Chapter VII

OF MY AMAZING AND MIRACULOUS ESCAPE FROM MOST IMMINENT DEATH.

Now after this last audit, I waited day and night with great expectation for the _Aucto de Fie_,[74] as the Portugals call that chief holy-day of theirs wherein they set at large for ever the prisoners of the Inquisition, the words meaning _Act of Faith_. I slept but little of nights at this time, for there come ringing down the galleries the shrieks of those under the hands of the tormentors, so that I would lie awake and pray for those poor souls to whom God had awarded that further agony he had spared to me. For I knew from much that I had heard and read before coming to this place that ’twas customary to condemn obstinate heretics, before burning them, to undergo many and severe tortures, and this out of pure spite and devilish malice, as one might say, since recantation would now do them no good. From these I was only exempted lest I should die under ’em, and not live to the _Aucto_.

Thus waiting, and thus disturbed by these mournful sounds, the days seemed to me to pass mighty slowly, and I was fain to occupy myself in casting up my calendar on the wall, though I had lost many days therein during my sickness; but by making allowance for this, I made out that I had spent over three years in the Holy House. I gave much time also to finishing my inscription in the wall, on which I had bestowed extraordinary pains, being careful to write it not alone in English, but also in the best Portuguese I could frame, setting forth the day wherein I had entered the House, and likewise that I should leave it for the flames of the burning-place on St James’s day 1672. And on the day that I finished the carving of this record, the which was performed with a certain nail that I had by chance picked up, when as a carpenter was a-mending the lock on my door, I sat looking upon it long, until the daylight ceased, and the _alcaide_ brought in my supper. Now this was the day whereon he was wont to ask for and carry away such clothes as I might desire to have washed, and I looked for him to do this as usual. But he spake not of the matter, and when I did put him in mind thereof, made answer in a surly enough fashion, that he would see to’t on the morrow. Methought I knew then what should happen; nevertheless, that I might be sure, I asked of him--

“What day is this, _Seignior alcaide_?”

“The Vigil of St James,” says he, and I knew that I was right.

This also I observed on this same evening, that after the chiming of vespers from the cathedral near at hand, the bells began to ring again, as though for matins, as I had never heard them before at this hour, but why this should be done I don’t know. Nevertheless, despite these warnings, so dulled was my senses become through my long imprisonment, that I laid myself down and slept as usual, but at midnight I was rudely awaked by the _alcaide_ and divers other persons coming in with lights. They brought also a suit of clothes, the which they laid down, and bid me put it on, and be ready when they should come for me. And they departing, I did put on the habit they had brought me, which was of black stuff adorned with stripes or lines of white, long to my ankles and my wrists. I had no shoes nor stockings, as never having worn ’em, but during my audiences of their lordships, while I was in the Holy House, and my hat I had never seen since the day that I was took thither. Thus I made myself ready so far as I might, and so waited until the _alcaide_ and his company returned, which was in the space of about two hours.

The _alcaide_ bid me come with ’em, and so carried me to the great gallery, wherein was some hundred and fifty or two hundred men standing, all being apparelled as I was. But I was not allowed to join myself to these, for they brought me to a chamber shut off from the end of the gallery, wherein there was but some fifteen or twenty prisoners, and as many religious persons. And looking across the open space to the opposite gallery as I entered, I saw that there was there some sixty women, that were guarded after the same manner by priests. I could well judge that the persons in the smaller chamber with me were those sentenced to the flames, while in the long galleries were those destined only to the galleys, to whipping and branding, and to such other slighter torments as the Inquisition keeps for those guilty only of small offences. There was a few lamps set here and there for to light the place, and presently there come along two men that delivered to each of us a long taper of yellow wax, but these were not yet kindled. And now there come up to me two priests, Jesuits or Paulistins, that addressed me very gently and affectionately, calling me “Dear brother,” and besought me to convert, and so save my soul. And when I refused, and entreated of them that they would leave me in peace, they would not consent to do this, but came about me like bees, and so pestered me that I had much ado to keep my temper with ’em. For it seemed to me that I had much whereon to meditate, namely, all my friends, notably those in Surat, beside my dear father and my little cousin in England, but these gentlemen would not allow me so much as a minute free for to think upon them. And at last I told them that I would never convert; but that in case I should ever desire to do so, I had given a solemn promise to send for one especial confessor, and therefore could not pleasure them, whereat they left me alone for a little while.

Now after some long time there come into the gallery several persons bearing a great pile of garments, whereof they did distribute to every prisoner. And I saw that the habits given to those outside the chamber were those yellow gowns, with a red cross before and behind upon them, that I had seen the _fetisceros_ wear that wrought at the powder-mills, and that they call _sambenitos_. But coming into our chamber among us, they brought forth another kind of gown, that was fashioned of a grey stuff, and was painted with firebrands, flames, and devils, and on each man’s gown his own portrait, depicted with great taste, and very natural, but all encompassed with flames, and this habit they call a _samarra_. And my _samarra_ I admired a long while before putting it on, which one of the priests seeing, he took occasion to rebuke me for my delay, saying--

“Ah, miserable heretic, think, as you contemplate this feeble picture, that within a very few hours your soul will be tormented in real flames, whose power you can’t conceive, and among devils to which these are nothing in hideousness and ferocity.”

To which I answered him in a prodigious heat--

“Sir, I han’t neither asked nor desired your interference. I was but contemplating the curious work of your artists, though I could have wished that they testified more charity towards those that differ from ’em; but now I see from whom they learn their unkind imaginations.”

“You are sharp and impudent with your tongue, young man,” said he, “and in a sorry state to await death,” and with that he passed on, forgetting that ’twas not my fault that I could not prepare myself for death quietly, as I had wished, but theirs, who disturbed me so soon as I had collected my thoughts. And now they did give to us caps called _carochas_, of a yellow colour and shaped like unto a loaf of sugar, and painted like the gowns with fire and devils, and after this they bade us sit down on the floor and wait in silence. Yet even here and at this moment there was still some kindness to be found, for the _alcaide_, that had always appeared to me but a surly fellow, came to the chamber where I was, bringing a provision of bread, together with raisins of the sun and figs, the which he did divide unto me and to as many of the rest as he could reach. And having eaten this, we remained sitting silent until the dawn, which happens in these climates about five o’clock in the morning.

Now as the dawn appeared, the great bell of the cathedral in the square, opposite to the Holy House, begun to toll, and there was a mighty great stir and bustle at the further end of the gallery. Then the names were called out of the prisoners there, and they passed out one by one where we might no longer see them. And after this we in the chamber apart were summoned, and came, one after the other, to the door of the gallery, where were set the Lord Inquisidor and his secretary, reading to each man his sentence as he passed. In the hall beyond there was standing many gentlemen of Goa in their richest array, having offered themselves to act as common constables or tipstaves and guard the prisoners on their way to their execution. Here an officer of the House did bind my hands with a cord, and calling on one of the gentlemen aforesaid, delivered to him the end thereof for to hold, and bade him lead me on. And I looking at this gentleman, could not be sure that I had ever seen him before, and finding that he was to be called my godfather for the time, I thought he should by rights have some acquaintance with his godson, and so asked him whether I had ever met with him in the company of Dom Lewis, that was once my friend. But he started and drew away from me, making no answer, though signifying with his hand that I must not presume to address myself to him, and I recognised him as a nobleman that I had seen more than once at his highness the Viceroy’s court. But since he would not have me speak with him, this availed me nothing.

We were now come into the great square, where they were forming the procession, and I had as much opportunity as I desired for noting the changes three years had made. And yet I cared not to look at the cathedral, nor at the rich mansions that bordered the other two sides of the square, but only at the sky and the trees, whereof I had seen none for so long a time. The place was very full of people, for the Archbishop is at extraordinary pains to make the festival known beforehand even in the remotest parishes of the province, so that countless numbers of the lower sort do journey to the city from all parts for to behold the sight. The balconies all round were decked with flags and carpets, and crowded full with ladies, habited in stuffs of many colours, very rich and fine, and wearing an extraordinary great quantity of diamonds and other jewels, their _cavalieros_[75] standing behind their chairs. So new and strange to me after my long silence and loneliness was the noise and turmoil of the press, that I was fain to shrink back into the doorway of the Holy House until I was called for with my godfather to take my place in the procession. And this was ordered as follows. First come the Dominicans, in their garb of black and white, bearing with them their great banner, the which has a portrait of Saint Dominic their founder, holding in his two hands a sword and a branch of olive, and the words underneath, _Justitia et Misericordia_. Then come the prisoners, each one led by his godfather (that is, as I have said, a gentleman of some one of the first families of Goa), the least guilty being placed first, and the rear brought up by those condemned to the flames, among whom was I. Behind come their lordships the Inquisidors, and the lesser officers of the Holy House. And these being all marshalled in their order, the procession set forth, the religious in the front chanting slowly that Latin hymn beginning _Vexilla Regis prodeunt_,[76] passing through all the chief streets of the city. I have said that I was barefooted, as was also the other prisoners, and we found that the streets was paved with a kind of small, sharp flints, the which caused us a prodigious pain and annoyance, while everywhere the people of the lower sort, that thronged the ways, laughed and jeered at us as we limped over the stones with our bleeding feet.

We come at last to the great church of St Francis, where was a monstrous noise and tumult from the arriving of so many great persons, for his highness the Viceroy and the Provost of the Jesuits were but entering the church when we arrived. And here we had the chance to observe the truth of that which is so often said--viz., that in Goa the Inquisition is greater than the Viceroy himself. For his highness rid up on a great horse with rich trappings and furniture, and the Jesuit Provost came with great solemnity in his sedan-chair, with eight _clericos_ on foot and bareheaded on either side; but the Grand Inquisidor rid in his coach, which is as fine as any I have ever seen, and whose use is allowed to him alone in the city. Some long time passed while all these grandees entered the church and were disposed therein according to their several degrees, we all the while standing without in the great and grievous heat of the sun. But at last we were brought into the place, that was hung with black, mighty solemn, and on the high altar six great silver candlesticks with tapers of white wax. On either side was there a throne set, that on the right hand of the altar for the Grand Inquisidor, and that on the left for his highness the Viceroy. Nearer the door was another altar, lesser than the first one, and benches set all down the church for the prisoners. As I have said, those adjudged the least guilty were in the front of the procession, so as they sat nearest to the altar, while before us, the last, being condemned to the flames, there was carried a great crucifix, with the face turned away.

Now when we were all set down upon our benches, there went up into the pulpit the prior of the White or Austin Friars,[77] and preached a sermon, whereof the part that I heard concerned chiefly the wicked and enormous deeds of us prisoners, and the mercy and placability of the Holy Inquisition. But I may freely confess that I paid to this discourse no such attention as I should, nor was I able so to compose my mind as to meditate on those eternal matters most suitable to my situation, but only the most foolish and impertinent subjects would come in my head. Such as, Whether the _samarras_ and _carochas_ should be burned with us, or no? and Whether the Inquisition was wont to furnish for those gentlemen that served them for sheriff’s officers the unguents whose perfume they dispersed around them, and the snuff and succades whereof they brought out boxes for to comfort them during the sermon?

In such trifling thoughts, and in gaping and staring about me, the time passed away, and the sermon being over, there come into the pulpit, one after the other, two persons to whom it pertained to read out the accusations brought against the prisoners, and the punishments that were adjudged to ’em. Last of all, as in the order of place, come those destined to the flames, whose processes when he had read, the officer went on to repeat that notorious and hypocritical saying--viz., that since the Inquisition dared not show mercy to these persons on the account of their impenitence, and found itself indispensably obliged to punish them according to the rigour of the law, it delivered them over to the secular arm and justice, whom it earnestly entreated to use clemency and mercy towards these miserable wretches, and that if there should be imposed upon them the penalty of death, it might at the least be carried out without effusion of blood. And as the name of each unfortunate was read (all having their name and crime wrote upon their _samarras_), he was led up to the lower altar, and there the _alcaide_ of the Holy House held him while as the rest was said. And all having been gone through, the _alcaide_ struck him a light blow on the breast, whereupon the tipstaff of the lay court seized and led him away. And this they call delivering him to the secular power, since the Inquisition has no authority to take life. And I saw that some of the condemned, that were said to have refused to confess their crimes, but yet to have submitted themselves humbly to the Inquisition, and acknowledged the doctrine of Holy Church, had their sentences changed from burning to branding and the galleys, whereupon their godfathers did testify extreme delight, embracing them and making them very many compliments. But with me there was neither embracing nor compliments, and my godfather led me away sullenly enough.

Thus we went again through the streets, passing always fresh crowds of people, until we come to that same bridge where I had stood with Father Sebastian and Dom Lewis and his cousin on that day wherein I was arrested. So then we reached the burning-place, and the Viceroy and his court was set in their stone seats, and the Grand Inquisidor in his tribune, and the people of the poorer sort pressing everywhere around. And in the midst was the stakes set up, one for each person of those condemned to be burned, and piled about ’em was faggots of wood and furzes. Then before they attempted anything against any of us, there was many ceremonies necessary to be performed, such as his highness’ rehearsing afresh his oath of office, and the like, while as the priests were most zealously exhorting us to recant and confess before it should be too late. Then they demanded of us in turn in what religion we wished to die, and to those that declared they died Catholics, it was granted that they should be strangled before they were burnt. But I declared myself to die as I had lived, a Protestant, and so prepared myself for that last and greatest torment.

But on a sudden, as I stood there, waiting to be led and fastened to my stake, I observed a stir in the crowd, and certain men on the outskirts thereof crying something with loud voices. Then all the people swayed and eddied hither and thither, and some cried one thing, and some another, and then the crowd began to melt away, like a heap of sand when the waves reach it, and the voice of their crying came to us where we stood, and sent the hands of all the nobles and gentlemen to their swords, and set all the common sort shrieking and treading down one another, in their desire to flee. For they were crying--

“Seva Gi! Seva Gi! the Morattys are coming!” in all their outlandish tongues.

Then, when all around that were not fled were turning their eyes across the river, for to discover the original of this tumult, I felt myself suddenly severed from those unfortunates among whom I stood, and surrounded altogether by a company of men, that wore the slops[78] and doublets of our English sailors. And before I had time to think what this might mean, they had cut the cord that bound my hands, and torn off from me that shameful dress, the _samarra_ and _carocha_, and flung it over the gentleman of Goa that had the ill-luck to be called my godfather, and elbowed and nudged him out of their way. Then he that seemed the chief among them wrapped me in a cloak, for to hide the strange striped habit that I still wore, and said in a hoarse whisper in my ear--

“Stoop, Master Ned; stoop, and we will hide you among us. You are too tall.”

This I did, though still in an extreme confusion of mind, and the troop of sailors gathered round me, and, keeping close together, pushed through the crowd, swaggering mightily, and using their fists not a little, and reviling the Portugals in good round English for not making a way for them. Thus we passed through the crowd, that was now thronging every street and bridge that led from the burning-place, and pouring into the city itself. Prisoners and tipstaves and nobles and officers and godfathers were all pressed and thwacked together, and all ran and cried to take refuge in the fortress, and to shut the gates on the Morattys. Now all this seemed very greatly to divert the honest fellows that had me in charge, so that I heard them laughing and jesting among themselves as if the whole matter were but a play. But when at last we got clear of the bridges and causeys, and come to the place where a ship’s boat was moored with two men left in her, they stopped for a moment, and mounted upon a great pile of timber that lay hard by for to see better. Then as they became quiet, looking and hearkening, there seemed to be borne to me upon the air the sound of fighting, and a great cry, as of rage or victory, that was in no Christian tongue, but had the sound of--

“_Hoor! Hoor! Mohawdio!_”[79] and this we heard again and again.

Then he that seemed the chief of the seamen swore a great oath, and came down from the wood-pile with a pale face, for, “On my life” (says he), “the Morattys are really there.”

“And why not there, sir?” says I. “Sure that is what the people have been crying all the time.”

“Ay,” says he, “but they wan’t there until now. We raised a false alarm for to get your honour away safely.”

“Then how came the Morattys?” I asked, with much amazement.

“Nay, that you must ask of their father the devil, for I can’t tell,” says he.

But I preferred to ascribe this marvel rather to the direction of Almighty God, who, knowing, as I have no doubt, that the confusion raised by a false alarm should not suffice for to convey me away to a place of safety, used the designs of the Morattys to bring ’em to that spot at the very time they were needed.

The sailors would willingly have stayed long watching the fight, but their leader called them away, and we rowed down the river in the boat, I being laid in the bottom and covered with a sail. So at last we come to a ship, and when we went on board of her, I seemed to myself to have seen her before, but so confused was I in my intellectuals that I could neither recollect when nor how. Then the master carried me into his cabin, and poured out for me a dram of cordial water, and bade me drink it, and thereafter slapped me on the back and demanded of me whether I had forgot my old friends. But I could only gaze upon him bewildered, and answer nothing.

“Alack, poor lad!” cried he; “have the devilish wretches robbed you of your wits? Sure this is a sorry sight. Poor lad! poor lad!” and the great tears rolled down his face for very pity.

“Sir,” says I, “I entreat your pardon; but though your countenance seem familiar to me, yet I can’t recall your name.”

“Tom Freeman is my name,” says he, “skipper of the Boscobel, the tightest craft as ever left Graves-End. You sailed with me to the Indies, Master Ned, for all you have forgot me now, and you were used to talk of some day coming with me to the furthest East.”

But by this time I had recollected my old friend Captain Freeman, and was embracing him most heartily, and crying shame on my dulled and blind eyes, that had not known him at first. And so glad was he to find that I had not, as he feared, been bereft by cruel usage of my senses, that he forgave me willingly my seeming callousness. Then he bade me sit down and tell him all that had befell me since the day I left Surat, though first he asked my pardon while he went on deck and bade the seamen keep good watch, and let no vessel nor boat approach without alarming him. So I told my story as shortly as I might, and then inquired of him concerning the happy chance that brought him to the burning-place, since I had not thought him one to go to look on willingly or for sport at an _Aucto de Fie_. And when I asked him this, he brake out in a great laugh.

“Why,” said he, “we heard from one of those Inquisition dogs ’emselves what was to be done--dragged it out of him, indeed, for he had no choice.”

“Pray tell me how you compassed this, captain,” says I.

“Well,” says he, “we were in one of the taverns near the river last night, the mate and I, and two or three of the crew, and there was drinking there with us three or four Portugals, merchants’ clerks with whom we had traded, and the like. We had ended all our business, and right glad we were to think that the morrow should see us leave this pestiferous place. Two of the men was mighty lively in their cups, and must needs brag concerning the greatness and power of England, little heeding that they were shaming her by their drunken ways. The other guests turned to look at ’em after a while, and presently a Jesuit priest, that was set at a table near at hand to us, spake out prodigious wrathfully in English. ‘Ye may boast of your country, gentlemen,’ says he, ‘but sure all her power can’t save the Englishman that’s to be burnt by the Inquisition to-morrow.’ Now at this we were very much moved, and cried out that the thing should be stopped, and we would see to’t. ‘Ough!’ says the priest, after the Irish manner, ‘’tis not nowadays that the English cannons will be heard at the gates of Goa, if such a thing be done.’ ‘By heaven!’ says I, ‘but they shall, if we can’t hinder this shameful deed.’ And with that we got the priest up in a corner, and threatening him with our hangers and fists, demanded that he should satisfy us whether that he said was true. And he held out stoutly against us for some time (the innkeeper meanwhile dancing about behind us like one possessed, and imploring of us not to bring disgrace and ruin upon his house by attacking a priest there), and I was much afraid lest some one should think to send and call the watch. But at last, seeing that all the other guests were fled, our men being prodigious ready with their blows, our friend vouchsafed to tell us that this Englishman came out of Surat, and that he should be burned at the third stake on the right-hand side of the line; ‘and as for his name’ (says he), ‘’tis wrote plain and large upon his _samarra_, the which ye would call a gown or cope. And more than this’ (quoth he), ‘I’ll not tell ye though ye keep me here until doomsday.’ And at that some with me wished to rend his gown, and chase him down the street with their swords; but I believed that he had told us that which we needed to know, and bade ’em leave him to me. So then I had him out of his corner, and bade him make the best of his way home, warning him, moreover, that if he should ever declare what he had told us, the Inquisition would have him. And at this he smiled in my face, with a mighty agreeable smile, and says he, ‘Ye know a prodigious deal concerning the Inquisition, though not so much as your friend that’s to be burnt to-morrow knows by this time. My blessing upon ye, my son.’ And with that he lift up his hand, and muttered some Latin _hocus-pocus_, and departed, the men making no attempt for to stop him, since they believed he had been muttering evil spells against us.”

“’Twas surely Father Theodorus!” I cried.

“Who is he?” asked Captain Freeman.

“An Irish priest that showed me much kindness, for my father’s sake, as he saith,” said I.

“Then if he showed you kindness, Master Ned, I would counsel you, for the good man’s own sake (for good he must be, though a Papist), tell no one of his good deeds, or he will surely suffer as you should have done.”

“I will take good heed thereto,” says I. “But prythee tell me, captain, how goes it with all at Surat? How fares good Mr Martin and Mr Spender, and all other my friends in the Factory? and did my servant Loll Duss ever return from this place with the message I gave him?”

“Mr Martin is well,” says he, “and looks to be made Accountant shortly, when Mr Accountant Cuthell, that now is, shall return to England with his fortune made. Mr Spender is well advanced in the service, though not by his own fault (for there an’t no diligence nor prudence in him), but by the indirect procuring of Mr Secretary his cousin. And of the other gentlemen I can’t speak without you ask me of ’em particularly, for I have clean forgot which on ’em you know, and which are strange to you.”

“But what do they say touching me?” asked I; “and have they ever heard what befell me?”

“Why truly,” says he, “that Gentue servant of yours, Loll Duss, carried the news of your seizure to Mr Martin, who hath made divers efforts to get news of you since that time, but in vain. Then at last it got abroad that you had converted, and were gone to the Brasils in one of the Portugal plate-carracks, for to end your days there, and it was advised, upon this being rumoured, that word on’t should be sent to the Committee, and that your friends should be told that you were as good as dead. But because Mr Martin and one or two more held out very stoutly against such a treatment of you, they must needs be content with taking your name off the books of the Factory, and by this means stopping your pay, and in this, I believe, they was justified by ancient custom. Yet Mr Martin demanded that his protest should be entered in writing against their so doing, and this was punctually performed, he still believing that you would return. And ’tis thus the matter stands at this present. Mr Secretary and his cousin Mr Spender are prodigious bitter against you, and have moved his honour the President and the Council to their acts of harshness; but Mr Martin is confident in your honesty, and will by no means suffer it to be impugned in his presence.”

“Then my course now,” says I, “must be to return to Surat and declare all my ill fortune.”

“Not so fast,” says he, “for we are but just sailed from Surat, and I must take the Boscobel to the Factory at Bengall before she can drop anchor again in Swally. You must needs come with me, Master Ned, and see those parts, for I can’t turn back, and there an’t no other way for you to journey safely to Surat. I don’t doubt but we shall speak some one of the Company’s ships on our way, and then we may put you aboard of her; but if not, then you shall go with me to Bengall, and if the factor there send me on a further voyage, perhaps even to Syam and the Eastern Islands.”

“But,” said I, “should I not hire for myself a _baloon_, and so leave this place and go to Surat?”

“You an’t yet out of Goa river, Master Ned,” quoth he, “and as I think, will undergo not the least of your perils in the leaving on’t. You could not take your journey in a boat, as you purpose, without awaking suspicion, and this should land you again in the clutches of the Inquisition. Come and sail with me, and go back only in an English ship.”

“So be it,” said I.