"Judy Hoggat, be ready to slip out," said I.

Jack nodded, and put on his simple disguise. The hors.e.m.e.n drew up with a jangling noise, which certified them soldiers. Heavy footsteps approached the door, and some one knocked as with the b.u.t.t of a pistol, and called out--

"Open, in the King's name!"

Jack threw it wide. "And what does his Majesty want of poor Judy Hoggat?" he asked, in a quavering, frightened voice. There was no chance for him to escape, for the little orchard was thronged with carabineers.

A grizzled old sergeant strode into the room, followed by three of his men, and answered--

"A better light for one thing. Stir up your fire, my good woman, and bring me a candle."

This done, the sergeant poked the candle in my face.

"Uncover your chest," he ordered. The old fellow examined the marks attentively. "As described," he muttered; but I thought he had the look of being mystified about something.

"Jim Ulceby, you are my prisoner," said he.

"I am not Jim Ulceby, but I yield--under protest."

The sergeant shook his head, as if to imply that my protest was no affair of his, and gave order for my removal. I had time only to ask Bess to let Portington and Drury know of my state, which she promised to do without delay. I begged her also to send the news of me to Mistress Goel, but the soldiers had me out of the cottage before I heard her answer. There is no need to dwell on the particulars of the next few days. The first night I was lodged in a stable-loft at the Bull in Epworth, where we remained until evening, when the sergeant and four carabineers took me to Keadby, which place we left by sloop for Hull on the following day.

CHAPTER XVII

We had a tedious pa.s.sage, for the wind was light, and we missed the advantage of the tide; so it was after six o'clock when we arrived. My guards took me to a large house in Mytongate, adjoining a butcher's shop, the butcher, Acton by name, being the lessee of the prison. When I had been some time in a little den which smelled vilely, my jailer appeared--a lewd fellow, far gone in liquor.

"And you're come to pay us a visit once more," said he, with oaths which I need not repeat. "We have not much accommodation to spare just now, but we must find you a garret somewhere on the old terms, I suppose."

This talk of accommodation was Greek to me. "I don't understand," said I, "not having the honour of your acquaintance."

Acton laughed until his red face turned purple. "Oh, that's good--'nation good! Gentleman Jim--Jim the bully-boy, hasn't the honour of my acquaintance!"

As I stared at him he broke into laughter again, and gave me a resounding smack on the shoulder.

"You do it so well, Jim! Might ha' been born with a coronet on your head! 'Not having the honour of your acquaintance!'" Again he roared.

"You are going out as governor of the colony, are you! Oh, you'll be the death of me with your jests!"

The fellow babbled on of the doings of Ulceby, of cheating at play and other frauds, of street brawls and manslaughter, until he talked himself dry and called for brandy, which was brought by a s.l.u.ttish wench and placed on the table, the only furniture of the room, save a rickety chair which I occupied. Acton ceased his jabbering in order to drink, and I tried to get in a word; but as soon as he had gulped his dram, he went on unheeding me.

"The old man has more c.h.i.n.k than ever, chandling and stockfish bring him in a pretty penny; but now he's gone in for whale fishing in the Greenland sea, and he has the devil's own luck. They say he is down for sheriff next year, but whether he can get you out of this sc.r.a.pe, Lord only knows."

"Of whom do you speak?" I asked.

Acton, seated on the table, was in the act of swallowing more brandy, but my question brought him to his feet, laughing, sputtering and coughing well-nigh to suffocation. When he regained breath, he vowed I was the drollest fellow living. Then he changed his tone to one of drunken gravity, inquiring what money I had, and continued--

"Look ye, Jim, a jest is all very well, but I must see your father's money, or have his word for it, or out you go into the cellars."

I had hard work to draw a plain meaning out of the man, his tipsy head being filled with the notion that I was the "Gentleman Jim" with whom he had such familiarity; but little by little I gathered that Ulceby the elder lived not far away, a man of substance and standing, who had paid his son's debts two or three times, from whom Acton had received a good deal of money for prison fees and food and lodging. This gave me hope of liberty, so I demanded paper and pen and ink, and wrote a few lines, asking Mr. Ulceby of his charity to come to see one, who was falsely imprisoned under the name of his son.

This letter Acton undertook to despatch and relieved me of his presence. Some two hours I spent alone in the darkening room, the wind howling outside with a most melancholy sound, and hearing fitfully a noise of talk and laughing from some room near, whenever a door was opened. About eight o'clock, Mr. Ulceby came in, Acton attending him with much obsequiousness. When the jailer had placed candles on the table and a chair for the visitor, Mr. Ulceby signified his desire to be left alone with me. On the first glance my spirits rose. He was a tall man, somewhat portly, silver-haired, and bore himself with natural dignity. He heard what I had to say of my capture and imprisonment at Melwood, my escape and recapture, with grave attention, two or three times asking a pertinent question, and at the end of it said smiling half sadly--

"One thing can be easily proved. My testimony that you are not my son should suffice, after legal forms have been observed, to obtain your release. That shall be my first business to-morrow morning. Possibly it may take a few days to set you free."

I thanked him heartily for his kindness in coming so speedily to my help; but he cut short my thanks, making light of the matter of his trouble.

"I wish I could take you out of this den of wretchedness," he went on; "but as that is not possible, you must allow me to offer such hospitality as may be had here." He rapped on the table with his cane, and Acton entered. "Can you let us have a more comfortable room and a bit of cheerful fire?" he asked.

Acton intimated that anything could be done which would be well paid for; and Mr. Ulceby sent out to the Saracen's Head for the best supper that could be furnished.

"Mr. Vavasour does me the honour to sup with me," he said to Acton, who favoured me with a knowing wink and went about the business.

Presently we were in a room more s.p.a.cious and airy, and after supper, Mr. Ulceby gave me a short account of his son, which is no part of my story, except that it was given so tenderly and sorrowfully as to make me sure that here was a good man indeed. He ended by saying--

"There seems little doubt of his death, but I must be certified of it, and if he met with foul play, bring his murderers to justice. My duty to him can best be fulfilled by a partnership with you. Will you give me confidence for confidence? You have told me of your imprisonment and the horrible practice of your enemies, but nothing of the reason.

Since the desire of money, or the love of woman is at the bottom of most mischief, perhaps there is a lady in the case. Believe me, though I am h.o.a.ry-headed, I am not too old to feel with a true lover."

Of that I felt well a.s.sured and poured out all my tale, to which he listened with no sign of weariness, nodding and smiling now and then, and once rising from his chair to pace the room and murmur something to himself. At the end he stretched out his hand, saying--

"Let us strike a bargain. We two are partners: until we know the truth concerning the fate of my poor, misguided lad, and you are avenged of your enemies. Now that means," said he, as I put my hand in his, "that there is no distinction between _meum_ and _tuum_ for the term of our partnership. Nay, hear me," observant of the flush in my face as I thought of my dest.i.tute condition. "I may have to ask you for more than money can buy before we are at the end of our joint business. The first thing I offer is counsel. Write a letter to Mistress Goel, a.s.suring her of your safety and of your speedy coming, but saying nothing further, not even where you are, lest the letter should fall into other hands. I will send it by a trusty messenger as fast as good horseflesh ought to be ridden. To-morrow I will bring you a skilful surgeon, who should be able to do somewhat to repair the injury to your face. There will be no loss of time thereby, for your liberation can scarcely be effected to-morrow; and if you have to go plaistered and bandaged, there may be advantage in the disguise. We might dress you like a shipmaster too. We must pounce on the enemy, if we may, for they will stick at nothing, now that you hold their liberty, perhaps their lives, in your hand."

I had nothing to say against these counsels, being in truth very thankful to have a friend capable of advice and one so forward in my cause. Mr. Ulceby laid his purse on the table.

"Such men as you have here to do with, will be the more respectful if they know you have money at command, and you may have unforeseen occasion for it."

When I had written a few words to my love, Mr. Ulceby left me, again a.s.suring me he would bestir himself about my business early in the morning. It was long before I sought sleep, which indeed would have been hard to come by until after midnight, for my fellow-lodgers in the room next to mine, and in the one overhead, kept up such a noise of shouting and singing and laughter as astounded me, seeing they were prisoners. On Mr. Ulceby's departure, a maid looked in to ask whether I had need of anything; and, as I had no orders to give, locked and bolted the door on the outside, and I was left alone to my meditations.

Hitherto I had not been much given to reflection, and in these later days I had been concerned with the present danger and what might impend in the instant future, but now that the strain was relieved, thought came upon me like a flood. A few hours ago I had been threatened with the fate of a plantation slave. If any man had foretold on my coming of age that such a peril would befall me, how incredible it would have appeared! And I had been saved from such a doom not by the things in which I had pride, not by my name or place, not by my strength or courage, or by the staunchness of my friends, but by the kindness of a stranger. How much reason I had for thankfulness to him, and how much more to the Providence which had sent him for my deliverance! A great awe crept on me of the eye which had been upon me when I had thought myself buried out of sight, and of the hand which had brought me help when I was most helpless; and I felt how utterly undeserved was the kindness of G.o.d, and at the same time a.s.suredly confident therein.

These things I hold are not to be much spoken of, but some record I am bound to make of that which changed the face of the world to me, and filled my heart with a new, strange, and solemn gladness.

CHAPTER XVIII

My liberation did not come to pa.s.s so quickly as Mr. Ulceby had hoped, for the justices and the sheriff and the commander of the castle, and I know not how many authorities besides, all had something to say in the matter. After my friend's testimony that I was not his son had been accepted, I supposed I should be set free at once, but no such thing!

"If I was not Jim Ulceby, who was I?" "Where was Jim Ulceby?" "How came I to resemble him?" So the authorities demanded, and seemed to think these questions must be answered before they gave me my liberty.

One magistrate, whose gravity and dulness were of equal magnitude, took it into his head that a plot of some kind was on foot. If he could have had his way, I believe he would have put me to bodily torture; to torture of mind he often put me, coming to "examine the prisoner," by asking the most absurd questions, looking as solemn as an owl the while. I never understood his drift, nor I believe did he. Mr. Ulceby warned me of this man's first visit, and implored me to endure it with all the patience I could muster; so I contrived to keep my temper, and in the end the a.s.s was good enough to express the judgment "that I was a blind instrument of the conspirators." That there was a conspiracy he was well a.s.sured.

Acton gave us some trouble at first, holding that I was in fact his one-time crony, and that Mr. Ulceby had taken the course of denying me, as the one means of saving me from transportation to America. He declared that no man would be at the pains and cost which Mr. Ulceby took on my behalf for a stranger, and claimed "hush-money." When he could not extort that, he did his worst against me secretly. Even when the surgeon had restored me to something more like my former looks, Acton would not be convinced. The surgeon did me good service by giving evidence as to the recent date of the distortion of my face, which was corroborated by the sergeant who brought me to Hull. He testified that he had been perplexed when he arrested me by the freshness of the tattooing and of the scars. But eight days pa.s.sed before my good friend, who had been unceasing in his exertions in my cause, came with the order for my release. Every comfort which money could procure during those weary days I enjoyed, and Mr. Ulceby gave me as much of his time as might be spared from the business of expediting my deliverance. After the second day of durance I kept to my own room.

On that day I had the curiosity to look over the prison. It consisted of two houses which had been thrown into one, and of buildings which occupied two sides of a quadrangle behind them. These buildings would not have been used as stabling by a man who valued his horses. Here the wretches were confined who could not, or would not, pay for accommodation within the house; some of them kept safely by being laid on the floor with iron bars across their legs; others having liberty to stand upright, but chained to staples in the wall. Some were free to roam the yard, variously ironed and fettered. The most part were half starved and in rags, the most miserable creatures I had ever seen.

The inmates of the house were such as had means to pay the exorbitant charges which the jailer made for food and lodging and fees for this, that, and the other. Many of these had money to waste in gambling and drunkenness, but few had any compa.s.sion for their poverty-stricken fellow-prisoners. In this den were prisoners awaiting trial, prisoners under sentence, and prisoners who had been acquitted, now detained for payment of the jailer's charges; prisoners of both s.e.xes and of all ages, from childhood to decrepitude. While I was making the round of the yard, a greasy fellow came to one of the windows, and calling to the crowd, threw out the orts and sc.r.a.ps of his breakfast, for which the hungry wretches scrambled. In the struggle two women fell out and began to fight, tearing, scratching, and biting with the fury of tigresses, while men stood round them laughing and betting as to which would be the victrix. Turning away from this, I came upon a ragged, miserable creature, who lay moaning and whimpering in a corner. He had tried to climb the wall with the aid of a rope which a friend had managed to convey to him, but had been caught in the effort; so the jailer and his men had beaten the soles of his feet to a horrible condition. A few of the prisoners lay about dead drunk, the objects of the envy of others, who had not the luck to have friends able and willing to give them liquor. Much that I saw and heard is not to be described. I took refuge from the little h.e.l.l in the solitude of my own room, right thankful I had not been compelled to herd with the vile and wretched crew. In a sense it was lucky for me that Acton held to the belief that I was Jim Ulceby, for he made it loudly known, and so saved me from being molested by the bullies in the house, who feared to meddle with one who had the repute of never failing to pay back in full any ill turn that might be done him.

Not until the fourth day of my incarceration did I receive a letter from Anna, for Mr. Ulceby's messenger had been delayed by one mishap after another, howbeit they need not be set down here. All the day I read and re-read that precious letter, wondering how a pen, which in my hand is an unwieldy tool, came to be such a wand of magic in hers, that I could, in a manner, hear her clear voice, and almost see her sprightly smile and the sudden coming of her tears. I will copy parts of the letter here, for they tell the story far better than it could be told in words of mine.

"When Luke brought me your letter, in which you promised to come on the day following, he told me of the wickedness of Sebastian Vliet, and I made him repeat the matter in my father's hearing. But when Luke went on to say you had sent a challenge to your would-be murderer, I was almost beside myself with anger that you should risk your life so lightly in fighting with a wretch so infamous. For a brief moment I thought you had slain my love by your folly, but I soon knew it still lived by the sinking at my heart for fear of what might be devised against you by so crafty a coward. When I learned that Vliet had gone to meet you alone and armed only with a sword, you may be sure all his doings were watched as closely as two women knew how to do. It filled me with wonder. But my fears were redoubled by Vermuijden's report of what had happened, which was that you had fled from Vliet in sudden terror, and gone he knew not whither. A lie so gross and palpable made me certain some foul deed had been done, but what I could not guess, and for days I was as one bereft of reason.