A Set of Rogues
CHAPTER XXXVI.
_We learn what hath become of Moll; and how she nobly atoned for oursins._
"Barbary--Barbary!" gasps Dawson, thunderstruck by this discovery. "MyMoll in Barbary?"
"She sailed three days ago," says the Don, laying down his pipe, andrising.
Dawson regards him for a moment or two in a kind of stupor, and then hisideas taking definite shape, he cries in a fury of passion and clenchinghis fists:
"Spanish dog! you shall answer this. And you" (turning in fury uponSidi), "you--I know your cursed traffic--you've sold her to the Turk!"
Though Sidi may have failed to comprehend his words, he could notmisunderstand his menacing attitude, yet he faced him with an unmovedcountenance, not a muscle of his body betraying the slightest fear, hisstoic calm doing more than any argument of words to overthrow Dawson'smad suspicion. But his passion unabated, Dawson turns again upon DonSanchez, crying:
"Han't you won enough by your villany, but you must rob me of mydaughter? Are you not satisfied with bringing us to shame and ruin, butthis poor girl of mine must be cast to the Turk? Speak, rascal!" addshe, advancing a step, and seeking to provoke a conflict. "Speak, if youhave any reason to show why I shouldn't strangle you."
"You'll not strangle me," answers the Don, calmly, "and here's my reasonif you would see it." And with that he tilts his elbow, and with a turnof the wrist displays a long knife that lay concealed under his forearm."I know no other defence against the attack of a madman."
"If I be mad," says Dawson, "and mad indeed I may be, and nowonder,--why, then, put your knife to merciful use and end my miseryhere."
"Nay, take it in your own hand," answers the Don, offering the knife."And use it as you will--on yourself if you are a fool, or on me if,being not a fool, you can hold me guilty of such villany as you chargedme with in your passion."
Dawson looks upon the offered knife an instant with distraction in hiseyes, and the Don (not to carry this risky business too far), taking hishesitation for refusal, claps up the blade in his waist-cloth, where itlay mighty convenient to his hand.
"You are wise," says he, "for if that noble woman is to be served, 'tisnot by spilling the blood of her best friends."
"You, her friend!" says Dawson.
"Aye, her best friend!" replies the other, with dignity, "for he is bestwho can best serve her."
"Then must I be her worst," says Jack, humbly, "having no power to undothe mischief I have wrought."
"Tell me, Senor," says I, "who hath kidnapped poor Moll?"
"Nobody. She went of her free will, knowing full well the risk sheran--the possible end of her noble adventure--against the dissuasionsand the prayers of all her friends here. She stood in the doorway there,and saw you cross the garden when you first came to seek her--saw you,her father, distracted with grief and fear, and she suffered you to goaway. As you may know, nothing is more sacred to a Moor than the laws ofhospitality, and by those laws Sidi was bound to respect the wishes ofone who had claimed his protection. He could not betray her secret, buthe and his family did their utmost to persuade her from her purpose.While you were yet in the town, they implored her to let them call youback, and she refused. Failing in their entreaties, they despatched amessenger to me; alas! when I arrived, she was gone. She went with acompany of merchants bound for Alger, and all that her friends herecould do was to provide her with a servant and letters, which willensure her safe conduct to Thadviir."
"But why has she gone there, Senor?" says I, having heard him in a mazeof wonderment to the end.
"Cannot you guess? Surely she must have given you some hint of herpurposes, for 'twas in her mind, as I learn, when she agreed to leaveEngland and come hither."
"Nothing--we know nothing," falters Dawson. "'Tis all mystery anddarkness. Only we did suppose to find happiness a-wandering about thecountry, dancing and idling, as we did before."
"That dream was never hers," answers the Don. "She never thought to findhappiness in idling pleasure. 'Tis the joy of martyrdom she's gone tofind, seeking redemption in self-sacrifice."
"Be more explicit, sir, I pray," says I.
"In a word, then, she has gone to offer herself as a ransom for the realJudith Godwin."
We were too overwrought for great astonishment; indeed, my chiefsurprise was that I had not foreseen this event in Moll's desire toreturn to Elche, or hit upon the truth in seeking an explanation of herdisappearance. 'Twas of a piece with her natural romantic dispositionand her newly awaked sense of poetic justice,--for here at one strokeshe makes all human atonement for her fault and ours,--earning herhusband's forgiveness by this proof of dearest love, and winning backfor ever an honoured place in his remembrance. And I bethought me of ourLord's saying that greater love is there none than this: that one shalllay down his life for another.
For some time Dawson stood silent, his arms folded upon his breast, andhis head bent in meditation, his lips pressed together, and every musclein his face contracted with pain and labouring thought. Then, raisinghis head and fixing his eyes on the Don, he says:
"If I understand aright, my Moll hath gone to give herself up for aslave, in the place of her whose name she took."
The Don assents with a grave inclination of his head, and Dawsoncontinues:
"I ask your pardon for that injustice I did you in my passion; but nowthat I am cool I cannot hold you blameless for what has befallen my poorchild, and I call upon you as a man of honour to repair the wrong you'vedone me."
Again the Don bows very gravely, and then asks what we would have himdo.
"I ask you," says Dawson, "as we have no means for such an expedition,to send me across the sea there to my Moll."
"I cannot ensure your return," says the Don, "and I warn you that oncein Barbary you may never leave it."
"I do not want to return if she is there; nay," adds he, "if I may movethem to any mercy, they shall do what they will with this body of mine,so that they suffer my child to be free."
The Don turns to Sidi, and tells him what Dawson has offered to do;whereupon the Moor lays his finger across his lips, then his hand onDawson's breast, and afterwards upon his own, with a reverence, to showhis respect. And so he and the Don fall to discussing the feasibility ofthis project (as I discovered by picking up a word here and there); and,this ended, the Don turns to Dawson, and tells him there is no vessel toconvey him at present, wherefore he must of force wait patiently tillone comes in from Barbary.
"But," says he, "we may expect one in a few days, and rest you assuredthat your wish shall be gratified if it be possible."
We went down, Dawson and I, to the sea that afternoon; and, sitting onthe shore at that point where we had formerly embarked aboard theAlgerine galley, we scanned the waters for a sail that might be cominghither, and Dawson with the eagerness of one who looked to escape fromslavery rather than one seeking it.
As we sat watching the sea, he fell a-regretting he had no especial giftof nature, by which he might more readily purchase Moll's freedom of hercaptors.
"However," says he, "if I can show 'em the use of chairs and benches,for lack of which they are now compelled, as we see, to squat on matsand benches, I may do pretty well with Turks of the better sort who canafford luxuries, and so in time gain my end."
"You shall teach me this business, Jack," says I, "for at present I'mmore helpless than you."
"Kit," says he, laying hold of my hand, "let us have no misunderstandingon this matter. You go not to Barbary with me."
"What!" cries I, protesting. "You would have the heart to break from meafter we have shared good and ill fortune together like two brothers allthese years?"
"God knows we shall part with sore hearts o' both sides, and I shallmiss you sadly enough, with no Christian to speak to out there. But 'tisnot of ourselves we must think now. Some one must be here to be a fatherto my Moll when she returns, and I'll trust Don Sanchez no farther thanI can see him, for all his wisdom. So, as you love the dear girl, youwill stay here, Ki
t, to be her watch and ward, and as you love me youwill spare me any further discussion on this head. For I am resolved."
I would say nothing then to contrary him, but my judgment and feelingboth revolted against his decision. For, thinks I, if one Christian isworth but a groat to the Turk, two must be worth eightpence, thereforewe together stand a better chance of buying Moll's freedom than eithersingly. And, for my own happiness, I would easier be a slave in Barbarywith Jack than free elsewhere and friendless. Nowhere can a man be freefrom toil and pain of some sort or another, and there is no such solacein the world for one's discomforts as the company of a true man.
But I was not regardless of Moll's welfare when she returned, neither.For I argued with myself that Mr. Godwin had but to know of hercondition to find means of coming hither for her succour. So the nexttime I met Don Sanchez, I took him aside and told him of my concern,asking him the speediest manner of sending a letter to England (that Ihad enclosed in mine to the Don having missed him through his leavingToledo before it arrived).
"There is no occasion to write," says he. "For the moment I learnt yourhistory from Sidi I sent a letter, apprising him of his wife's innocencein this business, and the noble reparation she had made for the fault ofothers. Also, I took the liberty to enclose a sum of money to meet hisrequirements, and I'll answer for it he is now on his way hither. For noman living could be dull to the charms of his wife, or bear resentmentto her for an act that was prompted by love rather than avarice, andwith no calculation on her part."
This cheered me considerably, and did somewhat return my faith in DonSanchez, who certainly was the most extraordinary gentlemanly rascalthat ever lived.
Day after day Dawson and I went down to the sea, and on the fifth day ofour watching (after many false hopes and disappointments) we spied aship, which we knew to be of the Algerine sort by the cross-set of itslateen sails,--making it to look like some great bird with spread wingson the water,--bearing down upon the shore.
We watched the approach of this ship in a fever of joy and expectation,for though we dared not breathe our hopes one to another, we boththought that maybe Moll was there. And this was not impossible. For,supposing Judith was married happily, she would refuse to leave herhusband, and her mother, having lived so long in that country, might notcare to leave it now and quit her daughter; so might they refuse theirransom and Moll be sent back to us. And, besides this reasoning, we hadthat clinging belief of the unfortunate that some unforeseen accidentmight turn to our advantage and overthrow our fears.
The Algerine came nearer and nearer, until at length we could make outcertain figures moving upon the deck; then Dawson, laying a tremblinghand on my sleeve, asked if I did not think 'twas a woman standing inthe fore part; but I couldn't truly answer yes, which vexed him.
But, indeed, when the galley was close enough to drop anchor, being atsome distance from the shore because of the shoals, I could notdistinguish any women, and my heart sank, for I knew well that if Mollwere there, she, seeing us, would have given us some signal of waving ahandkerchief or the like. As soon as the anchor was cast, a boat waslowered, and being manned, drew in towards us; then, truly, we perceiveda bent figure sitting idle in the stern, but even Dawson dared notventure to think it might be Moll.
The boat running on a shallow, a couple of Moors stepped into the water,and lifting the figure in their arms carried it ashore to where westood. And now we perceived 'twas a woman muffled up in the Moorishfashion, a little, wizen old creature, who, casting back her headclothes, showed us a wrinkled face, very pale and worn with care andage. Regarding us, she says in plain English:
"You are my countrymen. Is one of you named Dawson?"
"My name is Dawson," says Jack.
She takes his hand in hers, and holding it in hers looks in his facewith great pity, and then at last, as if loath to tell the news she seeshe fears to hear, she says:
"I am Elizabeth Godwin."
What need of more to let us know that Moll had paid her ransom?