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CHAPTER XXX. CONSOLATIONS OF DIPLOMACY

The first revulsion of feeling over, the terrible shock of that fall from the pinnacle of wealth and greatness to the lowly condition of a prisoner unfriended and destitute, – I actually began to enjoy my life, and feel something wonderfully like happiness. I do not pretend to say that my disappointment was not most acute and painful, or that I suffered little from the contemplation of my ruined hopes. No, far from it; but my grief, like the course of a mountain torrent, soon ran off, and left the stream of my life clear and untroubled as ever. It is true, thought I, this is a terrible contrast to what I was a week ago; but still, is it not a long way in advance of what my original condition promised? I am a prisoner in a Spanish fortress: is not even that better than a peasant in an Irish hovel? The very cares with which I am surrounded bespeak a certain consequence pertaining to me; I am one whom ministers of State think and speak about, whose name is often on their lips, whose memory haunts them in their half-waking moments. Is not this something? Is it not a great deal to one whose whole ideal was to avoid the bypaths of life, and take his course in its very widest and busiest thoroughfares?

The occupations in which I passed my days greatly contributed to sustain this pleasant illusion. I was eternally writing letters, memorials, statements of facts, and what not, of interminable narratives, to all our ministers and consuls, invoking their aid, and protesting in the name of the British nation against the unwarrantable tyranny of my imprisonment. It is quite true that these lengthy documents of mine seemed to meet but sorry acceptance. For a length of time no acknowledgment of their reception ever reached me; but at last the following dry epistle informed me that my memorials had reached their destination: —

“Sir, – I am directed by the Secretary of State forForeign Affairs to acknowledge the receipt of your memorialsdated the 9th, 12th, 18th, 23rd, and 25th of last month, together with various letters bearing on the same subjectssince that time, and to state, in reply, that the matter ofyour complaint is at present under investigation with theauthorities of the Spanish Government.

“His Lordship the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairsdesires me to add his regrets that even in the event of yourliberation he can hold out no prospect whatever that anycompensation will be made to you for the loss of propertyyou allege to have suffered, and which, of course, wasincurred as one of the many risks natural to the course ofsuch an expedition as you were engaged in.

“I have the honor to be, sir,

“F. O., London,

“Your most obedient servant,

“Oct. 18 – .

“Joseph Backslip.

“To Cornelius Cregan, Esq.”

This was a sad damper! To think that I was to lose the immense amount of property with which I had embarked, – the gems and jewels, the rare objects of art, the equipages, the beautiful horses of purest Mexican blood! not to speak of that far greater loss, – the large sum in actual money! But, then, what a consolation to remember that a Secretary of State was mingling his sorrows with my own on the subject; that he actually gave an official character to his grief, by desiring the Under-Secretary to convey “his regrets” in a despatch! his regrets – to me, Con Cregan! What inestimable words! That ever I should live to know that the Right Honorable Lord Puzzleton, the adored cherub of fashion, the admired of coteries, the worshipped of “the Commons,” the favored guest of Windsor, should, under the big seal of his office, assure me of his heartfelt sympathy!

I closed my eyes as I read the paragraph, and imagined that we were weeping together, like the “Babes in the Wood.” “How they wrong this man,” thought I, “in England; what calumnies they circulate about his levity, his heartlessness, and so forth; and see! look at him here mingling in the private sorrows of an individual, and taking part in all the private woes of Con Cregan.” By this beautiful artifice I contrived to raise the aforesaid Con to a very considerable elevation in his own esteem; and thus, worthy reader, by pleasant fancies and ingenious illusions, – wares that every man can fashion at will, – did I contrive to make my prison at Malaga a most endurable resting-place, and even now to make its retrospect full of sweet memories.

Nor were my imaginings limited to such visions as these, for I loved to compare my condition with that of other exalted prisoners, and fancy how my conduct would read by the side of theirs. If I were less piously resigned, less submissive, than Silvio Pellico, assuredly I showed more dignity in my fall than the Exile of St. Helena. I bore all the little vexations of my lot with a haughty reserve that entirely subdued every sign of a querulous nature, and seemed to say, “My time will come yet!”

At last it appeared either as if my memorials were never opened, or, if opened, never read. No answer came whatever! and even the Malaga newspapers, which, in the dearth of shipping intelligence, would often insert some little notice of me, stating how “the ‘Conde’ walked yesterday for an hour upon ‘the leads’;” “the ‘Condé’ partook with an appetite of a partridge, and conversed freely with the officer on duty,” and so on, – now they never by any chance alluded to me; and I seemed, for all the interest the world manifested about me, to have suffered a species of moral decease. It was the unhealthy season of the year, and the Consul had absented himself, leaving his functions to his “Vice,” who, having also a “constitution,” had departed likewise, bequeathing the traditions and cares of office to his Dutch colleague, who neither spoke nor read any other tongue than that muddy language begotten of dikes and fogs. Wearied possibly by the daily arrival of half a quire of my remonstrances, or curious to see the machine by which these broad sheets were struck off with such unfailing celerity, this official arrived one day at the prison with an order from the Governor, permitting him to see the “Condé.”

I was, as usual, writing away, when the turnkey announced his Excellency (every official is Excellency if too low for Highness), Mynheer van Hoagendrius, and a very short and immensely fat personage, dressed in a kind of black-and-white plaid jacket and trousers, entered. He looked like a huge chess-board set on legs. A grunt, a snort, a thick sound like a struggle between choking and gurgling, ensued, which I concluded to be something in Dutch, and he seated himself opposite me.

I made my compliments to him, polyglot-wise, in French, English, Spanish, and at last German, – the last evidently striking a spark out of the embers of his cold intelligence, for he fixed his dull eyes upon me, and seemed as though he would soon wake up. Animated by this hope, I proceeded in my very best “Deutsch” to expound my sorrows to him. Fortunately for me, my German had been acquired in the low companionship of “skippers” and sailors, and consequently bore a nearer resemblance to its half-brother of Holland than the more cultivated tongues of professors and philosophers.

I cannot, to this hour, say whether it arose from any interest in the narrative, or whether proceeding from the laudable desire to come at the truth in a question of much difficulty, but the Mynheer now came to me each morning, and usually stayed two hours, during which I talked and he smoked incessantly. Often, when he left me, have I asked myself “what progress I had made in his good opinion? how far had I made him master of my case?” but the question remained without an answer; for if occasionally a stray flash of intelligence would light up his dull features, on following the direction of his eyes I could perceive that the animation arose from the sight of some fishing-boat returning loaded with turbot, or that the savory odor of salt cod had saluted him from the shore. I felt at length as though I were sailing without a log-line, – nothing to mark my progress or say in what latitude I cruised.

My Dutch friend had now been visiting me for above six weeks, during which, if he had not supplied himself with every detail of my calamity, he had at least smoked all the choice tobacco which, as a favor from the Governor, I was permitted to land for my own use; and as yet he had given no signs of life other than the act of fumigation aforesaid. I was half angry, half amused, at the little act of dexterity with which he emptied the last remnant of my pure Havannah into his pipe, and heard, with a kind of malicious satisfaction, the little sigh with which he pushed the empty canister from him.

He seemed lost for some time in the slough of his Dutch reflections, but at length he fixed his eyes upon me, and in a low, suffocating tone said, “Hast a file?”

“No,” said I.

“There, then,” said he, giving me a small parcel tightly tied up in paper. “Farewell!” and he moved towards the door before I could recover from my surprise to thank him. As he reached it, he turned about, and in a very significant voice said, “Der bood est hardt,” – a species of Plat-Deutsch I might not have understood if unaccompanied by a gesture which implied that the ground was hard beneath my window, as a caution to me in the event of a leap.

No sooner was I alone than I opened my precious packet, which, besides two files, contained a small phial of aquafortis and another of oil, – the latter a useful adjunct to prevent the grating noise being heard. Having concealed the implements in a rat-hole, I proceeded to examine the iron bars of the window, which, although seemingly of great size and strength, were in reality coated with a rust of more than half their actual thickness. This was a most inspiriting discovery, and at once animated me with glowing hopes of success.

As I could only work during the night, I affected illness as a reason for keeping my bed during the day, when I slept profoundly and refreshingly.

The non-success of all my efforts to interest diplomacy in my cause was just beginning to impress me with a sense of gloom and despondency, when this new incident occurred to rally my drooping courage. Life had now an object; and that, if not always enough for happiness, is sufficient at least to rouse those energies which, when stagnant, produce despair. How I longed for night to come, that I might resume my labor! with what resolute industry I worked on during the dark hours, only ceasing when the change of the sentries brought the guard close beneath my window, and even grudging the few seconds thus wasted! With what delight I used to measure the fissure which, at first only deep enough for my nail, was now sufficient to cover the file! This I used to conceal each morning with bread colored by the rusty powder that fell from the filing, so that, to all seeming, everything was in its usual order.

This was almost the only period of my life in which I remembered my father: from some similarity in our condition, perhaps, he was now seldom out of my thoughts. I used to wonder if he were still alive, and how situated; whether he was yet a convict going forth in chains to daily toil, or a “ticket-of-leave” man working at some settlement in the “Bush.” Did he ever think of me? Did he ever dream of his native land, or wish to return to it? And what prospect of escape did fortune hold out to him? That, after all, was the great link which bound him to my thoughts! Was there any silent and sympathizing Dutchman to take pity on his captivity?

At the close of the fifth week, I had the inestimable pleasure of “reporting the breach practicable,” or, in less sounding phrase, of assuring myself that the middle bar of the window was removable at will, and thus a free egress was permitted me to an extensive terrace, which, with a low parapet, overlooked the bay for miles. This was about five-and-twenty feet from the ground, and was guarded beneath by a sentry, one of a chain of sentinels, whose “watch” extended around the entire fortress. The descent and the guard were then the only difficulties which now remained to be overcome, – so far, at least, as mere liberation from the prison walls extended. I am sure I invented at least fifty choice stratagems which afterthought always showed were perfectly worthless. I bethought me of bribing the sentry with the few gold pieces which I still possessed; but what security had I that he might not resist the seduction, or betray me even after receiving the money?

The fall, too, was considerable; nor was there anything to which I could attach my bedclothes to lower myself to the ground. It must be “a drop;” and what a situation should I be in were I to break a bone, or even sprain my ankle in the effort! Alas! I now perceived that although the most laborious portion of my work was accomplished, the most difficult still remained to be done.

The obstacles to mere escape were sufficiently great to prevent me even thinking of the course to be pursued after I reached the ground in safety, for I was without friend, shelter, passport, or any means of disguise or concealment whatever.

I pondered long and carefully over the question; and already had two dreary weeks passed over since I had cut through the bar, and yet, so far as I could see, no nearer to liberation than when the solid iron enclosed me. My mind began to sink under the fatigue of unceasing contrivance, and a dreamy, dreary sense of hopelessness seemed gaining on me. It had been a dark, cloudy day, with gusts of wind, followed by intervals of calm. The air was moist and heavy, and charged with the depressing influences which the “mestrale,” that sickliest of all winds, ever brings. Masses of leaden-colored clouds floated low over the sea, which was broken into a short angry “jobbe,” as if after a storm.

All betokened the approach of a gale of wind, and, as night set in, the signs of bad weather thickened. Scarcely had the sun set, when it became dark as pitch; the wind, which had lulled for a brief space previous, now sprung up, and the sea fretted and chafed against the rocks with that peculiar sharp chirping sound that presages “wind.” The clank of chain cables, the plashing noise of falling anchors, the loud shouts of the sailors as they prepared to meet the gathering storm, even now heard, while in the changing position of the different lights of the bay I could discern the movements of the various vessels as they sought shelter or made ready for sea, in expectation of the “gale.” The impenetrable darkness, the roaring wind, the flashing of the lights, the cries of the seamen, the hurrying of feet along the quays, and the sounds of different boats’ crews departing in haste, – all gave a charm to a scene of which the obscurity increased the interest. A large French steamer was to have sailed that night for Marseilles; but I overheard a voice from the street foretelling that the “Gazonne” might leave without her passengers, “as no one would go on board of her on such a night.” A red lantern at the peak indicated the vessel, and I could see that she had changed her position and “taken up a berth” farther out in the bay.

I cannot tell by what instinct I selected her as a peculiar object of my interest, but so it was. I watched her unceasingly, and rarely took my eyes from the quarter where she lay; and when the heaving motion of the “red light” showed that she was tossing in a heavy sea, I listened too with eagerness to catch anything from those that passed beneath that might concern this vessel, which now engrossed all my sympathy. “Were I once but on board of her,” thought I, “the wildest hurricane that ever blew would be sweeter to me than all the balmy airs that ever bore the odor of orange-blossom through my barred window!” I would have braved the stormiest seas, the maddest gale, shipwreck itself, rather than longer remain the helpless, hopeless thing a life of imprisonment was making of me. “Would that the alternative were given me,” said I to myself: “the free choice to change these four walls for the deck over which the waves are dancing in foamy sheets! with what a thankful heart would I take the offer!”

The last visit of the turnkey, who came to see all safe, broke in for a moment upon these musings; and now the double-locked door, and his retiring footsteps, told me that no further molestation was to be feared, and that I was, at least till daybreak, the undisturbed master of my own reveries. I opened the window, pushed back the iron stanchion, and walked out upon the terrace. It was a night of storm and wild hurricane. The rain swept by in great plashes, increasing the darkness, and mingling its hissing noise, with the breaking crash of the sea, as it beat furiously against the rocks. The dancing, bobbing motion of the lights on board the different craft showed what “a sea” was raging in the bay; while, even in the city itself, the clatter of falling tiles and chimneys told the violence of the gale. I stood upon the terrace; and as the rain penetrated my frail garment, and the wind wafted my wet hair across my cheeks, I felt a sense of ecstasy that nothing in all my previous life had ever equalled. It was the sensation of freedom; it was the burst of delight with which the captive welcomes the long-lost liberty. “Better this,” thought I, “than the snuggest chamber that ever called itself a prison.”

It was past the hour when any further visit from the turnkey might be expected. Already the outer door of my chamber had been locked and barred with all that scrupulous attention to noise and clank that are supposed only essential in a melodrama. The sentry had just been relieved on the esplanade beneath the terrace, so that I might consider myself disencumbered from all fear of interruption in any quarter. I sat down upon the parapet, and peered into the dark depth below me, where the hazy glimmer of the sentry’s lamp served to mark the height. At first it seemed a terrific drop; but after a while I began to satisfy myself that the darkness contributed to this effect; and as my sight grew more accustomed to the gloom, I was able to trace different objects, – among others, the conical roof of the sentry-box, at a distance of scarcely more than fifteen feet beneath me.

Thus far I could reach by making a rope of my bed-clothes, and attach one end to a portion of the battlement of the parapet; but how should I venture on a descent in such a place? how risk the almost certainty of recapture by the sentry himself? This was a formidable difficulty, and demanded much consideration; and yet, were I to select any other spot, I might chance to be disabled by the fall, and then all my efforts were fruitless, since a broken bone, or even a sprained ankle, would be certain ruin.

Never was a knotty point more canvassed, nor the clew to a difficulty more zealously searched for! As generally happens in such cases, first thoughts are best, and the bold course the safest. By descending on the sentry-box, I should at least reach the ground without injury; and if I were to have a “tussle” for it with the guard, it would be without the disadvantage of a previous damage. Besides this, the incessant noise of the tempest, the crashing of the sea, and the deep booming of the thunder gave hopes that my descent might be unheard. Nay, more, the sound of my heavy body over his head would be rather an admonition to stay quietly within than risk himself outside, to the danger of tumbling tiles or masses of masonry from the parapet. The more I reflected upon this, the clearer I saw that the storm was a Heaven-sent accident for me; that the darkness, the tumult, and the deserted streets were all accessories the most favorable; that to neglect such an occasion of escape would be downright madness. If I took some time to arrive at this conclusion, I made up for the delay by the rapidity of my subsequent movements. I hastily returned to my room; and had I been bred a ropemaker, my two sheets and counterpane could not have been fashioned into a three-stranded rope more handily; and, my sailor’s experience favoring, I adjusted the cord in a “timber hitch” round one of the battlements, and well satisfied myself that I might trust to the other extremity, – “Con Cregan and his fortunes.”

I then took a hurried survey of my room, trimmed my lamp that it might burn till morning, secured the three or four papers of value which still remained to me, and then issued forth to my enterprise.

A cannon-shot from the bay rung out as I again stepped upon the terrace, and I accepted the augury as an omen of welcome. I will not deny that my hands trembled as I examined, for the last time, the fastening of the cord; nor do I seek to conceal that as I buttoned my coat, the beating of my heart smote heavily against my fingers. I even hesitated for an instant; and during that instant, brief as it was, I could have faced death itself rather than the uncertainty before me. The weakness passed quickly away, and, with a short but fervent prayer, I grasped the rope and slipped noiselessly over the parapet.

A sudden gust of wind swept past at the moment, and swung me out from the wall as though I had been a thing of no weight, calling for all my strength to prevent me from being blown away! And now I was buffeted about, tossed here and thrown there, with a violence that almost dislocated every joint in my body. The jerking motion and the chafing of my rope on the parapet made me tremble for my security, and not without cause; for in one great swing, in which I described an arc no other pendulum, living or dead, ever compassed before, I came back with such force against the roof of the sentry-box, striking it with both my feet together at the same instant, that my cord snapped short in the very centre.

The force of my fall, added to the previous blow, capsized the sentry-box, and I came to the ground along with it, in a state of fright that even to this very hour I cannot recall without shuddering. Half-stunned by the fall, bruised and almost lifeless from terror, I sat there waiting for the moment when the sentry would issue forth and seize me; nor was it till after the lapse of several minutes that I perceived that the soldier was in a trap, the weighty sentry-box had fallen over on the front, and effectually debarred him from any chance of self-extrication.

I stooped over to listen, but all was still; he never spoke a word, – probably stunned by the shock, or he might have fainted from terror. Whatever the cause, neither my humanity nor my curiosity cared to explore further, but, rising to my feet, and ascertaining, to my inexpressible delight, that I was uninjured, I set off at full speed toward the shore. The sea suggested escape, and thither I bent my way, without thinking more on the matter.

I could see, from the hurried movement of lights along the pier, that boats were rapidly leaving for the various ships in the harbor. To get on board any of these, no matter what, or whither bound, was all my object, – a Tunis pirate or a Malay prow would have been a happy exchange for the black prison at Malaga.

I had almost run myself out of breath, when I came up with a knot of some dozen people who were hastening onward as fast as they could. Two heavily laden barrows with luggage, and a multitude of cloaks, shawls, and mantles, pronounced them to be travellers; and I soon collected, from the expressions dropped by the boatmen, that they were about to embark in the French steamer for Leghorn. Mingling with the group, which the darkness freely permitted, I heard a voice say, in English, something about the weather; and now, listening more attentively, I picked up that they were an English family hurrying to Pisa to see a son whose failing health gave them no time for delay. I gathered, too, that the packet, which should not have started till the next day, was now leaving suddenly; the captain haviug sent a message to say that he had determined to put to sea rather than ride out the gale so near shore.

The travellers were mingling their complaints at this peremptory summons, with others over the absence of their courier, who had got leave to see some of his friends about a league away, and must now inevitably be left behind. In the course of their lamentings, I could learn that they had only engaged the man the evening before at the recommendation of the landlord, and had scarcely seen him above a couple of times.

In fact, except that he was an Italian, and his name Raffaello, they knew nothing about him. At last they reached the jetty where the boat lay, and now I could hear their discussion, whether it were better to leave the courier’s effects behind, or take them on, in the hope that he might yet come up.

“He’s a smart fellow, and depend upon it he ‘ll be here before we sail,” said a young man of the party.

“No, no,” cried another, “he ‘ll never hear a word of the packet till she’s half way to Leghorn.”

“What did you tell him, William?” asked an elderly lady.

“To be back by six o’clock to-morrow morning,” said the first speaker.

“Ay, but in what language did you speak?”

“I spoke Italian, and afterwards I said it in French; for he does n’t know one word of English.”

This was all I wanted; I slipped noiselessly away, and, retiring to some distance behind the party, waited till I saw them descend the stairs to the boat. This occupied some time, for the party were numerous, and their trunks and portmanteaus were without end. At last, just as the word to shove off was given, I dashed forward at the top of my speed, crying out in Spanish, “Hold fast there! wait for the courier!”

“What’s the matter?” asked one of the Englishmen.

“A courier, Señhor,” said a sailor, “wants to come with us.”

“Oh, Raffaello, by George!” exclaimed the other; “I knew he ‘d be up. Put back, men; he belongs to us.”

“Pardon, signori,” said I, stepping lightly over the gunwale, “I have had a sharp run for it;” and away we went! Seated on a great-coat of black sheepskin, which from its style and cut I knew must have belonged to my predecessor, Raffaello, I could see the rapid passage of lights on the shore in the direction of my late prison, and at last could detect one glimmering from a part of the building where my cell stood. The roll of drums beating to arms was soon heard, and it was evident to me that my escape had become known, – that the garrison of the fortress was on the alert to recapture me. Although fully a mile from land, and rowing with all the vigor of twelve stout sailors towards a vessel whose steam was already whizzing through the escape funnel, my heart almost sunk within me from very fear; and rather than be retaken I would have jumped into the boiling tide that swelled and broke around me.

The sailors more than once relaxed their efforts to watch what was going forward on shore; and how fervently did I, in silence, curse their curiosity! Externally, however, I maintained my calm demeanor, and even ventured to conjecture that a fire must have broken out in the fortress, such was the commotion and excitement discernible in that quarter.

Another suggested the possibility of its being some prisoner that had made his escape, – a notion which I took occasion to ridicule, by averring that the Carcel was reputed to be the strongest prison in Spain, and an instance of evasion altogether unknown.

Thus chatting, we reached the steamer. To my intense delight, the anchor was already weighed; and scarcely had we mounted the ladder than she broached round, head to sea, and clove through the water like a fish.

Every plunge of the great ship shook the strong timbers and made her huge framework tremble, sending a thrill of pleasure through me. With each mountain wave that rolled past, I saw my chance of safety increase, and knew that no boat – manned by Spaniards, at least – would dare pursuit in such a storm. I had abundant leisure for these reflections, since my “masters” had only time to get on board when they retired to their berths, overcome by sea-sickness, so that I was at full liberty to indulge my own thoughts, and dispose of myself without the slightest interruption. From a smart little French maid I learned that the family was called Grimes; that they had recently come from England by way of Gibraltar, where one of the sons, now with them, was quartered with his regiment; that the party consisted of a widow lady with three daughters and two sons, a third being the invalid at Pisa. They were rich, good sort of folks, very ignorant of the Continent, very credulous, and altogether a satisfactory kind of connection for a cunning French femme-de-chambre and a roguish courier to fall in with. This latter fact Mademoiselle Virginie insisted upon with no small degree of self-gratulation, giving me to understand that we might have a very thriving career as fellow-laborers in the same vineyard.

Her sketches of English life, manners, and prejudices were not a little amusing, while the rules she laid down for the due management and control of her masters were a perfect chapter in domestic machiavelism. There had once been a time when I would have enlisted willingly under such a banner, – glad to reach the upper story of life, even by such a back stair; but now that I had tasted the glorious supremacy of command myself, that I had revelled in the mastery of a great household, that I had rolled along in my own chariot, clothed in fine linen and faring sumptuously every day, I felt my return to a menial situation a degradation unendurable. I determined that, once in Italy, I would escape from the thraldom of such servitude, come what might of it.

By long dwelling on the theme, I had contrived to impress myself with the most profound conviction that I was a much-injured individual, that my case, if not sufficient for a war with Spain, was a fair ground for a parliamentary “flare-up,” angry diplomatic notes, and Heaven knows what threats of our outraged Foreign Office. That a man with such a glorious grievance should sink down into a courier, to wrangle with landlords, bully waiters, and flirt with the “maid in the rumble,” was not to be thought of. I felt that I was sworn at Highgate, and destined for the inside of the travelling-carriage, and not the “out.”