Chapter 5

"Wherefore adew, my owne Herte true, None other red I can; For I must to the greene Wode goe, Alone, a banishyd man."

THE NUT-BROWN MAID.

The uppermost desire in the heart of Philip Joy upon being liberated in the morning by the order which, while it opened his prison door, exonerated him from no other part of his sentence, was to see Prudence; but his late experience of the wiles of Spikeman, although he could think of no motive, for his hostility, had taught him caution, and he determined to advance warily to gratify his wishes.

The occupation of Philip was that of a blacksmith and armorer, in which capacities he had been of some utility to the colony. Between whiles, also, whenever any desperate service was required in order to strike terror into the savages, he had been employed in his military character, and always with credit to himself. In consequence of his skill in his handicraft and bravery, he had at first been a man of no little consideration, but as the population of the settlement increased, and fears of the Indians diminished, and blacksmiths and armorers became more numerous, the importance of the stout soldier gradually waned. To this result contributed, in no small degree, the fact that he had never joined the congregation, and sometimes indulged in a freedom of speech on interdicted topics, which was unpalatable to those around him. Hence it happened that slight offences, which were at first overlooked in consideration of his usefulness, were no longer passed by when that usefulness was no longer prized, and there were even some who were disposed to visit him with punishment for transgressions of the kind, of years previous. Spikeman, who by his wealth and cunning, had lately succeeded in getting himself for the first time elevated to the dignity of an Assistant, had always appeared to be a friend, and indeed had truly been so, until he sought to pluck the apple of discord, the too fascinating Prudence, out of the soldier's hand. So deep was the impression of the Assistant's good-will to him, and so long had he been in the habit of regarding the magistrate as a patron, that without exactly disbelieving, he found it difficult to give full credence to the jailer's representations. His mind was so confused that he hardly knew what to do. He wanted to see Prudence before he departed for the knight's residence, and yet, with a vague dread of Spikeman's power for mischief, wished to avoid him.

Meditating upon these embarrassments, Philip mechanically took his way in the direction of the Assistant's house, unconsciously obeying the hope that some kind chance would enable him to see his mistress without being discovered. With this view, and as if believing that she would be able to see through a disguise impenetrable to others, and with some sense of shame at having been confined in a dungeon, Philip drew his slouched hat over his eyes, and muffling his face in the folds of his short cloak, walked in front of the dwelling, casting frequent glances at the windows. It was in vain, however; and fearful of attracting an attention which he desired to shun, he started at last for the forest, through which he was obliged to pass on his way to the knight's place. Wearily he dragged his steps along, for the confinement he had suffered, and the irons he had worn, had diminished his strength and chafed his limbs. Pondering sadly his unfortunate fate, he was slowly advancing, and had only just entered the wood, when he was saluted by a well-known voice, that made him start with a joyful surprise. It was that of Prudence, who was following him. She had seen him whom it would have been difficult to disguise from her, pass the house, and had allowed him to suppose himself undiscovered, and then pursued, in order to enjoy, undisturbed, a meeting which she desired as much as he. She was so overjoyed and confused at seeing him again, that somehow she stumbled as she came near, and would have fallen had not Philip caught her in his arms--for which benevolent deed he rewarded himself with a couple of smacks like the report of a pistol.

"Fie, for shame, Philip," cried Prudence, all in a glow, and looking wonderfully, as if she wanted the offence repeated; at any rate the soldier so understood it, and clasping her again in his arms, refused to release her till her lips had paid the penalty of their sweetness. "Oh, fie," said she, once more; "what would folk say if they saw thee?"

"There's only birds or a chance deer to see us," said Philip, "and it can do them no harm to take a lesson," and he attempted to renew his demonstrations of affection.

"Be quiet now," said Prudence, pushing him away. "I must soon hurry back, or I shall be missed, and I want, first, to hear all about thee, and then I have something to say on my part."

Thus rebuked, Philip seated himself, with the maiden by his side, on the trunk of a fallen tree, and narrated the circumstances of his trial and condemnation, and the occurrences at the prison. Some tears pretty Prudence let fall over parts of his story, while at others her hazel eyes flashed with indignation, and upon its conclusion she disclosed in turn the conduct of Spikeman to herself.

"I tell thee all Philip," said Prudence, "because thou dost seem to doubt about the wickedness of this bad man, who is trying to ruin us both." She stopped, and hid her face in her hands.

Great was the rage of the soldier at what he had heard.

"By the head of king Charles," he swore, "I will drive my dagger into his black heart."

He rose in anger, as if about immediately to put his threat into execution, but the girl threw her arms around him and drew him down.

"That would be certain death to thee, Philip," she said. "We must find other means to punish him. Besides, I must keep thee safe to serve my young mistress."

"Thou art right, Prudence, and I am hot and hasty; but does not the villain deserve the warmest place in Beelzebub's dominions who would harm thee? Prudence, thou shalt not remain in his house."

"That will I," replied the girl. "Why, who is to wait on my mistress, and take care of her but me? If mistress Eveline were to hear thy speech, she would not be over obliged to thee, Master Philip, for wishing me to desert her."

"You misunderstand me, and that is not my desire. But art not afraid of the old villain?"

"Me afraid!" exclaimed Prudence, contemptuously, curling her lips; "I am not half as much afraid of him as I am of thee." And as she uttered the words, she drew herself a little back from him on the log where they sat.

"But tell me, my brave robin red-breast," said Philip, casting a look at the gay cloak which she had thrown around her person, and not seeming to pay much regard to the latter part of her answer, "how am I to serve mistress Eveline?"

"O, I know not, yet I dare say we shall be able to turn thee to some good purpose; men are sometimes so useful!"

"I will recollect thy speech," said the soldier, laughing, "and promise to teach thee, on a future occasion, how maidens also may be useful. But hast never a message from mistress Eveline to Master Arundel, should I chance to see him, for he is often at the place of the Knight of the Golden Melice, and it is my purpose to go thither to-day?"

"Young ladies affect not to send messages to thy over bold sex," said Prudence, tossing her head, "but an' thou dost see the gentleman, thou mayest tell him, as from me, that she is well, and desires his prosperity."

"A cold message, truly, and it is well the weather is warm, else would poor Master Arundel be in danger of being frozen into an icicle."

"A hundred such messages would not, I fear, cool thy hot blood; but Master Miles is gentle born, and less presumptuous than thou; thou mayest therefore say, rather than hurt his feelings, that my mistress would have no objection to seeing him."

"What a buttermilk kind of a message is that!" said the soldier. Dost think that a man of any spirit is going to be satisfied with an errand that runs like a stream of cold water down one's back? Come, Prudence, perk thy red lips into more reasonable and comforting words."

"Thou art thyself unreasonable, Philip. Dost suppose it becomes a young woman to let her gallant know all she thinks about him? He ought to be ravished to believe that she does not hate him like the rest of them who wear beards; at any rate, thou wilt get nothing else from me."

"I must perforce, then, be content," said Philip, "since it may not be otherwise; and the less unwillingly because having had some experience in the nature of women, I know they mean more than they say. So I will even translate thy words into thy mistress' intention, and say she is dying of melancholy till she sees him."

"Thou wilt be a false varlet an' thou dost, and I will never trust thee with message more. Such leasing will only harm thee, for Master Miles knows there is not in America nor in dear old Devonshire a modester or properer young lady. O dear, how glad I should be just to step into the grand cathedral in sweet Exeter, and see the brave knights who died so long ago all lying cross-legged, so decent on their marble tombs by the sides of their ladies."

"Take care, my little Puritan," said Philip, "this is no fitting country for such talk. The reverend elders have long ears, and for aught I know, there may be one in the tree overhead listening."

Prudence jumped hastily from her seat, and cast a frightened glance at these words into the tree, while Philip burst into a laugh.

"Why, how you scared me," said the girl, recovering from her trepidation. "This is the way you treat me, you vile man, for putting myself to all this trouble on your account. But I would have you to know that I am no more a Puritan, Philip Joy, than thyself, if I do wear a close-fitting cap, which is none of the most becoming either. If I do give into their ways, it is for the sake of my mistress, whom no Geneva cloak, nor bishop's sleeves, for that matter, shall make me desert."

"Bravo, bravissimo, as the outlandish fellows say," exclaimed the soldier; "thou art of the genuine game breed, Prudence, and were it not that thy pretty person might come to harm, I would desire no better front rank man than thee. But this is a dangerous litany, and I beseech thee, dear Prudence, to remember how thou art named."

He said this in a tone of emotion, which, if anything were wanting, would have been sufficient to convince the girl of the interest he felt for her; but she needed no such supplementary proof. It had the effect, however, of making the conversation assume a more serious aspect, and the girl more gravely replied:

"I will be careful, Philip, for my mistress' sake and mine own, and--"

"And for mine, too," interrupted the soldier.

"And for the sake of all them," continued Prudence, "who find anything in me to take an interest in. O, Philip, I tremble lest you should do or say something again that these dreadful solemn folk, who look sour enough to curdle milk, and hate you because you laugh, may get hold of to do you an injury. O, Philip, pray be prudent about laughing."

"Nay, Prudence," said he, drawing his illustration from what he happened to see at the moment, "you might as well bid yon squirrel not to jump from bough to bough. It is our nature, and you cannot change a squirrel into an owl, or a man into a block. But," he continued, taking her hand, "I have not told thee all. I know not when I shall see thee again, for I am a banished man."

"Banished!" repeated Prudence, turning pale; "I thought they had already wronged thee enough for a few innocent words--and now banished! What will become of thee, Philip, and of me?"

"Never fear, sweetheart; we will turn their flank yet. I have been thinking, as I came wandering along, that this Master Spikeman, who keeps mistress Eveline as a sort of prisoner on parole, has an object in getting me out of his way, so as better to carry on his wicked plans. My jealous pate at first could think only of thee; but now I begin to fancy he may have designs upon pretty mistress Eveline as well as upon thyself. Nay, never bite your sweet lips till they bleed, nor dart the sparks out of thine eyes, or you may singe my doublet, I do suspect this from the equal desire he hath shown to remove Master Miles Arundel from the colony. He did threaten him, as I have heard, with some law they have here forbidding a man to pay his court to a maid without license from the worshipful magistrates."

"Did ever mortal hear the like!" exclaimed Prudence. "O, the weary magistrates and elders! what is the world coming to?"

"To nothing but Indians in these parts, if they go on in this way, and not let young folk court, unless they keep sending people from England to replenish the stock, and they will get tired of coming when they hear how things are going on. But, Prudence, banish or no banish, law or no law, they shall not, if thou art agreed, prevent my seeing thee."

The girl looked affectionately at her lover, and gently returned the pressure of his hand.

"I will hie me to the knight," continued Philip. "I happened once to be of use to him, and he is not a man to forget a favor, though he is somewhat changed since the time I first saw him. He was then a fiery youth, for all he can look so grave at times now. He hath some credit, for it was by his intercession with the Governor that my imprisonment was shortened. I will hie me to him, and hear what he advises, more especially as he hath sent for me. And I bethink me, Prudence, it were no bad thing, if he can do so much, to get him to speak a word for mistress Eveline."

"An' thou couldest, it were a good deed, and heaven will reward thee therefor."

"I will look to thee, instead of heaven, for my reward," said the soldier. "Meanwhile do thou have thine eyes like those in a peacock's tail, all around thee, for this Master Spikeman is cunninger than all the foxes whose tails Samson tied together."

"Trust me, Philip, and be thou discreet. And now must I be going back, for I would not abuse the liberty the kind heart of dame Spikeman gives me by loitering too long; so good-bye."

"And is this the way you take leave, when perhaps you may not see me again for a month? Not one salute?"

"Methinks thou hast been firing salutes enough already to welcome a ship from England. Be content, Sir Malapert, with their discharges;" and Prudence began tripping it away.

"I'll not be content with such a discharge," muttered the soldier; then raising his voice, he called after her, "Prudence, Prudence, hasten not away so fast; there is one thing I forgot."

The girl at the sound of his voice retraced her steps a little, and met Philip.

"Harkee in thine ear," said he, "for I must speak low. I did omit to put my seal to our covenant;" and before Prudence was aware, he had imprinted a smack upon her cheek.

"And there is mine," cried Prudence, hitting him a box upon the ear, "and I warrant it will be as red as thine," and with that she bounded like a deer away.

"The foul fiend fly away with me, an' I love not the girl dearly," exclaimed the soldier, looking after her with admiring eyes, as like a red-winged butterfly she flew through the green bushes. "If I ever have the luck to get her, I shall have a dame strong enough to carry her part of our bundle. Well, go thy ways, Prudence Rix, for as comely, and as sweet-breathed, and as kind a lass, notwithstanding the weight of thy hand, as ever milked a cow in the old country."

The frame of mind in which the soldier now pursued his walk was very different from that in which it had commenced. The dampness of the prison which had begun to affect his health was forgotten, as the genial sun gradually dried the clamminess out of his clothing, and he inspired the reviving morning air. It seemed to him he could not drink deep enough draughts of the woodland scents, which flowed so deliciously through his lungs, as almost to compensate for the suffering which he had endured. His unexpected interview with Prudence, after he had given up all expectation of it, conduced also to impart vivacity to his spirits, and he advanced, not with a rapid pace, for of that his treatment in the jail had made him incapable, but cheerfully and resolutely.

It was perhaps an hour afterwards, when Philip, as he was walking slowly on, heard the sounds of a person coming after him, and looking round, he beheld the man whom of all the world he least desired to see. The whole temper of his spirit was at once changed. The peace which, like a stream of perfumes, had been flowing into his soul, was checked, and the atmosphere became hot and suffocating around him. It was Spikeman approaching, who was on his way to a plantation he had in the neighborhood, for there were few things promising profit to which the adventurous speculator had not directed his attention.

Philip strove to keep the horns of the rising devil out of his heart, and averting his head, stepped on one side to allow the other to pass. Spikeman noticed the desire,--for it was too marked not to be observed; and in a new country, even strangers are not in the habit of passing one another without greeting,--but he paid no attention to it; and as he came up, laid his hand on Philip's shoulder, and bade him a good morning.

The soldier started as though pierced by a thorn, and shaking off the hand roughly, requested the Assistant to go on his way and leave him to himself.

"How now," exclaimed Spikeman. "Methinks this is cold welcome for a friend."

"Pass on thy way," said the soldier. "I desire not thy company."

"Verily, am I amazed," said Spikeman. "Surely, to confer a favor on the unthankful, is like pouring water on sand."

"I do advise thee, Master Spikeman," said Philip, "to cease thine abuse. I am no longer a fool stumbling along with his eyes blinded."

The curiosity of the Assistant had been aroused at the beginning, and he determined to ascertain how far Philip's knowledge of his conduct extended, for his guilty conscience whispered that some discovery of the soldier occasioned the changed behavior. It might be caused only by suspicion, and if so, he trusted by his ingenuity to dispel it; but if he had been betrayed, it was important that he should know it. The Assistant, moreover, was curious to learn from the soldier himself, why he had not broken jail as advised. He concluded that the soldier had not; for had he done so, the escape would probably have been known by morning; yet was Spikeman confident that Philip at the time of their interview in the jail had no knowledge of the order for his release. Perhaps Bars had overcome in the struggle, and disregarded it. With doubts like these floating through his mind, he began to probe Philip.

"What ails thee?" he inquired. "It would seem as if you took me for an enemy, and yet have I not always approved myself thy friend, even jeopardizing my position as a magistrate no longer ago than yesternight to release thee from jail?"

"Master Spikeman," answered Philip, "thou dost well know, I doubt not, that I am at liberty, not because I did by thy advice knock out the brains of harmless Sam Bars, but by the grace of the Governor's order."

"I counselled no more violence than was necessary to effect thy purpose; but who moved the Governor in thy case?

"Not thou, as I am well advised, but the noble Knight of the Golden Melice, a man as much superior to thee, as I am to an Indian."

"Thou art mad and vituperative, Philip, and were it not so early, I should think thou hadst been indulging too liberally in drafts of aqua vitæ. It is a vile habit. But as the Archangel Michael returned not a railing accusation, but said, the Lord rebuke, thee, Satan, so say I unto thee. Truly, I comprehend thy game. Thou art weary of thy old friends, and being desirous to propitiate new, dost seek a quarrel to mask thine ingratitude. But see whether this famous knight prove not a broken reed."

The soldier, in spite of his conviction of the villainy of the other, was touched at the taunt, and hastened to defend himself.

"It is false, Master Spikeman," he cried. "If thou wert truly a friend, wherefore advise me to break jail, and thus expose myself to be hunted as a malefactor, when I had but to wait till morning for deliverance?"

"It is much, Philip Joy, for one in my condition to condescend to explain, especially after thy rudeness of speech; yet will I do it, that no fancied cause may be left for thy base suspicions. Shortly, then, I knew not of Gov. Winthrop's intention, for when I did entreat him in thy behalf, he spake in such ambiguous phrase as effectually to cloak his thoughts. I doubt not, now, that it was to make the surprise the more agreeable."

This was said with such an appearance of innocence, that the simplicity of the soldier was confounded, and he began to doubt more and more the truth of his suspicions. But the communication of Prudence rankled in his mind, and though disposed to acquit the Assistant of treachery against himself, he could not forgive the treatment of the girl. He did not doubt her word, and yet desired to hear the Assistant's excuse, if he had any. He shrunk from the subject, and yet was drawn to it, like a moth fascinated by a light.

"There is another thing I like not," he said, hesitatingly.

"And pray, what may thy wisdom have discovered now?"

"That it is not becoming in a grave magistrate to try to cozen servant girls," burst from the soldier.

"Has Prudence--?" but here the Assistant, sensible that he had already said too much, suddenly checked himself, while his sallow cheek looked still more yellow. But the escape of the girl's name, even without the embarrassment, was a confession of guilt to the soldier, who, with rising passion, exclaimed--

"Away, or I shall be tempted to do that whereof I may repent."

Spikeman marked his agitation, and hesitated whether to come to an open breach, or continue his system of deception. The craft of his nature preponderated, and he determined to adopt the latter course.

"Gently, Philip," he said. "Thy prison hath strangely affected thee; but because I pity, I will not be angry. At least let me finish the sentence which I begun. I did desire to know whether Prudence, whom, that thou dost affect, I have for some time known, (nay, never blush; I have been young myself,) whether Prudence, I say, gained access to thy prison to tell thee of my exertions in thy behalf?"

"Thou exert thyself for me! Go to, thou wert more busy for thyself."

"I understand thee not; yet hearken, for the whole truth must be revealed. I say that I have done all that man could do, and as the event proves, not in vain. As for Prudence, I will confess to one impropriety, if it be thy pleasure to call it so, though I meant it not, and whereof thou art in some sense the cause. Knowing thy regard for her, I did speak one day of my hopes for thee, whereat the tears did stand in her eyes, and I was so moved thereat, that I did salute her cheek, but only as a father might caress a child."

The soldier was more bewildered than ever. He was incapable of conceiving of such falsehood as the other's. It seemed to him now that Prudence might be mistaken, and have converted a mere compliment into an insult, so contrary appeared, the intimations which she had made to what was to be expected from the years and gravity of the Assistant. The freedom with which Spikeman spoke of kissing the girl confirmed the idea, and Philip fancied that he had been harsh.

"Master Spikeman," he said at length, "if I have unjustly suspected thee, I crave pardon. There may be something in what you said, but the prison hath clouded my mind."

"Think no more of it, Philip, though doubtless it is so. I have known many a one who, by confinement, hath irretrievably lost his wits. Therefore will it be wise in thee not to be arrested again."

"Wherefore arrested, since I have an order of release?"

"Alas, thou dost forget thy banishment. If thou art taken within the forbidden boundaries, severe will be thy punishment. Attempt not for Prudence's sake, or any cause, to return without apprising me thereof, when I will endeavor to provide for thy safety."

The soldier extended his hand.

"This is kind," he said, "and be assured, Master Spikeman, that I will not soon conceive suspicion of thee again." These women be notional things, he murmured to himself.

Spikeman took the hand.

"Now this is like thyself, Philip," he said--"a brave soldier--true as a Toledo blade--one who loves his friend, and hates his enemy, although this latter part should not be so. Thou art journeying, I see, to the knight's place. Mayst thou find in him a patron, but it will do no harm to say--be on thy guard; one old friend is better than a dozen new."

He turned away, and the soldier, as he looked after him, said--

"There is truth in thy words, but thou art ignorant that the knight and I were friends long before I knew thee."