House of Torment

It was not, of course, without its discomforts. Hull, messing with the bo'son, was very well off and speedily became popular with every one. The brightness and cheeriness of the fellow's disposition made him hail and happy met with all of them, while his great personal strength and general handiness detracted nothing from his popularity. Madame La Motte, wicked old soldier of fortune as she was, adapted herself to her surroundings with true and cynical French philosophy. She, who was used to live in the greatest personal luxury, put up with the rough fare, the confined quarters, with equanimity, though it was fortunate that their passage was smooth, and that all the time the sea was tranquil as a pond. She was accustomed to drink fine French and Italian wines – and to drink a great deal of them. Now she found, perforce, consolation in Captain Clark's puncheons of Antwerp spirit, the white fiery schiedam. She was a drunkard, this engaging lady, and imbibed great quantities of liquor, much to the satisfaction of the captain, who was paid for it in good coin of the realm.

The woman never became confused or intoxicated by what she drank. Towards the end of the day she became a little sentimental, and was wont to talk overmuch of her good birth, to expatiate upon the fallen glories of her family. Nevertheless, no single word escaped her which could shock or enlighten the sensitive purity of the young girl who was now in her charge. There must have been some truth in her stories, because Commendone, who was a thoroughly well-bred man, could see that her manners were those of his own class. There was certainly a free-and-easiness, a rakish bonhomie, and a caustic wit which was no part of the attributes of the great ladies Johnnie had met – always excepting the wit. This side of the old woman came from the depths into which she had descended; but in other essentials she was a lady, and the young man, with his limited experience of life, marvelled at it, and more than once thanked God that things were no worse.

It was during this strange voyage that he learnt, or began to learn, that great lesson of tolerance, which was to serve him so well in his after life. He realised that there was good even in this unclean old procuress; that she had virtues which some decent women he had known had lacked. She tended Elizabeth with a maternal care; the girl clung to her, became fond of her at once, and often said to Johnnie how kind the woman was to her and what an affection she inspired.

Reflecting on these things in the lonely watches of the night, Commendone saw his views of life perceptibly changing and becoming softened. This young man, so carefully trained, so highly educated, so exquisitely refined in thought and behaviour, found himself feeling a real friendship and something akin to tenderness for this kindly, battered jetsam of life.

She spoke frankly to him about her dreadful trade of the past, regarding it philosophically. There was a demand; fortune or fate had put her in the position of supplying that demand. Il faut vivre– and there you were! And yet it was a most singular contradiction that this woman, who for so long had exploited and sold womanhood, was now as kind and tender, as scrupulous and loving to Elizabeth Taylor as if the girl was her own daughter.

It was not without great significance, Johnnie remembered, that the soul of the Canaanitish harlot was the first that Christ redeemed.

With Elizabeth – and surely there was never a stranger courting – Johnnie sank at once into the position of her devoted lover. It seemed inevitable. There was no prelude to it; there were no hesitations; it just happened, as if it were a thing pre-ordained.

From the very first the girl accepted him as her natural protector; she looked up to him in all things; he became her present and her horizon.

It was on one lovely night, when the moon was rising, the winds were soft and low, and the stars came out in the dark sky like golden rain, that he first spoke to her of what was to happen.

It was all quite simple, though inexpressibly sweet.

They were alone together in the forward part of the ship, and suddenly he took her slim white hand – like a thing of carved and living ivory – and held it close to his heart.

"My dear," he said, in a voice tremulous with feeling, "my dear Lizzie, you are my love and my lady. When first I saw you outside St. Botolph his Church, so slim and sorrowful in the grey dawning, my heart was pierced with love for you, and during the sad day that came I vowed that I would devote my life to loving you, and that if God pleased thou shouldst be my little wife. Wilt marry me, darling? nay, thou must marry me, for I need you so sore, to be mine for ever both here in this mortal world and afterwards with God and His Angels. Tell me, sweetheart, wilt marry me?"

She looked up in his face, and the little hand upon his heart trembled as she did so.

"Why, Johnnie," she answered at length, "why, Johnnie, who could I marry but you?"

He gathered the sweet and fragrant Simplicity to him; he kissed the soft scarlet mouth, his strong arms were a home for her.

"Or ever we get to Seville," he said, "we will be married, sweetheart, and never will we part from that day."

She echoed him. "Never part!" she said. "Oh, Johnnie, my true love; my dear and darling Johnnie!"

At Lisbon, where they lay five days, Madame La Motte and Elizabeth went ashore, and purchased suitable clothes and portmanteaux, while Johnnie also fitted himself out afresh. Madame La Motte had brought a very large sum with her in carefully hoarded gold, while she had also carried away all her jewels, which, in themselves, were worth a small fortune. She placed the whole of her money at Commendone's disposal, and made him take charge of it, with an airy generosity which much touched the young man. He explained to her that in the course of three months or so any money that he needed would reach him from England, and that she would be repaid, but she hardly seemed to hear him and waved such suggestion away. And it is a most curious thing that not till a long time afterward did it ever occur to the young man how and in what way the money he was using had been earned. The realisation of that was to come to him later; the time was not yet.

At Lisbon the passengers on board the St. Iago were added to. A small yellow-faced Spaniard of very pleasant manners – Don Pedro Perez by name – bought a passage to Cadiz from Captain Clark, and there was another fellow of the lower classes, a tall, athletic young man, very much of Johnnie's build, though with a heavy and rather cruel face, who also joined the vessel. This person, who paid the captain a small sum to be carried to the great port, lived with the sailors, and interfered nothing with the life of the others.

Don Perez proved himself an amusing companion and was very courteous to the ladies.

From him Johnnie made many enquiries and learnt a good deal of what he wanted to know. It will be remembered that Commendone's mother was a Spaniard, a girl of the Senebria family of Seville. Johnnie knew little of his relations on his mother's side, but old Sir Henry still kept up some slight intercourse with Don José Senebria, the brother of his late wife. Now and again a cask of wine and some pottles of olives arrived at Commendone, and occasionally the knight returned the present, sending out bales of Flemish cloth. It was Johnnie's purpose to immediately proceed from Cadiz to Seville after their arrival at the port. He learnt with satisfaction that Don José still inhabited the old family palace by the Giralda, and he felt that he would at least be among friends and sure of a welcome.

While the St. Iago lay at Lisbon, two days before she set sail from there, an English ship arrived, and from that time until she weighed anchor Johnnie and none of his companions went ashore. It was extremely unlikely that they would incur any danger, for the Queen Mary, which was the name of the ship, must have sailed at very much the same time as they did. It was as well, however, to undergo no unnecessary risks.

On the day before the St. Iago sailed for Cadiz a great Spanish galley came up the Tagus, a long and splendid ship, gliding swiftly up the river with its two banks of oars. It was the first galley Johnnie had ever seen, and he shuddered as he thought of the chained slaves below, who propelled that sort of vessel, which was spoken of in England as a floating hell. The galley lay at Lisbon for several hours, and then at evening left the wharf where she had been tied and once more went down the river for the open sea.

Johnnie was on deck as she passed, just about sunset, and watched with great interest, for the galley crossed the stern of the St. Iago only fifty yards away from him.

He heard the regular machine-like chunking of the oars; he heard also a sharper, more pistol-like sound, which he knew was none other than the cracking of the overseers' whips, as they flogged the slaves to greater exertions.

He did not see that among a little group of people upon the high castellated poop of the galley there was one figure, a tall figure, muffled in a cloak, and with a broad-brimmed Spanish hat low upon its face, who started and peered eagerly at him as the ship went by.

Nor did he hear a low chuckle of amusement which came from that cloaked figure.

Elizabeth was standing by his side. He turned to her.

"Let us go below," he said; "they will be bringing supper. Sweetheart, I feel sad to think of those wretched men that pull that splendid ship so swiftly through the seas."

CHAPTER IX

"MISERICORDIA ET JUSTITIA"

(The ironic motto of the Spanish Inquisition)

They had passed Cape de St. Vincent, and, under a huge copper-coloured moon which flooded the sea with light and seemed like a chased buckler of old Rome, were slipping along towards Faro, southwards and eastwards to Cadiz.

The night was fair, sweet, and golden. The airs which filled the sails of the square-rigged ship were soft and warm. The "lap, lap" of the small waves upon the cutwater was soothing and in harmony with the hour.

Elizabeth had been sleeping in the cabin long since, but Commendone, old Madame La Motte, and the little weazened Don Perez were sitting on the forecastle deck together, among the six brass carronades which were mounted there, ready loaded, in case of an attack by the pirates of Tangier.

"You were going to tell us, Señor," Johnnie said, "something of the Holy Office, and why, when you leave Seville, you leave Spain for ever."

Don Perez nodded. He rose to his feet and peered round the wooden tower of the forecastle, which nearly filled the bow-deck.

"There is nobody there," he said, with a little sigh of relief. "That fellow we took aboard at Lisbon is down in the waist with the mariners."

"But why do you fear him?" Johnnie answered in surprise.

The little yellow man plucked at his pointed black beard, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke.

"Have you noticed his hands, Señor?" he asked.

"Since you say so," Johnnie replied, with wonder in his voice, "I have noticed them. He is a proper young man of his inches, strong and an athlete, though I like not his face. But his hands are out of all proportion. They are too large, and the thumbs too broad – indeed, I have never seen thumbs like them upon a hand before."

Don Pedro Perez nodded significantly. "Ciertamenta," he answered dryly. "It is hereditary; it comes of his class. He is a sworn torturer of the Holy Office."

Johnnie shuddered. They had been speaking in Spanish. Now he exclaimed in his own tongue. "Good God!" he said, "how horrible!"

Perez grinned sadly and cynically as the moonlight fell upon his yellow face. "You may well start, Señor," he said, "but you know little of the land to which you are going yet."

There came a sudden, rapid exclamation in French. Madame La Motte, speaking in that slow, frightened voice which had been hers throughout the voyage, was interposing.

"I don't understand," she said, "but I want to hear what the gentleman has to say. He speaks French; let us therefore use that language."

Don Perez bowed. "I am quite agreeable," he said; "but I doubt, Madame, that you will care to hear all I was going to tell the Señor here."

"Phut!" said the Frenchwoman. "I know more evil things than you or Don Commendone have ever dreamed of. Say what you will."

Don Perez drew a little nearer to the others, squatting down, with his head against the bow-men's tower.