“Must she then die!”“Pitying heav’n, deprive me of mem’ry!”
“Must she then die!”“Pitying heav’n, deprive me of mem’ry!”
“Must she then die!”
“Must she then die!”
“Pitying heav’n, deprive me of mem’ry!”
“Pitying heav’n, deprive me of mem’ry!”
Thefears of both ladies had, on the evening before, been allayed as much as possible. The peculiarly hazardous situation of the vessel was of course not explained to them.
Now, therefore, though they heard the raving of the tempest, and could not avoid being alarmed, they were by no means aware of the full extent of the danger; and even fancied, (as in such cases women and children always do,) that so near land they must be comparatively safe.
Lady Oswald was in the inner cabin; Julia in the outer one; when, to her utter astonishment,Fitz-Ullin entered, and with a countenance of the deepest seriousness, without hesitation or apology, approached and clasped her to his breast. He looked at her mournfully; he kissed her forehead. “Julia,” he said, “when I have done what I can for the ship, I will return to you.” He again pressed his lips on her fair brow; but now it was with a wild fervour, differing widely from the tender solemnity which had at first characterized his manner.
Lady Oswald entered. He had just time to release the passive Julia, the excess of whose surprise had so entirely suspended every faculty, that she had not even blushed. She did so now, to an excess that was overwhelming.
He grasped his aunt’s hand hastily as he hurried past her and disappeared. At the same moment, Arthur running in and throwing himself into his mother’s arms, told her, that they must all be lost.
“The winds came rustling from their hills.”
“The winds came rustling from their hills.”
“The winds came rustling from their hills.”
“The winds came rustling from their hills.”
Inthe gunroom, meantime, some of the officers were eating their breakfast with as much composure as if there was nothing the matter. Others there were, it must be confessed, who sipped their coffee slowly and gloomily enough; while others again, with a strange mixture of caution and carelessness, were packing up their valuables, and calling aloud the while to the steward, to keep their breakfast hot. A cold one would scarcely have been remembered on such an occasion, by a landsman.
One of the most affecting features of the hour was presented by the helpless prisoners at the hatchways, who, in profound silence, manifestedtheir anxious feeling, by crowding to the bars which fastened them down, to gain, if possible, some intelligence of what was going on; while, at every roll of the ship, they expected to go to the bottom. On the coast, on the Tantallon side, the friendly Scots had collected to the number of thousands; bringing down boats, rafts, ropes, &c. to the part of the beach on which it was generally expected the ship must be wrecked.
On the quarter-deck Fitz-Ullin walked alone, occasionally going forward to look at the cable, which, being strained to the utmost, was every moment in danger of parting; an accident which, should it occur, must be followed by instant destruction.
From the cable he raised his eyes from time to time to the vane, and withdrew them again in bitter disappointment, for the wind was still right ahead.
All things remained in this state of fearfulsuspense, till nearly twelve at noon; when our hero, whose eyes were, at the moment, anxiously raised to the vane, saw it veer round one point in his favour. Even this slight advantage was not to be neglected for a moment: it warranted an attempt to quit a situation of so much peril.
A spring was instantly placed on the cable, which brought the ship’s broadside more to the wind; the three topsails, double reefed, were set, and the carpenter, having been previously placed ready with an uplifted axe, a single blow (such was now the tension) parted the cable, and the courses being at the same moment added, the vessel, which had been straining for way, flew through the water almost on her beam ends. While she thus rushed towards the dangerous barrier, perfect silence was observed by every one. It was generally apprehended that she must split her canvas, or carry away her masts; yet it was necessary toput her under this heavy press of sail, to overbalance, if possible, the great lee-way she had, and so get her clear of the rocks. She now approached them with incredible velocity, passed them at but a few yards distance, and, shipping two or three heavy seas, weathered the reef in safety. A general shout of joy burst at the moment from the hitherto breathless crowd on the deck, and was as instantly answered by an echoing shout from the prisoners throughout the hold.
Some minutes, at least, must elapse, ere Fitz-Ullin could be justified in leaving the deck; he dispatched Arthur therefore to his aunt and Julia, with the joyful tidings, and, as soon as possible, followed him.
On entering the cabin, where both ladies now were, our hero’s countenance was covered with the glow of successful exertion. It was animated, it was even joyful! He pressed Lady Oswald’s eagerly offered hands in silence,and passed to Julia. He raised one of hers and paused, as if to take breath, which he had not yet given himself time to do.
He looked in silence at her changing colour and downcast eyes, and during the moments so employed, his own expression became entirely altered. Speaking with effort, and, for the occasion, with unnatural coldness, he said, “Arthur has of course informed you that the danger is over: it is only left for me, therefore, to apologize for the rashness of which I was guilty, in giving you unnecessary alarm. And,” he added, in a lowered and somewhat faltering tone, at the same time glancing at Lady Oswald, and seeing that she was engaged by her son, “and for the expression of—in short, feelings which—which had been better unexpressed! The certainty, almost, of approaching death to both, and the brotherly affection I have from childhood been permitted to cherish, are all I can plead in my excuse.” Withoutwaiting for reply, he turned to Lady Oswald, and again hastily taking her hand, murmured something about his duties on deck, and left the cabin. Arthur followed him; and Lady Oswald’s spirits being quite exhausted, she retired to the inner cabin to lie down.
Julia was left alone. The terror and the joy also seemed over. It was all like a dream: she felt bewildered; she was unhappy too! more unhappy than she had been when each moment she expected the ship would go to pieces! She could not conceal this feeling from herself, nor that it had its source in the unaccountable alternations of Fitz-Ullin’s manner. Yet she was indignant at her own weakness! She sat for a long time motionless: a blush at length appeared on her cheek, for now fancy was pourtraying, and memory acknowledging, the scene which had taken place during the moment of extreme danger! How had she permitted, passively permitted, conduct so unwarrantable—so incredible!
… “Blue Innistone rose to sight,And Caracthura’s mossy tow’rs appear’d.”“Tura’s bay receiv’d our ships.”
… “Blue Innistone rose to sight,And Caracthura’s mossy tow’rs appear’d.”“Tura’s bay receiv’d our ships.”
… “Blue Innistone rose to sight,And Caracthura’s mossy tow’rs appear’d.”
… “Blue Innistone rose to sight,
And Caracthura’s mossy tow’rs appear’d.”
“Tura’s bay receiv’d our ships.”
“Tura’s bay receiv’d our ships.”
Herethe meditations of our heroine were broken off by the sudden entrance of her father accompanied by Fitz-Ullin. The Euphrasia was by this time safely anchored in Leith roads.
Lord L⸺ embraced his child; both were some moments silent; Julia’s weariness of heart found an inexpressible solace in a passion of tears, shed on the bosom of a kind parent. She tried to persuade herself that they were all tears of joy.
Lord L⸺ had received Julia’s letter. Itscontents were not easily reconciled with those of the three notes left on her table at Lodore; but Lord L⸺ determined to reserve the expression of any feeling of doubt he might yet entertain, for the subject of a strictly private interview; and, never to allow the world, but particularly Fitz-Ullin, to suppose that he could, for a moment, suspect his daughter of having quitted her home willingly. “I have indeed spent,” said Lord L⸺, in answer to a remark of Julia’s on his looking fatigued, “an anxious night and a truly terrible morning. I arrived in Leith just in time to witness the distress of the Euphrasia, on board of which, by your letter, I knew you to be. I was among those, Julia, who crowded the beach during the many hours of awful suspense, while the vessel was, each moment, expected to drive on the rocks! but now,” he added, “that things have ended so happily, a little rest will remedy all that. Andyour preserver, my child, how shall I sufficiently thank him!” Fitz-Ullin, who, from delicacy, had left the cabin for a short time, had just returned, and now stood a little apart. Lord L⸺, as he spoke, looked from him to Julia, and from Julia to him, as though he would have added, “shall I reward him with the gift of the precious treasure he has preserved?”
Fitz-Ullin seemed to comprehend the look, for his eyes sought the ground, and he coloured slightly. Julia too blushed. Fitz-Ullin however continued silent. Lord L⸺ paused a scarcely perceptible moment, then, assuming an air of dignity, which almost amounted to haughtiness, asked Julia if she felt sufficiently recovered to go on shore immediately? “We shall take an early opportunity,” he added, turning to our hero, “of expressing, at more length, our grateful acknowledgments to Lord Fitz-Ullin.” Both gentlemen endeavoured toconceal their feelings by bowing very profoundly, and Julia, promising to get ready for her departure in a few moments, joined Lady Oswald in the inner cabin. Lord L⸺ could not have been so unreasonable as to have expected that, if Fitz-Ullin did intend to propose for his daughter, he was to do so in such a moment of hurry as the present; but, there had been an undefinable something in the look and manner of our hero, which conveyed to the haughty Earl a sense, that the honour of his alliance had been tacitly declined; and, still worse, he felt an inward conviction that his secret wishes, in a moment of emotion, of which he was now ashamed, had been in some degree understood.
While the ladies’ preparations were being made, Henry came on board. After setting out for Plymouth, he had seen, by a paper he had taken up at an inn, that the Euphrasia had sailed for Leith, and he had in consequenceturned back to join her there. What must have been his astonishment, just as he set foot on the deck, to behold rise to view, coming up from the cabin, his cousin Julia, handed up by Fitz-Ullin! He received a glance from Lord L⸺ which was not at all calculated to set him at his ease. His lordship, however, gave at this time, no other expression to his feelings. Henry soon became reassured; paid his compliments to Lady Oswald; and finally asked and obtained permission of our hero, to attend the ladies in landing.
Lord L⸺, taking Fitz-Ullin by the arm, walked apart with him a few paces, then said: “After this day, your lordship will oblige me, by not permitting Mr. St. Aubin to land again while we are in Edinburgh; to him I must ascribe this daring attempt to tear my daughter from her home, and compel her to form a union as repugnant to her own feelings, as ineligible in my eyes.” Here a pause took place; but,Fitz-Ullin, though he listened with polite attention, did not reply. “As, however, my daughter does not return his attachment, I can have no scruple on the score of parental feeling, in preventing all intercourse in future.” When Lord L⸺ concluded, our hero bowed his assent. Fitz-Ullin attended the party in his own barge to the shore, but excused himself from landing, pleading the necessity of returning immediately to his ship.
On arriving on board, he gave orders to have the pilots detained, having determined to give them into the hands of the Port Admiral, to suffer whatever punishment might be adjudged them, for having undertaken a service for which they were quite unfit. The order however was too late, the pilots had already disappeared. They had managed to get away unnoticed; it was supposed in the shore-boat that brought Lord L⸺ on board.
… “Ye,Children of the night, ye are seen, and lost!”
… “Ye,Children of the night, ye are seen, and lost!”
… “Ye,Children of the night, ye are seen, and lost!”
… “Ye,
Children of the night, ye are seen, and lost!”
Aboutthe time that, on board the Euphrasia, Fitz-Ullin’s champagne was spreading hilarity among his officers, to whom he gave an excellent dinner in honour of their late escape, a tall, large proportioned, elderly man, in a college cap and gown, was pacing up and down by the dim light of the lamps, in one of the then best streets of Auld Reekie, immediately beneath the windows of Lord L⸺’s hotel. He cast from time to time impatient glances at the door as he passed and repassed. At length it opened and shewed the figure of a younger man, habited in naval uniform, and in the actof taking his cocked hat from a servant in the lit up hall. The door closed again, and the officer joined him of the cap and gown. “So,” said Henry, for he was the officer, “the game is up, I fear.”
“The devil it is,” replied the person addressed.
“Is it not?” said Henry.
“Throw again,” said the stranger. They walked on for a time in silence. “Why certainly,” said Henry, “however strong their suspicions may be, they have no proofs that would enable them to take any steps against me; and as to my being forbid Lord L⸺’s house, and my aunt’s, whenever Julia is there, it can make very little difference, unless they absolutely incarcerate her. We now have the title-deeds, we have only to seize her person, the first opportunity that offers, and I can still compel her to retract all her declarations of having been carried off against her will.
“I wish the devil would tempt her,” said the stranger, “to take a moonlight view of the Bass Rock.”
“I can see,” continued Henry, “by Fitz-Ullin’s countenance that they have not come to any explanation, nor are they likely to do so; and her absurd infatuation about him will keep her from marrying any one else, for some time at least.”
“What, then, is Lord L⸺’s present belief?” asked the stranger.
“Faith,” replied Henry, “I hardly know; I believe he hardly knows himself. We had quite a scene there, just now. His lordship took me to task in rather strong terms, for my supposed misdemeanours. I replied, however, very coolly, that I should neither deny nor confess any thing, but refer him to his daughter, who must know whether she had eloped with me or not. She, of course, declared she had not. But she was evidently afraid of exasperatingme, therefore said very little. Lord L⸺ showed her the three notes found on her table. She declared she had never written them. ‘Am I then to believe these letters forgeries?’ said his lordship, and he looked towards me. I met his eye with all the steadiness I could command, but remained silent. So, after a few more questions, for the answers to which I persisted in referring him to Julia, I was dismissed, having been, of course, forbid the house.”
An expression of contempt was here muttered by the stranger.
“But how did you know,” asked Henry, “that the Euphrasia was going round to Leith, and how did you gain admittance into the ship?” “I learned her destination at Plymouth: the admiral’s certificate settled the rest,” replied the stranger. “The difficulty was, to get in time to where the pilots for Leith are taken on board.”
“Who was the second pilot?” asked Henry.
“Charpantier. I have always three or four fellows, regular sworn port-pilots.”
“And did you really mean to run the ship aground?” again asked Henry.
“Most certainly!” replied his companion, in a tone indicating neither doubt nor compunction. “Why,” he continued, “I could have run her high and dry without danger to our lives, when she must have gone to pieces; and I had hands enough on the rock to do the rest.”
“Men whom you could depend upon?” demanded Henry.
“A more determined set of fellows never hauled a boat up the Bass since the time of good King James,” replied the stranger. “And our men would not have been the last,” he added with a sneer, “to have rendered their timely assistance to the distressed crew of theEuphrasia; nor should Lady Julia L⸺ have been the last of the passengers their praiseworthy exertions would have rescued from a watery grave.” Henry laughed.
“Fool!” uttered in no very persuasive tone, was the courteous rejoinder of his companion, who, now that he happened to turn while passing a lamp, displayed the same fierce features which we have seen bending over the title-deeds of the Craigs, by the light of the colliery lantern. “And, as for Fitz-Ullin,” he continued, “if he did not know his way to the bottom, he might have been shown it! Confound him! If he had not given the order to let go the anchor, in less than two minutes no power could have saved the ship!” Both personages now proceeded in silence along the street, till their figures were lost in the gloom of its further extremity. Not long after the same two figures became visible on the verge of the Salisbury Craigs, and finallydisappeared around the brow of the hill, a little below Arthur’s Seat, leaving the calm serenity of the scene unbroken by any living or moving object; while the distant villages, the bare hills, the waters of the Frith, the shipping in the roads, the deserted palace and ruined chapel, all slumbered silently in the clear moonshine of a summer night. And the city itself, so full of human life, where so many hearts and so many pulses at the very moment beat, presented an image as still and cold as though its piles of building, reflecting partial lights, and casting from their singularly irregular site gigantic shadows, were but the steep sides of so many masses of solid rock.
“Arise, tell him that came from the roaringOf waters, that Innisfail gives his feast.”
“Arise, tell him that came from the roaringOf waters, that Innisfail gives his feast.”
“Arise, tell him that came from the roaringOf waters, that Innisfail gives his feast.”
“Arise, tell him that came from the roaring
Of waters, that Innisfail gives his feast.”
Thenext day Fitz-Ullin called at Lord L⸺’s hotel. His lordship was out; Lady Oswald and Julia were in the drawing-room. Our hero’s visit was short and formal; on his return on board, he found a note from Lord L⸺, containing an invitation to dinner, for that day. He hesitated, but finally he decided on going. His reception from Lord L⸺ and Lady Oswald, was cordial; from Julia, embarrassed. After some general conversation, Lord L⸺ drew our hero towards a window, and opened the conference by speaking of the rescue of his daughter. Fitz-Ullin, in his turn, expressedwarmly the grateful affection due by him to Lord L⸺ and his family. This gave nature and heart to his manner.
Lord L⸺ was more delighted with him than ever; and while he so felt, unconsciously looked towards Julia. He accounted, however, for so doing, by again recurring to the subject of her preservation from a fate of which he himself, he said, knew not half the horror till his last conversation with his daughter. And his lordship here mentioned, in strong terms, the repugnance evinced by Julia, to the addresses of her cousin. In fact, it was to take an opportunity of impressing this particular on his auditor, that Lord L⸺ had drawn him aside. Then after renewing with becoming seriousness, his expressions of grateful obligation towards our hero, his lordship added, with an air of pleasantry, “Were I a monarch, Fitz-Ullin, I should say: ask what thou wilt, even unto the half of my kingdom, and I will give it thee!” Our hero,instead of smiling, as might have been expected, turned deadly pale. This, however, was unperceived by Lord L⸺, who, returning towards the ladies arm in arm with Fitz-Ullin, stopped, perhaps unconscious of the association of ideas which had guided his steps before Julia, and, taking her hand kindly, said, “I don’t think, my child, you have half thanked your preserver!” She replied by looking up in the face, first of her father, and then of Fitz-Ullin, with the gentlest and sweetest expression possible. Yet, strange to say, the immediate effect on our hero was evidently painful. Dinner was announced at the moment, and Lord L⸺, making over the hand he still held to Fitz-Ullin, offered his own arm to Lady Oswald, and led her towards the dining-room. The arrangement was quite a matter of course, yet both Julia and our hero coloured.
When they had taken their places at thetable, Julia did not again venture to raise her eyes, while the long fringes of the downcast lids rested on cheeks from which a more than usual glow had not yet subsided. She happened to be seated beneath a peculiarly brilliant lamp, and, consequently, in the very midst of a shower of beams; so that the consciousness of want of shelter for the blushes already raised called up, each moment, new ones. The blaze of light streaming thus on her countenance, shining on each of all the light and glossy ringlets, which floated in rich profusion around her shoulders, (such was then the fashion,) and reflected by the dazzling whiteness of her neck and arms, rendered her altogether so bright a vision that any one who had sat in the dangerous vicinity might have found their eyes attracted in that direction. It was the voice of Lord L⸺ proposing some interesting question respecting the choice of soups, which seemed to remind Fitz-Ullinthat his had been fixed on his fair neighbour longer than good breeding would have authorised. He had been picturing to himself, in contrast with the present, that hour of darkness and wild alarm, when that same profusion of beautiful hair that it now seemed dangerous but to look upon, had hung dishevelled over his own arm; that Julia, now so bashful, so reserved, had clung to his side as though he were all that was dear to her on earth!
Had such things been? And now was it, indeed, the same being who sat beside him, all brightness, all attraction, yet unapproachable?
During the evening, as there were no strangers present, the late extraordinary event formed the chief topic of conversation. Fitz-Ullin’s manner, while the subject was being discussed, puzzled Lord L⸺ extremely.
Fitz-Ullin was now speaking, and seeminglywith effort; his eyes the while fixed on the arrangement his own fingers were making on the tea-table, of the crumbs to which they had reduced a small bit of cake, accepted probably as unconsciously as now its pulverized particles were formed into squares and circles. “He either,” continued Lord L⸺ to himself, “is more interested than, for some reason or other, he chooses should be known, or less so than, in common gratitude to the family, and a natural feeling of regard towards the companion of his childhood, he ought to be!” What Lord L⸺ would have thought of our hero cherishing a natural feeling of regard for the companion of his childhood had he continued the poor nameless Edmund, he did not ask himself. The next morning Lord L⸺ and his daughter left Edinburgh.
“Hail, light of Innisfail!”“Sunbeam of beauty, hail!”
“Hail, light of Innisfail!”“Sunbeam of beauty, hail!”
“Hail, light of Innisfail!”
“Hail, light of Innisfail!”
“Sunbeam of beauty, hail!”
“Sunbeam of beauty, hail!”
Weshall pass over Julia’s reception at Lodore, it was so exactly what might have been expected.
No one, of course, expressed, in the presence of Mrs. Montgomery, their conviction of Henry’s guilt. From the very strange account which our heroine gave of her adventures, her hearers were disposed to suspect that, in her terror, she had mistaken a coal cellar for a coal pit. This, however, she declared could not be the case. But what traveller likes to have the most marvellous of their adventurestranslated into mere, common place, vulgar accidents.
Mr. Jackson, however, was of opinion that, making due allowance for the exaggerations of a terrified fancy, Julia might be nearly right; as no more effectual places of concealment could be devised, than the situations described by her; nor was there any class of people, among whom an unprincipled person, could more readily find agents suited to their purpose, than the wretches in whose hands she had unquestionably been. He thought it probable, therefore, that something might be discovered by questioning, if not directly, indirectly, all sorts of persons connected with the neighbouring works; some might have been engaged in a service of the kind, whose absolute ignorance would render them liable, on being spoken with, to betray their employers unconsciously.
“Answer vague as this but confirms her guilt.”
“Answer vague as this but confirms her guilt.”
“Answer vague as this but confirms her guilt.”
“Answer vague as this but confirms her guilt.”
Thenext day Lord L⸺ and Mr. Jackson, in pursuance of the plan of operations suggested by the latter, set out, at a very early hour, for Whitehaven.
When in the vicinity of the Gins, and in sight of a clump of fir-trees which shade a part of that road, their ears were saluted by loud, coarse laughter, clanking of chains, and trampling of horses.
In a few moments a troop of mounted colliers began to make their appearance, emerging from behind the trees. The gentlemen could immediately perceive that the party was headed by that far famed Amazon, called Jin of theGins. Her costume and whole appearance such as have already been described. With a countenance full of impudent glee, she was throwing occasional looks and loud speeches behind her, as, with perfect ease, she sat without saddle, and guided with a bridle of rope, apparently the same animal on which we have already seen her. Her companions were, of course, not better mounted. They, indeed, chiefly rode in couples, a male and a female on each beast, and, not unfrequently, seated back to back, with all their four heels goading the ribs of the but half-alive animal, to keep it in motion.
Lord L⸺ and Mr. Jackson were by this time close to them, and his lordship, his countenance expressive of much disgust, was just beginning to guide his rein with a careful hand, and measure his distances with a cautious eye, for the purpose of passing through this sooty train without soil, when the whole troop, closinground both gentlemen, and whirling their hats in the air, gave a loud cheer, followed by sudden silence and a simultaneous grin, which shewed at one flash the teeth of the whole party. The next moment, seeming to perceive that they were not understood, numerous voices uttered at once, “Some ’ot te drink—an ye please.”
Lord L⸺, as soon as he could be got to comprehend, complied with the request, and was passing on, amid three cheers louder than the former, when Mr. Jackson, addressing him in an under tone, said he felt inclined to have some conversation with those people, as it was not at all impossible that a seemingly careless question might obtain some accidental clue to information. Lord L⸺ smiled incredulously, but checked his horse, and Mr. Jackson, adapting his language to his company, and addressing the man nearest him, said, “Have you had many people to see the Bottom lately?”
The whole troop halted and wheeled, for they had just begun to move forward. Their intrepid leader, finding herself, by this unexpected evolution, in the centre of her forces, placed the fore-feet of her beast on a mound of earth, to give herself a certain elevation above the rest, planted her arms a-kimbo, and assumed a listening attitude, “I doon’t na I’s sure,” replied the man spoken to. A second fellow here interposed with, “It’s no se lang sine Sir Sydney was doon wid——”
“Haud yeer gab, ye feul!” interrupted our Amazon, in a voice of authority. “Sir Sydney, indeed! Its lang enew sine Sir Sydney was doon! He’s no been on dry land for monny a day.”
“And pray,” inquired Mr. Jackson, who remembered the mention he had once heard of the name from the lips of Henry, “who is Sir Sydney?”
“The best friend,” replied the man whohad just been interrupted, “the Bottom folk hay.”
“No but a feller that’s oot on his mind,” said Jin of the Gins, with a marked impatience, which she endeavoured to screen, by increasing boldness of deportment, and repeated kicks on the sides of her charger. He, however, was in no haste to move, and the man replied again: “He may be no just quite right; bit he gives folk plenty te drink, for aw that!”
“Out of his mind!” repeated Mr. Jackson. “But did you not say, that the last time this Sir Sydney was down, he had gentlefolk with him?” Now, Mr. Jackson was quite aware, that the fellow had not yet said so.
“Gentlefolk?” repeated the man, “whough aye: ’at was the night ’at——”
Here he was again interrupted with a repetition of, “Haud yeer gab, ye feul,” from Jin, who now speaking angrily, and addressing Mr. Jackson, said, with her large sooty arm out-stretched,and pointing towards Whitehaven, “Gang yeer gate, and let us gang oors: we hey ney time te clatter nonsense aboot crazy folk!”
Then, with a more determined effort than before, she forced the wretched animal she rode, to raise its unwilling head, lift its ponderous hoofs, and, finally, urged by reiterated kicks and curses, to move forward. The renewed clanking of the chains, that trailed on the ground on either side, duly accompanying her progress; while the rest of the troop, deeming some mark of courtesy due to gentlemen who had given them money to drink, set up a parting cheer, as they followed in her track; soon after which, they recommenced their own coarse jests, and loud laughter.
Lord L⸺ thought the sum of information obtained, did not amount to much. But Mr. Jackson reminded him that Sir Sydney was the appellation ascribed by Henry, many yearssince, to a very remarkable looking person, whom he, Mr. Jackson, had seen in very familiar conversation with Henry.
This certainly was a sort of clue; and Jin’s unwillingness to let the men speak, looked suspicious. It seemed highly probable that both Jin and Sir Sydney were agents of Henry’s.
The two gentlemen now proceeded to some of the overseers of the works, where they learnt that the person, called by the colliers and rabble of the Gins, Sir Sydney, was a madman who fancied the coal vessels the British fleet, and himself an admiral; and who was thence called, in derision, Sir Sydney Smyth. They next repaired to the magistrates, who, on hearing all the particulars, recommended that no alarm should be given, by any premature examination of Jin of the Gins; but, that they should wait till the man, calling himself Sir Sydney, should make his appearance, andthen apprehend him and all his associates together.
This plan being approved of by all parties, was adopted accordingly.
“Who bore the murd’ring steel?… The arrow came notFrom the ranks of the foe, a nearer handHath winged the shaft.”“The upright sentence struck upon his heart.And then sent forth a groan of agony.”
“Who bore the murd’ring steel?… The arrow came notFrom the ranks of the foe, a nearer handHath winged the shaft.”“The upright sentence struck upon his heart.And then sent forth a groan of agony.”
“Who bore the murd’ring steel?… The arrow came notFrom the ranks of the foe, a nearer handHath winged the shaft.”
“Who bore the murd’ring steel?
… The arrow came not
From the ranks of the foe, a nearer hand
Hath winged the shaft.”
“The upright sentence struck upon his heart.And then sent forth a groan of agony.”
“The upright sentence struck upon his heart.
And then sent forth a groan of agony.”
TheEuphrasia was cruising off the French coast, when, one morning, Fitz-Ullin, who was walking the quarter-deck, discovered, what appeared to be a sail in shore. On using his glass, however, he perceived that there were two, the one a large privateer, the other a smaller vessel ahead, of which the privateer seemed to be in pursuit. He immediately issued orders to make all sail and give chace. In a little time the privateer waswithin pistol-shot of the headmost ship, but, being closely pressed by the Euphrasia, she was obliged to content herself with the wanton mischief of firing one gun as she passed.
She had hitherto been to windward of the frigate, she now bore away, with the evident intention of crossing her bows, when the wind, suddenly shifting, threw her all aback. The Euphrasia shortly after came up with her, upon which, seeing no further chance of escape, she slackened sail and fell almost alongside. While the crew of the Euphrasia were busily engaged taking in their sails, Fitz-Ullin, who was looking out for the lowering of the privateer’s colours, observed some of her men pointing a long twenty-four pounder, which was placed in the centre of their deck, and which appeared to turn on a pivot. At first, he could scarcely believe that so useless a piece of cruelty could be intended; seeing them, however, actually about to apply thematch, he ordered the small armed party of marines to fire a volley into the midst of them. In a moment, the fellows who had been employed about the gun were swept away. This destructive piece of ordnance was afterwards found to be loaded with buck shot, old nails, and crooked pieces of iron. Had it been discharged from so short a distance, on the, just then, necessarily crowded decks of the frigate, the havoc must have been dreadful.
The privateer was now boarded, and her Captain found to be too ill to leave his berth. This circumstance, however, was not attended with any inconvenience, as it would have been necessary, at any rate, to leave the Captain in the prize, to facilitate her condemnation. The rest of the crew, with the exception of one black, for whose attendance the sick Captain sent an urgent petition, were taken on board the Euphrasia, and a proper complement of her men sent into the prize, with a midshipmanas prize master. By the time, however, that these necessary arrangements were completed, the aspect of the weather changed so much, that Fitz-Ullin judged it not prudent, under the possible circumstances, to entrust so considerable a prize to the care of a midshipman. Accordingly, at about ten o’clock at night, he sent Henry on board, with orders to take the command, and forthwith sail for Plymouth.
Henry finding from the midshipman whom he relieved, that every needful preparation was already made, went immediately to his cabin. He saw neither the sick captain nor his black, the first never having quitted his berth, and the second having retired to his, two hours before, neither having any thing to do with the business of the ship.
The breeze was brisk, and soon parted them many miles from the Euphrasia.
Henry had, as usual, heated his blood withwine at supper, and in consequence lay tossing and restless. At length, however, about twelve o’clock, he fell into a perturbed slumber. Shortly after, he dreamed that he heard his cabin-door open softly. He started awake, and, notwithstanding the utter darkness, was sensible that something moved, though noiselessly, towards him.
The next moment he felt a hand laid, with the fingers spread open, on his shoulder, and passed from thence to his breast, as if to ascertain his exact position. He leaped up, grappled with the invisible intruder, and strove to seize the right arm, which, from its being greatly elevated above the head, he supposed to wield some deadly weapon. In the struggle they pushed through the doorway of the little cabin, into the outer one. Henry felt that, though the figure was tall, and in its proportions athletic, he was himself, he thought, the stronger, certainly the more elastic of the two.Still, no effort he could make, could bend the right arm downwards. If he attempted to use both hands for the purpose, the left arm of his antagonist tightly encircled his waist, to the endangering of his footing; in so much that with his left he was obliged to clasp with equal closeness his invisible assailant. While they thus wrestled, locked in each other’s embrace, Henry, who had not had presence of mind, indeed scarcely time, to do so sooner, called out, “On deck there!” A foot was heard coming below. The vigilance of Henry’s attention was taken off for a second. The uplifted arm descended with the quickness of lightning, and a dagger was plunged, up to the hilt, in his side. He uttered a species of yell, leaped from the ground, fell, and groaned heavily, muttering from between his closing teeth: “Hell and the Devil, I am murdered!”
“Henry!” exclaimed a well known voice, rendered terrible by horror, amazement, and despair.
At this moment, the person who had been heard approaching, entered, carrying a dark lantern, which, while it left the intruder in shadow, threw a strong light on the form of Henry, writhing in agony on the ground; his countenance distorted, and his eyes still wide open. He turned them, as the light appeared, on the figure of his late violent assailant, now standing over him, horror-stricken and motionless. A frightful sort of smile divided the lips of Henry; the eyes fixed, a few convulsive movements of the limbs followed, and then, one fearful spasm, evidently the last, closed his mortal career.
“It is my son!” said the murderer.
The man who had just entered, paused and gazed on the scene before him, with an unmeaning stare. Placing the lantern, while he did so, under his arm, it glared its light upwards on his own countenance, which proved to be that of a peculiarly brutal looking black.The balls of the eyes shone in the partial gleam, and the thick turned-over lips, being spread by a horrible grin, displayed a wide range of glaring white teeth.
It would have been difficult to have defined exactly the source of this wretch’s grin; for he was sufficiently in the secrets of his master to know that the murder of Henry could not have been intended. But, there was a demoniac glee at the sight of suffering and death; and surprise at the strange mistake, and curiosity to see what effect it would have on him most interested. The grin which those mixed feelings had produced, still remained on his face, and seemed to have been forgotten there, while stooping, and flaring the light across and across, over the prostrate figure of Henry, as if to ascertain that life was quite extinct, he said, as he raised himself and gave his head a knowing nod, “We must not lose the ship for this though!”
The aroused murderer snatched the lantern from him, and flinging himself on his knees beside the corse, held the light close to Henry’s pale face: paused—shuddered—closed the eyes of the dead—then the lips, which agony had left parted while the teeth were clenched; laid the lantern on the ground, tore open the breast of the shirt, placed his hand on the heart, remained for some moments motionless, holding in his breath; then, perhaps unconsciously, heaved a sigh as deep and tremulous as though it had issued from the gentlest of bosoms, and proceeded to examine the wound.
“There are two ribs broken!” he murmured to himself, as he continued the scrutiny.
“I was quite sure,” interposed the black, approaching a step, “that the midshipman I told you of, was our prize-master: I saw no other officer come aboard of us. It was your own order, that I should turn in, and keep clear of the men, and seem to take no concern inwhat was going on, till after the first watch was relieved, and then to be sure to come on deck, and keep near the cabin-door.”
“Damnation! Damnation! Damnation!” muttered the still kneeling murderer, without withdrawing his eyes from the face of the corse, and grinding, as it were, each utterance of the word beneath his clenched teeth, ere he suffered it to pass. Then, starting up, he hastened on deck, (followed by the black,) strode towards the steersman, held a pistol to his head, and swearing he would blow his brains out if he made the slightest resistance, tied him down with cords. The same threat was used by the black, to the man who had the lookout, and whom they also tied. The desperate pair of ruffians then proceeded to the hatchways which they had previously fastened down, and ordering the remainder of the crew to come up, one by one, bound each, as he appeared, with the exception of two foreigners,who volunteered to assist them in taking the ship into a French harbour.
They then altered the course of the thus recovered prize, and stood towards Brest.
The storm which Fitz-Ullin had foreseen, had been for some time gradually rising; it soon became so high as to render the privateer with so few efficient hands, very unmanageable; there was also distant thunder, and occasional flashes of lightning. The wind, however, being favourable for the French coast, they allowed the vessel to drive before it, and seemed resolved to perish rather than yield to their prisoners; for this, from the superiority in numbers of the latter, must have been the alternative, had they let them loose to obtain their assistance.
After some hours, but while it was still quite dark, they ran foul of another vessel. On board both ships, some moments of the most awful suspense followed: neither crew could be atfirst aware, what degree of injury their vessel had sustained; nor was it immediately possible, in consequence of the darkness, to ascertain whether their dangerously near neighbour were friend or foe. They were endeavouring, through the din of the elements, to hail each other, when a peculiarly vivid flash of lightning struck and shattered the upper half of the main-mast of the privateer, while the lower part of the mast continued standing, but took fire and instantly became a blazing torch of gigantic dimensions, illuminating, from end to end, with perfect distinctness, the decks of both vessels. That of the frigate presented the usual crowd and bustle attendant on the circumstances; while that of the privateer was nearly desolate, rendering the more remarkable the figure of the murderer and that of his black assistant, standing in the glare of the burning mast, and, with looks of dismay, recognisingin the vessel alongside of which their own lay, their late captor, the Euphrasia.
The privateer could offer no resistance: she was of course retaken. It would be difficult to describe the horror of those who now boarded the thus twice captured prize, on finding what had happened, and discovering the body of Henry. Still less would it be possible to paint the feelings of Fitz-Ullin, when the account of the murder was brought to him.
The Euphrasia having received some injury, (being lying-to when the privateer ran on board of her,) a homeward course became desirable. As soon, therefore, as wind and weather would permit, Fitz-Ullin took Henry’s body on board, and proceeded to Plymouth. From thence he instantly wrote to Mr. Jackson with the melancholy intelligence, that he might break it to the family with proper caution.
The prize, which was very valuable, was also brought safe into port, the burning mast having been extinguished in time to prevent the spreading of the fire.
Having sent the murderers to Exeter gaol to be tried for their lives at the assizes, which were to commence in a day or two, and made whatever arrangements the duties of the service required, Fitz-Ullin set out for Lodore, whither, according to instructions received from Mr. Jackson, he gave orders to have the body of Henry conveyed. So contradictory and unsearchable are often the movements of the human heart, that, melancholy as were these duties, it is certain that our hero performed them with an activity and energy of spirit, to which he had long been a stranger. Whether it was, that tired of his self-imposed banishment, he was glad of even this mournful excuse, to renew the affectionate intercourse of early life with a family so long and so justlyregarded, by offering his services on the present occasion, and giving his necessary assistance in prosecuting the murderers to conviction; or, whether any other, and more mysterious springs of thought and feeling were set in motion, it would be difficult to determine.
However this was, in a few days after his landing, he was to be seen, with a countenance of seriousness, certainly, but not of despair, leaning back in a travelling carriage which rolled along the north road as fast as the united strength of four good horses could give the impetus of motion to its wheels.
He arrived at Keswick, drove through it, and shortly after a turning in the road presented Lodore House to his view.