The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane

by Frank Barrett

  CHAPTER XLVIII.

  A GREAT CHANGE IN OUR FORTUNE, WHEREBY I HEAR THE MOST JOYFUL, PLEASINGNEWS HEART COULD DESIRE.

  The jagoaretes being gone, I advanced towards the place where they hadbeen lying, to see what body they had dragged apart from the rest todevour. But ere I had made half a dozen paces I stopped, and the coldsweat burst out again upon my brow on observing, amidst the crushed andblood-blackened fertile plants, a fair pale body that had been strippedof clothing. At a glance I perceived that it was too slight and delicatefor the corse of a man, nor could I for a moment think it was the bodyof a arquebusier and a Portugal. "'Tis she," thinks I, "'tis she. Thesavages have stripped her sweet body for their vile pleasure, or for thesake of her pretty gown; why else should this one be singled from theother bodies?" I covered my eyes with my hands to shut out the sight ofthat poor mangled body; yet I saw it still. All hope was gone from me,so that I had no desire to prove the truth of my conviction. Yetpresently I felt that I must do my last duty by her and carry herwhither those carrion birds and foul beasts might not further mutilateher mortal remains. So with my gorge rising I stepped forward again anduncovered my eyes. One arm had been torn from the trunk, but the headwas untouched, and, as I turned my reluctant eyes upon it, my bitterfeeling towards Providence for thus cruelly bereaving me of my darlingwas of a sudden changed to gratitude and thankfulness, for I perceivedthe face was none but that of the little Portugal boy Don Lewis hadgiven my lady for her page.

  Yet I had still my dear lady to find, and so once more I turned me roundto scan once more the grizzly scene of havoc. And thus was I standingbenumbed with despair when Matthew came briskly to my side, and, takingme by the arm, drew me rapidly on, saying in a low voice:

  "Quick, master. Let us get back to the rocks, where we may at least havesomething to hurl for our defense. For though I count we have not anhour to live, yet will we sell our lives dearly, and die as becomesmen."

  Saying this he drew me towards a tree, and from that to another, and soto a third, as if seeking the shelter of their trunks. Yet, at the sametime, edging away towards the scattered rocks at the foot of theprecipice.

  "Nay, friend," says I, "what is there to fear? You have scared off theounces with your hallooing."

  "Ay," says he, "and I wish to Heaven I had let 'em sleep on, and playedno such silly trick; for in scaring away one enemy I have roused upanother, with a plague to me. Behind that tree, master," shoving me tothe right, and then adds he, "The ounces were surfeited with their meal;but these others have only had their appetite whetted for carnage."

  "Which others?" says I, greatly perplexed, yet going forward as he wouldhave me.

  "The Ingas," says he; "I spied one of the naked wretches as I turnedabout to come back to you. He was squatting amidst the herbage at theback of us; but I reckon they have shifted their place as quick as we,and Lord knows whether we shall get amidst the rocks before they get afair aim at us with their arrows."

  Scarcely had these words passed his lips when an arrow flew past us andstuck in the tree we were about to pass.

  "That's a nigh squeak," says Matthew. "Take no notice, master. Push on.If we get to yonder rock we shall have the mountain at our back for acomfort."

  Another arrow flew past and stuck in a tree before us.

  "That's odd," says Matthew; "they don't use to miss their mark in thismanner."

  Still making our way towards the rocks, a third arrow flew past with thesame effect as before.

  "Thrice they've missed us, and thrice hit a tree before us," saysMatthew, "and every time on a level with our breasts. If this happensagain, 'twill be a sign they are aiming at the trees, and not at us,though with what intent I know not."

  As if his words had been heard, a fourth arrow flew by, straight to atree a dozen paces ahead.

  "We must look at that arrow, master," says Matthew. "'Tis on your side;drag it out or break it off as you pass."

  Now this business had taken longer in the doing than I have spent intelling, for the rock we were making for lay at some distance, and wemade a crooked way thither by reason of bobbing from one tree toanother, which was labor we might have spared ourselves, for it onlyenabled our pursuer to arm his bow the more frequently. I make thisexplanation because it is the vicious practice of some men to cast doubtupon very true history since it is not of their writing; while others,by reason of their short sight, must have everything pointed out andmagnified ere they will believe of its existence; but, Lord, I shouldnever come to an end of this matter were I to set about satisfying everysilly caviler. This by the way: now to continue my history.

  Going to do Matthew's bidding, I stretched out my hand to lay hold ofthe arrow sticking in the tree; but ere my fingers touched it I stoppedshort with a cry of joy.

  "Lord love you, master, what's the matter?" cries Matthew.

  "Look," says I, pointing to the head of the arrow buried in the softbark. "Do you see this shred of black lace bound to the shaft?"

  "Ay," says he, "and 'tis the first time I ever saw an arrow feathered inthat fashion."

  "'Tis part of my dear lady's gown," cries I, snatching the arrow away,and pressing the lace to my lips, with a mad hope that she lived, andthat this was a token sent by her.

  Another arrow, being the fifth thus discharged, shot into the trunkclose by the head of the fourth; and now I gave another joyful shout,for round the head of this was bound a little lock of hair that shone inthe sun like burnished copper.

  "'Tis a lock of her dear hair. My dearest lady, my darling lives! shelives--she lives!" says I, with the same extravagant joy as before."'Tis a message from her."

  "That may be," says Matthew cheerily; "but one thing is certain--theIngas mean us no harm; for they might have riddled us like so manycolanders by this, had they been so minded, for all our care."

  Casting our eyes about, we now spied a young Inga (as naked as Adam)standing beside a tree at about a dozen yards off, with a bow in hishand, and a sheaf of arrows, in a long wallet, slung to his shoulder. Hecried out something in his own tongue, upon which Matthew (who had gotthe language by one of his wives) turns to me and says:

  "I don't know what this fellow means, master, for he wants to know whichof us saved his wife from the Portugals. However, 'tis no good to standnice about fibs at this time, so I shall tell him you did."

  "That you may with truth," says I; "for though 'twas Lady Biddy whoenabled the poor woman to get free, yet I struck up the arquebuse whichwas leveled to shoot her down," as it suddenly came home to my mind thatthis Indian's wife must be that poor slave my dear lady had set free andI had saved from the shot of the arquebusier. This history I gave toMatthew now, and he gave it again to the Inga, who, not liking this signof hesitation, asked sternly (still with his arrow on the bow) why hehad not answered at once before consulting me.

  "Lord love you, master," says Matthew (as he afterwards told me),"Englishmen are so used to practising charity that we had to think amoment to recollect such a trifle as that. I'm an Englishman," he addshastily, for fear the Inga might be minded to despatch him as having nopersonal call on his gratitude.

  "Ask him," says I, "if Lady Biddy, who had his wife freed from her yoke,lives." When, in response to this question, the Inga bowed his head, Irushed forward with my arms wide to embrace him, for my joy knew nobounds. He let me take his hand in mine, and smiled kindly to see how Iwas moved; for he also had lost and found, being, as I say, the husbandof that poor slave my Lady Biddy had saved. Then from the bottom of hiswallet he drew out a piece of the lace my dear lady had given him, andalso a thick tress of her hair; showing me that he had yet half a dozenarrows in his sheaf bound like those already shot.

  "Master," says Matthew, who had moved up to my side, and was still in amighty taking lest the Inga should do him a mischief, "while he is in agood humor do you put in a sign or two to signify I am your friend."

  So I turned about, and grasped Matthew's hand without pretense (for Ifelt that I owed him my life and happines
s), to show that I loved himmuch.

  The Inga ceased to smile, and regarded Matthew from top to toe insilence; for these hunted Indians have need of all precautions, being sofrequently tricked by treacherous Portugals; and he was the moredoubtful of Matthew because he spoke the Inga tongue in the manner ofthose accursed Portugals.

  "Oh, Lord!" says Matthew, "he don't like the look of me."

  Then the Inga put many searching questions to him sharply, and mightmore readily have believed his replies but that poor Matthew, being of aquake of his life, did rub his hands together as if he were a-washingthem, cringing and smiling like any chandler, which was altogether thewrong way to win over an Inga; for they are a proud race, but notsycophants. However, in the end this Inga laid his hand on Matthew'sbreast (as he had on mine) for a sign of faith and friendship, whichbrought a huge sigh of content from the bottom of the honest fellow'sheart.

  "For," says he, "if we are to go amongst these Indians, I shall stand inneed of a friend, lest one of 'em knows me for having married into hisfamily without consent of the parents."

  "Ask," says I, "where Lady Biddy lies, and when I shall see her."

  When Matthew had put the question, the Inga pointed to the southwest;and then turning his hand towards the sun lowered it to the horizon, toindicate that we should not overtake her before sunset. After lookingaround him once more searchingly, he bade Matthew be silent, and so ledthe way down the hillside. But for all this warning Matthew could nothelp communicating his thoughts to me in a low tone now and then, for hewas a generous-hearted fellow in all things, and was as fond of thesound of his own voice as any starling.

  "Look you, master," says he, "how gentleness does rule the world aboveall the craft and cunning of the wicked; for while these sinfulPortugals could not compass the ruin of an unprotected maid with alltheir might, one act of love on her part has brought about theiroverthrow, and saved us from the arrows of this Inga."

  "Ay, Matthew," says I; "and if we take Lady Biddy home to her friends,'twill be due to your mercy when I lay a prisoner in the guardhouse."

  "Mercy!" says he; "'twas nothing of the sort; 'twas but a yearning tohear honest English once more, for not one of my wives could I everbring to speak it."

  In this manner we whispered our thoughts when the difficulty of gettingto the bottom of that valley did not interfere.

  At length we came down to the side of that river we had passed upon ourway to Valetta; and here Matthew begged the Inga to stay awhile and eata bit of cold roast mutton and a crust of bread with us, as we werepretty nigh spent one way and another, having taken no food sincedaybreak. The Inga agreed to this, and we shared what was left of ourfood, and drained the wine-skin.

  "Master," says Matthew to the Inga, "are we going to cross the river?"

  The Inga nodded.

  "I thought as much," says Matthew. "And we're to swim it?"

  Again the Inga nodded.

  "Now should I be in a bad way but for this wine-skin," says Matthew,"for I can swim no further than a frog may fly."

  "And how is your wine-skin to help you, friend?" says I.

  He winked his roguish eye, and putting his lips to the empty skin blewinto it until it was full of his breath and tight as any blown bladder.

  "There," says he, tying up the mouth, "with that in my arms I'll kickmyself to the other shore for a wager."