‘And how do these Spaniards treat him?’ asked Fanny with a trembling voice, yet flashing eye, of the messenger, Jack Herbert.
‘Rough enough, Miss.’
‘Has he sufficient food?’
‘They used to bring us grub once a day,’ was the answer.
‘But once a day?’
‘That’s all, Miss.’
‘And what did it consist of?’ asked Fanny.
‘The very coarsest, you may be assured, Miss.’
A tear stole into Fanny’s eye, as she thought upon the suffering that William was then experiencing in a foreign prison.
‘At Havana, in the island of Cuba,’ said Fanny, musingly to herself; ‘can you describe the port, my friend?’
‘Why it’s a sunny little basin, not so very small neither, and quite land-locked and guarded by the castle and its entrance, tho’ for the matter of that, the castle is’nt always manned – at any rate ‘twas’nt the night we went in with the tag-boat. It’s a pocket of a place, Miss, large enough to hold a thousand sail and yet not more than one can work in or out at a time. It’s in the hands of the Spaniard now, from whom the English took it awhile ago, but have given it back again. Altogether it’s a fine harbor, as far as that goes, why, Miss?’
‘Oh, I was curious about it.’
‘It did’nt bless our eyes very often, I can tell you, Miss. We all saw it once, when we were rode out in a great cart hauled by jackasses to the court of the Governor General, the old tyrant!’ and here honest Jack Herbert made divers passes with his clenched fist in the air as though he was pummelling the identical functionary in question, just about the ribs and eyes.
‘In close confinement all the time,’ said Fanny thoughtfully, and more to herself than to her companion, or for the purpose of eliciting an answer.
‘Close enough, lady, being’s we never went out, saving the time I have just told you of in the jackass team,’ said Herbert, pausing out of breath at the exertion of thrashing the Governor General in imagination.
‘Did you inform yourself concerning the localities of the neighborhood,’ asked Fanny, still half musing to herself.
‘Why, yes, Miss, a little when I got out.’
‘And the prison – is that well guarded?’
‘Only by the jailor, a rough, gray old Spaniard, and three or four soldiers at the different angles of the walls.’
‘Look ye, good Herbert, would you join an expedition for the release of your old comrades?’ asked Fanny, with animation.
‘Would’nt I? perhaps I hav’nt suffered with them, and don’t know what it is to be cooped up in a damp, stone prison, with just enough food to keep you alive, and make you long for more; join? yes, to-morrow, Miss.’
‘Where do you live in the town?’
‘Just at the foot of Copp’s Hill.’
‘Could one find you there if need be?’
‘Ay, Miss, at most any hour’.’
‘Well, good Herbert, you may soon meet with one who will engage with you in an enterprise that may gain you not only a name, but a fortune also. Will you be prepared?’
‘That I will – a fortune?’
‘Aye, and fame to boot’
‘That would be good news.’
‘Say nothing of this to any one.’
‘Oh, I’m mum, Miss, if you wish.’
The evening following that of the reception of the news brought by Jack Herbert, Burnet made one of his frequent calls at the hamlet, and heard from Fanny the whole story of Lovell’s capture and imprisonment. He affected to look upon Lovell much in the light of a brother of Fanny’s. Knowing her to have been brought up with him, and that they had played together in childhood, he had always shrewdly avoided speaking in any way against him, of whom indeed he could say nothing disparaging, having never seen him, and only knowing him through Fanny, who often alluded to him in connection with her remembrances of her childhood and past life. Captain Burnet saw full well that Fanny’s interest in Lovell was of no slight character, and he took his course in the matter accordingly. His policy was evidently to win her affection by constant and unremitting attention, and to accomplish this he left no means untried. To her parents he was liberal and generous, without being sufficiently prodigal to create displeasure, every act being tempered by good taste and discreet judgment.
He patiently followed every whim of Fanny’s fancy, and occupied his time when with her in such employment as he knew would best suit her taste, and in short attacked her at the only vulnerable point, if there was any, which was to render himself pleasing and gradually necessary to her enjoyment, by the amusement he strove to afford her upon every topic, and the instructive character of his general conversation. He saw in Fanny a love for acquiring knowledge on every subject, and he particularly favored it by every means in his power, and actually came to love her warmly by this very intercourse, whose beauty of person alone had first attracted his attention. Two years thus passed, in which Burnet had been a frequent visitor at the cottage, which rendered him by no means an object of indifference to Fanny, who, however, had often told him that she regarded him only as a brother. So far from being discouraged by this, Burnet, who loved most ardently, even thought it a point gained in his favor, and pursued his object with renewed hope. He was forced to acknowledge to his own heart that he loved her irrevocably, and that without her he could never be happy.
He listened, as we have said, to Fanny’s relation of the story of Lovell’s imprisonment, and he soon found that she was more interested in the result of the affair than he could have wished, or perhaps even expected. She talked long and earnestly with him relative to the matter, frankly asking his advice and assistance in the affair. He professed that he could refuse her nothing, and a deeply interesting conversation took place, the purport of which may be revealed in a subsequent chapter. That night Captain Burnet did not depart from the little parlor of the cottage and from Fanny, until long after his usual hour, as was remarked by Mr. and Mrs. Campbell to each other.
About a week dating from the occasion just alluded to, a man dressed in the garb of a common sailor knocked at the door of old widow Herbert’s house, at the foot of Copp’s Hill, ‘North End.’ A neatly dressed woman of some sixty years of age opened the door. She was still hale and hearty notwithstanding three score years had passed over her head. The refinements of civilization had never marred her health or vigorous constitution, for she had never resorted to those means of shortening life practised in these more advanced periods of refinement. No cramping and painful corsets had ever disfigured her fine natural form, nor had her feet even been squeezed into a compass far too small for their size, in order to render them of delicate proportions. No, no the good old practices of the Bay Province seventy and eighty years ago, were productive of hale and hearty old age, long lives, and useful ones, with health to enjoy life’s blessings.
‘I would see your son, my good woman,’ said the stranger to dame Herbert as she appeared at the door.
‘Jack, my boy,’ said the old lady, ‘here’s a friend who would speak to thee, come hither I say, Jack.’
‘Ay, ay, mother.’
The son was making his noonday meal, but he soon answered the call and made his appearance at the door.
‘Your name is Jack Herbert?’ put the stranger inquiringly.
‘That’s it, your honor,’ said Jack, for there was that about the cut of the stranger’s