Redgauntlet: A Tale Of The Eighteenth Century

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER V

  DARSIE LATIMER'S JOURNAL, IN CONTINUATION

  Two or three days, perhaps more, perhaps less, had been spent in bed,where I was carefully attended, and treated, I believe, with as muchjudgement as the case required, and I was at length allowed to quitmy bed, though not the chamber. I was now more able to make someobservation on the place of my confinement.

  The room, in appearance and furniture, resembled the best apartment ina farmer's house; and the window, two stories high, looked into abackyard, or court, filled with domestic poultry. There were the usualdomestic offices about this yard. I could distinguish the brewhouse andthe barn, and I heard, from a more remote building, the lowing of thecattle, and other rural sounds, announcing a large and well-stockedfarm. These were sights and sounds qualified to dispel any apprehensionof immediate violence. Yet the building seemed ancient and strong, apart of the roof was battlemented, and the walls were of great thickness;lastly, I observed, with some unpleasant sensations, that the windowsof my chamber had been lately secured with iron stanchions, and thatthe servants who brought me victuals, or visited my apartment to renderother menial offices, always locked the door when they retired.

  The comfort and cleanliness of my chamber were of true English growth,and such as I had rarely seen on the other side of the Tweed; the veryold wainscot, which composed the floor and the panelling of the room,was scrubbed with a degree of labour which the Scottish housewife rarelybestows on her most costly furniture.

  The whole apartments appropriated to my use consisted of the bedroom, asmall parlour adjacent, within which was a still smaller closet havinga narrow window which seemed anciently to have been used as a shot-hole,admitting, indeed, a very moderate portion of light and air, but withoutits being possible to see anything from it except the blue sky, andthat only by mounting on a chair. There were appearances of a separateentrance into this cabinet, besides that which communicated with theparlour, but it had been recently built up, as I discovered by removinga piece of tapestry which covered the fresh mason-work. I found someof my clothes here, with linen and other articles, as well as mywriting-case, containing pen, ink, and paper, which enables me, at myleisure (which, God knows, is undisturbed enough) to make this record ofmy confinement. It may be well believed, however, that I do not trustto the security of the bureau, but carry the written sheets about myperson, so that I can only be deprived of them by actual violence. Ialso am cautious to write in the little cabinet only, so that I canhear any person approach me through the other apartments, and have timeenough to put aside my journal before they come upon me.

  The servants, a stout country fellow and a very pretty milkmaid-lookinglass, by whom I am attended, seem of the true Joan and Hedge school,thinking of little and desiring nothing beyond the very limited sphereof their own duties or enjoyments, and having no curiosity whateverabout the affairs of others. Their behaviour to me in particular, is,at the same time, very kind and very provoking. My table is abundantlysupplied, and they seem anxious to comply with my taste in thatdepartment. But whenever I make inquiries beyond 'what's for dinner',the brute of a lad baffles me by his ANAN, and his DUNNA KNAW, and ifhard pressed, turns his back on me composedly, and leaves the room. Thegirl, too, pretends to be as simple as he; but an arch grin, whichshe cannot always suppress, seems to acknowledge that she understandsperfectly well the game which she is playing, and is determined to keepme in ignorance. Both of them, and the wench in particular, treat meas they would do a spoiled child, and never directly refuse me anythingwhich I ask, taking care, at the same time, not to make their words goodby effectually granting my request. Thus, if I desire to go out, I ampromised by Dorcas that I shall walk in the park at night, and see thecows milked, just as she would propose such an amusement to a child. Butshe takes care never to keep her word, if it is in her power to do so.

  In the meantime, there has stolen on me insensibly an indifference tomy freedom--a carelessness about my situation, for which I am unable toaccount, unless it be the consequence of weakness and loss of blood. Ihave read of men who, immured as I am, have surprised the world by theaddress with which they have successfully overcome the most formidableobstacles to their escape; and when I have heard such anecdotes, Ihave said to myself, that no one who is possessed only of a fragmentof freestone, or a rusty nail to grind down rivets and to pick locks,having his full leisure to employ in the task, need continue theinhabitant of a prison. Here, however, I sit, day after day, without asingle effort to effect my liberation.

  Yet my inactivity is not the result of despondency, but arises, inpart at least, from feelings of a very different cast. My story, longa mysterious one, seems now upon the verge of some strange development;and I feel a solemn impression that I ought to wait the course ofevents, to struggle against which is opposing my feeble efforts to thehigh will of fate. Thou, my Alan, wilt treat as timidity this passiveacquiescence, which has sunk down on me like a benumbing torpor; but ifthou hast remembered by what visions my couch was haunted, and dost butthink of the probability that I am in the vicinity, perhaps under thesame roof with G.M., thou wilt acknowledge that other feelings thanpusillanimity have tended in some degree to reconcile me to my fate.

  Still I own it is unmanly to submit with patience to this oppressiveconfinement. My heart rises against it, especially when I sit down torecord my sufferings in this journal, and I am determined, as the firststep to my deliverance, to have my letters sent to the post-house. ----

  I am disappointed. When the girl Dorcas, upon whom I had fixed for amessenger, heard me talk of sending a letter, she willingly offered herservices, and received the crown which I gave her (for my purse had nottaken flight with the more valuable contents of my pocket-book) with asmile which showed her whole set of white teeth.

  But when, with the purpose of gaining some intelligence respecting mypresent place of abode, I asked to which post-town she was to send orcarry the letter, a stolid 'ANAN' showed me she was either ignorant ofthe nature of a post-office, or that, for the present, she chose to seemso.--'Simpleton!' I said, with some sharpness.

  'O Lord, sir!' answered the girl, turning pale, which they always dowhen I show any sparks of anger, 'Don't put yourself in a passion--I'llput the letter in the post.

  'What! and not know the name of the post-town?' said I, out of patience.'How on earth do you propose to manage that?'

  'La you there, good master. What need you frighten a poor girl that isno schollard, bating what she learned at the Charity School of SaintBees?'

  'Is Saint Bees far from this place, Dorcas? Do you send your lettersthere?' said I, in a manner as insinuating, and yet careless, as I couldassume.

  'Saint Bees! La, who but a madman--begging your honour's pardon--it's amatter of twenty years since fader lived at Saint Bees, which is twenty,or forty, or I dunna know not how many miles from this part, to theWest, on the coast side; and I would not have left Saint Bees, but thatfader'--

  'Oh, the devil take your father!' replied I.

  To which she answered, 'Nay, but thof your honour be a littlehow-come-so, you shouldn't damn folk's faders; and I won't stand to it,for one.'

  'Oh, I beg you a thousand pardons--I wish your father no ill in theworld--he was a very honest man in his way.'

  'WAS an honest man!' she exclaimed; for the Cumbrians are, it wouldseem, like their neighbours the Scotch, ticklish on the point ofancestry,--'He IS a very honest man as ever led nag with halter on headto Staneshaw Bank Fair. Honest! He is a horse-couper.'

  'Right, right,' I replied; 'I know it--I have heard of your father-ashonest as any horse-couper of them all. Why, Dorcas, I mean to buy ahorse of him.'

  'Ah, your honour,' sighed Dorcas, 'he is the man to serve your honourwell--if ever you should get round again--or thof you were a bit off thehooks, he would no more cheat you than'--

  'Well, well, we will deal, my girl, you may depend on't. But tell menow, were I to give you a letter, what would you do to get it forward?'

  'Why, p
ut it into Squire's own bag that hangs in hall,' answered poorDorcas. 'What else could I do? He sends it to Brampton, or to Carloisle,or where it pleases him, once a week, and that gate.'

  'Ah!' said I; 'and I suppose your sweetheart John carries it?'

  'Noa--disn't now--and Jan is no sweetheart of mine, ever since he dancedat his mother's feast with Kitty Rutlege, and let me sit still; that adid.'

  'It was most abominable in Jan, and what I could never have thought ofhim,' I replied.

  'Oh, but a did though--a let me sit still on my seat, a did.'

  'Well, well, my pretty May, you will get a handsomer fellow thanJan--Jan's not the fellow for you, I see that.'

  'Noa, noa,' answered the damsel; 'but he is weel aneugh for a' that,mon. But I carena a button for him; for there is the miller's son, thatsuitored me last Appleby Fair, when I went wi' oncle, is a gway cannylad as you will see in the sunshine.'

  'Aye, a fine stout fellow. Do you think he would carry my letter toCarlisle?'

  'To Carloisle! 'Twould be all his life is worth; he maun wait on clapand hopper, as they say. Odd, his father would brain him if he went toCarloisle, bating to wrestling for the belt, or sic loike. But I ha'more bachelors than him; there is the schoolmaster, can write almaist asweel as tou canst, mon.'

  'Then he is the very man to take charge of a letter; he knows thetrouble of writing one.'

  'Aye, marry does he, an tou comest to that, mon; only it takes him fourhours to write as mony lines. Tan, it is a great round hand loike, thatone can read easily, and not loike your honour's, that are like midge'staes. But for ganging to Carloisle, he's dead foundered, man, as crippleas Eckie's mear.'

  'In the name of God,' said I, 'how is it that you propose to get myletter to the post?'

  'Why, just to put it into Squire's bag loike,' reiterated Dorcas; 'hesends it by Cristal Nixon to post, as you call it, when such is hispleasure.'

  Here I was, then, not much edified by having obtained a list of Dorcas'sbachelors; and by finding myself, with respect to any informationwhich I desired, just exactly at the point where I set out. It was ofconsequence to me, however, to accustom, the girl to converse with mefamiliarly. If she did so, she could not always be on her guard,and something, I thought, might drop from her which I could turn toadvantage.

  'Does not the Squire usually look into his letter-bag, Dorcas?' said I,with as much indifference as I could assume.

  'That a does,' said Dorcas; 'and a threw out a letter of mine to RaffMiller, because a said'--

  'Well, well, I won't trouble him with mine,' said I, 'Dorcas; but,instead, I will write to himself, Dorcas. But how shall I address him?'

  'Anan?' was again Dorcas's resource.

  'I mean how is he called? What is his name?'

  'Sure you honour should know best,' said Dorcas.

  'I know? The devil! You drive me beyond patience.'

  'Noa, noa! donna your honour go beyond patience--donna ye now,'implored the wench. 'And for his neame, they say he has mair nor anein Westmoreland and on the Scottish side. But he is but seldom wi'us, excepting in the cocking season; and then we just call him Squoireloike; and so do my measter and dame.'

  'And is he here at present?' said I.

  'Not he, not he; he is a buck-hoonting, as they tell me, somewhere upthe Patterdale way; but he comes and gangs like a flap of a whirlwind,or sic loike.'

  I broke off the conversation, after forcing on Dorcas a little silverto buy ribbons, with which she was so much delighted that she exclaimed,'God! Cristal Nixon may say his worst on thee; but thou art a civilgentleman for all him; and a quoit man wi' woman folk loike.'

  There is no sense in being too quiet with women folk, so I added a kisswith my crown piece; and I cannot help thinking that I have secureda partisan in Dorcas. At least, she blushed, and pocketed her littlecompliment with one hand, while, with the other, she adjusted hercherry-coloured ribbons, a little disordered by the struggle it cost meto attain the honour of a salute.

  As she unlocked the door to leave the apartment, she turned back,and looking on me with a strong expression of compassion, added theremarkable words, 'La--be'st mad or no, thou'se a mettled lad, afterall.'

  There was something very ominous in the sound of these farewell words,which seemed to afford me a clue to the pretext under which I wasdetained in confinement, My demeanour was probably insane enough, whileI was agitated at once by the frenzy incident to the fever, and theanxiety arising from my extraordinary situation. But is it possible theycan now establish any cause for confining me arising out of the state ofmy mind?

  If this be really the pretext under which I am restrained from myliberty, nothing but the sedate correctness of my conduct can remove theprejudices which these circumstances may have excited in the minds ofall who have approached me during my illness. I have heard--dreadfulthought!--of men who, for various reasons, have been trepanned intothe custody of the keepers of private madhouses, and whose brain,after years of misery, became at length unsettled, through irresistiblesympathy with the wretched beings among whom they were classed. Thisshall not be my case, if, by strong internal resolution, it is in humannature to avoid the action of exterior and contagious sympathies.

  Meantime I sat down to compose and arrange my thoughts, for my purposedappeal to my jailer--so I must call him--whom I addressed in thefollowing manner; having at length, and after making several copies,found language to qualify the sense of resentment which burned inthe first, drafts of my letter, and endeavoured to assume a tone moreconciliating. I mentioned the two occasions on which he had certainlysaved my life, when at the utmost peril; and I added, that whatever wasthe purpose of the restraint, now practised on me, as I was given tounderstand, by his authority, it could not certainly be with any viewto ultimately injuring me. He might, I said, have mistaken me for someother person; and I gave him what account I could of my situation andeducation, to correct such an error. I supposed it next possible, thathe might think me too weak for travelling, and not capable of takingcare of myself; and I begged to assure him, that I was restored toperfect health, and quite able to endure the fatigue of a journey.Lastly, I reminded him, in firm though measured terms, that therestraint which I sustained was an illegal one, and highly punishableby the laws which protect the liberties of the subject. I ended bydemanding that he would take me before a magistrate; or, at least, thathe would favour me with a personal interview and explain his meaningwith regard to me.

  Perhaps this letter was expressed in a tone too humble for thesituation of an injured man, and I am inclined to think so when I againrecapitulate its tenor. But what could I do? I was in the power of onewhose passions seem as violent as his means of gratifying them appearunbounded. I had reason, too, to believe (this to thee, Alan) that allhis family did not approve of the violence of his conduct towards me; myobject, in fine, was freedom, and who would not sacrifice much to attainit?

  I had no means of addressing my letter excepting 'For the Squire'sown hand.' He could be at no great distance, for in the course oftwenty-four hours I received an answer. It was addressed to DarsieLatimer, and contained these words: 'You have demanded an interview withme. You have required to be carried before a magistrate. Your first wishshall be granted--perhaps the second also. Meanwhile, be assured thatyou are a prisoner for the time, by competent authority, and thatsuch authority is supported by adequate power. Beware, therefore, ofstruggling with a force sufficient to crush you, but abandon yourself tothat train of events by which we are both swept along, and which it isimpossible that either of us can resist.'

  These mysterious words were without signature of any kind, and leftme nothing more important to do than to prepare myself for the meetingwhich they promised. For that purpose I must now break off, and makesure of the manuscript--so far as I can, in my present condition, besure of anything--by concealing it within the lining of my coat, so asnot to be found without strict search.