“The semblance spoke; but how faint was the voice,Like the breeze in the reeds of the pool!”
“The semblance spoke; but how faint was the voice,Like the breeze in the reeds of the pool!”
“The semblance spoke; but how faint was the voice,Like the breeze in the reeds of the pool!”
“The semblance spoke; but how faint was the voice,
Like the breeze in the reeds of the pool!”
WhenJulia began to recover sensation, she found herself in a reclining position, while the object on which her eyes first opened, appeared to her bewildered imagination, to be the mast of the boat in which she had so lately sat. And, indeed, the wreck of what had once been a bed, on which she now lay, having neither curtains nor top, the one naked foot-post which remained standing was not very unlike the single mast of a small boat. The apartment was without other furniture. The ceiling, or rather roofing, consisted of the inside of the slating,which descending obliquely from the opposite wall, passed close over Julia’s face, and met the floor just behind her head. In the centre of the floor, which was laden with straw and dust, was an open trap door with the head of a ladder appearing a foot or two above it, while on one corner or shaft of the said head of the ladder, hung a lantern, the only source of light the apartment could boast.
The first sounds that blended themselves with the returning perceptions of our heroine, were those of a soft, and she thought, well known voice, repeating in a tone, the most heart-broken, “Poor child! poor child!” She withdrew her eyes from the contemplation of the bed, and thought she beheld Mrs. Montgomery leaning over her. But when her ideas and her sense of sight both became a little clearer, she perceived that the figure she thus beheld, was not only that of a stranger,but of a being which, now that it ceased to move, scarcely seemed to live, the shadow only of a human form. Yet did the countenance possess a power over Julia like that of a spell, she could not withdraw her gaze from it. The hollow cheek, the large prominent eye, with hopelessness for its sole expression, the colourless lip, the perfectly white hair, the small and still delicate, while emaciated throat, formed a picture, which could not be contemplated without extreme pain.
Julia half raising herself, exclaimed, “Where am I? where am I? oh, where am I?” each time with increasing earnestness. Her companion was silent. “Tell me, tell me, where I am!” No reply. Again she repeated her inquiries, her voice and manner becoming wild with anxiety and dread.
A sudden, loud, and undefinable sound, accompanied by a pistol shot, was heard from below. The hitherto motionless form of thesilent vision shuddered universally. The faint tinge of life which was stealing over the cheek of Julia fled.
“The rending of the heart’s last cordWas in that sound!”“Young, as spring’s first opening rose bud lovelyAnd helpless as autumn’s last; blooming aloneOn a leafless stalk, bent beneath the shower,And trembling in the wintry blast.”
“The rending of the heart’s last cordWas in that sound!”“Young, as spring’s first opening rose bud lovelyAnd helpless as autumn’s last; blooming aloneOn a leafless stalk, bent beneath the shower,And trembling in the wintry blast.”
“The rending of the heart’s last cordWas in that sound!”
“The rending of the heart’s last cord
Was in that sound!”
“Young, as spring’s first opening rose bud lovelyAnd helpless as autumn’s last; blooming aloneOn a leafless stalk, bent beneath the shower,And trembling in the wintry blast.”
“Young, as spring’s first opening rose bud lovely
And helpless as autumn’s last; blooming alone
On a leafless stalk, bent beneath the shower,
And trembling in the wintry blast.”
TheEuphrasia, according to the expectation announced in the papers, arrived in Plymouth Sound. She had on board a number of prisoners, taken out of two prizes she had lately captured, but which had been so much disabled, that it had been impossible to prevent their going to the bottom. Lady Oswald, who had taken up her residence at Stonehouse for the purpose of being near a great sea-port, and having thus opportunities of sometimesseeing her son, on understanding that the vessel was out in the Sound, but was to sail again immediately, went on board in a shore boat.
Fitz-Ullin had communicated with the Admiral, and had received orders (all the prison-ships being full) to proceed to Leith, and dispose of his prisoners there.
Lady Oswald had been long wishing to visit Scotland for the purpose of making enquiries respecting the property which she thought ought to be her son’s. Dread of the expenses of the journey, and the want of any friend to assist her in an undertaking almost hopeless, had hitherto delayed her project. This was, therefore, just the thing for her; she could now go to Edinburgh free of expense, and in the society of her best friend; that nephew, whose liberality was the sole support both of herself and her son. Her son too would thus be with her. Such an opportunity wasnot to be lost! Her wishes were of course acceded to by Fitz-Ullin, and a ship’s boat sent ashore for her maid, and such apparel as might be necessary for the voyage. In a few hours the Euphrasia sailed. That night, a little before twelve, she fell in with a kind of armed smuggler, evidently bound for the coast of France. The smuggler refused to come to, or answer signals, and even attempted to make sail; a temerity which obliged the frigate to fire on a little vessel, that should have suffered herself to have been captured without making any resistance.
A few carronades, of course, overwhelmed the smuggler. Her crew immediately took to their boats, which they had lowered down on the first alarm.
As the thunder of the frigate’s guns had subsided, all sound concluded in the last faint reverberation of a cry of distress, from apparently a single female voice, on board the elseforsaken vessel. The smuggler was already, to all appearance, on fire at one end. Fitz-Ullin perceiving this, and hearing or fancying the cry, obeyed an involuntary impulse, and leaped into one of the boats manning to pursue the fugitives, and ordered it alongside the burning vessel.
“They have not boats enough for all,” he said, “and have left some wretches behind to perish.” The next moment he was on board, followed but by a couple of sailors, who were bold enough not to be deterred by the volumes of portentous smoke. Assisted by these two men, he searched the upper deck, calling out frequently that there was a boat alongside. No one answered, the smuggler seemed wholly deserted, and the sailors urged the necessity of returning to the boat. Fitz-Ullin bid them do so, but not feeling quite satisfied while they were getting over the side he ran below. To his infinite surprise the door of the cabinwas fast. He forced it. All was darkness, though the fire was increasing rapidly at the other end of the ship.
Something that lay on the cabin floor impeded the opening of the door. He stooped, and found it to be the body of one, apparently lifeless, for there was neither breath nor motion. He raised it: from the dress and its lightness, it seemed that of a very young lad. Life, however, might be but suspended, not extinct; he determined therefore to convey the unconscious object of his charitable solicitude, into the boat. The fire was fast approaching, and the smoke, in consequence, becoming suffocating. Fitz-Ullin hurried on deck, carrying the body with him: while cautiously descending to the boat in waiting, he fancied he could feel a scarcely perceptible heaving motion, swell the bosom of his hitherto lifeless burden, as though it were beginning to breathe. Arrived in theboat, he laid the body with great care, partly on the bench beside him, supporting the shoulders and head across his knees; and, intending to chafe the temples, drew off a tight cloth cap, such as cabin boys wear; when, a profusion of long hair, which, but for its fairness, had not been discernible, so dark was the night, fell over his arm. Almost at the same moment, the flames of the burning vessel which had hitherto been darting singly through volleys of thick smoke, burst into an universal blaze! and, in its fierce glare, the mild features and sparkling hair of Julia, lay displayed before the astonished Fitz-Ullin, her head resting on his arm! The news of her having been carried off from Lodore had not reached him, so that his amazement was complete. To say he could not speak, would be but imperfectly to describe him; he could not think! if he had any idea, it was an undefined one, that he either dreamed or was deranged. Julia’s eyesopened. For a few moments, they had no speculation in them: she looked stedfastly in his face. Then her features lit up suddenly, with a wildness of joy, of fear, and of confidence, so strangely blended, that it was almost like insanity. She caught at the hand that supported her with both of hers, clung to it, and, with the most piteous earnestness of entreaty, cried, “What is it? What is it? Oh, what is it all?”
He tried in the gentlest manner, both to calm her excessive agitation, and to make her understand that she had been just taken out of the burning vessel they were now leaving behind them, pointing towards it, as he spoke. She looked at it, first with little visible perception of what it meant; then, covering her eyes a moment, she seemed to think; then, starting, and looking all around, she said, “But where is she? Did she not come out of it too?” Fitz-Ullin explained to her, that the vessel wasevidently deserted by every one else, when he found her locked up in the cabin. “She was in the cabin with me!” said Julia, with alarming wildness of manner; then, clasping her hands, she cried vehemently, “Come back for her! Come back for her! oh, come back!”
Fitz-Ullin, for reply, pointed again to the mass of devouring flames which floated on the water, enlightening its dark surface to a considerable distance. Julia involuntarily stretched her arms over the side of the boat, towards the terrific object, as though she could thus assist, and remained fixed in an agony of helpless horror, unconscious of her own attitude, rendered peculiarly conspicuous by the powerful light which necessarily fell on her uplifted countenance, and the palms, and points of the fingers of her outstretched hands; whilst her figure, in the dark boat-cloak in which Fitz-Ullin had wrapped it, was lost to view.
In a few seconds, the condensed body offire, with an explosion like thunder, parted in ten thousand pieces, each and all, resembling so many flaming torches, flew upwards, and passing each other through the dark atmosphere in circling arches, descended again to the surface of the water, gleamed there half a moment, and became extinct. Pitchy darkness succeeded to the unnatural glare, which had lit up the scene but a moment before, for no vestige of the conflagration remained.
Poor Julia fortunately found, for her horror-stricken and terrified feelings, the only relief of which they were susceptible, in a passion of tears, as profusely shed as those of a child.
She clung to Fitz-Ullin with an alarming convulsiveness of grasp. In his endeavours to sooth and calm her, and the bewilderment of his exaggerated fears, for the possible consequences of the state in which she was, he, from time to time, addressed to her incoherently, all the endearing expressions he had habituallyused towards her in her childhood, calling her, in low breathings that no other ear could hear, his own beloved one, his own darling Julia, his own precious one, thus as it were enforcing each entreaty to her, to check the excessive trembling to which she had given way, and which, as it seemed rather to increase than diminish, alarmed him so much, that the arm with which it was necessary to support her, drew her, as each verbal persuasion to still her tremor failed, closer to the bosom in which she herself seemed to seek a shelter; while she, unknowing what she did, pressed his hand with both of hers to her heart, still beating tumultuously from the horrors of the scarcely past scene, and her sobs, for the few seconds it still took to reach the ship, continued audible and convulsive.
A scene of so much emotion was, fortunately, shrouded by the total darkness that prevailed.
Fitz-Ullin carried her himself up the side of the Euphrasia, and to the cabin of Lady Oswald; where, with the assistance of that lady and her maid, he laid her on a sofa, still wrapped in the already mentioned boat-cloak.
The consciousness of light and witnesses calmed in some degree her agitation, or at least checked those demonstrations of it into which she had hitherto been betrayed. She became passive, and lay, for a time, motionless and silent, with her eyes closed. Fitz-Ullin knelt beside her, and watched her countenance with an expression of the most serious solicitude. Lady Oswald, after the first stare of amazement, offered every kind attention in assiduous silence; only from time to time looking the wonder which would have been expressed on any occasion less surprising: so that our heroine was received, to all appearance, with as much composure as though she had been expected. She shewed tokens oflife, only by gently waving from her every offered restorative. She wished for stillness; she wished to yield to a consolatory feeling which had already, notwithstanding all the horrors she had so lately both witnessed and escaped, stolen over her heart; for who can, under any circumstances, receive proofs of affection from those they love, and not experience consolation? She felt that she was still dear to Fitz-Ullin; and though, apparently, scarcely alive, became capable of a train of reasoning on the subject. Her friendship, then, was not, as she had feared, valueless in his eyes! The brother-like affection he had always had for her was regaining its ascendancy. As a sister, she should once more become the first object of his tenderness, the source of his happiness, and she would be happy—yet she sighed. Lady Oswald seized the opportunity of entreating her to take some restorative. She was obliged to open hereyes, obliged to raise herself, and in so doing, to withdraw the hand Fitz-Ullin had till then retained. He stood up, assisted Lady Oswald, and spoke to her ladyship, which he had not done before. The spell was broken! Julia spoke too; she thanked Lady Oswald languidly. She had no leisure to be surprised in her turn, at seeing her ladyship where she was. She tried to express to our hero her gratitude for her preservation. He begged she would not speak of his merely accidental service; requesting her to remember, that he could not be aware to whom he was rendering his assistance, whether welcome or unwelcome.
“Unwelcome!” she repeated. He had spoken with unnecessary strength of emphasis. Even Lady Oswald looked surprised.
A short silence followed; when Julia, again raising herself, began to express uneasiness about the fears and anxiety of her friends at Lodore; giving at the same time a hurried and incoherentaccount of how she had been carried away from thence. Lady Oswald naturally expressed her wonder, as to who could have been the author of so daring an outrage.
Julia, looking down, said, she herself was at a loss whom to suspect. She would have added, that the only person to whom she could have attributed such an outrage, she had not once seen, or heard of, during the whole transaction; and that, therefore, it was that she was at a loss. But a natural feeling of modesty made her hesitate and blush. Fitz-Ullin viewed her with a searching look, which gave her uneasiness, though she could not comprehend its meaning. There was severity in his eye when he first fixed it upon her; yet, there was pity ere he removed it. During her whole recital, the gloom of his brow had deepened every moment; yet he did not express the deep resentment that might have been expected against the perpetratorsof such a violence. At one time, after a long reverie, he made a very irrelevant remark: observing, that Mr. St. Aubin had been to blame, in not joining before the Euphrasia sailed; for that his being too late, could not have been accidental.
“Nay, frown not thus on me.”
“Nay, frown not thus on me.”
“Nay, frown not thus on me.”
“Nay, frown not thus on me.”
Atbreakfast Fitz-Ullin joined the ladies. The gravity of his countenance and solemnity of his manner were almost austere.
During breakfast he silently placed whatever seemed desirable near Julia, but scarcely spoke, except to answer Lady Oswald’s questions.
After breakfast he said, with some formality, that he was extremely sorry the rules of the service would not admit of his altering his course on private business; as this placed it out of his power to offer to land Lady Julia L., he therefore feared, he added, that her Ladyship would be under the necessity of proceeding to Leith. How unlike the whispers of last night!
He next spoke of the fortunate chance of Lady Oswald’s being in the ship; and finally it was arranged, that Julia should remain in Edinburgh with Lady Oswald, till Lord L. should be apprised of her being there, and come for her. Fitz-Ullin now left them.
“My dear Lady Julia L.,” said Lady Oswald, “I am going to ask a very extraordinary question; but do tell me candidly, have you rejected the addresses of Fitz-Ullin?” Julia looked at her ladyship with unfeigned astonishment. “Because,” continued Lady Oswald, “his manner is so much that of a refused lover, too proud to urge his suit, yet unable to conquer his attachment; and, if such be the case, I would so ardently, so anxiously, plead his cause. I would enumerate his virtues; nay, I would expose my own and my son’s necessities to prove the nobleness of his heart, and to obtain, if possible, happiness for one so willing to impart the precious gift to others.”
“The happiness of him of whom you speak, Lady Oswald,” replied Julia, suppressing a sigh, “is not in my hands.” Then recovering herself, she added, with forced firmness, “From our childhood we have regarded each other as brother and sister, and this habit may still tincture our manners with a something which, to those unacquainted with, or not recollecting the peculiar circumstances may seem—may appear—particular. But, as a lover, Lord Fitz-Ullin has never addressed me.”
“Then most assuredly he will!” said Lady Oswald. Julia blushed and smiled; the very sound of the words was welcome to her, while reason was compelled to reject their meaning. “You have, you say,” continued Lady Oswald, “the affection of a sister for Fitz-Ullin. If you entertain a tenderer sentiment for any other being, I have no right to inquire further; but if you do not, my dear Lady Julia, make me happy by saying so!”
“Pray then be quite happy,” said Julia, affecting to laugh; “and now let us recur no more to this foolish subject.”
Lady Oswald fell into a reverie. She was inclined to think, notwithstanding the altered manners of the one, and the contradictory assertions of the other, that a mutual attachment did subsist between them; though at present interrupted by some misunderstanding; and having arrived at this conclusion, she resolved, if possible, to become instrumental to their happiness by bringing about an explanation. A message at this moment very opportunely came from Fitz-Ullin, to say that the day was tolerably fine, and to beg to know if the ladies would take a walk on deck. They consented; and our hero came for them, bringing with him a young lieutenant, by name Lord Surrel, and son to the Duke of ⸺. Fitz-Ullin offered his arm to Lady Oswald, leaving the care of our heroine to Surrel.
Julia was absent and silent, and not even conscious of the animated and delighted admiration with which she as instantly as unintentionally inspired her companion. At length the conversation took a turn, which drew something more of her attention.
“How much Fitz-Ullin feels the loss of his friend, Captain Ormond,” observed Surrel, struck by the seriousness of our hero’s countenance as they passed and repassed him and Lady Oswald.
“The circumstances were, I understand, very melancholy and very remarkable,” faltered out Julia, in reply.
“Very much so, indeed!” rejoined Surrel. “You have heard all the particulars, I suppose?”
“From no better authority than the newspapers,” she answered. “It was not possible to enter on so painful a subject with Lord Fitz-Ullin. Even Lady Oswald tells me she hasnot yet ventured to speak to him of his unfortunate friend.”
“It was certainly the loss of his sister which first unsettled the mind of Captain Ormond,” said Surrel. “Circumstanced as they were, there was something very dreadful in her death; it was so evidently occasioned by that unfortunate attachment, which had, I fancy, become uncontrollable, before they were made aware of their near relationship.”
“Miss Ormond’s illness,” observed Julia, “Lady Oswald tells me, was decline, brought on by a broken heart. Did you know Captain Ormond?”
“Oh, very well indeed!” replied Surrel; “I was his first lieutenant during all the extraordinary circumstances which preceded his death. You are aware that he died quite mad, poor fellow?”
“So the papers said,” she replied.
“When he first heard of the death of hissister,” continued Surrel, we were laying off the coast of * * * *; I was standing with him on the quarter-deck the morning he received the letter, which, we suppose, brought the intelligence. He did not open it, however, at the time, but ordered his boat and went ashore, where, after commanding the crew to wait for him on the beach, he wandered up the country among the woods, and was not heard of for several days. At length, when we were beginning to fear that some fatal accident must have befallen him, he came one morning on board in a shore-boat, and without noticing his prolonged absence, gave some common orders. For a time there was no visible change, except a more settled gloom of manner. Gradually, however, his looks assumed an alarming wildness, his orders became inconsistent and arbitrary, and from having been the mildest and a most indulgent of commanders, he became quite tyrant. On one occasion when I ventured to remonstratein favour of a poor fellow whom, without the slightest reason, he had ordered to be flogged, he commanded the marines to fire on me, saying, that he would give me, while he walked the deck three times, to prepare myself. Fortunately, before he had twice walked the deck, he totally forgot the whole business, sat down on one of the cannonade slides, wrung his hands, and wept like a child! We all stole away unperceived. While we were at dinner, however, one of the youngsters ran down and told us that the captain was walking the deck, carrying a hanger in his hand, and looking very furious. While we were hesitating about what was best to be done, we heard a tremendous noise in the captain’s cabin, and hastening thither, found poor Ormond with scarcely any covering, and in the very act of flinging himself from the open window, from which he had just thrown both the clothes he had had on, and all else which was moveable.We were now obliged to use force. The resistance he made, poor fellow, was terrible. He was carried on shore, where, in a few days, he died raging mad!
“Only think,” he added, “of the Admiral at * * * *, having me tried by a court martial for what he termed my insubordination; but he was a man incapable, in fact, from long habit, of comprehending the simplest elements of natural justice, and who could form no idea of any rule of right, distinct from the rules of the service. So, I was to allow a man who was mad, to flog an innocent man to death, shoot me, and fling himself out of the cabin window, merely because he was my superior officer!”
Lady Oswald, meanwhile, intent on the execution of her kindly project, made some comments to her companion on his sadness, with pauses between, hoping that he would volunteer in making her his confidant (for they walked quite apart from Julia and Surrel).But Fitz-Ullin only feared she must find it cold, or made some irrelevant remark; in short, did not take her ladyship’s hints. She determined, therefore, to put the question in a direct form; and as a preparatory remark, said, “I can see, Fitz-Ullin, that you are seriously attached to Lady Julia L.”
Fitz-Ullin reddened to the very brows; but did not seem to have any answer composed; for he remained silent, and her Ladyship continued: “You have some delicacy, some prejudice, some secret reason, which prevents your urging your own wishes. Let me know all, place the business in my hands; and, I think, I shall be able to make you both (with a smile, and a peculiar emphasis on the word ‘both’) happier than you are at present.”
“Lady Oswald,” replied Fitz-Ullin solemnly, and at the same time colouring still more deeply, “whatever my feelings are, or rather, have been, I neither intend to seek, nor wishto obtain, Lady Julia L.’s acceptance of my hand.”
“Nor wish to obtain!” repeated Lady Oswald.
“As a mark, therefore,” continued Fitz-Ullin, “of your kind regard for me, I must request that you will never again recur to this subject.”
“But why, my dear Fitz-Ullin, why not accept at least the assistance of my judgment ere you condemn yourself to any uneasiness of mind; for, happy you certainly are not.”
“Impossible!” said Fitz-Ullin, “I cannot! I must not! I have no right!”
“I certainly have no right to be officious,” said Lady Oswald; “but I do confess, I wish to see you happy, and I do think you would not be refused.” He smiled bitterly. “But if you really do not wish to be accepted—why—I have done,” continued her Ladyship.
He quickened his pace: then slackened it; then, discovering that it was quite too cold for the ladies, abruptly put an end to the walk.
Lady Oswald, after this conversation, thought it a necessary point of delicacy, when in company with Julia, to recur no more to the subject of her nephew.
This morning the Euphrasia fell in with a small trader, which, though bound for a port they had left behind, and having no accommodation suited for ladies, could carry a letter that, by being put into the post that evening, would probably reach Lord L. some time before the arrival of the Euphrasia at Leith, and perhaps enable him to meet his daughter there. At any rate, it would shorten his own period of anxiety. Such a letter was accordingly written and dispatched. Its contents were calculated to astonish his Lordship not a little. It spoke of Julia’s deliverance by Fitz-Ullin in terms of the warmest gratitude;and naturally expressed her unfeigned wonder, as to who could have committed the outrage of attempting to tear her from her home; adding, that the only person whom circumstances could justify her in suspecting, she had not even seen.
“Oh! north wind cease,And let me listen for his coming tread.”
“Oh! north wind cease,And let me listen for his coming tread.”
“Oh! north wind cease,And let me listen for his coming tread.”
“Oh! north wind cease,
And let me listen for his coming tread.”
YoungSurrel became hourly more assiduous, and either wanted modesty to perceive that his attentions were unwelcome, or delicacy to withdraw them on that account.
The annoyance to Julia was really growing serious; when, one morning after breakfast, Fitz-Ullin placed himself near our heroine, a thing not now usual with him. While in this situation, he took an opportunity of saying to her, in an under tone, “Will you grant me a few moments’ conversation with you alone?” His late cold and constrained behaviour had made such a request so unexpected, that,instead of colouring, she became quite pale, looked up a moment, and again hastily withdrew her eyes without reply.
“Do not mistake me,” he added, with rather a haughty air, “but, I shall just take Lady Oswald on deck, and having left her walking with Arthur, return and explain myself immediately.”
The proposition to walk was then made aloud. Lady Oswald had no objection, and asked Julia, as a matter of course, to accompany them. Our heroine declined; this was certainly consenting to the interview, Julia felt that it was, and coloured while she made her excuse.
Lady Oswald and Fitz-Ullin left the cabin. Julia neither moved nor breathed, till their receding steps were lost in the confused tramping, which was always going on over head.
She then drew a very long breath, and began to prepare herself. “He will return immediately!”she thought. She tried to compose her spirits, but in vain: her heart fluttered like a bird trying to escape from its cage. The tramping over head increased; she turned pale. It lessened; the colour stole gradually over her cheeks again. She listened, and breathing was again suspended, and every power of life concentrated in the sense of hearing. This became so acute, that, amid all the mingled sounds of a busy deck, she could yet plainly distinguish the well known tread of Fitz-Ullin on the main deck, approaching the cabin door. A cold sensation passed over her cheeks and brow. She clasped her hands together a moment, then let one fall at her side, and rested the other on the table. But there, its trembling movement was so visible, that with hasty confusion she withdrew it; and, fixing her eyes on the ground, held down, with a fatiguing effort, the universal tremor of her frame. He entered. He stood before her. He seated himself besideher. But, he made no attempt to take her hand.
One universal glow had covered her face and neck at his first approach, while she could have cried with vexation at the exposure. “You do not misunderstand me, I hope,” he said, perceiving her pitiable agitation. “You must, I think,” he continued, “be able to comprehend for what purpose I have requested this interview. You must have expected that I could not see Lord Surrel’s importunate attentions, and remain passive.”
She made no reply; but coloured, if possible, deeper than before, and looked more studiously downward; yet, Fitz-Ullin perceived the dawning of a pleasurable feeling shining through the confusion that covered as with a veil every other expression of her countenance. How can he be so foolish, thought Julia, as to be jealous of an absolute stranger, like Lord Surrel.
“I am rejoiced to perceive,” he recommenced, “that instead of being offended at my presumption, you are good enough to seem disposed to give me a favourable hearing. It was quite impossible for me not to be fully aware—not to know, in fact, what are, what must be your feelings, yet,”—he paused. So audacious, so well assured a suitor, one who was thus certain, that her preference for himself must render the attentions of any one else importunate, did not seem to need encouragement; and Julia, though the tears of shame started to her eyes, was too gentle, too fondly attached to chide; she therefore remained silent; and, (must it be confessed?) uncontrollable delight predominated very unduly over the indignation she thought she ought to feel!
“At least, I should suppose I am right?” he continued, in a questioning tone. “If so—if,” Julia at length seemed to consider some little manifestation of spirit necessary. “Most people,”she faltered out, “would be offended at having their sentiments thus taken for granted; but you think, I suppose, that our long intimacy authorizes you to act as you please.”
“As I please!” repeated Fitz-Ullin, “most assuredly not as I please, but as you please. It may be, and certainly is in my power, and indeed I feel myself called upon, while you are in this ship, not to permit Lord Surrel, or any officer of mine, to make his attentions troublesome to you, in a situation where you can neither avoid his society, nor enjoy the protection of your natural friends; but, to control the inclinations of Lady Julia L⸺,” he added, (and with some bitterness) “is an undertaking to which I have not the boldness to aspire!”
Fortunately for Julia the stunning effects of the new and heart-chilling conviction supplied by this last speech, was so overpowering, that it gave her somewhat the appearance of outward calm. So, it was Lord Surrel’s attentions,Lord Surrel’s love, simply as troublesome to her, not as interfering with his own, of which he was speaking! Here, indeed, was a revulsion of every feeling, too tremendous for Julia’s strength! Her heart utterly ceased beating, her cheeks became as white and cold as marble.
“Am I to understand then,” said Fitz-Ullin, surprised at her silence and change of countenance, “that the attentions of Lord Surrel are agreeable to you?”
Starting into momentary life, she exclaimed, hastily and eagerly, “Oh, no!”
“Then I know how to act,” said Fitz-Ullin, as rising, and bowing with a dignified and rather scornful air, he seemed about to leave the cabin; when, pausing and returning a step or two, he stopped before her, and added, in a suppressed tone, and with visible effort, “I was for a moment apprehensive that my present interference was, perhaps, as unwelcome as my unconscious intermeddling on anotheroccasion. But, in that particular at least, I trust you do me justice. I acted according to the routine of duty. It was impossible for me to know—to suppose—that some such step indeed was contemplated, I was partly aware; but of the when, and the how, you must be conscious I could have no suspicion. You acquit me then, I trust, of availing myself of a reposed confidence to play the ruffian, and using the power entrusted to me for the public good, for private and unjustifiable purposes?”
Julia was unable to attach any meaning to his words: indeed she was too miserable to care what they meant. She therefore remained with her eyes fixed on the floor without attempting to reply. “You are silent,” he recommenced; “I am conscious that I have now entered on an interdicted subject; but, though I may have transgressed the letter, I trust I have not the spirit of the interdict.”She opened her lips, but, without the power to articulate, closed them again.
“The subject, I see, is painful to you,” he persisted, “but only say that, in this particular, you do me justice!”
Julia, still unable to comprehend his meaning, and still, as we have said, almost indifferent to it, yet willing to comply with any thing in the shape of a request from Fitz-Ullin, summoned all her powers to her aid, and whispered, “Yes,” but without venturing to look up. Fitz-Ullin stood gazing upon her for some moments, then sighed audibly, and quitted her without again speaking.
Julia, by the time she thought him quite gone, stole one alarmed look all round, as if to ascertain that she was really alone, then darted into the inner cabin, locked the door on herself, and remained there the rest of the day, pleading, on being summoned to dinner, a headach. When she did appear the nextmorning her headach did not seem much abated. Lady Oswald, who met her with a meaning, and almost a triumphant smile, looked surprised and disappointed, and, after examining our heroine’s countenance for a short time, determined not to introduce a subject, of which her heart had been full all night. Surrel’s attentions were no longer troublesome.
“Winds drive along the clouds: on wings of fire,The lightnings fly!”
“Winds drive along the clouds: on wings of fire,The lightnings fly!”
“Winds drive along the clouds: on wings of fire,The lightnings fly!”
“Winds drive along the clouds: on wings of fire,
The lightnings fly!”
Itwas late one hazy afternoon, when the Euphrasia made the land near the entrance of the Frith of Forth. As it did not appear possible to get to Leith that evening, Fitz-Ullin proposed to the pilots to lay-to till morning. They declared, however, that they could take the ship in by night as well as by day, the lights being sufficient to guide them. Accordingly, they stood in for port; about an hour after, when they supposed themselves still some miles from land, it was announced from the forecastle that there was a ship at anchor ahead. Almost immediately afterwards,however, it was discovered that the object they were approaching was a huge rock. In the greatest confusion the ship was now tacked about, but hardly were her sails turned, when it was found that she was getting into shoal water, and at the same moment land appeared just under her lee. Fitz-Ullin now fearing that the pilots were quite unfit for their duty, gave immediate orders to let go the anchor. During the short time thus occupied, there was scarcely a breath drawn, all, each moment expecting that the ship would strike. The anchor dropt, the sails were furled, and the clouds, breaking a little, there was just starlight sufficient to enable Fitz-Ullin to ascertain that they lay between the Bass rock and Tantallon castle, in a little steep-sided bay, the mouth of which, except at one small outlet, was closed by a very dangerous looking reef. He sent a boat with the master and another officer to sound, on which it was discovered,that the ship was actually anchored on a ledge of rocks; yet was it judged advisable, as there was very little wind, not to attempt quitting this perilous situation before morning; for, the clouds having closed again thicker than ever, the darkness had become quite impenetrable.
Our hero remained on deck, giving every precautionary and preparatory order, till the night was far advanced; when, much fatigued, and finding that nothing more could be done till daylight, he went below, and lay down on a sofa for a short time, leaving directions with the officer of the watch to call him half an hour before dawn. All was soon perfectly still: every one seemed to have forgotten, in “nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,” both the dangers they had so lately passed, and those which still threatened them.
After some little time spent in uneasy reflections, a sort of stupor, occasioned by excessivefatigue both of mind and body, stole over the senses of Fitz-Ullin. His slumbers were at first much broken; but, at length, after telling himself for the hundredth time that nothing could be done till daylight, they assumed somewhat more the character of repose. He had not enjoyed such quite an hour when a low murmuring sound arose, at first apparently at an immense distance, as though the lulled winds were awaking and whispering together at the furthest extremity of space: a gloomy imagination could fancy them secretly conspiring, at this dead hour of the night, the destruction of those who thus unconsciously slept. The sound grew louder.
It approached—it became a howl—it drew nearer and nearer still. At length the ominous blast, sweeping through the rigging of the vessel, shrieked wildly, and passed away. Fitz-Ullin sat upright for a moment: but the demon of the storm had sounded his signal cry,and was hushed! A pause of breathless silence followed. Our hero listened for some seconds, and finding all still, concluded that some startling dream must have awakened him, and yielded again to repose. The distant murmur recommenced, increased, and grew by gusts impetuous; the howling blast drew near again, but instead of retiring as before, was pursued by another, and yet another, as it were urging each other forward, till their united and accumulated roar became, in an incredibly short time, tremendous.
Fitz-Ullin dreamed of a tempest; but for a few troubled moments, did not again awake; when, suddenly opening his eyes, he leaped up, and, bewildered by the universal uproar which now reigned, without waiting to collect his scattered thoughts, hastened on deck.
It was by this time blowing a gale, the ship beginning to labour excessively, and the darkness so impenetrable, that while his sense ofhearing was thus assailed on every side, his sight was strained in vain to discover any object around him, and he was made sensible of being on the upper deck only by the buffeting of the winds, and still rougher salutation of a heavy sea, which, as it passed over the ship, threatened to carry him with it; yet nothing could be done or attempted till day dawned. He remained on deck however. It was the longest hour he had ever passed. From time to time he cast impatient glances towards the east, which looked, he thought, if possible, blacker than the rest of the horizon! At length the sky in that quarter assumed a greyish cast, and gradually it became evident that objects might have been in some degree discernible, but for the thickness of the haze which covered every thing, causing a cruel prolongation of suspense. In a little time, however, one yellow streak appeared near the horizon; then the clouds broke in thatdirection, and seemed tumbling and boiling round the spot; then, plunging among them, the rising sun was seen at last, for one moment only; it resembled a ball of fire; it seemed to roll past the opening; it disappeared again, and the dense masses of cloud closed immediately. There was now a visible increase of light. A rush of the tempest swept a part of the mist away, while the rocks, looking black and gigantic through what remained, appeared quite close to the ship, as she rode at single anchor.
The waves, notwithstanding the confined area of the little bay, rose with a tremendous swell; though so far unlike the alternate mountain and valley of the open ocean, that the whole body of water which the basin contained, seemed to swing at once to and fro with a simultaneous movement, which every time threatened to dash the frigate against the perpendicular sides of the cliff. At another moment, would thehurricane seize, as it were, the helpless vessel in its stupendous grasp, and appear about to lift her from the water. She seemed, in short, the sole object of contention to the warring element; while they, in their fury, appeared resolved to tear her in a thousand pieces and part her among them, rather than give up the struggle. Fitz-Ullin saw that any effort to get out of this dangerous bay or creek, must, at present, prove impossible, as the wind blew directly in; and it was quite evident that the reef must bring them up, before sufficient canvas could be set, to give the ship headway. He summoned however the officers and crew around him, to afford them the usual privilege of giving their opinion in a case of so much emergency. Some were for cutting away the masts and making the boats ready; but this would be forsaking the post of duty too soon. Some recommended attempting to get under way; but this, as had been shown, with the wind rightahead, would have been madness. Fitz-Ullin therefore rejected each of those suggestions, and finally decided on clinging, as long as the cable held, to the only rational hope which remained, that of the wind chancing to abate, or shift a little in their favour before any fatal catastrophe should take place.