For Faith and Freedom

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  BENJAMIN.

  It was the evening of September the Sixteenth, about nine of theclock. I was sitting alone in my lodging. Downstairs I heard thevoice of the poor widow, Mrs. Prior, who had received us. She waspraying aloud with some godly friends for the safety of her sons.These young men, as I have said, were never more heard of, and weretherefore already, doubtless, past praying for. I, who ought tohave been praying with them, held Robin's last letter in my hands.I knew it by heart; but I must still be reading it again and again;thinking it was his voice which was indeed speaking to me, trying tofeel his presence near me, to hear his breath, to see his very eyes.In the night, waking or sleeping, I still would hear him callingto me aloud. 'My heart! my life! my love!' he would cry. I heardhim, I say, quite plainly. By special mercy and grace this powerwas accorded to me; because I have no doubt that in his mind, whilelying in his noisome prison, he did turn his thoughts, yea, andthe yearnings of his fond heart, to the maid he loved. But now themerciless Judge who had sentenced three hundred men to one commondoom--three hundred men!--was such a sentence ever known?--had leftDorchester, and was already, perhaps, at Exeter. Oh!--perhaps Robinhad by this time stood his trial: what place was left for prayer?For if the poor, ignorant clowns were condemned to death, how muchmore the gentlemen, the officers of Monmouth's army! Perhaps he wasalready executed--my lover, my boy, my Robin!--taken out and hanged,and now a cold and senseless corpse! Then the wailings and prayersof the poor woman below, added to the distraction of these thoughts,made me feel as if I was indeed losing my senses. At this time, itwas blow upon blow--line upon line. The sky was black--the heavenswere deaf. Is there--can there be--a more miserable thing than tofeel that the very heavens are deaf? The mercy of the Lord--Hiskindly hearkening to our cries and prayers--these we believe aswe look for the light of day and the warmth of the sun. Nay, thisbelief is the very breath of our life; so that there is none butthe most hardened and abandoned sinner who doth not still feelthat he hath in the Lord a Father as well as a Judge. To lose thatbelief--'twere better to be a lump of senseless clay. The greatestmisery of the lost soul, even greater than his continual torment offire, and his never-ending thirst, and the gnawing of remorse, mustbe to feel that the heavens are deaf to his prayers--deaf for everand for ever!

  At this time, my prayers were all for safety. 'Safety, good Lord!give them safety! Save them from the executioner? Give them safety?'Thus, as Barnaby said, the shipwrecked mariner clinging to themast asks not for a green, pleasant, and fertile shore, but forland--only for land. I sat there, musing sadly, the Bible on thetable and a lighted candle. I read not in the Bible, but listenedto the wailing of the poor soul below, and looked at the churchyardwithout, the moonlight falling upon the fresh mounds which coveredthe graves of the poor dead prisoners. Suddenly I heard a voice--aloud and harsh voice--and footsteps. I knew both footsteps andvoice, and I sprang to my feet trembling, because I was certain thatsome new disaster had befallen us.

  Then the steps mounted the stairs; the door was opened, andBenjamin--none other than Benjamin--appeared. What did he here? Hewas so big, with so red a face, that his presence seemed to fillthe room. And with him--what did this mean?--came Madam herself,who I thought to have been at Exeter. Alas! her eyes were red withweeping; her cheeks were thin and wasted with sorrow; her lips weretrembling.

  'Alice!' she cried, holding out her hands. 'Child, these terriblethings are done, and yet we live! Alas! we live! Are our hearts madeof stone that we still live? As for me, I cannot die, though I loseall--all--all!'

  'Dear Madam, what hath happened? More misery! More disaster! Oh!tell me! tell me!'

  'Oh! my dear, they have been tried--they have been tried, andthey are condemned to die--both Robin--my son Robin--and with himHumphrey, who dragged him into the business and alone ought tosuffer for both. But there is now no justice in the land. No--nomore justice can be had. Else Humphrey should have suffered for all.'

  There was something strange in her eyes--she did not look like amother robbed of her children; she gazed upon me as if there wassomething else upon her mind. As if the condemnation of her son wasnot enough.

  'Robin will be hanged,' she went on. 'He hath been the only comfortof my life since my husband was taken from me, when he was left aninfant in my arms. Robin will be hanged like any common gipsy caughtstealing a sheep. He will be hanged, and drawn and quartered, andthose goodly limbs of his will be stuck upon poles for all to see!'

  Truly I looked for nothing less. Barnaby bade me look for nothingless than this; but at the news I fell into a swoon. So one whoknoweth beforehand that he is to feel the surgeon's knife, andthinks to endure the agony without a cry, is fain to shriek andscream when the moment comes.

  When I recovered I was sitting at the open window, Madam applying awet cloth to my forehead.

  'Have no fear,' Benjamin was saying. 'She will do what you commandher, so only that he may go free.'

  'Is there no way but that?' she asked.

  'None!' And then he swore a great oath.

  My eyes being opened and my sense returned, I perceived that Mrs.Prior was also in the room. And I wondered (in such moments the mindfinds relief in trifles) that Benjamin's face should have grown sored and his cheeks so fat.

  'Thou hast been in a swoon, my dear,' said Madam. 'But 'tis past.''Why is Benjamin here?' I asked.

  He looked at Madam, who cast down her eyes, I knew not why.

  'Benjamin is now our only friend,' she replied without looking up.'It is out of his kindness--yes--his kindness of heart that he hathcome.'

  'I do not understand. If Robin is to die what kindness can he show?'

  'Tell her, Benjamin,' said Madam, 'tell her of the trials at Exeter.'

  'His Lordship came to Exeter,' Benjamin began, 'on the evening ofSeptember the Thirteenth, escorted by many country gentlemen anda troop of horse. I had the honour of riding with him. The trialsbegan the day before yesterday, the Fourteenth.'

  'Pray, good Sir,' asked the poor woman who had lost her sons, 'didyou observe my boys among the prisoners?'

  'How the devil should I know your boys?' he replied, turning uponher roughly, so that she asked no more questions. 'If they wererebels they deserve hanging'--here she shrieked aloud, and fledthe room. 'The trials began with two fellows who pleaded "Notguilty," but were quickly proved to have been in arms, and werecondemned to death, one of them being sent out to instant execution.The rest who were brought up that day--among whom were Robin andHumphrey--pleaded "Guilty," being partly terrified and partlypersuaded that it was their only chance of escape. So they, too,were condemned--two hundred and forty in all--every man Jack ofthem, to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, and their limbs to beafterwards stuck on poles for the greater terror of evildoers'--hesaid these words with such a fire in his eyes, and in such adreadful threatening voice, as made me tremble. 'Then they were alltaken back to jail, where they will lie until the day of execution,and the Lord have mercy upon their souls!'

  The terrible Judge Jeffreys himself could not look more terriblethan Benjamin when he uttered the prayer with which a sentence todeath is concluded.

  'Benjamin, were you in the court to see and hear the condemnation ofyour own cousins?'

  'I was. I sat in the body of the court, in the place reserved forCounsel.'

  'Could you say nothing that would help them?'

  'Nothing. Not a word from anyone could help them. Consider--one ofthem was an officer, and one a surgeon in the army. The ignorantrustics whom they led may some of them escape, but the officers canlook for no mercy.'

  'Madam,' I cried, 'I must see Robin before he dies; though, Godknows, there are those here who want my services daily. Yet I mustsee Robin. He will not die easy unless he can see me and kiss meonce.'

  Madam made no reply.

  'For a week,' said Benjamin, 'they are safe. I do not think theywill be executed for a week at least. But it is not wise to reckonon a reprieve even for an hour: the Judge may at any t
ime ordertheir execution.'

  'I will go to-morrow.'

  'That will be seen,' said Benjamin.

  'My dear,' said Madam, 'my nephew Benjamin is a friend of the Judge,Lord Jeffreys.'

  'Say rather a follower and admirer of that great, learned, andreligious man. One who is yet but a member of the Outer Bar must notassume the style and title of friend to a man whose next step mustbe the Woolsack.'

  'Heavens! He called the inhuman wretch who had sentenced an innocentold woman of seventy to be burned alive, and five hundred persons tobe hanged, and one knows not how many to be inhumanly flogged--greatand religious!'

  'If interest can save any,' Madam said softly, 'Benjamin can commandthat interest, and he is on the side of mercy, especially where hiscousins are concerned.'

  I now observed that Madam, who had not formerly been wont to regardher nephew with much affection, behaved towards him with thegreatest respect and submission.

  'Madam,' he replied, 'you know the goodness of my heart. What mancan do shall be done by me, not only for Robin, but for the otherswho are involved with him in common ruin. But there are conditionswith which I have taken pains to acquaint you.'

  Madam sighed heavily, and looked as if she would speak, butrefrained; and I saw the tears rolling down her cheeks.

  'What conditions, Benjamin?' I asked him. 'Conditions for trying tosave your own cousins and your own grandfather! Conditions? Why,you should be moving heaven and earth for them instead of makingconditions.'

  'It needs not so much exertion,' he replied with an unbecoming grin.'First, Alice, I must own, Child, that the two years or thereaboutssince I saw thee last have added greatly to thy charms; at which Irejoice.'

  'Oh! what have my charms to do with the business?'

  'Much; as thou wilt presently discover. But let me remind youboth that there threaten--nay, there are actually overhanging--disasters, the like of which never happen save in time of civilwar and of rebellion. My grandfather is in prison, and will be triedon a charge of sending men and horses to join Monmouth. Nay, theDuke's Proclamation was found in his house; he will be certainlycondemned and his estates confiscated. So there will be an end of asold a family as lives in Somerset. Then there is thy father, Child,who was Preacher to the army, and did make mischief in stirring upthe fanatical zeal of many. Think you that he can escape? Then thereis thy brother Barnaby, who was such a fool as to meddle in whatconcerned him not, and now will hang therefor. What can we expect?Are men to go unpunished who thus rebel against the Lord's anointed?Is treason--rank treason--the setting up of a Pretender Prince (whois now lying headless in his coffin) as the rightful heir, to beforgiven? We must not look for it. Alas! Madam, had I been with youinstead of that conceited, fanatical, crookback Humphrey, whom I didever detest, none of these things should have happened.'

  'Humphrey,' I said, 'has more worth in one finger than you in allyour great body, Benjamin.'

  'My dear, my dear, do not anger Benjamin. Oh, do not anger our onlyfriend!'

  'She may say what she pleases. My time will come. Listen then. Theymust all be hanged unless I can succeed in getting them pardoned.'

  'Nay--but--forgive my rudeness, Benjamin; they are your owncousins--it is your own grandfather. What need of conditions? Oh!what does this mean? Are you a man of flesh and blood?'

  'My conditions, Child'--why did he laugh?--'will assure you thatsuch is truly the nature of my composition.'

  'If money is wanted'--I thought of my bag of gold and of Mr. Penne'shints--'how much will suffice?'

  'I know not. If it comes to buying them off, more thousands thancould be raised on the Bradford Orcas estates. Put money out ofmind.'

  'Then, Benjamin, save them if thou canst.'

  'His Lordship knows that I have near relations concerned in theRebellion. Yet, he assured me if his own brothers were among theprisoners he would hang them all.'

  'Nay, then, Benjamin; I say no more. Tell me what are theseconditions, and, if we can grant or contrive them, we will comply.'I had no thought of what was meant by his conditions, nor did I evenguess until the morning, when Madam told me. 'Oh! Madam, is thereanything in the world--anything that we would not do to save them?'

  Madam looked at me with so much pity in her eyes that I wondered. Itwas pity for me and not for her son that I read in that look. Whydid she pity me?

  I understood not.

  'My dear,' she said, 'there are times when women are called uponto make sacrifices which they never thought to make, which seemimpossible to be even asked----'

  'Oh! there are no sacrifices which we would not gladly make. Whatcan Benjamin require that we should not gladly do for him? Nay, heis Robin's cousin, and your nephew, and Sir Christopher's grandson.He will, if need be, join us in making these sacrifices.'

  'I will,' said Benjamin--again, why did he laugh?--'I will join youin making one sacrifice at least, with a willing heart.'

  'I will tell her to-morrow,' said Madam. 'No, I cannot tell herto-night. Let us first rest. Go, Sir; leave us to our sorrow. It maybe that we may yet think the sacrifice too great even for the livesand the safety of those we love. Go, Sir, for to-night, and returnto-morrow.'

  * * * * *

  'Surely, Child,' said Madam presently, when he was gone, and we werealone, 'we are the most unhappy women in the world.'

  'Nay,' I replied. 'There have been other women before us who havebeen ruined and widowed by civil wars and rebellions. If it be anycomfort to think that others have suffered like ourselves, then wemay comfort ourselves. But the thought brings no consolation to me.'

  'Hagar,' said Madam, 'was a miserable woman because she was cast outby the man she loved, even the father of her son; but she saved herson. Rachel was unhappy until the Lord gave her a son. Jephthah'sdaughter was unhappy--my dear, there is no case except hers whichmay be compared with ours--and Jephthah's daughter was happy in onecircumstance: that she was permitted to die. Ah! happy girl, shedied! That was all her sacrifice--to die for the sake of her father!But what is ours?'

  So she spoke in riddles or dark sayings, of which I understoodnothing. Nevertheless, before lying down, I did solemnly and, in herpresence and hearing, aloud, upon my knees, offer unto Almighty Godmyself--my very life--if so that Robin could be saved. And then,with lighter heart than I had known for long, I lay down and slept.

  * * * * *

  At midnight, or thereabouts, Madam woke me up.

  'Child,' she said, 'I cannot sleep. Tell me truly: is there nothingthat thou wouldest refuse for Robin's sake?'

  'Nothing, verily! Ah, Madam, can you doubt it?'

  'Even if it were a sacrifice of which he would not approve?'

  'Believe me, Madam, there is nothing that I would not do for Robin'ssafety.'

  'Child, if we were living in the days of persecution wouldest thouhear the Mass and adopt the Catholic religion to save thy lover'slife?'

  'Oh, Madam, the Lord will never try us above our strength!'

  'Sleep, my child, sleep; and pray that, as thy temptation, so may bethy strength!'