The Chaplain of the Fleet

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER IX.

  HOW THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE MADE TWO WOMEN PRISONERS.

  One Sunday evening in the autumn, the market being then quiet, the twoladies and the girl sat round a fire of coal, talking together by itslight. The memories of the sisters, by some accident, were carried backto the past, and they told the child the story, of which she alreadyknew a part, how by a great and crying injustice of the law, they hadbeen shut up in prison, for no fault of their own, for nearly thirtyyears.

  "My father's eyes," said Mrs. Deborah, looking at the portrait over thefireplace, "seem to rest upon me to-night."

  Mrs. Esther shuddered.

  "It is a sign, sister," she said, "that something will happen to us."

  Mrs. Deborah laughed a little bitterly. I thought afterwards that thelaugh was like that of Sarai, because a thing did happen to her, aswill presently be seen.

  "Nothing," she said, "will happen to you and to me any more, Esther,except more pain and more starvation."

  "Patience, Deborah," sighed Mrs. Esther. "We who have borne ourcaptivity for nine-and-twenty years----"

  "And seven months," said her sister.

  "Can surely bear it a little longer."

  "We were girls when we came here," said Mrs. Deborah; "girls who mighthave had lovers and become mothers of brave sons--not that you, Kitty,should let your thoughts run on such matters. But there are no honestlovers for honest girls in the Rules of the Fleet."

  "Lovers!" echoed Mrs. Esther, with a heavy sigh. "Mothers! with sons!Ah, no! not for us."

  "We are old women now, sister. Well, everything is short that hath anend. Let us take comfort. To earthly prison is a certain end appointed."

  "We came to the gaol, sister," continued Mrs. Esther, "two girls,weeping, hand-in-hand. Poor girls! poor girls! My heart bleeds to thinkof them, so young and so innocent."

  "We shall go out of it," said her sister, "with tears of joy. Theyshall write upon our tombstones, 'These sisters thank God for death.'"

  "What fault, we asked--ah! Deborah, how often we asked it!--what faulthad we committed? For what sin or crime of ours did this ruin fall uponus?"

  "I ask it still," said Deborah the impatient, "I ask it every day. Howcan they call this a land of justice, when two innocent women can belocked up for life?"

  "My sister, we may not kick against the pricks. If laws are unjust theymust be changed, not disobeyed."

  Mrs. Deborah replied by a gesture of impatience.

  "We were blessed with parents," said Mrs. Esther, half talking toherself, half to me, "whose worth and piety were as eminent as theirlofty positions in the City. Our respected father was Lord Mayor in theyear 1716, when, with our esteemed mother, who was by birth a Balchin,and the granddaughter of Sir Rowland Balchin, also once Lord Mayor, hehad the honour of entertaining his Highness Prince George of Denmark.We were present at that royal banquet in the gallery. Our father wasalso, of course, an alderman----"

  "Of Portsoken Ward," said Mrs. Deborah.

  "And Worshipful Master of the Company of Armour Scourers."

  "And churchwarden of St. Dionis Backchurch," said Mrs. Deborah.

  "Which he beautified, adding a gallery at his own expense."

  "And where, in 1718, a tablet was placed in the wall to his memory,"added Mrs. Deborah.

  "And one to the memory of Esther, his wife," continued the eldersister, "who died in the year 1719, so that we, being still minors,unfortunately became wards of a merchant, an old and trusted friend ofour father."

  "A costly friend he proved to us," said Mrs. Deborah.

  "Nay, sister, blame him not. Perhaps he thought to multiply ourfortunes tenfold. Then came the year of 1720, when, by visitation ofthe Lord, all orders and conditions of men went mad, and we, likethousands of others, lost our little all, and from rich heiresses oftwenty thousand pounds apiece--such, Kitty, was then our enviablecondition--became mere beggar-girls."

  "Worse," said Mrs. Deborah grimly. "Beggar-wenches are not in debt;they may go and lay their heads where they please."

  "We were debtors, but to whom I know not; we owed a large sum of money,but how much I know not; nor have ever been able to understand howour guardian ruined us, with himself. I was twenty-two, and my sistertwenty-one; we were of age; no one could do anything for us; needs mustwe come to the Fleet and be lodged in prison."

  "Esther!" cried her sister, shuddering; "must we tell her all?"

  "My child," continued Mrs. Esther, "we suffered at first more than wedare to tell you. There was then in charge of the prison a wretch,a murderer, a man whose sins towards me I have, I hope, forgiven,as is my Christian duty. But his sins towards my sister I can neverforgive; no, never. It is not, I believe," she said with more asperitythan I had ever before remarked in her--"it cannot be expected of anyChristian woman that she should forgive in a wicked man his wickednessto others."

  "That is my case," said Mrs. Deborah. "The dreadful cruelties ofBambridge, so far as I am concerned, are forgiven. I cannot, however,forgive those he inflicted upon you, Esther. And I never mean to."

  This seemed at the moment an edifying example of obedience to thedivine law. Afterwards the girl wondered whether any person wasjustified in nourishing hatred against another. And as to that,Bambridge was dead; he had committed suicide; he had gone where nohuman hate could harm him.

  Every one knows that this man must have been a most dreadful monster.He was the tenant, so to speak, of the prison, and paid so much a yearfor the privilege of extorting what money he could from the unfortunatedebtors. He made them pay commitment fees, lodging fees, and fees ofall kinds, so that the very entrance to the prison cost a poor wretchsometimes more than forty pounds. He took from the two ladies all themoney they had, to the last guinea; he threatened them with the samepunishment which he (illegally) inflicted on the unfortunate men; hewould, he said, clap them in irons, set them in tubs, put them in thestrong-room, which was a damp and dark and filthy dungeon, not fit fora Turk; he kept their lives in continual terror of some new misery:they had ever before their eyes the spectacle of his cruelties toCaptain MacPheadrid, whom he lamed; Captain Sinclair, whom he confineduntil his memory was lost and the use of his limbs; Jacob Mendez,whom he kept locked up till he gave up his uttermost farthing; andSir William Rich, whom he slashed with a hanger and beat with sticksbecause he could not pay his lodging.

  And as every one knows, Bambridge was at last turned out through theexertions of General Oglethorpe.

  "And how can I forget the generous band, Who, touched with human woe, redressive searched Into the horrors of the gloomy gaol!"

  "We endured these miseries," continued Mrs. Esther, "for four years,when our cousin was able to go security and pay the fees for us toleave the dreadful place and enjoy the Rules. Here, at least, we havesome liberty, though we must live among scenes of rudeness, and seeand hear daily a thousand things which a gentlewoman should be able toescape and forget. Our cousin," she went on, after a pause, "is notrich, and is able to do little for us: he sends us from time to time,out of his poverty, something for our necessities: out of this we havepaid our rent, and being able sometimes to do some sewing work, wehave lived, though but poorly. Two women want but little: a penny willpurchase a dish of broth."

  "It is not the poverty we lament," said Mrs. Deborah, "it is the placewherein we live."

  "Then," Mrs. Esther went on, "Heaven sent us a friend. My dear, be itknown to you, that had it not been for the Doctor, we had, ere now,been starved. He it was who found us in hunger and cold; he fed us,clothed us, and warmed us."

  "To us, at least, he will always be the best of men," said Mrs. Deborah.

  "More than that, sister; he hath brought us this child to be our joyand comfort: though God in His mercy forbid that your young days shouldall be wasted in this wicked place, which surely is the very mouth----"

  Here they were interrupted by an uproar in the street below us: abawling and bellowing of many men: they were bringing home the baronet,who was
already drunk. Among the voices Kitty heard, and hung her headwith shame, the tones of her uncle, as clear and sonorous as the greatbell of St. Paul's.

  They said nothing for a space. When all was quiet again, and thebrawlers had withdrawn, Mrs. Esther spoke in her gentle way.

  "A man's life doth, doubtless, seem to himself different from what heseems to the women who know him. We know not his moments of repentance,his secret prayers, or his temptations. Men are stronger than women,and they are also weaker: their virtues are nobler: their vices aremore conspicuous. We must not judge, but continue to think the best.I was saying, my dear, when we were interrupted by the brawling ofSabbath-breakers, that your uncle, the worthy Doctor, is the mostkind-hearted and generous of men. For all that he has done to us,three poor and defenceless women, we have nothing to give in returnbut our prayers. Let us give him these, at least. May the Lord of allgoodness and mercy reward him, strengthen him, and forgive him whateverfrailties do beset him!"