He carefully sought and ransacked every parcel he could find in search
of pencil, ink, or any thing by which he could direct a letter; but in
vain. He discovered, however, some parchments, whereon the words "Oliver
Lord Protector" were frequently inscribed: he cut off a slip containing
this sentence, and having encased the papers he had seized, in many
folds, pinned it upon the parcel, so that it might serve as a direction.
He then corded it so firmly that it would require both industry and
patience to dissever the several knots and twistings. Having performed
so much of his task, he set himself to consider what possible means he
could devise to secure its safe delivery. He had previously shouted and
called with all his strength; but when he remembered the length of the
passage he had traversed with his subtle guide, and the little
appearance there was of any apartment near the one in which he was
confined, he desisted, wisely determining not to waste, in such useless
efforts, the breath that, perhaps, he would be suffered to retain only
for a few short hours. Greatly he lamented his want of caution in
accompanying Burrell; and bitterly wept at the fate that awaited his
favourite, Constantia. At length, after much deliberation, he determined
on building a more secure standing-place, mounting once again to the
window, fastening the longest string he could find to the parcel, and
merely confining it to the inside of the cave in so slight a manner,
that it might be detached by the least pull. He would have thrown it
down at once, trusting that some one on the beach would find it; but he
was aware that the tide at high water washed up the cliffs, so that
there was but small chance of its not being borne away upon the waters.
He also remembered that there were sundry little pathways winding up the
chalky rocks, where he had seen people walk; and that, by God's good
blessing, the packet might be found by some one wandering there. Having
accomplished this object, he took his seat on a pile of moth-eaten
clothes, and drawing forth his little pocket Bible, set himself to read
the Holy Scripture, with as much diligence as if he had never before
opened the blessed and consoling volume.
Two classes of persons peruse the Sacred Book; one from pure love of,
and entire dependence on, the words and precepts contained therein; the
other from habit--"their mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers
did so before them--always on a Sunday--and sometimes (when they had
time) during the week--and God forbid that they should ever be worse
than their ancestors!" The Reverend Jonas Fleetword belonged partly to
the one class, partly to the other: his progenitors, for upwards of a
century, had been foremost in forwarding the religion of the Gospel;
they had fought for it both with carnal and spiritual weapons, and he
had followed in their footsteps without swerving either to the right
hand or the left; but, to do him justice, he was stimulated to activity
in his vocation by a better motive than that which arises either from
custom or an estimate of hereditary right--he was at heart, as well as
in word, a Christian, and the promises contained in, together with the
prospects held out by, the book he perused so eagerly, had been, from
the moment when reason dawned, the ruling principle by which his life
was governed. We pause not to inquire whether he had duly weighed or
correctly interpreted all its precepts--whether the hastiness of his
nature was not at times opposed to the meek and unupbraiding example of
his Divine Master--whether he did not now and then mistake bitterness
for sincerity, and persecution for zeal; such errors were but too common
to the age in which he lived, and with the church of which he was a
member. Never did Gospel hope and Gospel consolation visit him with
greater welcome than at the moment of which we write. He entertained
little doubt but that his enemy meditated towards him some evil that
placed his life in danger: such, however, was not the case; Burrell had
agreed to defer the marriage until six of the clock that evening; and,
after the ceremony had been concluded, he entertained no doubt that the
preacher would retain the secret now in his possession for Constantia's
sake.