CHAPTER XIII BETSEY FRADDAM AND CAP'N JACK MEET--I GO TO FALMOUTH AND MEET NAOMI--AFTERWARD I SEE MR. JOHN WESLEY

"Well, Betsey, my deear," I heard Cap'n Jack say, "still on yer ould gaame. I hop' we've brok' the spell, my deear. Ted'n vitty, I tell 'ee. A pious man like me do nat'rally grieve over the sins of the flesh. But 'ere's Cap'n Billy Coad; you ain't a spoke to 'ee 'et."

I wished that there had been a hole in the door, for I had a great desire to see Billy Coad, of whom I had heard Cap'n Jack speak so often. I heard his voice, however. It was softer even than Cap'n Jack's, and was of a wheedling tone, as though he wanted to get on comfortably with every one.

"Hope you be braave, Cap'n Billy," croaked Betsey. "Eli, put away this broth; thews booys doan't want none of that soort."

"No, Betsey, it do grieve me, yer nearest blood relation, to zee 'ee follin' in such ways."

"You've bin glad ov me, though," retorted Betsey.

"Iss, you be a gifted woman. You got et from Granfer. He tould 'ee a lot ov things, ded'na then?"

"Mor'n I shell tell."

"Come now, Betsey, laive us be oal comfortable like. You've got your gifts, and I've got mine. I doan't care 'bout sperrits to-night, Betsey; but you've got some good wine—that I knaw. Ah! Cap'n Billy ded some good trade on his laast voyage."

"Good traade," sneered Betsey. "What's your traade nowadays? Zee wot Granfer ded."

"Iss, I've wanted to talk to 'ee 'bout et, Betsey, my deear. I've bin very good to you."

I heard some clinking of glass, and I knew they were drinking. I had heard only two voices, but by the footsteps I judged that more than two might have entered the cottage. In this, however, I was mistaken, for the others who had come with him left at the door.

"Iss, I've bin very good to you and Eli," repeated Cap'n Jack. "You've never wanted summin' warm to drink."

"A fat lot I've 'ad from 'ee," retorted Betsey, "and I ain't a wanted nothin' nuther. I've got my 'ouse, and I've got summin' to ait, so've Eli."

"Iss. I sh'll make a man o' Eli."

I heard Eli laugh in his strange, gurgling way.

"I've made money, more'n Tamsin 'll want; well, and why sha'ant Eli 'ave some ov it?"

"What 'ee'll git from you'll be good for sore eyes," snarled the old woman. "Ugh, ef I wanted money—aw, aw!—well, I knaw!"

"You'm thinkin' 'bout the treasure. But you caan't git et, Betsey. Ef ould Granfer ded bury it some where out to say—well, you caan't git et. But ded a bury a treasure, Betsey, ef 'ee ded, why ded a die so poor?"

Betsey did not reply.

"Doan't you think 'tes oal lies, Betsey? Where's the paper weth the dreckshuns? I knaw 'ee sailed weth Cap'n Blackbeard, everybody do knaw that, and it's zed that the Cap'n was very rich—took oal soarts of things from the Spaniards and the Portugeese; but then where ded a put et? Zum zay on Lundy Island, others that he found a caave in Annette Island, and others that he found a place on the South Says; but ed'n et oal a taale, Betsey, my deear?"

Betsey remained silent, while Eli grunted.

"Granfer zaid that he stailed the dreckshuns," continued Cap'n Jack; "ef a ded, where be um?"

"'Spoase I was to tell 'ee?" sneered Betsey. "Well, you'd git et. As fur Eli, 'ee cud go a-beggin'."

"Eli shud 'ave aaf," said Cap'n Jack, with a most terrible oath, "and Billy and we'd 'ave the other aaf far our share. Tha's fair, Betsey."

"No, no, no!" cried Eli, "it's oal lies, oal lies!" And there was, I thought, a note of fear in his voice.

"Mind, Betsey," cried Cap'n Jack, "whether you tell me or no, we'll vind out. Ef you've eed away they dreckshuns, we'll vind um, mind that!"

"You've zaid zo afore," sneered Betsey.

"'Ave us? Zo we 'ave," replied Cap'n Jack, "but I be a religious man. I want to trait my relaashuns fair, I do; everybody that do knaw me, do knaw that, doan't 'em, Cap'n Billy? An' Billy is a religious man, too; hes religious experience es a powerful sermon. Well, I've talked oal soarts of ways 'bout that treasure, Betsey—I 'ave. I've zaid I doan't bleeve in et, zo I 'ave. But wot then? Well, I'm a-goin' to vind et!"

"Aw, aw!" chuckled Betsey.

"I'm a man to my word, zo's Billy. Whenever I've zaid a thing I've done it."

"Aw, tha's ev et es et. I've 'eerd you zay that any man who runned away from your gang you'd kill. I've 'eerd you zay you'd do fur Jasper Penninton. 'Ave 'ee, Jack Fraddam? Why, 'ee got off bootiful—jist through a maid—iss, and went to say, and no one stopped un!"

"And why, Betsey, why? 'Cos I am a fond and lovin' vather, that's why. Tamsin made a vool ov me, tha's why. I maade a mistake in takin' Jasper to Kynance, 'cos Tamsin got to like un. Well, I lowed un to git away. I promist Tamsin that while he kipt his tongue 'atween hes teeth I'd laive un go. But laive un tell things, laive un tell anybody where our caaves be, laive un split 'bout other things he do know—well!" and Cap'n Jack grunted significantly.

"Aw, aw," sneered Betsey, "he strangled Israel Barnicoat, and thrawed the lantern ovver the cliff. An' ther' was no wreck that night. Aw, aw! You be a man, you be!"

"A merciful, pious man, tha's wot I be. But doan't 'ee laugh, Betsey. Do 'ee think I dunnaw that Jasper landed in Fammuth to-day? He's watched, I tell 'ee."

At this the sweat streamed out over every part of my body, and I hardened my muscles to fight for dear life. I felt that Cap'n Jack's was no vain threat, and that I owed my life to Tamsin.

"Where es a now, then?" queried Betsey.

"He's lyin' luff in Fammuth town, my deear; but 'ee must be very careful."

At this I breathed more freely again.

"I'm a kind man," continued Cap'n Jack; "I've bin kind to you, Betsey. I knaw that ef you've got they dreckshuns you've kipt 'em for Eli. But, Betsey, my deear, 'ee caan't do nothin' by hisself. We'll share fair, Betsey; I'll give my Bible oath to that."

"I taake no noatice ov yur Bible oaths," snarled Betsey, "but I knaw you'd kipt to what yer promised. Ef you ded'n, I'd make yer flesh drop off yer boans bit by bit; I'd make yer joints twist wrong way 'bout; I'd make 'ee suffer pains wuss'n the fires ov the bottomless pit; I'd raise the sperrits of—"

"Doan't 'ee, Betsey," cried Cap'n Jack, and his voice trembled with fear. "I knaw you be a gifted woman; I knaw you can do terrible things. Ef there's a treasure, Betsey, laive me vind et, and Eli sh'll live in the finest state o' land in this blessed county."

"I'll think 'bout it. I caan't raid, that you knaw—but, but come out 'ere in the gar'n, Jack."

With that, Billy Coad, Cap'n Jack, and Betsey went into the garden, while Eli sat by the chimney and chuckled as though a great joy had come into his heart.

They did not stay long, and I suspected that Betsey told them something she did not wish me to know. When they came back again I heard Betsey tell Eli to fetch the crock and brandis into the middle of the room.

After that Betsey blew on the pot again, as I had seen her blow, and she made the two men repeat things after her which I did not hear distinctly, and all the time I heard Eli chuckling and grunting as though he enjoyed himself vastly.

After this all the four went into the garden, and they stayed there a long while, leaving me to muse over the strange things I had heard. Not that it came altogether as a surprise to me, for I had often heard of Granfer Fraddam knowing something about a treasure. I do not think any one had taken much notice of it, for there were scores of meaningless stories about lost treasures that passed from lip to lip among the gossips in the days when I was young.

Now, however, that which I had heard caused me much food for thought, and I wondered whether there was any truth in the story. I determined, too, that I would ask Eli, for I believed that what Betsey knew he would know. I saw, too, that he loved me, and I was sure that he was anxious to serve me.

When Betsey and Eli came back the two men had gone, and then I came from my hiding-place, and began to ply them with questions. But neither of them would give me answers. Betsey seemed very thoughtful, while Eli pulled some sacks from under the settle, so that I might have a bed.

Before Betsey climbed the creaky stairs which led to the room where she slept, she fixed her whitey, shining eyes upon me, and, holding up her hand, she bade me be silent about what I had seen and heard.

"Ef you tell, Jasper Penninton," she croaked, "ef you tell—you've eerd ov fallin' flesh a'ant 'ee? Well, think ov it."

"I shall say nothing," I replied.

"No," she said, continuing to look steadily on me, "no, you wa'ant. I c'n zee you wa'ant."

Then she left me, while I lay down on the sacks fearing nothing living, but fearing the dead terribly. For it seemed to me as though Betsey had been doing that which was unlawful, and that I was a party to her plans. And so I could not sleep for a long time; not, indeed, until the light of morning began to stream through the cottage window, and then I felt to laugh at it all. Betsey's signs and Betsey's words were so much foolery, while the conversation about the buried treasure was no more true than the stories which were believed in superstitious days. Besides, thoughts of Naomi drove away all else, although everything came back to me afterward. When my fears went, however, sleep came to my eyes, and I did not awake until I felt Eli fondling my hands, and heard him telling me that breakfast was ready.

Then I arose, upbraiding myself for having slept so long, for I had intended finding my way to Pennington in the early morning. I know this seemed very foolish, for if the Tresidders found me on the land they called theirs all my purposes would be frustrated.

"Breakfas', breakfas', Jasper," said Eli.

"No, I'm going out," I replied.

"Ted'n no use, ted'n no use," grunted the poor dwarf, "she ed'n there."

"Where is she, then?"

"Jist agone by, ridin' to Fammuth town."

"How do you know?"

"I zeed um. She and Maaster Tresidder, and Maaster Nick Tresidder, and Miss Em'ly."

"Are you sure, Eli?"

"Iss."

Then I quickly ate what had been prepared for me, and when I had given Betsey a guinea out of the few I had been able to earn during the time I had been away, I tramped to Falmouth. I arrived there in less than two hours from the time I had left Betsey's cottage, trying to make plans as I went. I walked up and down Falmouth street several times, all the time looking around in the hopes of finding her, not because I could do anything if I found her, but because I longed greatly to see her, longed more than words can tell. At length noonday came and still my eyes continued to ache for a sight of her, while my heart grew heavy. I found, too, that the streets became more and more crowded every minute, until I asked myself if it were a fair. But such was not the case. The reason of the crowd was that Mr. John Wesley had come to Falmouth, and his coming had caused a great uproar. I heard all sorts of stories about him, and many were the threats that were made. Some said he was a Papist, who wanted to bring back Popery to the country, while others declared that he wanted to raise a rebellion against the king and crown. Several clergymen from distant parishes had come into the town, and these, almost without exception, were very bitter toward him; while the publicans, who did a very big trade that day because of his coming, cried out against him very loudly. On the other hand, I heard that many people had come because of the great good he had done, and because through him they had been led, to use their own language, to become new creatures. This I will say, those who befriended Mr. Wesley seemed very steady folks. They used no bad language, neither were they mad with drink as many of the others were.

I did not pay as much heed to the state of the town as I might have paid under other circumstances, for I cared for little but the sight of Naomi's face, while to hear her voice I felt I would give anything.

Now as I walked disconsolately along the street, finding my way among the crowd that grew greater and greater, I stopped outside a linen-draper's shop, which was kept by one Humphry Bolitho, and to my great joy I saw Naomi coming therefrom. By her side was Emily Tresidder, and I was wondering how I could speak to my love, when the woman in the shop called Richard Tresidder's daughter back just as Naomi's eyes met mine.

She gave no start of surprise at seeing me, so that even then I was sure that the Tresidders knew of my return, but she seemed, I thought, in doubt as to whether she should speak to me. But I had found my opportunity, and I determined not to be baulked in my purpose, especially as Emily Tresidder had gone back into the shop again. And yet at that moment I knew not what was fitting to say, for my heart seemed in my mouth, and every inch of my body quivered with a strange joy.

"Miss Naomi," I stammered, hardly knowing the words that came from my mouth, "thank you for what you did months ago. I loved you then, I love you a thousand times more now."

I saw the blood mount to her brow, and for a moment I could not tell whether she was angry or no. She looked anxiously back into the shop, then up and down the street.

"You are in danger here," she said.

"I care not, now I see you," I cried. "I have done nothing wrong, except that I am doing wrong in loving you. I have not won back Pennington yet, but I will do it, God helping, I will, if—if you will give me just one word of promise."

I spoke in a low tone so that no one could hear, and indeed the crowd seemed too much bent on other things to notice me.

"It is no use," she said—"it is no use. Do not try any more, it is hopeless."

"I shall never give up hope," I said.

"Even now my guardian is seeking to do you harm," she cried. "This I know."

"I am not afraid of him," I cried. "You know what I told you—that night—last November. You did not scorn me then. I hoped then that some day you might care for me; it is my hope still."

"It is no use," she cried again, looking anxiously around her—"it is no use. I am to be married to Nick Tresidder; at least they all want me to marry him."

"No!" I cried. "No!"

"I cannot help myself," she said, piteously.

"Do you love him?" I asked.

"No," she said, again looking eagerly around.

"Then!" I cried, "you shall not marry him. I will keep you from that, even if I found you by his side at the church communion-rails."

Then my heart jumped for joy, for I saw a look of gladness flash into her eyes.

"Come with me," I continued; "come away where it is quiet. No one will notice us among all this crowd."

"No, no, I dare not; I am watched everywhere, and you are watched. We may be safe here for a few minutes longer, for when Emily is talking about finery she is forgetful of all else, but I must not leave here."

"Look here," I cried, "Betsey Fraddam told me last night that all sorts of lying stories have been told about me."

"I have believed none of them," she cried.

"Also that Nick Tresidder has told the parson to have your banns called at the parish church."

"But not with my consent," she said, eagerly, and again my heart thumped aloud because of my joy.

"Naomi Penryn," I cried, "I know I seem a worthless, thriftless sort of fellow, for as yet I have done nothing to get back Pennington, but if you could love me just a little"—and I looked toward her appealingly. "Anyhow, trust me," I continued, "and be not afraid. Remember I shall love you till I die, and I will be always near you to be your friend."

I said this in the heat of my love and youth, for nothing seemed impossible to me then. Somehow, I knew not how, a greater strength had seemed to come into my life, and I laughed at difficulty and danger.

"Go!" she cried—"go; Emily Tresidder is coming. Go!"

"Not yet, the woman is showing her something else," and I felt thankful because of this girl's love for finery. "Promise me," I continued, "that you will not yield to those Tresidders. Stand firm, and they will be afraid to force you. Remember, I will be always near, if I can, and that they dare not harm you. Besides—oh, if you knew all you are to me!"

She looked at me eagerly while a film seemed to come over her eyes, and I thought she was about to say something. Then a look of terror flashed across her face. "Go!" she cried—"go! There is my guardian! Oh, take care of yourself!" and then she rushed into the shop, leaving me standing by the door, and only partially hidden from the crowd by some things which had been placed by the door.

I quickly got among the crowd, but I know that both Nick Tresidder and his father saw me, and I knew, too, that if they went into Humphry Bolitho's shop they would find out that Naomi had spoken to me. And yet I felt very joyous. I knew, although Naomi had not told me she loved me, that she thought of me with more than passing kindness, while the flash of her eyes told me that she could not be moulded at will, even by such men as the Tresidders and such a woman as Richard Tresidder's mother. Naturally I felt afraid for her, and for all she would have to suffer, and yet the remembrance of the fact that she would speak to me kindly, and had told me to take care of myself, as though she were anxious for my welfare, filled me with a great hope, and hope giveth wings of strength to those who are weighted with great burdens.

I had not been in the crowd above a minute before I felt myself carried along the street, as if by the force of a mighty torrent. I was hemmed in on every side by a seething mass of men and women, some of whom were praying and singing, while others used many profane words, and uttered threats which would not be seemly for me to write down. I quickly learned that the people were making their way toward the house of a lady who, I was told, was called Mrs. Bennetto, although I am not sure that this was the correct name. I asked why they wanted to get there, and was told that Mr. John Wesley was there, and that many were determined to kill him. Most of the crowd, as I have said before, seemed exceedingly bitter toward him, but others were loud in their praises of the great man, and although they were severely buffeted they kept singing the hymns he had composed, some of which seemed very fine in their sentiment, although I must confess that the meaning of some of the verses I could not understand.

When we arrived at the house where he was there was a great amount of shouting, so great that had a storm been raging at sea close by I do not think we could have heard it.

"Laive us git to un, laive us git to un!" shouted the crowd, eagerly and angrily.

Now I have always loved fair play, and so I asked why they wanted to get to Mr. Wesley, and at that moment there being a lull, and my voice being deep and strong, my question was heard.

"He's a Canorum," they shouted; "he's a Papist, he drives men and women maazed, he keeps 'em from goin' to church, he destroys honest trade!" These among other things I heard as I struggled to get to the door.

There was no law or order in the place. Not a single constable seemed to be near, and for the moment the friends of the preacher seemed to be afraid to act in his defence.

Presently I got to the door of the house, and I think my great proportions frightened some of them.

"Look you," I said, "he is one and you are many. I do not know this man, but I have heard up and down the country that he hath done much good. If any man dares molest him, I will strike him down as I would strike down a yelping cur."

For a moment there was a quiet, and the friends of Mr. Wesley took heart, for although it seems like boasting to say so, I think the sight of one strong, courageous man, as I thank God I have ever been, always has a tendency to quell the anger of an unreasoning mob.

"He's not a friend to the people," they cried. "He's destroyed the trade of Jemmy Crowle, who do kip a kiddleywink over to Zennor. Ted'n no use kippin' a public 'ouse after he've bin to a plaace. He do turn people maazed. He do convert 'em, and then they waan't zing songs, nor git drunk, nor do a bit of smugglin', nor nothin'."

This was said not as I have written it down, but came to me in confused, excited ejaculations from many quarters.

"If that is all he has done," I said, "there is no reason for anger."

For a moment there was a silence among the crowd, and I heard voices from within the house.

Said a woman, "Oh, sir, what must we do?"

"We must pray," was the reply. This was in a man's voice, and was strangely sweet and strong, and even then it thrilled me greatly.

I believe that many, angry as they had been, would have turned away at that moment, but some drunken privateers were among the mob, and one of them came and pushed me savagely. I caught the man up and lifted him above my head and threw him from me. This angered the privateers greatly, and they smashed down the door while others swore great oaths at me.

"What will em do weth the Canorum?" I heard the people cry, and then there was a silence again. I think they were subdued, as I was subdued, by the sound of a man's voice.

"Here I am," I heard Mr. Wesley say, "which of you has anything to say to me? To whom have I done wrong? To you, to you?"

At this the people seemed eager beyond measure to catch sight of him, and they shouted, "Come out, come out. Lev us zee 'ee."

Others again shouted, "Ef we can git to un, we'll kill un. We doan't want no Canorums, we doan't want no new sort ov religion. We like our beer and wrastlin', we do."

"Look," I shouted, "give every man fair play. Let him speak for himself. If he has anything to tell us, let him tell it."

"Iss, iss," shouted the crowd; "lev un spaik."

With that I heard the same voice speaking which I had heard inside the house, only this time it was louder. It was not panic-stricken, it was perfectly calm and fearless. It was strangely sweet, too, and it reached, I should think, to the very outskirts of the crowd. A strange hush fell upon the people as they heard it. It was like a stormy sea which had suddenly become calm.

"Neighbours and countrymen," said the voice, "do you desire me to speak?"

"No, no," shouted some; "put un in stocks, throw un in the say."

Then I spoke again. "Fair play, Cornishmen," I said, "give the stranger fair play, let him speak."

"Iss, iss," cried the larger part of the crowd; "he sh'll 'ave fair play, he sh'll spaik."

With that a gangway was made, and then I turned and saw the man who had created such a great commotion in the country come bareheaded into the middle of the street, while the surging crowd hustled each other, some eager to do him injury, but many more anxious to hear what he had to say.

As for myself, I was silent, for the sight of him impressed me greatly.

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