentues, that would not declare where their treasures was hid. Upon this J. Smith fell into a great fear and trembling, but God did graciously incline towards him the heart of the king, so that on the advice of one of the chief Brachmines,[35] his ministers, he let him go, and I myself have both seen and talked with him many times.
We were now returned into the town, and this being the hour at which all do take the air, we met with most of the Company’s servants then in Surat, some riding on fine Arabian horses (these brought, as Mr Martin informed me, by sea from Juddah),[36] but the most part borne in palenkeens, which is a kind of coach without wheels, and carried on men’s shoulders, the which seemed to me a very womanish manner of going abroad, but I now know that the heat do make it very agreeable. Passing the Mint, which is an extreme handsome piece of building, we come to the cloth-bazar, which is like one of our markets, but held all the year round. And in the High Street, which I had looked to see a noble and stately place, I found only mean houses, with the shops like peddlars’ stalls with us. And coming back to the Factory, we made ready for supper, where I saw all the gentlemen that served the Company at this place. And mighty strange it seemed to me, that all were dressed in white, for to avoid the heat of the sun, though keeping the English fashion. Now at the supper itself was all the meats served on plate of China,[37] that, as they say, cracks when any poison touches it, which is, without doubt, providentially ordained for the sake of the dwellers in this land, where poisoning is so common. And besides this magnificence, behind each man’s seat there stood an Indian servant with a great fan of peacocks’ feathers, which was waved about for to cool the air. And such ceremony was observed in the bringing in and removing the many dishes as I had never thought could be anywhere, short of a king’s palace. But with all this state, the gentlemen showed themselves very affable towards me, and Mr Martin presenting me to one or two, we had much pleasant and witty discourse. And so at last to bed, being well tired by all that I had seen and done that day, but found it prodigious hard to sleep, through being plagued by those villainous insects called muskeetoes, the which abound in these parts.
Then the next day I began to learn how the Company’s business was carried on. But instead of the English going into the public markets for to buy, as I had thought, I found that they made use of Gentue merchants, called banyans,[38] that act as brokers, and after buying up their wares from the Indians, bring them to the Factory. These men are of a smiling and agreeable countenance and extreme respectful in their manners, wearing white linen raiment of a strange and womanish fashion. And although the Indostans generally are very square in all their dealings, and prodigious exact to make good all their engagements, yet these banyans are extreme cunning, and do contrive to gain for themselves so much from their transactions with their countrymen on the Company’s behalf, as they are counted among the most considerable persons of the place. And I not knowing their tongue, my duty was only to write at Mr Martin’s dictation, and do my best to improve myself. And when work was over, Mr Martin was again good enough to take me riding with him in his hackery, and to inform me on many matters. And I expressing my surprise that where so many gentlemen, and some of them of a good age, was gathered together, there should be none married, so far as appeared, Mr Martin saith—
“The proverb, sir, tells us, He is happie that is wed, and without trouble, but he that weds here is like to have trouble. For what gentlewoman of good family and fortune should choose to leave all she might have in England, and adventure herself in the Indies? ’Tis true that the Company desires its servants to be settled in life, and sends out women for ’em to marry, but you may guess what manner of creatures they would be, that would come out on such a chance; and moreover they are also sickly and soon die, whether from the evil nature of the climate, or from too much drinking of strong waters. Wherefore certain of the gentlemen here have wedded Indian or Portuguese wenches, and keep ’em shut up after the fashion of the country, never eating with ’em, and seeing ’em but when none else is by. But of such matches as these is great trouble arisen, in especial regarding the children that spring from ’em, when the mothers be Papists. It seems to me, therefore, that they are wisest that determine while in the Indies to devote themselves to their work alone, and postpone all such delights until the time of their return.”
“As I shall,” said I.
“What, you have made up your mind so soon, Mr Carlyon?” says he. “You an’t yet wedded, surely?”
“I am troth-plight, sir,” says I, and told him that which you know already—viz., my engagement with my little cousin Dorothy. When I had ended my tale, Mr Martin smiled upon me.
“All shall be well, and Jacke shall have Gill,” quoth he. “I honour your resolution, sir, and shall take it extreme unkind in you if I ben’t asked to the wedding, always supposing that I am in England then.”
“That wise saw of yours is mighty comforting, sir,” says I.
“Say you so?” says he. “Then what do you think of this one, sir, Age and wedlocke lames man and beast?”
I saw that he was jesting with me, but ’twas impossible for me to take offence, so kindly and sweet-tempered a person was he, and that friendship which was begun upon my landing at Surat hath continued ever since, to my much advantage. For although the Company hath made, and doth still make, many rules and advices for the better governing of the younger among its servants, yet rules are not always kept, and more than once hath Mr Martin brought me out of some trouble into which I was fallen, either through the natural heat of youth, or through the ill offices of Mr Spender.
For our life at Surat, there was in it always an admirable good order. We all ate in company, saving only the snack taken on rising for to comfort the stomach. Many of the gentlemen for this lunch[39] drank burnt wine, made hot with cinnamons and other spice, but I always followed Mr Martin’s advice, who told me that so much wine-drinking was like to breed fevers and other disorders. For himself, he was wont to drink thé[40] (the which is now well known in England, but then only to those in our factories in the Indies), and I did likewise, seeing that this herb doth much benefit the health both of the mind and the body by the operation of a certain temperate heat that is particular[41] to’t, and hath been observed by many curious travellers.
This life of ours in company, where so many persons of divers humours and originals were gathered together, made it necessary that all our behaviour should be civil and respectful, and this towards our chief and the chaplain in especial. The gentleman that occupied this last place was commonly a person of excellent parts and wise discourse, while his pay was higher than that even of the senior factors, and his precedence was fixed next after the Members of Council,—a station contrasting happily with the treatment accorded in these days to many parsons in England.
On Fridays was there an assembly held by Mr President, whereto the chief merchants of the other factories was used to come, and whereat much sack was drunk, and also palepuntz,[42] a drink compounded by the factors out of acquavitæ,[43] rosewater, sugar, and the juice of lemons, and one that has, I believe, been brought by some of them into England. But at the shipping-time was there small opportunity for such gaieties, for all day long was the banyans coming in with their accounts, and below in the courtyard the packers and warehouse-keepers must needs be looked after, and the merchants seen and spoken with that had brought musters[44] of their goods. More than once, also, I had the advantage to go with Mr Martin a journey among the towns and villages of the vicinage, when he must oversee the weavers of cotton fabrics, buying up the yarn from the spinners and intrusting it to the said weavers, that so they might have wherewith to occupy themselves during the rains. Nor was I idle when ’twas neither shipping-time nor occasion for a journey, for, learning from Mr Martin that the Company did furnish a master for to teach to the writers the tongues of the country, and did promise also an annuity unto such as learnt them well, but that few ever gained this, I applied myself to this study, so that I gat a fair knowledge both of the Persian and the Indostan[45] languages, and received the promised annuity. And this to my no small contentment, although his honour the President, being worked upon by Mr Secretary, was ill-pleased that he must give it to me and not to Mr Spender, that would never learn nothing that he could by any means avoid.
Now in these first years that I spent in Surat was many great things happening, both at home and also in the Indies. The first whereof I won’t recount, as knowing and hearing little of them; but of the latter I may mention that that famous Moratty prince, Seva Gi, of whom I have before spoke, being attempted[46] by the whole power of the emperor Auren Zeeb, submitted himself and made his peace, and was kindly received and his demands granted, so as he dared even adventure himself in the city of Dhilly itself, on a visit to that great prince. But here he quickly discovered himself to have been entrapped, for the Mountain-rat was not accustomed to the ways of courts, and did quarrel grievously with the emperor’s ministers. Having thus offended Auren Zeeb, he found he was almost a prisoner, and must needs bend his wits to the getting safely out of the place. And this he did by a stratagem so cool and so ingenious as caused all that heard on’t to admire, and one that I myself did imitate thereafter, as you shall in due time hear. For having sent away his soldiers, and feigning himself to be sick, he had himself and also Samba Gi,[47] his son, conveyed out of the town in great baskets, such as the Moors use to send fruits and succades[48] in as gifts to their mosqueys. And thus reaching a place of safety, he returned to Moruchtraw, and fought against the Great Mogul with good success during almost all the remaining part of his life. And of the consequences of these wars you will see that I myself participated, but not yet.
Now during all this time I was not content to enjoy only my wage as a writer and the annuity I had earned, but engaged myself also in ventures to the Eastern Seas, whereby my wealth was much increased.[49] But of my venture for cloves to the Manillas, or of my sending of Europe goods in a caphalay[50] (which is a pack-train) bound for the city of Dhilly, you won’t care to hear, and ’twould be tedious to tell. But I may say to you that these ventures prospered marvellously, so that when I had been four years in East India, I had been able to put by moneys sufficient to pay the further bond of £500 demanded from factors, when I should have been five years a writer and so have reached my promotion, and something also to adventure once more in trading. And all this I did regard as a step towards the fulfilment of that work which my father had set before me, and towards my marriage with Dorothy, and in my letters sent home I writ with great delight of this happy hope. Happy is it for us poor mortals that we can’t read the future, for at this very time, when all looked so bright before me, I was about to part with all I had gained, yea, with all that I had ever had, and barely to escape with life itself.
CHAPTER IV.
OF MY SENDING TO GOA BY MY EMPLOYERS, AND OF THOSE THINGS THAT BEFELL ME THERE.
Now this is the manner in which these untoward matters befell, of the which I spake only on my last page. For I was called one day into the Council, which is the highest in the Indies, and found there his honour the President, together with Mr Accountant, that is next in place to him, the Warehouse-keeper, the Purser Marine, the Secretary, and divers of the senior merchants of the Factory, that have the honour to be members of the board. And I, much fearing that I was to be chidden for some failure in my duty, did answer to the summons with little joy, standing before their honours like some poor rascal of a poacher awaiting his sentence from the bench of justices, but my friend Mr Martin, being among the merchants present, did cheer me with a look, so as I was made happy again. Then saith Mr Accountant—
“Mr Carlyon, you have now been near five years in the Company’s service at this place, and we learn from Mr Martin, who is set over you, that you have a fair knowledge of the East Indian tongues, and have always deserved to be well spoken of, as a zealous and careful servant of the Committee.”
I bowed in answer to these compliments, and he continued—
“Do you know anything of the Portuguese, Mr Carlyon?”
“No, sir,” says I; “I han’t never had occasion to learn it.”
“It may be that that occasion is even now arriving,” says he. “The Company, learning that its interests have at divers times suffered grievous hurt through its servants not understanding the tongue of the Portugals, hath decided to have instructed therein certain of its writers, gentlemen well-learned in the Indian tongues. At present you are the only gentleman at this place of whom this is said, and the Committee are therefore pleased to direct that you shall proceed at their charges to the city of Goa, in the Portuguese Indies, there to study the Portuguese tongue. The time you spend there under the Committee’s direction will count as a part of your service as writer, and you will receive a genteel present from the Company when you have given proof of your diligence.”
“I thank your honours and the Committee, sir,” said I, “for this goodness, which I will do my best to deserve.”
“You will provide yourself, Mr Carlyon,” says Mr Accountant, “with clothes befitting a young gentleman of quality, and the Company will furnish you with letters of commendation to the most considerable persons in Goa. Mr Martin will be good enough to instruct you with respect to the carriage and manners it will be becoming to you to assume. You won’t of course deny your connection with the Factory here, but it need not be insisted upon in general company. And if”—here Mr Accountant leaned forward, and looked me very steadfastly in the face—“if you find that ’tis true, as is alleged, that the Portugals are contriving plots for the damaging the Company’s trade in the Eastern Seas, you will make known the same to us, by means as secret and as speedy as you can devise.”
“Sir,” said I, “I’ll do my best to be watchful for their honours’ interests.” For I perceived that the Council was no little touched by the rumours that had of late reached us concerning the designs of the Portugals, and that ’twas my business to discover these, that so they might best be thwarted. And after this Mr Secretary, that had spoke not at all hitherto, being grieved that he could not prevail with his honour the President to send Mr Spender to Goa beside me, gave me my further instructions, and so I was dismissed. And Mr Martin and I walking back to our chambers, he saith to me:—
“This chanceth in an houre that hapneth not in seven yeares, Ned, and sure ’tis a happy chance for you. With prudence and tolerable good luck, your fortune is now assured. I don’t doubt but you’ll soon be made agent in some small factory when you are returned from your studying, and so have occasion to use your Portuguese. But with your leave, lad, I will give you some counsel, lest you fall into trouble at Goa.”
“Sir,” says I, “I hope that I shall always gratefully receive and follow any counsels you may be good enough to give me.”
“Listen, then,” says he; “and first you must always be mindful not to infringe the punctilio[51] of the Portugals, for so fantastical and strange is’t as passeth belief. You must never look hard at a lady, as she sits in her balcony, or rides in her coach, if you don’t desire to be stabbed that night. And regarding the religion of Goa, you must needs be mighty circumspect. You have seen those poor idolaters, the Papists here, walking through the city with their processions, and kneeling down in the mire when the Host is a-passing? Here this happeneth but from time to time, but at Goa you see little else. And in all the Portugals’ towns ’tis the law and custom that every one meeting a procession of the Church shall uncover to’t, and also kneel, or at the least bow low, until it be passed by. Now some Englishmen, conceiving that saw to be true, When at Rome, do as Rome does, do make it their custom to uncover and kneel, as ’tis ordained, but to me, this compliance savours somewhat of cowardice, and won’t, as I believe, commend itself to you. Wherefore, if you’ll be guided by me, I would have you go into some shop near at hand, or turn down another street whensoever you see a procession coming, or hear the little bell rung that signifies the approach of the Host, if you don’t wish to be stabbed where you stand. And above all, my dear Ned, let me entreat you never to enter into any controversy with any person in Goa, be he Portugal or Indian, upon any question of religion. He will seek to lead you on until you have uttered something that is to his mind heretical, and then he’ll denounce you to the Inquisition. And once there, Ned, ’twere far better had you been stabbed in the street by some bravo among the common people, for the few that are escaped thence are come forth crippled and helpless, and the many that han’t never escaped have died by the torture or the fire. Happie is he that can beware by other men’s harmes.”
“I thank you, sir,” says I, “and will try to remember that which you have ofttimes told me—viz., A close mouth catches no flys.”
“Good lad!” says he, “and may I see you return safe in six months or thereabouts, as full of the Portuguese as a banyan is full of deceits. But let me counsel you to take with you such weapons as you may chance to have, and to sleep with ’em under your pillow of nights; for Goa is the most shameless ill-governed town that ever called itself Christian.”
Much other good counsel did my esteemed friend give me during the short space of time that we yet spent together, for it took no long delay to prepare me for my journey. ’Twas thus that I found myself, in the early part of the year 1668-69, at the age of twenty-two years, equipped as a gentleman of good degree for to set out on my travels, having letters with me to several respectable gentlemen at Goa, a tolerable supply of money, and suitable weapons for my defence. Likewise I had with me my servant Loll Duss,[52] a most excellent good fellow, that had served me from my first arriving in Surat, and might put to shame many of our English lacqueys. ’Tis the custom in East India for persons of any consideration to carry about with them a great following of servants (though the cost of this is not so great as with us, these men being habited in white calicut, and eating only rice and a little fish); but I had no list to waste either the Company’s substance or my own upon such display as this. Nevertheless, so confident did I feel in my situation, and so sure that my fortune was now to be made, that I writ to my father and to Dorothy that they should not wonder though they heard no more touching me for a long time, for that I might be chief Vizier to the Great Mogul when next they heard speak of me. To Mr Martin’s care I intrusted the diary I had kept, and such things as I must leave behind me, he promising also to keep for my return any letters that might be brought for me by ship from England. This good friend bare me company down to the landing-place, and as his wont was, bade me farewell with a proverb—
“Ned, suffer me to advise you once more, Speake faire, and thinke what you will. Even if by chance your argument should convince a Papist, it won’t profit either of you, since you will find yourself in the Inquisition, and he must needs show an extraordinary great soundness and devotion to save his life, and bring the faggots for to burn you.”
Thus we bade one another farewell, and I departed on my journey in the Company’s baloon, which is a boat of sixteen oars, very pleasant and commodious for to travel by. On our way we tarried only at the factory of Bombaim, and arrived in good time at the mouth of the Goa river. This place is well defended, for there are here four forts and a block-house, and so arranged as that no ship may pass but under their guns. And going on up the river we passed the great Agoada,[53] which brings water to the city, and the strong fortress of Marmagoun. The champaign country on either side of the river is mighty pleasant of aspect, and situate in it is many fine garden-houses[54] of the Viceroy and the hidolgoos,[55] with stately churches and palaces. The river here is full of islands, which do much hinder the passage of vessels, and not far below the city it is crossed by a bridge of thirty-six arches, joined to a long causey.[56] The city itself is ten miles from the river-mouth,[57] and stands on seven hills, being defended by good walls and gates. The prospect in approaching the place is an extreme fine one to behold, and the buildings of the city as rich and fair as any I have ever seen. Methought, as I come near to this accursed place, whereof I can now scarce think without a shudder, that here was no ill town to tarry in for six months, not knowing that I should not leave it for three years, and should (I fear) gladly have seen it destroyed, like Sodom or Gomorrha, long before that time.
I had been recommended by my employers to a decent lodging, where such Englishmen as visited Goa on their occasions was wont to tarry, and here I took up my billet, together with my servant Loll Duss. The keeper of the lodging was a certain woman, widow to one of the Company’s captains now deceased, speaking English very well, though country-born, and no bigot, although one of those Papists of whom Mr Martin had warned me. She gave me a fair chamber, looking into a court well set with trees, and with a fountain running therein, and good entertainment also, so that I found myself well provided for. And I asking her to advise me of a good teacher, from whom I might learn the Portuguese, she named to me her own son, that had made one or two voyages in his father’s ship, and could speak English also. And I, that had feared I must needs have some Jesuit padree to my teacher, whereby, as Mr Martin foresaw, I had been very like to be led into controversy, accepted of her offer with great contentment, and had the boy fetched, that I might see him. He, being a smart fellow enough, professed himself quite ready to serve me for a decent weekly wage, and I was thus well attended, having always with me my secretary (as he called himself), beside my servant Loll Duss.
And now, conceiving that I might well begin with the highest, I did send by the hand of Loll Duss that letter of commendation I had to Dom Lewis de Bustamante, a gentleman in very high place, and nephew to his highness the Viceroy. And this Dom Lewis lost little time before he came to visit me, and entreated me most courteously, and must needs carry me with him to make my compliments to his highness his uncle, for whom I had brought a genteel present—viz., several pots of extraordinary fine succades or sweetmeats, newly arrived from Europe. And the Viceroy I found to be a proper man, and most courteous of manner, and indeed, among all those I have known have I never seen none so kind and so greatly given to hospitality as were these Portugals. For his highness was graciously pleased to give me as a token of his favour a ring, with a very fair diamond set therein, worth some thousand pagodoes,[58] which he took from his own finger for to put it upon mine. How I lost this ring, you will hear in due time, but I have often desired to know whether it returned into his highness’s coffers or no. Dom Lewis, likewise, showed me great kindness, and had fain had me lie at his house, and was so urgent with me that I had much ado to refuse him; but pleading the importance of my occasions, and my occupation with the Portuguese tongue, they left me where I was.
Now after this time this was the manner of my life at Goa, and if it seem to you too light and idle, you must remember that I was but young, and that I conceived I was doing best my employers’ business in mingling much with the Portugals. For on rising in the morning, I went with my hostess’s son (that was called Peter) to take the air by the river, and perhaps to view some church or other great building, and thereafter I spent some time in the study of the Portuguese. But for some two or three hours about mid-day was every one wont to repose themselves indoors, for fear of the heat, and I was fain to do the like. Then in the afternoon would come Dom Lewis or some one of his friends for to carry me with him to some assembly or party of pleasure, and the evening passed agreeably enough, with music and dancing, and suchlike diversions.
Now you will wonder how in all this time I escaped the Inquisition, without (as some have falsely said) I conformed myself to their customs for fear. But the manner of my safety was this. I followed out the counsel given me by Mr Martin, and avoided all processions and church shows. I had much desired to have seen an High Mass in the great church of the Dominicans or Black Friars, the which is all gilded within, and in the sacristan[59] treasures of untold value, but I refrained, and forced myself only to visit it one morning with Peter. Likewise, I was very firm to refrain from argument, and indeed my companions, that were for the most part young gentlemen of good blood and breeding, did never attempt to force it upon me. And with regard to the punctilio of the Portugals, I saw much reason to marvel thereat, seeing that they will walk abroad in the streets bareheaded under umbrelloes, for to avoid the necessity of uncovering the one to the other; but I was so happy as never to infringe it. And of adventures among the ladies had I none, seeing that they are kept very recluse, and I had neither inclination nor opportunity to make close acquaintance with ’em. But it is necessary to state this, since it hath been alleged otherwise concerning me. Thus all went well, until one day Dom Lewis came earlier than usual to visit upon me, and carried me with him to his house, that was very fine and splendid, for to see his cousin newly arrived from the Moxambique.
And this cousin of his (that was also nephew to the Viceroy) I found a pretty boy enough, Dom Francis de Lessa by name. (Now this name, Francis, is very common in Goa, after their great saint, Franciscus Xeverius,[60] that lies buried in the fair church of Bon Jesu.) And this young gentleman, Dom Francis, had been bred up in one of their colleges by the Jesuits, or Paulistins,[61] as they call them here, from their monastery of St Paul’s; and with him was his governor,[62] that the Viceroy, with the advice of the padrees, had appointed over him. This was a Paulistin called Father Sebastian, a person of a most gentle and courteous aspect, and so well versed in all matters of polite learning that to talk with him was a pleasure. Yet, to my misfortune, there awoke in me, while in his company, as it were a certain fervour and heat of opposition, so that I did find myself perpetually at an issue with him, to my no small concern, be the matter of our discourse what it might. Now on this day it seemed good to us to walk through the city and show to Dom Francis what was worthy to be seen therein, and so the time passed pleasantly away. But in returning from Old Goa, a part of the town that is now decayed, but wherein many respectable persons do dwell agreeably enough, we stopped on a bridge for to look at the boats on the river, and I chanced to say that ’twas a pity the Portugals should waste so much time a-racing one another on the water in baloons to the spoiling of their business.
Then says Father Sebastian in French—
“You English are a stirring and industrious nation, sir. Sure we can’t never hope to equal you in this.”
“It seems to me, sir,” says I, “with all respect to you, that in the present posture of affairs, your governors are much to blame in that they allow so many of your men to stay idle in monasteries, instead of arming ’em and setting ’em to drill or to work. Why, ’tis said you have more Europe men in the convents here than in all your garrisons, and King Seva Gi and his Morattys at your very gates.”
“But pray, sir,” saith he, very meekly, “could these persons be better employed than in beseeching God to favour the arms of their country, and His saints to keep the enemy at a distance?”
“Indeed, sir,” says I, “speaking with all deference to you, I must say that all these Black, White, or Gray Friars do the country no good, nor the Church no credit. Were his highness to order ’em all on to the walls for to be taught how to handle a fusee or a pike, ’twould provide for the place a handsome garrison, and rid the town of a lazy set of rascals.” I was about to continue, growing warm in the subject, the which had much exercised me since my coming to Goa, when Dom Lewis pressed my arm, and I followed his eyes to a certain island in the river, where was a great void place with high posts set up therein, and seats of stone at one side thereof. I had seen this place before, and Peter also had pointed me to it, but it seemed to me that I had never yet truly understood what was done there. ’Twas the burning-place of the Inquisition. I stopped suddenly in my speech, but Dom Lewis said somewhat touching the time of day, and we passed on.
Now as we come into the town, there was had betwixt us some discussion as to which way we should return to the Viceroy’s palace, and on the advice of Father Sebastian we made choice of a certain street that leads past the cathedral. And we walking and talking merrily, come presently to the square lying before this, which is as large as any in England, and of a neat and plain aspect. Now we being entered the square, I saw coming towards us the procession of some saint, I have forgot which, but they were carrying the Host under a state,[63] with clericos walking bareheaded on either hand, and boys scattering incense and ringing bells. There was also one or two images or statuas, with banners and suchlike borne aloft, and many nuns and ladies of the city walking after. And as the procession come near, the people all made haste to kneel down in the dust, the men uncovering, until it should be passed. And I, according to my custom, did seek to turn aside, but we were in the open square, and there was no shop nor side-street at hand. Then there come to my mind that sight which Dom Lewis had but now showed to me—viz., the burning-place by the river, and I won’t conceal from you that for a moment my knees trembled and the devil tempted me very sorely to take off my hat and bow myself before those images and that Host which was carried there. But I thank God that I was kept from this base and cowardly conformity, and was strengthened to stand still while as the procession came near. Father Sebastian and Dom Francis went down on their knees mighty devoutly, and Dom Lewis bowed almost to the ground, saying to me—
“Bow, Dom Edward; ’tis the custom here.”
But I still stood up, and the procession passed by, the priests and women all looking black upon me that durst insult their idols. And when the people was rose up again from their knees, they come round about us, hustling us and crying out that we was atheists and heretics, and making ready for to stone us. But Dom Lewis crying out to them very earnestly that I was a stranger that knew not their ways in that place, and that they were all three good Christians, as might be seen, they were content to let us pass, though with many ill words. Thus we walked on to the palace, Father Sebastian going meekly with his eyes cast down and his hands folded, and Dom Lewis with a dark and gloomy air, while Dom Francis his cousin looked upon me askance, avoiding me as a man might one that had the plague. I, indeed, was far from being at ease with myself, and to add to my distemper, it seemed that even in the palace I could not be free from peril, for we reaching the building and standing on the great steps in the forefront thereof for to take the air, there come up an ancient man, an Indian, of a lean and shabby aspect, and he carried with him a little cabinet, so to speak, with curtains before it of some old torn stuff. And Father Sebastian asking what strange beast he had therein, the fellow replied by bringing the cabinet up to us upon the steps, and showing us inside on’t divers little images of the Virgin and the saints. And his design was that we should kiss these, and withal give him some small piece of money, as the custom is here. And Father Sebastian motioning him to approach me first, being the guest of Dom Lewis, I had in my hand half a ducket,[64] the which I purposed to give him, seeing the man to be old and poor, but I refused to kiss the images that he carried, whereat he departed much displeased, though the other gentlemen were willing to pleasure him.
And now, Dom Lewis seeming to be ill at ease, we went into the palace, and presently his highness entered to us, and the evening passed as usual. But shortly before the company departed, while as they was serving jacolatt,[65] Father Sebastian entered again into discourse with me, and desired to hear many things concerning England. He held many strange notions touching our country, such as I should conceive a Frenchman might entertain, but so universally learned are these Jesuits that I can’t so much as guess of what nation he was. And at last he advanced this proposition—viz., that the English are a people altogether destitute of all loyalty and reverence, and entirely given up to lawlessness and irreligion. And this saying I did combat with all my skill, bringing forward to the contrary thereof the loyalty wherewith the Cavaliers fought for his late majesty, and the reverence they testified toward the poor clergy in their extremity.
“But, sir,” saith Father Sebastian, “sure you’ll pardon me if I say aught displeasing to you in my ignorance, but I had believed that ’twas accounted in England a merit to show no reverence to such things as other men venerate. And this belief of mine was confirmed, sir, in me by your own behaviour to-day.”
“I hope, sir,” says I, “that I am always ready to show due respect wheresoever my conscience may allow on’t, but I can’t find it in me to bow down to a piece of bread.”
I saw Dom Francis turn pale and walk away, at a signal from his governor, and Dom Lewis called my notice to a rare piece of carving in ivory that had but just been sent to his highness from the king of Visiapour, and told me that it was worth at the least ten thousand duckets. And while admiring this, I noted a badge or medal in gold that he bore on his left arm, and whereof I had often desired to ask him, and I inquired concerning its device, and his reason for the wearing it. But it seemed to me that Father Sebastian looked at him for a moment, and in the stead of answering, he put my question aside, and spake of some other matter. Then the father turned again to me—
“I ask your pardon, sir, but I don’t follow your meaning as I could wish. May I beg of you to favour me at more length with the opinions held by the English (and by yourself as an Englishman), on this subject—viz., the respect paid to images of the holy saints?”
Now I would not have you think of me more highly than I deserve, and so I will confess to you that ’twas my fantasy at this time that I had a mighty pretty turn for argument, and could set out my meaning as neatly as any man. But on this especial evening I declare most solemnly that I had no list whatever to argue, but only to set forth and explain unto this civil and fair-spoken priest that which he desired to know. But ’twas not to be looked for that I, matched against such an extraordinary keen antagonist, could confine myself to a cold setting forth of facts, and I found quickly that I was becoming engaged in a smart controversy, Dom Lewis and divers gentlemen of his acquaintance standing by to listen, though uttering no comment on all that passed. The matter was ended at last by his highness giving the signal to retire, and Father Sebastian saying that we must surely resume our debate on the morrow, I bade him good night, and so departed. But Dom Lewis coming with me into the hall while I buckled on my sword, and two peunes[66] (which is Gentue boys or servants), sought out and brought to me my hat and cloak, I heard him mutter in his throat when he bade me farewell certain words. And of these the sense never reached me until I had returned to my lodging, and was ready to go to bed, though their sound seemed well known to me, but then I knew them to be, Quem Deus vult perdere, prius dementat.
But, as I said, I did not perceive at first the meaning of these words, and I went home after my usual fashion, with one of the Viceroy’s servants bearing a lantern before me, and found Loll Duss looking for me in no small alarm, since it was already late, and he had feared lest some ill was befallen me. For, as Mr Martin had warned me, in the streets of Goa is no safety for any whose occasions oblige them to be abroad after dark, for what with the Coffrees[67] or negroes, that are given no food by their masters, and the soldiers, whose pay is always withheld from ’em, so that both must needs brawl and rob for to keep themselves alive, the place is full of murders and assaults every night. Nay, so bold do these robbers become, that ’tis their custom even to break into houses, and strip the inhabitants of their moneys and other goods, and kill those that resist them, wherefore every prudent person is wont to sleep with pistols at his bed’s head and sword by his side. And after this manner had I laid myself down on this same night, with Loll Duss a-sleeping on the threshold of my chamber, and was fallen asleep in great contentment, expecting no harm nor fearing none, that peril from the unruly brawlers alone excepted.
But on a sudden I was awaked by an extraordinary great knocking at the gate without, and heard Peter run to ask who might be there. At the first I thought it to be a band of those thieving soldiers of whom I spake just now, but by the answer that was then returned to him I knew what it was that should befall me, for a voice cried—
“The Holy Inquisition. Open quickly!”
“Loll Duss,” says I to my servant, that had rushed into my chamber in affright, “these men are come for to take me.”
“Shall we resist ’em, master?” quoth he, snatching up my sword from its sheath, and making as though he would defend the door.
I looked around, the while I could hear Peter fumbling to unfasten the bolts of the gate. Perchance (says I), if we can drive them away for a moment we may escape. But at once I perceived that ’twas impossible. My chamber opened on the one side into the inner court, from which was no exit but over the roof, and on the other into a passage leading to the gate. There was no way of escape. But upon this a thought seized me.
“No, Loll Duss,” says I, “we can’t resist. They are come for to seek me, and must needs take me. But I dare be bound they han’t no warrant for to hale you along with me, though they will take you if they find you. Hide yourself, and save these papers of mine, and carry ’em with you to Surat, to Mr Martin.”
And thus speaking I snatched up from my writing-book the letter I had but just wrote to Mr Martin, and with it such notes as I had made touching the designs of the Portugals in the Eastern Seas, and thrust them into his hands. My pistols also I gave him, and such money as come to my hand, and bade him be gone. And he disappeared and was gone before I might so much as turn round, hiding himself in some hole so secure as that they never found him.
Now all these things happened in far less time than I must take for to tell you of ’em, and Loll Duss was safely departed when at length the gate was opened, and the officers come along the passage to my chamber. I met them at the door, and would have asked their business, as one hugely curious concerning their visit, but at the sight of him that led them my tongue refused his office, for he was my friend, Dom Lewis de Bustamante. And he summoning and claiming me as the prisoner of the Holy Inquisition, showed me a warrant, signed and sealed, and upon this the rest of the officers entered the chamber, and set seals on all that was therein. Now the seal that was upon the warrant bare the device of a dove carrying in her mouth a branch of olive, and these words in Latin, Justitia et Misericordia. Then I, looking upon the medal that Dom Lewis bare upon his sleeve, did see wrought therein this self-same figure and motto, the which stirred up in me a great heat and indignation, that a brave man should suffer his friends carelessly to endanger themselves in his presence, and never tell them that his honour demanded that he should denounce and seize ’em. As for the rest of the officers, they was as evil-looking a crew of rascals as I ever saw, all clad in great gowns of black stuff, with hoods for to shade their faces, but of their nature I saw little, for they said nothing, leaving it all to Dom Lewis, that was most assuredly their master.
And this nobleman asking of me whether I were ready to come with ’em, I requested leave to finish dressing of myself properly, which was granted, and likewise to pack and take with me my trunk, or at least some clothes in a bag, but this he refused, saying that the Holy Office should look to my goods, and I should have ’em again. Then having dressed myself, I went with them to the gate, where they had a coach in waiting, and put me into it, and themselves followed, my hostess weeping and crying in the door that no such shame had ever come upon her house before, and so departed.
CHAPTER V.
OF THE EVENTS THAT BEFELL ME ON MY ARREST, AND IN THE HOLY HOUSE AT GOA.
Now while we were in the coach I did make inquiry of Dom Lewis whether they were a-carrying me to the Santa Casa (or Holy House, as the palace of the Inquisition is wont to be called, as though in mockery), but he refused to answer me, saying that I should discover where I was when I reached the journey’s end. And I therefore waiting patiently, we presently alighted, and after some ceremonies gone through before an officer, and the placing of irons on my feet, I was taken along a certain passage, and thrust into an extreme noisome and stinking place, wherein was already confined some thirty or forty persons. And these, I found, were common murderers and thieves of the town; for they rose upon me with one consent, and did take from me such money and other small matters as I had in my pockets, I not caring to resist them overmuch, as knowing that I should have no peace until they were well satisfied that they had left me nothing. And asking where I was, one advised me that the place was the Aljuvar, or prison belonging to the Ordinary, that is, the Archbishop of Goa, for that some law or custom hindered their carrying me at once to the Holy House.
In this foul and filthy hole I was left for two nights and a day, suffering great discomfort, and this not only in my mind, from the company I was in, but in body also, inasmuch as the floor was so covered with all nastiness that I durst not lay myself down, but was fain to abide standing, or at most leaning against the wall, which indeed scarce pleased me better than the floor, for that space of time. This chamber of the Aljuvar was situate below the level of the ground, and hollowed out of the rock, holding but one small opening to the light, through the which scarce a single ray could manage to pass. In the midst of the floor was a well or chasm, from the which, as from the lowest pit, there ascended evil and mephitical vapours, that were at times insupportable. I can scarce find it in me to cast up against the prisoners their robbing me of my money, and the eagerness they showed in this thievish work, since the Ordinary provided no food for ’em, and they must have starved had it not been for the charity of certain worthy persons, that brought broken victuals for to be given them. I myself had been like to have fared ill but for the kindness of the boy Peter, who brought me a basketful of such food as he could compass, the overplus whereof I did divide among my fellows. During the second night of my imprisonment I slept scarce a wink, being so sore troubled with the vermins that abounded in the place, and the stench from the well. Yet was not this discomfort wholly to be held a misfortune, since it hindered me from dwelling overmuch on the hard and unkind behaviour of Dom Lewis, which otherwise had sorely exercised me.
Despite this saving clause, nevertheless, ’twas with a joy that I had little expected ever to feel in the like posture of affairs that I heard myself summoned by the turnkey to come to the door, in order to my being transferred to the keeping of the Inquisition. At my request, time was granted me to make some small changes in my apparel and the like, and after this, the same persons as before met me on the threshold, and carried me in the coach to the Holy House, which is situate on that side of the great square that stands opposite to the cathedral, and is of a lofty and solemn aspect, being entered by three great doorways, whereof the midmost leadeth into the great hall, where I was taken. And here my conductors delivered me over into the hands of others that were there, and the irons that were upon my legs were knocked off. And this occupying some time, I had leisure to consider how little, when I, as had once been my custom, had read with my cousin Dorothy on the Sunday evenings in Mr Foxe his ‘Booke of Martirs,’ sitting in the summertime in the garden-arbour, and on the settle beside the great hall-fire in the winter, how little, I say, we had thought that I myself should ever come as a prisoner into the hands of that very Inquisition, of the devilish cruelties whereof we trembled only to read.
But these musings could not last long, for when they had released me from my irons, the officers into whose charge I had been given led me into a chamber opening from the hall, that is called, as I heard thereafter, the Board of the Holy Office. This chamber is hung round about with very fair tapestry, wrought in stripes of blue and citron colour, and at one end on’t a great crucifix in projecting work, that reached almost to the ceiling. There was a raised place in the midst, whereon stood a long table with great chairs set all around it, and at the end by the crucifix a folding-stool for the secretary. Opposite to this was set another fold-stool for the prisoner (that was I), and in the chairs around the table sat my lords the Inquisidors[68] and their officers. And of these Inquisidors, that are persons of a mighty severe aspect, and very reverend of bearing, the chief is a secular priest, and the second a religious of the Order of the Dominicans, and vested in their particular apparel, which is a white vesture set with a crotchet[69] in black, and this under a black gown or cowl. And I, after bowing myself with all imaginable respect unto their lordships, did sit down, as they bade me, upon the stool set for me, having on my right hand the Grand Inquisidor, who, beginning to speak, said to me somewhat in a tongue that I took to be the Italian, but which I understood not, and did shake my head for to signify the same. They asked of me next, whether I could speak the Portuguese, and on my answering in that tongue, with some halting, that I understood it but passably, and spake it as yet hardly at all, they demanded to know whether I would have an interpreter. And I accepting of the same with gratitude, they sent a messenger, who presently returned, bringing with him a Jesuit priest, clothed, as their manner is, in a long black gown, with a collar and rings, and a high round cap flat at the top, and this person did take his stand beside my lord the Grand Inquisidor, for to interpret to me what he should say.
At the command, then, of his lordship, this Paulistin asked of me, in outlandish enough English, concerning my name and state of life, both which I gave him, and then concerning the cause of my arrest, to which I made answer that to the best of my belief ’twas my not complying with the superstitious custom of the place—viz., in my refusing to bow to the procession that went past, carrying the Host with it. And upon this, with great solemnity, the interpreter adjured me to make a full confession of all the matters whereof I was accused, for that then the Holy Office should exercise its right of mercy, and release me speedily, with great advantage gained to my soul. He bade me also search and see whether my conscience warned me of no other crimes, for the which I might worthily be brought to trial and punished, but I made answer that I knew not what they might account crimes, but that so far as I remembered I could not charge myself with any that need come under their lordships’ notice. Furthermore, I declared to them that I was a subject of the King of England, and desired to be assisted by some consul or other officer of his majesty’s, and also threatened them with our fleet should they ill-use me or refuse me justice; but upon this they did dismiss me hastily, and bade the interpreter see me duly lodged.
I was taken then to a certain gallery, the priest and the secretary going with me, and there was brought thither my two trunks, and these the alcaide, as they call the chief turnkey, set himself to open and search, the secretary being at his side and noting down what was found therein. And while this was doing, the priest that had acted interpreter turned to me with a jolly laugh.
“These men speak no English,” says he, “and I have many things to ask of ye that I’d fain know, so with your pleasure we’ll discourse awhile. May I ask whether ye would be son to Sir Harry Carlyon, that once led the king’s forces in the West Country?”
“Seignior,” says I, greatly surprised, yet willing to be civil to this agreeable person, “Sir Harry Carlyon is my father.”
“Well met, then!” said he, “though I’d be glad to have had it in a better place. Your good father did me a kindness once, and sure I’ll not forget it. I hope Sir Harry is in good health, sir?”
“He was well when he writ to me last,” says I. “But pray, seignior, pardon my boldness in asking where you gat acquainted with my father. Was it in the wars of Germany?”
“Nay, ’twas in the wars of England,” says he. “The history on’t I’ll tell you another time, but advertise me now how matters are going under King Charles II., in Ireland especially.”
I perceived then that this person’s outlandish talk was all after the manner of the Irish, and after I had told him something of that which he desired to know, I learned that his name was Thigue O’Leary, but that in religion he was called Padree Deodoro, which in our tongue is Father Theodorus. Also he was good enough to testify great goodwill towards me, and to say that he hoped he should see me from time to time, for which (says he cheerfully) there will be opportunity enough before ye leave this place.
“For I see,” says he to me, “that ye are a lively youth, and mighty nimble with your tongue too. Sure I nearly laughed outright to hear ye calling down wrath on their lordships just now. And the cunning of ye! How did ye know that there was a poor Irishman here, dying for a man to talk to, when ye pretended not to understand the Inquisidor’s Latin?”
“I han’t heard any Latin, sir,” said I. “His lordship spoke to me in the Italian, as I believed.”
“Italian!” cried Father Theodorus, winking upon me with his eye, “sure ’twas mighty ancient Italian; like this, wan’t it?” and he pronounced some words, so that I saw that what I had taken for Italian was but Latin, spoken in their barbarous and Papistical fashion, as I had before heard it from Dom Lewis. But the Padree continued to believe that I had spoken falsely, and had denied my knowledge with the intent to gain some advantage.
“But pray, sir,” says I, seeing that he would not believe me, “tell me how long I must stay in this place?”
“Until ye die or convert,” says he, mighty drily.
“Alack, then, I am undone!” I cried; “but how will they use me?”
“That also depends on yourself,” says he.
“Unhappy wretch that I am!” I said; “what shall become of me?”
“Sure I don’t know,” says Father Theodorus; “but for your own sake, I trust ye will convert. But that ye will determine for yourself. My business is but to talk to ye. As I said, ’tis sorry I am to see your father’s son in this place, but I’m glad to have an Englishman for to talk with. I can’t let ye out, indeed, but I can talk to ye, and maybe convert ye, and even if I can’t do that, I might do worse than try. Sure ye have yet some things to be thankful for.”
Such was the strange and laughable humour of the man, that I could scarce avoid a smile even then to hear him. He took such infinite delight in a jest, as I have never seen equalled, and had a droll fashion of playing the philosopher with regard to untoward chances, that brought some diversion and even consolation therein. But he could not now treat me with any more of his philosophy, for the officers, having finished the searching of my boxes, came now for to search me also. And so well was this searching done, that they took from me even such little matters as the thieves in the prison had left me, among them his highness the Viceroy’s ring, the which I had contrived to hide, and gave back to me only my handkercher, which was but a coarse one, and not laced. Seeing that they had placed aside my books, which, in truth, were not many, but very dear and precious to me, I entreated that they would suffer me to keep them; but the secretary, through Father Theodorus, told me that no books was allowed in the Holy House. My comb even they also took away from me, saying I should have no need on’t, which indeed was true, since they brought a barber at once for to cut off my hair. Now this was very thick and long, so that I was extreme loath to lose it, nor has it ever grown since as it should do.
“Sure, ’tis a Roundhead ye are become in your old age, my boy,” said Father Theodorus; but so grieved was I that I could not bring up a smile for his untimely jest. And thus cropped like unto a Puritan or a madman, they led me to my cell. And this was situate on the higher floor of one of the squares of buildings into the which this place is divided; for on each floor are seven or eight cells, opening on a gallery, and each cell is some ten foot square. And here they left me, desiring that I might find myself altogether comfortable there, and the two doors (whereof more hereafter) were locked.
Now until I had been left by myself in this wise, I had scarce considered in my mind that I was truly a prisoner of the Inquisition. The civility of the officers, the reverend presence of the Lords Inquisidors, the decency with which the audience was conducted, the pleasantry of Father Theodorus, all conspired to make me feel that I was but in some piece of trouble a little greater than ordinary, wherefrom I must speedily be released through the representations of my friends. And even now, remembering that I had seen naught of the savage cruelty I had looked for, I considered that perhaps this antique tribunal was changing with the times, and becoming more merciful, wherefore I had been subjected to no manner of torture. How was I doomed in after-days to be undeceived in regard to this matter! and truly, when I had been for some time locked into my cell, my old fears returned thick upon me. It seemed to me at first impossible that it should be I, Edward Carlyon, that found myself in such a situation, and that it was in truth an evil dream, wherefrom I should presently awake and discover myself in bed at my lodging, or at least in that stinking cave of the Aljuvar. But when I was risen up, and had walked from end to end of the chamber, and looked upon and touched all that was therein, I knew that ’twas no dream, but a dreadful truth that could bring to me (as I thought) only death or dishonour. And remembering the tales I had heard and read concerning the devilish doings of the Inquisition, I prayed to God that I might be enabled to make choice of the first rather than of the last.
Now when I had remained for some time plunged in these gloomy contemplations, the alcaide brought in my dinner, the which, since I had tasted naught that day, did mightily refresh me, so that when I had eaten I was minded to see all that was in my power. And first I applied myself to look at the chamber itself, which is still as clear imprinted on my mind as if I saw it now, as well it may be, since there was granted me so long time for to study the aspect on’t. The cell was, as I have said already, some ten feet square, and at one end the floor was raised, so as to be a platform for sleeping on, whereon was spread a mat, and a checked counterpane for me to wrap myself withal. And for all other furnishing was there only divers earthen vessels, some finer and some coarser, for to hold water for washing, drinking, and the like, and a brush wherewith to sweep the chamber. Beside these was there the lesser of my two trunks, with certain clothes in it and no more. The roof was vaulted with stone, and it and the walls washed white. Such light as there was came through a little window covered with a grating, so high that even standing on my trunk I could never reach it. The place was closed by two doors, whereof the inner had in it a window, whereby the turnkey might put in my food, but the outer was made all over of iron, and was very strong. And this is all that was to be remarked in my cell, without it were the joints in the stones of the walls and floor, which I may well know by heart, seeing that I abode in that cell for three years. Now, if this had been told me beforehand I had assuredly fainted in my courage, for it seemed to me then, and will always so seem, that those three years was the slowest that ever passed on earth.
It was not at the first that weariness pressed so heavily upon me, for I determined within myself to use my time profitably, and so lay it out to the best advantage. Wherefore I did set apart certain hours of each day for the recalling my past life, considering in especial how I might have ordered it better than I had, and deploring my occasional levities of speech or conduct. Likewise to the best of my power I called up such things as I had read touching the Popish controversy, and endeavoured to set in order in my mind such arguments on behalf of our Reformed Faith as are deemed most certain among us. And in order that I might not suffer altogether from the loss of my books, in case some fortunate chance should ever afford me enlargement, I gave some time to repeating over those passages which I knew by heart, whether of the Bible or of other good books, or of such poetry as had come in my way of late years. And lest I should suffer in my employment as a merchant, of every day I devoted also a part to the making and casting up of accounts, bills of lading, invoices and the like, such as it might fall to my lot to draw out again should I ever win release. And to all this employment of my mind I conceive it to be due that I was able to pass through these years with health and clearness of brain, in spite of the many cruel torments from the which I suffered, as you shall hear.
Now when I had been some five months in this place (I meanwhile marking the time by scratching with a broken potsherd a line upon the wall for each day), and hearing nothing nor receiving no summons from their lordships the Inquisidors, the alcaide told me that I must now petition for a trial. And I, being by no means desirous to bring upon myself those severities whereof I had read, yet neither wishing to be left to live out my appointed course of life in this manner, did ask that I might be visited by Father Theodorus. Now this good man I had already seen twice since the day I had entered the place, since once in every two months one of the Inquisidors, together with their lordships’ secretary, is wont to go round to all the cells, asking the prisoners whether there is aught whereof they would make complaint, and with these come Father Theodorus as interpreter. But on my sending to seek him he came again, and entering my cell with the alcaide (for no officer of the Inquisition may ever speak with a prisoner alone), he asked me with great eagerness whether I was willing to convert. And I replying that I had no such thought, he testified extreme pity and sadness, but advised me that I should put their lordships in mind of my case through him.
“Not that ’tis forgot,” says he, “for the articles of accusation are drawn up, and the witnesses have been duly examined; but their lordships were willing to grant ye a convenient space wherein to consider and repent of your deeds if ye so desired it.”
“But pray, sir,” says I, “who were the witnesses? For it hath always been told me that seven were required.”
“Why,” says he, “the chief is Dom Lewis de Bustamante, that brought ye hither. Then there is Father Sebastian, a Paulistin like myself, several gentlemen that heard ye speak blasphemies in his highness’s palace, and divers persons of the lower sort, convicts and soldiers and the like, that witnessed your carriage and heard your words on the bridge and in the square of the cathedral.”
“Truly,” said I, “you seem hard put to’t for witnesses, and yet, since you have so many, methinks Dom Lewis had done well to have made shift to resign his duty as one of ’em, which can scarce be pleasing to a gentleman of his quality.”
“Ye poor ignorant heretic!” cries Father Theodorus, “ ’tis his duty, and therefore his delight. Sure ’twas he accused ye.”
“Mine own familiar friend!” says I.
“What would ye have?” says the father. “He could do no otherwise; for if he had not done’t, sure he’d have been denounced himself by the priest. ’Tis the law that he that conceals heresy is himself a heretic, and earns the like punishment. And Dom Lewis, being an officer of this holy tribunal, must not set an example of failing in his duty.”
Now upon this I fear that I forgot myself, and uttered many things that should not have been said concerning both the Holy Office and its ministers, such as were little like to better my situation, since even Father Theodorus put his hands before his ears and besought me to cease, saying he could not stay to hear such blasphemies. And I, being loath to displease and fray away this good friend, did force myself to cease, and begged of him to take such steps as he saw best for the bringing my case before their lordships. And he departing, I felt all at once an extraordinary great grief that I should of myself have broke in upon my safe, though quiet life, and called myself a fool for my pains, and would have had him return if it had been possible.
But ’twas now too late for this, and some three days thereafter the alcaide advertised me that I was summoned to my second audience of the Inquisidors, and bade me dress myself very neat for to come before their lordships. He carried me with him then to the same chamber as before, and when we were arrived at the door on’t, knocked three times. At the third time a bell was rung from within, and the door opened by an officer, when their lordships were discovered sitting around their table as before, with the clerk ready at hand, and Father Theodorus also, bearing as solemn and devout an aspect as if he had never passed a word with me in private in his life. The Grand Inquisidor, by his means, then ordered me to kneel down and take upon a certain book the oath which they should administer to me. And this book was, in so far as I could judge, a Missale or office-book of the Roman Church. I then kneeling, they required of me to swear that I would conceal all the secrets of the Holy Office, and speak the truth. To whom I made answer that, knowing none of their secrets, it was not reasonable to suppose I could reveal ’em; but that to the second part I would swear willingly, though I needed no swearing to ensure the truth from me. Whereupon they administered the oath, and bade me again be seated.
And now they desired to know the names of all my kin, even so far as my grandparents, which were all wrote down with much ceremony, and then asked whether I had been baptised, which when I had answered, one of the officers thrust before me a crucifix, and demanded of me to take an oath of my confession of faith. This was so sudden and so little expected that I was for the moment taken aback, so that I saw Father Theodorus look glad and happy, as thinking that I was about to profess myself a Papist; but I thank God that strengthened me and enabled me to declare that I had been born and brought up a Protestant of the Reformed Church of England, in which, if it so pleased Him, I hoped also to die. And upon this the chief Inquisidor addressed me, Father Theodorus interpreting, and said that I must now be proceeded against for an heretic, and so remanded me to my cell, adjuring me to tax my memory and thus make a good confession when I next came before the Board of the Holy Office.
Now on returning to my cell, I experienced a great gladness and uplifting of heart, for that God had graciously given me power to witness a true confession, so that I was constrained to lift up my voice in praise to Him, singing one of David’s psalms, until the alcaide came with small patience to my door, and roughly told me that if I did not cease my singing, I should receive two hundred lashes. But although they might stop my mouth, yet could not they hinder me from making melody in my heart, so that I can truly say, that had the summons to the torture-chamber come that night, I had gone to the rack, yea, even to the stake itself, with as great constancy and as firm a heart as any of those blessed martyrs of whom we read. In this happy posture of mind I remained for some days, being so enwrapt in holy joy and confidence that I hailed every step in the passage as perchance that of one who might be sent to summon me to glorify God in the torment, and leaped up to meet the turnkey on his entrance.
But the summons did not come, and I returned by degrees unto my old ways, yet with a mind not so settled and a humour more melancholic than before. For there come to me in the night visions of the old house at Ellswether, and my father sitting in his great chair in the hall, and on the threshold little Dorothy watching for tidings of me, and wondering and grieving because none came. And the devil was not sparing of evil suggestions—viz., that I should purchase lasting ease and freedom by a seeming compliance, such as need not bind me in the future, and must needs be far better than to die unknown a shameful death, while those at home should never guess what had befell me. Night after night was I tormented with these evil dreams, engendered in great part, as I have no doubt, by the closeness of the place and the extreme desire I had to go abroad in the air, which not happening, I lacked at last even strength to perform the tasks I had set myself in the daytime. And when, after some three or four months, the Inquisidors summoned me again before them, so broken and weary was I that it had given me little pain to have gone straight to death instead.
And at the beginning of this third audit was there the same ceremony observed as before, but more persons was present, notably one that had the appearance of a proctor or advocate. And I being seated as heretofore, and after some questions asked of no importance, they showed me a great paper covered thick with writing and garnished with divers seals, and told me that there was therein contained the charges made against me, which I must now answer according to my oath. And upon this the secretary did read out one by one the accusations, to the number of two-and-twenty in all, and to these I did my best to answer, though no time was given me for the considering what I should say. And so trivial and foolish were some of these charges that I can’t now so much as remember them, but I will down set the chief of those that I recollect.
First, there was several accusations charging me with insulting the Host that was carried in the procession, with insulting the images of the saints by refusing to kiss them, and with insulting the Holy Church by saying that her monks might be better employed than in praying in their monasteries. To these, after some small changes made in the words, I confessed. And after these come another set of charges that wrought in me no small astonishment. For it seemed that my chance words said to the boy Peter in my walks with him, or to Dom Lewis and other young gentlemen, or merely remarked, and addressed to no one at all, had been twisted and turned to mean disrespect to the objects they worship. And this although no such disrespect had been intended nor thought on, for I always conceived it only due to civility to make no attempt upon the religion of the persons with whom I discoursed, without they should try to meddle with mine. And after this the Inquisidors accused me of coming to Goa with malicious and criminal designs of subverting the Viceroy and the authority of his majesty the king of Portingale,[70] and of overturning the Church, supporting their charges by reports gleaned from Portuguese merchants and sea-captains, and scraps they had pieced together from my books and papers. And these two classes of charges I steadfastly denied. But the last of all was that I was found to be an obdurate and contumacious heretic, that refused to mend my ways for all their gentleness and the opportunities they gave me, and this I must needs confess to be true.
This business then being finished, the Grand Inquisidor demanded of me whether I desired a counsellor for to plead my cause, and I answering that I did so desire, they pointed out to me a person that held, they said, that office, and was the one I had thought to be a lawyer. But I demanding when I should be permitted to consult with him upon my defence, they told me that this was not permitted. I looked then that this gentleman should essay some sort of defence out of his own wisdom, but he made no motion to speak, and Father Theodorus, the Lord Inquisidor commanding him, said, “Lawyers an’t allowed to speak before the Board of the Holy Office.” Then I, perceiving that their semblance of justice was but a blind and a pretence, did commend my soul to God, and told their lordships that I had no more to add unto what I had already said, and that if that didn’t satisfy them, then I was in their hands, and they must even do what they would with me. Then says the Grand Inquisidor, with a very evil and menacing air—
“You won’t confess? Remember that we have here means to force confession. Go, and think upon this, and God bring you to a better mind!”
Then the alcaide brought me back to my cell, where, seeing that I had no more any hope of enlargement, and that they purposed evil against me, I gave myself up for some time to an extreme grief and sadness. And this being observed, they sent to seek Father Theodorus, as thinking, no doubt, that fear was bringing me to yield, and this civil person and good Christian (although a Papist) made haste to visit me. And truly (though I hope it an’t in any spirit of boasting that I say it), had I been in any way inclined to turn, his words must have won me. For it seemed that the Portugals, having some slight inkling of the true reason for my errand to Goa, did credit me with much greater authority and insight than I possessed, and would have it that I was sent to concert plots for the revolting of the country by a league of the English with Seva Gi the Moratty king. Thus it appeared to them that if I would convert and join myself to them, they would become acquainted of all the plans and designs of the Company with respect to the Indies, and so be able to thwart ’em all.
And in this thought they made to me, through Father Theodorus, many flattering offers (too flattering, indeed, ever to be performed, had I been fool enough to be allured by them). For they were willing, said he, to settle upon me a pension, and upon my heirs after me, and to marry me to a kinswoman of the Viceroy’s (who was commended to me as extraordinary handsome and a great fortune, and had, so said Father Theodorus, caught sight of me from a balcony when I was at large, and become enamoured of me), and so to transport me safely to the Brasils, where a genteel estate and a convenient provision of slaves should be appointed me. And on the other side, says Father Theodorus, while as with the tears standing in his eyes he besought me to convert, there was the rack and other more fearful torments, and a miserable death at the burning-place. So moving were his pleadings that the alcaide himself joined in them, and entreated me with much earnestness not to throw away soul and body alike. But through God’s grace I was enabled to stand firm and refuse them, and so they left me, warning me that I should afterwards desire to have followed their advice.
CHAPTER VI.
OF THE SECRET, DREADFUL, AND BLOODY DOINGS OF THE TRIBUNAL OF THE HOLY INQUISITION.
Now you may look to hear that after this firm refusal to convert I should find myself most happy and strong in my mind, and await with patience and constancy the tortures that were to come. But so weak and feeble is our poor human nature, and mine in especial, that I was troubled night and day with dreams of the rack, so that at the last I could neither sleep nor eat. And doubtless, to those watching my situation, it seemed a hopeful thing to behold how weak and timid I was grown, and one night they haled me from my bed to the chamber where the Board sat. And here they did demand of me once more whether I would recant my heresies and confess the crimes wherewith I was charged. And I answering that any crimes I had committed I had already confessed, and did most willingly repent for ’em, but that I could neither confess nor repent for those whereof I was not guilty, they declared me an obstinate heretic, and commanded me to be carried to the torture-chamber.
This place, which was reached by divers galleries and damp passages, was long and low, so far as I might see (for all the light was but two candles), and the walls lined all over with a kind of quilting or tapestry. And here was six men, of a very hideous and ferocious aspect, beside those that had entered with me, to whom orders was given that they should prepare the torture, I in the meantime leaning myself against the wall, being too faint from fasting and terror to stand upright. And when their devilish machine was ready, I found myself seized by these men, who stripped off my clothes and laid me upon a stand raised above the floor, fastening me down with a collar of iron about my neck, and an iron ring round each foot. Then the Inquisidor, that was come hither with us, demanded of me once more whether I would confess and convert, which again I refused.
And thereupon the tormentors did wind two ropes around each of my arms and legs, and, on a signal given from the Inquisidor, drew them all tight at once. This caused me an intolerable anguish, and the blood gushed forth under all the ropes, these being very small and cutting even to the bone. Though I bit my lip through, I could not restrain myself from groaning, and at last the ropes were loosed. Then they asked of me again whether I would convert, but I still refused, though fearing greatly that I must yield if the ropes should be again drawn tight, so incredible was the pain. Wherefore I cried out aloud to God that He would keep me firm in truth and integrity, and not permit me to be forced either to renounce my faith, or to confess what I had never done, and so I resigned myself again to the tormentors. Now it may seem to you a strange piece of weakness, and one whereof an Englishman had reason to be ashamed, though ’twas to me a great and unlooked for mercy, that as soon as the ropes were pulled tight again I fainted away, from the pain and constriction thus caused, and so felt no more of their cruelties. And at last, the chirurgion[71] that was there certifying that I could bear no more and live, they unloosed me and carried me back to my cell, bleeding in many places from those wounds, whereof I shall carry the scars to my dying day.
’Tis the custom of the Inquisition, when those that come under their hands refuse to confess at the first application of the torture, to tend them carefully and recover them so far as may be, in order that they may entreat them even worse in the future, and this not a second time only, but also a third, if they can endure so long. ’Twas in accordance with this their custom, then, that I was conveyed again to my chamber, my wounds bound up, and such meat and drink ordered to be provided for me as I should desire. And this though there is truly no cause to complain touching the ordinary food, the while is most wholesome in its kind, being good bread, fish or fruit, and on Sundays and holy-days also a sausage, and abundant in quantity as well.
And because their lordships saw that I was dull and heavy of heart, they did send Father Theodorus to talk with me and comfort me, hoping also that he would bring me to convert, through his kindness working upon my weakness. And during some weeks his visits did indeed much cheer me; but the end thereof was not such as my lords looked for, though I can’t tell whether ’tis altogether to be charged to the good father’s account. Now on the last day of his coming that I can recollect at that time, I had but just lighted upon that in my cell which awoke in me great curiosity, so that I pleased myself with divers speculations concerning it. For while I lay upon my mat, scarce able to move through weakness, and my eyes wandering over the bare walls, there appeared to me on a stone close to the floor a certain writing, that had never caught my sight before. It cost me infinite pains to drag myself to that spot, and yet more to read the writing, which I could not do but only at noonday. Then looking at it closely, I saw that it was scratched with a nail or some such sorry tool, in the Portuguese. But between my disease and my small knowledge of that tongue, ’twas some time before I could understand it. Englished, it ran thus, so far as I can recollect:—
“I, Emmanuel da Lesminha, a New Christian, was brought hither on the 13th day of May 1659, being accused as a relapsed Jew. On St James’s day of this year, 1663, I shall be brought out, to the galleys or to the flames, God alone knows which. God of my fathers, defend my innocence!”
The former part of this inscription was drawn deeply, with much care and pains, as if the unhappy man had laboured long upon it, but the second piece was scratched as though in haste, and was barely to be read. I wondered much concerning this prisoner, whether the galleys or the fire had been his fate, and purposed in my own mind to engrave a like record of myself, when my strength should allow and a convenient tool offer. Then come in Father Theodorus with the alcaide, and I asked of him the name of the person that had lain in this cell before I had it. I was surprised to see that he observed me somewhat curiously before answering.
“Why?” says he, “have ye seen aught? The man that had this chamber before ye was a fetiscero,[72] a sorcerer, that is, a negro from Angola. I would not be telling ye how many good Christians in the city he had bewitched before the Holy Office gat hold of him. Sure he could make the rest of the cofferies do anything he wanted for fear of their lives, and even when he was brought here he never ceased his evil deeds. They tortured him until all the chirurgions declared him a living marvel, but ’twas the devil likely looked after his own. They could not kill him that way, and he’d not confess neither, though three ordinary men should have died under it. They burned him at last, and to several respectable persons in the crowd it was granted to behold his evil spirit rising from the flames in the form of a parti-coloured crow, and forsaking its earthly abode. By reason of this miracle, his death was much spoken about, and the more that three months later, to the very day, my lord the then Grand Inquisidor died suddenly, and ’twas remembered that the fetiscero, in passing to his burning, had bade his lordship meet him that day three months. And at this evident proof that the Evil One desired to oppress all good Christians in Goa, and had obtained a measure of power over ’em, there was great processions took place, with litanies and intercessions of the saints, for to move ’em to protect the city, and the Holy Office renewed its activity in hunting out and destroying all fetisceros. And one of these was taken, that had been friend to that arch-sorcerer that was now dead, and this man confessed under the torture that his friend had been wont to visit upon him at his house while he seemed to be lying in this cell, and that they had by this means plotted much devilish work together. Then the alcaide remembered how that fetiscero had been wont to sit crouched in that corner opposite to ye there, sometimes neither moving nor speaking for days, but wrapped in a trance as if dead, save that his body was not cold,—and we could not doubt but the devil had given him power to leave the Holy House, though his body remained here. ’Tis said the spirits of such wicked persons are wont to haunt the spots they have affected in life, and that was why I thought that ye’d maybe seen him when ye asked me who had this cell before ye.”
I moved somewhat uneasily, not over-pleased with this history, which Father Theodorus seeing, he went on eagerly, for all the world like a child with a ghost tale.
“Ay, and sure I’d forgot to tell ye that after the burning of this fetiscero, a fever brake out in this part of the Holy House, and though it carried off many, both guards and prisoners, could not be stopped. Then their lordships, remembering the dreadful power of that wretched man, caused the whole house, and especially this chamber, to be searched. And in this very cell, under that very mat ye are lying upon, just where your head is now, they found (’tis the truth I’m telling ye), his fetizo, his charms, his magic, don’t ye know?”
“And what was this like?” I asked him.
“Well,” says Father Theodorus, “to our eyes ’twas but a bundle of fish-bones and stones of fruits, with threads out of the mats, and feathers of birds, and divers other such common things; but there could be no doubt but that the devil had invested it with magical power, for so soon as it was removed, the fever ceased to spread.”
“And what was done with the fetizo?” said I.
“Sure I’ll tell ye,” says he. “His grace the lord Archbishop yonder ordained a special ceremony in the square before the cathedral, for to exorcise the evil spirit, and thereafter they did burn the fetizo with much solemnity. And as it burned it did send forth an extraordinary nasty stinking smell, showing to all that ’twas the devil’s own handiwork. And all the negroes that were present and saw it cried out that ’twas a mighty great fetizo.”
“But who lay in this cell before the fetiscero?” says I, trying to shake off the remembrance of the tale, though I won’t deny that I had been right glad had the fetiscero been lodged in any other cell than this of mine.
“Some poor wretch of a New Christian, as we call those Jews and Moors that adopt our holy faith,” says he. “They accused him of consorting with others of the like sort, and truly, since all his kin were like himself, and no others will company with ’em, he could not well avoid it, but ’twas said that they did practise among ’emselves Jewish ceremonies. He was in the Holy House for four years, and then was delivered over to the secular power,—ye know what that signifies. ’Twas said that the galleys should have been punishment enough, but he had been one of the richest persons in Goa, and his wealth was all come to the Holy Office. So ye see they could not let him go.”
I had heard before of the heavy trials of these New Christians, but I had never thought they should come so near to me as this. I would fain have asked Father Theodorus more concerning ’em, but he could not leave his tale of the fetiscero, and told me many more tales touching him, each one more horrid than the last, so that I was much disturbed and troubled in my mind, the more by reason of my sickness, which he seeing, made haste to say—
“ ’Tis well for ye that this fellow is dead now, and can’t return hither for to continue his evil deeds. If he had been a fetiscero of the common sort, they’d not have burnt him. The powder-mills should have been punishment enough. Ye have seen those convicted of practising magic working there, I wouldn’t wonder?”
“Those that bear gowns of yellow stuff, with a red cross before and behind?” asked I.
“They do so. But ye see, he was too great a person for that. The Holy Office must needs put him to death, and he is dead now, so he needn’t trouble ye.”
“But if his soul was able to leave his body in life, why can’t it wander at its will now, sir?” I asked him, “or maybe be conjured up by his fellows, for to assist ’em in their unlawful arts?” This I said more to perceive what he would say than because I believed that such a thing should be likely to happen, though indeed many of our wisest and most ingenious philosophers concur in ascribing extraordinary powers (conferred, of course, by the author of evil), to the practisers of witchcraft. My friend’s countenance took an air of trouble, and then cleared on a sudden.
“Sure, I’ll exorcise the evil spirit for ye, my lad,” and with that he walked to and fro in the chamber, and muttered his barbarous Latin hocus-pocus in all the four corners thereof, and then approached me, and would have made I know not what superstitious ceremonies over me, but that I besought him that he would not force upon me idolatrous rites when I was too feeble to resist him. And upon this he ceased his mummery, and departed with the alcaide, that had been bowing and muttering mighty devoutly in concert with him.
Now when they were departed, there come upon me so great terror and fear as I had willingly given all I possessed in the world for to have them back. The sun was about setting, and through the narrow grating of the cell there come strange shadows into all the corners, and there was in the air that great stillness which I have ofttimes noted at the approach of night. Not the tinkle of a single church-bell from the city disturbed the quiet, and in the Holy House itself was nothing to be heard. It seemed to me that there was some other person in the chamber beside myself, and I lay upon my mat looking fearfully into the growing blackness. And thus by degrees there seemed to shape itself to me (for my mind was mightily wrought upon by that tale of Father Theodorus’), the person of that fetiscero, sitting in that corner where he had been wont, as they had told me. And indeed I can’t even now determine whether that I saw were in reality the man’s evil spirit permitted to return to earth, though truly, considering that I have since beheld more than once the same phantom when I have been seized with an access of the nightmare, I am inclined to set it down as a delusion of my sick brain. Nevertheless, at that time, as it seemed to me, I saw him as plain as I had seen the Father and the alcaide but now. He was a great negro man, very broad of his shoulders, and he sat with his back turned towards me, and his chin upon his knees, his hands being clasped in front of his feet. I could see, as I lay staring upon him, that his body was all over seamed and scarred with the marks of many tortures, and there was a pair of heavy irons upon his feet.
So long he sat still there, and I watching him, not able to take my eyes from off him, lest he should move and approach me, that at the last I began to hope that he was in one of those trances whereof they had told me, and would remain thus until the alcaide might chance to look in, and having beheld him, should take him away. But even as I thought thus, he seemed to move, and his hands began to grope about as though in search for something that they did not find. Then I knew that he was seeking his fetizo, and my very blood ran coldly for to think that he had last left it hid under that same mat whereon I lay. I beheld him feeling about in the two corners at that end of the chamber where he was, and then he turned himself, and, still crouching, came towards me on his hands and knees. Now he could not lift up himself, both by reason of his fetters and of those torments that he had endured, so that his going seemed liker that of some savage beast of prey than a man, and as he came, I saw his evil eyes glitter, as though lit up by fire from within. He came very slow, creeping along the floor an inch at a time, but he came always nearer, while as I lay griping the coverlet with my fingers, and could not so much as stir to move away from him. I never doubted but he was there, yet even then it seemed strange to me that his irons made no sound upon the stone floor, but doubtless (thought I) the devil had helped him to be rid of the noise. Thus he continued to come on, slow and steadily, until he gat up on the platform where I was, and began feeling about on the mat. I could not discover that he had seen me, but I durst not remove my gaze from those dreadful eyes of his, that seemed to burn into my very marrow. He came crawling on, and when he reached the spot where I was laid, stretched out his skinny hand, and caught me by the throat. I felt him kneel upon my breast, I saw the fire that flashed from his eyes, I felt his burning breath upon my countenance, and then my voice returned to me, and with all my strength I shouted aloud for help.
As Father Theodorus told me later, my cries, echoing along the galleries, startled the alcaide, and brought him, hot-foot, to my cell, where he found me lying in a raging fever. Finding that he could not prevail upon me to cease my cries, nor hinder my engaging in fancied struggles with that ghostly assailant of mine, he bade fetch a stout blackamoor that was slave to one of the officers of the House and spake no English, who should tarry beside me and restrain me so far as he might. Which this poor fellow did, but though he could understand naught of what I said, yet my gestures and my manifest terror did inspire him with so much fear as made him recollect the evil reputation of the fetiscero that had last lain in this cell, and conceiving that his devilish influence still lingered there, he tried in vain to escape, and being securely locked in, was found near dead with fright in the morning.
Now after this, seeing that one of the common fevers of the place had seized upon me, being augmented by my trouble of mind and the pain of those wounds I had from the torture, they had in a pundit, that is, an Indian physician, for to endeavour to cure me. And I have since heard it said, that the science of these physicians is extreme ill-considered and like to be injurious, for they are wont to cure fevers by means of divers coolers, which, say our physicians in England, is mighty hurtful to the patient. I can’t tell whether they succeed in restoring many to health by such means, but all Europe persons in the Indies are forced to trust to them, saving in those two or three places where one or other of the trading companies hath provided a chirurgion of its own. And thus I can testify, for the credit of that most reverend pundit that tended me, that though he brought me to death’s very door by his blooding and his drugs, yet I am here alive this day, and who shall say that I should be so but for his medicines? Yet he let me blood so freely that, even after the fever had left me, ’twas many months before I could creep from end to end of my cell, and indeed, one night, the bandages being in some way loosened, I had like to have died from loss of blood, had it not been for Father Theodorus, that came for to recommend me a confessor, and found me needing a chirurgion. ’Tis well for me that this good man straightway forgat the confessor, and set himself to fasten my bandages again most deftly, he having some slight skill in the medical art, else had I never lived to write this book. But as for that matter of the confessor, this was not the first time, nor the last, that they pestered me by reason on’t, thinking me near my end, and desiring to have me die in their religion, so that they would come to me of mornings, when I was half dead after a restless night filled with evil visions, and beseech me to reconcile myself with the Church.
Now as I left the fever behind, these visions did not quit me. I suppose that I was still light-headed, by reason of the blood-letting, for I was continually tormented with the most frightful dreams, wherein the two fetisceros, and that poor New Christian of whom I knew only by hearsay, were mingled with their lordships the Inquisidors and the gentlemen of my acquaintance in Goa, and these again with the banyans of Surat and the Company’s servants there, and even with my father and my little cousin Dorothy, in the strangest and most fantastical drolleries, the which were no drolleries to me, but troubled me mightily. For being haunted by these phantasms night and day, and seeing them continually whirling and seething before me in uncouth dances and routs, and mocking me with extravagant gestures, like so many antics,[73] I became, as it were, distraught, so that in my frenzy I was at the pains to end my life by striking my head against the wall beside me. In this wicked design, as you may well perceive, I did not succeed, but only stunned myself, and was so found by the alcaide and my physician the pundit. And when these had revived me, I poured forth to them so much of my troubles and of the horrors that oppressed me as my Portuguese would convey, and they, perceiving that I was in danger of going mad by reason of my solitude, came to me the next day for to tell me that it had pleased their lordships to grant me a companion in my cell.
This companion was brought to me before long, and his presence proved a prodigious great cheer and solace to me, although we never spake one to the other save on our most needful occasions. And this because I had in my mind that common report which says that the Inquisidors do often send to a prisoner as companion one that may worm himself into his confidence and discover his secret matters with the intent to betray them to his hurt, though now, remembering this person’s silence towards me, I do believe that he feared me on the same grounds. Yet was I glad to behold a face that was not a jailer’s, and so long as this man was in the cell, my visions troubled me but little. I don’t know by what crimes he had brought himself under the power of the Holy Office, though Father Theodorus said he believed ’twas that he had espoused two wives at the same time; but though he had espoused a dozen, he did me a good turn in that he banished my dreams for me. When we had broken our fast of a morning, he was wont to lie on his mat, and I on mine, sleeping or meditating, but rarely speaking. So easy are we to accustom ourselves even to the drollest situations, that I found myself altogether solitary when I was deprived of my silent companion. The alcaide and another officer fetched him away one night, and I never saw him thereafter, nor heard nothing of his fate.
Nevertheless I had not too much time granted me, wherein to fall again under the power of my delusions, for about three weeks after taking away my companion, they came for me also. And I, remembering that he was never returned, considered that now at last death must be at hand, and called upon God to keep me steadfast, and so went with them, although my weakness was such that they must needs support me all the way. And being set once more before their lordships, they took occasion to remind me that much time had been granted to me, and likewise many incentives to repentance, and demanded whether I would now make a full confession, to all of which I returned the same answers as before. Then they had me away again to the torture-room, but God moved the heart of the chirurgion that stood by, so that he went up quickly to their lordships, and whispered them that I could bear no more, but should die under the first application of the torment, and at that they remanded me to my dungeon. But as I was departing, the Grand Inquisidor says suddenly—
“Take heed what you do, for except you confess, the next time you are brought here will be the signal for your death.”