Roger Kyffin's Ward

“I am right glad to hear you say that, Jacob,” put in Paul. “To my mind, Miss Mabel, it is fortunate we fell in with these two lads, but let us lose no further time. They must keep alongside our horses till we can get a cart or coach of some sort to carry them on. It is very clear there is no time to be lost, and if we get in early to London something may be done even to-day.”

“Make sail ahead, then,” cried Jacob; “Jack and I will keep up with you, and if we can we will lay hands on a craft of some sort to carry us on.”

They had not gone far when they saw the footpads return and carry off their wounded companions. Under other circumstances Paul would have given notice of what had occurred, but he knew by so doing they might have to undergo considerable delay, which for Harry’s sake it was most important should be avoided. They therefore pushed on till they arrived at a small inn on the London side of the heath, where Paul had on several occasions stopped. The landlord knew him, and he was able, therefore, without difficulty, to hire a horse on which the two sailors might proceed. It was the only one in the stable, but as it had an unusually long back, Jacob and Jack agreed that it would answer their purpose quite as well as two.

“Each can take his trick at the helm by turns,” observed Jacob, “though seeing that when a little boy I used often to ride the horses to water, I may be the better hand of the two.”

The stable boy was about to put on a saddle.

“No, no, off with that thing,” observed Jacob, throwing himself on the animal’s back. “Here, Jack, give us your hand. Now sit yourself astern. That will do. Good-bye, Master Gibson, we will send the horse back to you safe and sound, never fear.”

Saying this, Jack and his companion rode out of the stable-yard, and followed Mabel and Gauntlett, who had just before left it.

As Mabel approached London, her eagerness to see her godfather and Mr Kyffin increased. She could scarcely refrain from urging on her steed to its topmost speed, though restrained every now and then by Paul’s voice requesting her to proceed at a more leisurely pace, both for her own sake and for that of Jacob and his companion, who were following on their rough-trotting horse. Before noon she drew rein at the door of Mr Thornborough’s house. She threw herself from her horse, and ran up the steps. Miss Thornborough stood ready to receive her in her arms.

“My dear Mabel, we have heard all about it from Mr Kyffin,” she said. “He is up-stairs with your godfather, and will do all he can; but, my dear child, what a journey for you to take!”

Mabel, thanking her kind old friend, explained that she had brought companions who might be of great service, and begged that they and their horses might be looked after.

“That shall be attended to. And now, my dear Mabel, you must come and rest yourself, and after dinner you shall hear what your friends propose doing.”

“Oh, let me hear at once,” answered Mabel, unconsciously lifting up her hands to Miss Thornborough; “I cannot endure any longer this suspense. Do they think that Harry can be saved? I must see my godfather and Mr Kyffin, and hear what they propose from their own lips.”

Mistress Barbara accordingly conducted Mabel up-stairs. Mr Kyffin came forward in a kind and courteous manner to conduct her to a seat, before taking which, however, she hurried up to her godfather, who kissed her affectionately.

“You must not be cast down, my child,” he said; “Harry’s guardian and I will do all that we can for the lad.”

Mabel felt her spirits somewhat raised on hearing this. Still she saw that Mr Kyffin’s countenance was very grave, as if his hopes of success were but small. As, however, she described having fallen in with Jacob Tuttle and another shipmate of Harry’s, his looks brightened somewhat.

“Yes, I see it,” he answered; “there is hope if we have them as witnesses, but we must be quick in our movements.”

“Oh! yes, yes,” exclaimed Mabel. “I am ready to go down to Windsor at once, where I hear the King is. He may remember me. I little thought that his visit to Stanmore would have been of so much consequence.”

“You will be over-fatiguing yourself, young lady,” said Mr Kyffin, looking compassionately at Mabel. “After a ride of nearly one hundred miles, you are scarcely fit to undertake another journey.”

“Oh, yes, I would mount my horse this instant,” answered Mabel. “I care not for food or rest, when Harry’s life hangs in the balance.”

“To relieve your mind we will go at once, then, I promise you,” answered Mr Kyffin. “A coach and four will be in readiness within an hour. In the meantime you must take some refreshment and rest, and we shall be in time to see the King this very afternoon. After that we must be guided by his Majesty’s reply.”

The road from London to Windsor, as it was traversed frequently by royalty, was in those days one of the best in the country.

A carriage was proceeding along it in the early part of the afternoon, drawn by four horses galloping at a furious rate. Its passengers were Mabel, Mistress Barbara, who had come to take care of her, and Mr Kyffin, while outside was Paul Gauntlett, who would not lose sight of his young mistress, and Jacob Tuttle with his companion, who sat on the box and frequently leant forward urging the postillions to drive faster and faster.

The more Jacob thought of the peril in which Harry was placed, the more anxious he became about him. He had already seen many unhappy men run up at the yard-arms of their respective ships in consequence of their active participation in the dangerous mutiny lately quelled, and he could not help feeling that Harry Tryon might be among the next victims. Many of them were young men, strong, active, intelligent fellows, misled by designing knaves. It is especially painful to see such men, who, though criminal, differ greatly from ordinary culprits, suddenly launched into eternity. Such has been the fate demanded by stern justice of many fine seamen, and undoubtedly those executions had struck a wholesome terror into the minds of British seamen generally. From that day forward no mutiny of any consequence has ever occurred in the British fleet.

At length the numerous towers of Windsor’s proud castle were seen by the travellers. Mabel’s heart beat even quicker than before as the carriage dashed on. At length they reached the foot of the ascent which leads to the terrace. On one side were the walls of the castle, on the other stretched away the greensward, the wide-spreading trees, and the long glades of Windsor forest. Along the terrace were scattered numerous groups of persons, some standing on either side, others walking slowly up and down in conversation, now bowing to those they passed, now stopping to speak a few words to acquaintances. Below, the park was crowded with persons of every degree, all of them in gala costume. The eyes of the greater number turned frequently up towards the terrace, where some object especially attracted their attention. Mistress Barbara and Mabel, with Mr Kyffin, had no difficulty in passing the guards, but their attendants were stopped and told that they could not be admitted on the terrace.

“Oh, but we want them especially to come; it is a matter of greatest importance,” exclaimed Mabel. “We want them to see the King.”

“What is it? who do you want to see?” said a middle-aged gentleman, stepping forward from among several younger people by whom he was surrounded.

“The King,” answered Mabel, advancing. “Your Majesty – it is yourself!” she added, looking up and discovering that she was in the presence of George the Third, who, with several of his own family and three or four of his favourite courtiers and visitors, had just reached the end of the terrace.

“Ah! surely I have seen your face, young lady,” said the King, in his kind, gentle way. “Tell me all about it.”

“I had the honour of seeing your Majesty at Stanmore, the house of my uncle, Colonel Everard,” answered Mabel, “when your Majesty was last there.”

“Ah, yes, and I never forget a face,” said the King; “and how is your uncle? – he is an old friend of mine.”

“He has been called hence, your Majesty,” answered Mabel; “he is dead.”

“Ah! dear, dear,” said the King; “I had heard of it; my friends die quickly, and there are few to replace them; I ought to have remembered. But tell me what you require of me – what can I do for you?”

Mabel endeavoured to explain in a few words, and as clearly as possible, the object of her visit to the King. He listened attentively.

“A sad thing that mutiny, though; but are you certain that young man is not guilty? Can you prove it? There’s the question,” said the King. “People want proofs in these matters. We must not be governed by our feelings.”

“Oh, yes, your Majesty, I know, I am sure he is not guilty!” exclaimed Mabel, clasping her hands, and looking up imploringly at the King. “My liege, you have the power of saving him; oh! let me entreat you to do so. Exert your royal prerogative, and save the life of one who is innocent of the fearful charges brought against him.”

“I should like to do so, young lady, indeed I should,” said the King, kindly, “but I want proofs. Those are what the lawyers require. What proofs can you bring forward?”

“Here, your Majesty, are two men who were on board the ship in which Mr Tryon served, and they are able to bear evidence that he was compelled by the ringleader to perform the acts for which he has been condemned.”

“Ah! let them come forward, and I will hear what they have to say,” said the King. “Are those the men outside who came with you? Let them be admitted immediately!”

On this Jacob and Jack Veal were allowed instantly to go on the terrace, Paul Gauntlett slipping in with them. The King beckoned them forward. Doffing their hats, they stood in a row before his Majesty, Paul a little behind the others ready to make a military salute, while Jacob and Jack kept hauling away at one of the love-locks with which their foreheads were bedecked.

“Let me hear all about it. What have you got to say, my man?” asked the King, looking at Jacob.

“Please your Majesty, he no more wanted to mutiny against your Majesty than the babe unborn,” began Jacob. “Please your Majesty, there’s not a more loyal subject of your Majesty’s in England, not except old Pike, whom your Majesty recollects at Lynderton, and who used to get drunk regularly on your Majesty’s birthday drinking your Majesty’s health.”

“What, do you know old Pike?” exclaimed the King, laughing; “I hope he is well.”

“Oh! bless you, your Majesty, he was well and as merry as a cricket when I was last at home. I have been foreign since then, and have not seen him or my old mother for many a day.”

“Ah, well, I wish all my subjects were as loyal as old Pike,” observed the King, turning round and narrating the anecdote of the prostration performed by the old mace-bearer before him. “And now about this young man, you say he is innocent, but how can you prove it?”

“Why, your Majesty, I can swear my Bible oath that I saw Richard Parker clap a pistol to his head and tell him if he did not obey orders he would blow his brains out. Now, your Majesty, do you see, he thought to himself, ‘If my brains are blown out I can never serve the King again, and if I merely write as I am made to do there can be no great harm in that, and the time will come when I may be able to serve my good King as before.’ Now, your Majesty, I ask if a man was to treat you like that, whether you would not think it was wiser to obey him than to kick up a row about it?”

“As to that, it would depend very much upon what the man wanted me to do,” answered the King. “However, it is clear your young friend acted on compulsion, if your oath is of any value; and what does your shipmate there say?”

“Please your Majesty, I can swear the same thing,” answered Jack Veal, “and what is more, we can bring several other men to prove that what we say is the truth.”

“And what do you say, my tall friend?” said the King, looking up at Paul.

“Please your Majesty, I have known the lad from his boyhood. He is true and loyal to the backbone,” answered Paul, making a salute. “His grandfather, General Tryon, served your Majesty, and perhaps your Majesty remembers the ride he took with you through the forest after your Majesty’s visit to Stanmore.”

“Ah! yes, yes, let me see. I remember the youth well,” said the King. “A well-mannered, intelligent lad. It would be a great pity to have him hung, of course it would,” he remarked, turning round, to the Queen and princesses who were standing with him. “But, my dear young lady, I cannot act in this matter without the advice of my ministers. You must go and see Mr Pitt, and learn what he has to say. If he consents, I will pardon the lad with all my heart.”

“Most deeply do I thank your Majesty for those kind words,” answered Mabel; “but time is precious. Any instant he may be led out to execution, and some time would pass before we could apply to the minister.”

“Oh, that gentleman will help you,” answered the King, turning to Mr Kyffin, “he looks like a lawyer, a clever man, I am sure. You will help the young lady, will you not?” said the King.

“Armed with a line signed by your Majesty I certainly could do so,” answered Mr Kyffin, bowing. “We will hasten back to town and see Mr Pitt, and in the meantime, provided with the order to stay the execution, we will proceed to the ship where the prisoner is confined.”

“Come along, then,” said the King, with a kind encouraging glance at Mabel. “You shall have the paper; I hope it is not unconstitutional. What is the lad’s name?”

“Harry Tryon,” answered Mabel.

“Please your Majesty, that is his real name,” put in Jacob Tuttle, hearing the answer; “but the name he is to be hung by is Andrew Brown; and please your Majesty, if you only give the order to stop Harry Tryon being hung, poor Andrew Brown may be hung up notwithstanding.”

“I see, I see,” said the King. “Well, then, as you are in a hurry, my dear young lady, we will draw out the paper.”

On this the King, with several members of the royal family, attended by Mabel and Mr Kyffin, entered the castle by the side door. The King walked rapidly on through several passages till he entered his private room. Sitting down at a desk he began to write, the rest of the party standing at a respectful distance round him.

“There, my dear young lady, this, I believe, will have its effect,” he observed, as he finished the papers and handed them to Mabel. “You will not lose them, eh? The one you can send on board the ship and the other to the minister. He will attend to my request, I hope. Now speed ye well, and God bless you.”

Chapter Twenty Six.

The Prison Ship. – The Great Minister. – A Gleam of Sunshine

Some way up the Thames lay a large hulk. Her decks were housed in, her hulk was black; she bore but little resemblance to the stout ship she had once been, except from the ports which were to be seen on either side. They were very thickly grated. It was the prison ship. Low down in one of the dark cells below the water-line, with manacles on his ankles, lay Harry Tryon. His cheeks had become pale, his eye had lost much of its brightness, but hope had not altogether died within him. Still he was fully sensible of the dangerous position in which he was placed. He had become of late a wiser and a sadder man than he had ever been before. Still as day after day passed by and no friends came near him, his spirits sank lower and lower.

“Have they all deserted me?” he said to himself, clasping his hands. “Mr Kyffin would not, I am sure, and Mabel – she knows nothing of my desperate state. Would that I had written to her. Some effort might have been made to save me; but I could not bear the thought of writing to her as a felon, to let her hand touch the paper smelling of this foul prison. Better far that I should die unknown. When the wretched Andrew Brown is run up to the yard-arm there will be no one to mourn him, and Harry Tryon may disappear without a stain of disgrace upon the name.”

He attempted to rise – he could do so with difficulty – to take a few turns up and down the narrow cell. Scarcely ever was he left in silence. There was the ripple of the water against the ship’s side; above him the steps of other prisoners as they, like him, paced to and fro. Now and then there were shouts and cries of men driven to despair by their approaching fate, others singing and shouting with careless indifference. It was weary work, that prison walk, for the chains were heavy. The gyves hurt his legs. Again he sat himself down, and clasped his hands upon his knees.

“Death! death will be welcome!” he exclaimed, “the only termination to my misery and shame.”

As he thus sat his ears caught the sound of footsteps moving along the passage outside. The lock in the heavy door moved, it opened, and a bright light which dazzled his eyes burst in.

“They are come,” he thought, “to carry me off.”

“I am ready,” he said, starting up, expecting to see the gaoler and the guard of soldiers. Instead, as his eyes recovered their vision, he saw standing before him his ever faithful guardian Roger Kyffin. He sprang forward, then stopped for a moment and hung down his head.

“You cannot come to own a wretched convict like me,” he exclaimed, in a tone of sadness.

“Do not say that, Harry,” answered Mr Kyffin, stepping forward and taking his hands. “Not a moment’s rest or happiness have I enjoyed since I learned the dangerous position in which you were placed. Do not doubt the regard I must ever have for you. I have discovered how you have been deceived, and how you were induced to desert your truest friend; I have therefore every excuse for you. I have learned that even in this instance you are guiltless of disloyalty, and, believe me, Harry, however guilty you have been, I should still have looked upon you as a son.”

“You make me desire once more to live,” exclaimed Harry, for the first time perhaps in his life bursting into tears. “I thought no one cared for me. I was prepared to die unknown and unlamented; and oh! tell me, Mr Kyffin, does Mabel know of my condition? – has she discarded me?”

His voice trembled. He looked eagerly in his guardian’s face for a reply.

“No, Harry, indeed she has not discarded you. She is true-hearted.”

“Is there any hope for me – must I suffer as so many unhappy men have done?” gasped out Harry.

“There is hope, my boy. I cannot say for a certainty that you will be saved. Mabel herself obtained from the King a request to his ministers that your life should be spared, and I have seen the governor of the prison, and he believes it confers sufficient authority on him not to deliver you up till his Majesty’s pleasure shall be further known.”

Mr Kyffin then explained to Harry more clearly the particulars of which the reader is already aware. Harry Tryon sank down on his knees, and thanked Heaven from the depth of his heart for the prospect of a release from the ignominious death for which he had been prepared. Alas! he had not often truly prayed. His grandmother had not attempted to teach him even a form of prayer, and seldom, during the life he spent in London had he ever dared to kneel to ask a blessing of his Heavenly Father. He had now, however, learned an important lesson. He had felt his utter helplessness and weakness, and had discovered that when lifting up his heart to God he received a strength and courage which he could by no other means have obtained.

“And Mabel! bless her for what she has done for me! But oh! Mr Kyffin, tell me where is she, how is she?”

“She bears up wonderfully,” answered Mr Kyffin, “and even now she and her kind friend Mrs Barbara Thornborough have gone to Mr Pitt to endeavour, if possible, to see him, and obtain his warrant for your liberation.”

“Then I am sure she will succeed,” exclaimed Harry, joyfully.

“Do not raise your hopes too high, my boy, and yet I would wish to support and encourage you,” remarked Mr Kyffin. “My stay with you now must be short, as I promised to meet Miss Everard after she had had an interview with the minister. Even should he refuse, we must not lose heart. We must bring other influence to bear on him. However, Harry, I know you too well to think that there is any necessity to urge you not to despair. And now farewell. I purpose to return before long. I hope to bring good news, but you must not be disappointed if it is not as good as we wish. This mutiny, so happily quelled has been very serious, and might have proved most disastrous to the country. The nation therefore is naturally little inclined to look with leniency on those who took a part in it, especially on the leaders; and from your having been associated with Parker, you, in the ordinary course, could scarcely expect a pardon.”

Mr Kyffin was gone, and Harry was once more left to his own thoughts. The hours passed wearily by, they seemed longer than any during his imprisonment. Sleep would not visit his eyelids. Anxiously he listened for every sound, hoping for the speedy return of his friend.

Meantime Mabel, who had parted from Mr Kyffin at Mr Thornborough’s house after their return from Windsor, prepared to set out with Mrs Barbara, attended by the two seamen and Paul, – to Mr Pitt’s house at Putney. She waited but a short time to obtain a little refreshment which Mistress Barbara urged on her, and together they drove towards the residence of the minister, while Mr Kyffin proceeded down the river to pay the visit to Harry which has been described.

It was late in the evening when they arrived at the villa. The two ladies, sending up their names, earnestly requested that they might be admitted. Mr Pitt was very much engaged, and could receive no visitors.

“Is Lady Hester at home?” asked Mrs Barbara. “Her Ladyship may remember me,” she observed, turning to Mabel; “if she does, she will, I think, see us, and through her we may press our suit on her uncle.”

The two ladies waited anxiously for the return of the servant.

“Lady Hester will see you, ladies,” was the reply, and Mabel and her friend descended from the carriage.

They were ushered into a handsome drawing-room, where Lady Hester was seated alone at a writing-table.

“I remember you, Mistress Thornborough,” she said, rising and coming forward in a gracious manner. “Tell me, to what cause am I indebted for the honour of this visit?”

“My young friend here will explain it to you,” said Mrs Barbara, now introducing Mabel. “One in whom she is deeply interested has been implicated in the late mutiny at the Nore, and in consequence of proper evidence not having been brought forward which would have proved that he acted under compulsion, he has been condemned to death. We have seen his Majesty, who was acquainted with the young gentleman, and have now come, wishing to see Mr Pitt, with two seamen of the ship on board which he served, who can clearly prove that he was an unwilling participator in what took place. Still time is pressing.”

“I can hold out but slight hopes of Mr Pitt’s interference,” answered Lady Hester. “He sees the importance of preventing the recurrence of such a mutiny by striking a wholesome terror into the minds of the seamen.”

“But surely he would not wish an innocent person to suffer!” exclaimed Mabel. “He can be proved innocent, believe me, your ladyship. The King himself is convinced that he is so. Let me entreat you to beg Mr Pitt to grant a pardon to this young man.”

“You take a warm interest in him,” said Lady Hester, looking at Mabel somewhat harshly.

“Yes, indeed I do, I have known him from his youth,” answered Mabel. “He is true and loyal, and would never have aided so dangerous a conspiracy as this appears to have been, to destroy the naval power of England.”

Lady Hester seemed to relent as she gazed at the young girl. “I am ready to believe you,” she answered, “that this young man is innocent. Tell me, how came he to be on board ship in the capacity of an ordinary seaman?”

Mabel blushed and hesitated.

“Oh, I see how it was,” said Lady Hester; “and now you repent. I will see Mr Pitt, and give him your statement of the case.”

“Then may I beg you to deliver this letter from his Majesty at the same time?” said Mabel, presenting the King’s note.

Lady Hester took the paper, and remarked, as she rose to leave the room, “It may have weight with my uncle, but, at the same time, even the King himself cannot turn him from his will when he has once made up his mind.”