Tales and Novels, vol 5 | Page 9

there was shut up a lady, the daughter of an English
gentleman by a Spanish wife, both her parents being dead, and her
Spanish relations and father-confessor (or catholic priest of a man), not
wishing she should get to England, where she might be what she had a
right to be by birth, at least by her father's side (a protestant), shut her
up since she was a child. And that there was a relative of hers in
England, who with a wicked lawyer or attorney had got possession of
her estate, and made every body believe she was dead. And so, it being
seven years and more since she was heard of, she is what is called dead
in law, which sort of death however won't signify, if she appears again.
Wherefore the letter goes on to say, she would be particularly glad to

make her escape, and get over to old England. But she confesses that
she is neither young nor handsome, and may-be never may be rich;
therefore, that whoever helps her must do it for the sake of doing good
and nothing else; for though she would pay all expenses handsomely,
she could not promise more. And that she knew the danger of the
undertaking to be great; greater for them that would carry her off even
than for herself. That she knows, however, that British sailors are brave
as they are generous (this part of the letter was very well indited, and
went straight to my heart the minute ever I read it); and she wished it
could be in the power of Captain Walsingham to take her under his
immediate protection, and that she had taken measures so as she could
escape over the wall of the garden if he would have a boat in readiness
to carry her to his ship; and at the same hour next evening the stone
should be let down as usual, and he might fasten his answer to it, which
would be drawn up in due course. Concluding all this with, 'That she
would not go at all unless Captain Walsingham came for her himself
(certifying himself to be himself, I suppose), for she knew him to be a
gentleman by reputation, and she should be safe under his protection,
and so would her secret, she was confident, at all events.' This was the
entire and sum total of the letter. So when I had read to the end, and
looked for the postscript and all, I found for my pains that the lady
mistook me for my captain, or would not have written or thrown the
nosegays. So I took the letter to my captain; and what he answered, and
how it was settled (by signals, I suppose) between them after, it was not
for me to inquire. Not a word more was said by him to me or I to him
on the topic, till the very night we were to sail for England. It was then
that our captain took me aside, and he says, 'Birch, will you assist me? I
ask this not as your captain, so you are at liberty to do as you please.
Will you help me to rescue this lady, who seems to be unjustly detained,
and to carry her back safe to her country and her friends?' I told him I
would do that or any thing else he bid me, confident he would never
ask me to do a wrong thing; and as to the lady, I should be proud to
help to carry her off to old England and her lawful friends, only I
thought (if I might be so bold) it was a pity she was not young and
handsome, for his sake. At that he smiled, and only said, 'Perhaps it
was best for him as it was.' Then he settled about the boat, and who
were to go, and when. It was twelve o'clock striking by the great town

clock when we were under the walls of the convent, as appointed. And
all was hush and silent as the grave for our very lives. For it was a
matter of life or death, I promise you, and we all knew as much, and the
sailors had a dread of the Inquisition upon them that was beyond all
terrible! So we watched and waited, and waited and watched so long,
that we thought something must have gone wrong, or that all was found
out, and the captain could not delay the ship's sailing; and he struck his
repeater, and it was within a quarter of one, and he said, 'It is too late;
we must put back.' Just then, I, that was watching with the lantern in
my hand, gave notice, and first there comes down a