CHAPTER XXV. THE RESCUE
Perchance, my dears, if John Paul and I had not been cast by accidentin a debtor's prison, this great man might never have bestowed uponour country those glorious services which contributed so largely toits liberty. And I might never have comprehended that the AmericanRevolution was brought on and fought by a headstrong king, backed byunscrupulous followers who held wealth above patriotism. It is oftendifficult to lay finger upon the causes which change the drift of aman's opinions, and so I never wholly knew why John Paul abandoned hisdeep-rooted purpose to obtain advancement in London by grace of theaccomplishments he had laboured so hard to attain. But I believe thebeginning was at the meeting at Windsor with the slim and cynicalgentleman who had treated him to something between patronage andcontempt. Then my experience with Mr. Manners had so embedded itselfin his mind that he could never speak of it but with impatience anddisgust. And, lastly, the bailiff's hotel contained many born gentlemenwho had been left here to rot out the rest of their dreary lives byfriends who were still in power and opulence. More than once when Iclimbed to our garret I found the captain seated on the three-leggedchair, with his head between his hands, sunk in reflection.
"You were right, Richard," said he; "your great world is a hard worldfor those in the shadow of it. I see now that it must not be enteredfrom below, but from the cabin window. A man may climb around it, lad,and when he is above may scourge it."
"And you will scourge it, captain!" I had no doubt of his ability oneday to do it.
"Ay, and snap my fingers at it. 'Tis a pretty organization, thissociety, which kicks the man who falls to the dogs. None of your finegentlemen for me!"
And he would descend to talk politics with our fellow-guests. We shouldhave been unhappy indeed had it not been for this pastime. It seemsto me strange that these debtors took such a keen interest in outsideaffairs, even tho' it was a time of great agitation. We read witheagerness the cast-off newspapers of the first-floor gentlemen. One poordevil who had waddled (failed) in Change Alley had collected under hismattress the letters of Junius, then selling the Public Advertiser asfew publications had ever sold before. John Paul devoured these attacksupon his Majesty and his ministry in a single afternoon, and ere longhe had on the tip of his tongue the name and value of every man inParliament and out of it. He learned, almost by heart, the history ofthe astonishing fight made by Mr. Wilkes for the liberties of England,and speedily was as good a Whig and a better than the member fromMiddlesex himself.
The most of our companions were Tories, for, odd as it may appear, theyretained their principles even in Castle Yard. And in those days to be aTory was to be the friend of the King, and to be the friend of the Kingwas to have some hope of advancement and reward at his hand. They hadnone. The captain joined forces with the speculator from the Alley, whohad hitherto contended against mighty odds, and together they bore downupon the enemy--ay, and rooted him, too. For John Paul had an air abouthim and a natural gift of oratory to command attention, and shortly thedining room after dinner became the scene of such contests as to callup in the minds of the old stagers a field night in the good days ofMr. Pitt and the second George. The bailiff often sat by the door, aninterested spectator, and the macaroni lodgers condescended to comedownstairs and listen. The captain attained to fame in our littleworld from his maiden address, in which he very shrewdly separatedthe political character of Mr. Wilkes from his character as a privategentleman, and so refuted a charge of profligacy against the people'schampion.
Altho' I never had sufficient confidence in my powers to join in thesediscussions, I followed them zealously, especially when they touchedAmerican questions, as they frequently did. This subject of the wrongsof the colonies was the only one I could ever be got to study at KingWilliam's School, and I believe that my intimate knowledge of it gavethe captain a surprise. He fell into the habit of seating himself onthe edge of my bed after we had retired for the night, and would holdme talking until the small hours upon the injustice of taxing a peoplewithout their consent, and upon the multitude of measures of coercionwhich the King had pressed upon us to punish our resistance. Hedeclaimed so loudly against the tyranny of quartering troops upon apeaceable state that our exhausted neighbours were driven to poundingtheir walls and ceilings for peace. The news of the Boston massacre hadnot then reached England.
I was not, therefore, wholly taken by surprise when he said to me onenight:
"I am resolved to try my fortune in America, lad. That is the land forsuch as I, where a man may stand upon his own merits."
"Indeed, we shall go together, captain," I answered heartily, "if we areever free of this cursed house. And you shall taste of our hospitalityat Carvel Hall, and choose that career which pleases you. Faith, I couldpoint you a dozen examples in Annapolis of men who have made their waywithout influence. But you shall have influence," I cried, glowingat the notion of rewarding him; "you shall experience Mr. Carvel'sgratitude and mine. You shall have the best of our ships, and you will."
He was a man to take fire easily, and embraced me. And, strange to say,neither he nor I saw the humour, nor the pity, of the situation. Howmany another would long before have become sceptical of my promises! Andjustly. For I had led him to London, spent all his savings, and thengot him into a miserable prison, and yet he had faith remaining, and tospare!
It occurred to me to notify Mr. Dix of my residence in Castle Yard,not from any hope that he would turn his hand to my rescue, but thathe might know where to find me if he heard from Maryland. And I pennedanother letter to Mr. Carvel, but a feeling I took no pains to definecompelled me to withhold an account of Mr. Manners's conduct. AndI refrained from telling him that I was in a debtor's prison. For Ibelieve the thought of a Carvel in a debtor's prison would have killedhim. I said only that we were comfortably lodged in a modest part ofLondon; that the Manners were inaccessible (for I could not bring myselfto write that they were out of town). Just then a thought struck me withsuch force that I got up with a cheer and hit the astonished captainbetween the shoulders.
"How now!" he cried, ruefully rubbing himself. "If these are thyamenities, Richard, Heaven spare me thy blows."
"Why, I have been a fool, and worse," I shouted. "My grandfather's ship,the Sprightly Bess, is overhauling this winter in the Severn. And unlessshe has sailed, which I think unlikely, I have but to despatch a line toBristol to summon Captain Bell, the master, to London. I think he willbring the worthy Mr. Dix to terms."
"Whether he will or no," said John Paul, hope lighting his face, "Bellmust have command of the twenty pounds to free us, and will take usback to America. For I must own, Richard, that I have no great love forLondon."
No more had I. I composed this letter to Bell in such haste that my handshook, and sent it off with a shilling to the bailiff's servant, that itmight catch the post. And that afternoon we had a two-shilling bottle ofport for dinner, which we shared with a broken-down parson who had beenchaplain in ordinary to my Lord Wortley, and who had preached us anEaster sermon the day before. For it was Easter Monday. Our talk wasbroken into by the bailiff, who informed me that a man awaited me in thepassage, and my heart leaped into my, throat.
There was Banks. Thinking he had come to reproach me; I asked him rathersharply what he wanted. He shifted his hat from one hand to the otherand looked sheepish.
"Your pardon, sir," said he, "but your honour must be very ill-servedhere."
"Better than I should be, Banks, for I have no money," I said, wonderingif he thought me a first-floor lodger.
He made no immediate reply to that, either, but seemed more uneasystill. And I took occasion to note his appearance. He was exceeding neatin a livery of his old master, which he had stripped of the trimmings.Then, before I had guessed at his drift, he thrust his hand inside hiscoat and drew forth a pile of carefully folded bank notes.
"I be a single man, sir, and has small need of this. And and I knowsyour honour will pay me when your letter comes from America."
An
d he handed me five Bank of England notes of ten pounds apiece. I tookthem mechanically, without knowing what I did. The generosity of theact benumbed my senses, and for the instant I was inclined to accept theoffer upon the impulse of it.
"How do you know you would get your money again, Banks?" I askedcuriously.
"No fear, sir," he replied promptly, actually brightening at theprospect. "I knows gentlemen, sir, them that are such, sir. And I willgo to America with you, and you say the word, sir."
I was more touched than I cared to show over his offer, which I scarceknew how to refuse. In truth it was a difficult task, for he pressed meagain and again, and when he saw me firm, turned away to wipe his eyesupon his sleeve. Then he begged me to let him remain and serve me in thesponginghouse, saying that he would pay his own way. The very thought ofa servant in the bailiff's garret made me laugh, and so I put him off,first getting his address, and promising him employment on the day of myrelease.
On Wednesday we looked for a reply from Bristol, if not for theappearance of Bell himself, and when neither came apprehension seized uslest he had already sailed for Maryland. The slender bag of Thursday'sletters contained none for me. Nevertheless, we both did our best tokeep in humour, forbearing to mention to one another the hope that hadgone. Friday seemed the beginning of eternity; the day dragged through Iknow not how, and toward evening we climbed back to our little room,not daring to speak of what we knew in our hearts to be so,--that theSprightly Bess had sailed. We sat silently looking out over the drearystretch of roofs and down into a dingy court of Bernard's Inn below,when suddenly there arose a commotion on the stairs, as of a manmounting hastily. The door was almost flung from its hinges, some onecaught me by the shoulders, gazed eagerly into my face, and drew back.For a space I thought myself dreaming. I searched my memory, and thename came. Had it been Dorothy, or Mr. Carvel himself, I could not havebeen more astonished, and my knees weakened under me.
"Jack!" I exclaimed; "Lord Comyn!"
He seized my hand. "Yes; Jack, whose life you saved, and no other," hecried, with a sailor's impetuosity. "My God, Richard! it was true, then;and you have been in this place for three weeks!"
"For three weeks," I repeated.
He looked at me, at John Paul, who was standing by in bewilderment,and then about the grimy, cobwebbed walls of the dark garret, and thenturned his back to hide his emotion, and so met the bailiff, who wascoming in.
"For how much are these gentlemen in your books?" he demanded hotly.
"A small matter, your Lordship,--a mere trifle," said the man, bowing.
"How much, I say?"
"Twenty-two guineas, five shillings, and eight pence, my Lord, countingdebts, and board,--and interest," the bailiff glibly replied; for he hadno doubt taken off the account when he spied his Lordship's coach. "AndI was very good to Mr. Carvel and the captain, as your Lordship willdiscover--"
"D--n your goodness!" said my Lord, cutting him short.
And he pulled out a wallet and threw some pieces at the bailiff, biddinghim get change with all haste. "And now, Richard," he added, with aglance of disgust about him, "pack up, and we'll out of this cursedhole!"
"I have nothing to pack, my Lord," I said.
"My Lord! Jack, I have told you, or I leave you here."
"Well, then, Jack, and you will," said I, overflowing with thankfulnessto God for the friends He had bestowed upon me. "But before we go astep, Jack, you must know the man but for whose bravery I should longago have been dead of fever and ill-treatment in the Indies, and whosegenerosity has brought him hither. My Lord Comyn, this is Captain JohnPaul."
The captain, who had been quite overwhelmed by this sudden arrival of areal lord to our rescue at the very moment when we had sunk to despair,and no less astonished by the intimacy that seemed to exist between thenewcomer and myself, had the presence of mind to bend his head, and thatwas all. Comyn shook his hand heartily.
"You shall not lack reward for this, captain, I promise you," cried he."What you have done for Mr. Carvel, you have done for me. Captain, Ithank you. You shall have my interest."
I flushed, seeing John Paul draw his lips together. But how was hisLordship to know that he was dealing with no common sea-captain?
"I have sought no reward, my Lord," said he. "What I have done was outof friendship for Mr. Carvel, solely."
Comyn was completely taken by surprise by these words, and by thehaughty tone in which they were spoken. He had not looked for agentleman, and no wonder. He took a quizzical sizing of the sky-bluecoat. Such a man in such a station was out of his experience.
"Egad, I believe you, captain," he answered, in a voice which saidplainly that he did not. "But he shall be rewarded nevertheless, eh,Richard? I'll see Charles Fox in this matter to-morrow. Come, come,"he added impatiently, "the bailiff must have his change by now. Come,Richard!" and he led the way down the winding stairs.
"You must not take offence at his ways," I whispered to the captain. ForI well knew that a year before I should have taken the same tone withone not of my class. "His Lordship is all kindness."
"I have learned a bit since I came into England, Richard," was his soberreply.
"'Twas a pitiful sight to see gathered on the landings the poor fellowswe had come to know in Castle Yard, whose horizons were then as gray asours was bright. But they each had a cheery word of congratulation forus as we passed, and the unhappy gentleman from Devonshire pressed myhand and begged that I would sometime think of him when I was out underthe sky. I promised even more, and am happy to be able to say, my dears,that I saw both him and his wife off for America before I left London.Our eyes were wet when we reached the lower hall, and I was making forthe door in an agony to leave the place, when the bailiff came out ofhis little office.
"One moment, sir," he said, getting in front of me; "there is a littleform yet to be gone through. The haste of gentlemen to leave us is notflattering."
He glanced slyly at Comyn, and his Lordship laughed a little. I steppedunsuspectingly into the office.
"Richard!"
I stopped across the threshold as tho' I had been struck. The latesunlight filtering through the dirt of the window fell upon thetall figure of a girl and lighted an upturned face, and I saw tearsglistening on the long lashes.
It was Dorothy. Her hands were stretched out in welcome, and then I hadthem pressed in my own. And I could only look and look again, for I wasdumb with joy.
"Thank God you are alive!" she cried; "alive and well, when we fearedyou dead. Oh, Richard, we have been miserable indeed since we had newsof your disappearance."
"This is worth it all, Dolly," I said, only brokenly.
She dropped her eyes, which had searched me through in wonder andpity,--those eyes I had so often likened to the deep blue of thesea,--and her breast rose and fell quickly with I knew not whatemotions. How the mind runs, and the heart runs, at such a time! Herewas the same Dorothy I had known in Maryland, and yet not the same. Forshe was a woman now, who had seen the great world, who had refused bothtitles and estates,--and perchance accepted them. She drew her handsfrom mine.
"And how came you in such a place?" she asked, turning with a shudder."Did you not know you had friends in London, sir?"
Not for so much again would I have told her of Mr. Manners's conduct. SoI stood confused, casting about for a reply with truth in it, when Comynbroke in upon us.
"I'll warrant you did not look for her here, Richard. Faith, but you area lucky dog," said my Lord, shaking his head in mock dolefulness; "forthere is no man in London, in the world, for whom she would descend aflight of steps, save you. And now she has driven the length of the townwhen she heard you were in a sponging-house, nor all the dowagers inMayfair could stop her."
"Fie, Comyn," said my lady, blushing and gathering up her skirts; "thattongue of yours had hung you long since had it not been for your peer'sprivilege. Richard and I were brought up as brother and sister, and youknow you were full as keen for his rescue as I."
&n
bsp; His Lordship pinched me playfully.
"I vow I would pass a year in the Fleet to have her do as much for me,"said he.
"But where is the gallant seaman who saved you, Richard?" asked Dolly,stamping her foot.
"What," I exclaimed; "you know the story?"
"Never mind," said she; "bring him here."
My conscience smote me, for I had not so much as thought of John Paulsince I came into that room. I found him waiting in the passage, andtook him by the hand.
"A lady wishes to know you, captain," I said.
"A lady!" he cried. "Here? Impossible!" And he looked at his clothes.
"Who cares more for your heart than your appearance," I answered gayly,and led him into the office.
At sight of Dorothy he stopped abruptly, confounded, as a man who sees adiamond in a dust-heap. And a glow came over me as I said:
"Miss Manners, here is Captain Paul, to whose courage and unselfishnessI owe everything."
"Captain," said Dorothy, graciously extending her hand, "Richard hasmany friends. You have put us all in your debt, and none deeper than hisold playmate."
The captain fairly devoured her with his eyes as she made him acurtsey. But he was never lacking in gallantry, and was as brave on suchoccasions as when all the dangers of the deep threatened him. With anelaborate movement he took Miss Manners's fingers and kissed them, andthen swept the floor with a bow.
"To have such a divinity in my debt, madam, is too much happiness forone man," he said. "I have done nothing to merit it. A lifetime were alltoo short to pay for such a favour."
I had almost forgotten Miss Dolly the wayward, the mischievous. But shewas before me now, her eyes sparkling, and biting her lips to keep downher laughter. Comyn turned to fleck the window with his handkerchief,while I was not a little put out at their mirth. But if John Paulobserved it, he gave no sign.
"Captain, I vow your manners are worthy of a Frenchman," said my Lord;"and yet I am given to understand you are a Scotchman."
A shadow crossed the captain's face.
"I was, sir," he said.
"You were!" exclaimed Comyn, astonished; "and pray, what are you now,sir?"
"Henceforth, my Lord," John Paul replied with vast ceremony: "I am anAmerican, the compatriot of the beautiful Miss Manners!"
"One thing I'll warrant, captain," said his Lordship, "that you are awit."
Volume 5.
Richard Carvel — Complete Page 26
