The MS. in a Red Box

  CHAPTER XV

  In my sleep I dreamed of what happened when I was seized and carriedoff. Again I was running up the slope, again I backed against thetree, again I fell through the yielding bark, again my captors bound meand thrust me into the cart.

  And I awoke to find myself more tightly bound than before. My armswere held to my sides by a sack, and my legs were fastened to a pole.My head was firmly clamped, I knew not how. I could move my lips andmy eyes; otherwise I was like a man of wood. A lamp stood on aprojection of the wall, so that its light shone full on my face, andBoswell was stooping over me with a knife in his hand. My cheek waswet, and a smarting there told me the moisture was blood. What couldthe man be cutting my face for, I wondered, being dazed and not yet outof my dream. Before I had quite come to myself, he had made two slitsin my nose, and pressed it to one side. At this I yelled, not so muchfor pain as from a kind of fright, and with that I regained my sensespretty well.

  "What's your devilish game now?" I asked with difficulty, for blood wasrunning into my mouth.

  Boswell gave me no answer, but went on with his operation. He laiddown his knife, released my head, pulled out of his pocket a narrowstrip of cloth, and bound it tightly over my nose, crushing it cruelly.I could not speak now, being near suffocation by the stoppage of mynose with the bandage and of my mouth with blood. When he had taken agood, long look at his surgery, Boswell filled and lighted his pipe,and sat down to full enjoyment of his tobacco. While he sat puffingsmoke through his nostrils, I recovered my wits a little, perceivingthat I had been overcome by some drug, mixed with the wine I had taken,but what was the intent of the villain in gashing my face I could notsurmise. My first thought was that the design might be to make mehideous in Anna's sight.

  As I lay, dizzily pondering, Boswell finished his pipe and laid it downto resume his work. He passed a cord several times round my body justabove and below my elbows, knotting it securely. Then he slit thesack, and tore open my shirt, laying bare my breast, and taking up aneedle and a small pot from the table, he began pricking my chest,dipping the point of the needle often into the pot. The pricking wasworse to bear than the slashing with the knife, but I made no outcry,knowing the uselessness of it. So I lay silently shivering under thedab, dab of the needle for what seemed to me a fearfully long time,while he worked some kind of pattern on my breast. At length it cameto an end, and when Boswell had examined his handiwork, adding a touchhere and there, he laid down his implements, refilled his pipe,refreshed himself from a bottle, and sat down with the air of one wellpleased with his achievement.

  I thought it plain that this business with knife and needle wasintended to give me a deceiving resemblance to some other man, in alllikelihood a boatman or sailor, for such fellows had a custom ofwearing figures and letters imprinted on breast or arm. The man intowhose likeness I was to be changed had, I supposed, a broken nose and ascar on his cheek. But I could not see how this marking and mutilationwould avail much, so long as I had the use of my tongue. Still,Boswell must have considered this. He must have thought how easy itwould be for me to declare who I was, and to give proof of my identity.Must he not be prepared for such a certain event? There came to mymind stories I had heard of the disappearance of persons who stoodbetween others and a great inheritance, and of the abduction of personswho might be inconvenient witnesses against men of rank and power.Some of these stories ran on to the discovery of such persons in afteryears, rendered blind or mute, or reduced to idiocy, by the art andcraft of gipsies. I had smiled at these fireside tales of thepeasantry, but as I lay helplessly bound on this ninth day of myimprisonment within a few miles of home, smarting and aching underwounds inflicted by gipsy tools, I became more credulous. Boswellmight deprive me of sight or speech or strength by a knife-thrust, oreven the prick of a needle. How I had laughed at the warnings of Bess!But the event had more than justified them. Well, come what might,there was only one course for me, to play the man and trust in God, asI vowed to do to the end.

  There is no need to linger over the details of the next few days.Boswell attended closely on me for a week, treating my wounds withsalve, and compelling me to drink a quantity of some abominabledecoction. He eased my bonds from time to time, but took good heed toprevent my having freedom to use my arms, while I watched closely forany opportunity.

  On the sixteenth day of my captivity, Sheffield's negro appeared on thescene, evidently bringing disquieting news for my jailer. He carried ahamper into the adjoining chamber, and there the two conversed in alingo which I did not understand, but from the tone of their voices Ijudged that they were hurried, and in perturbation of mind. Now oneand now the other went out, and once I heard a great crash overhead.Finally, the negro brought in an iron ball of fifty or sixty pounds'weight, attached by bar and chain to a ring, which Boswell locked on myright ankle, otherwise releasing me entirely. The pair kept their eyeson me, and their weapons handy, when this had been done, but I was notso foolhardy as to attack them. In truth, a great hope had come to methat they meant to leave me alone awhile, and I waited to see whetherthey would deprive me of the means of deliverance. After a good dealof gibberish had passed between them, and the Moor had done variouserrands at Boswell's command, both went out together, locking andbarring the door in the corridor, and then the outer door behind them.

  I picked up the ball, which I could carry in the crook of my arm,lighted a lamp which had been left on the table, and made a tour ofinspection, rejoicing to be able to move about, my limbs being stiffand feeble by long constraint. As I had imagined, the negro hadbrought a store of food. I found bread, salt-beef, tongue, a couple ofpasties, several bottles of burgundy, a jar of aqua vitae, but no water.But I had no great concern about meat or drink. It was more to mypurpose that there were eight moderate-sized faggots of sticks, a pileof turves, and a dozen largish logs. These would suffice. I shoutedfor joy to find a small hatchet, but was disappointed in searching foroil: the jar was empty. My survey taken, I made up the fire, and putmy iron ball at the back of it, so that the links of the chainconnecting ball and bar might get the full benefit of the heat, and assoon as one grew red, I prised it open with the head of the hatchet.Fire had freed me from a weight, and provided me with a missile, which,if well thrown, would disable an enemy. I had no means of riddingmyself of the bar, much though it would be in my way in my next effort,which was to explore the chimney. I removed the fire from the hearth,and had it well blazing in the middle of the floor, before attemptingthe chimney, for on fire I must now chiefly depend for my liberation.

  My climbing brought down such a quantity of soot as almost smotheredand choked me, and I found the flue so narrow a little way up, as toforbid all hope of escape in that direction to a man of my width andstature. So I restored the fire to the hearth, and began my secondenterprise. I heaped turves and sticks against the door of thecorridor on the side on which it was hinged, and set fire to the pile.The flames soon licked the door, but they did no more than blacken it,for it was hard and solid, and moreover, as I have said, protected bybands of iron. It was like to be a slower business than I hadexpected, and time being precious, I cast about for means to hasten theprocess. There was a small poker on the hearth in my dungeon, which Imade red-hot, and tried to bore holes with it in the upper part of thedoor, but the poker was thin, and the door was stout and thick. Thebar, which dragged at my ankle, would have been more serviceable, but Icould not manage to break any of the links which held it to theshackle. In the intervals of reheating my little poker, I chopped atthe door with the hatchet, and when my hands grew very sore, varied myemployment by hurling the ball against the place where I had choppedand bored.

  How long I spent over the work I cannot reckon, but I had used morethan half of my stock of fuel when the fire really took hold. When Isaw the door begin to burn I turned away, lest in my impatience Ishould be tempted to meddle, and so hinder the business. I forcedmyself to eat a few mouthfuls of food and to drink a little wine bef
oreI returned. What was my joy to see that the lower hinge-iron hadslightly parted from the woodwork! I threw myself against the doorwith all my strength. It yielded a little, and, at the fourth or fifthrush, it gave completely, and I had cleared the first barrier.

  I made haste to heap all the remaining fuel against the outer door,emptying over the pile the contents of the jar of aqua vitae. Theroaring blaze bit the wood almost at once, clean contrary to myexpectation; but I suppose it was weather-worn and perhaps worm-eaten.At all events, it was opened in less than half the time required forthe other. For a few moments my eyes were blinded by the sudden light,but they quickly recovered, and I stood outside my prison, drinking inthe pure, sweet air, and looking at green earth and blue sky with suchdelight as can be understood only by those who have lacked the sight ofthem as long as I had done--and regained it on a cloudless Septembermorning. I had never known how beautiful are all the things which Godhas made. Even the wilderness of arched and twisted brambles that grewabout the place was charming to my sight, and I admired with a strangetenderness the tomtits which were flocking and fluttering about thebushes in search of the ripest fruit. From that day forward I havenever looked at a caged bird without the desire to set it free. For awhile I stood looking about me in a kind of ecstasy, but soonremembered I must be moving, if I would keep my new-found liberty. Ijudged it safest, on the whole, to keep to the main road, passingthrough Epworth, where I might be relieved of my fetter, and gatherinformation. I met few people, a little gang of labourers, a boy onhorseback, a pedlar carrying his pack, but no one greeted me, and allstood still to look when they had gone some distance past me. When Icame to the Bull, I walked into the smithy--Johnson, who kept the inn,being a blacksmith--and asked him to remove the bar and chain. He andhis man retained their hammers, and simply stared.

  "Come, don't stand staring, my man, but off with this thing, quick," Isaid impatiently.

  "And who are you?" asked he. "My Lord Dirt, from Dunghill Hall?"

  "'Tis a poor lunatic 'scaped from Bedlam," growled the other.

  Now I remembered my wry nose and scarred face, which I had for the timeforgotten; and I remembered also that a head and face which had notbeen touched with water for more than a night, and had been latelypoked up a chimney, and grilled over burning faggots, would certainlyhave no prepossessing appearance; nor would my coarse clothing, rentand smirched and stained with blood and other liquids, give me the airof a gentleman, whose commands should have instant attention.Doubtless the remembrance of these things caused me a momentaryhesitation, but I answered--

  "I am Frank Vavasour."

  "Be'st a thundering liar!" gasped Johnson.

  "'Tis a poor lunatic," said his man. "Else he wouldn't give hisselfthe name of a dead man."

  "Dead! What do you mean, fellow?" I asked.

  "I mean what I say," answered he. "Everybody knows Measter FrankVavasour is dead, AND buried."

  My head began to whirl, and I leaned against the wall to steady myself.The smith and his man whispered together.

  "Do you know particulars of this pretended death?" at length I asked.

  "Particulars? I should think I do," answered Johnson, nodding to hisman, who went out. "The young gentleman's body was found in the poolin Belgrave Park a week ago last Sunday, shockingly disfigured, for theeels had been at his face, but he was swore to at the inquest by hismanservant and his own father. His friends had been looking for himhigh and low, for more than a week, when they dragged the pool."

  The innkeeper paused at this.

  "Go on," I said hoarsely. So Boswell's craft had dressed some otherman in my clothes and mangled his face.

  "At the inquest, Luke Barnby, who had been the young squire'sbodyservant, told how one of the Dutchmen had tried to take hismaster's life, and how Master Frank went out to fight the Dutchman onSunday, the very Sunday before the one he was found, and had never beenseen or heard of since. So order was given to arrest the Dutchman, andthey took him."

  Again the narrator paused.

  "Well, what next?" I asked.

  "They took him," repeated Johnson, "but they didn't keep him long.Some of the Belton and Beltoft people went by night meaning to tear themurderer limb from limb, and even some of the gipsies, that's beenthereabout so long, joined 'em. They broke into the outhouse at SquireStovin's, where he was locked up, but somehow he got away."

  What more easy trick could have been played? The gipsies had befooledthe rest in the darkness, and smuggled Vliet out of danger.

  Fierce rage against my persecutors restored to me the wits which hadbeen scattered in my first consternation.

  "All this you have told me is a pack of lies. I don't mean that youhave lied," I added, noting the heat in the man's face, "but it is adiabolical plot. Another man has been buried under my name--a man whowas dressed in my clothing, and his features obliterated cunningly. Iam Frank Vavasour, and have been kept prisoner in the vaults of MelwoodPriory while this devilry was doing. Remove this thing from my leg.Let me have a room, and soap and water. Tell your people to get mepen, ink, and paper. Have a lad in readiness to ride to TempleBelwood, and another to go to Tudworth Hall."

  "And who's to pay, my lad? The mistress will charge high for letting aroom to the like o' you. I don't send horse and man up and down thecountry till I see the colour of your money. Pay to-day and trustto-morrow is my motto."

  "There will be no difficulty about that. My friends will----"

  "No, it won't do, my man," said mine host. "Look ye, there's a pump inthe yard. You can wash there, and welcome, and then do your ownerrands on Shanks his pony."

  Seeing I should but waste time by tarrying, I got the fellow to releaseme from the leg-iron, and going to the pump, I made such shift as Icould to cleanse my face and hands, and put my clothing into somewhatmore decent array. When I saw the image of myself in the water, I nolonger wondered that my tale should appear incredible, for I couldscarce believe my own eyes. The flattened and twisted nose, and thescar across my cheek, had given me a look simply villainous.

  The sooner the better I found myself among those who knew me, thoughtI, and I hurried forward with a brief good day to mine host, who stoodat the smithy door staring and scratching his head, as if in someperplexity.

  I made straight for Temple Belwood, where I might find Luke; nor was Iquite without hope that my father might be inclined to reconciliationwith a son who had come back from the dead. As I passed Belton churchI caught sight of a woman seated on a flat tombstone, her back towardme, whose figure and attitude reminded me of Bess Boswell, and Ientered the yard to get a nearer view. At the sound of my footfall sheturned, and I saw it was the gipsy girl, her face tear-stained andwoebegone.

  "Ulceby!" she cried. "You here! Do you know there are soldiers about?"

  "That is not my name," I answered. "Don't you know me, Bess?"

  She rose from the stone, stepped closely up to me, and lookedwonderingly into my face, with one hand fluttering about her breast.Then she sank back upon the tombstone, still keeping her eyes fixed onme, and said--

  "Oh yes; I know your voice; I know your eyes. But where have you been?And who lies there?"--pointing to a new-made grave. "Your servantswore it was you. Your father swore so. Speak again. Let me touchyou."

  She rose, trembling all over, and reached out her hand. I took hold ofit, and drew her down to the stone, seating myself beside her.

  "Who has done that hellish work on your face? No; don't tell me, notyet."

  She hid her face in her hands, shuddering.

  "That has been done to give me the semblance of the man you named justnow. And this too," I said, baring my chest, showing a crown andanchor, and the letters J.U.

  "Who is Ulceby?" I asked.

  "A soldier, who escaped from Lincoln, after striking one of theofficers, and being condemned to be sent to the plantations. He cameto us for hiding. He had the ague badly, and was taken to safer andbetter quarters, so I was told. T
hat was just before I was sent toHorncastle fair, and on to Corby, and Spalding, and Stamford, becausemy father must stay to attend to Ulceby. And he seemed to be so muchconcerned about the deserter, that I thought no evil could be brewingagainst you just then, and so I was far away when mischief was doing.But I don't understand. Where were you?"

  I told how I was captured, imprisoned, mutilated, and how I had escaped.

  "This Ulceby must have died on your father's, hands," continued I, "andhe conceived the design of taking me, putting my clothes on the deadman, corroding his face, and sinking the body in Belgrave pond."

  By the girl's face, when I said that Ulceby must have died on herfather's hands, I saw she thought of a darker probability. When I hadended my narrative, she remained silent awhile. When she spoke, it wasto say that the mystery of my disfigurement was beyond her; why Boswellshould have spared my life, when it was so easy to take it, she couldnot understand.

  "He must have been confident of handing you over to the soldiershimself. Perhaps he meant to put a finishing touch to his work. Ihave heard him say horrible things, boasting of what can be done by apin-prick."

  "Thank God, I am safe from him. I shall be at Temple shortly."

  "Ah! but, of course, you don't know that Temple is shut up. Yourfather left almost as soon as the funeral was over. Some of hisneighbours had called upon him to keep his promise of helping to driveout the foreigners as the law was powerless, and he quarrelled withthem. He went away, vowing never to return, so they say."

  So vanished for the present my hope of reconciliation with him.

  "My old tutor?"

  "Died a fortnight ago."

  "And Luke Barnby?"

  "I have heard nothing of him. I know little of what has been doing inthe Isle, for I came back only yesterday morning. I did not hear ofyour death till then."

  She paused with some choking in the throat, but in a moment resumed--

  "You must lose no time in making yourself known to your friends. Ifthe soldiers find you before that is done, they will drag you off toHull."

  "Where are these soldiers?" I asked.

  "Some in Epworth, and some in Crowle," she replied.

  Now I understood the by-play at the Bull. The blacksmith's man hadgone to seek the officer, and the smith had not ventured to attempt tohold me until the soldiers came. Perhaps he had not felt entirelycomfortable at the thought of giving up a poor wretch to life-longmisery. I told Bess of the colloquy.

  "Oh, you must go," she cried. "They may be on your track already."

  "I will push on to my aunt's--to the Crowle vicarage," I answered.

  "And I will go toward Epworth, and send the soldiers on a wild-goosechase, if I meet them," said Bess.

  "But these men of war cannot all be looking for Ulceby, surely?"

  "No, no; the search-party has returned to Lincoln, but these men arebilleted hereabout to keep the Islonians in check, because of theattacks which have been made on Sandtoft; but there is a reward offeredfor the capture of Ulceby, and poor Daft Jack may be taken, if he isfound. I meant to try to find and warn him, but now I must go theother way. But you must go at once."

  "Stay yet half a minute," I said. "Do you know where Boswell is, andwhat he is about?"

  "To-morrow night at Daft Jack's cottage, I will tell you all I know.You must not lose more time. And take my purse, for you must bepenniless."

  "In an hour I shall be at the vicarage," said I, declining.

  "Then you can give it back to me to-morrow night."

  She thrust it into my hand, and we went our different ways.