e lee of the Castle in old
time, had been rigorously demolished to their last crazy timber when the
Prisoner was brought there. At a respectful distance only, far in, and
yet but a damp little islet in the midst of the fens, was permitted to
linger on, in despised obscurity, a poor swamp of some twenty houses
that might, half in derision and half in civility, be called a Village.
It had a church without a steeple, but with a poor Stump like the
blunted wreck of some tall ship's mainmast. The priest's wages were less
than those of a London coal-porter. The poor man could get no tithes,
for there were no tithes to give him. Three parts of his glebe were
always under water, and he was forced to keep a little school for his
maintenance, of which the scholars could pay him but scant fees, seeing
that it was always a chance whether their parents were dead of the Ague,
or Drowned. Yet there was a tavern in the village, where these poor,
shrinking, feverish creatures met and drank and smoked, and sang their
songs, contriving now and again to smuggle a few kegs of spirits from
Holland, and baffle the riding-officers in a scamper through the fens.
They were a simple folk, fond of telling Ghost-Stories, and with a firm
belief in charms to cure them from the Ague. And, with an awe whose
intensity was renewed each time the tale was told, they whispered among
themselves as to that Prisoner of Fate up at the Castle yonder. What
this man's Crime had been, none could tell. His misdeed was not, it was
whispered, stated in the King's Warrant. The Governor was simply told
to receive a certain Prisoner, who would be delivered to him by a
certain Officer, and that, at the peril of his life, he was to answer
for his safe custody. The Governor, whose name was Ferdinando Glover,
had been a Captain of Horse in the late Protector Oliver's time; but, to
the surprise of all men, he was not dismissed at his Majesty's
Restoration, but was continued in his command, and indeed, received
preferment, having the grade of a Colonel on the Irish establishment.
But they did not fail to tell him, and with fresh instances of severity,
that he would answer with his head for the safe keeping of his Prisoner.

Of this strange Person it behoves me now to speak. In the year 1660, he
appeared to be about seven-and-thirty years of age, tall, shapely,
well-knit in his limbs, which captivity had rather tended to make full
of flesh than to waste away; for there were no y